It was late at night, and Gotham's night was as thick as ink, the entire city shrouded in darkness, with flickering neon lights like ghost fires in the dark.
A skyscraper near the city center was still brightly lit, and in the top-floor office, warm yellow light softly illuminated the carpet, with luxurious decorations showcasing the Master's extraordinary status.
It was as if it were a different World from the Gotham outside, which was fraught with danger.
On the sofa, a middle-aged man leaned back languidly, a cigar clamped between his fingers, its glow flickering in the darkness, his face appearing and disappearing amidst the swirling smoke.
Across from him, an even younger man stood respectfully, his posture upright, his eyes showing a hint of awe.
The middle-aged man on the sofa took a deep drag from his cigar, slowly exhaled a smoke ring, and looked through the smoke at the standing man, his voice low and oppressive: "How are things in the city recently?"
The man leaned forward slightly and replied respectfully: "Sir, the Maroni Family has been very active recently, constantly eyeing our territory. Also, the Wayne Family's eldest daughter was invited to the Police station."
The middle-aged man on the sofa paused at these words, then slowly took another puff of his cigar, his eyebrows slightly raised, looking at the man opposite him with a somewhat fierce expression: "Has my dear Director Killian become muddled? Doesn't he know not to easily provoke Thomas Wayne if there's no reason?"
"This..." The standing man paused, then said cautiously, "Actually, the Wayne Family's eldest daughter went to the Police station voluntarily. It is said that she had contact with the deceased."
"I see." The middle-aged man on the sofa nodded, continuing to puff on his cigar.
The room fell into a brief silence, with only the faint sound of the cigar burning.
Once the cigar burned out, the middle-aged man forcefully stubbed it into the ashtray and stood up, his tall figure appearing especially imposing in the light.
"Since Thomas's little princess is willing to go, let her be." He clasped his hands behind his back and slowly paced, "Send someone to warn Maroni, tell them to behave and not act rashly."
The man immediately lowered his head and said in a serious tone: "Yes, Mr. Falcone."
Falcone was ready to go home. He stepped forward and pushed open the office door, frowning involuntarily.
The young man saw Falcone suddenly stop and asked curiously: "Is something wrong, Sir?"
Falcone merely shook his head and continued to walk forward.
Footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, and soon, they arrived at the elevator. Falcone reached out and pressed the button, and the metal door slid open with a dull sound.
Stepping into the elevator, Falcone crossed his arms, his brows tightly furrowed. The young man beside him also felt as if something was off.
However, there was nothing wrong with the elevator; with a "ding-dong," it reached the first floor.
As the metal doors slowly slid open, Falcone immediately sensed that something was wrong.
The usually bustling lobby was now eerily quiet.
His guards stationed on the first floor usually loved to chat with the receptionists at the front desk, but now not a single one was to be seen.
Nor was there any sign of the receptionists at the front desk.
One must know that even for bathroom breaks, there always had to be at least two receptionists on duty at his front desk.
Falcone's brows furrowed into a knot. Years of experience navigating Gotham's underworld made him smell danger.
But he still said nothing, walking silently towards the entrance.
As soon as Falcone stepped out the door, a shocking scene appeared before his eyes, instantly freezing him.
Under the dim streetlights, Falcone saw the missing receptionists and the guards from each floor lying haphazardly on the ground.
However, Falcone observed carefully and could confirm that they were not dead, but merely had their eyes closed, their faces pale, suggesting they had been knocked unconscious.
Seeing the horrifying scene outside, the young man subconsciously turned to run back into the building.
"Ah!!"
Just as Falcone was about to carefully examine his subordinates, he heard the scream of his young male subordinate behind him.
He instinctively turned his head to look, and an even more astonishing scene appeared before him.
He saw that, at some unknown point, thick vines, like green anacondas, had surged wildly from the ground and corners of the walls, quickly blocking the entrance of the corporation building completely.
Sharp thorns on the vines gleamed with a cold light, exuding an eerie aura under the streetlights.
Watching the vines surge wildly, completely surrounding the entrance of the Falcone corporation building, the young man's legs trembled slightly, his face filled with panic, and his voice involuntarily quivered: "Mr. Falcone, what should we do now?"
He was indeed a gangster, but a gangster had never seen a scene like this.
Falcone's expression was calm; he hadn't even drawn the pistol at his waist.
He patted the young man's shoulder, reassuring him: "Why panic!"
Then, Falcone shouted into the empty space: "To the friend who has yet to show himself, I, Carmine Falcone, accept this show of force. If there's anything you need help with, just say the word!"
As soon as he finished speaking, a crisp, feminine giggle came from afar.
The young man felt his scalp tingle, and his hairs stood on end.
Falcone secretly mused: Just as I thought.
However, the owner of the voice did not appear; only a voice from the shadows was heard: "I heard that members of the Falcone Family gang tried to lay hands on the Wayne Family's eldest daughter a few days ago. Is that true? How about we cooperate?"
Falcone was startled by these words and turned to look at the young man beside him.
The young man looked embarrassed and stammered: "The deceased I mentioned earlier was indeed someone from our gang."
"Damn it!" Falcone uncharacteristically blurted out an Italian expletive.
The young man was full of surprise and before he could recover, he heard Falcone order: "Go contact people in the gang and find out what exactly happened with that dead kid, and why he provoked the Wayne Family!"
"Understood, understood!"
Ignoring the young man who was now kneeling on the ground, Falcone turned around, and although he couldn't see where this "friend" who had taken down all his guards was hiding, he responded loudly: "I apologize, friend. Falcone has no intention of being an enemy of the Wayne Family. Although my business is not above board, I have always believed that Thomas Wayne is one of the few good people in Gotham. I don't know why you are interested in the Wayne Family, but I have indeed never thought of actively harming them."
This statement merely expressed his stance. If the other party just wanted a free ride, he might give up. But if the other party was truly determined to deal with Wayne... the power to take down all his guards, this ability to control plants, could Thomas handle it?
One more or one less of him wouldn't make a difference, unless their family knew some powerful alien or a great magic user or something like that.