The Memoirs of Cultivating Immortals

Chapter 102 Negotiation (4k)

If the Wayne Building represents the historical glory of Gotham, then the Iceberg Restaurant in the Diamond District represents the wealth and luxury of Gotham.

For more than ten years, this Michelin three-star restaurant with expensive consumption and top-notch service as a gimmick has always been a symbol of high society. People who come in and out are either rich or expensive. Whether they can book a seat on a weekend afternoon is the lady who judges the gold content of her boyfriend. A great trick.

In the evening, the manager of the restaurant with a meticulous moustache kept a cold face, ignoring the protests and questions from customers outside the restaurant, and stood alone in the door frame.

"I've reserved a seat a long time ago, why don't you let me in?" A rich young man with his arms around his girlfriend shouted impatiently, "I told your boss to open the door quickly, do you still want to do it?"

The restaurant manager didn't say anything, didn't even glance at Kuo Shao, just rolled up his sleeves a little and checked the time on his watch.

This gilded rich young man who came from Europe to study was even more annoyed. Just as he was about to say the dirty words that had been brewing for a while, the female companion beside him gently tugged at his skirt, leaned close to his ear and said, "This is Copperpot!" Mr.'s restaurant."

Cobbot, this word seems to have magical powers, and Kuo Shao, who was still stuck in the neck just now, immediately died down, his face changed, and he retreated silently into the crowd.

With the sound of brakes, a sports car stopped on the side of the road, and Oswald Copperpot, the bloated mafia tycoon, got out of the car.

The penguin was still holding the umbrella, but his arms seemed a little uncoordinated, so he could only use the umbrella as a crutch to support his body weight, and limped forward.

The crowded crowd automatically parted in front of him, just like the sea parted by Moses in the Bible story.

The manager of the restaurant who had been waiting for a long time hurried over to help him, bathed in the eyes of everyone, and supported the penguin into the restaurant.

The whole process was carried out in silence. No one in the crowd dared to laugh aloud, and no one dared to stare at Cobblepot's staggering steps. They could only stare at the back of the penguin, watching this bloated, short and deformed man walk up to the second floor. building.

After a long time, the manager of the restaurant went downstairs and hung the wooden sign of "resting" on the glass door.

He bowed slightly modestly and said, "The Bingshan restaurant only serves Mr. Coppert today, please forgive me."

No one protested, not even the arrogant and domineering young master Kuo, and the crowd dispersed in the blink of an eye.

On the top floor of the restaurant, in the corner by the window, the penguin is sticking to the dining table, slowly tying a napkin.

Kitaki shellfish airlifted from Shiraoi Town, Hokkaido, made into sashimi, sweet and smooth, chewing crisply, but also has a bit of sea breeze.

Penguin eats very slowly, his eyes are not on the plate, but on the newspaper behind the plate. The headline reads "Bomb Attack at Arkham Asylum" and the subhead reads "Several patients escape".

This is news on the bright side, and all the citizens of Gotham thought that this was another prison escape drama concocted by the villain who spread chaos.
However, the high-ranking Penguin knows the deeper story—Arkham was indeed attacked.

The attackers did it neatly. First, they used micro-explosives to trigger explosions in various parts of the corridor. When everyone was in a hurry, they broke through the cells where the "extremely dangerous people" were held, and plundered all the "high-value" targets inside.

Poison Ivy, Firefly, Freeze, Scarecrow, Dr. Phosphorus, all prisoners with more or less special abilities, were taken away until the security personnel of Arkham Hospital and Gotham police arrived At that time, there were only empty cells on the opposite side of them.

With Batman gone, who can stop these fleeing villains?

Penguin looked away from the newspaper and stared at his palm.

Although the palm of the right hand that was chopped off by Tu on the rooftop was spliced ​​back in time, but with a slightly larger movement, an uncontrollable itching would protrude from the bone marrow.

Like tens of thousands of needles piercing the wrist section, like someone poking the skin back and forth with a brush, the penguin can't wait to cut off the palm of his hand again with a table knife, mash it into minced meat, and stop the unbearable itching.

In the end, he didn't do that, but turned over his palm indifferently, pulled off the gloves, and inspected the scars left by the human slaughter.

Or, there is another possibility that the one who attacked Arkham was not some well-known criminal, but the well-known Rentu.

There is no impenetrable wall in the world, and the Penguin has long learned of the battle that took place in the snow in the suburbs through various channels.

All the killers sent by the Owl Court were wiped out, and the League of Assassins who sneaked into Gotham was probably wiped out as well. Rentu was like a giant celestial body hanging above the sky, illuminating every day in Gotham with a fiery but unemotional light. A dark corner.

Were Poison Ivy and Firefly killed, or were they imprisoned?

Penguin didn't want to think about it, he just wanted to nest in this restaurant, resisting all outside information like an ostrich—he didn't even dare to escape, for fear of being caught by someone on the way out of the city, and since then there has been no news .

"I want something."

A man's voice suddenly sounded downstairs, Penguin jumped up from his seat, held up the umbrella handle, and aimed at the stairs.

"This is something that the poor have and the rich need."

The man's voice was getting closer, and the corners of Penguin's mouth sank, stern and indifferent.

"If you eat it, you will die."

The speaker stepped up the stairs, his boots on the parlor floor.

This is a middle-aged man wearing a green suit, green trousers, and a green hat. He wears red gloves and holds a yellow cane. The top of the palm is bent into the shape of a question mark.

He is the Riddler, formerly known as Edward Nygma, with high IQ and anti-social personality. He has been engaged in terrorist attacks in Gotham all year round, a frequent visitor to Arkham Mental Hospital, one of Batman's enemies, and also Penguin's old acquaintance.

"Now, Copperpot, tell me, what do I want?"

Riddler swings his cane, sits briskly on the railing, dangling his legs nervously, like a duck that knows how to swim.

Penguin put down the umbrella and said coldly, "The poor have it and the rich need it, so naturally it is nothing."

"That's right." The Riddler happily jumped off the railing, sat on the seat next to the Penguin, picked up the dinner plate, and picked up food for himself, "Oh my god, I'm about to starve to death .”

The Penguin sat down slowly, looked at the ragged clothes on the Riddler, and said coldly, "Aren't you in the Arkham Mental Hospital? How did you get out?"

"If it is said that I walked out of the main entrance swaggeringly, would you believe it?" The Riddler shrugged indifferently, and said casually: "That night, I was lying on the bed thinking about the problem, when I heard a violent explosion. Come on, a blond-haired British guy rushed into the prison, somehow detained the other strange people who were imprisoned, and took them all away, while I escaped in the chaos."

"British?" Penguin frowned, "Who is he?"

"I don't know," the Riddler replied, "but I can infer from his stubble, the sauce stained on his brown-yellow windbreaker, and the mud on the soles of his shoes, that he should live in the suburbs and often go to fast food restaurants to eat garbage. Food, smoking, drinking, history of drug use but no recent exposure, very stressful life”

"Stop, stop, stop." Penguin interrupted the Riddler's deduction and said, "Don't tell me these things, I don't want to know at all."

"It's okay if you don't know." The Riddler rolled his eyes, "Our team needs you."

"Team?" Penguin sneered and said contemptuously, "What are you doing? You guys are going to make a big fuss in Gotham."

"That's not the case," the Riddler gradually faded the smile on his face, and said solemnly: "Batman is dead, and Poison Ivy and the others have also been looted. For us, Gotham has never been more dangerous.

The shadow of the bat was lost in the night sky, but in exchange for a deadlier falcon, I joined a team, not to make trouble in Gotham, but to protect myself. "

"That's your business." Penguin said without hesitation, "Don't drag me in."

The Riddler lowered his eyes, "I'm afraid it's too late, you know who killed Batman, you are the closest person to the real murderer, right?"

As if in response to his words, steady high-heeled footsteps sounded from downstairs, and a slightly chunky middle-aged black woman came up.

She was dressed in workplace attire, with a cropped head and pearl earrings on her ears. She looked quite tough, "My name is Amanda Waller, and I belong to the US Central Intelligence Agency."

Penguin squinted his eyes, and his thoughts turned sharply. The CIA has six offices directly under the director and deputy director, as well as four departments: the management department, the operation department, the intelligence department, and the technology department. However, tens of thousands of employees here are still Take orders from the President and Congress.

The black woman in front of her is at best the leader of the National Security Council of the United States, and with her contacts and influence in Congress, she can make the other party overwhelmed in minutes.

With this mentality, Penguin still maintained his reserve as a capitalist. He switched his eyes back and forth between Amanda and the Riddler, and then said after a long while: "The team that the Riddler said was formed by you?"

"It's me." Amanda said frankly: "The CIA has a secret plan to search for criminals with special abilities from prisons and transform them into elite fighters who can serve the Federation."

Penguin narrowed his eyes. He knew a thing or two about the private secrets of the Federation on the west coast. He pointed to the Riddler and said, "He also serves you?"

"To a certain extent, yes." Amanda nodded, "We influenced Mr. Nigma."

"Probation?" Penguin almost laughed out loud, "I'm afraid he has hijacked his vitals in some way, forcing him to serve you under the threat of death."

Amanda nodded in disbelief, "The department I belong to has been paying attention to Gotham for a long time. After the Arkham Mental Hospital was attacked, we immediately dispatched elite soldiers to capture those dangerous people who fled in time. Among them is Mr. Nigma."

"Sounds good." Penguin smiled slightly, sat back on the chair, and said calmly, "Keep talking, I'm listening."

"Gotham is in danger." Amanda went on to say: "The criminal code-named human slaughter was involved in several murders, and was identified by our intelligence department as a high-risk criminal who threatened national security. Tan continues to act recklessly."

She threw a stack of photos on the table, stretched out her stubby fingers, and spread out the photos of the crime scene one by one: "The massacre in the Sapa Manor, the disappearance of Batman, the total destruction of Hydra on the rooftop and its leader, Sto Baron Lark, the owl court killer who disappeared in the suburban snow, the Assassin League team headed by Lars Gul-Eir, and even swallowed this Arkham attack case. Rentu, and you can help us find him."

Penguin remained silent. He looked at the photos, his eyes under the lens showed no emotion, "First of all, why should I help you? Secondly, from the current point of view, the enemies targeted by Rentu are limited to those who pose a high threat to society. Criminals, in the moral concept of the general public, Rentu is a good person, but his methods are slightly extreme."

"Hehe," Amanda said with a sneer: "When an independent individual possesses force beyond the conventional, he is a threat to the country in itself, not to mention according to the results of the profile evaluation by our department's psychoanalysts. Look, Rentu has very weak moral values, and he doesn't care about massacres, he is a black box bomb that could explode at any time."

"Well, even if he is a threat, it has nothing to do with me. I'm a businessman, that's all."

Amanda Waller smiled. She took out a photo that was probably taken from a closed-circuit television monitoring system and pressed it on the table. "The man in the photo is called Constantine, an exorcist, a mystic. He disappeared in Gotham before, and this time he participated in the terrorist attack on the Arkham Mental Hospital. We speculate that he has some connection with Ren Tu, and even directly works for Ren Tu.

I'm afraid you only lost your hand, not your head, and that's because, like Constantine, you worked for the slaughter out of duress?Don't you want to get rid of the sword of Damocles that hangs around your neck? "

The Penguin was silent. He pushed the glasses and said in a deep voice, "So you want to catch him? I always thought this was what S.H.I.E.L.D. should do."

Amanda put a straight face on her face and said indifferently: "National Security Agency CIA, Federal Bureau of Investigation FBI, Homeland Security Agency DHS, National Geographic Intelligence Agency NGA, National Reconnaissance Office NRO, these five departments have their own action plans against extraordinary people , often cooperates with S.H.I.E.L.D. within the scope of its functions, and I represent the CIA."

Having said all that, Penguin can no longer pretend to be stupid. Amanda Waller's official position may not be as high as the director of S.H.I.E.L.D., but her scope of authority is definitely quite large, and she is even directly responsible for the White House.

It's ridiculous to say that Penguin's status as a capitalist is the reason for Amanda Waller's gesture of respect. If he had extraordinary powers like everyone else but no corresponding social status, he would have been dragged into the small town by Amanda long ago. The black room tortured and extracted a confession.

"." Penguin's face twitched, and he said indifferently: "Rentu asked me to deal with the corpses of those Hydra soldiers on the rooftop, that's all."

Amanda skipped the topic and asked bluntly, "So, do you still have his contact information?"

(End of this chapter)