American comics farmer: start by adopting the villain savior.

Chapter 104 Clark Enters Gotham

Night falls.

A few retro streetlights cast a dim yellow glow in the autumn wind, and the fountain square in the center of the town was almost deserted.

But three incompetent agents were sneaking around behind the pizzeria's awning.

"The action plan is simple."

Chloe used the light from her phone screen to illuminate her small notebook. "First, we'll check out the cake shops in town!"

"Yes!"

Pete immediately straightened his back and gave an exaggerated military salute:
"Roger that, sir! Mission accomplished!"

His buzz cut gleamed under the streetlights, like a small searchlight.

Can…

Immediately following was a hesitant voice that interrupted this meticulously planned deployment.

"that."

The pause in his speech caught their attention. Clark scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Actually, it didn't have to be that complicated."

"I think I know where Dior works now."

"???"

Two pairs of eyes instantly focused on Clark, and Chloe's eyes even reflected a faint sense of disappointment that the plan had been aborted as soon as it was born.

"You successfully got information out of me?"

"In a sense, yes."

Clark chuckled and pulled a crumpled business card from his jeans pocket.

The paper was exceptionally thick, with subtle gold lines embossed along the edges. Even in dim light, the fine lines could be seen subtly reflecting light.

“Sarafil found it in a trash bag by the door of Dio’s room,” Clark explained, sounding somewhat surprised. “He said that because the paper was so reflective, he thought it was something important his brother had accidentally lost, so he instinctively put it away.”

"Let me see it first."

Chloe took the business card, and Pete joined in.

Three heads huddled together, barely able to make out the words on the screen by the dim light of the streetlamp and the backlight of the phone screen—

Iceberg Club

Supervisor: Rocman Wick
Phone: 212-444-1375
Address: No. 1 Binhai Avenue

The air suddenly became eerily quiet.

A few indistinct barks came from somewhere in the distance, further emphasizing the silence between the three.

“Ice... Iceberg Club?” Pete broke the silence first. “That name sounds like it.”

"Is it that top-tier nightclub in Gotham City?"

“212-444, that should be the only one.” Chloe continued, her brows furrowing tightly, her tone becoming serious. “My uncle mentioned this place last Christmas, saying it was… uh, a den of iniquity for celebrities, the super-rich, and ‘big shots’ from all walks of life?”

"Gotham...Gotham?!"

Pete's voice instantly rose, "Is that the infamous Sin City where even a dog on the street will steal someone's burger?"

"Dio works there? Are you kidding me!"

"It's not that exaggerated."

Chloe waved her hand helplessly, "I even went to the Gotham Museum last summer camp, it's still pretty good during the day."

"Daytime! The key point is daytime!" Pete gestured excitedly. "And it's nighttime now! Dio is working in a place like that! Don't you guys find it terrifying?"

He wouldn't be going.

"Ahem," Clark interrupted, also speaking up, "Actually, I also think it's quite dangerous there."

"Aren't you worried about Dior?"

"."

“I am a little worried, after all, it's Gotham,” Clark hesitated, “but because it's Gotham, therefore…”

"Isn't this you?"

Chloe suddenly grabbed his arm, her tone brimming with inexplicable confidence, "You're a superb football power forward!"

"."

"Let's not even talk about what this has to do with rugby."

Clark's face darkened, and he tried to pull his arm away: "First, let me ask you, how are we going to get there? The last bus from Smallwell to the Metropolis left two hours ago. If we can't transfer in the Metropolis, we won't be able to catch the last subway to Gotham."

"That's easy~"

A sly, slightly smug smile instantly bloomed on Chloe's face, as if she had been waiting for him to ask that question.

His finger slowly pointed to Pete beside him.

"?"

Pete, who was being called out, looked up abruptly, "Me?"
-
Several tens of minutes later…

Interstate 70 stretched into the distance under the heavy darkness of night, like a gray-black ribbon.

Thus began the rusty old Ford's destined bumpy and arduous journey that night.

The engine emitted a dull, labored roar. Pete, in the driver's seat, gripped the steering wheel tightly, which seemed to have a mind of its own. His palms were so sweaty they were almost worn raw. He was terrified that one wrong move and this old relic would skid and fly straight into the ditch beside the road!

"Why, why am I driving here so late at night?!"

He was almost in tears, his voice echoing in the cramped cab, "If Grandpa Henry knew I was doing this with his precious truck, he'd skin me alive to make sofa covers!"

“Pete…”

Clark, who was squeezing into the back seat to make more room for Chloe, tried to comfort her with a guilty conscience:

"It's alright, Grandpa Henry wouldn't really..."

"Clark!"

Pete abruptly interrupted him, almost causing the steering wheel to slip.

Do you think we hold the same place in Grandpa Henry's heart?

"You're an 'angel' who can carry an entire barn of hay for him with your bare hands, and me?"

In a fit of grief and anger, he slammed his hand on the center of the steering wheel, causing the horn to emit a mournful moo like that of an old, ailing ox.

The empty night road seemed particularly desolate.

"I'm just a corrupting brat who led you all astray!"

"Okay, Pete."

Sitting next to Clark, Chloe was studying a map with a flashlight, and she answered without looking up:

"You're the only one here with a driver's license. Just make a sacrifice, it's for Dior!"

She paused, then added a righteous reason that even she herself didn't quite believe:

"What if he really has been coerced or brainwashed by some evil organization in Gotham?"

"."

"Really?" Pete's face darkened. "I still think..."

"Stop talking! Watch where you're going! Drive!"

"what!"

Chloe's warning suddenly turned into a scream—

Suddenly, without warning, a black Harley-Davidson sped out from the fork in the road ahead.

Like a ghostly shadow, it swept past the old Ford!
"Whoa!!"

Pete was terrified and slammed on the brakes while jerking the steering wheel!

The screeching sound of tires tore through the night sky as the old Ford, its tires puffing out smoke, narrowly missed the metal guardrail on the roadside before finally coming to a shaky stop on the emergency lane.

The carriage fell into a deathly silence.

The three of them were panting, still shaken.

“Crack! Crack!”

The windshield wipers, which had somehow been knocked on, were idly wiping the dry windshield, drawing futile arcs.

"Clark."

Pete turned it off with trembling hands, muttering softly with a sob in his voice.

"If I die, I don't want the cause of death to be engraved on my tombstone."

"Sorry, Pete." Clark touched his nose guiltily, trying to make amends. "I'll help you later."

"Three months' worth of cafeteria desserts."

Pete was still shaken, but he still seized the opportunity to bargain.
"It's easy."

Clark couldn't help but chuckle and agreed.

"boom!"

The truck started up again and drove over another large pothole, causing the entire cargo compartment to shake violently, as if it were about to fall apart at any moment.

After a brief silence, Pete seemed to remember something, his voice tinged with hesitation:
"What about the toll booths on the cross-sea bridge? I just used all my money to fill up gas for this old guy."

"fine."

Chloe smiled mysteriously and pulled a yellowed pass from her backpack:
"My uncle's freight company license. Hopefully, the guard won't check the expiration date carefully."

"..."

“Chloe…”

Pete glared at her through the rearview mirror, gritting his teeth:

"You've prepared everything so thoroughly."

"It's too praised, it's too praised."

The girl happily put away the pass, keeping her good deed hidden.

"Wow~"

under the moonlight.

The old truck, casting a long shadow, drove toward the bridge leading to Gotham, like a clumsy moth wobbling toward the lights.

(End of this chapter)