Chapter 311: Operation Raptor Squad Rescue in Progress
"It's going to rain."
Allen looked up at the night sky, just as a raindrop fell onto his cheek.
He and Harley Quinn were heading to a gang-controlled district to rescue Barbara and the others.
It sounded simple enough: Barbara and Poison Ivy had gotten into an accident, and the rest of the Raptor Squad went in to rescue them—only for all of them to disappear without a trace.
Realizing something was very wrong and knowing she couldn't save them alone, Harley remembered Allen—aka the Comedic Bat.
The Comedic Bat wasn't very popular with the public, but among superheroes and supervillains, he was someone you didn't mess with lightly.
"What now?"
Harley casually suggested, "Wanna just grab a cab?"
"No need."
Allen raised a hand to stop such wasteful spending. Mainly, he was flat broke—and had sworn a deadly oath never to take a cab again.
"What are you doing?"
Harley watched curiously as Allen set down a metal case.
Without a word, Allen unlocked the case with a fingerprint scan and pulled out two transparent raincoats. He offered one kindly. "Put it on—you'll catch a cold."
"Thanks."
Harley took the raincoat and began putting it on.
The whole time, Allen stared without blinking, not even bothering to put his own on.
"Ah…!"
Harley suddenly cried out, instinctively covering herself as she shouted in outrage, "What kind of raincoat is this?! It's see-through!"
"It is a see-through raincoat—only makes your outer layer invisible."
As he said this, Allen calmly put his own on. From the outside, only his underwear was visible—and the chest area even had built-in mosaic censorship for modesty.
What kind of self-respecting lunatic would ever make something normal?
"Get on."
"Get on what?"
Harley looked at Allen sitting cross-legged on the metal case. She couldn't make the connection to a vehicle. At the very least, put some wheels on it before lying with your eyes open.
"Sit behind me and hold on."
Allen eagerly patted the empty space behind him.
Hiss…
Taking a deep breath, Harley decided to give him one last chance. If he was just messing around, she'd go rescue the others on her own.
"Are you on?"
"Yeah."
With her confirmation, Allen said seriously, "Activating Flying Carpet Mode."
BOOM—
Flames burst out from four corners beneath the metal case, with two more thrusters in the rear for directional control.
Staring in shock at the flames, Harley asked incredulously, "It can actually fly?!"
"Flying's just one of its lesser features."
Allen began explaining: "The thrusters were taken from a Mark suit. The casing is made from the same alloy. Not to brag, but there's a power reactor inside."
Mark suit?
Iron Man tech?
"You and Tony that close?" Harley blurted out.
Iron Man was one of the few heroes with a publicly known identity. On top of that, he owned a multibillion-dollar empire—capital, connections, he had it all. And now somehow this lunatic was involved? This was beyond belief.
"I call him my nephew. You tell me."
Uncle-nephew relationship.
Even less believable.
Harley was convinced this guy was out of his mind—most likely stole Tony's tech.
Then again, come to think of it, her ex-lover Joker did serve under the guy. Technically speaking, they should be enemies. Working together now was... deeply unpleasant.
Back then, Joker Arthur had ruthlessly sold her out, landing her in prison and joining the Suicide Squad. After surviving countless deadly missions, she finally earned her freedom—but had to be on standby for conscription at any moment. She despised Arthur now, had zero interest in men, and so ended up joining the Raptor Squad.
"Let's go, Beasts of Prey!"
"It's Raptor Squad!!"
As the metal box shot forward, the airflow whipped Harley's pigtails completely sideways.
…
In a specially constructed prison cell—
Batgirl Barbara, Poison Ivy Pamela, Black Canary Dinah, and Huntress Helena had all fallen into enemy hands.
Dinah had been unconscious the whole time, sedated with a special drug designed to suppress her sonic abilities.
The group's dynamic was complicated. Pamela had a thing for Barbara, while Helena had a romantic history with Nightwing.
Put simply, the atmosphere was very awkward.
"Let's hope Harley didn't come alone," Helena said anxiously.
All four of them were highly capable, yet they still ended up captured. Harley, known for charging in headfirst without thinking, was not exactly reassuring.
"She might've asked Allen for help," Barbara said hopefully.
Pamela frowned. "Speaking of which, how did you get mixed up with that lunatic?"
First thing she'd done after getting out of the hospital was leave Gotham, hoping to never see Allen again.
But fate loved to play tricks.
"Batman gave me some intel on him," Barbara admitted. "He looked so pitiful and alone that I took him in for a while."
When the Bat-Family was formed, Batman had sent out dossiers on all known allies to avoid unnecessary conflicts during surprise encounters.
Allen's profile, in particular, had a very clear note about his mental health status.
"He was… pitiful?"
As if something clicked, Pamela looked at her with worry. "I think you've been fooled."
"I don't think he's faking it."
Maybe it was her first impression, but Barbara was convinced she was right.
You can't reason with someone who's already made up their mind.
Pamela glanced down at Barbara's chest and thought, Figures—big boobs, no brain. With her overflowing motherly instincts, she wouldn't listen to anyone anyway.
Suddenly, the cell door opened.
Several heavily armed, elite-looking men entered—better equipped than even a special forces team.
They clapped restraints on the four women and led them out of the cell.
None of the captors had insignia or markings, so there was no way to tell what group they belonged to. But one thing was clear: these guys were ridiculously strong.
Soon, they were brought before a balding old man.
His sparse hair was carefully combed, and he wore a white lab coat—your stereotypical research scientist.
"Who are you people?!" Barbara shouted angrily.
It was clear that whoever had originally captured them wasn't the same group they were with now.
Earlier that evening, Pamela had approached Barbara to try patching things up. By sheer coincidence, they'd run into someone crying for help. Without hesitation, they'd gone to assist.
Only to fall into a trap—where the "victim" suddenly released a hallucinogenic gas.
Pamela was immune to neurotoxins, but she couldn't leave Barbara behind. So she'd sent out her location to the others.
And one by one, they'd all walked into the same trap.
First Black Canary, then Huntress. Only Harley had been spared—because she wasn't there.
"No comment," the balding old man replied.
But he crossed his arms with smug confidence. "However, the name William Birkin might ring a bell."
"…"
The three conscious women looked at each other, blinking, waiting for him to elaborate.
Hem, hem…
Birkin gave a couple of awkward coughs, then covered with: "I suppose it's perfectly normal that you violent types wouldn't know about a leading authority in biochemistry."
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