THE DEATH KNELL-Chapter 52: STATIC ELECTRICITY

On the way forward, waves of men in black fell in front of them. Vic Vale expressed satisfaction with this. If possible, she wanted to expand this news into a documentary.

She thought about the name, so it was called The Death Knell on the Tip of the Knife.

With the dazzling picture in front of her eyes, coupled with her professional commentary, she felt that she would definitely be hot, and she thought about her lines, such as:

"The first ray of moonlight in the spring fell on the land of Gotham, and the man in black and yellow armor took a long sharpened knife and set off from home. He crossed the road full of corpses and came to another one. It is the world of blood playing. This is an ancient custom of assassins, and it is also the way of life for the Death Knell on weekdays..."

"The corpse is undoubtedly the common crystallization of biology and the great killer. The tacit cooperation between the body and the blade makes this warm and enthusiastic internal organs burst out and then shattered, leaving only a simple aroma and an empty body..."

"It's spring, and the Death Knell in Gotham killed hundreds of people; the Black Arrows in the south chose to use bows and arrows; the Deadshots not far away preferred sniper rifles; Lady Shiva in the east chose to use her own hands. Killers in different regions have their own advantages..."

Watching Slade Wilson and Cindy's killing skills in the crowd, she had a deep understanding of the aesthetics of blood and violence. The blood stains on the walls gradually became like self-willed paintings in her eyes.

Every blood line, every red damp, every visceral fragment seemed to be expressing something—a higher level of spirit and ideas.

If Slade Wilson knew about this idea, he would definitely give her a white pigeon and encourage her to be a director and make a movie.

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The enemies now had no power to succeed, and the two Death Knells completely disintegrated their fighting will.

Actually, for Slade Wilson, whether they rushed up at a time with hundreds of people or dozens of people with a little bit of fuel, the difference was not big. The number of ordinary people was just a small problem.

Even in all the calculations in his mind, the number of these gangsters could not constitute a variable. There was only a constant in his mind: the forward speed when facing a group of ordinary enemies.

No matter how many people there were on the other side or what kind of weapon was in their hands, the speed of Death Knell was fixed and could not be stopped.

After finally destroying the last group of enemies, they came to two huge doors, which were very beautifully repaired and at first glance seemed to be removed from high-end hotels. Pushing open the door, there was a hall like a study room. The fireplace was still burning, but there was no one inside.

The room smelled of cigar and alcohol. It was obvious that Falcone had entertained Gordon. Who knew what they had been talking about?

"It's three people. There are three people and a cat in the house," Cindy said, picking up a long black hair from the sofa with the tip of a knife. The blood dripped into the gap in the armrest of the sofa and was stained with long white hairs.

"Why a cat?" Vic Vale asked. She wanted to analyze the story of the next victim more from the side.

Slade Wilson paused for a moment. Despite the headache, he still noticed something was wrong when he entered the room just now.

He smiled and sat on the sofa, took off his helmet, turned out two teacups, poured out the tea in the teapot, and tasted it. His conclusion was that the tea that foreigners drank was different from what he was used to. The place of origin might be South Asia—it had a bit of a curry-like taste.

The temperature of the water was still warm. They had left recently, but he did not rush to chase after them. Instead, he calmly answered Vic:

"Because a cat is a predator. Even if it has become a human pet for thousands of years, it still has a series of feline characteristics such as secret observation, decisive attack, and silent killing, which aligns with the gang's self-image."

Cindy agreed with him. She sat next to Slade Wilson and drank tea. Unlike him, she was satisfied with the tea. "Dogs are not good. Dogs are hunters. Canines are cruel and noisy, acting in groups. Only the Speeding Party likes them to show their might. At the level of a Roman, he needs something that shows more refinement."

Slade Wilson glanced at Cindy in disgust. She could drink such a horrible tea? He no longer looked at her and sipped his own in quiet suffering. "So we judge that this is a cat. You would never think of someone like Falcone holding a rabbit or a goat every day, right?"

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Even in Gotham, gangsters would not hold such animals—herbivores were incompatible with gang life.

Vic Vale recorded it, gaining a new understanding of gang psychology, but she was still unclear why they had suddenly stopped to drink tea.

"Why did you stop suddenly? There should be secret passages in this room. Don't you need to look for them?"

She asked suspiciously. Slade Wilson pushed the teapot to Cindy, picked up the wine bottle, changed the cup, poured a full glass, and drank it all.

"You only noticed that we found hair and cat fur, but didn't pay attention to how we discovered it?"

"Uh...?"

"Because when we came in, the hair and cat fur were swaying on the sofa, just like seaweed. The armor on our bodies doesn't cause this reaction, nor does your equipment. What do we generally call this phenomenon? Cindy?" Slade Wilson drew the knife from his back and placed it on the table.

"Large-scale static electricity." Cindy performed a similar action, except she placed her knife on her leg.

Slade Wilson nodded and looked around the dimly lit room. "Generally, static electricity is caused by friction, but if you move fast enough, the human body's magnetic field will cut through the Earth's magnetic field and create a similar effect."

"Yes," Cindy raised her pistol and pointed at the other corner of the room, where only darkness remained. "I kept wondering about Batwoman's disappearance. She's never been the type to run. If she knows she's in danger, she doesn't hide—she faces her enemy head-on."

Slade Wilson sighed. "Someone can move fast enough to be invisible to the human eye. I had my suspicions, but seeing the static electricity confirmed it."

The room was quiet. The cameras covered every corner, but there was no sign of Batwoman—not even from Cindy's angle.

"It's a good ability—to make yourself invisible to others by moving at high speed. But Barry..." Slade Wilson sighed, signaling Cindy to lower her gun. He poured another glass of wine and placed it on the table. "The world is at stake. Are you sure you want to fight two Death Knells at a time like this?"

He stood up, ripped apart the pillow he had taken earlier, and scattered the feathers. Though subtle, he noticed how they spun unnaturally as they fell—pulled by something unseen.

"Since you followed us like I predicted but didn't make a move first, I assume you have good intentions. So..." he smirked, "are you coming out for a drink with me, or are you going to end up like your nephew—stabbed in the dark?"

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