The penthouse suite belonging to the Wayne Enterprises.
On a massive display screen, the footage was frozen on a youth clad in a cheap red-and-blue costume.
"With great power comes great responsibility."
The voice in the video trembled slightly, carrying the distinct raspiness of someone going through puberty, yet it echoed deafeningly within the cavernous Batcave.
Bruce Wayne sat in his swivel chair, dragging the progress bar back and forth over and over again.
He zoomed in on the frame to the absolute limit, observing the twitch of every single facial muscle as Chen Mo spoke.
No pupil dilation, no unnatural muscle twitches, and even his breathing frequency remained as steady as someone reciting the Bible.
"Master Bruce, this is already the two hundred and fourteenth time you have watched this video clip."
Alfred walked over carrying a tray, placing a steaming cup of coffee on the desk.
"If you continue watching, I will have to consider printing out a photo of this Mr. Spider and hanging it at your bedside as an amulet."
Bruce did not look back, his fingertips rapidly tapping away on the console.
"He is not normal, Alfred."
"In Gotham, this kind of situation only appears in two types of people: a newborn baby, or a completely unhinged lunatic."
Alfred raised an eyebrow, his tone carrying a rare hint of banter.
"Perhaps he is just a genuinely good lad? Admit it, Master Bruce, you are simply unaccustomed to seeing someone who knows better than you how to bring light to this city."
Bruce fell silent.
First of all, he admitted that as an incredibly wealthy second-generation billionaire with an abundance of material wealth, he did have a bit of a spiritual pursuit--like saving a city, for instance.
But that did not mean he would be jealous of someone who shared the same noble ideals and convictions.
Deep distrust was written all over Bruce Wayne's dark eyes.
This lack of trust had already been carved into his very bones, like a layer of armor that could never be stripped away.
"Gotham is a massive grindstone; any gold tossed into it will be ground into ash."
"If he isn't acting, then he is the most dangerous anomaly in this world."
He stood up, his cape slicing a cold arc through the air behind him.
"I need more data. Everything about him."
Meanwhile.
Gotham's South District, the top floor of a dilapidated old apartment building.
Chen Mo was laboriously pushing open a rusted-shut window, crawling into his rain-leaking attic.
The place was still pitifully small, the old newspapers plastered on the walls had turned yellow and were peeling off, and the air was filled with a musty odor and the stench wafting up from the sewers.
But for living alone, it was actually quite cozy, wasn't it?
In his mind, the crisp sound of clinking gold coins suddenly exploded without any warning.
[Ding!
Phase one of the role-play mission is complete.
Current character persona compatibility: 10%.
Distributing phase rewards...]
Chen Mo froze for a moment, and then his entire being perked up.
"System, you finally remembered that you still have a host stranded out here?"
"If you hadn't handed out the rewards soon, I was going to consider robbing Batman of his tires to exchange for cash to buy protein powder."
The system interface slowly expanded before his eyes, and a golden light flashed.
[Core ability unlocked: Novice Spider-Sense.]
In an instant, Chen Mo felt a sudden numbness at the back of his head.
The sensation felt as if a ten-thousand-volt high-voltage current had gently kissed the back of his head, and it also felt as if an invisible, slender thread had instantly connected him to the surrounding space.
The originally noisy world suddenly changed.
The sound of his next-door neighbor's breathing as they tried to eavesdrop on his movements, the friction of a homeless man downstairs rummaging through a trash can, and even the vibration of a spider crawling in the cracks of the ceiling were all clearly fed back to his cerebral cortex.
He felt the world slow down.
So this was the "Peter-Tingle"?
Chen Mo's face flushed red with excitement. He lunged onto the bed, intending to pull off a superhero-style backflip.
Crack!
The bed, thrown together from a few pieces of rotten wooden planks, finally fulfilled its historic mission after bearing the weight of Spider-Man.
The bedboards snapped right on cue, and Chen Mo landed flat on his butt directly on the floor, kicking up a thick layer of dust.
"Hiss..."
Rubbing his backside, Chen Mo looked at the few cents left in his pocket and fell into deep thought.
"System, let's negotiate a deal."
"I just reformed Batman earlier, can you see if you can give me some meal allowance?"
"Don't play dead, I know you're listening."
The system interface was dead silent, behaving exactly like a deadbeat debtor who refused to pay back money.
"You really are cold, you cold piece of programming."
Chen Mo rolled his eyes at the empty air.
"Aren't systems nowadays supposed to fully integrate AI? You do know AI is capable of chatting, right?"
"Hello? Anyone there? Moshi moshi?"
Aside from the ticking sound of the leaking rain, there was no response whatsoever in the attic.
Chen Mo let out a sigh, lying down on the broken wooden planks, staring at the grey sky through the hole in the ceiling.
At this moment, Gotham was being swallowed up bit by bit by the night.
In the shadows of the street corners, several junkies with vacant eyes curled up inside cardboard boxes, clutching their last syringes in their hands as if guarding a ticket to heaven.
Scantly clad prostitutes stood beneath the streetlamps, coldly sizing up every unfortunate soul passing by, holding cheap cigarettes between their fingers.
Beside the overturned trash cans, homeless men fought until they bled for half a piece of moldy bread.
This was the true color of Gotham, like a filthy rag that could never be wrung dry; everything squeezed out of it was nothing but black, bitter water.
And several kilometers away, on the top floor of Wayne Tower.
Massive floor-to-ceiling windows reflected the neon lights of the entire city.
Having changed back into his loungewear, Bruce Wayne held a glass of expensive red wine in his hand, standing upon a priceless Persian carpet.
The faint scent of sandalwood drifted through the air, clean to the point that not a single wail could be heard.
On one side was hell, on the other was the clouds.