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

"Could it be a bomb button?"

Dior made a casual joke, but pressed down with his finger without hesitation.

Beautiful and soothing classical music flowed from the concealed speakers overhead.

"Canon? That's quite tasteful."

He involuntarily held his breath.

Before the first musical phrase had even finished, the fireplace behind me suddenly emitted a low, muffled thud.

It wasn't the sound of flames burning, but the roar of the entire stone rubbing against the ground.

Countless specks of dust fell from the top of the fireplace.

Dior turned his head abruptly.

The burning fireplace is receding.

The colossal iron structure, along with the still-burning flames in the furnace, slid backward inch by inch.

A moment later, a dusty passage came into view.

Out of caution, Dior gave Sexy Pistol a look.

The six little yellow figures nodded and immediately flew down to investigate.

In no time at all...

"Dio, there's a door!"

"Password Gate!"

"There's no danger!"

After confirming there was no danger below, Dio walked to the tunnel entrance, smelled the murky air inside, and began to descend the stone steps one by one.

The combination lock was quietly embedded in the metal door.

The stories from Thomas Wayne's autobiography flashed through his mind.

The password should be.....

Dio opened his eyes and stretched out his hand.

25837.

Drop drop drop drop.

The green light came on, and the door opened immediately.

"The password is indeed Bruce's nine-key spelling."

Dior smirked, went inside, and casually pulled the switch.

The lights came on, illuminating everything inside.

A table, a chair, a dusty computer, a lamp, a book, and a magnifying glass.

There was also a letter and many spider webs.

Dio walked over, picked up the letter covered in cobwebs, and unfolded it.

Dear Bruce:

These past few weeks, I've felt very dangerous, which is why I'm leaving this letter.

There are certain people hiding within the group.

They orchestrated several assassination attempts and also arranged for me to have several "saviors."

Dalio Brando was the most conspicuous of these people, but it's also true that he saved me.

In any case, if you are reading this letter, it means I am already dead.

Knowing your personality, you'd never guess the password is the full spelling of "Bruce," and you'd probably blow the door open.

I'm sorry to have shown you this side of me.

I've hidden everything here.

I foresaw today's outcome the day I raised some pointed questions about the family business.

Happiness and truth cannot be had at the same time.

If you've really decided, then turn on that computer.

I left everything inside.

..........

.......

Remember not to trust anyone who suddenly appears in your life.

"Don't worry, Bruce won't see this."

Dior carefully folded the letter and turned his gaze to the computer.

Press the power button.

The long-dusty machine hummed as it started, and a cold white light shone on his face.

As the keyboard clicked, Dior's expression grew increasingly grim.

The computer left behind by Thomas Wayne contained mostly filenames with no clear meaning.

It has all sorts of ridiculous names, like the Norwegian Trail, the Tus Forest, and even the Vitre Glacier.

"This is the computer that recorded the dark side of Wayne Enterprises?"

Dio blinked his sore eyes, calmed himself down, and continued flipping through the pages.

But then another problem arises: the vast majority of files need to be decoded, and it will take at least several weeks to complete.

There's nothing we can do about it; that's just how computers were back then.

He casually clicked on each folder a few times.

And they actually clicked on one.

The file name is Vitre Glacier.

It contained a detailed plan, and the project leader was named Victor Frye.

"Victor Frye? Mr. Freeze?"

Dio tried to open the next folder, but couldn't.

"Damn crappy computer."

He clenched his fists, resisting the urge to smash it, and stood up.

This computer likely contains everything that Thomas Wayne found.

It was because of these discoveries that he met his demise.

The exact reason is still unknown.

It may take several more weeks to complete the second phase of the long-term mission.

"I can wait."

Dior put down the mouse, turned off the monitor, took one last look at the secret room, and closed the door.

It's only been a few weeks; he's only twelve. He has plenty of time.

The door to the secret room slowly closed.

Dio looked at the mess in the study and took a deep breath.

What else can we do? Clean it up.

Thirty minutes later, Dior wiped the fine sweat from his forehead and took out the cell phone he used to contact the Court of Owls.

Nothing eventful today; Bruce seems to have given up on the idea of ​​finding the real culprit.

The message was sent, and the phone was called back almost immediately.

Dio leaned against the bookshelf and put the last book that had been rummaged through back into its place.

He glanced at the caller ID, wiped the dust off his hands, and pressed the answer button.

Good evening, Ms. Contact Person.

"You're seven seconds too late."

Even with a voice changer, it's still impossible to tell someone's age.

"I almost thought you weren't going to take it."

"I'm tidying up the study."

Dior held his phone to his ear and casually fiddled with the spines of the books on the bookshelf.

"Bruce made a mess of this place."

silence.

Two seconds, three seconds.

"How has he been lately?"

"It's very quiet," Dior said calmly. "He spends his days reading the newspaper, daydreaming, and occasionally doing acrobatics."

"Performing acrobatics?"

The contact's surprise couldn't be hidden even by the voice changer.

"So he's not going to investigate the killer anymore?"

"Maybe."

Dior rolled his eyes, but his voice remained calm.

"He's also experiencing his first love."

"Really?" The contact changed the subject. "Do you know about the Balloon Man?"

Dio narrowed his eyes: "That vigilante who sent the police to heaven?"

"Yes. You were there, weren't you? What did you see?"

"Blood," Dio said. "And a body, a police badge, handcuffs. It's disgusting."

"Where's Bruce Wayne?"

"He didn't see anything. He's just a child."

A very soft laugh came from the other end of the phone.

"You are a child too, Dior, a clever child."

"I know," Dio's voice lowered, "so I'm only responsible for watching, not thinking."

"Smart, keep it up," the contact person said. "Someone will contact you in a few days and tell you what to do next."

"Does Lovecraft have anything to do with you?"

silence.

a long time.

"That's not your question, Dior."

"I'm just curious."

Dior shrugged, his tone carrying just the right amount of confusion.

"You guys had me keep an eye on Bruce, and he almost killed us all."

"Shouldn't I know who I'm dealing with?"

"You're making a deal with someone who can save your life." The contact's voice turned cold. "Just remember that."

The call ended. The busy tone echoed hollowly in my ears.

Dior tossed his phone onto the sofa, leaned against the bookshelf, and slowly curled the corners of his mouth into a smile.

He seemed to already know what these guys were afraid of.

"I grew up in a dark room, silence was my cradle, and my greatest desire is precisely the demise of myself."

"Then what am I?"

Dior asked and answered himself:

"exposure."