Chapter Fifteen: Ninety Percent New, Slightly Flawed, Still Usable After a Wash

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As everyone knows, when a familiar group chat starts seeing remarks like the ones above, it usually means some juicy gossip is about to unfold. Human nature tends to be either a parrot or a joke spreader. Soon enough, Red Robin Tim surfaced, feigning curiosity, and asked, “What happened?”

Very well, it seems our world’s second-best detective already knows everything.

Nightwing thought this to himself while cooperatively sending a screenshot of the news along with two links, including:

The arrival of the Esposito version of the Yellow Lantern (code name pending)!

A somewhat peculiar Batmobile spotted at the bridgehead!

Batmobile collides with Yellow Lantern energy!

Batmobile explodes!

The headlines were even more sensational: “Metropolis’s supervillain turns out to be sent by Batman…?”

The chat immediately buzzed with comments—some praised the Yellow Lantern ring’s tasteful costume change, some inquired about Esposito’s identity, others analyzed what was wrong with the Batmobile, some asked Superman’s opinion, and some cracked jokes about Batman… Wait, none of that from today’s crowd.

Strange. Although Batman is a respected patriarch and his apprentices usually show him some respect, this wasn’t a solemn occasion. Why didn’t anyone crack a joke under his nose, pulling a prank on the bat-eyed mentor?

It didn’t take long for everyone to sense the oddity’s source.

One family member, Red Hood, had remained completely silent.

This was quite unusual. The superheroes who caught onto this key point immediately exchanged knowing glances and began probing. Damian, the current Robin, casually remarked, “You guys still have time to worry about Metropolis? Last I heard, something weird’s been going on at Gotham’s harbor.”

Batgirl Barbara Gordon quickly added, “I was on night patrol that night. I saw two private boats pass by the sewage treatment plant at 2 AM. One headed south, the other north.”

“The sewage plant south side, huh?” Troublemaker Stephanie murmured. “Isn’t that Red Hood’s turf?”

Red Robin Tim said, “With Jason’s skills, he’d definitely catch those shady characters. :)”

Nightwing tagged, “@Red Hood.”

Red Hood: “...”

Are you kidding me?

He finally couldn’t pretend he wasn’t in the chat anymore and poked his head out, saying, “The boats Barbara saw were from the Metropolis mafia’s International Gang. I have some dealings with them. What’s up?”

While others kept joking around, Damian grew impatient and bluntly asked, “You sold the Metropolis Batmobile to the International Gang? How much? Where did it come from? Does Father know?”

Red Hood’s reply was concise: “Yeah, I sold it and made a nice profit. As for the source… I fished it out of the Gotham River myself. Isn’t it whoever finds it, owns it? What does Batman knowing have to do with me?”

Nightwing recalled, “Is that the one Bruce scrapped and sank during a crime-stopping mission half a month ago?”

“Exactly,” Red Hood responded. “I figured you guys didn’t want it anymore. I thought this version of the Batmobile was obsolete.”

“...”

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The story is simple.

One day, Gotham’s mafia leader, Red Hood, passing by the Gotham River, discovered a Batmobile submerged underwater. As everyone knows, Batmobiles are consumables—occasionally, one or two get scrapped when facing superpowered criminals. Some precious parts are promptly retrieved by family members; others fall into hard-to-find or salvage locations. Considering recovery costs and the attention repair work might attract, Batman reluctantly decided to temporarily let it be, indulging his wealth and eccentricity.

Over time, such abandoned treasures are prone to being picked up by insiders.

Red Hood fished the Batmobile out and found it nearly new, with minor flaws. A good wash would make it usable. He planned to keep it in storage as a trophy, ready to use when needed, to shake things up physically or psychologically. Then, he received a trade request from the International Gang.

Most of their requested goods were ordinary, mainly firearms, but the request came with a private encrypted message naming Red Hood specifically. The new gang leader wanted to buy a Batmobile from him.

Red Hood was startled—“I just picked up this car and haven’t even dressed it up or shown it off yet. How did you find out?”

Cheating, right?

Suspicious, he cautiously chatted online with Galer for several days but learned nothing concrete. On one hand, Galer flooded messages with useless emojis and internet slang, making it hard for Red Hood to catch the key points in a single sentence. On the other hand, when Red Hood directly asked where Galer heard that “Red Hood sells Batmobiles,” the reply was vague:

“Someone told me you have some connection with Batman… If you can’t get it, never mind [crying emojis], I’ll think of another way.”

Red Hood asked, “What do you need the Batmobile for?”

“You’ll find out [devil smiley].”

Red Hood agonized over it all night but finally decided to take the hard-won Batmobile to test this mysterious new gang leader. Batmobiles are common, but worthy enemies aren’t. To prevent accidents while they drove it, he planned to modify the Batmobile.

Anyway, Galer refused to say what the car was for.

—Red Hood turned the Batmobile he sold Galer into a mobile bomb that would explode upon heavy impact.

Betraying allies is a classic villain’s skill.

When the day came, Red Hood watched Galer send a flood of applause, heart, and thumbs-up emojis. He regretted it deeply, mentally crossing the entire plan out, and wished the new “partner” would drive carefully. If anything went wrong, it would definitely be Batman’s fault for the previous owner.

Then he saw the Metropolis news:

Galer used the Batmobile to ram into his elderly father, who had just rescued someone using the Yellow Lantern ring.

The Batmobile exploded.

Esposito instinctively defended himself.

Excessive defense.

The shockwave from the collision severed the river-crossing bridge.

…

This really wasn’t what Red Hood expected. Reasonably, aside from his own idea of crashing the Batmobile into Batman, who else would use a mobile arsenal to ram someone?

Fortunately, there were no casualties. Superman quickly arrived at the blast site, but judging from the expression caught by the media, he was utterly baffled. As he held up the bridge’s broken rebar and flew off, he kept turning his head—first glancing at the blazing Batmobile, looking as if risen from hell; then at Esposito, glowing yellow with fury, about to beat his son to the ground but still actively helping with the rescue and damage control, hesitating between words and silence…

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At the end of the news video, Superman hesitantly approached Esposito and thanked him.

Holding a lantern, Esposito gave a solemn nod and pointed at his troublesome son, saying, “I’ll deal with him.”

The word “deal” sounded harsh. Red Hood could tell Superman’s expression shifted from “What exactly happened?” to “It can’t be that bad.”

But Esposito gave no chance for consolation. He left the scene almost like lightning, impressing everyone with how such a bright yellow lantern disappeared swiftly into the darkness.

Honestly, Red Hood understood him.

Just as now, surrounded by siblings eager for gossip and questioning, “Was this what you expected?” and “Why did you betray Galer Esposito? Isn’t he your spiritual comrade?”—Red Hood, who never intended this outcome, also wanted to leave this overly familiar family at lightspeed.

**

Esposito’s second alias made the front page of the Metropolis news.

The next morning, he saw a large horizontal photo occupying most of the page. On the left was Superman hovering in midair, his cape motionless despite no wind. On the right was Esposito, holding a lantern, hooded, his cloak hanging straight down to his heels. Their eyes met, carrying an unspoken understanding.

After all, just days ago, Superman had met Esposito before he got his Lantern ring’s power source.

In that instant, their exchanged gaze roughly meant:

“...Is that you?”

“...It is.”

Some third-rate media used this to proclaim, “A new superhero has been recognized by the Justice League,” which was nonsense. They didn’t fight, and Esposito probably refrained from acting against Superman out of respect for their prior brief encounter.

But the attitude had to be clear. Esposito couldn’t say, “That brat who blew up the bridge isn’t connected to me; we’re strangers.” Instead, he maintained an awkward but polite expression, silently telling Superman, “Sorry, kid, I’m going to beat him up hard.” Whether Superman picked up on that, no one knew.

Anyway, as Esposito left, Superman looked deeply worried. Hopefully, when asking for compensation, he’d insist the guilty party be held accountable and send the bill to the International Gang, not the impoverished slums.

But Esposito had no time to think about that.

Because Ophelia was missing.

Galer ordered the International Gang to kidnap five people, three of whom were ordinary human children. They all attended the same New York City middle school and got separated from their group while visiting Metropolis. After the kidnappers took them, they were kept in an abandoned warehouse by the river. When Superman found them, the children were mostly unharmed but somewhat frightened.

The other two, Ophelia and another New York middle schooler named Miles Morales, were said to be held elsewhere. To prevent escape, the gang used mild hallucinogens, making the situation theoretically foolproof.

Yet now, there was no news from them at all.

To find out Ophelia’s whereabouts and Galer’s intentions, Esposito locked the culprit in a bathroom. He had no special preference for the location; after searching the whole house, the bathroom was the only place resembling a makeshift cell.

Plus, the tiles smashed by a hammer earlier hadn’t been repaired yet, adding to the atmosphere.

The old house’s cramped bathroom barely fit two adults. Esposito pulled back the shower curtain, secured Galer to a chair with the Book of Fate, placed the chair in the middle of the tub, then leaned back against the sink opposite him, which barely reached his waist. Turning his back to the mirror, he said calmly in English, “You’d better start confessing.”