"Fortunately, we didn't take the electric car." Cindy said to Su Ming beside her, as she stroked her rain-dampened blonde hair sticking to her forehead and focused her gaze on the dashboard. "At this speed, we'll probably reach our destination in half an hour."
Su Ming looked at the rain outside the window; on a nearby overpass, an electric car had been suspended in mid-air due to power issues in the city. He wondered if anyone was inside, or if someone was waiting for them to return home.
If things turned for the worst, these people wouldn't make it home.
Su Ming had thought about this issue before. Others had a home, while he only had a rented room; he always seemed to be lonely.
"If there's an opportunity, once things wrap up here, I plan to leave and try to head to Earth 0. What's your plan?"
He turned and asked Cindy a rather abrupt question, while ensuring nosy reporters didn't overhear, and stopped looking at the stranded electric car.
Cindy pondered for a while before shaking her head. "This is my world. Is Earth 0 your home?"
"No, it's not. My home is even farther away... it's just a place I'm familiar with." He rummaged through the cigarette box; there weren't many cigars left.
"Where is your home?"
Cindy stopped the car as she noticed a small supermarket by the roadside.
They got out, and she skillfully broke the lock with a long stick; and as they continued their conversation, they scavenged around inside.
"Haha, I don't know, maybe it has a number, maybe it doesn't."
She stuffed a few colorful alcoholic beverages into her backpack and turned her gaze to the snacks, checking the packaging bags while casually saying.
"Why don't you stay here? We could be partners for a long time."
"Your world is numbered Earth -11 in the Blood Domain, representing the 11th world of the Dark Multiverse, where Barbatos can't be defeated. He's the god of the Dark Multiverse. To completely stop this crisis, not only do I have to keep things hidden here, but I must also travel to Earth 0—it's my only way to save myself."
Su Ming finally voiced this issue; these thoughts had been circling in his mind for too long. He needed someone to share the burden, not requiring substantial help, but just to listen to what he knew.
Cindy's hand paused in mid-air before she casually hugged a bag of tomato-printed snacks.
"Is that so? Looks like there's a lot you need to explain to me..."
..............................
Director Gordon regained consciousness from a patch of darkness, rubbing the back of his head and recalling the past events.
He was dragged onto a vehicle by a group of people. Before that, when he knelt down in the mud, he carved a black van's license plate into his glasses.
He wedged it into a gap in the roadside curb stones. If someone found it, they might track down his location.
But this hope was very slim; after all, Bat had already left the city—who else could manage this?
Although he had high hopes for some young people in the bureau, those were just hopes. He knew even if they found the glasses, they might not be able to track him down.
Given that he didn't even know where he was now, the Men in Black had knocked him out after he got into the vehicle.
The current setting was a pitch-dark room, but it wasn't the imagined cell. In contrast, the bed under him was very soft; just touching it, you could feel the slippery texture of silk.
This didn't make him feel relaxed; as an experienced detective, he sensed the surroundings were very humid with an eerie vibe. It should be underground.
After glancing at his watch, he realized he had been unconscious for a little over an hour—not enough time for the van to exit Gotham, so he was still in the city.
He slowly got up, everything intact, except for his missing gun; even the handcuffs were still at his waist.
It seemed he was genuinely invited as a guest, albeit with slightly aggressive means.
He groped in the dark, switched on the bedside lamp, and the soft light illuminated the small room.
A glass of water and a bottle of aspirin were on the nightstand, the medicine bottle adorned with prescription notes and medical advice, his name appearing on the patient section.
This was taken from his home! They invaded his home!
"Right, Barbara!" Gordon remembered the men in black had mentioned; another team had gone to GCPD!
He immediately stood, ignoring the medication, and hurried to the door.
Gripping the handle, a twist opened the door.
Of course, unsurprisingly, there were still several women in black waiting outside.
"Where is my daughter? Let me see her!"
Gordon, almost frenzied, grabbed one of the women by the door, but was quickly pulled away by more hands.
"Director Gordon, our boss is waiting for you."
The woman who had punched him before emerged from the corridor corner, walking with matched stride, slowly approached Gordon, speaking with a smile that didn't reach her eyes.
Gordon realized he was in a cold corridor, with harsh white lighting above, surrounded by tiled walls—like some kind of hospital.
"Where's my daughter?"
The woman rubbed her temples as if in annoyance, sighed, "When you meet our boss, you'll know."
Gordon broke free from those holding him, adjusted his trench coat, and brushed off nonexistent dust as if his clothing had been sullied by these individuals: "What are you waiting for? Lead the way."
The woman didn't mind, turned her head, and walked back the route they came from.
Gordon cautiously scoped around, but gained no information other than reinforcing his belief this was indeed underground.
The corridor was very long, seemingly endless in whiteness, flanked by small closed rooms, their insides unknown.
Making several turns along the corridor, after Gordon felt he had lost sense of direction, they finally arrived at a larger door.
This door was made of solid wood, embellished with exquisite gold edges and enamel, adorned with a relief of the Three Goddesses of Destiny, their expressions lifelike and vivid.
The woman knocked on the door, stepped back, and gestured invitingly to Gordon.
Gordon fearlessly walked in.
Inside, he felt like he entered Vayne Mansion's study. Tall bookshelves laden with various books surrounded him, and not far away, a fireplace crackled brightly.
Family portraits adorned the walls, soft wool carpets covered the floor, the fireplace fronted by refined handmade sofas, sculptures in the room were masterpieces, even the teapots on the coffee table wafted the aroma of the finest red tea.
Everything led him to doubt his prior judgments; this was a grand manor of some family, rather than any underground labyrinth.
Until he saw, not far from the fireplace, a large desk with an unexpected figure seated behind it.
Even alone, the man retained a straight posture, meticulously combed hair swept back, dressed in an elegant handmade suit, a rose adorning his pocket, gently stroking a white cat in his arms, smiling at Gordon.
He appeared old, much older than last time Gordon saw him; once black hair now silver at the temples, his face and hands lined with wrinkles.
But his eyes remained unchanged, still so tranquil and authoritative, just like ten years ago.
"Gordon, my old friend, welcome to my family."
"Falcone...."
Momentarily, Gordon could only stare amazed at the figure uttering this name, for the name carried deep-seated entanglements, leaving him speechless.
In the first ten years of his career, Falcone was the mountain over his head; everything in Gotham was connected to him—bars, restaurants, gas stations, cinemas, even the hot dog stand on the sidewalk led back to him.
He managed Gotham's dark order, everyone living under the exploitation of the prominent families.