Bruce didn't even bother wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth. He simply stood up again, facing the now seemingly crazed Kingpin.
"Yes, I know."
Standing tall, Bruce's gaze remained calm. Even in a moment like this, his expression did not change.
"You're Kingpin—but I think you still remember."
Suddenly, Bruce made his move. A grappling gun appeared in his hand, and he fired it straight at Kingpin.
Kingpin quickly dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the hook. His movements were a bit sloppy, but at least he wasn't hit directly.
But Bruce had never intended to hit Kingpin in the first place.
He instantly pulled the trigger again, using the grappling gun to launch himself forward.
The acceleration propelled Bruce right in front of Kingpin in an instant. As he approached, he released the grappling gun and aimed a kick directly at Kingpin's throat.
To defend against such an attack, Kingpin raised his hand to block.
But he didn't feel Bruce's foot connect with his arm.
Bruce, using his incredible physical control, forcibly retracted his attack at the last moment.
He changed targets, bending his elbow to strike downward at Kingpin's head.
Even though Kingpin realized what was happening, he couldn't defend himself—his arm hadn't fully recovered yet. Not to mention, Bruce had put everything into that strike.
With the heavy blow, Kingpin felt his entire body go weak.
His eyes were bloodshot, but he remained conscious.
If it had been an ordinary person, that elbow strike would have killed them instantly.
Kingpin's sheer physical power was the only reason he survived.
Still, it left him dazed and reeling.
"I'm Batman."
Kingpin could hold on no longer. Eventually, he passed out.
He collapsed to the ground. If he hadn't still been breathing, anyone would've thought he was dead.
Bruce didn't stick around.
He had others to take care of.
At the same time, he sent a message to Hill, who was overseeing the blockade of the Presbyterian Hospital.
"You can start preparing for negotiations. They're not completely bad people. Tell them the bombs on their bodies won't detonate anymore."
As Bruce spoke, the cape Kingpin had previously torn off reattached itself to him.
"Stall for time. I'll send you a few coordinates. You can send a squad to those locations to handle the situation."
Not giving Hill a chance to respond, he had already moved into action.
Hill looked at the new coordinates on her phone. She didn't know what was at those locations, but if Batman had specifically instructed her about them, they couldn't be trivial.
"Bring in a negotiation specialist."
She instructed the officer beside her.
But the officer clearly didn't understand the logic. They had considered negotiation before, but the situation with the hostages had made them hesitant.
After all, the perpetrators looked like they had nothing to lose—each of them strapped with explosives, ready to die at any moment. As long as Kingpin wasn't released, the officer believed they wouldn't back down.
"Ma'am, I really think the negotiator won't help."
The officer tried to dissuade Hill from following through with the idea, but Hill was more focused on the coordinates she'd received from Russia.
"What if those guys get desperate and detonate their bombs? We would all—"
"Are you the field commander, or am I?" Hill turned and stared down the officer who was trying to argue.
He shut his mouth.
Hill took a deep breath. The extended period of high alert was clearly triggering a stress reaction.
"Sorry. I may have overreacted. You take the SWAT team to the coordinates I just sent you."
The officer understood the psychological pressure Hill was under as the commanding officer.
Naturally, he could sympathize.
But when he saw the coordinates she had sent him, he was confused.
Where did she even get these coordinates? And why was she sending SWAT there?
"They came from Batman."
That one sentence dispelled all of the officer's doubts. If it was from the Bat, then it had to be accurate.
He saluted Hill and said he would head out immediately.
However, before leaving, the officer still tried once more to convince Hill not to send in a negotiator.
Sometimes, they only made things worse.
"Since you think the negotiator won't work, then I'll go myself."
Hill took off her sidearm and placed it in the car. With both hands raised, she began walking toward the entrance of the Presbyterian Hospital.
The officers nearby were stunned. The field commander herself was going in?
This was a serious test of their nerves.
The officer wanted to call Hill back, but at this point, it was clear he couldn't change her mind.
"Fuck."
He could only mutter under his breath and resume his work.
As for what fate awaited Hill, all they could do now was pray.
"Back off! We only want to see Wilson Fisk!"
The criminals inside shouted the moment they saw Hill approaching, demanding that she leave.
"Hey, hey, I didn't bring anything. I'm here to negotiate," Hill replied, raising her hands and turning in place to show she had no weapons on her.
"We can talk. I know about the bombs strapped to your bodies. But they won't explode anymore."
Hill had no idea what Bruce meant when he told her to say that. Logically, who would let someone else take the detonators to bombs strapped to their own body?
She was starting to regret trusting the Bat.
But then, the criminals in the hospital lobby exchanged confused glances.
Clearly, this news was a shock to them as well.
"That damn Bat..."
Hill had a feeling—Bruce must have discovered something he didn't tell her.
The criminals inside were still tense, keeping their guns aimed at the hostages.
"What are you talking about? We don't know anything about that. Just bring Wilson Fisk here!!"
One of them shouted emotionally, his hands trembling on his weapon like he might fire at any second.
But Hill now fully believed in the information Bruce had given her. Previously, she'd been skeptical of the Bat—unwilling to believe he was as incredible as other officers made him out to be, or that someone so cold and shadowy could remain true to their values.
But now, she felt Batman was completely reliable.
And it was obvious—after she told the criminals their bombs wouldn't detonate, a few of them visibly relaxed. Though they quickly forced themselves back into threatening expressions, the change was clear.
To Hill, this was a glimmer of hope.
Not to mention the coordinates Batman had sent—maybe they really would bear fruit.
"Can I come in and talk with you?"
Hill took a step toward the hospital. The issue wasn't just about negotiations anymore.
She could already see a few people inside who looked severely ill—some of them might not last much longer.
The criminals looked at each other, unsure whether letting her in would help or make things worse.
In the end, they clenched their teeth and sent a hostage to open the door.
With her hands raised, Hill slowly walked through the entrance of the Presbyterian Hospital.
She had only taken a few steps inside when a criminal tackled her to the ground and tied her hands.
Their actions were swift and precise—completely unlike amateur kidnappers, more like those who had been professionally trained.
However, Hill showed no signs of resistance. She simply observed her surroundings.
Some of the more timid people inside the Presbyterian Hospital had clearly been scared out of their wits—literally.
The entire hospital lobby was now filled with a strange, indescribable smell that made people frown.
But what could anyone say at this point?
All they could do was huddle together, trembling, hoping they wouldn't die in this inexplicable event.
"I know you're trying to get Wilson Fisk to come out, but there's no need for this kind of conflict. Look over there—some of the hostages are clearly on the brink of death. If possible, could you allow doctors to treat them first?"
Hill spoke to the suspected leader of the kidnappers, using the gentlest voice she could muster.
"How do you know the explosives on us aren't under our control?"
The leader was clearly still on high alert.
"The bat told me."
Hearing that, the leader paused, then looked over at the hostages in the lobby who were visibly struggling to breathe.
He frowned, but ultimately agreed with what Hill had said.
He waved his hand to signal his men to let a few doctors through to administer aid.
At that moment, Hill finally understood what Bruce had meant when he told her that line.
What it meant to not be entirely evil.
Meanwhile, on the other side of things, the SWAT team Hill had directed earlier had arrived at the coordinates she provided and launched their operation.
Their first target location was a residential house.
The entire SWAT team moved in silently, surrounding the place without making a sound.
With a single command from the team leader, they stormed into the house.
"Down!"
"Get down!"
The sudden intrusion clearly caught everyone inside off guard. In the next second, the cold barrel of a gun was already pressed against someone's forehead.
"Don't move!"
The SWAT officers' pace was unaffected. They swiftly began searching the house.
With no resistance encountered, the SWAT team quickly took control of every part of the property.
One officer discovered an entrance to the basement and motioned to the others to prepare to descend.
They were ready for the possibility that someone down there might put up a fight.
But when they rushed into the basement for a routine sweep, they found no armed opposition—only a mother and daughter tied to chairs.
Once the all-clear signal was confirmed, the team leader began to report back.
"Location One: a mother and daughter."
While reporting, he also noticed a photo frame in the living room.
It showed a man—dressed in a United States Army uniform.
Other locations were soon cleared, and nearly every one of them had something in common: the man of the house was almost always a U.S. military serviceman.
It was now obvious that this was a highly targeted operation.
Upon receiving this information, a police officer immediately picked up a radio and called toward the Presbyterian Hospital.
"To the brothers inside—I know you may be doing this for a reason. But your families have now been rescued. Put down your weapons. Let's talk this out."
Inside the lobby, Hill, who had been sitting among the hostages, heard the voice from outside and let out a breath of relief.
That bat really knew what he was doing.
The kidnappers who heard the announcement couldn't believe their ears.
They were sure the police weren't bluffing—none of them had ever mentioned that their families were being held. They hadn't even had the chance to.
One of the kidnappers lowered his weapon and removed his mask.
He walked over to Hill and untied her restraints.
"Sorry we wasted so much of your time."
As one kidnapper disarmed, the others began to lay down their weapons as well.
"Tell the bat… thank you."
With their hands raised, they slowly walked out the hospital doors, knelt on the ground, clasped their hands over their heads, and waited to be taken into custody.
Hill watched them, unsure what to say.
In moments like this, emotions ran high. After all, these men had probably never imagined they would end up in such a situation.
Hill walked back to her patrol car, pulled out her phone, and sent a message to the bat.
"We're safe here."
But the bat had no time to check messages. He had already arrived at the prison warden's office.
The warden lit a cigar, took a deep drag, and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke.
He didn't seem surprised to see the bat at all.
On the contrary, he appeared calm—almost too calm.
"Why are you helping Kingpin?"
Whoosh.
The warden let out another long stream of smoke.
He squinted at the bat standing in front of him.
"The public might love you, but I don't," he said bluntly. "You might think you're doing this city a favor—but have you ever considered that your actions are also hurting others?"
"Trying to turn this city into one of light?"
"Don't kid yourself, Bat."
"Where there's light, there's always shadow."
"And you—aren't you the one who lives in the shadows?"
The bat said nothing. He simply stared quietly at the warden.
"I need to eat too, you know."
Realizing his words hadn't swayed the bat, the warden slammed the table and shouted.
"You're feeding on the blood and flesh of New Yorkers!"
"I've already sent evidence of what you've done to the NYPD. You will be arrested."
Bruce's words were the final straw.
The warden slumped back into his chair, stunned.
But in the next moment, he looked up again and stared at Bruce.
"I won't be the first."
He reached under his desk, pulled out a revolver, and aimed it at Bruce.
"And I won't be the last."
In the next second, he turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
(End of Chapter)
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