NABC Page 339
Page 339
of course.
This is just an appetizer.
Subsequently.
The clown then pulled out a spray bottle that looked like it was spraying pesticides and frantically sprayed "rain" containing some kind of poison into the city. The crowd fled in terror, but many people were also poisoned.
They all collapsed to the ground and burst into laughter—police cars arrived with sirens blaring, but faced with this sudden supernatural spectacle, almost no one knew how to react.
Under the Joker's orders.
The angel gracefully waved her arms.
Every electronic screen in Gotham instantly turned pink.
Bruce watched as the words "Good morning Gotham~ Batman loves me" were projected onto the exterior wall of Wayne Tower, followed by a bouncing heart emoji.
Bruce suddenly prepared to stand up.
The instinctive reaction was to change clothes and go into battle.
however.
The golden throne emitted a warning hum, and a powerful gravitational pull held him firmly to it. Only then did he realize that he was now inextricably linked to this damned "throne."
I looked at the surveillance footage again.
The clown is dyeing the angel's feathers green.
"Damn it!"
Bruce's fingers tightened on the armrest of the throne.
There was an explosion.
The signal suddenly stopped.
Bruce's expression shifted as he watched the damage caused by the psionic pulses he had unconsciously released. When he activated the new monitoring system, the angel was carrying the Joker past the chemical plant.
"It's your turn to shine again, my dear wishing machine!"
The clown was giving orders to the angel.
Rainbow-colored dust fostered a large number of roses that looked exactly like him on the rusted steel frame.
Each rose seemed to express his longing for Batman. Seeing this, Batman finally lost his temper. After a moment's hesitation, he took control of the robot.
The robots created tires for him capable of supporting the throne and himself. So be it, he's going to fight in a wheelchair. Nobody said Batman couldn't fight the Joker in a wheelchair, right?
Batman is on the move.
Ian and Superman are also in action.
After they left, they once again became Lord Gotham's white slaves.
"Dang——dang——dang——"
Deep in the universe.
The echoes reverberated like the clashing of metal.
That was a long process of forging the "new Emperor Armor" for Batman, a forging process that lasted for several hours, and only stopped when Ian was about to go to school.
"Dad, I promise I won't cause any big news today." He said goodbye to his father, who was going to work, while watching the system he was working on repairing extra-dimensional data.
[Repair progress: 0.5%]
The progress is indeed somewhat slow, but it's understandable. After all, the Warhammer universe is completely shattered, and the fact that the system can repair it is a testament to its awesomeness. However, this doesn't affect Ian's manipulation of his own system.
"Your efficiency is even worse than that of an orc mechanic. At least they can assemble a starship with their saliva and scrap metal!"
The morning sun shone on his face, and the city's hustle and bustle rushed towards him. Yesterday he was struggling between destruction and reconstruction, and today he had to return to his textbooks and homework.
This is perhaps life.
Ian walked into the school gate, entered the classroom, and then he saw Madison, a delinquent girl, sitting on the podium, holding chalk in her hand, and vividly telling her story to her classmates.
"Ian is planning to raise space chickens on the moon, and they'll definitely sell for more than imported chickens." She was clearly promoting Ian's idea, and all the classmates looked shocked.
"Great idea! Martian ducks, lunar chickens, just advertise them as cures for all diseases, and it sounds like a sure-fire hit!" Ian thought the young delinquent girl did have some business acumen.
He joined in the boasting, which immediately convinced a group of naive classmates to admire him greatly, all saying that they would help Ian raise chickens after graduation.
Until the teacher arrived in the classroom.
Ian then calmed down.
However, he still chatted with the young delinquent girl downstairs about whether the angels were adapting to their new lives.
The answer is obvious.
Angels always find a way.
Apart from Michael, the other angels all have a strong ability to adapt.
"Those angels are doing a good job at the factory, but they always want to transform it into the environment where they live in heaven." The young delinquent was also reporting to Ian very seriously.
"It's alright, let them renovate it. Anyway, they won't be able to see the home they remember when they go back to heaven. It's kind of pitiful."
"No, it has nothing to do with me. I don't know anything about it."
"I'm just a kid, stop asking me. If you keep asking me, I'll have to tell all my lies for today."
that's it.
When the school bell rang.
Ian had already learned about the developments in his business through his excellent deskmate. The school bell was still echoing in the hallway when Madison grabbed Ian's backpack strap.
"Why don't you go and give another speech to the angels, especially to Archangel Michael? He's the worst performing of all the angels."
Madison also encountered a troublemaker.
“Tonight, I’ll go over tonight. I need to see my therapist right now,” Ian replied, as he stuffed a copy of “The Art of Being a Boss” into his own dimensional world.
He no longer needs a schoolbag; it's like a collar that someone always grabs.
Are you going to see a doctor? Can I come with you?
Surprisingly, Madison was actually interested in forming a team for something like this.
“I’m here as an expert to discuss the patient’s condition with Dr. Hannibal. You can’t come at all.” Ian politely declined the young woman’s offer and then drove his Hellcat to the mental health clinic.
However, Ian thought today would be a very ordinary day, but when he pushed open the carved wooden door of Hannibal's clinic, the hinges made a dying creak with a very ominous feel.
next moment.
The stench of blood assaulted Ian's nostrils as if it were a tangible presence.
Chapter 154 Ian is attacked! Michael sheds tears!
Ian pushed open the wooden door of Hannibal's psychiatric clinic.
The door hinges creaked slightly, like the groan of some dying creature.
Instead of the familiar incense, a strong smell of blood wafted towards him, a rusty, metallic stench that seemed almost solidified, clinging to his nostrils and refusing to leave.
Like a basin of red paint spilled on a carpet, it was pungent, sticky, and nauseating. Ian looked up and saw an extremely inappropriate image displayed at the information desk in the most prominent position in the lobby.
The chandelier above was swaying.
The dim, yellow light fell.
The light illuminated the "artwork" hanging beneath the chandelier. It was Maria Sanchez, the clinic's receptionist nurse, a Mexican woman with a perpetually gentle smile.
Now her smile will forever be frozen in the most bizarre image. She has been made into a "flesh and blood angel," her head drooping, her long golden hair stuck to her cheeks with blood, her eyes gouged out, leaving only two dark holes, and the corners of her mouth violently torn open, then meticulously sewn together with needle and thread to form a sinister smile.
not only that.
The poor nurse's arms were also broken, stretched out at bizarre angles on both sides of her body, the skin on her back was completely peeled off, and the muscle tissue was carefully trimmed into wing-like shapes and hung on her arms.
The muscles and fascia stretched into a pair of deformed "wings," resembling a work of art under a certain violent aesthetic. Blood continued to drip slowly, accumulating into a dark red pool on the ground.
This "lake" of blood is the source of the stench of blood.
“Gentle Miss Maria… Damn Dr. Hannibal, he finally couldn’t resist turning on those around him.” Ian looked at the “perverted work of art” in front of him with a very serious expression.
He remembered that Miss Maria would always give him some candy while he waited for his appointment. It wasn't expensive, but it was rare to find a nurse in America who liked children so much.
A kind person is gone just like that, and his body is placed in the center of the hall, as if the perpetrator wanted anyone who came in to be immediately drawn to this "work of art".
If this isn't Dr. Hannibal's style, whose is it? Ian strode forward and reached out to check Maria's carotid artery—but the body was already cold, and she had been dead for at least an hour. Her blood was half-congealed, but there was still a faint dripping sound, like some kind of eerie timer.
"It's completely hopeless. Their souls have definitely been taken away by the Grim Reapers." Ian sighed, withdrew his hand, and looked around. The entire clinic lobby was deathly silent.
There were no signs of struggle, no indication of fighting, and even the bloodstains were concentrated only under Maria's body, as if the only trace of the female nurse had ever been in the entire clinic.
"The crime scene was cleaned up very well." Ian only found some footprints and skin fragments at the elevator entrance, which should be traces of a patient who had made an appointment and then left.
They did not call the police.
Perhaps most Americans are afraid of getting into trouble.
"I just hope that those mental patients haven't been stimulated by this and their condition hasn't worsened." Ian took a deep breath and walked towards Dr. Hannibal's office.
The door is unlocked.
He pushed open the door, but there was no one inside.
The documents on the desk were neatly arranged, and the pen still sat beside the ink bottle, as if its owner had only temporarily left. But Ian knew that Hannibal was unlikely to return.
To be able to commit crimes against subordinates so openly in one's own clinic, the perpetrator was probably already prepared to abandon the operation. He opened a drawer and rummaged through some files.
as predicted.
All medical records were missing. The safe had also been opened, and all the valuables inside—including cash, encrypted hard drives, and even some psychotropic drugs—had been packed up and taken away.
"You completed your last case and then left the Metropolis?"
Ian hesitated for a moment.
He considered his personal qualities—a white boy with excellent grades, respectable parents, and outstanding looks—and concluded that he shouldn't be considered a suspect before pulling out half of his phone.
"Drip drop~"
Calling 911 always involves a long wait, but fortunately, this service hasn't been outsourced to Indians yet, so after the long wait, you eventually get a result.