The hoodlums whom Batman had beaten up the night of the earthquake didn’t have any valuable information. They were all idiots who couldn’t even explain why or how Batman beat them.
The pros who had been beaten up, on the other hand, were much more valuable.
They could perceive Batman’s capability more clearly, unlike the street thugs who could only say meaningless crap like “he sent me flying up three floors with a single punch” or “he beat the sh*t out of me.”
Captain Jones couldn’t be any more satisfied with the triple rewards.
Once he reported the matter, his boss took over the work of negotiating benefits; Jones was quite happy about that too.
What benefits a deputy director could demand was far more than what a small squad captain could.
In return, Captain Jones would be able to obtain more benefits than if he had taken charge himself.
After Captain Jones’s frank speech, the meeting participants reported to their superiors.
Very soon, the first criminal was taken away.
It was Flegg who took him away. The criminal was Barkley Williams, the middle-aged ringleader who could turn into sand.
With Flegg’s resources, it was easy for him to be the first to take someone out of the FBI’s hands.
It was only after that that the other units and departments took some of the criminals away one after another.
The various units and departments soon drew out all the information they had on Batman. Multiple assessment reports on Batman were written and delivered to certain bigshots.
“He’s stronger than an ordinary person, but not significantly so…” “His suit is bulletproof and didn’t sustain damage from a regular rifle at close range. It’s most likely made with special materials or technology.”
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“He didn’t use any sort of firearm, even with the criminals’ guns at hand.”
“He’s very good with rope darts, as he demonstrated during the earthquake. He’s definitely a veteran practitioner.”
“He’s extremely adept at close combat, and knows multiple combat techniques.”
Reading the assessment reports that he had obtained from other departments, Flegg couldn’t help but wonder if this man was a certain person’s relative. But if it was the “senior” that Flegg was thinking about, he probably wouldn’t have left the criminals alive, and he definitely wouldn’t have deliberately avoided using firearms.
He didn’t have the habit of, nor was it necessary for him to conceal his identity. He never covered up how or where he killed scoundrels. He never left his name behind because he couldn’t be bothered or thought it was unnecessary; he was done as long as he killed the criminals in his way.
Tossing the reports aside, Flegg walked into the interrogation room next door and read the interrogation transcript.
Next to him, his men continued interrogating Barkley, who was exhausted.
Agent: “Describe again how he subdued you.”
Barkley could barely keep his eyes open, but he suddenly yelled as he jerked awake from an electric shock. He said in despair, “I’ve told you a million times: He just charged at me, pressed me down, and beat me up.”
Agent: “How did he hit you? In what posture?”
Eyelids drooping, Barkley mumbled, “How would I know? He hit me like I was a sandbag and broke a bunch of my bones. How am I supposed to tell how I was beaten up? I’m not a damn camera.”
Maintaining his cool and calm tone, the agent said, “But you mentioned that he shouted… well.”
He finally paused at this point and checked the transcript, before he read the words on it. “Pegasus Meteor Fist’ – what do you know about this combat technique?”
Barkley seemed to collapse. “How the hell would I know why he shouted that? I like shouting Guillotine, Tombstone Piledriver and Death Coil when I’m beating up other people! That’s all from the WWE!”
The agent was about to continue with the questions, but Flegg patted his shoulder and said, “He just mentioned WWE.”
The teammate found that odd. “So?”
Flegg tapped the table and asked Barkley, “Then, have you ever heard of any move called ‘Pegasus Meteor Fist’ in WWE?”
Barkley was full of despair. “No! Would WWE use such a tongue twister? It doesn’t sound violent and fierce at all.”
Flegg hummed in response and told the agent, “Keep interrogating him and make sure he confesses everything.” He then walked out.
He was an observant man, and felt that there was something behind “Pegasus Meteor Fist.”
Catchphrases were a habit that was very hard to fix, and was one way to lock onto a suspect.
Perhaps it was a star sign, perhaps it was something from the past, perhaps it was a story! The chances of finding a person based on a phrase were very low, but it could never be wrong to focus more attention on Batman.
Mulling over this, Flegg asked another agent who was busy in front of a computer, “Do you have any suspects?”
“Based on the intelligence we currently have, there’s a guy nicknamed ‘Big Dad’ who has a similar build to Batman, but he’s been active in New York for a while.” The agent pulled up an image on the screen. “Also, this Big Dad is much worse at doing things in secret than Batman.”
He continued, “On the night of the earthquake, this Big Dad and his partner, Hit Girl, burnt down a warehouse which belonged to a drug gang. They had a huge battle at the docks and were surrounded by over a hundred officers before they escaped in different directions.”
“Big Dad? Hit Girl?” Flegg frowned; the names sounded like jokes and weren’t as mysterious as Batman at all.
He glanced at the image and shook his head. “They’re only slightly similar on the surface. Both of them wear black clothes and a cape, and have two sharp points on their helmet. Too many people have the same appearance. What about Big Dad’s abilities?”
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The agent shook his head. “Big Dad is reasonably good at melee fights, but he uses a firearm most of the time, and is a pretty good sniper. Hit Girl, his partner, is better with cold weapons.” He pulled up another picture.
Looking at the short girl who was 1.2 meters tall at best as well as the huge weapon she was holding, Flegg said after a brief silence, “Do you think this can be called a dart?”
The agent smiled bitterly. “This is a double-headed long saber that has nothing to do with a dart. Even though it can be thrown out to kill people, it would be a flying saber rather than a dart.”
Seeing that Flegg was growing impatient, he tacitly stopped talking nonsense. “Also, these two, whom we suspect to be father and daughter, are very straightforward in their methods. Their targets are all drug dealers, and they do their best to kill all of them every time. They’re the polar opposite of Batman.”
Looking at Flegg’s face, the agent ventured, “Perhaps, that’s what Batman deliberately wants us to think of him? Maybe he does use firearms to kill people?”
“That possibility can’t be ruled out yet.” Flegg nodded.