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Chapter 140 - The Price of Beauty [140]

Gotham Museum

The silence in the museum wasn't natural. It was the kind of silence that lingers only after something alive has been torn away. The cold, white walls hummed with the absence of voices, footsteps, or gasps of awe.

Amid it, a cut.

Glass shattering.

A crimson gleam sliced through the Egyptian gallery like a bolt carving through history.

"Five minutes!"

The Red Hood raised his hand. His leather glove pointed with precision toward the Byzantine artifacts section.

"Bruno, with me. Jax, cover the entrance. The rest, on the frames."

The men scattered. Trained movements. Black masks. Canvas backpacks.

The alarms were mute. The circuits disabled before they even breached the entrance. Codes cracked in advance. Passwords? Compromised weeks ago.

"This place is a gift for those who do their homework."

Bruno let out a low whistle at the Lion of Basra statue.

"This is worth a Metropolis penthouse."

"Then watch you don't drool on the carpet with your thief's spit."

Jax tuned the radio.

"No police movement. Total silence."

"Good."

The Red Hood strode among the sculptures like a jaded museum guide. But in his eyes burned something guides didn't carry: purpose.

"Beauty always has a price. And tonight… Gotham's the one paying."

The emergency lights flickered, casting shadows that danced across the walls.

A Monet painting vanished into a hidden compartment beneath a henchman's clothes.

A marble bust was secured with precision into a padded case.

Every piece. Every movement. Calculated.

---

Batcave

A shrill hum sliced through the cave's silence like a blade.

Alfred lifted his eyes from the auxiliary terminal.

The sound didn't come from the manor's security system. It was something else.

The police frequency scanner.

He rose calmly. His shoes made little noise on the polished metal walkway.

A button. A screen lit up.

"Unit 14, we have unidentified activity in the northern sector of the central museum. Internal alarms disabled. No ransom demands triggered."

The Gotham police operator's voice sounded muffled, nervous.

"Unit 14, repeating—activity confirmed. Unknown target. Undetermined numbers. Requesting tactical reconnaissance."

Alfred inhaled slowly.

"Sir."

His voice echoed through the cave.

The figure at the monitors didn't respond immediately. His eyes were locked on multiple screens. Magnified images. Data streams. City traffic flows.

Bruce Wayne stood, fully clad as Batman. The cape draped his shoulders as if it were part of his skin. His eyes gleamed behind the darkened visor.

"Target?"

"Gotham Museum."

Bruce turned his head slowly.

"Robbery?"

"Silent. Smart breach. No external alarms triggered. The signals were intercepted on the local police frequency. Nothing's hit the press."

The monitors' blue glow tinged Bruce's face.

"Someone wants time. And they're getting it."

"Yes, sir."

Bruce turned to the panel. A hand gesture. The museum's security files opened. Brief video clips. Darkness. Static. Then—a red shadow.

The image froze.

The Red Hood.

Bruce didn't speak. He absorbed.

"Sir… this museum's security system was upgraded by us three months ago."

"I know."

"Whoever breached it knew every line of code."

"Or bought someone who did."

Bruce turned. The cape rippled lightly.

"Activate thermal tracking. Cross-reference with electrical interference signals. Search for any activity near the museum's perimeter."

"The public traffic cameras are compromised."

"Obviously."

"But we have a Fire Department drone patrolling near the park. It might've caught something."

"Show me."

The image appeared in black and white. But there were distortions. A sequence of shapes moving too fast. Lights going out.

"They're using mobile jammers."

Bruce moved. Fast.

The Batmobile was docked at the cave's side wall. The platform rotated with a metallic whisper.

"You're going personally, sir?"

"Of course."

"You don't wish to wait for the police data cross-reference?"

"By then, they'll be across the Narrows border."

Bruce entered the vehicle. The interior sealed around him like a living capsule.

The engine didn't roar. It whispered. A sleeping beast ready to run.

Alfred watched for a moment. Then he touched the earpiece on the desk's edge.

"Sir… stay calm."

His tone was controlled, but a paternal weight hid beneath.

"I know you're prepared. You've trained beyond what any ordinary man could endure. But this is your first time as Batman. And the Red Hood's crew isn't made of amateurs."

Inside the Batmobile, the dashboard lit up with life.

"Understood, Alfred."

"This isn't a war you need to win in one fight. Just… remember to breathe."

Alfred stared at the screen as if watching a son cross a minefield.

The Batmobile shot forward.

---

Museum – Interior

"Last piece."

The Red Hood lifted the small jade sculpture between his fingers with exaggerated care, as if holding a symbol, not an object.

"This little guy? Worth less than what I'm after, but it'll do as bait."

Around him, the men were already moving. The loot meticulously organized. Reinforced bags aligned with near-military precision.

"Bruno, status?"

"Back exit clear. Scans show no heat signatures."

"Jax?"

"Basement unlocked. All routes open."

The Red Hood took a deep breath.

But what coursed through him wasn't relief.

It was anticipation.

"No interference?"

"Not yet."

A second of silence.

The kind that weighs heavier than noise.

"Not yet…"

He turned his head slowly, as if expecting the shadows themselves to take shape behind him.

"Speed up the evac."

His voice remained calm, but his eyes… they kept scanning the dark.

"Leave it clean. If he comes… I want him to find me alone."

Bruno exchanged a quick glance with Jax.

"Him?"

"No idea who. But the boss is expecting something."

The Red Hood smiled beneath his mask. Not a smile of satisfaction. A restrained taunt, like holding his breath for the spark of a fuse.

"Someone's coming."

He stepped forward, positioning himself at the center of the silent gallery.

"I just want to see… if this city still knows how to react."

He glanced at the jade sculpture one last time, as if it were a timer, and pocketed it calmly.

---

Street Behind the Museum

Moments Earlier

The asphalt glistened with the damp of early morning. Thin vapor rose from manhole covers, mingling with the metallic chill of the air.

The sound came from beneath the ground.

A low hum, vibrating like the growl of a living beast.

The drainage grate lifted half a centimeter before sinking back, pushed from within.

Headlights flooded the narrow street, but they weren't ordinary lights. Too dark. Contained. Directed.

The Batmobile emerged from the shadow between two buildings.

Its armor reflected the city as if it were diseased. The car's lines didn't seem built for speed—they seemed built to crush. Every curve was a decision. Every steel fold, a threat.

The engine stopped. Silence.

A hydraulic whisper.

The canopy opened with a click.

From within, vapor rose, carrying the scent of synthetic oil, leather, and ozone.

Bruce stood.

No hesitation in his movements. The cape unfurled down his back, heavy as a vow. The sealed suit absorbed the alley's light, making him part of the night.

He leaped from the canopy.

His boots' impact echoed on the wet ground with a dull thud.

The visor projected the situation. Three heat signatures ahead. Two in motion, one stationary. Rapid movement. Elevated pulses. Accelerating respiratory rates.

'They're already leaving.'

Bruce advanced without running.

The cape dragged lightly behind, a veil of shadow over the cracked concrete. The mask auto-adjusted his hearing—canceling city noise and isolating the sounds that mattered.

Breathing. Footsteps. Voices.

"Feels off…"

A sound of impact. Flesh. Bone. Fabric.

A scream.

"NO!"

Bruce rounded the alley's corner like a blade slicing through worn cloth.

Two bodies lay on the ground. Escape gear scattered. A van's door open. And the last of them—the Red Hood—stood, staff in hand, legs apart, eyes gleaming behind the scarlet visor.

"You're late, Bat."

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