Starting With Batman

A few minutes later, Charlie followed Ivan on a mini-transport plane, allowing them to descend to the ground.

From what Charlie understood, this plane was like a shuttle bus, taking people from the mothership to the designated ground base at appointed times.

On the way, Ivan explained to him that most of the employees on the mothership lived there long-term and didn't often leave. If agents had urgent missions, they'd get a special plane, avoiding the shuttle bus wait.

Charlie was simply here to complete the reporting procedures on the mothership; he wouldn't need to visit often in the future.

Upon arriving at the ground base, an off-road vehicle Ivan had prearranged was already in place. They then drove out of the base and headed back towards Riverton.

As soon as they left the vicinity of the base, Ivan had already lit a cigarette. He opened the window, leaned back in the seat, and hummed a tune while puffing.

He once offered Charlie a cigarette: "Want one?"

"Again, no," Charlie shook his head.

Charlie didn't smoke or drink; He was a clean-living young man with no bad habits except occasionally staying up late at night to play stand-alone games.

Even the vending machine downstairs, filled with nothing but iced coffee and energy drinks, can acquiesce to the fact that he is very healthy.

"They say smoking is bad for your health," Ivan took another puff and exhaled the smoke out of the window. "But it doesn't matter. If there's one thing I've learned throughout my life, it's to enjoy the moment. You never know when you will die, especially in this line of work, so it's better to live for today."

"Might I ask, how exactly does smoking help you live?"

Ivan threw Charlie an indifferent glance and then proceeded to focus on the road.

"where are we going?" Charlie asked, breaking the silence.

"To find an informant," Ivan said succinctly. "We've identified a possible source of 'impulsive infection', and now we're going to..."

"What is an impulsive source of infection?" Charlie interrupted, puzzled by the new term.

"Oh, right. You don't know about infection sources yet," Ivan remembered. Well, let me explain briefly. There are many types of infection sources, but the two main sources are vector-type, which are generally objects, such as a pen, a cigarette, a chair, a portrait, or anything. Such agents infect targets in close contact; targets infected by such an entity aren't able to infect other individuals."

Charlie connected the description to the sculpture in the Klein Building conference room.

"Then there's what we're dealing with this time, an impulsive source of infection," Ivan continued. "This type is often a living organism. It's called impulsive because it can't infect others in its stable mental state. Only when one's emotions fluctuate greatly and negative emotions are strong, can they infect those around them. The strength of its infection ability is related to its negative emotions."

"So, like that time at the school? The arguing duo's negative emotions were high, so they infected those around them?"

"Exactly," Ivan said. "But the incident at your school was minor; the source wasn't strong, and the infection level was low, so it recovered quickly."

Ivan then showed a serious expression.

"The infection level of those students was low, so they easily returned to normal. But once it exceeds 50%, recovery is hopeless," Ivan said. "And once it exceeds 80%, unless it's one of our idiosyncratic individuals, the infectee's consciousness will die.

Infected individuals with an infection level above 80% are no longer human. It would be best if you kept this in mind and not treat them as humans. This is a lesson we had to learn through the blood of our comrades."

Charlie sensed a story behind said bloody lesson, but Ivan didn't intend to elaborate.

"Let's take a look at our target for this trip."

He took out a photo from his Windbreaker's inner pocket and handed it to Charlie.

"Right, I almost forgot. Do I get a windbreaker as well?"

Charlie asked as he looked at the photo. The photo shows a Hispanic-looking fat guy with a baby face; the man's lower belly is exposed under his tight T-shirt. He wore gold-rimmed glasses and had a big gold chain hanging around his neck.

"No," Ivan replied, "you want a windbreaker, go buy one yourself."

Charlie let out an indifferent shrug.

Taking a closer look at the photo, his mind started to churn. He heard that in the early days of gangs, people originally wore gold chains because they were quick to sell in case of emergency. Later, it became a simple accessory for aesthetic purposes.

"His name is Diego, a member of a local gang. His gang is suspected to have killed several people. We're going there to investigate.

If it's a simple killing, we'll proceed with formal protocol, but if it's an infection source, we'll deal with it."

"What's the protocol?" Charlie asked.

"Ignore it, anyway, it's none of our business," Ivan said matter-of-factly.

Charlie thought about it and agreed. Their organization, built on a flying ship, was essentially a lunatic asylum; as fellow lunatics, it made sense not to care about regular crimes.

This reminded him of a meme he saw in his previous life about the IRS.

Are you a murderer? It's okay; as long as you don't bother us, feel free to keep killing.

Tax evasion? You're done! Even if God comes, He can't protect you!

 "Can't we at least call the police?" Charlie asked.

"No, too much paperwork."

Charlie: "..."

Well, that still sounded reasonable.

After driving for about half an hour, Ivan parked opposite a bar.

Charlie looked up through the car window and saw a signboard in flickering neon lights reading "Joe's Bar."

"This is the place?" Charlie asked.

"It should be. This is one of their dens. According to intelligence, Diego should be inside."

Ivan unfastened his seatbelt and got out.

"Stay here and wait for me," he said. I'll ask a few questions and be right back."

Understanding, Charlie nodded, staying in the car.

He sat and watched as Ivan lit another cigarette and walked across the street to the bar.

Charlie sat there bored for a few minutes until he heard a mournful howl from the bar. The shrillness reminded him of Tom's heart-piercing howl in "Tom and Jerry."

It was followed by fighting, heavy objects being thrown, glass shattering, and even gunshots.

A moment later, the bar's street-side glass shattered, and a chubby guy rolled out, groaning on the sidewalk. His face bore a striking resemblance to the man in the photo, Diego.

The bar's door swung open, and Ivan came out, still with the cigarette in his mouth. Through the crack, Charlie glimpsed at the mess inside and the people lying around.

Ivan walked slowly to the person on the ground, turned him over, and stepped on his chest. "are you ready to talk now?"

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