Chapter 2374: Gotham Music Festival (76)_1

Peter wasn't seriously injured, and although Deathstroke is also a genetically modified person, his settings were more oriented towards omnipotence and tactics, so without any special performance in strength, his two bare-handed punches couldn't cause much damage to Spider-Man.

"Why is it you?" Bruce asked with some curiosity.

Peter looked away.

Bruce stared at him.

Peter sighed and said, "Well, I heard he was a killer, so to stop his evil deeds, I hacked into his email and helped him delete some inappropriate mercenary jobs."

"You really deserved the beating then."

"But that's not the point, the point is I didn't delete them completely. The emails were left in the trash, so when other Spider-Men hacked in, they saw that Deathstroke had deleted the high-paying but not righteous orders, so they went out of their way to email him and greet him, thinking he might be a hidden hero."

Bruce covered his eyes.

"Right." Bruce looked at Peter and asked, "Have you heard anything about the Federal Bureau of Investigation while you've been here?"

After thinking it over seriously, Peter replied, "No, I haven't heard from the FBI in a long time. I've heard from locals in Gotham that they can't enter this city."

"That used to be the case." Bruce appeared worried and said, "Ever since the situation in Gotham improved, more and more strange people have started to come in. It can only be said that a coin has two sides."

"Although I'm not fond of the FBI's violent methods either, don't you think they are capable of taking responsibility for improving the city's security?"

"I'm afraid their main purpose for coming here isn't to enhance the security." Bruce gently shook his head and said, "Their violent methods are usually not about maintaining security either."

"You don't want them to come in?" Peter saw Bruce's resistance and added, "But you can't refuse the people entering this city as it gets better, so you won't be able to avoid the infiltration of agents."

"I don't see this city as my personal property," Bruce said. "Anyone has the right to come here, but if they're up to small moves against me even before they come in, then I'm afraid I'll have to respond in kind."

That's right, Shiller cheered for Bruce inwardly and urged him to go on with the main missions. Those who mixed in with the tourist crowds and infiltrated were likely to be your big trouble in the coming period.

Bruce stood up, seemingly not wanting to wait any longer. Peter also stood up. The minor injuries on their faces had mostly healed. He asked, "Is there anything I can help with?"

"There actually might be." Bruce said, "I need some hands to help find a serial killer in the city." Bruce didn't explicitly mention the Federal Bureau of Investigation to Gordon, he still didn't want Gordon to face too much pressure.

So he simply summarized it as a serial killing case, saying, "It's not that the police can't handle it, but after all, Gotham's police are only ordinary people. The serial killer is particularly vicious, so with your help, we might reduce some casualties."

"I'd be honored to help," Peter said. "But there's a tricky fact, Deathstroke is still causing trouble for us."

"Just do your best," Bruce actually meant to say that Deathstroke's targeting of Spider-Men was really just small-time trouble, more like finding some amusement when there's nothing else to do, rather than really wanting to harm Spider-Man.

Bruce had investigated this famously skilled mercenary master. It seemed that Deathstroke particularly enjoyed antagonizing teenagers, as if he found pleasure in beating them up, and this was probably his way of participating in the festival.

But that's not the case with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A mercenary like Deathstroke and the FBI certainly had bad blood between them. To put it bluntly, many times Deathstroke's targets had no capability to resist him, and the most significant resistance he encountered was from these violent law enforcement agencies.

While the FBI often acted inhumanely, they are still a law enforcement agency after all. No matter how powerful Deathstroke is, he's a killer who doesn't fit into a society with order. The FBI's opponent is just a Tactical Master, but Deathstroke's opponent is the American national machinery and even the entire society.

So their confrontations aren't one-sided in favor of Deathstroke, and most of the time, it's a deadlock. Occasionally, Deathstroke takes the loss. As for the FBI's losses, no one cares; new agents come up like leeks, one crop after another.

Under these circumstances, Deathstroke would seize every opportunity to get back at them, even if it's just a temporary weakening of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, it could alleviate a lot of pressure on his future missions.

So it's better for the Spider-Men to have a Deathstroke following them. The move of using someone else's hand to kill isn't unique to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

Bruce left quickly, as he had many more things to take care of. Shiller thought about heading back upstairs to his room to sleep but his butler called, informing him of a visitor, so he had to drive back home.

Before he could even get to the manor, he saw Oliver waiting at the gate. Oliver walked up to him, smiling, and said, "I thought there would be a welcome party just for me. I've missed a lot, haven't I?"

Shiller was already not in the mood to pretend since his task of causing trouble for Gordon was completed, but unfortunately, Oliver's visit meant he couldn't go to sleep now even if he didn't want to pretend to be an arrogant person with a disordered lifestyle.

One of the benefits of pretending to be arrogant was that if he wasn't a doctor, there was no need to care about a patient's feelings and try hard to answer every one of their questions. Greed wasn't sure he could perform the duties of a doctor perfectly in his current drowsy and groggy state; he didn't want to ruin his reputation.

So he decided to fully experience a day of arrogance. Being a mental patient who could say whatever he wanted didn't seem too bad.

Shiller and Oliver walked toward the manor, Oliver speaking as they walked, "Sorry, I came a bit early, I know you wouldn't get up this early when there are no classes."

"Usually not," Shiller said.

The two sat down on a couch, and Merkel brought over some hot tea. Through the steam of the tea, Oliver looked out of the window, seeing that the street trees had all turned yellow, and the part of the mountain landscape visible from the manor's tall windows now looked as red as the flames in a fireplace.

"I've decided not to go back to Mexico for a while," Oliver said, his hands on his knees, "Miss Romanoff made sense, if I'm always high above trying to save them, and if they're so dependent on me, then it's never truly their own struggle."

"That might make things worse," Shiller said.

"Indeed it will, for a while, but leaving doesn't mean I'll forget about it. I'll keep an eye on what's happening, and if there's an event that could lead to irreversible consequences, I'll do my best to set things right."

Shiller nodded in silence, his eyes looking tired—a fleeting expression that Oliver caught. Oliver stood up and said, "I'm sorry, I came too early, Professor. I'm here to say that I'd like to rent a place in Gotham, but since I'm not from around here, I don't know which are the good areas. I was hoping you could give me some advice."

"But there's no rush, you get some rest. Maybe I can start by taking a tour around the city with a real estate agent."

Shiller shook his head and said, "You can find any type of agent in this city, weapons, drugs, war, but not housing. Landlords with good properties do not rent to outsiders."

"Why?" Oliver asked curiously.

"Gotham wasn't in a good situation before. Those who seem to come here despite knowing this are either in big trouble or are trouble themselves. Landlords don't want any of that."

Oliver nodded in understanding. Shiller paused as if thinking, then told Merkel, "Bring me the phone book."

"Which one?" Merkel asked.

"The one on the right side of the shelf," Shiller said, frowning.

Soon, Merkel brought a phone book, which Shiller handed to Oliver without looking at it.

Without opening it, Oliver assumed it might have the numbers of landlords, so he said, "If I get through, should I tell them I was referred by someone?"

"Yes, just mention my name," Shiller nodded.

In truth, he only had a vague recollection of everything in DC, and occasionally stumbled upon some trifles when rifling through his memory, but he still remembered how the arrogant usually lived.

Since DC was technologically behind Marvel, telephone books had been in use here for a long time, and most everyday numbers were listed in them.

Shiller faintly remembered that the book on the right side of the shelf probably had numbers of some locals he knew. Oliver could call and probably find a landlord through them.

Actually, Shiller should have directly given Oliver Cobblepot's number, but Cobblepot had been too busy with the music festival recently, and Shiller couldn't get through to him. Renting a house was a minor issue that didn't warrant disturbing Gotham's rising star; any local could handle it.

"I apologize again for the intrusion," Oliver said with a nod to Shiller, then left the manor with the phone book.

He had driven here, and after leaving the manor, he went straight to his car parked by the roadside, got in, but didn't drive away immediately. Instead, he decided to first make some calls. Once he found the place he was looking for, he could drive there directly.

Oliver opened the phone book, and then he noticed it only had numbers and names, with no indication of what these people did. He scratched his head in confusion but thought they might all be locals, so he decided to call and ask.

After two rings the call connected, and Oliver, pinching the spine of the phone book, said, "Hello, I'm looking to rent an apartment with convenient transportation, an ensuite bathroom, and a kitchen, as well as office space. My referrer is Shiller Rodriguez."

There was a strange silence on the other end.

Oliver thought maybe his requirements were too high, so he said, "I'd really like a studio apartment, for which I can pay 300 US dollars a week, but if that's difficult, a standard private room would do, as long as it has a desk for work since I need to get some journalism work done."

Oliver wasn't completely lacking social life experience. He first stated a high-end apartment preference, then mentioned being willing to pay substantial rent, demonstrating financial capability, then stressed the need for an office, partially revealing the job he'd be doing to show he worked steadily and could pay rent on time.

"What's your name?" the voice on the other end asked.

Oliver thought the person's accent was odd, not because it wasn't standard but because it was too standard. Gotham locals usually had an accent, but the person on the line sounded like a news broadcaster.

Oliver knew he couldn't give his real name because he was a wanted man, but the key issue was the surname Quinn; there were too many people named Oliver in this world, he just needed a different last name.

"Oliver Dassley," Oliver made up a surname on the spot, saying, "Journalist from a newspaper on the West Coast, might work here for a year or so."