Chapter 36: Louise Lane's Secret Visit, This Devil CEO is Too Handsome
The typesetting machine rumbled as it turned.
The belt rubbed against the gears, vibrating the concrete floor until it went numb.
Louise Lane stood in the underground workshop of the Metropolis Media Group, holding tightly onto a freshly printed extra edition.
The ink was not yet dry.
The black lead type smeared on the pad of her index finger, staining it with a smudge.
On the front page, Shen Che wore a black suit.
That stern face occupied half of the layout.
The gold-stamped title underneath made her eyes sting.
"The Great CEO Shen Che Brings a New Order to New York."
Louise pinched the edges of the newspaper with both hands and pulled outward with force.
"Rip."
The thick paper split in two.
Shen Che's face was torn apart from the middle.
She crumpled the waste paper into a ball and fiercely smashed it into the iron trash can in the corner of the wall.
The trash can emitted a muffled sound.
Her peers all shut their mouths.
The entire journalism industry knelt neatly under the heavy pressure of tens of billions of U.S. dollars.
Louise could not swallow this grievance.
She stepped in high heels and walked out of the newspaper office building, her heels leaving hurried accents on the asphalt road.
Three o'clock in the afternoon.
Brooklyn District.
A dilapidated Underground Room hanging a sign of typing and copying.
The air was full of the moldy smell of sewers and inferior tobacco.
Louise pulled over a plastic red chair and sat down.
The computer desk in front of her had accumulated a layer of dust.
A fat hacker wearing a gray hood was typing on the keyboard.
"The access card for the top floor of Vought Tower."
Louise slapped a kraft paper envelope onto the desk.
The envelope was very thick, containing ten thousand dollars of old banknotes inside.
The fat hacker stopped his hand, took the envelope, and flicked the edge of the banknotes with his thumb.
"Express document courier."
The hacker felt out a white card with a magnetic stripe from the drawer and pushed it over.
"The identity is listed under the Finance Department. You can only stay on the top floor for five minutes."
The hacker yawned.
"If you don't swipe the card and come out within five minutes, the security system will lock down the floor."
Louise picked up the white card.
The edges of the plastic card were a bit prickly to the hand.
She stuffed the card into her trench coat pocket and turned to walk out of the Underground Room.
Seven o'clock in the evening.
A motel in New York.
Louise stood in front of the yellowed mirror in the bathroom.
She changed out of her usual loose trench coat and put on a set of high-end custom professional attire.
The black bodycon skirt tightly wrapped around her thighs, with the hem stuck three centimeters above her knees.
The upper body was a white silk shirt, and the fabric was somewhat transparent.
She reached out and touched the second button down from the shirt collar.
That was a black metal button, its surface shimmering with a faint light.
In the center of the button was hidden a miniature high-definition camera, directly connected to the miniature storage device tied around her waist.
Louise took a deep breath in front of the mirror.
Her chest undulated violently, and the shirt fabric tightened along with it.
She intended to sneak into that heavily guarded devil's den at all costs.
To secretly photograph Shen Che's shameful and brutal shady dealings, and to tear off the disguise of this devil CEO.
Half past eight in the evening.
Manhattan.
Vought Tower stood like a black giant sword, piercing straight into the starlit-less night sky.
Louise hugged a blue folder stamped with a red "Urgent and Confidential" mark, standing under the marble steps.
The night wind blew through the silk shirt, and she shivered.
She strode up the steps and pushed open the revolving glass door.
The first-floor lobby was as bright as day, and a wave of cold air hit her face.
Four security guards in black suits stood at the front desk, their waists bulging.
Louise walked to the turnstile, her palms covered in cold sweat.
She took out that white access card with somewhat stiff fingers.
She swiped it in the sensing area.
"Beep."
The green light did not light up, and a line of yellow verification code popped up on the screen.
Louise's heart slammed fiercely against her ribs, and her breathing stopped halfway.
The security guard beside her turned his head, his hand resting on the holster at his waist.
"Show your ID."
The security guard's voice was cold and hard.
Louise swallowed a mouthful of saliva, her throat as dry as if it were smoking.
"Urgent report from the Finance Department."
She pushed the folder forward by half an inch.
"President Shen wants to see it."
The security guard stared at her face, his gaze scraping across like a searchlight.
Louise bit the tender flesh on the inside of her mouth, using the pain to force herself not to look away.
The taste of blood spread in her mouth.
"Beep—Green light, pass."
The turnstile made a sound, the yellow code disappeared, and the baffle popped open.
The security guard withdrew his gaze and took his hand off the holster.
Louise clamped her legs together and stepped across the turnstile, the shirt on her back soaked with cold sweat and clinging tightly to her spine.
She walked quickly toward the private elevator.
She pressed the up button, the elevator door slid open, and she squeezed in.
She swiped the card and pressed the button for the 112th floor.
The elevator began to ascend.
The weightlessness in the car came over her, and her stomach churned violently.
Louise leaned against the stainless steel car wall, the icy touch transmitting through the shirt to her skin.
The numbers jumped wildly on the lintel.
Fifty.
Eighty.
One hundred.
Her questions for later flashed rapidly through her mind.
When you ordered the protesters to be washed away, did you feel a shred of guilt?
Relying on capital to silence people, do you really think you can cover the sky with one hand?
A stomach full of sharp and angry lines, like cocked guns.
"Ding."
The elevator stopped.
The 112th floor.
The doors slid open to both sides.
There was no heavy guard as imagined.
The corridor was empty, paved with a thick dark red carpet.
Stepping on it made not a sound.
A faint cedar perfume fragrance floated in the air, mixed with the maintenance oil smell of leather goods.
Louise hugged the folder and walked step by step toward the end of the corridor.
That was a huge carved walnut door.
The door was not tightly closed, leaving a gap two fingers wide.
Louise stopped outside the door.
Her palms were full of sweat, and the edges of the blue folder were squeezed into several deep wrinkles by her.
She took a deep breath, and the miniature camera on her chest aimed at the door gap.
She raised her right hand.
Her palm pressed against the heavy wooden door.
The paint surface of the wood was very slippery, and her hand slipped, almost failing to push it open.
She gritted her teeth and increased her strength.
"Creak."
The brass door hinge turned, and half of the heavy wooden door was pushed open.
The office was very large, so large that it was somewhat empty.
There was no smell of blood, no severed limbs.
Only huge floor-to-ceiling windows and the dazzling neon light sea of Manhattan outside the window.
Louise stepped inside, her high heels sinking into the carpet.
Her prepared opening remarks had already reached her lips, her tongue tip pressing against her teeth.
Shen Che stood right by the floor-to-ceiling window.
Hearing the sound of the door pushing open, he turned around.
The night view lights of Metropolis shone over from behind him.
The halo outlined his broad shoulders and slender legs.
He wore an extremely well-fitted custom black suit without a tie.
The collar of his white shirt was casually open.
In his hand, he held a crystal glass filled with half a cup of whiskey.
The ice cubes collided in the glass, emitting a crisp "click" sound.
Louise raised her head.
Her gaze collided with Shen Che's pitch-black eyes.
She froze.
Her legs seemed nailed to the carpet, unable to take another half step.
Those sharp questions she had prepared, those angry denunciations.
At this moment, as if someone pressed the delete button, they were all drained from her mind.
Not a single sound could be emitted from her throat.
This damn man was too good-looking.
Not just good-looking.
That was an absolute sense of oppression belonging to a top predator.
There was no baring of fangs or brandishing of claws in fierceness.
Only a high-and-mighty chilliness, like a frozen volcano that could burn people to ashes at any moment, yet made people unable to look away.
Shen Che looked at her.
His gaze swept over her tight professional attire.
Finally stopping at her whitened knuckles and that blue folder.
He didn't speak.
The office was quiet enough to hear the air supply sound of the central air conditioning.
Louise's heart beat heavily in her chest.
Then paused.
Immediately afterwards, like a frightened deer, it began to crazily slam against her ribs.
"Thump. Thump. Thump."
The heartbeat was so loud even she herself could hear it, her eardrums ringing rhythmically with each beat.
She felt her face flush hot.
The temperature burned all the way up her neck to her cheeks, even making her earlobes hot and painful.
She blushed.
This battle-hardened gold-medal female journalist who had interviewed war zone warlords and retorted against political bigwigs...
At this moment, actually turned out like a fledgling intern.
Shocked by the demeanor of the devil CEO before her, her heartbeat skipped half a beat.
Louise panicked.
She realized her unseemly behavior.
She quickly lowered her head, her chin tightly pressed against her collarbone.
Her sight fell on the tips of her black high heels.
She pretended to tidy the folder in her hand.
Her fingers opened the blue cardboard, her fingertips trembling slightly, and the paper pages rustled.
She tried to use this action to disguise her burning cheeks.
To disguise the moment of complete collapse in her heart.
"Fi... Financial Department's urgent report."
Louise stammered out a sentence, her voice smaller than a mosquito's.
Even she herself felt it was fake.
Ahead came the sound of leather shoes stepping on the carpet.
The pace was not fast, one step after another, steady and powerful.
Shen Che walked over.
The distance was shortening.
Five meters.
Three meters.
One meter.
The leather shoes stopped in Louise's line of sight, just half a foot in front of her toes.
A sense of oppression carrying the aroma of cedar and the mellow fragrance of whiskey washed down over her head and face.
The shadow enveloped Louise entirely within it.
Louise's breathing stagnated, and the fine hairs on the back of her hands stood on end.
She dared not raise her head.
The folder in her hand was squeezed out of shape by her.
Shen Che did not take that so-called urgent report.
Nor did he expose her clumsy excuse.
A large, bony hand reached out.
His fingers were slender, with skin carrying a chilly sensation.
Without the slightest hesitation.
He reached directly toward Louise's chest.
Louise suddenly gasped for a breath of cold air, her body instinctively shrinking back.
But Shen Che's hand was faster.
His index finger and thumb precisely pinched the second black metal button down from the shirt collar.
The miniature camera was inside.
Shen Che looked at the lowered-head, blushing female journalist.
His fingertips exerted a slight force.
"Click."
An extremely slight crisp sound.
The plastic shell and miniature motherboard shattered instantly under absolute strength.
Tiny parts of residue fell into the collar.
Louise froze in place, her eyelashes trembling wildly.
Chapter 37: Yandere Chloe gets jealous and hangs Louiseoff the roof terrace.
Shen Che let go of his hand.
Black plastic debris mixed with motherboard fragments rolled down Louise's fair neck.
Slipping deep into the silk shirt.
It felt a bit prickly against her skin, bringing a faint stinging sensation.
Louise's scalp tingled. Even her breathing stopped.
She didn't dare reach out to scratch, her legs feeling as if they were filled with lead.
Her high heels instinctively stepped back half an inch, the heel getting stuck in the carpet seam, and her body swayed.
Just at that moment.
The ajar walnut door was kicked open from the outside with a loud "bang".
The door hinge slammed against the wall, making a muffled thud.
Chloe stood at the doorway.
She had changed into casual wear, a grey hoodie paired with denim shorts.
In her hands, she held a box of freshly cut strawberries.
Red juice stained her fair, tender fingertips.
She pushed open the door full of joy.
The sweet smile on her face hadn't completely faded before it froze directly at the corners of her mouth.
Her gaze passed through the spacious office.
The night lights of Manhattan shone in through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting right onto Shen Che and Louise.
Viewed from this angle.
That hot-bodied, strange woman wearing a semi-sheer silk shirt was blushing and lowering her head.
And Shen Che's hand had just been withdrawn from her chest area.
The two of them were standing too close.
Louise's chest, violently heaving due to nervousness, was almost brushing against Shen Che's suit jacket.
Clatter.
The plastic fruit box dropped onto the carpet.
Bright red strawberries rolled all over the floor, and their crimson juice seeped into the Persian carpet.
Like a pool of bloodstains.
The air in the office suddenly heated up.
The wind blown out from the air conditioner vents instantly turned into scorching heatwaves.
Chloe's blue eyes were quickly overwhelmed by bloodshot red.
Like two pieces of burning red charcoal.
She stared fixedly at Louise's face, her jawline tight, and her teeth clenching so hard they made a clicking sound.
"You… You listen to my explanation!"
Louise felt that substantive killing intent.
Her tongue was tied, and the blue folder in her hand dropped to the floor.
"I was just here to deliver the financial report… President Shen just now…"
She wanted to say that Shen Che had crushed her camera.
But the words were stuck in her throat.
If she was just delivering a report, why hide a camera on her chest?
This excuse was so riddled with holes it let the wind in.
"Delivering a report?"
Chloe's voice squeezed out from between her teeth, carrying a heavy nasal tone.
Growling low like a stray dog guarding its food.
She didn't look at Shen Che.
Because Shen Che was her god. Gods cannot be wrong.
The only one in the wrong was this bitchy woman who dared to crawl over and act seductively.
Chloe moved.
Her leather boots stepped over the strawberries on the ground, squishing them into a sticky mess of mud.
The distance of over a dozen meters took her only half a second.
Stirring up a pungent burning smell—the scent of the carpet being scorched by the high temperature of her shoe soles.
Before Louise could even clearly see the figure.
She felt a tearing, excruciating pain across her scalp.
Chloe grabbed a handful of her meticulously styled golden curls.
Her five fingers dug tightly into the roots of her hair and yanked hard.
"Ah!"
Louise let out a miserable scream as tears instantly burst out.
Her neck was forced to tilt backward, making her scalp feel as if it was about to be peeled off in one piece.
Chloe didn't waste any words.
Dragging Louise, she turned and walked straight out.
Wearing a tight hip-hugging skirt, Louise couldn't stride her legs at all.
Her high heels dragged on the ground; her left foot twisted, and the heel snapped directly.
Like a broken ragdoll, she was dragged and pulled forcefully by Chloe.
"Help! Mr. Shen! Save me!"
Louise gripped Chloe's wrist tightly with both hands, trying to ease the pull on her scalp.
She turned her head to look at Shen Che, her face covered in snot and tears.
Shen Che stood beside the obsidian desk.
He had one hand in his suit pants pocket, watching coldly.
He didn't stop them, nor did he speak.
This matter wasn't his business to manage. When women went crazy, reasoning with them was redundant.
He watched as Chloe dragged the person toward the open-air roof terrace on the side of the office.
The roof terrace connected to the external high-altitude green belt.
Chloe kicked open the sliding glass door.
Manhattan's fierce gale instantly rushed backward, blowing so hard Louise couldn't open her eyes.
This was the one hundred and twelfth floor.
The wind was strong enough to blow a person straight away.
Chloe grabbed Louise by the hair and flung her onto the rough concrete floor of the roof terrace.
Louise rolled twice on the ground.
Her silk shirt was torn, and a large patch of skin was scraped off her elbow, with blood seeping out.
She couldn't care about the pain, scrambling and crawling back toward the edge of the glass door.
"What kind of thing are you?"
Chloe squatted down and grabbed Louise by the chin.
Her nails pinched into the flesh.
"How dare you stretch out your dirty hands toward him?"
"I didn't! I really am a reporter for Metropolis!"
Louise wailed and cried, her voice torn to pieces by the wind.
"I just wanted to take candid photos! I have a camera on my chest!"
She frantically pulled at her collar, wanting to find those fragments to prove her innocence.
"Take pictures of him?"
Chloe's gaze grew even colder.
"You even wanted to stuff him into your crappy machine? And take him home to look at slowly?"
A yandere's thought process was completely impossible to communicate with using common sense.
She stood up, her gaze sweeping across the corner of the roof terrace.
Some construction tools used for exterior wall cleaning machines were piled there.
Chloe walked over and pulled out a thumb-thick steel wire rope from the pile of tools.
One end of the rope had a heavy iron hook attached to it.
She dragged the steel wire rope back, the iron hook scraping a harsh friction sound against the floor tiles.
"What do you want to do? No! Don't come over!"
Louise went crazy.
Supporting herself with both hands, she kicked her legs backward desperately.
Her last remaining high heel was also kicked away, stepping barefoot onto the gravel-filled ground.
Bloody cuts were slashed across the soles of her feet.
Chloe stepped forward, slamming her foot down onto Louise's ankle.
The bone made a crisp cracking sound, causing Louise's entire body to convulse in pain.
With rough methods, Chloe tightly wrapped the steel wire rope three times around Louise's left ankle.
And tied a dead knot.
The iron hook on the other end was hooked directly onto the thick lightning rod iron frame at the edge of the roof terrace.
"Stand up," Chloe said coldly.
Louise's face was covered in muddy water and tears; her legs were as soft as noodles, and she simply couldn't stand up.
Chloe lost her patience.
She grabbed the middle section of the steel wire rope and pulled upward.
Louise's entire body was lifted up, hanging upside down.
An adult weighing over a hundred pounds was hardly heavier than a dead chicken in her hands.
Due to gravity, the tight hip-hugging skirt flipped and rolled down directly.
Covering Louise's head.
Her lower body was left with only a pair of black leggings, covered in goosebumps from the cold wind of Manhattan.
This sense of humiliation made her almost bite through her back teeth.
But this humiliation was quickly drowned out by pure terror.
Holding her, Chloe walked to the edge of the roof terrace.
There were no guardrails.
Looking down, it was a pitch-black abyss.
Fifth Avenue below was only as thin as a single thread, and cars were smaller than ants.
The light spots of the streetlights flickered in the thick fog, blurry and indistinct.
"Don't! I beg you!"
Louise twisted her body frantically in mid-air.
Her hands grasped futilely at the air.
"I swear I'll never go near him again! I'll resign! I'll leave New York!"
Her throat cracked from crying.
Chloe looked at her.
The red light in the depths of her eyes slowly receded.
Replaced by a spine-chilling excitement.
"Too late."
She let go of her hand.
Louise's body plummeted straight down.
The sensation of weightlessness instantly gripped her heart.
"Ah—"
A shrill scream pierced the night sky.
Dropping for about three meters.
"Bang!"
The steel wire rope tightened taut.
The tremendous pulling force almost dislocated Louise's left ankle directly.
She swung violently in mid-air.
Her entire body swayed wildly like a pendulum outside the exterior wall of the hundred-plus-story high-rise.
The wind scraped across her body, making her bones ache from the cold.
Just a gust of strong wind, and she would slam into the glass curtain wall, smashing her head and bleeding.
"Help! Someone save me!"
Louise hugged her left leg tightly with both hands.
Her entire face was smeared with tears and snot, and her hair was a mess like a patch of weeds.
She cried and shouted in despair, her voice already hoarse.
At the edge of the roof terrace.
Chloe leaned half her body out to look down.
She didn't feel a shred of sympathy. Instead, she covered her mouth and giggled continuously.
Her laughter was crisp, like a little girl watching acrobatics in an amusement park.
Her left hand gripped the edge of the concrete platform.
From the flowerbed toolbox beside her, her right hand felt out a pair of rusted large garden shears.
Usually used for trimming shrub branches.
The blades were very thick, stained with dried tree sap.
Chloe squatted at the edge.
She opened the jaws of the large shears.
Wedging them onto the tautly stretched steel wire rope.
"Click. Click."
She didn't cut down immediately.
Instead, holding the shears, she gestured back and forth over the steel wire rope.
The metal blades rubbed against the steel wire, making a teeth-grating frictional sound.
"Tell me," Chloe shouted down toward Louise.
Her voice drifted down along the wind.
"If this thing gets cut off, will you turn into a pool of red meat paste?"
Chapter 38: The Method to Coax Childhood Sweetheart Is to Accompany Her to Destroy a Street
The wind on the rooftop was very strong.
The wind blew across the exterior facade of the building, making a howling sound resembling crying.
Chloe crouched on the cement edge without guardrails.
The rusty large garden shears in her hand were stuck on a steel wire rope as thick as a thumb.
Louise was suspended upside down in the high altitude of over a hundred floors.
Her hip-hugging skirt had long since rolled down, covering her head.
Her lower body was only wearing a pair of black leggings. Her two legs were frozen purple in the night wind, covered with a layer of fine goosebumps.
The steel wire rope swayed back and forth in the wind.
"Click."
Chloe held the handle of the shears and used a little bit of force.
The rusty blade rubbed against the steel wire. Several tiny metal wires snapped, making a harsh, sharp sound.
Louise twisted wildly in mid-air.
"Help! I beg you!"
She cried until her voice cracked. Snot and tears mixed together, dripping down her upside-down face.
Drip into the invisible depths of the dark night.
Chloe chuckled constantly. She thought this desperate crying voice sounded very nice.
The shears opened again, preparing to completely cut the remaining major portion of the steel wire.
The glass sliding door was pushed open by someone.
Shen Che walked out.
His hands were tucked into the pants pockets of his black suit. His leather shoes stepped on the gravel of the rooftop.
Creak. Creak.
The footsteps were not fast. Every step was very steady.
"Stop."
Shen Che spoke. His voice was not loud, somewhat scattered by the wind.
Chloe's hand paused.
The sharp blades of the shears suddenly closed.
Biting down along the edge of the steel wire rope, they bit into a mouthful of air.
Just half a centimeter short.
Louise heard Shen Che's voice.
She grabbed onto it like the last straw. Her body swung violently in mid-air.
"Mr. Shen! Save me!"
She shouted with a hoarse voice.
"I didn't photograph anything! I resign! I swear I will never appear in front of you again!"
Louise's brain was congested with blood. Her face swelled red, and her vision had begun to blur.
She thought Shen Che came forward because he feared the background of Metropolis Media, or because he had a little bit of humanity left.
Shen Che walked to the edge of the rooftop.
He lowered his head, looking at the female reporter swaying like a pendulum.
He ignored those pleas for mercy.
"There is a new sign of Vought Company hanging downstairs."
Shen Che kicked away a broken brick at his feet.
"It was just replaced this morning. It cost over a million."
He looked at Louise's face twisted by congestion.
"The letters are pasted with pure gold foil."
"Falling from here, brains and blood will splash on the neon tubes. It's very hard to wash off."
Louise's crying and shouting got stuck in her throat.
She widened her eyes. Her bloodshot eyeballs protruded outward.
Despair was like a basin of ice water, directly drenching her spine.
He didn't save her. He was just afraid that her blood would dirty the sign.
This was not a human at all. This was a monster without a bottom line.
Failing to catch a breath in one go.
Louise rolled her eyes and passed out directly in the cold wind.
Her body hung limply on the steel wire rope, swaying with the wind.
Shen Che turned his head, looking behind the glass door.
Two sweating security personnel were standing against the base of the wall, not even daring to breathe heavily.
Shen Che jerked his chin at them.
"Pull her up."
As if granted a general amnesty, the two security guards scrambled over.
They grabbed the steel wire rope at the edge of the rooftop, pulling it up with grunts.
Louise was dragged onto the cement floor like a dead pig.
Her knees hit the bricks at the edge, scraping off a large patch of skin. Blood oozed out.
"Throw her into the Underground Room." Shen Che didn't even look at the woman on the ground.
"Find a sturdy iron chain to tie her up."
The security personnel supported Louise's arms, dragging her away from the rooftop quickly.
The iron door slammed shut tightly with a bang.
There were only two people left on the rooftop.
Chloe stood up.
She violently smashed the rusty garden shears onto the ground.
With a loud clang, the shears bounced twice on the cement floor and slid into the corner.
She was unhappy.
Her red leather boots stepped heavily on the ground.
The boot heel directly crushed a protruding piece of cement debris.
"You protected her."
Chloe's chest heaved violently. Her breathing was heavy.
Her blue hoodie was blown tightly against her body by the cold wind.
Her hands were clenched into fists. Her nails dug tightly into her palms.
"She looked at you for ten minutes. Ten minutes!"
Chloe suddenly took a step forward.
Moving close to Shen Che, her nose tip was almost going to hit his chin.
She like a vigilant hound sniffed hard around Shen Che's collar twice.
"Perfume smell. Cheap, inferior perfume."
She gritted her teeth. The muscles on her cheeks bulged.
Her teeth bit through her lower lip. A bead of blood oozed out, staining the corner of her mouth red.
She raised her hand and grabbed Shen Che's shirt collar.
Pulling outward forcefully.
"I want to burn this piece of clothing!"
"I want to gouge out her eyeballs and stuff them into her own mouth!"
Red light flashed in the depths of Chloe's eyes.
The yandere possessiveness completely erupted at this moment.
Shen Che didn't back down, nor did he reason.
He knew that explaining the matter of the surveillance cameras to a woman who was perversely starved of love was purely a waste of saliva.
He extended his right hand.
Grabbing hold of Chloe's wrist.
His fingers exerted force, not heavy, but just enough to make her unable to move.
Chloe struggled a bit, but couldn't break free.
Her eye sockets turned red, staring fixedly at Shen Che, like she had suffered a huge grievance.
Shen Che released her wrist.
His palm slid down naturally, pressing directly onto her lower back.
Pulling her forward with force.
Chloe froze.
Her body crashed into Shen Che's solid chest.
That manic anger, the moment it came into contact with Shen Che's body temperature, was forcibly suppressed.
"Are you stuffy?" Shen Che lowered his head and asked.
Chloe didn't speak. With her forehead against his suit button, she nodded glumly.
Shen Che's other hand wrapped around her shoulders.
His legs bent slightly.
The terrifying power of Silver Age Superman erupted in an instant.
The cement floor of the rooftop emitted a dull, mournful cry.
"Boom!"
The floor slab beneath the two of them directly sagged downward by half a foot, and the steel bars snapped.
The air wave pushed outward.
Carrying Chloe, Shen Che turned into a black-and-blue afterimage.
Shooting straight into the night sky.
A circle of white sonic boom cloud exploded above Vought Tower.
The fierce wind roared in their ears.
The clouds were brutally crashed through. Water vapor dampened the suit jacket.
Within a few seconds.
They ascended to an altitude of several thousand meters.
The air became thin, and the temperature plummeted to over minus ten degrees.
Chloe's blond hair danced wildly in the cold wind.
A few strands of hair brushed across Shen Che's cheek, carrying the sweet and cloying fragrance unique to her.
Shen Che stopped in mid-air.
Gravity lost its meaning to them.
Beneath their feet was the bustling Manhattan Island.
Looking down from this height, the entire city looked like a glowing integrated circuit board.
The traffic flow turned into slowly moving red light strips.
The skyscrapers turned into neatly arranged points of light.
Chloe's breathing gradually calmed down.
The cold air at high altitude made her mind a bit clearer.
But the evil fire in her stomach had not completely dissipated yet.
She turned her head to look at Shen Che.
Shen Che raised his right hand and pointed downwards with his index finger.
"Look below."
Chloe looked over following his finger.
That was a bustling commercial street in Lower Manhattan.
Neon lights flickered. Several commercial buildings connected together, occupying a full two blocks.
"What place is that?" Chloe asked.
"Seventh Avenue. South District Business Circle."
Shen Che's voice was very steady in the wind, without a single ripple.
"Three chain malls, five foreign trade companies."
He rested his hand on Chloe's shoulder.
"The bosses of that street held a meeting this afternoon."
"They think Vought Company's Supreme VIP insurance is too expensive."
Shen Che leaned close to Chloe's ear.
His warm breath hit her auricle.
"They joined forces to refuse signing, planning to pool money themselves to hire private mercenaries."
"They would rather throw money at those trash with guns than hand it over to us."
Chloe stared at the patch of light spots beneath her feet.
"They are disobedient." She muttered.
"Right. They don't follow the rules."
Shen Che tapped her shoulder lightly twice with his finger.
"Keeping such people who don't follow the rules will lead to more people following suit in the future."
The expansion of capital does not need mercy.
It only needs an iron-fisted demonstration of making an example of a chicken to scare the monkeys.
He originally planned to let Black Noir go pinch those leading bosses to death.
But now, he felt there was a more efficient method.
It could both solve the commercial stumbling blocks and conveniently coax the throwing-a-tantrum stray dog by his side.
"Don't you have fire in your heart?"
Shen Che turned his head sideways. His chin brushed past the top of Chloe's head.
"Vent all your unhappiness out."
His voice was very soft, like a devil tempting someone to fall into the abyss.
"Burn that street."
Chloe raised her head.
Looking at Shen Che's stern profile.
The gloominess in those blue eyes was swept away. Replaced by it was a morbid excitement.
She liked this feeling.
God allowed her to destroy. God accompanied her to destroy together.
Nothing could prove his partiality towards her more than this.
"Okay."
Chloe grinned.
Revealing an innocent yet cruel smile.
She turned her head back, staring fixedly at the bustling street below.
Her breathing became rapid again.
Her chest bulged high.
The surrounding cold air boiled in an instant.
A wisp of white water vapor evaporated from the corner of her eyes.
Deep in her pupils, a scarlet light suddenly burst brightly.
Like two searchlights lit in the dark night.
At the same time.
Shen Che also looked towards the same target.
Deep within his eyes.
There was no accumulation process as obvious as Chloe's.
That was a deep dark red.
The temperature instantly soared to the limit of physical laws.
The air was violently distorted by this ultra-high temperature that appeared out of thin air.
A large area of blurred heat wave ripples appeared in front of his line of sight.
The two of them hovered shoulder to shoulder in the night sky.
At the same time, both of their eyes lit up with dazzling red light.
Two scorching rays of Heat Vision intertwined together, completely burning that street into a sea of fire, and Chloefinally revealed a satisfied, sweet smile amidst the ultimate destruction.
Chapter 39: Wayne Enterprises' Attention, Gotham's Batman Senses Something Amiss
Gotham City. It had been raining all day.
Rainwater slammed down along the gargoyles on the roof of Wayne Manor. Striking the bluestone slabs, it shattered into a patch of white foam.
The sky looked like a moldy black cloth, devoid of starlight.
The soaring flames of Seventh Avenue in New York, separated by hundreds of kilometers, could not light up the night here.
Yet this fire, following the crisscrossing fiber optic cables, burned straight into the Batcave beneath Gotham.
The Batcave was very damp.
The air was mixed with the fishy stench of the subterranean river and the pungent smell of engine oil.
Drip. Water droplets fell from the stalactites, smashing onto the steel grating floor.
Bruce Wayne sat in front of the giant Batcomputer.
The swivel chair had no backrest. His back was somewhat hunched, and he was wrapped in an old gray bathrobe.
Beside his hand sat a ceramic mug printed with the Wayne Enterprises logo.
The coffee had long since gone cold, a thin film forming on its surface.
He stared at the giant display array spliced together from more than a dozen screens.
The screens were muted.
The dim blue light cast upon his stubble-covered face.
On the screen were aerial footage captured by New Yorknews helicopters.
A sea of fire.
Bruce gripped the mouse. His index finger pressed the left button, dragging the progress bar.
The image reversed, freezing at two minutes ago.
A man in a black suit. A woman in a blue uniform.
Hovering in the night sky.
He pressed the spacebar. The video played at normal speed.
Two streaks of red light burst from the center of the screen, intertwining like a huge, glowing red guillotine.
The block was sliced open. Buildings collapsed.
The glass curtain walls melted into orange-red droplets under the high temperature, trickling down the steel skeleton.
The veins on the back of Bruce's hand bulged.
The plastic shell of the mouse emitted a creaking squeeze.
He pressed the spacebar again. The image froze.
His fingers rose and fell on the mechanical keyboard, clacking away.
"Capture the heat source signature." Bruce's voice was hoarse.
He coughed twice and cleared his throat.
A waveform popped up on the main screen. The red peak skyrocketed in a straight line, directly breaking through the top limit of the chart.
In the numerical box popping up beside it, the numbers jumped wildly.
Finally, it got stuck on a red error code.
Unable to measure.
The temperature exceeded the detection upper limit of civilian sensors.
Bruce bit his lower lip, his teeth sinking into the dry, cracked flesh, tasting a trace of slightly salty rust.
"Alfred."
He didn't turn back, calling out.
The elderly butler carrying a tray walked out from the shadows. A cup of hot black tea rested on the silver tray.
"Master Bruce. The commotion in New York is making too much noise." Alfred placed the black tea on the corner of the desk.
Bruce didn't touch the tea. He pointed at Shen Che on the screen.
"This isn't normal, Alfred."
He pulled over the keyboard, cutting into the underlying servers of Wayne Enterprises.
His finger hit the wrong key. He irritably pressed backspace and re-entered.
"Ordinary super-humans have physical limits to their internal energy metabolism."
"Stormfront's lightning, Soldier Boy's radiation."
Bruce pulled up several past super-human combat power evaluation reports, spreading them across the secondary screens.
"They are all within the tolerance range of carbon-based life forms."
He tapped on Shen Che's glowing red eyes on the screen.
"But this man—"
"Has no wind-up action. No energy dissipation."
"When he releases this level of thermal energy, the surrounding air does not cave inward due to pressure differences."
Bruce's knuckles tapped on the solid wood desktop, making a clacking sound.
"This violates the laws of thermodynamics. His power is not conserved."
Alfred looked at the purgatory on Earth in the footage, his hand shaking slightly.
The teacup tapped a crisp sound against the tray.
"You mean, he's not a mutant on Earth?" The elderly butler's voice was very soft.
Bruce didn't answer.
He entered a long string of complex hexadecimal code into the terminal, entering a black interface.
The Military satellite backdoor of the Pentagon.
"Retrieve the infrared satellite cloud map of the North American Aerospace Defense Command from an hour ago." Bruce entered the command.
The progress bar loaded. The screen flickered.
A black-and-white satellite map covering the entire East Coast appeared.
At the location of New York, a blinding white spot lit up.
The brightness of the white spot exceeded the peak of the Military's tactical nuclear bomb test in the desert back then.
Bruce gasped a breath of cold air, a chill sweeping through his lungs.
"Nuclear fusion-level energy output."
He crossed his fingers, propping up his chin.
"He stuffed the Sun into his eyes. And—"
Bruce magnified Shen Che's footage. The pixels became blurry, but he could tell that Shen Che's suit was completely intact.
"He is immune to this high temperature himself. His clothes didn't burn either. There is a force field on his body surface."
Bruce stood up.
The old bathrobe slipped off, revealing a back covered in old scars.
He picked up the cup of cold coffee on the desk and took a sip.
It was bitter and astringent. Swallowing it caused his stomach to churn.
"Alfred. Check the classified files of Vought Company."
Bruce walked to the other side of the console, which was connected to a quantum computer.
"This cannot be something a company can create. I want to check this kid's origin."
The code on the screen cascaded down like a waterfall.
Wayne Enterprises' computing power began to brutally crack Vought Company's peripheral firewall.
Layer upon layer of data was stripped away.
The encrypted files set up by former CEO Stan Edgarbefore his death lasted less than five minutes in front of the quantum computer.
Ten minutes later.
An incomplete file popped up.
[Codename: Asset-01. Shen Che.]
[Origin: Falling object. Direction of Kansas.]
Most of the file had been destroyed. Only a few lines of early cataloging records remained.
There was also a black-and-white photo. An oval metal pod emitting a dim blue glow.
Bruce stared at that metal pod.
The photo was very blurry, but the texture on the metal surface exuded an industrial aesthetic that did not belong to Earth.
"Alien spaceship." Bruce spat out four words.
He grabbed the black tea on the desk and poured it into his mouth in one go.
The tea was a bit hot, scalding his tongue slightly numb.
"He has lived on Earth for eighteen years. Vought Company raised him like a dog."
Bruce's brain spun rapidly. Years of tactical thinking operated at high speed at this moment.
"Now, the dog has bitten its Master to death. He has taken over that capitalist empire."
Alfred sighed. "Vought Company is playing with fire. They burned themselves."
"Not just them."
Bruce suddenly turned around.
He walked up to a bulletproof glass display case in the center of the Batcave.
Inside lay a green stone, emitting a faint fluorescent glow.
That was an alien meteorite he had bought at a high price on the black market a few years ago.
"This is not just a reshuffling of Wall Street, Alfred."
Bruce's palm pressed against the bulletproof glass. The coldness of the glass penetrated into his palm.
"That man has no bottom line. No mercy."
"He treats human lives as a business, and destruction as a toy to vent his emotions."
Flashing through Bruce's mind was the image of Chloebeing dragged onto the rooftop, and then the two of them burning down Seventh Avenue together.
That wasn't a battle. That was pure Carnage.
"A monster that ignores physical common sense can wipe a city off the map with a wave of his hand."
Bruce gritted his teeth. The lines of his jawbone were pulled taut.
"Once he feels Earth is boring, or someone makes him unhappy—"
"He will destroy the entire World. We won't even have a chance to resist."
The elderly butler fell silent. The sound of the subterranean river echoed in the cave.
"What do you plan to do?" Alfred asked.
Bruce walked back to the computer.
On the screen, the footage of Shen Che at the press conference on the first floor of Vought Tower was looping.
That was shortly before Seventh Avenue was burned down.
Shen Che was holding a microphone in his hand. Black suit, white shirt.
In the background, high-pressure water cannons blasted the kneeling civilians head over heels.
Shen Che looked at the camera.
His face wore a trace of arrogance that was cold to the extreme.
Just like a high-and-mighty chaebol deity, looking down upon a group of ants rolling in the mud.
Bruce stared fixedly at that smile.
His fists clenched tight. His fingernails dug into his flesh.
He picked up a black Batarang from the desk.
Forged from refined steel, with a blood groove carved along the edge, it was incomparably sharp.
He scraped the pad of his thumb against the blade edge, cutting through a layer of skin. Beads of blood oozed out.
This was his sharp weapon for dealing with gangs and madmen in Gotham.
But now, looking at Shen Che on the screen,
throwing this dart at that man probably wouldn't even cut a single fiber of his suit.
Bruce threw the Batarang onto the desk with a clanging sound.
"The weapons in our hands aren't enough. Even the Military's high-explosive armor-piercing bullets are scrap metal to him."
He turned his head to look at the glowing green glass cabinet.
Kryptonite.
The data said that alien spaceship also carried special radiation. Perhaps the frequencies matched.
He had to test it out.
He couldn't wait for Shen Che to attack Gotham. He couldn't wait for this madman to treat Earth as an ashtray.
Sitting in the Batcave, he would never get data.
He had to make personal contact.
To force out his upper limit and find his weakness, even at the risk of being smashed to pieces.
Bruce straightened his body amidst the dim blue light.
He untied the belt of his old bathrobe, and it fell to the ground.
His naked, sturdy upper body was exposed to the chilly air, covered in scars.
He walked toward a black metal wall deep within the Batcave.
He pressed his palm against the sensor.
"Click."
The hydraulic lock engaged, and the heavy metal door slid open to both sides.
The white cold lights lit up one by one.
Inside the display case.
A set of black batsuit stood quietly.
Kevlar fibers intertwined with titanium-alloy armor, and the bat cowl exuded a cold, hard luster.
Bruce reached out. His fingertips brushed across the edge of the icy armor.
"Prepare the Batwing for me." Bruce's voice was low.
"Master. New York is a hornet's nest right now." Alfredreminded.
"I know."
Bruce picked up the tactical belt and buckled it around his waist with a click.
He flung the black cape over his shoulders, the cape tracing an arc in the air.
He turned around, looking at Shen Che's unbridled face on the big screen.
Deciding to make a trip to New York himself.
To test the depths of this so-called chaebol deity.
Chapter 40 Bruce's Paranoia, He Thinks I'm a Big Threat
The night rain battered the hull of the stealth jet.
The radar-absorbent coating bounced away the raindrops.
The fuselage, like a streak of black ghost, cut through the low-hanging rain clouds over New York.
Bruce Wayne gripped the control stick.
The Kevlar gloves rubbed against the leather grip, making a faint creaking sound.
He stared at the instrument panel.
The altimeter numbers were jumping.
New York is a mess right now.
The East Side after the blackout was still smoking.
The firelight dyed the bottom of the clouds red.
Bruce pressed several toggle switches.
Cutting off the roar of the main engine.
The jet switched into silent glide mode.
The eerie blue exhaust flame at the rear went out, and the huge fuselage became completely invisible in the night sky.
His mind was filled with those two red light beams from a few hours ago on the screen that burned through Seventh Avenue.
Absolute power.
Subject to no moral constraints.
Following no human rules.
Bruce clenched his back teeth.
The masseter muscles on his cheeks bulged.
This kind of thing is called a tyrant.
No matter how many lunatics there are in Gotham, they are only playing in the mud in the sewers.
Joker likes to create chaos, and Penguin covets territory.
These villains all have logic.
With logic, they can be predicted.
But that man named Shen Che sat directly on the top of a glass tower more than a hundred stories high.
Putting a price tag on human lives.
Treating the people of an entire street as fireworks to coax a woman.
He doesn't need logic.
He only needs to do whatever he pleases.
Bruce felt a churn in his stomach.
He tasted a trace of the sour bitterness of coffee.
He cannot tolerate this kind of threat.
Neither can Earth.
If this plutocrat god is allowed to continue expanding, sooner or later, the entire World will be reduced to his breeding farm.
Someone must go and put a collar on him.
The jet hovered above a commercial building.
Six blocks away from Vought Tower.
More than five hundred meters away.
The cabin door slid open silently.
Bruce jumped down.
The black cape spread open in the cold wind, like a pair of giant bat wings.
His boots touched the concrete roof.
Without making a sound.
He quickly lowered his body.
Hiding behind a huge rusted water tower.
Rainwater streamed down the bat cowl.
Dripping onto the waterproof cape, gathering into droplets and rolling off.
The standing water on the rooftop submerged the soles of his boots.
Bruce raised his head.
Across the five-hundred-meter rain curtain, Vought Towerlooked like a huge black gravestone.
The lights on the 112th floor at the top were on.
He raised his right arm.
His fingers tapped on the tactical terminal on his left wrist.
The terminal screen lit up with a faint red glow, illuminating his tense jawline.
He needed to find a dog chain.
If there was no chain in this World that could tie up that tyrant, he would forge one himself.
Bruce reached out and knocked twice on the right side of the bat cowl.
"Hum."
The white eyepieces lit up.
The multispectral scanner activated.
His vision pierced through the rain curtain.
Pierced through the darkness.
The newly replaced blast-proof glass of Vought Towerwas continuously magnified in the eyepieces.
Focal length locked.
Bruce saw Shen Che.
That man was wearing a black suit.
Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window.
Holding a cup in his hand.
Looking at the street downstairs.
His posture was as relaxed as if he were taking a walk in his own backyard.
Bruce held his breath.
His lungs stopped rising and falling.
He had a green stone in the Batcave.
That was an alien meteorite intercepted from the black market a few years ago.
If Shen Che shared the same origin as that stone, his cells would definitely have a specific response frequency.
Even if there was only a one-in-ten-thousand overlap.
As long as the decay wavelength was found, that stone could be turned into a lethal weapon.
Bruce activated the radiation detection module.
The data on the eyepieces scrolled past like a waterfall.
The scanner tried to penetrate Shen Che's skin.
Read his muscle density and skeletal structure.
Looking for a matching wavelength band.
"Beep—"
A short error tone sounded inside the cowl.
A row of red garbled characters popped up on his retina.
It couldn't be measured.
Shen Che's skin inside the scanner was like a black hole absorbing all signals.
Electromagnetic waves hit it without even a rebounding signal.
Let alone any microscopic cellular dissection.
Bruce frowned.
The armor between his brows squeezed out two etchings.
He was not discouraged.
His fingers slid quickly across the terminal.
Switching all the backup power of the batsuit's heating system to the scanner.
Pushing the power to the maximum.
The chill brought by the rain instantly pierced through the Kevlar fibers.
A chill welled up in his bone joints.
Bruce didn't care.
He only needed data.
Even if he only got the strength data of a single strand of Shen Che's hair, he could reverse-engineer the stress limit.
The scanner emitted an overloaded buzzing sound again.
It was still completely blank.
His brain was operating at high speed.
Tactical models were established one by one in his mind, and then overthrown one by one.
He was used to controlling everything.
Facing super-humans, he never relied on fists.
He relied on the contingency plans in his head.
People with great strength are often slow.
People with fast speed usually have low defense.
Contingency Plan A.
Build a sealed lead room with high-concentration lead plates.
Grind that green stone into powder and make it into aerosol poison gas.
Pump it in through the ventilation ducts.
Contingency Plan B.
Make an infrasound generator of a specific frequency.
Interfere with the alien's semicircular canal balance system.
Triggering intense dizziness and vomiting.
Contingency Plan C.
Use a high-voltage power grid combined with a liquid nitrogen trap.
Freeze cellular activity the moment of contact.
Then use armor-piercing bullets to shatter the embrittled muscle tissue.
Ranging from Plan A to Plan 143.
Every possibility, every emergency situation.
He had gone through them three times in his mind.
The rain grew heavier and heavier.
Smashing against the iron sheet of the water tower, making a clattering noise.
Splashes of water spattered on the bat mask.
Bruce looked at Shen Che in the eyepieces.
That man was still drinking tea.
Without even a defensive movement.
Arrogance.
This was the first label Bruce slapped on Shen Che.
People with absolute power often looked down upon knives in the shadows.
They relied too much on their bulletproof bodies.
This happened to be a fatal blind spot.
They didn't know tactical coordination, nor did they understand prediction and evasion.
A trace of cold and hard confidence welled up in the bottom of Bruce's heart.
The sense of powerlessness when watching the video a few days ago was suppressed by the detailed tactical deductions at this moment.
As long as it was a living creature, as long as it was still breathing.
It could definitely be killed by physical rules.
A dictator was merely a thug with a big-sized toy.
Pull out his teeth, and he would bleed like a mortal.
The tactical model was basically formed.
Now the last piece of the puzzle was missing.
Dynamic response data.
Bruce needed to know whether Shen Che's muscle fibers would stiffen or contract when encountering a sudden attack.
He needed to calculate the length of this man's neural reflex arc.
He also needed to confirm whether the kinetic energy was absorbed or bounced away the moment physical impact contacted his skin.
This related to the caliber selection of subsequent armor-piercing weapons.
It even related to how large an initial velocity the green stone powder should be fired with.
Bruce's right hand felt for the tactical belt at his waist.
The metal buckle made a slight click.
He pulled out a black Batarang.
This dart was a circle thicker and heavier than usual.
The edge was unsharpened.
A miniature kinetic energy sensor was embedded in the middle.
The moment of impact could transmit the stress data back to the Batcomputer in real time.
A distance of five hundred meters.
Couldn't be thrown across by wrist strength alone.
Wind resistance and rain would blow the dart's trajectory off course.
Bruce's left hand reached for the holster on the outer side of his right thigh.
Pulling out a specially made pneumatic launcher.
The barrel was very short.
Matte black.
He jammed the Batarang into the launch slot of the muzzle.
"Click."
The dart locked.
The indicator light at the rear of the launcher switched to green.
Bruce slowly stood up from the shadows.
His body was still half-crouched.
His right elbow rested on the exposed iron frame of the water tower.
Rust rubbed against his bracer.
He raised the launcher.
A crosshair popped up in the cowl's eyepieces.
The anemometer flickered in the lower left corner of his vision.
Westerly wind.
3.2 meters per second.
Air humidity 90 percent.
Distance 521 meters.
Bruce's fingers rested on the trigger.
The cold metal touch traveled through his fingertips into his brain.
He adjusted his breathing.
The rise and fall of his chest slowed down.
His heart rate was suppressed to 50 beats per minute.
The crosshair moved slowly.
Crossing New York's hazy rainy night.
Locked onto Shen Che's chest.
No need for a headshot.
He didn't want to kill right off the bat.
As long as this dart could smash against Shen Che's pectorals.
The sensor would be able to collect all feedback data.
He deflected the muzzle two millimeters to the upper left.
To offset windage and drop.
Everything was under control.
Bruce stared at the scope.
He was a veteran hunter.
In the opposite tower was merely an arrogant prey.
The prey didn't know at all that a pair of eyes in the shadows had locked onto him.
Once he got the data, he would return to Gotham.
Grind that green meteorite into a targeted absolute-kill weapon.
Bruce held his breath.
The pad of his index finger slowly applied pressure on the trigger.
The trigger was pressed back halfway.
Just one more ounce of force.
The pneumatic valve would be knocked open.
The dart would tear through the rain curtain.
Right at this moment.
The surrounding sound of rain suddenly disappeared.
It wasn't that the rain had stopped.
It was that Bruce could no longer feel the vibration of raindrops hitting his cape.
The air seemed to have suddenly solidified into a piece of transparent concrete.
Even the sound of the wind was forcibly cut off.
A trace of a living person's warm breath swept without warning across the lower half of his face exposed to the air.
Then, he felt a faint airflow.
Blowing against the edge of the cowl on the back of his left head.
Someone was pressed against his back.
The distance was less than ten centimeters.
He could even feel the heat radiating from that person's tall and upright body.
Bruce's blood completely froze at this instant.
His finger stiffened on the trigger.
Unable to press down any further.
A cold, bland, yet endlessly mocking voice.
Sounded directly against his left earlobe.
"What are you looking for, little bat."