Three-stream detection simulator

Hercule thought to himself that the system's judgment was actually not broken.

"Mr. Wayne, I heard that you just returned to Gotham not long ago."

The two of them had sharply contrasting identities when they were in the same frame. One was a well-dressed person at the top of the capitalist pyramid, and the other was a downtrodden member of the oppressed society who only had a kidney worth. After meeting, they were actually quite harmonious. While Detective Bullock was busy interrogating the newly arrested criminal, Hercule chatted with Bruce.

Otherwise, if his mind is so good, his body has already started to sort everything on the desk in front of him according to quantity according to the second standby action.

The obsessive-compulsive disorder inherent in the body is indeed something.

Bruce answered him: "Yes."

And he looked down at the three figures placed together by Hercule and three ballpoint pens. The policeman who was absent from the night shift was an old two-dimensional man. He usually hid the pretty girls and furry for fear that his boss would see them, but this time, Hercule pulled them out for an exhibition.

Hercule sometimes couldn't restrain his standby action. This thing was automatically triggered when he was not paying attention, and occasionally there was inertia. He seemed to be doing it unconsciously, and then continued to ask: "Is there any difference between this place and the one in your memory?"

"Pretty much," Bruce said. "Just as chaotic."

Hercule nodded in agreement: "Then you should be used to the criminals coming at you. As one of the victims, can I be lucky enough to know the causes and consequences of this attack?"

The rich man opposite him showed a slightly surprised expression: "I didn't think I said I was attacked?"

"I can't think of any other reason why you showed up here in the middle of the night." Hercule finally stopped what he was doing, blinked and said, "You can't really be a criminal suspect, can you?"

"Okay." Bruce laughed, "That makes sense, I am also a victim. Someone was hiding in the back seat of my car this evening and wanted to kidnap me. I was lucky enough to subdue him. The police learned from him that Black Bang found out that I had lent money to Corbin Fordham to help him cover up the transactions he messed up, so he planned to teach me a lesson."

"So you think they might also retaliate against me and my client?"

Bruce did not deny it: "If killing Corbin Fordham wasn't enough, everyone who comes into contact with him may be in danger."

Hercule followed his words: "Including me who accepted the commission from Shania Fordham."

Bruce showed an interested look: "How is the job of a detective? Is it your hobby?"

"It's just a hand-to-mouth existence." Hercule said modestly, as if he didn't think about scratching the word "third-rate" off his forehead every day. "It's definitely easier than temporarily taking over a multinational company."

His eyes fell on the newspaper that Bruce Wayne was holding just now.

The newspaper is now spread out on the desk, and the headlines of the economic section are about the recent serious turmoil in Wayne Group's stock price due to internal struggles.

"Maybe, actually I don't care much." Bruce said lightly, pushing the newspaper aside.

At this time, Inspector Bullock strode over: "The bottom member of the gang, his target Hercule Hugo, other than that, I don't know anything about it... Huh? Can you two still talk?"

Hercule was the first to say in a polite tone: "Mr. Wayne is very friendly."

Inspector Bullock looked at him several times, reaffirming the fact that Hercule was eccentric and unlikeable.

I don’t know where this feeling comes from. It’s a bit like seeing a black cat squatting on a trash can in a dark alley in the middle of the night.

He no longer dwelled on the doubts about Hercule, and was ready to send these two people away immediately: "It's none of your business. Just go back and forth wherever you come from. I won't send them away."

Bruce seemed to have been waiting for this sentence for a long time, and he couldn't wait to walk out after hearing the words. Hercule reached out and grabbed Detective Bullock: "Wait, Mr. Detective - are you sure the man I knocked unconscious is a gang member?"

Detective Bullock clicked his tongue: "You doubt my professionalism?"

"He doesn't know who sent him?"

"It's his superior. As for the reason, it must be the commission you accepted." The detective said impatiently, "Corbin Fordham has offended the mafia, and Shania Fordham is at the center of the whirlpool. If you are retaliated against, you should have thought of these risks when accepting her commission. Is there anything else?"

"Yes." Hercule grabbed his wrist and refused to let go, resolutely squeezing out any value from the passing NPC. "There is only one Heibang boss in that area - I mean the hotel - who is he?"

"Stupid question from an outsider!" There were other police officers watching around. Detective Bullock struggled a few times to save face, but he didn't break away. He couldn't help but gasp with anger, "I tell you, the entire Gotham is now They are all Romans, just ask Carmine Falcone if you can!"

Hercule got the answer he wanted and released his hand without warning. The detective was caught off guard and fell into the chair, and heard the culprit say sincerely: "Thank you, you solved one of my confusions, although the mystery has not diminished. By the way, you should pay more attention to exercise on weekdays."

The detective was subdued by 25's physical strength! The future of the Gotham Police Department is worrying!

"One more thing."

Before leaving, Hercule thought again, "The police officers in the surveillance room are not doing their job properly. You are conscientious and resourceful, and you must have discovered it."

He rolled away the newspaper that Bruce Wayne had read. When he walked out of the police station, he could still hear the detective cursing and swearing to heaven that he would fill the cell with him next time. Edward Nygma followed him closely and asked, "How do you know that the monitoring room in the police station is a decoration?"

Because there is a plug-in.

Hercule did not say a word.

Edward automatically started the topic again: "What a great night! How should we use it?"

Use it!

Hercule said kindly: "Hastings' role-playing is over, Mr. Nygma. In the story from this evening to midnight, you will not be a reserve murderer."

Edward and him exchanged a complex look of I know what you are thinking, and you also know what I am thinking.

"To be honest, I'm not used to the role of Watson, but it's nice to try it occasionally." Edward said, "That's all for tonight, detective. Although I'm very curious about the direction of your next investigation, it's interesting to solve the puzzle yourself. Goodbye! Let me go first."

This guy is energetic from morning to night, and his steps are still easy. In a short while, his figure disappeared into the darkness.

Hercule stood there and stared at Edward's back for a while. Master Wayne had left, and the summer night sky in Gotham was overcast. He took his mobile phone and the battery that was removed to make an alarm from his coat pocket, but he was not in a hurry to put them together. Instead, he took out the few remaining coins and walked to the bus station to take the bus. The platform was newly built not long ago, and the plastic billboard was shining.

[You feel someone is watching you. ]

Is this appropriate in the middle of the night?

Hercule couldn't help his desire to perform. He asked the distorted reflection in the mirror under the street light: "Why are we full of lies?"

Only the sound of the wind when the car passed by answered him.

And in a place that Hercule could not see, the sound of bat wings flapping pierced the night sky, like a long whistle before the dawn.

**

Hercule waited for half an hour before a car came.

After arriving at the nearest station to the hotel, he did not get off but sat one more stop forward, so that the place where he got off was closer to the place where the gunshots were heard during the day. There was no one on the bus at this time, and the streets were more desolate after getting off the bus. Every alley connected to the main road seemed to be a pre-determined place for murder.

But Hercule had seen a lot, or he had seen a lot in the game, and the body he brought out of the game at this moment had a calm aura.

He looked around, and on both sides of the streets of Gotham City, which was shrouded in the silent night, the ancient Roman-style buildings looked like faded oil paintings handed down from ancient times. Hercule focused on observing the signs of car accidents, bullet holes, bloodstains and broken windows of several shops on the roadside. After a few minutes, he took out a tattered hat from the hotel closet with his left hand from his coat pocket and put it on his head, and continued to walk along the main road.

After passing a certain alley, the traces of the daytime fight gradually disappeared, as if an invisible barrier was broken, and a few scattered figures suddenly appeared on the street. Most of them were homeless people, curled up on benches or in the recessed walls of buildings, and when they heard someone passing by, they raised their heads and half-opened their eyes to look over here.

Seeing Hercule and the others lying down again: It’s no big deal, they are the same kind of people.

Hercule easily did what a certain young man had to work hard to do.

He quickly found the gathering point of homeless people in this area. It was an abandoned parking lot surrounded by barbed wire, about half the size of a basketball court. In the summer nights, the temperature was high, and most people did not need to keep warm. They lay everywhere like wild dogs. Only a small circle of weak and sick homeless people built a bonfire around an iron barrel.

The firelight illuminated their hunched bodies and dim faces. Hercule pressed down the brim of his hat and blended in seamlessly.

The homeless man next to him looked at him, snoring with thick phlegm in his throat, and cleared his throat hard before asking, "Where are you from?"

Hercule said the block where he had just passed by and where a gunfight had occurred during the day, and explained in a few words: "They fought too fiercely, I'm worried that it was Fa..." He read Falcone's name vaguely, and he seemed as cautious as a frightened bird.

The homeless people understood, but no one spoke, so Hercule remained silent patiently. When it was almost dawn, the people around him extinguished the bonfire and took off their thick cotton jackets, preparing to find a shelter and put the clothes under their bodies to catch up on sleep. Only Hercule resolutely wore his dark coat with frayed edges.

Now he looked a little abrupt. The others glanced at him again and felt that Hercule was not disabled, not mentally retarded, and not dying of illness. The homeless man who had talked to him before was probably more talkative. He opened his mouth again and asked slowly: "Guys like you...are not homeless yet?"

Hercule knew that even street gangs would examine new members. He had already considered among many excuses that he would simply exaggerate the consequences of describing the attribute panel too low. Facing the suspicious or considering eyes of the crowd, he moved his right hand: "Peripheral nerve damage, I often have no feeling in this hand. Do you have a cigarette?"

Soon someone couldn't help but hand over a cheap cigarette out of curiosity. Hercule lit it up and took a puff in the residual heat of the campfire, frowning at the pungent smell - the cigarettes that the protagonist of the game used to smoke had been updated countless times, and the one in his hand was completely different from traditional Italian pizza and Hawaiian pizza. His craving for cigarettes was gone, or in layman's terms, he was out of it, and he rolled the cigarette butt against the wall next to him in a disappointed mood.

Everyone observed vaguely and found that his posture and movements when holding the cigarette were very stiff, and his ring finger and little finger were almost not bent.

These days, strange chemical plants and strange biopharmaceutical companies are emerging in an endless stream, and people are suffering from all kinds of diseases. No one doubts that Hercule is sharing his made-up stories.

The person who lent him the cigarette might be the manager here, and he came over and patted his shoulder, which roughly meant: You are allowed to come here to get a fire at night.

Daytime is another matter, involving many disputes between local snakes and gangs. The leader said to everyone present: "Don't get close to the place where the gunshots were fired recently. The police will be watching after dawn." He glanced at Hercule again.

Could one of the parties who fired the gun be a policeman? Various thoughts flashed through his mind. The sun was about to rise. Hercule stood up and left the parking lot, preparing to walk back to the hotel one stop at a time.

—— Mainly because he had no money to take a bus.

It was rare for a time traveler with a system to get to this point. Hercule reflected as he walked: Why did I play "Third-rate Detective Simulator" back then? Why didn't I play "Sherlock Holmes Simulator", "Poirot Simulator" or "Ellery Queen Simulator"? Even "Batman Simulator" would probably fly home now instead of relying on hardworking legs to walk back to the hotel!

Only one function was barely useful:

[Your brain is clear and no one is disturbing your attention. ]

It seems that no matter where the stalker comes from, he has to sleep, and Hercule is relieved.