Capítulo 3978: Chapter 3090: Mercury Chronicles (40)

No moonlight shone outside, the night sky was pitch black, dense clouds and mist foreshadowed an impending storm.

Lonely Ghost stood in front of the mirror, his face pale, dressed to the nines, with nothing but a pair of gaunt, pale hands as his weapon.

Only the minute scale-like lines on his jaw were visible in the mirror.

A black glove covered his fingertips, while the other hand tugged at the edge of the glove, smoothing the tight leather down over the palm until it stopped at the edge of his hand.

The other hand grasped the tie knot, adjusted the position of the tie, reached to the side, picked up a pen, snapped its cap with his thumb, and slipped it into his suit pocket.

The swordfish brooch was adjusted, shirt cufflinks fastened, suit hem straightened.

His gaze swept over the shiny leather shoes, the heels lifted and then set down, paused briefly, then he strode out, leaving only the dull echo of his heel hitting the floor.

Shiller walked through the corridor.

The footsteps tapped rhythmically; a pair of frightened eyes lingered under a door crack, golden hair falling beside the ears.

She saw the heel of a leather shoe pause in front of the door, one foot stepping sideways, then pivoting.

The shoe tip like the dark muzzle of a gun.

A hand with a jeweled ring covered her mouth.

Thud, thud, thud...

The knocks sounded like thunder at midnight.

The crisp footsteps of high heels became chaotic, like a sudden downpour, wild winds howling outside.

"Ah!!!"

Upstairs, Gordon hurried down, Barbara was holding her arms up against the wild wind blowing into the room, the windows flapping against the walls.

"Good heavens! I was just about to remind you to stay away from the windows!" Gordon quickly rushed over to embrace his wife, fetched a towel from the bathroom, and wiped her face.

"This storm really came on fast," Barbara said, adjusting her hair, "I thought I could lock the windows before it started pouring, but they were blown open nonetheless."

"Once the storm passes, we'll switch to casement windows," Gordon assured her, then clutched the edge of the window and pushed hard, a click sound indicating the window had finally closed.

The gale was blocked outside, the mansion inside warmed again, the rain and wind outside unable to affect it in the slightest, only the logs in the fireplace crackling and the dance of firelight and shadows on the walls.

Barbara just sighed with relief when loud crying came from the living room, Gordon went to make hot tea and said, "Seems our little Jenny is awake again, thankfully there's a storm tonight, I can stay with you both..."

Dingling, dingling!

Gordon gently set down the teapot, walked over, and picked up the phone, the line was filled with loud static, and he could barely make out a voice speaking.

To avoid waking his daughter, Gordon had no choice but to cover both his mouth and the receiver with his hand, listening to the person on the other end, his eyes slowly widening.

The beams of the car headlights pierced the rain, the red and blue lights overlapped and flickered on the shaky walls as Gordon slowly pressed the brake, and dashed into the police booth covered in a raincoat.

Standing there, he looked back in the direction his subordinate pointed.

At the top of the tallest mansion by the Gotham Riverside, a slim flag waved incessantly in the storm, seemingly about to fall at any moment yet remarkably resilient.

Gordon felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over him, cooling his blood.

Although the forked ends of the flag gleamed, guiding like a lighthouse in the storm for sailors.

Those weren't flags, but a pair of high-heeled shoes studded with diamonds.

What wasn't a flag supposed to be turned out to be a woman.

The typically bright and glaring yellow caution tape also seemed dimmed in the terrible storm, blown down to the ground, but no one had the time to pick them up as no one would gather outside the caution tape in such weather, not even the jackal-like reporters.

The guards, both wearing thick raincoats and holding umbrellas, crouched under the eaves, a trail of wet footprints led to the door, a string of police had just rushed in.

Gordon didn't even have time to take off his raincoat as he stormed into the mansion, a group of people in evening attire crouched in a corner, but Gordon didn't give them a glance as he hurried up the stairs.

Reaching the top floor of the mansion, Gordon pushed open the door to the rooftop but was instantly blinded by the rain.

Shielding his eyes with his hand, he struggled against the wind and finally reached the base of the flagpole.

Looking up, the woman dangling from the flagpole faced downwards, her vacant eyes meeting his.

Gordon's heart skipped a beat.

But he quickly motioned for his subordinates, cut down the flagpole with tools, and dragged it indoors, untied the rope tied to the woman's hair.

The newly arrived forensic team took off their raincoats, seeing the blood washed down by the rain mixed with the mud under the officers' feet on the tiled floor, suddenly turned into a volcanic crater, black and red lava pouring down, roaring.

The body was laid out in the middle of the floor.

But there was no body, it was just a shell. The upper half of the head's skin had been removed, and the rest of the skin was sutured and hung on a flagpole. The wind blew into the hollow head, re-inflating the limbs that had lost the support of bones, muscles, and internal organs, as if it were alive.

Forensic experts found many stitches.

The stitching technique was not delicate, but it was very tight, ensuring that air could not pass through and the skin could be perfectly expanded.

Gordon received the information of the victim, a Gotham City councilor, Ivana Talosta from the city planning and management bureau, female, 43 years old, with a son and a daughter, her husband having died a few years ago.

The first one, Gordon instinctively thought, his intuition wasn't always accurate, but there would undoubtedly be a second and a third.

Gordon received another call.

The same flag had appeared on top of Gotham Cathedral.

Hawkeson Faronek, Gotham City councilor and city government economic and financial advisor, male, 49 years old, with an only son, his ex-wife having divorced him and gone to Europe.

By the time Gordon arrived, the body had been taken down, the once only Father Daniel had retired, the new priest acted terrified, constantly hiding in the confessional.

There was no useful information, he was keeping vigil, thinking it was a new flag that had been hoisted, until the blood ran down the flagpole, dripping from the eaves, and red rain floated outside the window all night.

In the town struck by the typhoon, night fell earlier than ever, the wind drove the rain fiercely, cold and freezing.

Gordon stood in front of the church watching them load the body into the car. With no bystanders to interfere, the work proceeded very smoothly, without a hint of noise, only the howling wind by his ear.

Back at the police station, Gordon didn't take off his raincoat, he knew the third tragic news would soon arrive, he just prayed silently in his heart, hoping it wasn't a name he knew.

Wayne Enterprises raised its flag.

When Gordon arrived at the rooftop of Wayne Building, a person in a black raincoat was dragging a body toward the rooftop door.

In the heavy rain, the hood of the raincoat was taken off, and Gordon saw Tim's face, so he shouted toward him,

"Is that you, Tim?"

"If you mean the killer, no! I just didn't want his blood to be blown everywhere, no one else would clean the roof for me!"

Gordon had no choice but to go up and help Tim drag the body inside, they were a mess, the fishy smell of rainwater and the smell of blood mixed together, almost choking.

"Do you know what this is about?" Gordon shouted over the noise like he was still in the typhoon.

"I don't know!" Tim replied in the same way, "Clueless, it seems we've just become an unlucky dumping ground for a serial killer."

Gordon looked down at the body.

At the sight of that face, he froze, then quickly pulled out his phone and yelled into it.

"Send someone immediately! The third victim is the fugitive Circe!"

In the dim light of the warehouse roof, the face half-shorn of the brain, no longer supported by air, withered, plastered onto the skin of the back of the head, faintly revealing the once beautiful features, both evil and glamorous, it was indeed the fugitive Witch Circe, who had caused much trouble for the Gotham Police Department.

The holographic projection screen flickered with cold light, Bruce turned his head, addressing the others who were still focused on the corpse's face.

"We've overlooked something."

"Yes," Diana said. "The massacre might not have happened on Mercury."

Everyone sighed in resignation.

Clark turned toward Lilith beside him and said, "Is this the massacre from your prediction?"

"I can't be sure," Lilith shook her head, "But I indeed can't predict where exactly the massacre takes place."

Oliver, however, breathed a sigh of relief and said, "It's a relief no students were harmed, and the preparations we've made can be used to prevent future incidents, not a wasted effort."

"We're not regretting that," Clark said. "The key is, it doesn't prove that Mercury is safe now. We can't leave, or else someone might take advantage of our absence."

"If the dead person is really Circe, then who has been wreaking havoc on Mercury?" Diana murmured, her brow furrowed. "Shiller and I believed that the mastermind behind the series of events starting with the Bono attack is now in Mercury Base."

Finishing this, she took out a purple cube attached to the body of a Blue Beetle, saying, "The power inside is almost identical to Circe's, who else could it be?"

"Now there are two possibilities," said Bruce. "Either the dead is the real Circe and the mastermind in the base is fake, or the dead is a fake Circe and her real self is hiding on the ship."

"It's getting more and more confusing," sighed Diana, covering her forehead.

Bruce, however, shook his head. "There's nothing confusing."

"If it's the former, Circe has been tricked," Bruce sat back down, looking at the lifeless face on the holographic projection, "The mastermind planned a series of events at the base, diverting all our attention to Mercury, leaving us no time for Earth, thus seizing the chance to eliminate Circe."

"Would we have stopped him on Earth?"

"No, but it would expose him. If we, Circe, and the mastermind were all on Earth, and we were also keeping an eye on Circe, him making a move to eliminate her would definitely attract our attention."

Bruce went on to speculate, "And if it's the latter, Circe faked her own death message, probably hoping to send us back to Earth to verify whether she really died. Then, larger chaos might break out on Mercury."

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