There is no Batman in Gotham City comics.

Chapter 88 The Death Knell

"Turn left onto the alternate route Liverpool Street, then turn right at the second traffic light."

"learn."

Reus turned the steering wheel all the way, the bus's side wheels were off the ground, and amidst the screams of pedestrians, it crashed into the corner traffic light.

vomit!

The swaying of the carriage, including Qin Wei's, made the group of men look rather grim.

"Gentlemen, hang in there a little longer. Nobody wants to stay in a carriage full of vomit, right?"

"That's true, but... the feeling of vomiting... isn't something you can control!" Willie covered his mouth and turned away.

He couldn't hold it in any longer, but before he could even vomit, a gun barrel was thrust inside.

"Bear with it, I'm a germaphobe." Jason said sternly, his eyes flashing with an unyielding authority.

The intimidation was quite effective; Willie nodded, his face pale.

Turning off the side road, the armored bus avoided the helicopter's view by taking advantage of the dense buildings. Just when everyone thought it was safe for the time being and was about to rush through the traffic lights, more than a dozen police cars suddenly turned into the street.

The GCPD, having lost sight of their target, was merely patrolling nearby when the criminals suddenly appeared. Neither side had time to brake before they met face-to-face.

Just tens of meters away, the two sides were about to make close contact when a bullet timely entered the battlefield.

boom!

The front right tire of the lead car was blown out, followed by the front left tire of the second police car.

Without a doubt, the deadly shooter Floyd, lurking in the high-rise building, has made his move.

"One hundred thousand!"

"Two hundred thousand!"

"Three hundred thousand..."

After each shot, Floyd would report his due payment to Qin Wei on the walkie-talkie. This is what professional mercenaries do—keeping their clients fully informed about where every penny went.

One shot to the revolver, one shot to the right tire, and so on, police cars lost their balance under his sniping, like the Red Sea split open by Moses, making way for the bus.

With their concealed operating location and the aid of silencers, no one noticed the fire support from the rooftop of a high-rise building two blocks away. The scene gave the impression that the GCPD was cowardly and dared not confront the bus head-on.

Of course, it wasn't unnoticed. Slade, also a mercenary, keenly sensed the unusual activity on the battlefield.

The sniper rifle sights moved away from the bus driver Royce's forehead. The man pulled out a notebook and, after estimating the length of the block and the height difference between the nearby buildings and the ground, quickly wrote down several formulas on the paper.

"Is it there?"

Beneath the black carbon fiber mask, a hawk-like, sharp gaze fixed on the Bladen Building two blocks away.

It was the tallest office building in the Liverpool Street area. Its gray-green glass curtain wall reflected the halo of the sun behind the clouds, and the strong reflection made ordinary people not even bother to take a closer look at the building.

"It is indeed a good hiding spot. But if I'm not mistaken, the rooftop is at least 1.2 miles (about 2km) away from here. Are you really that good at shooting?" The man pointed his scope at the rooftop and spotted a silencer protruding halfway out of the glass curtain wall.

"Got you!"

Slade laughed, his voice trembling uncontrollably in his throat.

He originally planned to blow the driver's head off and kill everyone in the car before reporting back to Maroni, but he changed his mind after spotting another mercenary.

A reward of twenty million US dollars might be an astonishing sum in the eyes of other mercenaries, but for Slade, it was just a negligible bonus. Using a high commission to highlight one's own value? That's a foolish thing only a greenhorn mercenary would do; right now, Slade only wanted to enjoy killing.

Gotham is becoming increasingly boring. Compared to grass carp swallowing bait in a murky, stagnant pool, an alligator gar that could suddenly attack and hurt someone is more likely to pique an angler's interest.

Fight it, wrestle with it, drag it ashore, pull out its sharp teeth one by one, and then gut it.

Just thinking about it made Slade impatient.

……

"There are no police cars around here anymore, and the helicopter has lost its target. It looks like it will circle a few more times and then leave."

"You can leave now. There's a cleaning uniform under the air conditioner unit behind you. Put it on and leave the Braden Building. There's a Ducati parked on the side of the road; the key is in the soil by the flower bed. Be careful to avoid the front of the vehicle, and remember to get rid of the fake license plate before you reach the tunnel."

Qin Wei's rambling speech stunned Freud.

"You planned all this in advance? How did you know I'd come to this building!"

"I don't know, I just arranged for every building near you to be included."

What a terrifying guy.

Freud licked his lips, a chill running down his spine from Qin Wei's meticulous actions. Having caused such a commotion, the other party might very well kill him to silence him.

"Can I charge you less? Can you still come to me for a task next time?" Freud asked tentatively.

"Heh! Don't worry, you still have a lot of value to be used. I think we'll definitely have a lot of cooperation in the future."

Qin Wei sensed the unease in the other person's tone and patiently offered guidance.

Having learned what the other party meant, Freud felt a little relieved, put on his cleaning clothes, and carried a bucket of water down the stairs.

it is finally over!

Death Shooter sighed.

Unlike his previous jobs hiring murderers, this time he's dealing with Maroney, the so-called King of the Underworld, a man of immense wealth and extensive connections. This ruthless man is perhaps the most dangerous person in all of Gotham. But in order to attend art school and leave this damned place as soon as possible, Floyd takes the job anyway.

The footsteps downstairs pulled Freud from his thoughts, and he stopped and listened intently.

The footsteps were heavy, like thick-soled military boots, accompanied by a tinkling sound.

It was as if the person walking up the stairs was not a person, but a cursed suit of steel armor.

Freud poked half his head out from the stair railing, while tightly gripping the "Mongoose" revolver in his pocket.

The sound grew closer, and his heart pounded faster. His sixth sense told him that the person approaching was an extraordinary figure.

Finally, the guy downstairs showed up.

The truth brought him a huge sigh of relief: it was two men carrying an iron plate table upstairs.

Upon seeing the sanitation worker wearing a mask, the two thoughtfully made way for her to go first.

Floyd walked past, carrying a bucket of water.

It was clearly a misunderstanding, but his heart was pounding like an overheated engine, and his limbs felt weak and sore from the effects of his adrenaline.

This feeling is really strange.

But the next second, he found the answer at the corner of the stairs.

A strange man in leather armor leaned against the wall, looking mysterious and dangerous under the flickering lights. A long sword and a sniper rifle were crossed behind him, and a wakizashi was also tucked into his waistband.

What is most eye-catching is his mask. One half of the mask is orange, while the other half, with its carbon fiber texture, looks like a piece of skin covering a skull, without any openings for the eyes.

The instant he spotted the other person, Freud drew his gun and fired; his body reacted to fear even faster than he thought.

But this usually invincible gun-drawing technique has run into a tough opponent today.

The wakizashi was drawn from its sheath, and sparks flew.

The bullet, split in two, lay on the ground, still warm.

"I used to like using the emergency exit after work, but there's always someone who teaches young people a lesson, isn't there?"