The response time of the NYPD was fairly decent.
As soon as Bruce discovered this place, he informed them of everything and also sent over the evidence he had found.
Jefferson, in particular, rushed to the scene immediately with his officers.
What they saw upon arrival was Jehovah already restrained and under Bruce's control.
The man was hanging at the entrance of the subway station, completely immobilized.
It wasn't until an officer recognized that familiar face that he, in disbelief, spoke the man's name:
"Hubble Fagan!"
In the Batcave, Jessica also let out a gasp of surprise. For those who follow financial news or read financial magazines, this name might not be overwhelming, but his father's name was known to all.
Howard Fagan.
A financial tycoon in New York, and a renowned investor and millionaire.
Howard had once boasted in front of the media about his son, claiming that even at a young age, his son could rival Tony Stark—though only in the financial sector.
He was extremely confident in his parenting methods.
He believed that there was no such thing as a useless person in this world—only children who hadn't been pushed to realize their potential. He insisted that with a diligent heart, anyone could master anything, even rival one-in-a-million geniuses.
His son, he claimed, was living proof.
Media outlets once attempted to interview Hubble Fagan's former teachers to determine whether Howard's son truly was a financial genius. If he was, then Howard's educational philosophy would be proven wrong.
However, nearly all the teachers stated that Hubble wasn't a financial prodigy—not even close. In fact, his financial aptitude was below average. But he was a super genius in science and engineering.
That was all in the past. Later on, for unknown reasons, Howard completely stopped talking about his son's financial talents. Even when asked by reporters, he remained silent.
Jessica shuddered at a chilling thought: "If that guy despised domestic abusers so much, does that mean his father used to abuse him too?"
A man who publicly praised his parenting methods could be physically abusing his own child in private.
Considering the wealth the Fagans possessed, perhaps it wasn't all that surprising. Even the American child protection services are often powerless when dealing with the elite, whose residences are often extremely secluded.
And these wealthy families are deeply entrenched in manipulating their children—so deeply that it's nearly impossible to get any of them to speak out about abuse.
Especially since these parents are meticulous about preserving their children's appearance, rarely leaving any visible marks.
Certainly never on their faces.
This made collecting evidence incredibly difficult.
Hubble Fagan was clearly a man whose psyche had been twisted by domestic abuse. And based on his mental condition, it was likely that Howard's abuse had been long-term.
"What a terrifying world," Jessica muttered, slumping into her chair. She couldn't fathom how those seemingly kind and gentle tycoons could bring themselves to hurt their own children.
"Because of prolonged abuse and a neglected childhood, people like him slowly develop antisocial tendencies," Bruce explained. He understood all too well how a child's psyche could be shaped under such immense pressure—how they begin by questioning themselves, and eventually question the entire world.
"But he's different. He seems more like someone driven by a desire for revenge—targeted revenge. His antisocial traits aren't that obvious."
Bruce had noticed that Hubble Fagan had always performed well academically. Typically, children with antisocial tendencies don't excel in school. But Hubble had always been a top student.
"Forget it. I don't want to look anymore. The more I see, the worse I feel," Jessica said, standing up, unwilling to further explore what could drive someone like Hubble Fagan to commit such incomprehensible acts.
But Bruce didn't move. He continued staring intently at the screen in front of him.
The screen showed the NYPD interrogation room. Inside, Hubble Fagan—who called himself Jehovah—was being questioned.
He confessed to everything he'd done, showing no remorse and an eerie calmness. To him, the deaths of those people seemed even less significant than the death of a bug.
This attitude enraged the officers questioning him.
But they couldn't act out. There were still a dozen homeless individuals unaccounted for.
They needed Hubble Fagan to confess to everything.
Hubble simply looked up at the red-blinking camera and grinned with a twisted smile.
"How about we play a game?" he said.
His sudden remark surprised the officers.
"This is the NYPD, not your playground."
"No, no, officer. I'm not talking to you. I'm talking to the Bat."
Hubble attempted to raise his hand, but the handcuffs restricted him from pointing directly at the camera. Still, the officers understood what he meant.
"You know," he continued, "sometimes, it's surprisingly easy to control the homeless. Just give them a little leaf, and they'll do whatever you ask. Not to mention, I've become their spiritual pillar."
He laughed, and to the officers, that laugh was utterly spine-chilling.
BOOM!!!
A thunderous explosion echoed through the entire NYPD building. A man had driven a school bus straight into the precinct.
The officers initially aimed their guns at the driver—until they noticed there were children inside the bus.
That moment of hesitation was all it took. The driver stood up, revealing his outfit to the cops.
It was unmistakable: a suicide bomber's attire.
And in his hand, he held the detonator.
The officers in the interrogation room immediately bolted.
Hubble Fagan had no chance of escaping. He was shackled in place, even his legs bound.
Right now, the priority was to assess the situation outside.
But Hubble didn't care in the slightest about what was happening outside the station. He looked directly into the camera.
"I know you're watching me. I also know you'll catch me sooner or later," he said calmly, even though the camera wouldn't respond.
"You don't believe in executing the wicked. But I do. And I'm not done yet. So how could I possibly sit here and wait?"
Hubble formed his hand into a gun shape and pressed it under his chin. He then smiled at Bruce and mimicked pulling the trigger.
As if a bullet had really gone through his skull, he fell back dramatically like a corpse.
But moments later, he started laughing again.
A loud, eerie laugh echoed throughout the interrogation room.
It sounded like he was mocking Bruce—or perhaps mocking the world itself.
"You know, when I saw you appear, I was so happy. Especially when I saw you kill them—I really thought the world might actually change."
He stared intensely into the camera. Though Bruce no longer responded to him, Hubble kept ranting.
"But why didn't you continue? Why didn't you keep enforcing your order?"
He seemed to be talking to himself now, lashing out at the world.
"Do you understand? In this world, money means nothing anymore. Superhumans fly and disappear at will. Everything humans used to pride themselves on is now a joke to them."
"But you—you did what those so-called superhumans never could. You brought order to New York."
"A system that obeyed your rules."
"You even made the politicians obey—or become sacrifices to New York."
His eyes blazed with madness.
"A safe and peaceful New York… something no superhuman could ever achieve."
"And the moment you stopped killing, I knew—your order no longer applied."
"Because of this godforsaken place, what's needed isn't some Dark Knight!"
"What it needs... is a Ruthless God!!!"
But on the other end of the surveillance feed, Bruce was nowhere to be seen. He had already vanished—along with his bat wings.
Right now, the most important thing wasn't listening to a madman rant about his grand plans, but rescuing the children who had been kidnapped.
At this very moment, in the main hall of the NYPD, that crazed driver was roaring at the officers.
"Release Jehovah!!"
"Or I'll blow this place to the sky!!"
"Jehovah understands me! He will let me ascend!"
"You're stopping me from ascending!"
Clearly, the man in front of them was completely insane.
He had lost all sense of reason.
His face was covered in scratch marks, fresh and bleeding.
The children were already wailing in terror, scared stiff by the sudden turn of events. But their cries only drove the madman into further madness.
He kept shouting behind him, trying to make the kids shut up. But how could frightened children possibly stop crying just because someone yelled at them?
The more they cried, the more unstable he became.
"Give me Jehovah!!!"
All he wanted now was for Jehovah to come out, so he could leave with him.
That way, he could receive the holy water—a chance to enter paradise.
Meanwhile, deep in the underground cells of the NYPD, Duran, who had been relatively calm, suddenly went into a frenzy.
He started clawing at his face, even as the skin broke and bled. Still, he didn't stop.
"Ahhhh!!!"
Duran screamed in agony, feeling as if something inside him was igniting his blood.
Only the flow of blood gave him a shred of clarity. He knew—what he needed was the holy water.
Not this self-destructive scratching, like drinking poison to quench his thirst.
He began slamming into the walls, shouting for the guards.
Back in the interrogation room, Harbour Fagan had quieted down.
He sat there, calmly, waiting for everything to unfold.
The officers were drenched in sweat.
None of them knew when the guy might suddenly snap and detonate the bomb.
During their regular patrols, this was the kind of person they feared most—someone clearly high out of their mind.
You could never predict their next move.
He could press the detonator in his hand at any moment.
"What should we do now?"
Hearing his fellow officer's question, Jefferson found himself completely unable to make a firm call.
All he could do now was evacuate most of the police station through the back door.
If anything went wrong, it would at least minimize casualties.
"Bring that lunatic here," Jefferson gritted his teeth and ordered his men to take Harbour Fagan out of the interrogation room.
This was the best possible solution.
And likely the only way to calm the current madman down.
"But—?"
The officer hesitated. They didn't want to bring that guy out. They needed to give the public an answer.
Especially regarding the murders of those homeless people.
They had to show that even the lives of the homeless mattered in New York—and that justice would be served.
This was their achievement.
"Go, now!"
Jefferson shouted at the officer beside him.
But before the officer could move, a shadow landed silently on the roof of the school bus.
Strangely, it made no sound at all.
It was Batman.
He activated the nanometal on his suit, letting it slowly seep into the interior of the bus.
At the same time, he signaled for the officer Jefferson had instructed to head to the interrogation room.
But not to release Harbour.
Rather, to make him understand: a Ruthless God only leads more people down a ruthless path—
A path soaked in blood and filth.
"Why hasn't he been brought here yet!!!"
The driver was still shouting inside the bus, unaware that Bruce's nanometal had already infiltrated the bomb vest he'd rigged himself.
The next moment, a shadow crashed through the window and flew inside, pinning him to the ground. The driver tried to press the detonator.
But nothing happened. The nanometal had already silently disabled the device.
Bruce didn't waste any words on someone like this—one punch knocked the man out cold. At the same time, he extracted a blood sample with the nanometal.
He could tell this guy was high out of his mind—completely irrational. He was probably under the influence of something given by Harbour Fagan.
But the problem was, Bruce hadn't found any addictive substances in Duran's blood sample before.
Harbour Fagan might have discovered a new kind of addictive drug.
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09