"Find anything?" Officer Jefferson walked over to Bruce, glancing uneasily at the disfigured corpse of the homeless man sprawled before them.
"A white male in his thirties. A model citizen type. Has a family, no criminal record, religious, and possibly has some knowledge of chemistry. He's intelligent, but also clearly insane," Bruce said as he delivered a rough profile of the suspect. "He should be between 1.7 and 1.75 meters tall."
The moment Bruce started profiling, Jefferson had already pulled out his notepad, jotting down every key point Bruce mentioned. This suspect had just become their primary focus.
"No criminal record and a decent guy on the surface… it's going to be hard to find any solid evidence," Jefferson muttered after reviewing his notes. "He might be the most difficult suspect I've dealt with in all my years on the force."
"And if he's religious, could he be going to church? Maybe we should set up surveillance there," Jefferson added, glancing at his notes.
Bruce had said the suspect was religious. From the inscriptions carved into the homeless man's body, it was clear the perpetrator was a devout Christian.
If he truly was a Christian, then it was likely he would attend church services.
"There are over 6,000 churches in New York," Bruce said coldly, tossing out the statistic that instantly sobered Jefferson's hopeful tone.
Indeed, over 6,000 churches. Even if they stationed one officer per church, it would be a massive strain on resources—and there was no guarantee they'd catch the guy.
Not to mention that in this country, nearly anyone could be carrying a firearm. An officer might not even make it through the arrest alive.
It could easily end in tragedy for the cops.
"And that guy wouldn't pray to God in a church anyway." Bruce stared at the inscription on the homeless man's chest. All he could see was a madman carving scripture into his prey with a knife.
"But wouldn't that go against his beliefs?"
"He sees himself as God's shepherd on earth. No—he sees himself as God incarnate," Bruce said, realization dawning on him.
That statement made Jefferson drop the idea entirely.
"Clean this place up and seal off the rooftop. The guy probably didn't leave any useful clues, but we need to preserve the scene," Bruce instructed as he walked toward the street.
Just as Jefferson was about to stop him, he heard the roar of an approaching vehicle. At first, he assumed it was some reckless street racer, but when the car came into view, he realized—it was the Batmobile.
"If anything else comes up, just call me." Bruce climbed into the Batmobile and sped off in style. But he wasn't calm—this lunatic had already ignited his fury.
He would catch him.
Jefferson stared at the Batmobile disappearing into the distance, then turned back to the chaotic scene beside him.
He rubbed his aching forehead, but what could he say?
The only thing to do now was clean the place thoroughly, just like Batman said. This was only the location where the body was found.
There probably wouldn't be any useful clues here anyway, and they couldn't afford to tie up the area for too long.
Meanwhile, back in the Batcave, Jessica was scrolling through online discussions as internet users speculated wildly.
"Seems like there's some psycho on the loose, targeting homeless people."
"Yeah, I saw the one on the high-rise. Even Batman showed up."
"Good thing he's only targeting the homeless and not people like us. Otherwise, I'd be scared out of my mind."
"Looks like even Batman couldn't catch him quickly."
"If you ask me, a lot of those homeless people should be cleared out anyway. They're a blight on New York's image and a danger to public safety."
Jessica frowned at the comments.
She didn't care about the rest—but suggesting her boss couldn't catch this monster?
That she couldn't let slide.
Her boss would catch that lunatic.
She was just about to unleash a furious response on her keyboard—
When Bruce returned to the Batcave.
"Back so soon? Don't you usually turn the whole scene upside down?" Jessica asked, surprised. In her experience, Bruce never returned this quickly from a crime scene unless he had a good reason.
Bruce didn't reply. He headed straight to the console.
Quickly, he pulled up all his recent surveillance footage. The screen filled with video recordings.
"Oh, I know—most serial killers return to the scene of the crime after the act. They enjoy admiring their 'masterpiece' and mocking the police," Jessica said. She knew this from her training back when she was an agent.
"No, that guy won't come back," Bruce replied firmly. "Someone like him wouldn't revisit the crime scene."
In his mind, the people he killed deserved it.
God wouldn't cast His gaze upon sinners a second time. Their deaths were justified.
"Then why are you watching the footage so anxiously?" Jessica was puzzled. If the killer wouldn't return, why was Bruce in such a hurry to check the videos?
"How could God not have His own shepherds?"
Bruce realized something crucial. He needed to add another detail to his profile.
The suspect likely founded his own Christian sect.
And in a place as chaotic as America, forming a personal Christian denomination wasn't all that difficult.
After all, cults were everywhere, and superstition was rampant.
Not to mention how traditional Christianity could easily be twisted. This guy's version probably centered on one core tenet: vengeance.
He was insane—but a rational lunatic.
Sure enough, among the numerous recordings, there were two individuals with nearly identical builds.
That still didn't confirm they were responsible for everything.
But it gave Bruce one clear realization: he wasn't just looking for one person anymore.
However, based on Bruce's previous investigation at the abduction sites, it was clear the person who took the homeless victims had acted alone.
Bruce pulled up the data Jessica had compiled on the missing homeless people. This time, he skipped their criminal records.
They'd already established the common points.
What Bruce now needed to examine was their religious backgrounds.
Naturally, the faiths among the homeless varied wildly.
But in their original families, many had one or two close relatives who were Christian believers.
In other words, they likely had a certain level of trust toward Christians.
And this madman was clearly a devout Christian—or at least believed himself to be God's emissary on Earth.
To him, he was God.
At the same time, Bruce also began screening the two figures he had discovered.The focus of his screening was those missing homeless individuals.
Since most of those homeless people had some sort of criminal record, the NYPD had conveniently documented their physical characteristics.
Sure enough, Bruce found two individuals whose features had a 95%+ match.
But judging by their current appearance, they didn't look like homeless people at all—more like ordinary citizens living a normal life in America.
The question was, why did they come to check out the crime scene?
Bruce rewatched the footage.
He wanted to see what those people were actually doing at the time.
When he retrieved the footage from an officer's body cam that had been facing one of them, Bruce was surprised to see the man praying over the corpse of a homeless man.
It wasn't a prayer out of fear or shock.
It was more like a prayer for someone who had already ascended to heaven.
After restoring and enhancing the video, Bruce could roughly make out the man's expression.
It wasn't pious, nor was it regretful.
It was envy.
Envy toward the dead homeless man.
That was completely abnormal.
"What's going on?" Jessica looked over at Bruce, who was watching the same two video clips repeatedly.
But she couldn't spot anything unusual.
Bruce simply got up from his seat and headed toward the Batmobile.
"Boss, are you not planning to eat at home tonight?" Jessica asked, noticing he was about to head out again.
"Just save me a portion," Bruce replied, and with that, he drove off in the Batmobile he had only just parked a few minutes earlier.
"Alright, alright, got it," Jessica mumbled as she turned and headed toward her room. She had no intention of cooking at home for her boss.
Instead, she was planning to visit Aunt May to see what delicious food she had prepared today. She'd just bring back a portion for Bruce later.
Héctor Durán.
A man who had lived as a homeless person in New York for several months, but now, he had completely left that life behind and was living a normal life.
Well, not entirely normal—he still went to church occasionally to pray.
It was just that their church was in a rather remote location, not well-known to the public, but it was there that he felt the true presence of Christ.
He felt the light of Jehovah.
He even felt that heaven was just within reach, like he could grasp it with a touch.
The house he lived in now, he believed, was a gift from Christ.
"Thank you, Jehovah."
Even as he took out his keys to open the door, he couldn't help but offer thanks to the one who had delivered him from endless suffering.
Even though he still didn't know the person's name, he believed that person walked this earth for the sole purpose of saving people like him.
He had once asked that person why he didn't save other homeless people instead of him—after all, he carried many sins on his back. But the man only said one thing:
"You are the one chosen by God."
Especially after witnessing various miracles performed by that man, Durán truly came to believe the person before him was Jehovah—was God Himself.
Some people had asked him whether this so-called Jehovah might just be a mutant or someone with superpowers. After all, these kinds of people were popping up all the time nowadays.
It wasn't impossible that someone with powers was pretending to be God.
But to Durán—
What difference did it make whether he was a mutant or a superpowered being?
He looked no different from an ordinary human, and he had given Durán food, shelter—even hope.
That was enough.
When Durán opened the door and walked into his house, he noticed the window was open.
He shook his head—he must've been in too much of a hurry to attend the ascension ceremony earlier.
Otherwise, how could he forget something so simple?
New York's pickpockets and thieves weren't any fewer than those in Paris.
Durán didn't show any sign of panic. He simply walked over and closed the window slowly, not even bothering to check whether any of his belongings had been stolen.
He just sat down and opened the old, antique-looking book in his hands.
"I shall nail them to the cross."
Those words were printed right on the first page.
Durán stared at the sentence intently.
He had once asked others what their scriptures said. But Jehovah forbade such behavior—no one was allowed to know what was written in anyone else's scripture.
The verses were a personal gift from Jehovah.
Everyone had their own scripture.
And during the ascension ceremony, those scriptures would be revealed.
Today, Durán had seen the verse of someone he used to be on fairly good terms with.
"May Jehovah guide my lost soul." Durán drew a cross on his chest—but his cross was not the traditional Christian one.
Durán's cross was inverted.
"Who is Jehovah?"A deep, raspy voice suddenly echoed from the darkness, making Durán jump to his feet the moment he finished his prayer ritual.
"Who? Who's there??"
A bat symbol slowly emerged from the shadows.
"Who is Jehovah?"
(End of Chapter)
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