Indian Hill

The only voice left in the large Batcave is Vicki, who continues her performance in front of the camera and has decided that today's date is a lucky number for the future.

 Not only did she survive Death Knell, but she also learned many dark secrets that she had never thought of before. The big news she had had in the past year was the only one she had had in the day, and she was now very happy and even more determined to pursue journalism.

 On Barbara's side, unfortunately, she's not so happy.

 She thought Batgirl was the hero of the city, but here she is.

 Batgirl has a dark heart, doesn't trust anyone, just listen to what kind of life she leads.

 Seeing the machine and spying on everyone in the city has left Barbara with a disillusioned sense of emptiness.

 Eugene looked as if her mind was completely distracted, and now the people were waiting for her results and waving their hands in front of her.

 "I said, if I want to pay tribute to my girlhood feelings at another time, shouldn't I check the license plate number first? Gordon is still waiting for help."

 "Uh, hold on."

 Barbara came to her senses and began typing in the license plate engraved on Gordon's glasses.

 Yeah, whatever bats do, she's just one of those people in tights, and she thinks of her as the hope of the city. Silly...

 Whether Bat's voyeuristic tendencies are normal or not, her people-finder app certainly lives up to its name. Almost immediately, the car's registration appeared on the big screen.

 It doesn't matter who the owner is -- the name is most likely a pseudonym -- what matters is the trajectory of its movements today.

 If it doesn't have today's, then past traces will do, like where it docked, where it was refueled, the usual areas. With all that, the system can carve out a small enough area for them to search, and a professional mercenary can definitely pick it up.

 No one can hide from so many hidden probes, and wherever they walk, they leave a trail.

 Barbara pulled up all the footage, looked it up and cross-referenced it, and the large screen before her was divided into countless smaller ones, playing frantically at the same time as the program sifted through any useful information based on digital recognition technology.

 Eugene's worst-case scenario did not come to pass, as the car's whereabouts today were quickly summarized by the system and its final destination was marked on a map.

 "No, not here," he said.

 Eugene shook his head helplessly at the last constantly shining red dot on the map, wondering why such a big Gotham, so many places to hide, had to be the one he least expected.

 "What? Is there something wrong here? '

 Barbara pulled up information about the area. On the display, it was called Indian Hill, a salvage yard near the river terminal in East Gotham.

 Before Gotham City was built, it was an Indian reservation area, so it was named for it. But with the continuous advancement of urbanization, the Indians finally succumbed to the power of capital.

 They sold the hills where the bones of their ancestors were buried in exchange for a long string of numbers on their checks. Then they left Gotham, supposedly to open casinos in Las Vegas and become very rich.

 But no one remembers who bought it or what they intended to do with it, except that long, long ago, after the invention of the automobile, it was where Gotham disposed of its abandoned vehicles.

 Before the old cars were crushed into metal cubes and sent to steel mills for reuse, they would sit in a small hill, one on top of the other, like bricks.

 Now Indian Hill is more like Homeless Hill, where countless homeless people like to nest in old cars, spend cold nights, maybe build a fire, and cook the leftovers they find in dumpsters.

 At the very least, it's a place that no gang would look up to. There's no oil, even the land is as poor as the people there, and nothing grows. Even thieves and robbers who move by night do not go there, for they are doomed to waste their efforts.

 What can you expect from trash-women and vagabonds? Fleas and bedbugs?

 Barbara wondered why Deathstroke was so resistant to the sight of Indian Hill. He and Cindy had mentioned Arkham and Blackgate Prison without changing their faces, talking and laughing as if it were easy to get in and out.

 But it's not like a junkyard is the same as the other two, is it?

 Cindy also wondered if Sue's obsession with cleanliness had developed to such a pathological level that hearing homeless people made her itch all over her body. Probably not, because if he did, he would scream when he took a breath of Gotham air.

 Eugene watched them both, fingering the armor plate on his elbow, wondering how to open his mouth.

 He was not a native of the country, and he knew exactly what Indian Hill was, behind the cover of a junkyard.

 In DC Main World, where the United States secretly set up a research center after World War II, the research project was biological weapons...

 With the nature of the dark multiverse, things are only going to get worse, and Indian Hill, here, is one of those places.

 Every biological project imaginable could be found there, just owned by the Amazonian parliament instead of the US government.

 Bots, mutants, genetic monsters, deadly viruses, doomsday weapons...

 He and Cindy should be fine, but all 8 million people in the city are at risk.

 If Gotham is destroyed, no matter in whose hands, Earth-minus 11's Bliss will become a supervillain.

 When Atlantis floods Gotham, she becomes drowned; If Gotham is destroyed by the bioweapons Amazon is working on, she may become something poisoned, if it is lost for other reasons, she may become something burnt, destroyed.

 No matter what name she takes when she turns black, if she falls into darkness, Barbatos will have succeeded in his scheme and will have added another member to his Dark Knights.

 Just then, Falcone was there with a gift ready for the League of Assassins, luring them forward.

 If Eugene and the ninjas get in before they do, they will undoubtedly get thunder, and if they arrive too late, Gordon may be in danger, which makes him hesitate.

 His mind is running wild, calculating and guessing.

 The two women exchanged puzzled looks as he stared at the big screen, but they also knew that Eugene would not find it difficult for no reason, so they waited quietly for an explanation.

 Eugene finally sighed and told them what he could say, only that in his original world, there was an underground biochemical research institute, which had run out of some not very good things.

 "What do you mean, not so good?"

 Cindy also became serious, asking a question, all the experiments associated with the military are often weapons, such as Deathstroke himself.

 "On your side, magic is also used in the military, so when technology and magic are combined, I don't know what will be in it, maybe magical zombies? Maybe a Black Death virus modified by magic."

 At this, even Cindy, not to mention Barbara, was startled. They had thought jesters were the craziest people in the world, but it turned out that politicians and generals were the craziest.

 There are 8 million people in Gotham City, and they have been living on a huge pot of poison for decades without realizing it.

 "This.... That's going to be tricky." Cindy, also thinking of Eugene's previous question, involuntarily bared her teeth, reached for the bottle and took a sip.

 "If there's any good news, there's one." Eugene takes out his own bottle and bites the cork. Barbara is looking at him. He frowns. "You can't drink.

 Barbara stared at him as if you were teasing me. "I was waiting for your good news, not your drink."

 "I know, it was just a joke....." Eugene threw his neck back and swallowed the smaller half of the bottle, feeling nothing in particular. His mind was still very clear. "The good news is, it should have stopped working in the 1990s. If there was something in it that failed to contain it, Falcone was the first to match it, and as far as we can tell, he's still alive."