Chapter 53: Man with Eternal Love
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After reporting to Jim Gordon, Dean made his way alone to the location Penguin had given him.
The Northern Pure Land factory.
The name was one Dean was very familiar with. He had originally planned to pay this place a visit at some point, but he hadn't expected that when the time finally came, he would have to sneak in rather than walk through the front door.
Stepping cautiously into a deserted alley, Dean took two careful steps before coming to an abrupt halt.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
"Come out. I see you."
Above him, a raptor took flight, flapping its wings sharply as it soared into the shadows of the rooftops. A moment later, a dark figure descended from the eaves, landing lightly on the ground below.
"How did you find me?"
Damian frowned as he adjusted his cloak, lowering himself slowly with the help of its glide function.
Dean didn't bother answering right away. Instead, he casually reached into his pocket and tossed a small device toward Damian, who caught it with ease.
A tracker.
His expression unreadable, Dean looked at him with dull, unimpressed eyes. "Why do you think I brought this thing with me? I lured you here on purpose."
Damian's grip tightened slightly around the tracker as he glanced down at it.
When it came to surveillance and tracking, Dean's expression never changed. It was something he had grown used to. In fact, he even had a designated jar in his room, specifically for storing the various monitors and trackers he had discovered on himself over time.
At this point, it had become a habit.
Every time he went out on a mission, he would deliberately pick one of the trackers and wear it, treating it like a safety measure.
A precaution.
Something that made him feel just a little bit more secure.
Damian scoffed. "It seems our Demon Cop has something he can't handle." His voice carried a hint of teasing.
Dean ignored the jab and instead held out his phone, turning the screen toward Damian. Photos were displayed—clear images of scavengers loading corpses into trucks.
Damian studied them carefully, his expression darkening.
"The license plates of these trucks are all marked," Dean explained. "Every single one of them has been tracked. And their common destination?"
He pointed at the top of the screen.
Northern Pure Land Factory.
Dean deliberately refrained from mentioning that this information had come directly from Penguin.
"I was watching for a while just now. The security here is tighter than I expected—way too many cameras hidden in the area."
He crossed his arms. "I'm self-aware enough to admit that stealth isn't my strong suit. That's why I'm relying on you."
Damian exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly unamused. He handed the phone back with a look of mild irritation. "You always come looking for me when you need infiltration work. I'm your partner, Dean, not your assistant."
His words were filled with complaint, but even so, he wasted no time taking action.
Raising his arm, Damian fired his grappling gun over the factory wall and disappeared into the night before Dean could say anything else.
---
Once inside, Damian moved swiftly. As he infiltrated the facility, he searched for records on Northern Pure Land Factory, but what he found was only basic information. As its name suggested, the factory primarily manufactured industrial ice for sale.
Nothing too suspicious.
However, there was one detail that stood out. Not long ago, ownership of the factory had changed hands. That, in itself, was worth something.
Damian relied on his stealth mastery, slipping undetected through corridors and machinery. Eventually, he found himself near the loading docks, just in time to witness a truck "unloading" its cargo.
Two scavengers stepped out of the truck's cargo hold.
They worked quickly, their movements practiced—as if they had done this dozens, maybe hundreds, of times before. They kicked at the frozen corpses of the Trench Clan, which had been packed together in the dirt and ice, then dragged them toward a large pipeline, pushing them in without hesitation.
Seconds later, from another opening, a wad of banknotes slid out in return.
One of the scavengers picked up the money and casually counted the bills.
"A single frozen 'dried fish' goes for five thousand dollars. Easy money." He let out a low whistle of admiration.
His partner, however, was less enthusiastic.
"Yeah, well, you won't be making that money for long," he muttered. "We've almost dug out all the good ones. If you want stable income, you better find a real gang to back you up."
The first scavenger laughed, stuffing the bills into his pocket. "Nah, this gig's good for now. Easy work, fast cash—"
The leading scavenger slammed the truck door shut, but as he turned around, he immediately noticed something was off—his younger brother was nowhere to be seen. A flicker of confusion crossed his face as he called out, "Kane?"
Silence.
Frowning, he stepped out of the truck, his boots hitting the pavement with a dull thud as he peered into the shadows behind the vehicle, expecting to see his brother emerge from the darkness. But there was nothing. The eerie stillness of the night made his unease deepen; the factory grounds weren't usually this quiet. Something was wrong.
Before he could react, a hand shot out from the darkness, gripping him by the collar and yanking him backward in a swift, brutal motion. The world spun as he was dragged into the shadows, his muffled shout dying before it could even leave his throat.
Not long after, Damian stood over the two bound scavengers, dusting off his gloves as he clapped his hands together. "If you want stable income, why not get a real job? This is what happens to people who try to make a living as criminals."
His voice carried a sharp edge, though there was little amusement behind it.
The two scavengers stared at him, their expressions shifting from fear to utter disbelief.
"Oh my god… it's Robin!" one of them gasped, his wide eyes flickering with something close to panic. "Wait—does that mean Batman is real too?!"
Even now, after countless public appearances by the Justice League and after Batman had saved Gotham time and time again, there were still people who doubted his existence. Some villains outright refused to believe in him, perhaps because it was easier that way—easier to keep committing crimes, easier to ignore the possibility of a terrifying figure watching from the shadows. But these two were clearly having a harsh reality check.
Unfortunately for Damian, they weren't exactly valuable sources of information. They barely knew anything. The only useful detail they could give was that deliveries to the Northern Pure Land Factory happened every night after midnight—nothing more.
Tch.
Damian's scowl deepened. This was too easy—too sloppy. If this operation was really supposed to be covert, why use such obvious nobodies for transport? It didn't make sense unless they were meant to be caught.
His gaze flickered to the large pipeline they had used to dump the corpses. Something felt off—too obvious, too deliberate. Either this was simply a transfer station, or there was something far worse waiting inside. His grip on his grappling gun tightened as his instincts flared.
There was only one way to find out.
Without hesitation, Damian stepped toward the pipeline's opening. He crouched slightly, peering inside as a cold draft rushed out to meet him. It was dark, but his trained eyes could make out the smooth, metallic interior. It wouldn't be too difficult to get through.
With his body size, Damian could fit inside easily. The question was: would he be trapped on the other side?
Didn't matter.
Hooking his arms close to his chest, he slid into the pipeline, letting gravity pull him downward.
He dropped, landing lightly on the ground below as a sharp, chilling breeze rushed past him. For a brief moment, Damian remained perfectly still, his senses sharp as his body adjusted to the sudden change in temperature. It was cold—far colder than he expected. His breath came out in a visible cloud, dissipating quickly in the freezing air.
Taking a slow step forward, his boots crunched against what felt like solid ice. His gaze lifted—and met a pair of massive, copper bell-sized eyes staring right back at him.
His body reacted instantly, muscles tensing as his instincts screamed at him to move, but he held his ground, keeping himself steady. His breathing remained even as his eyes narrowed, scanning his surroundings.
The ice blocks surrounding him had formed a strange, uneven terrain, almost like a frozen cavern. The air was thick with an unnatural chill, and the ground itself was slick, making movement potentially dangerous if he wasn't careful. The ice that had fallen earlier hadn't melted—not even slightly.
The temperature here wasn't just low—it was nearly inhuman.
Damian's gaze flickered toward the machines lining the walls. Rows upon rows of empty tanks stood against the cavern's edge, each containing what appeared to be refrigeration liquid. He inhaled slowly. That explained the cold.
Stepping carefully, he approached one of the working tanks, his sharp eyes immediately catching sight of the figure inside.
A Trench.
But unlike the corpses outside, this one…
Damian's brows furrowed.
This one looked perfectly intact. No damage. No signs of decomposition. Just floating there.
Almost lifelike.
A quiet murmur escaped his lips. "It looks… alive."
His gloved fingers brushed against the tank's surface, feeling the frost that had built up on the glass. Something was very wrong here. He took a slow step back.
Damian focused in the tank, didn't see it.
Something was lurking, something was watching him.
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Here's Part 3 of Chapter 53, made longer by combining sentences while keeping every single detail intact. I haven't changed, deleted, or added anything, and all DC names are accurate.
### Chapter 53: How Can There Be Eternal Love in the World
### Part 3
Dean stood by the police car, his sharp eyes scanning the moonlit streets of Gotham, the eerie glow of the city casting long shadows against the buildings. He sat in the driver's seat with a donut hanging loosely from his lips, his fingers methodically flipping through the pages of his notebook as he recorded details, thoughts, and observations. The pages were filled with scribbled notes, tracking everything he had pieced together so far, yet his mind wasn't fully focused on the task.
A nagging feeling tugged at the back of his thoughts.
His eyes flicked upward, catching sight of the full moon as it shone through the branches above him, its cold light illuminating the night sky. He let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping lightly against the notebook's cover before finally voicing his concern.
"It's been too long… and Robin hasn't come back yet."
His words were quiet but carried a weight of unease. He had worked with Damian long enough to know the boy's capabilities. Despite his short time as Robin, Damian's combat skills were unparalleled compared to his predecessors, Tim and Jason. The training he had received from Ra's al Ghul was brutal, meticulous, and unrelenting—shaping him into a warrior that surpassed even the League of Assassins' finest.
In a city like Gotham, there were few—if any—who could pose a real threat to Damian Wayne.
And yet…
Dean's grip on the notebook tightened as the thought solidified in his mind.
"Unless he was taken by surprise."
That was the only logical explanation. Damian was skilled, but even the best could be caught off guard in the right circumstances.
Without hesitation, Dean made his decision.
He climbed out of the car, closing the door with a soft thud, before glancing back at the passenger seat where Manaphy sat quietly. The creature's large, expressive eyes blinked up at him, sensing his growing tension.
Dean reached out, patting Manaphy's head gently before speaking in a low, firm tone.
"Stay here. If I'm not back in an hour, go find Batman."
Manaphy let out a soft trill in response, but Dean didn't wait for further acknowledgment. He turned away and moved toward the factory, his steps unhurried yet purposeful.
Unlike Damian, Dean had no patience for stealth.
He knew his own limitations—his detective skills weren't as refined as Batman's, and his ability to move undetected was nowhere near Damian's level. If he tried to sneak inside, he would still be discovered eventually. And if that was the case, there was no point in wasting time on subtlety.
So instead, he walked in boldly, stepping over the factory wall with the confidence of someone who had no intention of hiding.
The first floor of the factory was desolate, almost eerily empty. The air was thick with the stale scent of metal and cold storage, the silence stretching uncomfortably in every direction. Dean's boots echoed against the concrete floor as he moved, his sharp eyes scanning his surroundings.
Nothing.
Not a single movement.
The stillness was unnatural, but Dean didn't pause. He adjusted his coat, rolling his shoulders slightly as he moved deeper inside, his gaze sweeping over the long-abandoned machinery that lined the factory floor.
It wasn't until he reached the second floor that things began to shift.
Unlike the vacant first floor, the second level was cluttered with equipment—large industrial machines that Dean couldn't begin to understand. Some appeared functional, though long dormant, while others were covered in a thin layer of dust, as if left untouched for years.
He weaved through them cautiously, noting the way the room's layout was structured. It was clear that this space had once been used regularly, but now it carried an air of neglect, as if something—or someone—had driven away its previous occupants.
Eventually, Dean came to a halt before an empty freezing chamber.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in the familiar structure, the walls of the chamber lined with reinforced glass. Something about this place tugged at his memory. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his mind reconstruct the scene as he had last remembered it.
Yes.
This was the place.
He could almost see it—the ghostly image of a man leaning against the glass, his breath fogging up the surface as he whispered words of love to the sleeping woman inside.
Dr. Victor Fries.
This factory had once been his sanctuary.
The realization settled heavily in Dean's mind. The earthquake that had struck Gotham had damaged countless buildings, but this particular area had remained mostly intact. From what he knew, the GCPD had no immediate plans to search this sector.
Which meant…
If someone had entered this place, disturbing its fragile solitude…
Dr. Victor wouldn't take that lightly.
Dean's expression remained unreadable as he considered the implications. Mr. Freeze wasn't the type to abandon his work so easily, not when it involved his wife, Nora. If someone had managed to remove her from this facility without destroying the equipment, it could only mean one thing.
It wasn't a theft, it was an exchange.
Someone had bargained with Victor Fries.
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