Thunder cracked through Gotham's dark clouds. Pale lightning illuminated the city for one brief moment, revealing the silhouette of a bat streaking across the sky.
Inside the Red Dragon Restaurant, payday was underway.
"Santos, here's your salary for this month. Take it."
"Thanks, Philip."
"Rick, come get yours. And remember—stop causing trouble at parties. We're tired of bailing you two out of lockup every weekend."
"Yeah, yeah, got it."
When Philip's gaze landed on Jude's excited face, his heart clenched reflexively. Every time he saw this particular employee now, he involuntarily remembered the brilliant shot during that firefight. The expensive chandelier reduced to glittering debris.
"Jude, why are you so excited?"
"Because today is payday!"
"I have to remind you that your salary was already advanced at the beginning of the month. Don't expect me to pay you twice."
"The beginning of the month was about money. The end of the month is about happiness." Jude's smile was beatific. "This is a sense of ritual, Philip. Ritual is very important."
Philip's expression suggested he was trying very hard to understand Jude's logic and failing completely. Finally, he just shook his head. "Regardless, even though your salary has been paid—"
Jude stared at Philip's mouth, waiting with barely contained excitement for those specific words. The feeling of thousands of asset points being credited to his account was genuinely joyful.
CRASH
The sound of shattering glass cut through the moment like a knife. Jude's head whipped around in panic, catching only a dark shape crashing into the restaurant from the night outside.
Philip was different from Jude. He had extensive experience with violence and could track multiple details simultaneously.
For instance, several bat-shaped projectiles flying at high speed.
A terrible premonition seized his chest. As a Falcone gang member who'd survived in Gotham for years, he'd encountered this particular bat before. That time, he'd spent three months in bed with broken bones.
The moment he recognized Batman's arrival, painful memories flooded back. Last time, the Bat's opening move had been to turn the entire venue into his home territory—complete darkness.
Philip's gaze involuntarily tracked to the luxurious chandelier that had just been installed last week. Time seemed to slow. The bat-shaped projectile's trajectory became crystal clear in his mind. Even though his eyes couldn't follow the high-speed dart, his brain had already extrapolated its path.
He could only watch in despair as it struck the chandelier dead center.
A wail of anguish tore from his throat.
CRASH CRASH CRASH CRASH
The massive crystal chandelier plummeted to the floor, exploding on impact into thousands of glittering fragments.
It was rude to say this, but Philip's voice at this moment transported Jude back to that rainy night weeks ago. He could almost hear familiar music.
"Snowflakes are falling, the north wind is howling—"
Wait. Why did he think "again"?
"BATMAN!"
Philip's roar echoed through the darkness, exactly like last time.
"GOD DAMN IT! I'M GOING TO KILL YOU! DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG AGO THAT CHANDELIER WAS INSTALLED—"
Batman remained unmoved. He continued his assault with mechanical precision, tackling a waiter who'd reacted quickly enough to draw his gun. His fist—roughly the size of a sandbag—swung in a devastating hook that connected perfectly with the man's jaw. The trigeminal nerve transmitted the impact to the cerebellum instantly. The waiter collapsed, dizzy and unable to rise.
One down.
Batman flashed through the darkness like a ghost, appearing silently behind another enemy. A strike to the back of the neck. The second waiter crumpled.
"Boss! Boss, are you okay?!"
Jude groped through the darkness, voice thick with tears.
"HELP! SOMEONE HELP! THE BOSS COLLAPSED AGAIN! CALL AN AMBULANCE!"
Hearing Jude's crying voice again, Philip's vision actually went dark for a moment. His blood pressure, which had been dangerously low, spiked instantly. Problem solved—he definitely had hypertension now.
"I'm fine! Shut up!" Philip gasped.
"You're okay! That's wonderful! Philip, just one thing—"
Batman had already taken down seven or eight waiters. Though they were armed and he was not, he moved through them like a tiger through sheep. Overwhelming force. Systematic decimation.
"Use the muzzle flash to light him up!" someone shouted.
The next second, Batman seized the man's hands. One finger pressed against the back of the trigger, preventing discharge. The other hand gripped the wrist like a vise and twisted.
CRACK
"AHH! IT'S BROKEN! MY HAND IS BROKEN!"
Intense pain made the man curl up in the darkness, trembling while cradling his shattered wrist.
Next target.
"Don't come closer! Don't come closer, you bastard!"
One enemy had apparently learned some fighting skills. After Batman kicked a gun-wielding colleague and broke his ribs, the man attempted a knee strike to Batman's back.
Batman dodged sideways. Grabbed the extended leg. Straightened it.
Delivered a vicious elbow to the knee joint.
CRACK
"MY LEG! MY LEG!"
The crisp sound of breaking bone made everyone present shudder. But Batman's assault continued relentlessly. Breaking bones. Screams. The dull impact of fists against flesh. Thunder rumbling outside the broken windows made it all more terrifying.
Wind and icy rain blew into the restaurant through shattered glass. Nobody knew if their hands shook from cold or fear, but every bullet seemed to fly wide. The ghostly bat shadow moved like something from urban legend. Invisible. Untouchable. Hunting gang members with professional efficiency.
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Batman didn't answer. No point talking. Only by incapacitating everyone could he proceed with interrogation.
But Philip wasn't shouting at Batman.
"JUST ONE SENTENCE! ONE SENTENCE!" Jude pleaded desperately with his supervisor. "HURRY UP AND SAY YOU PAID ME! I FINALLY WORKED A WHOLE MONTH!"