Days as a Spiritual Mentor in American Comics

The night rain intensified, thunder booming. Surrounded by the storm, Carter Group Building loomed like a tilted black obelisk, its glass curtain walls traced by worm-like rivulets of rain.

The red light of the security door fingerprint scanner flickered three times in Mr. Carter's eyes before it recognized his print successfully. He couldn't help but silently thank the IRS for not disabling the security power supply.

Suddenly, the muted thuds of tactical boots on metal echoed from the hallway behind him. As Carter slipped into the shadows of the pantry, he saw the reflection of Agent Lake's night vision goggles scanning the wall, checking the remains in the shredder with his tactical flashlight.

"B team, secure the fire escape; A team, follow me." Agent Lake's radio broke the silence in the hallway with a brief echo, filled with a mechanical indifference and a type of brutal aesthetic unique to law enforcers.

Mr. Carter carefully moved towards his door, but a sudden thunderclap lit up the whole floor. He saw Bloom's bloodstain on his suit cuff, presenting a ghastly blue in the lightning.

Ten minutes later, Carter crouched on the maintenance platform of the freight elevator shaft, hearing below the squeaking sounds of gloves against steel cables. Lake's metallic voice resonated in the shaft: "Mr. Carter, those shell companies you set up don't come with bulletproof features."

The stun grenade thrown upward by the agents instinctively made Carter lean back, his head smashing against the wall and splattering blood. Yet, enduring the pain, he leaped out through a gap on the maintenance platform.

Rain pattered against the glass curtain wall, sounding like invisible hands drumming on the heart of this steel beast.

Gasping heavily, Carter hurried along, clinging to the wall. Clenching a mini-flashlight in his hand, its beam weakly slicing through the darkness. His eyes radiated extreme tension and anxiety, sweat beads on his forehead trickling down his cheeks.

"I must reach the vault... must destroy the logs…" he muttered under his breath, his voice tinged with a trace of madness.

Just then, a rapid flurry of footsteps and muffled voices approached in the distance. Carter's heart raced; he quickly turned off his flashlight, holding his breath, his body pressed against the wall. In the darkness, several beams of light swept through the corridor, IRS Agent Lake and his team advancing in his direction.

"Split up and search; he won't get far!" Lake's voice was stern and decisive, his tactical flashlight slicing the darkness like a sharp blade.

Carter's heart hammered, nearly bursting out of his chest; he knew he had to escape quickly. He cautiously backed away, looking for another route to the vault. However, his heel accidentally hit a metal trash can, sending a loud clang echoing.

"There!" Lake's voice sharply intensified, his flashlight beam locking onto Carter's direction.

"Damn it!" Carter cursed under his breath and started running. His footsteps echoed in the deserted corridor, with the rapid pursuit and shouting of the agents following closely behind.

"Stop! Carter! You can't escape!" Lake's voice chased after him like the whisper of death.

Desperate, Carter dashed with his heart pounding furiously, his lungs feeling ready to burst. His vision blurred, navigating through the darkness by memory alone. He stormed into the stairwell, taking the stairs two or three at a time, his footsteps reverberating in the confined space.

"He's headed to the stairwell! Block the exits!" Lake's voice echoed from above, along with the heavy footsteps of the agents.

Carter burst out of the stairwell into the underground parking lot. The darkness was more intense here, the air filled with the scent of motor oil and dust. His feet slipped on the wet floor, nearly causing him to fall. Stabilizing himself, he quickly ducked behind an abandoned car, holding his breath, trying to conceal himself.

The agents' footsteps drew closer, their flashlight beams scanning through the parking area. Carter's heart thundered in his ears, his hand gripping the flashlight as if it was his lifeline.

"Obstructing justice, add five more years!" Lake threatened coldly and decisively. "All exits are blocked here; it's only a matter of time before you're caught, stop resisting!"

Carter knew he could wait no longer. He burst from behind the car, sprinting towards the vault. The agents immediately spotted him, their shouts and footsteps resuming.

"Catch him! Don't let him escape!"

Carter ran with all his might, the agents' footsteps closing in. His legs felt as heavy as lead. Just as he was about to reach the vault door, a strong hand suddenly grasped his shoulder.

"Got you!" Lake's voice rang in his ear, laced with a hint of triumphant satisfaction.

Carter spun around, throwing a punch at Lake's face. Caught off-guard, Lake staggered back. Carter seized the opportunity to break free and dashed towards the vault door. He quickly entered the code, and the door slowly opened.

"Quick! Block him!" Lake, covering his bleeding face, shouted furiously.

The agents charged, but Carter had already dashed into the vault. He quickly closed the door, blocking the agents outside. Inside the vault, it was pitch dark except for the faint blinking lights on the server racks.

Catching his breath, Carter swiftly located the main server and began manually formatting the system logs. His fingers flew over the keyboard, his eyes filled with determination.

"Hurry... hurry..." he murmured softly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Just then, a loud banging sound came from the vault door. Agents were attempting to break in.

"Carter! You can't escape! Open the door!" Lake's voice came from outside the door, carrying a mix of anger and urgency.

Carter's fingers rapidly tapped on the keyboard, and finally, the screen displayed "Formatting Complete." He breathed a sigh of relief, quickly unplugged the server power, and turned to run towards another door in the vault.

He pushed open the back door and rushed into a narrow corridor. At the end of the corridor was a metal door leading to the ground level. Carter sprinted with all his might and finally pushed open the metal door.

The wind of the rainy night hit his face; the raindrops on his face brought a hint of coolness. He took a deep breath, feeling as if he had finally escaped to safety.

However, just as he was about to take the last step, several bright lights suddenly shone on his face. He squinted and saw a group of ordinary people holding sticks standing in front of him.

"Carter! You damned tax thief! You won't get away!" the leading Gambler roared.

Carter was completely dumbfounded. He extended his hands, waving them, "Who are you?! Get out of my way!!"

"Catch him! Don't let him get away!" The gamblers surged forward and pinned Carter to the ground.

Carter struggled, but he was quickly subdued. His face was smeared with mud, eyes exuding despair and fear.

Lake walked over with the agents, coldly watching the Carter pinned to the ground: "Game over, Carter."

Carter raised his head, rainwater sliding down his cheeks. He knew he had utterly lost. But he had no clue why.

Where did that last group come from?! If not for them, he could have completely shaken off the agents and headed to the safe house in the suburbs. The IRS wouldn't have found it there!

Filled with anger and unwillingness, Carter roared and struggled madly. Clay looked at his blood-stained back of the head, a slight confusion flickering in his eyes.

"We've got him, boss. But he might have destroyed part of the system logs, and also..."

"No, never mind, probably just my imagination. Okay... This guy doesn't look much like a banker, did he ever work as an agent when he was younger?"

"He led our men around the building in circles. He almost locked us outside the vault too. That's not the physical condition of a pampered big shot..."

"If you really want me to say, I think he is a bit crazy, like those mad psychopaths. I suspect he might have wanted to use mental illness to escape prosecution... Alright, I'll keep an eye out; I'm heading back now."

In the lobby of Fels Casino, the lights were brilliant, and the atmosphere was lively. The host, Patrick, stood in the center of the lobby, holding a golden microphone, with his signature exaggerated smile on his face. Behind him, a giant screen was displaying live footage from inside the Carter Building—Carter desperately fleeing in the dark, with IRS agent Lake and his squad closely pursuing him.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Patrick's voice spread through the speakers throughout the casino, with a hint of mockery and excitement, "Welcome back to our special show—'Tax Monopoly'! Tonight's live broadcast is thrilling, as our protagonist Mr. Carter is showcasing a breathtaking escape drama!"

The camera switched to Carter's disheveled figure; he was desperately running through the dark hallways, his suit soaked with sweat, his tie hanging loosely around his neck. Patrick pointed to the screen, exaggeratedly shrugging his shoulders: "Look at this once financial mogul, now running like a rabbit being chased by hunters! I must say, his performance is really... um, what should I say? It's both pitiful and laughable!"

The audience burst into laughter; gamblers held up their glasses, excitedly discussing. Patrick walked to the audience seats and handed the microphone to a gambler with a flushed face: "Hey, buddy, what do you think about Carter's performance?"

The gambler grinned, revealing a gold tooth: "Exciting! So exciting! I bet fifty bucks he wouldn't last ten minutes, but this guy actually ran for so long! Even though he was caught, the escape was definitely worth the admission price!"

Patrick laughed heartily, patting the gambler on the shoulder: "Looks like our Mr. Carter still has some skills, right?" He turned to face the camera, his tone teasing, "But, I guess he now regrets not paying more taxes, otherwise he wouldn't have ended up in this predicament!"

The camera switched again, this time to Carter being pinned down to the ground by the gamblers. The rain beat down on his face, mixing with mud and sweat, making him look particularly miserable. Patrick feigned sympathy, shaking his head: "Oh, poor Carter, it looks like tonight's 'Death Game' has ended for him. But don't worry, dear viewers, our show is just reaching its climax!"

He walked to the other side of the stage, pointing to a live-updated data screen: "Look at these text messages! Our dear viewers are so enthusiastic! In just ten minutes, we've already received over a hundred thousand messages! Everyone is rating Carter's performance, and some have even suggested giving him a 'Best Escape Award'!"

The audience burst into laughter again. Patrick winked, his tone a bit mischievous: "However, what interests me the most is this message—'Carter's performance reminds me of my ex-husband, who could also run very well, only he did it to avoid debt!' Haha, it looks like our Mr. Carter has indeed struck a chord with everyone!"

"Oh, my God! I've just received some good news—" Patrick waved his arm and shouted, "The Lower City Jazz Dance program has broken historical viewer ratings! It is now challenging the highest viewer rating record of Gotham TV Station! Let's cheer for this!"