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"Wait. How long has it been?" Gordon looked back. The Gotham City Police Department building was still in sight.
"You already handled all of them?"
He was completely confused.
Did it really only take a few people to deal with something that could endanger the entire city?
"Of course," Morin said. "You know what I can do. Hurry over here. I'm hanging up-I need to make another call."
A true master of time management had to live up to the title.
Even if the subject of that time management was a little questionable.
Speaking of which, in this world, only one person really qualified.
Catwoman.
The image of her lying on the Batmobile surfaced in Morin's mind, and his eyes lit up.
The third Batman movie timeline was still far off, but Catwoman had already debuted. She was just active in other cities.
If Morin wanted to find her, he could.
There were plenty of ways.
Of course, he had no intention of doing that right now.
Upgrading his profession took priority.
Morin called Bruce.
Bruce answered. His tone was noticeably cold. "What is it?"
"Let me guess," Morin said. "The talk with Ms. Rachel didn't go well?"
He heard it immediately.
And he was delighted.
"If there's nothing important, I'm hanging up," Bruce said darkly.
He had just come from the courthouse where Rachel worked.
With Bruce's wealth, driving a Lamborghini was as understated as it got.
He couldn't help it. He liked being understated.
So that was the car he used to see Rachel.
Unfortunately, Bruce's definition of understated-as someone with money power-was very different from everyone else's.
He'd been surrounded the moment he arrived.
Young. Rich. Handsome. Fit.
A perfect target.
The entire courthouse noticed.
Rachel didn't like it.
I'm a good woman. I love my work.
Even if you're rich, good-looking, and nice to me, I care about my career. I want to be a messenger of justice.
Now you show up like this. How am I supposed to work?
Bruce's playboy image made her angry.
Under everyone's watchful eyes, Rachel went outside with him, exchanged a few words, then returned with a cold expression.
As for what was said-
Bruce: "You need to watch your safety. I'll arrange bodyguards. And you should stop pursuing Falcone's men. It's too dangerous."
Rachel: "Why should I?"
Bruce explained that he'd learned about the danger through certain channels.
Rachel explained her resolve. The law needed guardians. If she didn't act, no one would.
The conversation collapsed.
Rachel threw a few cold, sarcastic remarks at him and left.
Bruce was hurt.
At this point, he wasn't yet the Batman of the future.
That Batman would only emerge after countless trials, personal losses, sacrifices, and decisions like refusing to kill the Joker.
"Of course there's something," Morin laughed. "Do you think I'd call just to listen to your doomed romance?"
"You knew I'd fail?" Bruce frowned.
"Didn't I tell you I had a suggestion earlier?" Morin replied. "You rejected it. Said you could handle it."
In truth, Morin had only guessed.
This scene never happened in the original story.
But based on personality and behavior, the outcome was obvious.
Bruce would focus on safety. He wouldn't say much.
Rachel was an idealist. She couldn't evaluate the situation.
Conflict was inevitable.
Reality had confirmed it.
"How did you know?" Bruce pressed.
"I've been with more women than you've had meals," Morin said calmly.
"And I didn't rely only on money."
"I've got experience."
"If you want details, later. Right now, we've got serious business. Where are you?"
Bruce gave him the address.
"Oh. That place," Morin said. "How long from there to Arkham Asylum on Narrows Island?"
"...You don't even know where I am?" Bruce paused. "About half an hour."
"How's that possible?" Morin laughed it off. "Isn't it just that street?"
"Anyway, I didn't call for directions. This is about something that could endanger all of Gotham. If we resolve it, our momentum increases significantly."
"What is it?" Bruce pushed his emotions aside immediately.
Gotham came first.
"I'll explain when you get here," Morin said. "Drive something understated. Otherwise your car might not survive, and that would affect the mission."
"...Is a Lamborghini LP640 considered understated?" Bruce asked.
"Do you misunderstand that word?" Morin went silent.
He'd once been someone with money power too.
Just not in this world.
So he could only accept it.
The effect was zero.
"Alright. I have a solution," Bruce said.
He got out, walked to the car beside him, and knocked.
"Sir?" the owner asked nervously.
"How much is your car worth?" Bruce asked. "Is half a million enough?"
"That's more than enough!" the man exclaimed.
It was a used car worth a few thousand at best.
"Good. I'll buy it," Bruce said. "Go to Wayne Enterprises' finance department to collect the money."
"But... I don't have proof!" the man froze.
"Do you have a phone?"
"Yes!"
"Take it out."
Bruce took the phone, snapped a photo of them together, handed it back, and patted the man's shoulder.
"Use that."
"Thank you, Master Wayne!" The man's eyes sparkled.
"You're welcome."
Bruce parked the Lamborghini, got into the car that had just increased in value nearly twentyfold, and drove toward Narrows Island.
"That was smooth," Morin said.
The call had never disconnected.
Morin heard the entire transaction.
What the hell.
Someone was showing off right in front of him.
Unacceptable.
Morin suddenly felt his earlier insults toward Bruce hadn't been harsh enough.
Someone like that needed suppression.
"That was just a normal transaction," Bruce said casually.
"Nothing special."
Morin could imagine the expression.
"So," Bruce continued, "tell me about the situation."
"The director of Arkham Asylum. Dr. Crane," Morin said. "You know him?"
"Yes. He covers for Falcone's people. Psychiatric evaluations to keep them out of prison."
"Correct. He's also a psychopath," Morin said.
"He's been running human experiments and created a fear toxin."
"The patients in Arkham are probably all insane by now."
"...They'd have been better off in prison," Bruce said, chuckling, then paused.
"But how does this endanger Gotham?"
"The toxin," Morin said, glancing at the iron barrels stacked on the floor.
"Crane has likely dumped the liquid form into Gotham's water supply."
"What?" Bruce's hand shook.
"Relax," Morin said. "Dosage matters."
"This toxin only works when inhaled. You get what I'm saying?"
"...Drinking it is fine?"
"At this concentration, yes. The immune system handles it."
Bruce exhaled.
"But-"
"Say everything at once!" Bruce snapped.
"But here's the issue," Morin continued.
"At this concentration, if it vaporizes, inhalation causes fear."
"So as long as it doesn't vaporize, we're safe?" Bruce scratched his head.
"How would that even happen in large amounts?"
"That," Morin said calmly, "is the real problem."
"Because it absolutely can."