The bodies thumped to the ground, and the bank lobby soon fell silent of gunshots.
Only the terrified screams of those still on the floor remained.
Police cars, sirens wailing, arrived outside the bank entrance and surrounded it. Vehicles were positioned sideways to create cover, and the Gotham police officers, trembling behind the cars, shouted frantically through their loudspeakers.
"Freeze! Drop your weapons and surrender immediately!"
A string of grating noise.
David picked at his ear and looked outside.
Not a single officer wore an expression of urgency to rescue hostages. They hid behind their cars, like new recruits on a battlefield facing a trench that could be mowed down by machine guns at any moment. Some didn't dare to show their heads, while a few, slightly better off, were pale-faced, pointing into the bank, their gun hands shaking uncontrollably as if they had Parkinson's.
"Don't be afraid.
Gotham's elite police officers are here, you're saved."
Picking up the money just withdrawn from the counter, David smiled at the terrified people on the ground. He stirred up a gust of wind that dispersed the smoke, and vanished from the spot.
Bruce Wayne's eyes widened at the disappearing figure.
Having studied ninjutsu under the Ninja Master, he knew that ninjas could achieve invisibility by coordinating light and smoke. But with that last move, he couldn't find any flaw.
Seeing the robbers lying dead on the floor, and the officers preparing to advance, he quickly turned and ran towards the upper floors of the bank. He crashed through the glass, landed in the alley, and escaped.
The surveillance cameras had stopped working long before the robbers entered.
After the small interlude of withdrawing money, David had dealt with the bandits with his fingers and left the bank. He arrived at an empty alley a few hundred meters away. After waiting for his skin to return to normal, he was about to leave to find a hotel when he heard a voice.
"What is your purpose for coming to Gotham?"
A deep, resonant voice suddenly sounded from behind him.
David turned his head. 'Red Hood Five' stood in the shadows, his expression as stern and cold as the perpetual ice and snow on a high mountain. The gun he had been holding was discarded, and he stood ready like a Greek warrior facing a terrifying monster with bare hands. The muscles beneath his suit were taut with explosive power, and he was on high alert.
"You dare to follow me? Aren't you afraid of joining your accomplices?"
"You should know I'm not a bandit."
Bruce Wayne frowned, his mind filled with suspicion.
The young man before him was shrouded in an aura of mystery from head to toe. He didn't know if the man had some high-tech weapon hidden in his hand that could fire lasers, and he seemed to have surpassed him in his use of ninja stealth techniques.
Most crucially, one sentence had revealed his identity, hidden beneath his mask and the other disguise.
"You're not a police officer either, so you have no right to question me."
David smiled.
Bruce Wayne before him already showed a hint of his future demeanor.
Compared to the future Superman, Clark, who was still a teenager and hadn't left school, he was closer to the fully realized Batman, who would play a pivotal role in the fate of the world. Therefore, even though his strength was far inferior to Clark's when he hadn't lost his powers, the emotional points he could provide were still considerable.
"I'm not a police officer?
Besides the police, who else would risk their lives to infiltrate criminals and try to stop a robbery?"
Bruce countered slowly.
He admitted he had been a bit rash this time, and there were many mistakes in his portrayal of Red Hood Five. The main reason was the lack of time to waste on a group of bank robbers.
But he couldn't understand how his true identity had been revealed.
"You're right.
But you forgot one thing – this is Gotham."
David spread his hands.
The young man from Metropolis introduced himself to the Gotham native.
"..."
"In this rotten city, police officers are just part-timers. Gang enforcers and informants are the real jobs for Gotham's police. Just like those people outside the bank, they would never risk their lives for a police salary of a few hundred dollars a day."
Bruce Wayne fell silent for a moment.
"Gotham will not always be like this."
His voice was low, as if reciting an ideal he had decided to dedicate his life to achieving.
"I wish you success."
David smiled and walked away after saying that.
"You don't seem to agree with that."
Bruce Wayne stepped forward, like a leopard tracking its prey.
Many people had different answers regarding whether Gotham still had hope, and that wouldn't shake his conviction in the slightest. But he wanted to know what the young man before him thought.
For some reason, this person seemed to understand him inexplicably well, including recognizing his identity and knowing what he harbored in his heart from just one sentence.
"Gotham, with its long history, has given countless people the life and hope they desired."
"But undoubtedly, he is now ill, gravely ill."
David paused his steps, speaking calmly.
There are various explanations in the comics for why Gotham is so dark and chaotic, such as it being built on the gates of hell, cursed, or controlled by the Court of Owls, with even the city's spirit being twisted and inhuman.
However, one sentence can broadly describe Gotham – Gotham can be easily destroyed, but it is difficult to change.
"If no one steps forward to wield the cold, precise scalpel and cut away the rotten flesh, Gotham will continue to suffer pain and decay until it dies."
"Like you did? Killing without mercy?"
Bruce Wayne, keenly catching his implication, spoke with an unfriendly tone.
Once, many years ago, when Joe Chel was paroled as a witness to capture gang leaders and escaped from prison, he had thought of shooting the man who murdered his parents the moment he walked out of court.
But someone had enlightened him; his parents would never want to see him fall into darkness and become like those criminals.
"You seem to have only recently arrived in Gotham, yet you've already taken the lives of seven or eight people in this city."
"When faced with armed thugs, can't I defend myself?
It's just that I don't use a gun."
David didn't intend to argue further and walked away.
Although he had come to Gotham to find someone, the current Bruce Wayne couldn't help him.
In the eyes of the public, Bruce Wayne was still missing, indicating that the current Batman had only recently returned to Gotham. David estimated that he hadn't even gained full control of his own company and was still confused about Gotham's situation.
"Oh, and next time, don't throw things at me again, you vigilante of Gotham."
He pulled a miniature tracker from his trench coat pocket and flicked it backward with his finger.
A strong gust of wind struck, and Bruce Wayne quickly turned his head to dodge. The coin-sized tracker, mere millimeters wide, sliced through the skin of his face like a sharp razor, embedding itself deeply into the brick wall behind him.
When he turned his gaze back, the alley was empty, and the person was nowhere to be seen. Only a cold wind blew past.
He wasn't surprised, merely frowning.
...
"Young Master Bruce?"
In an underground alleyway, a sleek, black motorcycle sped toward them. Its tires were thick enough to be bulletproof, and its imposing design inspired awe. It slowly came to a halt before a bunker.
The person riding the motorcycle tore off the tattered skin mask from their face, revealing a young, cold, and resolute face. Their eyes were firm, and their entire being was like a steel ingot, forged and tempered through countless trials, unshakeable, yet eager to achieve something.
"It's me, Alfred."
"I saw the news. You've had another perilous day, Master."
Amidst the roaring engine of the halted motorcycle, an old man's voice, tinged with helplessness and worry, emanated from the entrance.
"There's still plenty of time left in the day, Alfred."
At the bunker's entrance, waiting for the door to open, Bruce Wayne dismounted. Like a gentleman, he removed a red rose from his suit's lapel, his eyes lost in thought. He glanced at the rosebud, where a barely perceptible black speck was hidden within its petals.
"Please forgive me, Master.
To be honest, operating a supercomputer wasn't part of my butler training."
The bunker's door slowly opened after half a minute.
"It's alright, Alfred.
I still have plenty of time today."
He unhurriedly entered the base he called the Batcave and connected a micro-camera to the massive computer screen.
The entire bank robbery was played out, and then the footage froze. A young face was captured.
The screen's light flickered across the face of the Wayne heir. Staring at the face, he murmured and pressed the search button.
"Now—let me see who you are."
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