Chapter 192: Fly, Chuck, Fly

Chuck stared at the pitch-black muzzle, feeling a flicker of fear in his heart.

But he wasn't actually afraid of the gun; in fact, when he had offered a cigarette and a pencil to Deadshot on the rooftop, Chuck had already realized that he didn't seem to fear muzzles much, at least not like others did.

Being able to hold a cigarette up to Deadshot's muzzle without his hand shaking—perhaps it was because he had grown accustomed to guns while working for the Joker last time, or perhaps because he was a man with nothing to lose, so he wasn't afraid of death. But whatever the reason, Chuck knew one thing: he possessed some courage.

Yet at this moment, he truly felt afraid, because behind him stood a boy and a woman.

The boy was the same age as Little Charlie, and the woman was the same age as his ex-wife.

If I get shot dead here, he thought, then the two of them are finished.

So I cannot die here.

But what to do? What else did he have to save them?

"I'm giving you one last chance to answer, 'Hero'."

The soldier's finger rested on the trigger: "Hand over the money and leave, or die here."

At that moment, a cloud of dust suddenly swirled up from the ruins, whipping against the two of them.

The soldier seemed unaware, but Chuck sensed something keenly; he tilted his ear to listen closely.

Whoosh—

It was the wind.

Whoosh, whoosh—

Sand and stones flew, and dust rose in all directions.

A great wind.

This wind touched his body, causing an inexplicable realization to rise in Chuck's heart.

"Fine," he suddenly replied: "I'll give you the money."

So the soldier lowered his gun, smiling: "That's right. Whether to be a hero or to live, that should be an easy choice."

However, Chuck did not answer him; he carefully felt the wind on his skin, which grew stronger and stronger, almost pushing him to run.

So he began to run.

Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh—

The great wind rises.

Sand and ash in the ruins were completely swept up by this great wind; the soldier could only close his eyes, grip his gun tightly with both hands, and then pull the trigger dead. He tried to open his mouth to shout a threat at Chuck, but instead swallowed a mouthful of sand and dirt.

What a huge wind.

Chuck closed his eyes, carefully sensing this surging airflow; he ran two steps with the wind, lifted the child with one hand, and grabbed the unconscious woman with the other. The green backpack on his back instantly extended, flattened out, and became a giant kite.

Fly, Chuck, fly, fly high.

He seemed to hear many voices from nowhere drifting in from the wind, shouting the same thing as that strong wind, the same thing his heart was shouting.

They told him to fly.

So he flew.

The giant green kite suddenly rose from the flat ground, shooting straight into the clouds; the strong wind blew against Chuck's back, helping him fly faster and higher.

Finally, carrying the two of them, he flew into Gotham's night sky, reaching above the clouds.

At that moment, the boy in red clothes widened his eyes in surprise, staring blankly down at the city in the night; here, he could clearly see every street district of the city, every point of light, and also make out the stars and the bright moon overhead.

The boy couldn't help but spread his arms like a bird spreading its wings, feeling the sensation of the airflow lifting the two of them soaring through the sky, something he had imagined countless times in his dreams.

"Come back! You bastard! Come back!"

The soldier angrily fired at the sky, but Chuck had already flown high above; his marksmanship was not enough to reach that giant kite at this distance.

Other soldiers who had rushed over at the sound looked at the kite in the sky without understanding, and imitated him by shooting into the air; a web of fire seemed about to form.

"None of you are going back today."

A cold, raspy voice suddenly sounded from the darkness, causing everyone present to turn pale with shock.

"Batman!"

"Open fire, open fire!"

In the time it took to say a sentence or two, a figure had descended from the sky, tackling a soldier directly to the ground.

Crack!

Still the familiar impact sound, still the familiar stealth style.

Rat-a-tat-tat—

Several men immediately fired with the automatic rifles in their hands; amidst the muzzle flashes, the flickering flames revealed that pitch-black figure. Like an invisible, intangible, and elusive ghost, he appeared and disappeared among the crowd; every time he appeared, a soldier's bones were broken.

The dense sound of gunfire and the sound of breaking bones rose together, then began to become sparse, until they completely vanished.

After Batman finished dealing with this squad of soldiers, he finally turned his gaze toward a low wall.

"Come out," he said: "No need to hide anymore."

So, a figure wearing a black robe and a mask pushed a bicycle out from behind the ruins.

"Good thing your speed was fast enough," he smiled at Batman: "Otherwise I would have had to take the two of them back."

"I said I would arrive within three minutes of your signal, no more than five," Batman replied: "How is the situation with the Riddler?"

"As usual, doing whatever needs to be done: patrolling, going on field missions with every supervillain sent out, buffing, eating, getting paid—the Riddler pays quite well."

By this time, Batman already knew what Ma Ma Zhaodi meant by "buffing"; it was probably a state that made certain people unable to be killed for 24 hours. This peculiar ability had saved hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of Gotham citizens so far.

"There is one more thing," Batman asked: "That gust of wind just now felt very familiar; is that also your special ability?"

"Oh, that was Clover," Ma Ma Zhaodi shrugged: "As you can see, it can create some wind, nothing more."

After Chuck delivered the woman and the child to the hospital, he returned home alone; by then, it was already late at night.

When he turned on the light, he suddenly discovered that two bags and a note had appeared on the living room table.

One bag contained lollipops, and the other bag also contained lollipops—but one was multicolored, and the other was white; it seemed one was fruit-flavored, and the other was milk-flavored.

Seeing those two bags, Chuck's pupils suddenly contracted; these two kinds of candy reminded him of his friend who had vanished without a trace.

Was this the gift he had left for himself?

He picked up the note and looked at the writing on it.

"Chuck, I am well. Seeing that you are well too makes me quite happy—if you plan to continue helping the injured in the war zone, take these two kinds of candy; if you do not wish to continue taking risks, hand them directly to Batman."

Chuck stared at the note, thinking of Charlie groaning in pain on his hospital bed; of what the Riddler had done to his own son; of the family of five the Joker had killed, as Batman had said; of the thousands of lights in the city turning into a few scattered dots as he flew through the night sky, and of the devastated Gotham.

Finally, he thought of that boy in red, who, like himself back then, spread his arms wide in the night sky.

So he reached out and took the two bags of lollipops.

"I have played with kites my whole life; they are the coolest thing I have ever known from childhood to adulthood," he thought. "And now, I can save many lives using kites I designed myself."

"That makes them even cooler."

(End of this chapter)