Chapter 175

Batman was currently on the roof of a building in the West District, having followed clues to the Easter eggs here.

The Holiday Killer had sent Easter eggs to the mob bosses, but left no specific clues—yet he shouldn't have sent one to Bruce Wayne.

Around Wayne Manor, Batman had installed numerous cameras, two of which at the main gate had captured a figure.

It was a newspaper boy who delivered papers between the South and East Districts; such boys frequently traveled between the wealthy southern neighborhoods and printing plants, and almost no one noticed them.

The cameras didn't capture the boy's face, but they recorded his clothing; eventually, Batman found him at a newspaper printing plant in the East District.

The boy knew little—he only told Batman that someone had paid them to deliver the eggs.

Such jobs were common among the newspaper boys; they often gathered at fixed spots, and those needing errands would go there to hire them to deliver things to others.

These boys knew Gotham's terrain and routes intimately, and out of convenience, Gothamites had tacitly agreed not to harass these delivery kids, so many preferred hiring them to deliver meals, keys, or beer.

Batman went to the boys' gathering spot; they all talked at once describing the Holiday Killer's appearance, but it was useless—they didn't care who hired them, as long as the item wasn't something easily stolen, they took any job, and with so many clients daily, no one remembered specific faces.

However, one sharper boy offered a crucial clue: he said the person who hired them smelled of a chemical agent, somewhat like gunpowder.

Following this lead, Batman investigated every chemical plant in Gotham.

Gotham had many chemical plants, but they varied in size; after the floods and freezes, most small ones had shut down, with only a handful still operating.

Only four or five plants remained functional; the investigation didn't take Batman long, and he eventually focused on a chemical plant in the West District.

This plant was underground in the West District, small in scale with few production lines; its assembly line was primitive, producing nothing vital—logically, it should have closed along with the other small plants.

After the disaster, nearly all underground structures in Gotham were destroyed; this underground plant nearly got buried, its building severely damaged, over half collapsed, most production lines disabled—but still, signs of human activity lingered nearby.

What goods absolutely needed to be produced right now?

Prying open the back door lock, Batman slipped through the gap, put on his night-vision goggles, and saw chaos inside the plant.

Part of the southeast corner had collapsed, littered with rubble; many crates were crushed beneath fallen walls, and some viscous liquid had leaked out—night vision couldn't identify it, so he moved closer.

Soon, Batman smelled a foul odor; he stepped nearer and saw the crates were all shattered goose eggs, yolks and whites spilled everywhere, untouched and nearly fermented, emitting a stench.

Further away, some crates remained untouched; Batman walked over and saw they contained processed goose eggshells.

Easter eggs aren't painted directly on raw eggs; the selected goose eggs must be treated—if not hollowed, they must be soaked in chemical agents to make the surface paintable; if hollowed, other methods are needed to maintain shell hardness.

It appeared the warehouse stored both types of egg materials, but some un-hollowed eggs had been crushed by falling walls.

Batman stepped forward, picked up one shell, examined it—it had been treated but not yet painted; he took several such shells back to Wayne Manor for comparison.

On the lab bench sat several different Easter eggs: first, the one the Holiday Killer had sent to Bruce Wayne—Batman hadn't touched it, so it hadn't exploded and remained intact.

Another was the one Shiler had given him—the smiling egg painted by Shiler's own hand; the third was the untreated shell Batman had retrieved from the warehouse.

It was obvious: the first and third eggs were nearly identical, in size, shape, and treatment method.

In contrast, Shiler had clearly picked a random goose egg—hardly resembling a farm goose egg, more like a swan's egg plucked from a nest.

It was too small, untreated, painted directly on its surface; the shell was too smooth to hold paint, so the smile looked distorted.

That meant the eggs delivered to mob bosses and elites came from the West District chemical plant.

"West District chemical plant…" Batman murmured, then suddenly froze, turned, and left Wayne Manor in his Batmobile, racing to Gotham Police Department.

Gordon had just finished his day and was about to head home when he heard a rustle behind him; without looking, he said: "What now, Batman?"

"The last tape…"

"Tape? Oh—you mean the one with Shiler's phone recording? It's in evidence storage, but the staff already clocked out…"

Before Gordon finished speaking, Batman vanished; Gordon shook his head, thinking it was fine letting that weirdo keep such dangerous items—better than someone getting curious and playing it.

Batman entered the pitch-black evidence room, found the tape, inserted it into the recorder; after a burst of static, Shiler's voice echoed again: "Their Nine Plant shipments go through old Wilkin's route—along the three streets of the East District…"

Batman turned the recorder knob, fast-forwarded: "You're worried about that? No need—I know the underground chemical plant in the West District is also Falcone…"

"... amily property. After the Don handed it to Evans, they started shipping along Elizabeth Street too, but later, due to poor management, it shut down for a long time. You needn't worry the Don cares about such minor profits…"

"Chemical plant? Evans? Evans Falcone…" Batman's voice echoed in the dark room.

At that moment, Batman's phone rang sharply; he answered, and Cobblepot's voice came through: "... vans!! It's Evans!!!! He has a knife… he wants to kill me… no, he's not… cough… go, go to Gotham Cathedral, stop him…"

Batman looked out the window—the moon hung bright in the sky.

When Batman arrived at Gotham Cathedral, Evans seemed to be waiting for him.

Evans stood at the crack in the cathedral's center, staring into the glowing depths within; Batman smelled a dizzying odor—like distilled high-proof alcohol.

He dropped from the window and stood before Evans; Evans ignored him, kneeling slightly, fixedly staring into the crack.

"Who are you?" Batman asked.

"Who am I? Don't you recognize me? I'm your classmate…"

"You're not Evans."

The man let out a cold laugh. "Don't mention that name—he's an imposter. I am the real Falcone."

"You're his second personality?"

"No—he's mine."

The man stood; his blonde hair glowed unnaturally under the moonlight. He wore an expression Evans never showed—icy, cold. "I said it—I am Falcone. Alberto Falcone."

"Then you're his second personality."

Alberto grew angry, frowning, squinting, his green eyes blazing with fury; his voice was low, utterly unlike Evans's.

"I've always been Alberto!"

"Didn't Alberto die?"

"Hah… that farce back then fooled plenty." Alberto sneered. "Dead? No, of course not. A fool replaced me."

"That sounds like a long story—but it doesn't matter…" Batman pulled a batarang from his belt. "Tonight is Easter night—a long night. You can take your time."

"You're the Holiday Killer, aren't you?"

"Yes, I—"

Before he finished, Batman hurled something at Alberto; Alberto dodged sideways, turned—and saw it was a shattered egg.

"Damn it, are you mocking me?"

"No. This was a gift someone gave you. Now it's broken—but that's because you didn't catch it. Not my fault."

"Don't try to distract me with cheap tricks. My goal is achieved. No one can stop me."

"Is that so? You call yourself the Holiday Killer, yet you didn't kill anyone on Easter. The only one you killed—Principal Xie Dun—your method was crude, full of flaws."

When Batman spoke in his flat, emotionless tone, it always infuriated.

"Do you think you're so clever? Wearing a skin-tight suit, pretending to be some superhero?"

"But at least I found you. Oh, no—I didn't find you. It was that insignificant Cobblepot."

Mentioning Cobblepot made Alberto truly furious. "That damn brat nearly ruined my plan…"

"So you failed? Against a short, weak, penniless boy—the very first person you wanted to kill on Easter—you still couldn't kill him, despite perfect preparation."

"I never meant to kill him. If he hadn't fed Evans those stupid ideas, I wouldn't have touched him. He's irrelevant!"

"That's why I say your method is crude and full of flaws—anyone can see Cobblepot is dangerous."

Lingdiankanshu. om

"Yes…" Alberto sneered. "A poor kid who lost his father—he doesn't even know his father's death wasn't an accident."

Then, as if venting, he said: "Funeral? Yes, I died. Many attended my funeral."

He looked up at the cathedral window above; moonlight spilled in like a curtain, gently draping over the statue of Jesus—the suffering Son who bled dry for the traitor. In this bitter, sorrowful night, only the moon offered him clothing.

"But tonight, I shall rise—and live forever."