PFC Chapter 3872 The Nameless Bat (42)
Chapter 3872 The Nameless Bat (42)
Chapter 3872 The Nameless Bat (Forty-Two)
"Alright, now I have something to tell you." Schiller said to his colleagues who had been called into his office without turning around, while tidying up the equipment on his desk. "Anything I do from now on has nothing to do with you. If anyone asks you about me, you should know how to answer."
“Boss.” One of the agents hesitated, glancing at the equipment Schiller had laid out on the table—a specially made concealed sniper rifle in a briefcase, a silenced pistol with two magazines, a tactical knife, night vision goggles and a scope, and a regular office laptop—before speaking somewhat uneasily, “What are you going to do?”
"Have you ever encountered a colleague who suddenly disappeared before?" Schiller asked, without stopping his tidying up.
“Well, but that’s usually when they’ve run into some trouble,” another agent said. “Like being bribed or something. They’ll be arrested quickly and then secretly tried. Probably.”
“I’m not referring to that. I’m referring to those who receive emergency missions and then suddenly disappear and never come back.”
Everyone else fell silent, until one of the younger ones tentatively asked, "So you received an urgent mission, boss?"
“No,” Schiller shook his head and said, “I might have to go, but don’t be sad. We’ll see each other again soon.”
After saying that, Schiller took all his equipment—excluding his badge, identification, and uniform—and left the FBI base, taking a taxi to a bar in Gotham's Old Town.
He had pulled his hat down low when he went in, but after sitting down, he took it off, put his trench coat aside, and opened his laptop. His messaging app showed a message from Barbara:
"Where did you go? Were you on a mission? I didn't see you on the security cameras."
"Yes, I've left. Don't worry, I'm just taking care of some business and should be back soon. By the way, I need to speak with Jason Todd. Could you tell me where he is?"
"I don't recommend you go to him, and I don't see why you need to see him. Can you not go?"
"I'm afraid that won't work. Even if you don't tell me, I can find out myself, you know that. So to save each other's time, you might as well just tell me his whereabouts."
“Okay, you have to promise me you won’t hurt him. He’s right now… wait, he’s at Brother Eye headquarters.”
"where is that?"
"A place where the Brother Eye servers are stored. The control unit is still in the Batcave, but a large number of server systems have been installed in the basement of a building not far from Wayne Tower. We call that Brother Eye's headquarters. What's Jason doing there?"
"Okay, I understand, thank you."
Schiller shut down his laptop, put his coat and hat back on, went to the vicinity of the bar, took a taxi to Wayne Tower, and found the building Barbara had mentioned less than two miles away.
It was another tall building, virtually indistinguishable from Wayne Tower, completely unremarkable in the cityscape of the Arkham Knights universe. However, the security level here was indeed higher than the surrounding buildings, and the patrol personnel were deployed flawlessly.
Schiller walked around for a bit and then didn't stay there any longer. He hailed another taxi and told the driver, "Take me to the Black neighborhood in the Old Town."
The driver raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the request. He glanced at Schiller in the rearview mirror, his gaze finally settling on the briefcase beside him. Seeing the delicate seams and the metallic sheen within, he decisively chose to remain silent.
The car drove all the way to the vicinity of the Black neighborhood in the Old Town. Schiller drove around the street for a while, and finally at the end of a dark alley, he saw a graffiti sign sprayed on a wall. Below the sign, there was a hole; a brick had fallen off, revealing a gap.
Schiller walked over. He tapped lightly on the wall with his fingers, and a groan came from the other side, as if someone had just woken up. Then he heard a rather old voice with a Black accent say, "What do you want?"
"Get me a car, black, the more inconspicuous the better, without any smart control systems."
Do we need a license plate?
"It would be best if it were available, but I wouldn't pay extra for it."
There was a knock from the other side. Schiller pulled a wad of US dollars from his trench coat pocket, rolled it up, and slipped it through the opening. The hand that took the money also held a silenced pistol; the muzzle of the silencer flashed briefly at the opening.
"20 minutes," the other party said.
Schiller stood there waiting, but it actually took less than 20 minutes, only a dozen or so. The other person handed him a slip of paper with an address written on it. Schiller turned and walked out of the alley, heading towards the address on the slip of paper.
It was about two blocks away, and we got there quickly. There was only one car in the alley marked by the address, a black Chevrolet, a rather old model, but it looked to be in decent condition.
Schiller went inside and pulled on the car door, finding it unlocked. He started the engine and noticed there was only half a tank of gas, but he didn't think much of it. He backed the car out and parked it on the side of the road. Soon, a young black man in a jacket staggered over, looking like he was on a high, and leaned against his car window.
Schiller knocked on the window to shoo the other person away, but took the opportunity to throw out a wad of US dollars. The other person drove off without a word. Schiller checked the rest of the car's equipment, found nothing wrong, and then drove to the building where the Brother Eye server was located.
Schiller waited there for about a night, taking a short nap in the driver's seat of the car. When everyone was on their way to work the next morning, he got out of the car and stood in the shade of a tree, watching the direction the crowd was moving.
When he noticed that several people were carrying coffee cups with the same pattern, he walked against the flow of people from the other side of the street in the direction they had come from. After walking about 200 meters, he saw a coffee shop.
He stood across the street observing the coffee shop. When he saw a few people in security uniforms among the group of people in suits, he moved a little closer and pretended to be a customer buying coffee and stood behind them.
"One cappuccino, one iced Americano, one sparkling iced Americano, two lattes..."
The two men in security guard uniforms bought several cups of coffee. Schiller remembered the types of coffee they bought, walked around the building, went to the back door of the coffee shop, and examined the ground. Sure enough, he found tire tracks left by a truck.
He pried open the kitchen door and examined the layout, especially the placement of the milk and the settings of the coffee machine. If all the milk sold out and was restocked the next day, then the milk used around 7:20 should be the second carton.
He drove his car over, parked it there, and waited until evening. A truck pulled up, honked twice, and tried to call the shop assistant out to pick up the goods.
The burly truck driver got out of the driver's seat and had just opened the rear cargo door when someone grabbed him by the neck and punched him unconscious. Schiller dragged him to the back of the truck, took off his own coat and put it aside, then put on the truck driver's coat.
He climbed into the car, inspected the cargo, picked up a carton of milk, injected some substance into it with a syringe, then placed the carton of milk in a second carton, lined all the milk together, and set it aside.
Suddenly, the flashlight beam flickered a few times. Schiller put on a mask and walked over. The other person paused for a moment when they saw him, then asked, "Where's Castor?"
“He’s sick, and I’m his nephew,” Schiller said with a shrug. “Knowing your business is booming and can’t afford to be delayed, he hired me at a high salary to deliver goods for him.”
The other person chuckled and said, "So you're that jerk who dropped out of school and never comes home. Fine, give me the milk first, and then the three bags of beans I wanted..."
When Schiller handed him the neatly arranged milk, he cursed and said, "That guy never tells the truth. Every time he hands me a package, it's a mess, and I have to reassemble it. You're much better suited for this job than him."
“Maybe I can take over his job,” Schiller said with practiced ease, then handed the bags of beans to his employee according to the waybill he had gotten from the truck driver.
After doing all this, Schiller dragged the truck driver to the passenger seat. He successfully found some powder traces on the driver's seat; in fact, he had smelled it when he knocked the man unconscious. He burned the traces to fill the truck bed with the smell, and then rubbed some powder under the truck driver's nose to make him think he was high.
Just to be on the safe side, Schiller checked the coffee shop's name on the delivery slip according to the truck driver's original handwriting, and then drove the truck to the next delivery location, making the truck driver think that he had already delivered there.
Back at the coffee shop, Schiller caught the staff leaving through the back door. Pretending to pass by, he peeked through the crack in the door and saw that the milk had been neatly arranged on the shelf, and judging from the shape of the boxes, the order hadn't been changed.
Schiller spent another night in his car, and sure enough, the next day he saw the two security guards who came to buy coffee at the same time. He drove around to the front and watched them carry several cups of coffee back to the security room.
Soon, breakfast time ended, and they began their patrol. Schiller drove around to the side entrance and, sure enough, saw two security guards patrolling near the side entrance clutching their stomachs and hurriedly running into the building.
Since both of them had stomach aches at the same time, no one took their place. Schiller easily climbed over the railing, followed them through the side door, and then into the bathroom.
Schiller pretended to wash his hands in the restroom for a while. Soon, the man who had gone in first came out, his steps unsteady and his face pale, clearly having just experienced diarrhea. Schiller easily grabbed him from behind, covered his mouth, dragged him out, took his employee badge, and changed into a security guard uniform.
He left the restroom as quickly as possible and headed downstairs. There didn't seem to be any special security system underground. Schiller followed the emergency exit smoothly to the first basement level, but the doors to the servers were all locked and couldn't be opened by conventional means.
Schiller didn't mind. He listened to the sounds inside each door he passed, and as expected, when he reached the second-to-last door at the end of the corridor, he heard muttering complaints.
Schiller knocked on the door.
The sound of tactical boots clicking on the ground rang out. The door opened, and the Arkham Knight asked, somewhat puzzled, "Security? What are you doing here? Is there a problem upstairs?"
Schiller lowered his head and removed his hat, only slightly raising his gray eyes. In an instant, the Arkham Knight let out a sharp scream.
Arkham Knights are in big trouble 2.0