"And just like that, after they thanked me, they all went their separate ways back home."
…
A few moments earlier, at the plaza, the shaken dignitaries had just scrambled to their feet. When they saw the white cloth wrapped around Jay's head, they nearly hit the pavement again in terror.
Jay quickly ripped the car seat cover off his head and tossed it aside. He fished his police badge out of his pocket and flashed it. Only then did the masks of panic on the VIPs' faces transition into thin, condescending smiles of practiced hypocrisy.
"Officer, our deepest thanks to you."
"Don't thank me. You should thank…"
Jay turned around. Sure enough, Batman had already vanished into the night. "Fine, just thank me then."
Despite standing in the pouring rain, the officials straightened their expensive clothes and stood tall with haughty entitlement. One man tilted his head back, looking down his nose at Jay.
"Officer, I require you to find a vehicle and escort us to the Gotham City Police Department… the East Precinct will serve as a temporary refuge."
The water is practically drowning the guy and he's still looking down his nose at me.
Jay let out a cold snort. Before he could retort, a minibus screeched to a halt beside them. The mercenary who had left earlier jumped out of the driver's seat, shielding his head from the rain. "Quick! Get them—"
His words cut off abruptly. He and Jay stared at each other for a few frozen seconds. The mercenary reached for his weapon, but the moment his fingers brushed the frame of his AK, Jay's 1911 pressed against his forehead and spat fire.
Amidst the shrieks of the dignitaries, a mist of pink and grey erupted from a palm-sized cavity at the back of the mercenary's head. It sprayed across the ground, only to be instantly scrubbed clean by the torrential downpour.
Jay watched the corpse fold like a snapped branch. He holstered his pistol, wiped the water from his face, and turned back to the group. "Now, what were you saying you wanted me to do?"
…
"And you just came back like that?"
"What else was I supposed to do?"
Jay sat in his office, idly flipping a Batarang in his hand, his chair rocking back and forth. This was a non-high-tech version; aside from one razor-sharp edge and decent balance, it didn't seem to do much. He glanced around and flicked his wrist.
"Dar, catch!"
Everyone in the office, Wilson included, ducked and covered their heads. The Batarang tumbled clumsily through the air, clattered against the wall with a series of metallic pings, and finally thudded into the back of the chair next to Otis.
Bastian scurried out of a pocket and squeaked indignantly at the noise. But as soon as Jay pulled a small bag of peanuts from his drawer, the rat's expression shifted into a hilariously human-like fawning grin.
It darted onto the table, clutching a nut in its front paws and stuffing its face.
"Things didn't go as well for Gordon last night, though," Nygma noted, watching Wilson wrestle the Batarang away from Otis. He placed an internal bulletin on the desk.
"One of his officers was killed and another wounded. It took the Batman showing up to drive off eight mercenaries and disarm a bomb."
Nygma adjusted his glasses. "Furthermore, after Black Mask overran Blackgate last night, he recruited nearly three hundred violent felons. They've since evacuated the island and seized a territory in the West End."
"A territory? How big is 'a territory'?" Jay asked, frowning. "Is the city going up in flames on both sides now?"
"Not quite. He's in firm control of everything south of Dixon Dock and is gradually pushing north toward the Falcone Estate. The Roman is currently on a massive recruitment drive of his own."
"I thought he'd try to hold Blackgate. But I guess a fortress is just a tomb if you get surrounded," Jay sighed. "What a mess. I thought we could keep this war strictly between the gangs."
"The East Precinct is simply outmatched," Nygma added. "By the way, the arsonist from last night was brought into Central. A veteran named Joseph Rigger."
"Tsk, tsk… do all veterans have such 'hands-on' hobbies these days?"
Jay slumped onto his desk, exhausted. "Ed, Otis mentioned you invented some kind of cane?"
"Yeah! I saw it! Zap! Sent that bat-thing… that bat-monster flying!" Otis chimed in eagerly, losing his grip on the Batarang to Wilson in the process.
"It's just a trifle. Hardly worth mentioning."
Despite his words, the pride on Nygma's face made it clear it was anything but a trifle.
"Ever since you were injured at Arkham, I felt that as a member of this team, I should possess some combat—or at least self-defense—capability. I'm not particularly skilled with firearms, so I constructed the cane based on Taser principles. And…"
He looked up, spreading a hand toward the group. "I'm currently studying the devices left behind by the Mad Hatter. Perhaps in the future, I can project illusions or hypnotic frequencies through the cane."
"Oh…"
The others in the room looked at each other with blank, confused expressions before breaking into enthusiastic applause.
"Nice!"
Clap-clap-clap-clap…
"I have no idea how it works, but it sounds terrifyingly effective," Jay said while clapping. "But you don't need to go out and fight on the front lines, Ed. No one puts the 'Brain' out in the open."
"Like Krang?" Nygma asked.
"Uh… Ed, you actually watch cartoons? Fine…" Jay stood up. "Anna, you and Otis help Nygma. The dismemberment case is your responsibility for now."
"Fantastic, Captain!" Anna jumped for joy. "I won't let you down, sir!"
"Pity. You clearly haven't been beaten down by society yet," Wilson sighed, shaking his head. "So, where are you going, Jay?"
"Me?" Jay thought for a moment. "I'm going begging."
…
"You want what? A larger caliber gun?!"
Cobblepot bolted upright in his hospital bed. "The 7.62 isn't enough for you anymore?"
"Your recovery speed is getting ridiculous; you're not even pretending to be hurt now," Jay scoffed. "If Falcone saw you…"
"This is merely an expression of my total 'honesty' in your presence," Oswald smiled, leaning back and pulling the covers over himself. "A more powerful rifle… that's difficult. And expensive."
He sighed softly.
"I know what you're thinking, Jay. You want me to get you a Barrett or something. But you must understand: a Barrett, or a high-end McMillan, isn't a weapon—it's an instrument. The government tracks every single serial number with relentless scrutiny."
"The GCPD might be able to jump through hoops to requisition one, but on the black market? They are worth their weight in gold. I can't… at least not right now. It would literally be easier for me to get you a 155mm howitzer."
"Is that so…" Jay tented his fingers under his chin. "How long would the howitzer take?"
"You don't actually want that!" Oswald threw off the covers, staring at Jay in shock. "F***, Jay! This is our city! You can't just go around blowing it up!"
He took a few deep breaths to calm down. "Fine… speaking of 'cannons'… I do have a certain sniper… cannon from across the ocean. From that once-great nation during their period of… let's call it 'logistical fluidity.'"
"14.5mm anti-aircraft caliber. Armor-piercing incendiary rounds. The accuracy drops off significantly past 1,000 meters, but at 500 meters? It will punch through 32mm of homogeneous steel plate like it's wet paper."
"Perfect. I'll take it." Jay stood up to leave, but Oswald grabbed his arm. "Aren't you going to ask about the price? That rifle is at least fifty thousand dollars. I'd like to know how you intend to pay."
"How I intend to pay…?" Jay repeated, looking confused. "Pay? What is this 'pay' you speak of? Put it on my tab, obviously."
"What! Another tab?! I…" Oswald finally remembered he was supposed to be a patient and lowered himself back down slowly. "How much have I let you put on your tab? You haven't paid for a single thing yet!"
"Don't worry, Oz." Jay patted his shoulder. "I recall we agreed on a six-million-dollar credit line. I've even stopped asking you to swear on things lately. Think about it: if you back out now, wouldn't all your previous 'investments' go to waste?"
"Fine…!"
Oswald struggled to suppress his snarling expression, replacing it with a warm, forced smile. "We're going to be successful, aren't we, Jay? We're definitely going to win…"
——————
Thanks for Reading
Dear readers,
Thank you for joining me on this literary journey. If you enjoy my novel and wantto keep reading, I invite you to support my work through P@treon. Your contributions will allow me to continue creating and sharing more exciting chapters.
I hope to count on your support and continue bringing you unforgettable stories!
https://[email protected]/c/Naughtypanda253