Tim never expected that the dropped exam tools weren't just for passing tests but also for piecing together Bruce's paper fragments. He's kind of regretting hitting the head of that shredder now. If his ugly uncle knew, he'd never borrow his explosives if they were just used to blow up monsters and drop a pile of Bruce's paper fragments.
Brainiac is like a parent who dresses up a learning machine as a gaming console for kids. On the surface, it's a pretty flash-looking game, but at its core, it's the theory and practice of the Psychoanalytic Personality Theory. This game is suitable for Arkham Batman. After playing, he starts researching how to chop Brainiac into pieces.
Even though that's what he's thinking, Tim has always been diligent. He went to read some books again. Luckily, Viscount Manor isn't crowded right now, so he can calmly study.
On the other side, the Lighthouse team is already in a fight with North District's final boss, Falcone.
Deathstroke is fighting and cursing: "You call this a mob Godfather???"
In the Falcone Manor, a figure in a suit is floating in mid-air, with countless guns and cannons floating behind him, firing at the ground with a booming noise. The Lighthouse team uses a truck for cover but is still suppressed by the firepower.
"Where the heck did Iron Man come from??!!" Damian couldn't help but curse.
"Brainiac, even if the mob could get a lot of weapons, it wouldn't be this ridiculous, right?" Nightwing also complained a bit. He just poked his head out to shoot and his uniform was blown open.
"This is the final boss," Brainiac emphasized, "All four bosses are tough to deal with, you should do more tasks, get some more equipment, or develop the base before coming to battle."
There's no arguing with that, since this game clearly looks like a long-term management game and not a quick linear adventure game, better suited for a slow play style. The team takes turns coming online. Whoever's free, comes to build something. If busy, they handle real-world stuff.
Yet, Brainiac doesn't quite understand the human race. Humans love doing nothing serious in fast-paced linear games and grinding from morning till night in slow-paced agriculture and leisure games.
Besides, everyone just got into this game, interest is at its peak, so they're obviously going to play to oblivion. It's much more interesting to explore than to tinker with production lines at home.
The battle has already started, there's no point in debating whether they can win or not, they can only bite the bullet and fight. But outside, it looks like London in WWII with explosions everywhere. They've waited for so long, and still can't see any breakthrough.
The Agent tightened his tactical gloves and said, "Can't fight him here, gotta lure him out."
He said that and swiftly rushed out, rolled to the window side. Using the wall as cover, he shot Falcone successfully drawing his attention. He indeed headed towards the side of the Manor.
However, as he approached the window, he stopped. The agent gritted his teeth, Brainiac is quite clever. The final boss doesn't leave his zone, meaning they can't find favorable terrain to slowly wear down the boss.
If they could freely lure monsters, it could actually help to lure all the monsters to the water. Even this Iron Man version of Falcone, those explosions are less deadly underwater. As long as they're good swimmers, maybe they could kill it without any injury. It's a pity they can't lure.
The Agent thought again, if the final boss can't be dragged away, then perhaps they can lure other monsters over?
Seeing the lure plan failed, Deathstroke simply waved his hand: "Let's go!"
They all got on the truck and rushed out of Falcone Manor. Luckily, they had almost cleared the small monsters when coming in, so the final boss couldn't chase them. Soon enough, they returned to the Lighthouse.
"I have an idea," the Agent said, "but need to investigate if it can be realized."
"Let's hear it," said Deathstroke, "Seems like if we have to force kill with power, then our base needs to be developed to the level of Iron Man's lab, otherwise we can't beat him head-on. Time for some unconventional tactics."
"Not really unconventional," the Agent said, "We can find some strong regional bosses, throw them into the fortress where the final boss is, they should drain the enemy's status and blood volume."
Nightwing's eyes lit up: "That's right. If that Drowned from before was lured over, would Falcone be polluted by him?"
"But will they really weaken after pollution?" Red Robin raised a question, "What if they get stronger with pollution?"
"So it's best not to pollute," the Agent said, "Find monsters that are definitely enemies rather than mutually strengthening ones."
"Even if we could find them, how do we lure them over?" Damian sighed, "Although luring all the way isn't impossible, the regional bosses and the final boss in North District are on the same side. We'd have to find them from other districts. But if luring from other districts, who knows how many monsters we'd have to clear. It's a huge waste of resources, right?"
"Use a truck," the Agent stated concisely, "Figure out a way to trick the monster onto the truck, slam the door shut, rush to the manor, and open the door when we get there."
The Robins exchanged glances, this plan could be called insane, but it does fit the professional identity of the Agent. Redhead even asked aloud: "Is your agent's job to gather all kinds of dangerous stuff from all over the world and put them together?"
"Not just stuff, also people," Red Robin added, "Oh, not just enemies, but allies as well."
The Agent ignored them. He just brought up the terminal map, pondering which district's regional boss would be better. East District was firstly ruled out, fearing those spiritually polluted things thrown in might enhance the boss. South District's monsters were designed conservatively, but the distance is just too far. North District's monsters mostly ally with the final boss, won't fight. That only leaves the West District.
Moreover, there's a handy thing about the West District: most of the area bosses are concentrated around Gotham University. It's easy to figure out the attributes and strengths of the smaller bosses. The space there is also quite open, perfect for maneuvering trucks.
"Let's take a trip to the West District," the agent stood up and said, "We'll take our car, you guys keep the truck."
With that, he signaled to Deathstroke, and the two headed out together, getting into the car they'd previously acquired. Deathstroke slipped into the driver's seat, taking a deep breath, "Didn't expect this game to be so tough. Thought it'd be a breeze of victories."
"There's not even any rewards." The agent leaned back lazily in his seat, lit up a cigarette but didn't smoke it, just held it in his hand and extended it out the window, watching the smoke trail behind.
"Don't waste it, okay? Chinese cigarettes are a rare find." Deathstroke snatched the cigarette out of his hand, lit another one, lifted his mask up partially, and took a deep drag. He had impressive lung capacity, able to hold his breath for minutes until the smoke was fully absorbed, wasting none, similar to directly chewing it up.
Yet, for Deathstroke, this amount was nothing, being a cyborg. As long as he's not smoking like Constantine, it won't impact his health.
The car drove all the way to the West District. Deathstroke wanted to head straight to Gotham University, but the agent said, "Let's drop by Arrogant's place first; he knows the area well, better gather some intel."
Deathstroke didn't have any objections, he turned the car and headed to the lakeside villa. However, once they arrived, he stayed in the car while the agent stepped out. But rather than heading directly for the house, the agent walked to the lakeside to let the wind blow the smoke scent off his clothes, then approached the front door.
After entering, he knocked on the door. Hearing footsteps, he already knew it wasn't Arrogant. Instinctively, the agent reached for his gun, just as the door opened. Ethan stood at the entrance.
On sight of the agent, Ethan's face turned grim. The next moment, the agent instinctively dodged aside. Bang—a bullet grazed the edge of his arm, embedding itself into the front yard lawn.
"Don't shoot!" The agent wasn't speaking to Ethan but to Deathstroke behind him. As Ethan lifted his gun, Deathstroke almost simultaneously raised his own. The main reason Deathstroke didn't shoot was because Ethan was likely a player and had no reason to attack them—there was probably a misunderstanding here.
Ethan's face was pale, his hand trembling. The agent lightly touched his arm; the bullet had just grazed it, normally it would be bleeding. But his upper arm had a tactical band, and the bullet had precisely grazed the band, so it didn't break the skin.
The agent examined briefly and realized Ethan was probably experiencing PTSD. However, he wasn't wearing camouflage, didn't look like a soldier, why would he shoot at him?
Ethan seemed to have slightly regained composure, but he still shut the door with a bang, seemingly avoiding something. The agent sighed and had no choice but to return to the front of the car to wait.
"What's his deal?" Deathstroke mumbled, confused, "Why'd he shoot at you?"
"No idea," the agent shook his head, "Everyone has their own story; I don't feel like figuring it out."
Before long, Gordon and Arrogant returned. They were out on a mission. Upon spotting the agent and Deathstroke, Gordon paused, wondering why these two killing machines were here.
Arrogant frowned upon seeing them. The agent was the first to speak: "I didn't know you had a patient with you."
"Ethan..." Arrogant paused briefly, "His condition is indeed bad, and you're precisely the kind of person who easily triggers him."
"Soldier?" The agent raised an eyebrow.
"Agent." Arrogant sighed, "He was snatched from his home by a person similar to you. To be precise, people like you."
"I feel very sorry," the agent said, though his tone showed no remorse, "Too bad there's no 'us', just me."
Arrogant and Gordon went inside, evidently to calm Ethan. Deathstroke, curious, asked, "What do you mean? You running some kind of riddle here?"
"Ethan has PTSD towards agents too, but obviously he wouldn't use psychoanalysis, otherwise he wouldn't have shot at me."
"Aren't you an agent too?"
The agent turned to him, "Many agents smoke due to the high pressure of their jobs. Besides high workload, their conscience is also tormented. Guess why I don't smoke?"
Deathstroke probed, "You have no conscience?"
The agent rolled his eyes, "Of course, 'cause I have other ways to alleviate my stress."
"What kind of way?"
"I already told you before, I do dirty work." The agent moved toward the door, "Which includes cleaning up after those retired old agents who think they can walk away clean."