American comic book: Transmigrated into Dior and adopted by the Wayne family

Chapter 103 Fern People and Mass-Produced People

Soon after.

"Hopefully Tabitha can do this well."

Dior sent the other person to the flea market.

He stared at the latest message on his phone screen, his face grim.

The Court of Owls was like a persistent ghost, always popping up just when he was catching his breath.

This time, they're actually sending someone to steal the evidence of corporate corruption that Bruce has collected?

This was unacceptable to Dior, since he had already considered Wayne Group as his own!

He hadn't touched the owl before because the Church of St. Dumas had stood in his way.

Now?

Hmph, a bunch of old fogies.

"I'll show you who Wayne Enterprises really belongs to!"

Just as Dior was about to put down his phone, Alfred called.

"Young Master Dior, the person you put in the refrigerator has melted."

"What? It dissolved? How is that possible?"

Dior frowned.

"It's true, except for the bones, the flesh on his body had all turned into a puddle of mud."

"Is there any record of the surveillance system being broken into?"

Dio instinctively wondered if the Court of Owls had used a special drug to destroy the evidence.

But Alfred's words shattered this assumption.

"No, there's no record of any infiltration."

"I contacted Fox, and he removed a portion of my body tissue."

"Then I'll go find Fox now."

Dior hailed a taxi and headed straight for Wayne Group.

Inside the laboratory, Fox was already waiting at the door.

Seeing Dior approach, he adjusted his glasses and handed him a stack of reports.

"Young Master Dior, the human sample sent by Alfred, after analysis, shows that he is..."

"Fox carefully chose his words and said in a deep voice, "It is a mass-produced type of human."

"Mass-produced humans?"

Dior considered many possibilities, but he never considered this one.

Given that Gotham is still using flip phones, how could they suddenly be able to mass-produce humans?

This unscientific!

Physics no longer exists!

"They are artificial individuals cultivated using some kind of growth-enhancing technology, and their lifespan is very short."

Fox pointed to the data on the report, his tone particularly certain: "It can only survive in the outside world for 24 hours, after which it will completely dissolve."

"If you refrigerate it, the shelf life will be extended, but it won't exceed one year."

Dior's heart sank.

No wonder the Owl Court only symbolically demanded claws; they were just mass-produced cannon fodder.

"What about the cost? Is it expensive to mass-produce these kinds of humans?"

Fox shook his head slightly.

"As long as you have a template, the cost is not high at all."

Dior remained silent.

He could handle a few claws, but if twenty or thirty attacked him together, he would only be pinned to the ground and trampled.

Moreover, these mass-produced claws are just cannon fodder; there are plenty of them in the Owl Court.

Okay, this is bad news.

Dio closed his eyes, let out a heavy breath, and continued, "What about that green gel? Have you figured out what kind of creature it is?"

Fox pulled out another report, his brow furrowing with some concern: "Well, a chimera of fern and human, or more precisely, a deformed life form created by fusing human cells with fern genes."

"If I wasn't wrong last time, he most likely took over an entire abandoned sewer system."

Dior's expression grew increasingly grim.

An entire sewer system has been taken over by an experimental subject that hates the Wayne Group.

It seems I'll have to be on tenterhooks every time I walk through the sewers from now on.

"Mr. Brando, you don't need to worry too much."

Seeing Dio's increasingly grim expression, Fox, being a working-class person, quickly comforted him, saying, "This kind of artificial monster has a fatal flaw: as its cells continue to divide, the foreign DNA will cause continuous rejection damage to the host."

"If it doesn't take special medication, it will die on its own soon."

"How long is 'not long'?"

"About... a few months? Maybe a few years?"

Dior's lips twitched.

several years?

That's a far cry from "it won't be long."

Forget it.

Instead of getting bogged down in a bunch of fern-like people who are going to die sooner or later, let's deal with the immediate problem first.

"Okay, I got it. See you next time, Fox."

Goodbye, Mr. Brando.

Dior quickly left the Wayne Group and disappeared into an alley.

He took out his phone, found the contact's number, thought for a moment, and then dialed it.

The phone rang a few times before being answered. A deep voice came from the other end: "Dio Brando, I thought you'd forgotten how to make a phone call."

"How could that be? I've always kept you in my heart."

Dior's lips curled into a smile, his voice as gentle as if he were pleading with an elder, "Ms. Contact, I will cooperate fully with the court's requests."

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone.

They seemed completely unprepared for the other party to say that.

"6

"Dio, Bruce hasn't been investigating the group's corruption lately; instead, he's been focusing on picking up girls at school. Good job."

"Of course, the Wayne family should know what they can and cannot touch."

Dior's smile remained unchanged.

When will our people arrive?

"They'll be here in a couple of days." The contact's tone was slightly somber. "And you'd better not interfere in the Saint-Dumas affair anymore."

"St. Dumas may not have much influence in Gotham, but they're not that simple. You're just a kid; you can't afford to mess with them."

Dio narrowed his eyes, but his voice remained gentle: "You're right. If they send more people later, should I hide or bury my head in the sand?"

"Just keep your mouth shut. The court will handle things in St. Douma. They won't cause you any trouble."

"After all, you're one of us."

After saying this, the contact person hung up.

Dior looked at his phone screen and gave a cold laugh.

Saint Dumas? The Owl? A religious madman, a technological madman.

It would be best if you two factions started fighting each other; that would be good for me!

He pulled out the book "The Penguin's Guide to Faking Death" and flipped through it as he walked.

This book is indeed useful; at least it records a superb swimming technique.

He felt it was necessary to learn it properly.

at the same time.

Bruce stopped and looked up at the flashing neon sign above him, a look of hesitation on his face.

Nightingale's Nest—a lowbrow bar.

It's where female singer Jerry performs, and Jerry knows "Matchstick" Marlon, who killed her parents.

At the same time, this place is also a brothel owned by the Falcone family.

He himself was just a teenager who had not yet fully developed.

After a moment, Bruce made up his mind and pushed open the door to enter.

A strong smell of cheap perfume, alcohol, and tobacco hit me.

The hall wasn't large, but scantily clad women were everywhere.

The stage is in the very center.

A short-haired woman with clown makeup sat on a stool, playing the guitar.

Bruce frowned slightly.

The whitewashed face and the scarlet, grinning mouth made him feel inexplicably uncomfortable.

The music around him was also very loud and extremely awful; it was the worst music he had ever heard in his life.

At that moment, the woman on stage noticed him and took her guitar and walked down from the stage.

"Bruce Wayne? This is Jerry, the person you're looking for, the cake," he said to me.

"Jerry?"

Bruce was somewhat surprised.

"I know why you've come, but before answering your question, I also want to ask you one."

"How was my performance?"

Hearing this, Bruce suppressed his rising disgust and forced a smile, mimicking Dior's: "That's great, especially your music, I love it, Jerry."