"Gotham, as you've said, deserves a brighter future…" Lincoln March, tall and composed, downed his glass of wine in one smooth motion. His charismatic demeanor perfectly suited his new title as Gotham's most eligible bachelor.
He turned to Bruce Wayne, who seemed lost in thought, raised an eyebrow, and lightly cleared his throat. "Bruce? Are you even listening?"
"What? Sorry, I got distracted," Bruce Wayne apologized, snapping his gaze back from the restroom's direction. He offered Lincoln a polite smile.
At that moment, Bruce's corneal contact lenses projected a grid-like, semi-transparent map of the entire hall in front of his eyes.
With a subtle clench of his jaw, Bruce controlled every electronic device in the hall—guests' smartphones, security guards' radios, surveillance cameras tucked in the ceiling corners, and even the restroom's fire sprinklers.
Lincoln shook his head, setting his glass on the table. "Tonight's speech added several new names to our list of investors. It's a solid start. And with the mayoral election day approaching…"
Bruce nodded absently, his peripheral vision scanning the room.
In the restroom, the sound of the fire sprinklers drew attention. The unconscious, pig-like Richard was being dragged across the floor by two attendants, leaving a faint trail of water. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd.
In the underground parking lot, the fluorescent lights cast an eerie, sterile glow, and the pale cement pillars loomed silently over peeling, weathered walls.
"What a car..."
The valet was still inside the Porsche, his fingers lightly stroking the leather interior with reverence. He inhaled deeply, savoring the faint scent of perfume lingering in the air.
A shiver ran down his spine. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the cool seat, imagining the glamorous women who had sat there in alluring poses.
"With enough money, even the most beautiful women have to smile and kiss that pig's sausage lips..."
The valet muttered under his breath, his hands mimicking a grasp in the air, kneading the nonexistent softness.
"Ah, right. A photo." He pulled out his phone, adjusted his disheveled hair, and used the front camera to take a picture that included his relaxed face and the luxury car's iconic logo on the steering wheel. He carefully cropped out his red valet uniform.
Licking his chapped lips, he mumbled, "Another photo to reel in the girls at the club. They can't resist a guy with a car like this..."
Knock, knock. A tap on the window startled him. Outside stood another attendant in a similar uniform.
"What do you want?" the valet snapped as he rolled down the window.
"Robbery," Li Ang replied casually, flipping a steak knife from his sleeve and pressing it against the valet's neck. "Slowly now. Get out of the car, and leave the keys on the seat."
"Let's not be hasty, pal." The valet stared at the blade, his neck breaking out in goosebumps from the cold steel.
Swallowing hard, he tried to reason, "Look, I'm just the help. This car belongs to…"
"Richard Sappa, head of Gotham's Italian Mafia," Li Ang interrupted, twirling the knife deftly. "Of course I know. I wouldn't bother stealing it otherwise."
He's insane.
Sweat beaded on the valet's forehead. He knew losing the keys to this car would cost him dearly—if not broken bones, then worse.
"Buddy, listen. Mr. Sappa has allies everywhere—in both the underworld and City Hall. Steal his car, and they'll track you down in three days, tops."
"Perfect," Li Ang whistled, adjusting the knife against the valet's throat. "I enjoy being hunted. The thrill of the chase, you know?"
You're out of your mind!
The valet's face twisted in despair. He pleaded, "If you take the car, the Mafia will never let me off the hook."
"If you don't give me the keys, I won't let you off now." Li Ang's grin was cold and unwavering. "You're alive only because I don't feel like cleaning blood stains out of the car."
Defeated, the valet closed his eyes, tossed the keys onto the passenger seat, and tumbled out of the car.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
Li Ang slid into the driver's seat, tapped the valet's cheek with the knife's flat edge, and roared out of the parking lot, the Porsche's engine echoing loudly as it sped away.
The tires screeched as the car raced through red lights. A traffic officer sipping coffee at the intersection reached for his motorcycle, only to be stopped by a senior colleague.
"Check the plates. That's Richard Sappa's car. Nothing you can do." The older officer took another sip, letting the cold night air mix with his warm breath. "You need to learn how Gotham works, rookie."
The Porsche screeched to a halt outside a nearby bank. Li Ang stepped out, composed, and walked inside. "I'm here to cash this check. Three million dollars in cash."
The teller glanced at the check and summoned the manager. In minutes, stacks of cash were retrieved from the vault and handed over in suitcases.
Li Ang circled the block twice to ensure he wasn't being followed before parking the car in front of a convenience store. Inside, he purchased cotton cloth and cheap vodka.
Tearing the cloth into strips, he soaked them in vodka and stuffed them into the car's fuel tank. Lighting the end with a match, he walked away calmly as smoke and flames began to engulf the vehicle.
In a shadowy alley, Li Ang approached the homeless man he'd seen earlier, who was rummaging through a pile of pizza boxes. He tossed him the torn-up remains of Richard's tailored suit, now stripped of its designer tags.
"Here, a fine suit. Just don't wear it too openly."
The homeless man fingered the fabric in awe, finding a large lobster claw in one pocket and several hundred-dollar bills in the other.
"Hey! Your money!" the man shouted, waving the cash.
Without turning back, Li Ang called out, "From your gait, you're a veteran. Wayne Enterprises is hiring for their port reconstruction project. Use that cash to clean yourself up and give it a shot."
The man stood there, bewildered, watching as Li Ang disappeared into the night. Something clicked in his mind.
"Who are you?"
No answer came. Only the faint whimpers of the old dog at his feet broke the silence beneath the lonely streetlight.
The homeless man sighed, breaking the lobster claw in half. "Alright, buddy. How about some lobster tonight?"