After inspecting every location where clues might exist, Bruce became even more alert toward that individual.
The perpetrator had essentially left behind no evidence for others to follow, not even a hint, especially considering the victims were homeless people.
That's why the homeless and call girls are frequently targeted by serial killers.
Because they're marginalized members of society, and very few people actually care about them.
In fact, most people might think their deaths are meaningless and not even worthy of sympathy.
Even if they go missing, it often takes a long time before anyone notices—let alone suspects foul play.
And even if someone does notice, almost no one is willing to step in.
However, there's a major difference between homeless people and call girls: killing a homeless person carries a significantly higher risk for the perpetrator, with little to no reward.
But once that cross and that string of characters appeared on the chest of a homeless man, everything changed.
If those serial killers targeted call girls, they at least gained something from it:
They satisfied their urge to kill, acted out other motives with convenience, and found a twisted way to justify their behavior.
All of that is much more straightforward—and satisfying—than killing a homeless person.
But the moment the cross appeared, everything that killer did was no longer just about satisfying a murderous impulse.
He saw himself as the one chosen to judge the sins of this world.
He believed himself to be God's shepherd among men.
Only this shepherd didn't carry a Bible or a cross—but instead wielded hallucinogens that caused death and branded his victims.
More accurately, he was a reaper acting in the world of the living.
At this moment, Bruce had returned to the Batcave. He had already set up numerous surveillance cameras and detection devices in that area.
Now he needed to analyze what the missing homeless individuals had in common—because if his suspicions were right, then this was the work of a twisted serial killer.
All the missing homeless people would definitely share a common trait.
"Boss, we've found Kazim Laurie's file. We're still looking for the rest of the missing homeless individuals' records," Jessica said as she looked back and saw Bruce stepping out of the Batmobile.
Bruce walked to the console and looked at the data on the screen about Kazim Laurie.
The control panel, previously damaged by the inheritor, had already been repaired.
Its performance was even better than before.
"Drug addiction, theft, robbery, domestic violence—" It could be said that every offense this homeless man had committed was despicable.
But now, he was appearing on the screen as a victim.
No matter what he had done in the past, Bruce's job now was to find the person who had killed him.
"A complete piece of trash," Jessica remarked without a hint of sympathy. She genuinely felt no regret about this homeless man's death.
Jessica had no intention of showing any compassion for someone like him.
When Bruce heard her comment, he turned to look at his assistant, his eyes filled with disapproval.
Jessica could only shrug. She knew that for Bruce, it didn't matter what the person had done in the past.
If he was a victim now, then Bruce had a responsibility to find his killer.
"Alright, alright, I get it. I won't say anything else," Jessica gave in, raising both hands in mock surrender, unnerved by Bruce's piercing stare.
Only then did Bruce look away and turn back to the screen, reading through the data on the other homeless individuals.
"Berenice Rios, domestic violence."
"Mahos Carton, domestic violence."
"Carlis Dyke, domestic violence."
"…"
Almost every missing homeless person had a criminal record—many had served time in prison.
But there was one thing they all had in common: they had all been perpetrators of domestic violence.
And the vast majority of them had abused children.
This caused Bruce to discard his earlier theory that the killings were the result of extreme religious belief. This was clearly a case of revenge.
Only, the revenge wasn't for something these people had done to the killer personally—it was the killer's way of avenging the abuse he had suffered in childhood.
To be honest, as Bruce read through their files, he also felt that these people were sinners who deserved to die. But that wasn't enough reason for him to stop the investigation—because now they were victims.
No matter how distasteful or despicable they were, Bruce still had to find the person responsible for their murders.
This time, Jessica said nothing. She truly hated those people, but she knew that some things simply couldn't be resolved with such extreme actions.
"Focus the investigation on individuals with an annual income under $100,000, whose family members—or they themselves—had experienced domestic violence. The killer is very likely single,"
Bruce said as he sat down at the console and began operating it, digging into all the relevant data.
Seeing that Bruce had no intention of offering her the chair, Jessica could only drag over her yoga ball and sit down on it.
The frantic screening inside the Batcave made time pass unusually fast.
In the blink of an eye, the long night had already passed.
The city of New York slowly awakened from its slumber, unaware that a homeless man had been murdered the night before.
Even if they knew, they wouldn't care—if anything, they'd think people were making a fuss over nothing.
Just a homeless man. What's there to be concerned about?
In the heart of Manhattan, a man staggered up to the rooftop of a tall building. His eyes were filled with a dreamy haze, as if he were seeing something deeply alluring.
His face showed bliss, and he smiled as though everything in life was heading in the best possible direction.
But in front of him was only the low wall of the rooftop—and that wasn't nearly enough to stop him.
He stepped up onto the ledge and took a step forward.
At that very moment, the dreamy look in his eyes vanished, replaced by sheer terror. But it was already too late.
He fell from the building and hit the ground with a sickening crash, reduced to a mangled mess of flesh and blood.
"Ahhh!!!"
The city women nearby, now splattered with blood, screamed. They had never witnessed something like this before—a living, breathing person meeting such a gruesome end right in front of them.
This was nothing like the horror or crime movies they used to enjoy. The visual impact of this scene would haunt them for the rest of their lives.
And on the man's chest, there was again a sentence—accompanied by a cross-shaped brand.
But the words were no longer the same ones Bruce had seen before.
"Because God wants to punish, we must repent."
The tragedy in the city center quickly drew the attention of patrolling police officers. Some were rookies, unaccustomed to such grisly sights—but the veterans were used to it.
In New York, suicides were not uncommon.
However, no one ever carved things like this onto their chest before taking their own life.
"Same as the last one—the homeless guy who landed on the police car. Christian phrases carved on the chest," the coroner explained to the officers on site after examining the body.
"Has the Bat shown up yet?" Jefferson asked his fellow officer. Their collaboration with the Bat had helped the NYPD solve many cases, and they now shared a silent understanding.
Not to mention, it was the Bat who first noticed something strange about this case.
"There—see up there?" Jefferson's partner pointed to the rooftop, where the Bat crouched atop a gargoyle, silently watching everything unfold.
Jefferson turned back to his patrol car, picked up the loudspeaker, and called out to the Bat: "Hey Bat, mind coming down here?"
Truth be told, daylight didn't belong to the Bat—only the night did.
But since this kind of case had appeared again, the Bat had no choice but to come.
He jumped down, using the transformation of his cape to land lightly on the ground.
"So, can I get anything useful from you?" Jefferson walked up to Bruce, eyeing the mangled corpse at his feet.
"Marhouse Carton, 43 years old. Has a criminal record, a history of substance abuse, and domestic violence. Came to New York after fleeing during the American split."
Though the man's face was unrecognizable, Bruce could still identify him by the tattoos on his body—he was one of the missing homeless individuals.
"Honestly, if you became a cop, we probably wouldn't even need to do anything," Jefferson remarked in astonishment, staring at the Bat.
They hadn't even confirmed the victim's identity yet, and here the Bat already had his full background down.
"What we can confirm is this: the killer is deliberately targeting homeless men with a history of domestic abuse. It's a revenge-driven crime," Bruce said, trying to move closer to the body.
The nearby officers, perceptive as ever, lifted the police tape to allow the Bat to examine the scene more closely.
Bruce didn't flinch at the gruesome sight before him. He simply studied the words carved into the victim's chest.
Just like the previous case—they were engraved directly into the skin.
And judging by the wounds, it was likely done while the victim was still conscious.
This killer was clearly insane.
But for the Bat, dealing with madmen was second nature.
(End of Chapter)
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