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

Listen.

Dior raised his foot and stepped on the face of the burly man in black, his voice lowered, carrying an undisguised threat:

"You have no idea how important your skills are, Jack Buczynski."

The electrician's smile froze for a moment after his real name was called out, and his brows furrowed.

He expected that the person who could find him at this time would be extraordinary, but he never imagined it would be this extraordinary.

How did this kid know his identity, which even those useless GCPDs couldn't find out?

After Dio finished speaking, he waited quietly for a while and noticed that the electrician opposite him had his brows furrowed and his gaze sweeping back and forth over him.

Delaying time?

You thought you were doomed, so you waited for the police to come and rescue you?

Dior's gaze shifted several times, and his expression grew increasingly gloomy.

He couldn't wait any longer.

"Please remove my devices, electrocution man."

"Or I can help you take them off, but if I do it myself, it's not just about taking off your clothes."

"Heh, you think you can control the situation just because you've defeated four of my men?"

The man being electrocuted snapped back to reality, and a smile returned to his lips:

"Your broken machine looks like it needs fixing!"

He grinned menacingly, releasing a surge of electricity from his right hand while reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket with his other hand.

He had a controller in his pocket to adjust the power; with just a press of the switch, he could turn that arrogant brat into charcoal within three seconds.

The next second, the person being electrocuted froze on the spot.

Empty? How is that possible?

"If you're looking for the controller, it's not in your coat pocket."

Dio's eyes were icy cold, but a playful smile played on his lips as he pointed directly at the electrocutor:

"It's in the back pocket of your pants."

The man being electrocuted had his pupils shrink, and he pulled his hand out of his leather jacket pocket, tentatively reaching for his lower back.

There really was a cylindrical object with a switch in my pants pocket.

How could this be? How is this possible!

"this!!!"

The man being electrocuted stared wide-eyed at the controller in his hand.

"Next, you will say..."

Dior struck a strange yet beautiful pose, with a shadow falling from above, perfectly dividing half of his face.

"Why did you tell me the location of the controller?"

"Why did you tell me the location of the controller?"

As he asked the question, the person being electrocuted suddenly pressed the switch, and his expression immediately changed.

"What?!?!"

The device on his chest hummed, and blue arcs of light danced on the discharge device.

The battery is accumulating power.

He shook his head and grinned:

"Never mind, it's not important anymore. Kid, do you have any last words?"

"Haven't you noticed yet? I'm telling you because I've already discovered your weakness."

Dior's gaze locked onto a glass of water on a table in the distance, with a strange device faintly visible from his cuff.

This is one of his achievements over the past few months: a spider silk projectile. With the spider web fluid, everything else is simply worthless.

"In that case, that device you're wearing now belongs to me, DIO!"

He raised his hand, pressed the button in his palm with his middle and ring fingers, and a strong spider silk shot out from the launcher!

call out!

The spider silk caught a glass of water in the distance, and with a flick of Dio's wrist, the glass flew steadily over.

"A glass of water? You think I'm too thirsty and want to get me a glass of water to quench my thirst?"

The electrician turned the controller's power output to maximum, and the alarm on his chest blared wildly.

The battery is finally fully charged!

"Hahaha! Kid, you're going to die!"

A surge of electricity shot out—in that instant, the whole world slowed down.

Dio saw the electrician's movements with perfect clarity: the狰狞 smile, the raised hand, the blue light dancing on the fingertips—all like slow-motion movie shots.

Dior gave a haughty laugh and splashed the water away.

The water flow precisely struck the connection point between the metal box and the cable on the chest of the person being electrocuted.

The blue light flickered twice, and then a wisp of green smoke appeared.

The device is short-circuited.

"Water can conduct electricity, junior high school physics, Jack."

"You! You damned bastard!!!"

The man being electrocuted looked down at the wisp of smoke on his chest and frantically pounded on it, but only deathly silence answered him.

"Impossible... my device... my calculations." His voice trailed off, "This is impossible..."

He opened his arms in frustration and roared:

"How is this possible?! I am a god! How could a god lose?!"

"Remember to waterproof it next time."

Dior tossed the water glass aside, clapped his hands,

"Oh, there won't be a next time."

He stepped forward, kicked the man being electrocuted to the ground, his leather shoe pressing down on his chest, then bent down and spoke softly:

"I accept your skills. As for you, Arkham will welcome you back."

Dio gently straightened the electrocuted man's chin, his green eyes fixed on his humiliated expression:

Goodnight, Jack.

"I think we can still have a talk!!"

He threw a punch.

The man being electrocuted had his head tilted to one side and had lost consciousness.

The warehouse fell silent.

Dio stood up and slowly wiped the blood from his fist.

A sharp pain suddenly came!

It wasn't the tingling, electric-like stinging pain from before; this time it was a sharp, needle-like stinging pain!

Four lines of sight.

Not one, but four.

They pinned him down from four different directions.

Is someone watching me?

Dior stopped moving, and his expression became subtle.

Sure enough, only he himself was unaware of how important the technique of electrocution was.

Everyone would want to be able to turn a person into a puppet by simply paying a small electricity bill.

He had actually guessed that someone would come, but he didn't expect them to come so quickly.

He straightened up, picked up the revolver from the ground, and flicked the hammer away with his thumb.

"You're the ones watching me, aren't you?! Come out here!"

silence.

None of the four gazes moved.

Dio sighed, a hint of impatience in his voice, and raised his gun, aiming it at the nearest shadowy figure.

"I said, come out, don't make me say it a second time."

Four claws emerged from the darkness and stood three steps in front of Dio.

Their bodies leaned slightly forward, their weight on their toes, like four fully drawn bows.

They only needed one signal to take action, but—they didn't.

Dior didn't back down, nor did he seem nervous. His gaze swept over the empty masks, and a sweet smile slowly crept onto his lips.

"The four of you, who consider yourselves superior, actually intervened without going through your own police station?"

The leader of the claws didn't speak, but instead took out his phone, dialed a number, and handed the phone to Dior without saying a word.

Dior took the phone.

The voice of the contact woman came through the phone, still processed with a voice changer:

"Dio, we meet again."

Good evening, Ms. Contact Person.

Dior spoke casually, and though they hadn't spoken for months, he actually felt a little nostalgic.

"Every time we talk, there's good news. What good news have you brought me this time?"

"Dior, you shouldn't have touched that technology."

"Yeah?"

Dio looked down at the unconscious man who had been electrocuted on the ground, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"But I've already touched it."

silence.

"You'll regret this, Dior."

"Oh?"

Dio looked down at the unconscious man who had been electrocuted on the ground, and gently kicked the metal box on his back with his toe.

"What, is the court also interested in this piece of junk?"

That's not your concern.

"Then what should I be concerned about?"

Dior's voice suddenly softened, and he tentatively asked:

"Wayne Company's dirty laundry? Bruce's mental health? Or that project called Pinewood Farm?"

The person on the other end of the phone paused for a moment.

It's so short that most people wouldn't even notice it.

But Dior noticed.

"What do you know?" The contact woman's voice turned several degrees colder.

"I don't know anything."

Dior's tone was nonchalant.

"I'm just an obedient little boy. I'll do whatever you tell me to do, right?"

He paused, then his smile deepened.

"However, obedient little boys sometimes want a reward, right?"

"Dear lady."

On the other end of the phone, the contact woman silently clenched her fist.