Chapter 36: Time to Make a Name for Myself

The system had already alerted him that these items were counterfeit currency, so Ma Zhaodi felt no particular aversion to burning them.

However, the fact that someone could produce such a vast quantity of fake bills in Gotham City and hide them so securely meant that the manufacturers were professionals. This implied that Ma Zhaodi had better not be caught by them, or he would likely face their wrath. Being hunted by underworld figures was far more dangerous than chaotic brawls on buses or shootouts in restaurants; those people would be single-minded in their pursuit, stopping at nothing to take his life.

"System, system, can you confirm that no one saw me enter?"

Receiving no response, he submitted his route map to the system's query board.

"Infiltration assessment complete. Rated as stealthy; undetected."

That one dollar in asset points was well spent.

"In that case—" Ma Zhaodi looked at the green mountain of hundred-dollar bill bundles and subconsciously licked his lips. "Since I'm already here... why not pull one last job?"

...

*Glug, glug, glug—*

As gasoline from the jerrycan poured over the green notes, a pungent odor began to permeate the warehouse. Ma Zhaodi couldn't run out to find fuel, and it was unlikely the warehouse would store gasoline that could help someone burn their own cash, so he spent a few asset points to purchase some from the system store.

It took quite an effort to soak the bills thoroughly. Honestly, the thought of these colorful little beauties being reduced to ash in the next moment made his heart ache slightly. This wasn't a rational judgment, but rather the instinctive reaction of a down-on-his-luck pauper, accustomed to scrimping and saving, upon seeing a massive mountain of cash.

Even so, they had to be burned. Counterfeit money was unspendable, and the importance of asset points in the system store went without saying. With this in mind, Ma Zhaodi struck a long match and placed it on the ground.

This match had also been bought from the store; it had a longer burn time, serving as a makeshift timer. Once the flame reached the base, it would ignite the gasoline on the floor.

Seeing that his task was complete, Ma Zhaodi turned and ran immediately. He surmised that this amount of gasoline and paper was more than enough to incinerate the warehouse. It was best to get as far away as possible; the further he was when the fire started, the less likely he would be suspected.

Following the evacuation route provided by the system, he used his somewhat clumsy climbing skills to escape the warehouse quickly. Fortunately, there was a route suitable for his exit, sparing him from spending more asset points to upgrade his climbing ability.

The dark, slender phantom figure scrambled out of the warehouse in a contorted manner. It scurried back onto the street and blended into the crowd, donning that white ghost mask. Just like any other Halloween cosplayer, there was nothing unusual about him.

Moments after the phantom disappeared, crackling flames suddenly burst from the warehouse, and thick smoke, mixed with the smell of gasoline and burning paper, drifted through the streets.

"Quick, call 911! A building is on fire!"

"Call the Gotham Police Department! Call the GPD!"

Amidst the sky-high flames, no one noticed a black-robed figure disappearing into the crowd of costumed revelers.

...

"Two shots to the head. If you ask me, someone who did a little less evil wouldn't have met this end."

"District Attorney Dent! I don't want to hear you say that again—not in public, not in private!"

At this moment, a calm, heavy voice interrupted their thoughts: "Let's return to the point."

Hearing the voice from the shadows, Commissioner Gordon and Harvey Dent stopped arguing. This man seemed to possess a charismatic authority; his thinking was always calm and clear, capable of surveying the whole picture from above to find the key to breaking the deadlock.

"A .22 caliber Clipper pistol was left at the scene. The grip was wrapped, and the serial number filed off. The killer knew how to prevent us from tracing the clues. He’s professional when it comes to killing—or at least someone who understands firearms and criminal investigation."

Both men nodded.

"A baby pacifier used as a silencer. Cheap, but effective."

He paused here. He hadn't brought up the third clue first, not because it was inconspicuous, but because it was too conspicuous. At a murder scene, it stood out like a lightbulb shining in the dark.

The three men focused their gaze on the final clue.

"I don't want this thing to bias my thinking, but it..." Gordon hesitated, searching for the right adjective.

The twisted, painful expression seemed to hold a strange artistic flair. There were traces of Millet’s classicism, a hint of Monet’s impressionism, Matisse’s fauvism, Munch’s expressionism, Balla’s futurism, Picasso’s cubism, and Dalí’s surrealism, all seemingly embodied in this small pumpkin. In a word—

"It’s too ugly," Harvey Dent bluntly finished his sentence. "I’ve never seen a jack-o'-lantern this ugly in my life. Carrying this thing around, even on Halloween, would make every passerby stare."

"That doesn't fit the killer's cautious style," Batman concluded. "I can understand the ritualistic nature of leaving a jack-o'-lantern on Halloween, but I can't reconcile the contradiction in his behavioral logic."

"Maybe he carved it himself?" Gordon suggested. "If he didn't go to a store to buy one, he wouldn't leave a trail for anyone to see."

"Even if he went to a store, we couldn't be sure who it was—too many people buy jack-o'-lanterns on Halloween," Harvey shook his head. "Who could carve such an ugly pumpkin? Can we find fingerprints or anything on it?"

"Unlikely, the pumpkin was wrapped in a plastic bag," Gordon shook his head as well. "Though, it wouldn't hurt to check."

"Johnny Vitti... who has the guts to go after him? Maroni?"

*Ring-ring—*

As they were speaking, Gordon's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Commissioner Gordon! Something big has happened! A warehouse in the Diamond District is on fire! Hundred-dollar bills are swirling out with the black smoke—everything burning in there is money!"

"What?"