Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

"What's going on? Why isn't the new warden answering the phone?"

　　"I can't get in touch with the mercenary who contacted me before either…"

　　"Has anyone gone to check on Arkham Insane Asylum? Then why the sudden martial law, who gave the new warden the courage?"

　　"Forget it, you go. I'm not going. If I get caught on camera again, I'm done for…"

　　"There are traps everywhere, who would dare go?"

　　"Try contacting with a different number. I don't believe he really dares to oppose us!"

　　Such conversations spread continuously within shelters and safe houses. It can be said that Shiller has now become a hot figure in high society. All the big shots in Gotham are trying to contact him.

　　But he has gone off the grid.

　　Arkham Insane Asylum has become Gotham's most enclosed fortress.

　　The emergency restrictions designed by Batman, which had almost never actually worked, became effective. Targeting each criminal's weakness, they were trapped in their cells.

　　Of course, not entirely—occasionally a few tough ones got out. But isn't this coincidental? The hallways are full of traps.

　　All the criminals' escape plans ended in failure. Today, for the first time, Arkham Insane Asylum finally fulfilled the duty of an insane asylum—keeping the madmen trapped here.

　　Some might wonder, if the criminals were controlled by Bruce, why would they want to escape?

　　That's because Bruce is trapped here too.

　　Shiller didn't make any exceptions for him. The door to the recreation room was also locked directly. By the time Bruce realized, it was too late; he couldn't escape either.

　　After a lot of effort in getting the door open, guess what? Outside was full of high-powered ultraviolet lights, plus the Freeze Gun leftover from when Victor came to discuss trap designs.

　　Bruce thought the recreation room was pretty good.

　　If criminals inside Arkham Insane Asylum can't get out, it means that high society's investment in crime has failed. Their tool to disrupt ordinary people's lives can no longer be drawn. What are the consequences?

　　The most severe, of course, would be panic.

　　Those who had always been trampled underfoot by them dared to set them up, exposing their scandals, letting outsiders come and kick them when they're down. If they don't teach them a lesson, wouldn't everyone dare to do this?

　　But the quickest method they could think of to retaliate against ordinary people was to have Super Villains commit crimes. Now, this fastest method is unusable. Does that mean they can't teach ordinary people a lesson immediately?

　　This isn't just about face; it's about credibility.

　　How does one establish credibility?

　　Certainly, by acting on their words and aligning their actions with their knowledge. If you succeed once, twice, people will believe you can do it every time and naturally trust and respect you.

　　For high society, making the lower classes believe they are unshakeable is the foundation that allows them to rightfully stand over them, it's the lid they can put on the trash can.

　　They have resolved every resistance with thunderous approaches, so people believe they are irresistible.

　　That's why there are people like Rose—having everything, not lacking opportunities, yet in a situation where she could resist, she chooses to be subservient instead.

　　Humans can be domesticated. The key to domestication is the whip that high society holds—Super Villains.

　　Once a region's people get out of line, they whip them, using Super Villains' destruction to demolish their houses, lose their jobs, burden them with debts, leaving them homeless and beyond redemption.

　　Over time, those who don't want to end up that way naturally learn to obey.

　　Later on, even without a whip, they will obey quietly, and even if given a chance to bite, they won't open their mouths, completely tamed.

　　But now, some have bared their fangs while they find their whip missing. This will lead to their painstakingly established credibility being shaken.

　　Those who were once domesticated by them begin to have doubts, even start to think, guessing whether they can't find their whip or wondering if they have lost their power, or even died.

　　Moreover, this city houses too many jackals that have never been domesticated. They crouch low, close their mouths, pretend to be obedient dogs, but once there's a slip, they'll immediately rush up and bite off a chunk of flesh.

　　When Gordon received Fiona's call, he was completely stunned. Incredulously, he said to the other end of the phone: "What did you say? You captured Bo'er?!"

　　"Yes, he was hiding in a house in the suburbs. My friends and I have him under control, when are you coming?"

　　Gordon paused and then said, "Don't get too excited, don't hurt him. We need to take him to court and have him tried."

　　"Don't worry, I… Hey, stop! Hick! What are you doing?! Stop it!!!!"

　　A flurry of loud noises followed by roars and screams came through the phone. Gordon's heart sank. He hurriedly called for a car.

　　When he arrived at Fiona's address, only two bodies remained on the ground.

　　One of them was the body of Gotham's steel tycoon, Bo'er.

　　Ambulances and other police cars followed immediately. But what gave Gordon a splitting headache was that journalists also arrived, rushing into the house with cameras and microphones. Unfortunately, just at that moment, the police were carrying out the stretcher with the battered face of Bo'er clearly visible to all.

　　Watching the stretcher pass him by, Gordon didn't know how to feel. He just thought that things shouldn't have turned out this way. It felt like an invisible force was turning the wheels without the engine even running, absurdly shocking.

　　Soon, the police also brought out the killer—a bloodied young man. Fiona followed behind him.

　　Fiona looked apologetically at Gordon and said, "I know you might not believe me, but I really didn't let them kill anyone!"

"Just him who made a move?" Gordon asked sternly as he looked at him.

"Hick... Hick ran away." Fiona closed her eyes and said, "He has a sister; he couldn't afford to get caught."

"Where did you find them?"

"They're all my friends, friends from the same block. They were all angry when they heard about my father's situation."

"Just like that?"

"I don't know," said Fiona. "Maybe I was impulsive, but... I didn't have time to think too much when I knew Bo'er was here."

"How did you know he was here?"

"An informant gave me the information."

"Who is the informant?"

"Sorry, I really can't say. It would endanger him."

Outside the villa, cars came and went, bustling with activity, while just across the street, the adjacent street was deserted with not a single person in sight.

A young man in a jacket crouched at the corner of an alley, wiping the blood from his forehead. He took out his phone, dialed a number, and then spoke on the phone, "It's done, Doctor. When will the money be transferred?"

"Yes, thank you very much. Actually, even if you didn't pay me, I would still want to do this. If it weren't for Bo'er's nephew, that damn bastard, my sister wouldn't be paralyzed in bed!"

"Okay, I got it. I'll head over as quickly as possible."

The young man hung up the phone and skillfully crossed the alleys, jimmied open a car, and passed by the rushing police cars without stopping.

After driving through the city with many turns, and another ten minutes, he finally entered a house on the outskirts of a chaotic slum.

A silhouette was sitting by the window waiting for him. The young man approached and saw a stunningly beautiful woman.

"Hello, do you have the item?"

The young man pulled out a small object from his pocket, a miniature camera connected to a video storage unit.

He tossed the item to the woman, turned to leave, but then heard her say, "Someone has gone to pick up your sister. She can't stay at home for now. Here's the address of the hospital."

The young man abruptly turned back to look at the woman. The woman waved her hand, "Don't look at me like that. I'm just doing someone a favor. I'm merely a thief; what capacity do I have to arrange hospital admissions?"

Still, the young man took the note, looked back at the woman, and then walked out.

Catwoman watched his departing figure, shook her head, and sighed, "I really don't know how many more people will be dragged into this."

Another woman with a deeper voice replied to her: "The more, the better."

Rose squeezed in through a narrow back door, holding hospital test reports. She took the miniature camera and storage device from Catwoman's hands and then said, "Only by letting more people know that rich people are also human, who can get hurt and die, will there be more people in the world, not just dogs."

"I'm not interested in humans or dogs." Catwoman twirled her hair with her fingertips and said, "I'm just a cat."

Before turning to leave, Rose said to her, "If you don't want to get involved, this is your last chance to leave. After this, anyone could become the next sacrifice."

"I think you misunderstood me." Catwoman elegantly walked to the door, gracefully lit a cigarette, and then said, "When I say I'm just a cat, I mean, whoever messes with me, I'm gonna make them bleed."

Rose scoffed, "You better be clear about who's messing with you."

Catwoman stopped talking. She stood at the door watching Rose get into a car and leave, shook a bunch of keys in her hand, quietly finished her cigarette, and then walked out.

Fiona returned home, exhausted. This place couldn't really be called home anymore. His mother had returned to her parents' home in Central City, and he didn't want to go back, so he stayed. Now, it was merely an empty house.

He changed his shoes at the door, walked inside in slippers, feeling pain all over his body, especially a headache like it was about to explode.

But just as he walked into the living room, he saw a graceful figure standing in front of the cabinet, looking at his father's portrait.

"Who are you?!" Fiona stepped back cautiously.

The woman turned around, her face wild and stunningly beautiful, holding an unlit cigarette between her fingers. She put down the photo she was holding, looked at Fiona, and said, "I'm a friend of your father. I heard you were in trouble, so I came to help you."

"How come I've never heard of you?!" Fiona didn't relax his vigilance. He reached towards his waist but suddenly remembered that his gun had been confiscated by Gordon.

He lowered his head in annoyance, but the next second, he felt a breeze next to him. The woman moved like a ghost, reached behind him, and grabbed his wrist.

"I thought you really had a gun," a playful tone echoed in Fiona's ear. Fiona stumbled forward, and the woman had already moved in front of the sofa.

"I mean you no harm, just wanted to remind you of something."

"What?" Fiona asked instinctively.

"Men like your father have helped a lot of people, maybe even without realizing it. The mere existence of warriors fights for the survival space of others. There are more people thankful to him and want to follow him than you think."

"I know that." Fiona raised his head proudly, "He is a hero; I don't need you to tell me that!"

"My point is, to completely seize the little survival space left for the average people, such warriors must be killed."

The woman's tone turned cold, "Not only must he meet a bad end, but his whole family must also die without a place to be buried. That will deter others."

Just as she finished speaking, there was a bang, and the glass in the living room shattered.

The glass fragments slashed across Fiona's face, and he screamed. The next second, he was lifted and thrown into the air, landing on the corridor of the second floor.