American comics: Praising the sun, starting from Gotham!

Xiu En simply grabbed a box at random.

It was filled with high-carbon steel bullets, which he held up in front of him as a mere formality, not even bothering to use light to continue dazzling these people's vision.

The clanging and clattering sounds were so dense, it was like popping beans.

The bullet struck his bare skin, sending up golden sparks before deforming and bouncing away.

This level of attack didn't even make him retreat a single step.

"Tsk, this batch of warheads has too much lead content, they're too soft."

Xiu En casually caught a 9mm pistol bullet that was about to stop moving, flattened it in his hand, and put it in his mouth to chew.

"It's astringent, not as crisp as an owl, but it has a slightly menacing taste, and it's enough to stave off hunger."

The black-masked man's eyes were clearly not filled with shock, especially when he saw Xiu En walk out into the flames of two RPG explosions, busy picking his teeth and pulling out shrapnel stuck in his trench coat collar.

"Bomb it flat..."

Before the black-masked man could finish giving his orders, a darkness that terrified him more than light descended.

A black grappling hook wrapped around his wrist as he held the gun.

The immense force pulled him off the edge of the railing, sending him crashing heavily into the concrete support column below.

Then, as if the trajectory had been calculated in advance, several batarangs instantly shot down four or five heavy machine gunners who were preparing to change magazines.

"The man in the light is bait... Batman is here!"

One of the slightly smarter leaders cried out in terror, but he was quickly knocked unconscious by a black fist that appeared out of nowhere.

The battle ended faster than it takes to make a bowl of noodles.

As the faint sound of GCPD sirens reached his ears, Black Mask was already hanging upside down from the crane hook in the warehouse. The skull mask he was so proud of was now not only full of cracks, but also had a very clear fingerprint on it.

"See, I told you it was fake."

Xiu En stood below, holding a piece of the mask he had pried off from the black mask's face, which he threw away with a look of disgust.

"The composite material only has a thin layer of black chrome plating less than 0.1 millimeters thick on the surface. Boss, are villains these days so shoddy?"

Bruce stood in the shadows, scanning and uploading a set of bullets with special markings to the Batcave host.

"At least, he didn't try to market himself like Lincoln did."

Batman's voice, after being processed by a voice changer, carries a deep, guttural quality that sends shivers down the spines of criminals.

"Leave him to Gordon."

"Alright."

Xiu En shrugged, looking at the wrecked guns scattered all over the ground.

"Hopefully, that corrupt mayoral candidate has some real talent."

Shuen then broke an assault rifle in half and stuffed the hardest part of the bolt into his mouth.

"It's all high-phosphorus pig iron. If this stuff is real, it'll explode before it even kills anyone."

Xiu En disdainfully tossed the remaining gun butt at the feet of the black-masked man.

"Boss, is Lincoln bankrupt? How dare they ship this kind of junk to Gotham?"

Batman is currently crouching in front of a large box that smells of sulfur.

A blue laser grid was projected onto his arm guard, rapidly analyzing the gunpowder residue from the special bullets.

"Because there's no need to kill anyone."

The voice behind the mask was suppressed to an extremely low level by the voice changer, as if it came from a crack in hell.

"These weapons serve only one purpose: to create noise, to create flashes of light, to create panic. When you don't need accuracy, and all you need is someone firing in front of a TV camera, scrap metal is more cost-effective than steel."

The data stream on the big screen jumped wildly, eventually locking onto a series of complex offshore accounts.

"The financial chain has been traced. The source of this entire fraudulent production line points to a shell company that has been declared bankrupt for ten years, Kobot Heavy Industries."

The name is like a curse.

Although Oswald Copperfield, the Penguin, is still serving his sentence at Blackgate Prison, his declining family brand has clearly found a new buyer.

"Use the factories of veteran criminals to produce substandard weapons, sell them to active gangs to create unrest, and then have... well, a tough mayoral candidate come out to quell everything."

Xiu En thought for a moment and then said.

"It's a perfect closed-loop industrial chain; even capitalists would weep upon hearing it."

The unfortunate fellow hanging in mid-air didn't hear this in-depth business analysis.

Roman Siennis just wanted to faint right now.

Because he saw the golden monster that had finished gnawing on the gun barrel looking up at him, its eyes holding an unreadable expression.

"Don't...don't look at me like that!"

The once ruthless underworld boss now trembles like a plucked chicken.

"I don't know! That middleman with the owl ring only said it was a normal campaign fundraising! He said that as long as I make a big splash in the East District, he can give me a monopoly on all the port's business next month!"

"Thump."

Batman stood up, his black cape fluttering in the wind. He didn't look at the guy swinging around in the air, but simply raised his hand and fired a specially made batarang into a nearby pillar.

That was a timed signal transmitter.

"This is your verdict, Siennis."

The Dark Knight turned and walked toward the wrecked shadows.

"You will be given as a gift to Lincoln March, who is about to be overwhelmed in the next televised debate. Gotham will know who is pointing a fake gun at their heads behind this chaos."

Xiu En patted the ammunition box, which he had eaten a third of, one last time, and gave Roman, who was already terrified, a bright but somewhat terrifying smile.

"Hey buddy, remember to tell the police you bit this gun off yourself. I'm just an innocent bystander."

After saying that, he touched the hole in his trench coat, seemingly still feeling sorry for the fabric. Then, like a phantom, the golden figure disappeared into the night a second before the blue and red lights of the police car illuminated the gate.

Ten minutes later.

Jim Gordon practically kicked the door open.

The fully armed special police team filed in, anticipating a fierce gunfight and mountains of corpses.

But no one anticipated this.

The warehouse didn't look like it had been the site of a gang shootout; all the gun parts were twisted into pretzels by brute force and scattered all over the floor.

Even more horrifying were the shipping containers that were originally used to transport heavy weapons, now covered with shocking human-shaped dents.

In the very center, the man with the black mask who usually caused chaos in Gotham was hanging upside down from a rope made of two M4 carbines, naked except for his underwear, with the bill that had brought him despair next to him.

[The cost of this security maintenance has been sponsored by Cobot Industries.]

"Boss... how do I write the report?"

The young police officer looked at the investigation logbook in his hand, his hands trembling so much he could barely hold the pen.

"This looks like...a gas explosion?"

Gordon sighed, squatted down in front of the RPG launcher twisted into a figure eight, and took off his glasses to wipe the rain-soaked lenses.

"Write about the chain of mechanical failures caused by substandard weapons."

The old detective tore off the note with the sponsor's name on it and stuffed it into his pocket.

"While you're at it, check if the Copport family's been up to any promotions lately. Damn, I hate election years."