Chapter 182: The Kite That Fell to Earth

Where did this wind come from?

In this moment, Batman and Chuck both felt the same doubt flash through their minds.

But they had no mood to think much, because in the next second, this gale rapidly swept over both their bodies, sending them flying backward and upward.

Batman grabbed Chuck, then retracted his grappling gun, because the force of this gale was quite terrifying; he estimated he couldn't hold onto two people with the grappling gun, so he simply and directly opened his cape.

In the powerful updraft from below, a pitch-black bat spread its wings and flew, carrying Chuck as they rode the wind upward; the two kept accelerating upward, flying higher and higher, soaring over the top of Gao Ta, and into Gotham's night sky.

Held by the collar by Batman, Chuck stared blankly down at the city in the night; he loved kites, but had never flown in the air personally in this way before. Here, he could clearly see every street district of the city, every point of light, and could also make out the stars and the bright moon overhead.

He couldn't help but spread his arms wide, like a bird spreading its wings, feeling the sensation of the airflow lifting the two of them as they soared through the sky; this was something he had not felt in the past thirty years.

In this instant, many things came to his mind. He thought of the extra-large kite he had always wanted to make, one that could carry him flying in the air; he thought of the jetpack he had set aside for so long; he thought of his former life with his family.

Batman paid no attention to Chuck's condition at this moment. He carefully recalled the moment just before they were about to land, wondering where that inexplicable gale had come from, but he could not think of an answer.

The next day, Chuck did not go to the bar.

He opened the warehouse in his home, the place where he stored blueprints, made kites, and carried out design work; only since his divorce had he rarely opened it, and since he had been fired, it had been completely forgotten.

He stepped over stacks of kite fabric piled on the floor and reached the iron rack, which was filled with all kinds of kites, along with rolls of mechanical design blueprints.

This rack, together with the blueprints and the colorful kites upon it, was covered in dust, appearing lifeless and dull.

He pulled several rolls from the dusty blueprints, shaking the entire rack so that dust rained down in cascades; after most of the dust cleared, the kites revealed their vibrant colors.

He took the blueprints back to his room and spread them on the table. They depicted complex mechanical structures and were filled with various parameters; these were his jetpack and large-kite designs that he had once abandoned halfway.

The large kite was dismissed by surrounding colleagues as a wild fantasy because it was not safe enough. If it were to carry a person, it might crash in the absence of wind, and even with wind, it could not fully control its flight direction.

As for the jetpack, since products already existed on the market, it seemed to lack novelty. Most importantly, Chuck had no mood at the time and no money in hand to continue pursuing this amateur-hobby design; later, when he fell into decadence, he completely abandoned the idea.

Perhaps I should do something, Chuck thought as he gazed at the blueprints. Even if it cannot help me regain my job or restore my relationship, this is something I wanted to do.

This is something I love; it does not necessarily need to have any deeper meaning; as long as it has meaning to me, that is enough.

So he picked up a pen and began writing and drawing on a blank blueprint. Regarding these two designs he had once abandoned, he had some new ideas.

At this very moment, the news broadcast on television began—opening with a segment of live footage showing Mr. Freeze, allied with the Scarecrow, engaged in combat with Deadshot.

"This city is doomed!" the loud-voiced Black news anchor couldn't hold back, being the first to voice a desperate protest.

"Frank, that's too outrageous," the White anchor beside him shook his head.

"No, no, pretending nothing has happened until now—that is what is 'outrageous'!" the Black anchor's emotions remained agitated: "These criminals are turning Gotham into their own small-scale war zone."

"Yes, I agree, that is obvious. The current situation is indeed terrible, but it has not yet reached the point of being 'doomed'."

"Ha, let me guess, is it because of Batman—Bill, do you think Batman can set things right and correct all of this?"

"I'm not saying he can completely correct all of this, but at the very least, he counts as an option."

"Bill, please—Batman? You might as well pray to the air or the wind."

Chuck, who was drawing, couldn't help but look at the television. At this very moment, he too was pondering this question—something he had thought of only after experiencing those upheavals last night: Can Batman truly save everything? Or rather, can people really place all their hopes on Batman and then shrug their shoulders and lie flat on the ground?

The war between the Joker and the Riddler has drawn in too many super-villains; these are people Batman had previously captured and returned to Arkham only after enduring fierce battles. And now, they have all mobilized simultaneously. How could this violent vigilante, with merely one year of experience, handle all of this with ease while also ensuring everyone's safety?

Ding-ling-ling—

The telephone suddenly rang, interrupting Chuck's thoughts. He put down his pen, picked up the receiver beside him, and called out to the other end: "Hello? Who is being sought?"

However, immediately after, an unexpected voice sounded in the receiver.

It was the Riddler's voice.

"Guess this riddle."

"I love to dance, spin, and leap; when I set off, I shake my tail. I ride the wind and fly higher and higher—so, what am I?"

After listening to the receiver for two minutes, Chuck's mind went completely blank. His hands trembled weakly, and the receiver slipped from his grasp and fell to the floor.

Of course he knew the answer was kite; that was his favorite thing. What shocked him was what the Riddler said afterward.

Nighttime, on the rooftops of Gotham City.

"I want to see my son, oh my god."

Chuck Brown grabbed Batman's shoulders, his emotions agitated: "He said it. He said he knew I would betray him even before he found me. All of this is some kind of joke, or riddle, or something else he left for you! He poisoned my son's kite string—that damn kite string!"

Batman's face stiffened as he clenched his fists. He had originally thought the boy merely had a fever, but he never expected the Riddler had long wanted to play a riddle game with this child's life.

He saw the man opposite him nearly break down, crying out to him in desperate pleading.

"I want to see my son!"

(End of this chapter)