The torrential rain on Lake Street showed no signs of stopping.
The rusty iron gate was pushed open, and the “creak” of friction sounded jarringly loud in the deathly silent alley.
William folded his black umbrella and casually hung the handle on the iron hook behind the door; rainwater dripped from the tip, splashing a small puddle onto the concrete floor.
“Put her up there.
Be gentle.”
William ripped off his soaked trench coat and threw it onto the swivel chair.
He walked to the sink, turned on the faucet, and let the icy water rinse his hands.
Selina gritted her teeth, enduring the twitching sensation that occasionally shot through her left leg, and carefully laid Maggie, whom she had been carrying on her back, flat on the stainless steel operating table.
The little girl’s weight was terrifyingly light, like a skeleton covered in skin.
The effects of the two puffs of strong inhalant were wearing off; Maggie’s chest cavity began to show signs of terrifying depression again, and a broken, bellows-like wheezing sound squeezed out of her throat.
Selina frantically wiped the rainwater from her face and turned to beg William to hurry up, but her gaze suddenly froze.
“Click.”
William pressed the master switch on the wall.
The pale, shadowless lamp lit up, and immediately after, several behemoths that had been hidden in the darkness deep within the clinic lit up one after another with eerie blue standby indicator lights.
Selina’s pupils constricted violently.
Less than two meters to the left of the operating table stood an extremely strange, silver-gray metal pod.
The pod was streamlined, its outer shell edge covered in scorch Marks from violent cutting, and there were even several obvious bullet holes.
But behind the explosion-proof glass mask, extremely precise and complex holographic projection parameters flickered.
On the side of the metal pod, half of a scratched English spray-painted logo remained—”STARK.”
Selina had once snuck into the intensive care unit of Gotham General Hospital.
Compared to this metal monster exuding a cold, sci-fi aura, those bulky medical devices that cost millions of dollars were simply scrap metal from the last century.
“W-what is this?” Selina swallowed hard, her voice drifting.
Secret military equipment from Wayne Enterprises?
Or some kind of human experimentation instrument from beneath Blackgate Penitentiary?
“Shut up.
Step back.”
William shook the water droplets off his hands and pulled on sterile, light-blue latex gloves; he had no time to explain Stark Industries’ discarded scrap from the Marvel Universe to a stray cat from the streets of Gotham.
To transport this battlefield portable hyperbaric oxygen chamber from Hells Kitchen, his lumbar discs had almost been snapped on the spot by gravitational acceleration over those few days.
He walked to the glass medicine cabinet and entered the password.
Cold air rushed towards his face.
A glass injection vial packed in shock-absorbent foam was pinched out by two fingers.
The liquid inside emitted an eerie, pale green fluorescent glow.
“Hold her shoulders; don’t let her move around.”
William walked to the operating table and issued instructions in a flat tone.
Selina snapped out of her daze and hurriedly stepped forward to press down hard on Maggie’s frail shoulders.
A tourniquet was tightened around Maggie’s upper arm.
William flicked the girl’s withered hand with his index and middle fingers.
The vein bulged with an extremely faint outline.
Needle inserted.
Blood returned.
The pale green targeted medication was pushed into the vein bit by bit.
“This is a targeted drug that blocks the inflammatory cytokine cascade.
It will hurt a little.” William pulled out the needle and casually tossed the empty ampoule into the yellow medical waste bin at his feet.
The moment the medication entered her bloodstream, Maggie’s thin body suddenly tensed, and she began to struggle violently like a fish being electrocuted.
“Maggie!” Selina’s eyes turned red with anxiety, and she almost couldn’t hold her down.
“Hold her down!
If you let go, her alveoli will burst!” William barked coldly.
Five seconds later, the struggling stopped.
Tears seeped from Maggie’s tightly closed eyes, but the spasm that felt like it was crushing her trachea visibly subsided.
“Pick her up and put her in the pod.” William pointed to the Stark Industries hyperbaric oxygen chamber.
Selina hurriedly picked up her sister and stuffed her into the metal chamber lined with soft padding.
William pulled down the explosion-proof glass cover with one hand, locked the latch, and swiped his fingers rapidly across the holographic projection panel next to it. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
“Hiss—, ”
An extremely faint sound of a pressure relief valve working rang out.
High-purity medical oxygen mixed with trace amounts of aerosolized restorative medication instantly filled the chamber.
William pulled over the swivel chair and sat down, his gaze fixed on the physiological monitoring data on the panel.
Selina gripped the edge of the metal pod tightly with both hands, her cheek pressed against the cold glass.
She didn’t even dare to blink, staring intently at Maggie inside.
Thirty seconds.
Maggie’s cyanotic lips began to fade.
One minute.
The depressions in her suprasternal notch and intercostal spaces completely disappeared.
Three minutes.
The blood oxygen saturation on the monitor climbed steadily from a near-death red line (78%) and finally settled firmly in the green safety range at 96%.
Maggie’s breathing was completely steady.
There was no bellows-like wheezing, no painful twitching.
A hint of long-lost, healthy rosy color even appeared on the little girl’s cheeks.
She looked as if she were asleep, her chest rising and falling with extreme regularity.
Selina stared blankly at this scene.
At Gotham General Hospital, those chief Doctors in white coats holding a thick stack of lab reports had looked at her with the eyes of someone looking at a dead person and told her, “Prepare for the funeral; pulmonary fibrosis is irreversible.”
But now, in less than ten minutes.
One injection, one beat-up metal pod.
It had forcibly snatched the only family she had in this rotten World back from the hands of the God of Death.
“Beep.”
William tapped the table.
“Come over and lie in it for two hours every night.
For one week straight.
The damaged alveolar epithelial cells will be restored to normal levels.
As long as she doesn’t do drugs or go to chemical plants to inhale exhaust fumes in the future, she will live until you die of old age.”
Selina turned around.
She looked at the man sitting on the swivel chair, holding a chipped mug printed with “ILOVENY” and drinking water.
In those eyes, which were perpetually shadowed by heavy dark circles, there was no pity, no arrogance after bestowing a favor, only a business-like indifference.
The nerves that had been taut for over a decade snapped completely at this moment.
Selina’s legs went weak.
Without any hesitation, she knelt heavily on one knee on the rough concrete floor.
Her kneecap hit the ground with a dull thud.
This stubborn girl, who had scraped and clawed her way through the Gotham East District and dared to spit in the face of anyone holding a knife to her throat, deeply lowered her proud head.
Tears mixed with rainwater dripped from her sharp chin onto the dirty floor.
“Thank you.”
Her voice was raspy and unrecognizable, thick with nasal congestion.
“I, Selina Kyle, swear.
From now on, my life is yours.
If you want me to steal, I will steal; if you want me to kill, I will never ask for a name.
Just say the word.”
William swallowed the mouthful of inferior instant coffee.
On the edge of his retina, eerie blue characters jumped as expected.
[Chain Quest: Redemption of the Catwomen.
Completed.]
[Quest Reward: 100 Cubic Meter Sub-space Storage Ring.
Distributed.]
William felt a slight chill at the base of his right index finger.
An extremely primitive, unadorned dark silver ring had silently slipped onto his finger.
One hundred cubic meters.
With this thing, he would no longer have to shuttle back and forth between the two doors carrying a backpack like a coolie.
High-tech and rare metals from both the Marvel and DC Worlds could all be resold in tons.
This deal was a massive profit.
William suppressed the fervor in his heart, his eyes remaining cold.
He put down the mug and looked at Selina, who was kneeling on the ground.
“Get up.
Mop up the water on the floor.
This is a clinic, not a church; we don’t do the kneeling thing here.”
Selina froze for a moment, wiped away her tears, and stood up, supporting herself on her knees.
She didn’t go to grab the mop, but instead clenched her fists tightly, her eyes flashing with extreme worry and ruthlessness.
“Dr.
William.” She changed how she addressed him, her tone becoming extremely grave.
“The business with the Rat Gang won’t end so easily.”
William leaned back in his chair, pulled an 11-gauge scalpel from the drawer, and flipped it casually between his fingertips.
The blade flashed.
“Fith is a beast who seeks revenge for the smallest grievance,” Selina gritted her teeth.
“He has over thirty desperadoes under his command.
You crippled three of his men at the monastery today; he will definitely track it down to here.
And—”
She paused, seemingly afraid of something.
“The reason Fith dares to be so arrogant in the East District is because he has big shots backing him.
I heard that every month, he sends kidnapped homeless people and orphans into underground black markets controlled by other gangs for organ harvesting trades.
By provoking him to save us, trouble will keep coming to your door.”
Over thirty desperadoes, gangs, organ black markets.
If these terms were heard by ordinary Gotham citizens, it would be enough to scare them into buying tickets to flee the city overnight.
But William only stopped the scalpel he was flipping.
“Are you done?” William raised his eyelids.
Selina was stunned.
She didn’t see a shred of fear on this man’s face, not even a frown.
“Whether a behemoth like the Falcone Family would stick their necks out for a few rats from the sewer, I don’t know.” William used the tip of the knife to pick dirt from under his fingernails, his voice as flat as if he were discussing what to have for dinner.
“But if that piece of trash named Fith is smart, this matter ends here.
He can continue being his rat boss in the sewer, and I will continue running my underground clinic.”
“But what if he isn’t smart?” Selina couldn’t help but ask.
“Not smart?”
William chuckled.
He flicked his hand casually.
With a “thud,” the scalpel turned into a silver gleam, accurately and flawlessly shaving off a lock of hair.
“Then I will make the name ‘Rat Gang’ disappear from the sewers of Gotham City forever.”
William stood up and walked to the sink to wash his hands.
“People go missing in Gotham every day.
A few dozen more corpses, and the piranhas off the coast of Blackgate Penitentiary will be very happy.
Now, go get the mop and wipe away the muddy footprints you made.
Tonight, just keep your sister company.”
Selina looked at the scalpel handle still vibrating slightly on the wall.
A chill shot up her spine to the back of her head, but immediately following it was an unprecedented sense of security.
She didn’t say anything more, turned, and walked toward the storage room in the corner to pick up the mop.
The Rat Gang?
Selina prayed that those idiots better not come to 22 Lake Street to die.