https://novelcool.info/chapter/Chapter-279-Mantlescramble-Battle-Fourteen-/13547595/
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Chapter 280: Mantlescramble Battle (Fifteen)
Chapter 280: Mantlescramble Battle (Fifteen)
Around 8 PM, the street outside Gotham Police Station swarmed with protesters and reporters.
Crowds waved signs and chanted slogans. Most targeted Commissioner Gordon: "Gordon Step Down", "Gordon Must Resign", alongside others like "Negligence in Duty", "Banish Batman", and "Hang Them."
When Gordon emerged onto the street, reporters surged forward, thrusting microphones, recorders, cameras, and artificial lights toward him. A barrage of piercing questions erupted.
"Is it true that fifteen officers resigned today?"
"How long until street safety returns to normal?"
"Who bears responsibility for today's bank heist losses?"
"How will you explain to the fallen officers' families how the 'John Doe' suspect slipped through Police hands?"
"Commissioner, have criminal syndicates infiltrated the Police Department?"
"Is the Police Department under gang threats?"
"Shouldn't you consider resigning over this, Commissioner Gordon?"
In this world, many delude themselves into believing they're brilliant, that their lives and careers hold profound meaning.
In reality, it's all garbage.
Most American journalists suffer from this self-aggrandizing delusion. They fancy themselves as shaping public opinion, altering destinies. They see themselves as superior to the general populace, more insightful. They spew irresponsible commentary daily, twisting facts using professional privileges and insider knowledge to elevate their social status, attention, and personal gain.
They'd destroy others' reputations and livelihoods without hesitation.
To outsiders, they're arrogant demons, nauseatingly self-righteous. Yet they strut about, smugly oblivious, radiating fake "social mission" vibes.
The truth? They're no better than anyone else—it's an illusion. If these people ever shifted from behind the lens to in front of it, from reporters to subjects, they'd instantly realize what pathetic creatures they truly are.
Once stripped of their petty power to stir chaos, their hypocrisy reveals them as mere agitators—a breed existing since the dark ages, depicted in scripture as harbingers of the world's apocalypse.
Most Gotham City journalists fit this mold.
As for Gotham's citizens, allow me to quote Maupassant's The Horla:
"The masses are like a herd of feeble cattle—sometimes obedient to the point of ignorance, sometimes rebelliously volatile. Ordered to 'celebrate!' they comply; told 'war with your neighbors!' they obey. Crown the emperor, they kneel; proclaim the republic, they cheer.
Those controlling them are equally foolish, merely obeying principles instead of masters. These principles, by their very nature, are absurd and false, for they seek to establish eternal, unchanging truths in a world where nothing remains constant—our realities are mere illusions."
Our Commissioner Gordon is the herder of these cattle.
The Net of Gods' heroes are too.
They strive to protect this city, safeguarding its populace's peace. Yet they face endless suspicion, attacks from agitators, and constant compromises while risking their lives against criminals.
That's why Feng Bu Jue mocks them, even pities them... Compared to the antagonist's "tragedy", the hero's "tragedy" is often self-inflicted.
"One final question... Is Batman truly dead?" A distinctive, charismatic voice cut through the noise.
Gordon turned. At the crowd's edge, a short man in a green suit leaned casually against a wall, watching him.
"Riddler..." Gordon muttered.
Unfortunately, as Feng Bu Jue once noted, in this "land of law", even knowing a supercriminal stands before you, you can't just arrest them.
"Make way! Let the vehicle through—important prisoner transfer!" Gordon glared at Riddler for a moment before pushing through the reporters.
A prisoner transport van rolled in. Heavily armed officers leapt out, forming two lines.
From the station steps, two prisoners emerged.
Shiva and Seven Kill, each flanked by two officers, wrists and ankles shackled.
Twenty minutes earlier, they'd entered the interrogation room. Hardly seated, Nightwing abruptly left to take a call. Whatever Sage told him, the interrogation ended immediately, leading to this spectacle...
Now both players realized—the situation was dire. Their thoughts aligned: resisting now, with heroes monitoring nearby, would likely get them killed. Better to wait, watch for escape opportunities.
"Sage, the two prisoners from the station are departing", Nightwing, perched on the station rooftop, reported to the Batcave. "I fear they might flee en route—I'll tail them. How's Tim?"
"Not good... Lost contact fifteen minutes ago, right when he mentioned the explosion deadline", Sage replied. "Damian's closest—he's en route in the Batmobile. If Tim's in trouble, the car has emergency life support."
A flicker of worry crossed Nightwing's masked face. "I have a bad feeling, Barbara. Send backup."
"Understood, I'll coordinate", Sage said.
"Keep me updated the moment you hear from Tim", Nightwing added.
"Stay safe too... Dick", Sage murmured.
——
Meanwhile, inside a Gotham warehouse:
"Ugh... Where am I?" Tim Drake awoke from a brief blackout. Adjusting to the light, he found himself facing a figure in a Purple Long Suit.
"Relax, Tim. We moved you here—somewhere safe—while you were unconscious", Feng Bu Jue replied without turning, adjusting a camera.
(End of Chapter)
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