Chapter 123: Bruce Wayne and the Prisoner of the Batcave (Part 5) _2

"So, what? She doesn't expect us to kill Wayne, does she?"

"She needs decisive criminal evidence." Hugo stood up from the couch, walked over to the poker table, lightly tapped it, and said, "Evidence that can be used to threaten Bruce Wayne, she suggested that we can fabricate if needed, as long as it's published and can cause a significant blow to Wayne Enterprises' public image, forcing Bruce Wayne to comply."

There was a succession of smirks, then uproarious laughter. Everyone in the room knew exactly what was going on, but the people watching these antics on screen were completely bewildered.

"What are they laughing about?" Coulson, pointing at the screen, asked in confusion.

It was Natasha who dutifully analyzed the event from an agent's perspective: "If I'm not mistaken, this city is special. Up until now, the Federal Bureau of Investigation couldn't intervene in their intelligence work. As you know, those control freaks don't care whether the information is useful or not, as long as it's in their grasp."

"Now, with this city in chaos, the Federal Bureau of Investigation senses an opportunity to move in. This Amanda, either the Minister of Special Operations Department or someone who at least supervises a part of the fieldwork, has decided to bribe this group, uh, these…"

The female agent searched for the right way to describe the bizarre bunch she was seeing in this room.

They seemed like supervillains in New York, but which supervillain would check himself into an insane asylum? And given the chaos in this city, they didn't make many jailbreak attempts. Instead, they held a meeting. If the madmen in New York could do this, Natasha would wake up laughing from her dreams.

"...These special talents." Nick made the decisive comment.

From his years of work on S.H.I.E.L.D, the Director had learned one thing—the stranger people look, the faster they work.

"Right, she wants to recruit these special talents by collecting incriminating evidence which she can use to threaten a wealthy and powerful person in this city, and these weirdos are discussing whether or not they should cooperate."

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation's work ethic is really very consistent," Charles delicately noted. "Even the strategies of field managers from two separate worlds are remarkably similar. It's quite impressive."

"All agents live in their own darkness," Nick shook his head, pulled a box of beer out from under the sofa, and began to distribute it. He then opened a can for himself and said, "This isn't to suggest her strategy is flawed. After all, our oddball talents have contributed a great deal to the development plans in our solar system."

"I was referring to the Federal Bureau's previous attempts to hire mutants," Charles explained, shrugging. "They once tried to reach an agreement with Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. We were supposed to provide special agents with no formal identity, primarily for them to do their dirty work. I didn't agree, of course."

"Because I knew they would use such dirty background checks to threaten me, or blatantly expose my options, making all young mutants think of me as a human trafficker."

Charles's tone was so casual like this minor ambush didn't even rank on the scale of threats he's faced—it was simply a minor inconvenience.

"If I've learned anything over the years, it's that if you want those hired to genuinely work hard for you, you must accept and respect their flaws and admit that they are the best you can do within your ability."

Nick spoke up and emphasized, "The most important thing is the last part. If you hire them with a 'these monsters are my last resort' kind of mentality, expect a disaster."

"Just like a marriage," Charles added, with a slight sag in his eyelids. "If one person feels like they deserve better, the breakup is inevitable."

"We must admit; Amanda is the best choice available to us. We were just dawdling as the world changes around us and missing the best time to leave. And we've lost Batman," the woman controlling the puppet explained. "Our foolish behavior has led us to the point where we have no choice but to work with fools. I think everyone here needs to come to terms with that."

Hearing this, Coulson sucked in a breath of cold air, clicking his tongue and saying, "This is a disaster. While she's speaking the truth, the truth is often the hardest to accept. And she's so blunt about it, will these monsters go mad?"

Natasha nodded slightly. As agents, they are most sensitive to the ways people interact. Sometimes, a straightforward remark may not make one more appealing. A single sentence could ignite dispute in a tense atmosphere.

Most of the people present accepted this viewpoint. After all, no one in the room full of monsters seems kind-hearted. The words used were essentially calling them stupid. Ordinary people may not endure such remarks, let alone these vicious-looking monsters.

"Monsters, rejected by normal society for their appearance, tend to be more frail and sensitive," Nick analyzed based on his experience. "Usually, the contact agents dealing with them need to be carefully selected, gentle and subtle, yet deeply comprehending their situations and calming their anxieties."

"It's not an easy job," Charles's tone carried a hint of admiration. He looked at Nick, "And you, Director, have nearly perfectly completed this impossible task. The other day, I bumped into Mr. Electro in the corridor; his mental state seemed much better."

"Heh, he's certainly better, he and his operator have fallen in love, that damned bastard stole away the most excellent gal this time around!" Nick spat out through gritted teeth.

The noise from the screen once again drew their attention, surprisingly there was no heated argument, just an eternal silence.

"I agree, although this incident came too abruptly, we had at least ten chances to intervene before the situation escalated to this point. We could at least have kept an eye on Batman, but we've lost everything now. Starting from scratch will be difficult, so collaborating with Amanda is not entirely unacceptable."

Scarecrow's voice was somewhat indifferent, but quite logical, "But even if we have to pay for our mistakes, Amanda doesn't have the right to demand excessively or dictate to us. We know who we are; she and the Federal Bureau of Investigation may not."

"Indeed, we need to be cautious," the small man wearing a top hat said. "Once we accept her employment, it means we're pitting our firm against Wayne Enterprises to some extent. Regardless of whether this is a show or we have ill intentions, not all of us can accept the consequences."

"We definitely need to be careful," even Harley Quinn became rational, seemingly reverting overnight to Psychologist Quinzel. She pushed her invisible glasses up and said, "In this plan, everyone should be in their place, not just under Amanda. We must leave enough room for ourselves, especially with Batman still watching over us."

"Execution or performance?"

"Perhaps both."

"Well, let's perfect this plan. Batman has provided us with such a vast stage, we can't let him down, can we?"

The people in front of the screen fell silent. They realized these monsters were different from the madmen existing here.

They were not mountains of bodies, composed of violently boiling blood, uncontrollable limbs due to high variability, and brains that had lost all function due to madness. Nor were they socially inept people, shying away from the public eye.

Because they were calm and cautious, objectively and rationally evaluating others and themselves. Even with a more stable personality than normal people, they could still engage in friendly interactions and collaborations, allowing everyone watching to see a shining soul behind their violent appearances.

This unexpectedly reminded them of a garden in ruins where carefully cultivated precious seedlings had long since died, leaving behind strange plants fearlessly flourishing in the extreme desolation.

Bizarre, absurd, like a light-hearted scene where one could laugh lightly amid a tragedy, something akin to... art.