Chapter 59: Our Own
By the time the lights flickered back to life in the Fourth Precinct, Batman had already vanished into the shadows, leaving no trace of his presence behind. The haunting laughter that had filled the precinct had ceased, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. The infected person, once a terrifying figure filled with manic energy, now lay motionless—a corpse trapped within the hardened gel.
Charlie, having expertly maneuvered Batman out of the precinct, ascended to the rooftop of a nearby building using the grappling hook. From his elevated perch, he surveyed the city below, the early morning light just beginning to tinge the horizon. It had been a long night, and Charlie felt the weariness begin to set in. His body ached from the hours of tension, but as he was about to log off and finally get some rest, an unexpected notification appeared on his screen—a new exclamation point had popped up, signaling yet another mission.
"Another one?" Charlie muttered, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as curiosity and the thrill of the hunt took over.
This night had been unusual from the start. Typically, he would set out in the early evening, struggling to find a few worthwhile missions throughout the night. Most of the tasks were mundane, with little reward. But tonight had been different. Missions had refreshed one after another, each more intense than the last, and all seemed to be linked by a common thread—infected lunatics with that same eerie, unsettling laughter.
It was as though Riverton City itself had been gripped by a wave of madness, and Charlie, as Batman, had been at the center of it all.
"What's going on tonight?" Charlie wondered, his mind racing. It felt like the city was in the midst of some unseen, sinister force, its effects spreading like wildfire.
But despite the strangeness of it all, this was good news for Charlie. Every mission completed meant more experience points and a chance to further hone his skills. And tonight, he'd encountered several high-level threats—what could be considered elite enemies, if not outright bosses. The rewards for these encounters were significantly greater than what he would typically earn from taking down run-of-the-mill thugs.
Charlie hesitated for a moment, his finger hovering over the log-off button.
It reminded him of those late nights spent reading novels, where the thrill of the story kept him glued to the screen, unable to stop despite the growing fatigue. He'd tell himself, "Just one more chapter," only to find himself clicking through page after page until the first light of dawn crept through his window. The cliffhangers were relentless, each chapter ending just as the tension peaked, compelling him to continue.
Now, after weeks of high-intensity training within the game, Charlie felt he could handle the strain. He was tired, sure, but he could push through for a little longer. The temptation of the new mission was too strong to resist. With a resigned sigh, he made his decision and directed Batman toward the next objective.
He found himself in another familiar scenario.
A local gang had stormed into a barbecue restaurant, demanding protection money from the owner. But before they could make their threats, a knife-wielding lunatic had burst in, laughing maniacally as he slashed at anyone within reach. The situation was spiraling out of control.
Charlie, controlling Batman, arrived just in time. He quickly subdued the lunatic, disarming him with a swift, calculated strike. The gang members, seeing the vigilante in action, tried to flee, but Batman was quicker. He delivered a series of powerful blows, ensuring they would be out of commission for a while. Another wave of experience points flowed into Charlie's account as the situation was brought under control.
It wasn't until the sky began to lighten, the first hints of dawn coloring the edges of the city, that the relentless stream of exclamation points finally stopped.
Charlie, still on edge, had Batman patrol for a while longer, scanning the city for any signs of new trouble. When he was finally certain that no new missions were appearing, he allowed himself to log off, his body sagging with exhaustion as the adrenaline began to wear off.
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While Charlie was busy, pleasantly racking up experience points and rewards, the situation at the Ninth Division was by far less pleasant.
Earlier that night, they had been on edge, grappling with the sudden outbreak of what they suspected was a new form of infection. The situation had escalated rapidly, and information was pouring in from all directions.
Frontline agents were in a constant state of motion, gathering data, handling spontaneous incidents, and relaying updates back to headquarters. The staff on the mothership had spent the entire night on high alert, analyzing the data and trying to piece together the larger picture of what was happening.
Now, whenever the word "laughing" appeared in a report, it triggered an almost Pavlovian response among the team—anxiety, dread, and a sense of impending doom. It was as if the mere mention of it brought back memories of previous crises, much like how the World Security Council in the Marvel universe would react to yet another troubling report from S.H.I.E.L.D.
As dawn broke, the flow of bad news finally began to slow. It seemed that the outbreak of this so-called "laughter infection" was beginning to taper off.
Just as the team was beginning to let out a collective sigh of relief, the door to the conference room suddenly burst open. Professor Miyazaki rushed in, his usually composed demeanor replaced by a look of urgency and alarm. His entrance immediately put everyone back on high alert.
"What now?" someone asked, the fatigue in their voice evident.
"It's not another outbreak," Miyazaki quickly assured them, though his tone remained grave. "But we've made significant progress in identifying the source of the infection."
Hearing this, the room instantly perked up. All eyes were on Miyazaki.
Tracking down the source was critical. It didn't matter how many infected individuals were neutralized if they couldn't find the root cause. Without knowing where the infection was coming from, their efforts would be like trying to mop up a flood while the tap was still running.
"Have you identified who the source of the infection is?" Commander Ross asked, his voice tight with anticipation.
"Not definitively," Miyazaki replied, his tone serious. "But we do have a strong suspect. You're all aware of the attack on the FBI's Fourth Division earlier tonight, correct?"
The entire room nodded. The incident at the Fourth Division had been the most severe of the night, shaking the entire city to its core.
"If even the FBI isn't safe," one officer muttered under their breath, "then what hope is there for the rest of Riverton City?"
Miyazaki continued, "We reviewed all the surveillance footage from around the precinct, analyzing everyone who entered and exited the building that night. We cross-referenced that with our intelligence database, trying to identify any potential suspects."
"And?" someone prompted, leaning forward, eager for answers.
"We found something," Miyazaki said, his expression darkening. "The analysts reported their findings to me just a few minutes ago. I'm going to show you what they uncovered."
As he spoke, Miyazaki connected his device to the large screen in the conference room. The surveillance footage from the FBI's Fourth Division was displayed, though it was grainy due to the enlargement on the large screen.
Miyazaki stepped aside and pressed play on the remote.
The footage showed a lone figure walking into the surveillance area. The person paused, stopping in the most prominent spot in the frame. Then, they looked directly into the camera and grinned—a smile that was both unsettling and unmistakably deliberate.
It was almost as if the figure was taunting them, daring them to figure out who they were.
Miyazaki paused the video at this moment, freezing the image on the grinning face.
"Now, I'll zoom in," he said, using the remote to enhance the image.
As the image was magnified and underwent further processing, the face became clearer. The room fell into a tense silence as the officers squinted at the screen, trying to make out the identity of the person. Slowly, their expressions shifted from confusion to shock, disbelief, and a dawning horror.
Finally, all eyes turned to Miyazaki, their faces a mix of incredulity and fear.
"Is this...could it really be...?" one of them stammered, struggling to process what they were seeing.
"Yes," Miyazaki confirmed with a grave nod. "The facial recognition software has matched the image with a 99.9% accuracy rate."
He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the reaction to what he was about to reveal. "We believe that the person who entered the Fourth Division of the Riverton FBI and left behind this provocative footage is none other than our own, Agent Ivan Petrov.
The room erupted in a cacophony of shocked gasps and murmurs, disbelief and denial mingling with anger and confusion. The idea that one of their own could be involved in something so heinous was almost too much to bear.
The weight of the situation pressed down on everyone in the room. The trust they had placed in their colleague now felt like a noose tightening around their collective necks.
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