Chapter 523: Batman's Interrogation Methods
The Complex Web of Conspiracy
Bruce was not a superhero in the conventional sense.
He possessed a profound understanding of society, politics, war, and human nature. Therefore, when Andrew Vines confessed to the secret dealings between the League of Assassins and high-ranking U.S. officials, Bruce wasn't surprised.
The way the world works isn't just black and white; often, gray is the dominant color.
Andrew couldn't endure the torture. He answered everything Bruce asked. When the questioning touched upon the powered armor, his eyes wavered, but he eventually gave up a name.
"Darin Abbott?"
Bruce frowned, feeling the situation was becoming more complex than he'd imagined. "Which Darin Abbott?"
"There's only one Darin Abbott in the White House."
Andrew didn't state his position, but Bruce already knew: Darin Abbott, the Deputy Director of the CIA, an absolute high-level figure within the U.S. power structure.
"Did he give you the core technology?"
"Yes."
"Why would he give such important technology to the League of Assassins?"
"I... I was just the middleman."
"Where did he get the technology from?"
"It seems to have been from Tesla. The rumor is that they provided it. I don't know the exact details."
Bruce's expression changed. He realized the matter was far more complicated than he had imagined. Why would the CIA provide critical technology like powered armor to an assassination organization? What were they trying to achieve? Cooperation? Or sparking a war?
And what role was Tesla playing in all this?
Andrew rasped, "I've told you everything I know. Please, let me go. I... I was just a liaison. I haven't done anything wrong."
Bruce punched him to shut him up and continued,
"One last question. How is this armor flowing into the market? Where are the secret ports?"
Half an hour later, Bruce shed his stealth suit, donned a tuxedo, and appeared at a high-society banquet. Alfred approached him with a drink in hand.
"As a retired field agent, I sincerely advise you not to investigate any further."
Bruce silently shook his head, declining his butler's kind advice.
Alfred sighed helplessly. "The Deputy Director of the CIA is no ordinary person. Torturing one of his associates could have unpredictable consequences."
"I will find the evidence first."
Bruce took a glass and walked toward two scantily-clad, attractive women. Tonight, he wasn't Batman; he was just the playboy prince of the Wayne family.
The Cargo and the Kryptonite
Late into the night, at a somewhat remote port on the West Coast.
The port was still operating despite the late hour. A freighter loaded with containers was docked in the deep water. A dozen fully armed soldiers appeared on the deck. They wore Marine Corps uniforms and carried standard military weapons, complete with shoulder patches, ranks, and numbers. They looked like genuine soldiers, but upon closer approach, one would realize they were speaking Arabic.
A crane transferred containers to the dock. The contact person on the ground opened one container and, upon seeing the powered armor inside, excitedly rubbed his hands together. With his signal, the port immediately became a flurry of activity.
Workers moved the powered armor onto trucks while the contact went to meet the freighter's owner.
The sea breeze howled. The busy workers failed to notice a figure materialize on a rooftop. The person was like a ghost, blending into the darkness. Or rather, he was the darkness itself.
Bruce used a voice recorder to eavesdrop on the conversation aboard the freighter. This wasn't the first transaction between the two parties; similar smuggling operations had taken place dozens of times. In addition to the powered armor, the freighter carried a special metal called Kryptonite.
"Kryptonite?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow, completely unfamiliar with the term. However, judging from their conversation, the metal was far more important than the powered armor.
"Does it have a special use?"
Numerous questions arose in his mind. After a moment of thought, Bruce decided to change his original plan, focusing his attention on the Kryptonite. He needed to know what this metal was for.
After the conversation ended, the contact left the deck carrying a silver case. Meanwhile, the loading operation concluded: a total of five hundred sets of imitation powered armor—three hundred light, two hundred heavy—along with supporting weapons.
Though the performance, safety, and stability were far inferior to Tesla's products, they were more than enough for gangs operating in the underworld.
Their purpose in buying the armor wasn't for show but for self-preservation—to fight the police and the FBI.
Just as Bruce had once said, once the box is opened, the trouble is endless.
The police used powered armor to dismantle gang after gang. In response, gang members retaliated. Since they couldn't buy through legitimate channels, they resorted to the black market.
Where there is demand, there is a market.
That's how the counterfeit suppliers emerged.
Seven large trucks loaded with powered armor started their engines one after another, leaving the port in batches. Each truck was escorted by a black sedan. The contact person was in the last group to leave.
Shortly after they departed, a sleek black off-road sports car burst out of the trees, speeding in the direction the trucks had taken.
The Cliffside Interrogation
The sports car was extremely fast, catching up to the targets in just a few minutes.
Bruce showed no mercy, firing two missiles immediately. The sedan's rear was hit, launching it into the air, where it flipped 270 degrees before crashing heavily onto the road.
The heavy truck fared even worse; its cargo box overturned, sliding across the ground, and after skidding off the road, it plunged into a nearby ditch.
Bruce walked toward the sedan lying by the roadside, ignoring the two henchmen and heading straight for the contact carrying the silver case. His left hand was cuffed to the case, and even in his dazed state, he was still desperately gripping the handle.
Bruce dragged him out and stuffed him into the trunk of the sports car. The car sped off, disappearing into the night.
A few minutes later, on a sparsely populated cliff.
The recovered contact's face was pale as he looked at the tall figure in front of him.
"Batman?"
"Bastard! Do you know what you're doing?"
Bruce ignored him, opening the metal case. Five rugged, uneven stones appeared before him. The stones flickered with a green light, looking quite eerie.
"What is Kryptonite used for?"
The contact sneered, about to mock him, when a fist suddenly slammed into his face.
Bang!
A distinct crack sounded from his nose. Blood spurted out, mixed with tears of pain.
Bruce pinned him to the ground and beat him relentlessly, then kicked him toward the edge of the cliff.
The contact screamed in terror.
"I'll talk! I'll talk! Don't kill me! I'll tell you everything!"
Bruce grabbed his clothes, preventing him from falling.
"Who are you?"
"Larry Edward."
"What is your actual identity?"
The contact hesitated. Bruce loosened his grip, and his clothes started to slip. The contact panicked immediately.
"I'm an arms dealer. I'm responsible for smuggling counterfeit powered armor."
Bruce's voice was frigid. "I want your real identity, not some middleman title."
Edward's face changed drastically. His eyes darted around, but seeing Bruce about to let go, he gave a bitter smile.
"I work for the CIA."
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