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

Over the next five minutes, Dior used tactful, almost elegant language to outline a perfect scapegoat solution.

Deathstroke gave a low, mocking laugh.

"Kid, other people talk like they're splattering paint on paper, but what you're saying is like the Mona Lisa."

He paused for a moment, then naturally understood the main point of what those words had just said.

I'll take the blame, but for the money...

"I promised. If anyone asks, I'll tell them that I took the job and was ordered to protect you."

"As for the rest..."

"I don't know anything."

The phone hangs up.

Deathstroke threw his phone onto the bed and leaned back against the headboard.

Three million for a single word from him.

No need to lift a finger, no need to show your face, no need to take any risks.

As for trouble, it's not trouble as long as the other side doesn't drop a nuclear bomb.

Deathstroke closed his eyes and murmured, "An interesting child."

Dior hung up the phone, a satisfied smile playing on his lips.

Peter did a good job this time; he actually found the Death Knell.

Although I don't know how many hands it took to get this guy's phone number, it's good news.

Keep in mind that Deathstroke's appearance fee is at least two million, and he also targets 30% of the total assets.

This kind of task, which only requires speaking, is practically free money.

Ordinary people are afraid of offending others, but Death Knell? He's got plenty of lice and doesn't care about being bitten anymore; he's practically won everything.

What about Dior?

The three million dollars he bought wasn't just a step; it also made Deathstroke remember him.

It was a win-win situation, but he got too complacent from winning.

Anyway, it's not like he's the one paying; it's Bruce who's paying. It doesn't matter how much or how little he spends.

After all, Claw's target was Bruce Wayne! He only came to find him because the other person went into the wrong room!

Bruce hasn't even thanked him yet for helping him solve a problem!

What's wrong with paying a little money?

Dior thought to himself with a sense of self-righteousness.

He opened the slightly ajar glass door of the cold storage room and went outside.

"You're smiling so happily, did you find some money?"

Bruce leaned against the wall outside the cold storage, arms crossed, looking on with a curious expression.

But if you ignore the Gotham Prince's melancholy face, you can smell a faint beefy odor on him.

"It seems you're quite satisfied with my beef stew, Bruce."

Dior suppressed the smirk that was creeping up his lips, but his eyes were full of laughter, and his voice trembled.

Clearly, after being knocked down by the claws, the guy spilled the beef stew that was on the table all over himself.

"Your beef stew is delicious, Dior, but now is not the time to talk about that!"

Hahahahaha.

"Dio!"

Bruce gritted his teeth, his eyes practically spitting fire, before the other person was forced to stop laughing.

"Where's the body? Where's that bodysuit pervert? You killed someone again?"

"I didn't kill anyone. I put that guy in the cold storage."

"Heh, put it in the cold storage?"

Bruce looked at Dio with a suspicious gaze, as if to say, "Are you kidding me?"

"You put a living person in a cold storage? Even if you didn't actually kill anyone, that's practically the same as killing someone, isn't it?"

"Dio, you're always so extreme! When will you ever realize that killing is wrong?!"

After all, people aren't popsicles. If you stuff them into the cold storage of your own estate, they'll become popsicles even if they're not.

Dio sighed. Helpless, he picked out a few simple pieces of information and told Bruce about them.

"What? Unkillable? Not even a headshot kills him?"

Bruce frowned deeply, and this reminder brought back some of his memories from when he was knocked unconscious.

When he first came in, he did see a guy with a hole in his head lying on the ground.

He thought the guy had accomplices, and that the one who knocked him out was also an accomplice, but he never expected that there was only one person from beginning to end.

"I think we should definitely freeze him completely."

Bruce nodded decisively, agreeing to Dio's idea in just a second, then stroked his chin and began to analyze.

"Dio, are you sure that monster is in a vegetative state? Is it possible he's faking it?"

"I think the refrigerator should be sealed shut, maybe even sealed with cement. That would be safer. What do you think?"

Pouring cement into the refrigerator and then sealing it up? You really are a Minister of Justice, Bruce!

"You're going to be too extreme!"

Dior was speechless.

He doesn't consider himself a good person, but he'll still give his enemies a quick death when they encounter them.

When faced with an immortal, clawed monster, he could only try to limit its vitality with temperature, but Bruce did something different.

Since he can't die, we have to make sure he can't survive either.

They cannot die, nor can they live.

Isn't this pure torture?!

Dior rubbed his temples in frustration.

No wonder Batman never killed anyone after that; he just beat the criminals until they were half-paralyzed.

Firstly, this way they can avoid breaking the rules, and secondly, they can send people to hospitals under the Wayne Group and drain their wallets.

Damn capitalists.

Even robbing a bank doesn't bring in money as fast as you do.

"You just called to find someone to clean up your mess, right?"

Bruce was clever; he immediately deduced everything from those few words and laughed:

"How much did it cost?"

Three million.

"Real Benefits".

Bruce showed no emotional reaction whatsoever.

"By the way, I called the police before I was knocked unconscious when I came to your room."

Dior yawned; he was exhausted after a long night and couldn't stay awake any longer.

"Don't worry about that, go to sleep."

"Don't expect the Gotham police to come to the manor at night; that's impossible."

"Even if you're the Prince of Gotham, it won't work."

For Gotham's police, not reaching Harvey's level means endless trouble.

You have to write the documents your boss asks you to write. If you walk down the street, people in Gotham will look at you no differently than they would a gangster.

They are not well received, they have to pay for meals, and they may even encounter some "snacks".

In addition, there are thankless and demanding jobs like night shifts.

If you come to the site, you'll have to spend ten hours a day doing paperwork at your desk tomorrow.

So you called the police after 9 PM?

Sorry, I didn't see it.

In situations like this, calling a gang leader is more effective than calling the police.

"Go wash up and go to bed." Dio shook the clotted blood off his hands, grabbed a towel, and headed for the bathroom.

Today's events were a mixed bag, the only good thing being that the water pressure at Wayne Manor was exceptionally high.

Hot water poured down, and steam filled the air.

"This is a hot potato..."

Dio narrowed his eyes, constantly calculating how to use the vegetative man's claws.

He remembered that these assassins were cultivated using inferior Dionysus factor and amber gold.

If it could be extracted? No, it can't.

With current technology, it is unrealistic to remove these two metals from the body.

This era is too limiting.

Dior clicked his tongue in annoyance.

So here's the question.

How can we make the most of this hot potato with limited resources?

To be honest, he doesn't have a clue yet.

-----------------

Beneath Gotham, in a windowless hall that seems bottomless.

At the end of the long table, the contact woman gently tapped her fingertips on the surface.

"The Claw's tracking signal disappeared for three hours. Its last known location was outside Wayne Manor. What did you find out?"

A figure emerged from the shadows and pushed a document in front of her.

"A commission report, provided by the lady, states that a week ago, Deathstroke accepted Alfred's commission to secretly protect Wayne Manor."

The contact woman's finger stopped.

"Death knell?"

The man in black nodded.

"He was spotted in Gotham a week ago."

"Someone saw him meet with a middleman, but we checked the communication records from that period and found no direct evidence."

"However, intelligence dealers have corroborated this, so it's highly likely to be true."

"So," the contact woman's voice turned cold, "it was Deathstroke who killed our Claws?"

"Based on the evidence we have so far, yes."

"And the motive?"

"I don't know. Deathstroke never asks why, and he never says why. He only cares about money."

The contact woman leaned back in her chair and tapped her fingers lightly twice on the armrest.

"What about Wayne Manor? What did Dio say?"

"Can't get in touch with them. They should be asleep at this time."

"Then contact Deathstroke and ask him what happened."

"yes!"

After a long while, the man in black returned and said in a deep voice:

"He told us to get out."

The contact woman clenched her fists and closed her eyes.

After a long while, she finally opened her eyes and squeezed out a few words through clenched teeth:

"This matter ends here."