"Damn it! How can you screw up something as simple as kidnapping a woman?" Richard Sappa roared into the phone, his voice loud enough to rattle the windows. He shoved aside his blonde mistress, who sat beside him in a revealing negligee, and spat venomously, "What kind of idiots am I working with?"
On the other end, his subordinate endured the tirade in silence before tentatively suggesting, "Maybe we should just... take care of the witnesses?"
"You worthless imbecile!" Richard's rage escalated, his booming voice startling the mistress, who shrank back in fear. "One teenager going missing might pass as an accident, but an entire carload? Do you want Gotham PD crawling all over this?"
It took several moments for the mob boss to regain his composure. Leaning back against the headboard, his hairy, bloated stomach exposed, he finally barked out, "Knock out the kids and Rachel Dawes. Take them all to the usual spot at the Gotham docks. And use the towing ropes in your trunk to haul the car too. No traces. Got it?"
"Understood."
The suited thug signaled to his crew. They confiscated the teenagers' phones and other electronics, forcing them into black sedans. Like seasoned professionals, they meticulously cleaned the crash site, collecting every shard of glass and piece of debris with a precision that rivaled crime scene investigators.
The convoy sped off, leaving behind only the scarred tree, its bark stripped and blackened by the impact, standing silently beneath the moonlit sky.
Back in Gotham's Michelin-starred restaurant, Li Ang let out a long sigh. The freshly served sirloin steak sat untouched on his table as he hastily wiped his hands with a napkin and exited.
"Can these messes ever stop?" he muttered, scaling the rooftop. Leaping across the city's skyline with the agility of a shadow, he quickly returned to his dingy motel room.
Opening a cheap silver plastic suitcase from his wardrobe, he reviewed its contents:
A transparent raincoat and matching rubber boots
Three pairs of latex gloves
A tactical flashlight with a lithium-ion battery
A Cold Steel 88CHB war knife and a 90PTHGZ tactical axe
Two suppressed Glock 19 pistols with ten fully loaded magazines
A hand-carved Nuo mask
For the uninitiated, Cold Steel is a renowned manufacturer of unique, highly affordable blades cherished by martial artists and collectors. Much like women collecting lipstick shades, many men buy these gleaming weapons purely for their aesthetic allure.
The Nuo mask was crafted from willow wood, painted with black lacquer, and adorned with piercing white streaks running through hollowed eye sockets. Its expressionless face radiated a sinister, otherworldly aura.
Though Li Ang hadn't yet reached the foundation stage of his cultivation and couldn't unleash spiritual energy, the mask, imbued with his blood essence, could evoke a faint, mind-numbing illusion in the dark—a crude but effective tool of intimidation.
The raincoat and boots would protect against blood splatter, while the gloves ensured no fingerprints would be left behind. All items, except the Glock pistols, were easily obtainable on Amazon.
"Let's hope I don't run out of bullets," Li Ang muttered, closing the suitcase. He swapped his shoes for dark rain boots, concealing them beneath his pants, and headed downstairs. Hailing a cab, he gave his destination: Somerset.
The cab driver, an Indian man with a thick accent, greeted him with a cheerful, "Good evening, sir. Where to?"
"Somerset. I'll tell you the exact spot when we're close." Li Ang tossed the suitcase onto the backseat and handed the driver two $100 bills. "No change needed. Just drive fast."
Enticed by the generous tip, the driver enthusiastically navigated the winding roads, speeding toward Somerset. The countryside's isolation made it clear that Li Ang's mode of travel was far less glamorous than Gotham's costumed vigilantes who zipped around in jets and submarines.
Arriving at the crash site, Li Ang examined a scarred tree, noting the faint tire marks leading south. He tipped the driver another $100 and sent him on his way.
The cab disappeared into the distance, leaving Li Ang alone under the cold moonlight. Dragging his suitcase into the woods, he suited up. Transparent raincoat over his casual shirt, rubber boots on his feet, and the Nuo mask concealing his face. The pistols and ammo pouches were strapped to his belt, while the war knife and axe were securely fastened to his back.
His appearance, equal parts eerie and imposing, was a testament to practicality and menace. Under the pale moonlight, his cold eyes scanned the ground. The tire tracks painted a clear path forward.
"South it is," Li Ang murmured. He exhaled sharply, leaping onto the nearest tree branch. With the agility of a predator, he moved soundlessly through the forest, blending seamlessly into the shadows as he pursued his prey.