14 A Very Cool Little Car

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After Alf had just dealt with the new member, the Bat Family mobilized in full force, swooping through the night to confront the criminals who had become active in Gotham.

“Babs,” Tim switched the comms to a private channel with Barbara, “any progress on the Osborn investigation? What about the source of that unusual funding?”

“Sorry, Tim,” Barbara replied with a hint of apology, “the origin of that money seems pretty normal. It did pass through multiple transfers, true, but that can be explained by the numerous agents and subsidiaries affiliated with Osborn’s companies... Honestly, Tim, if it weren’t for your gut feeling, Osborn Corp looks entirely legitimate.”

Tim said nothing. He had no evidence and couldn’t find any; his suspicion rested solely on his business acumen.

“Besides, how much of a threat could Osborn Corp really be compared to Penguin, Black Mask, or Joker?” Barbara reasoned. “Why are you prioritizing it so highly?”

“Peter has a personal connection with young Osborn,” Tim said. “I saw them chatting at school today. Peter even joined that genetic disease research group organized by Osborn Jr.”

“Alright, now I see why you’re so anxious,” Barbara said. “But aren’t you being a bit overprotective of the new member? He’s a university student; he can take care of himself.”

“He’s a New York university student,” Tim emphasized. “In Gotham, he’s just a piece of meat. The news that he’s staying at Wayne Manor won’t stay secret for long. When that happens, Wayne’s enemies will see him as an entry point. Letting Osborn Jr. roam freely around him is far too dangerous.”

Barbara chuckled softly. “You’re getting more and more like B, Little Red.”

“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment,” Tim raised an eyebrow.

Peter dashed to the garage like a gust of wind and soon found Bumblebee curled up in a corner. He tried to open the car door to climb into the driver’s seat and talk to Bumblebee properly, but the door was locked. Even with the key, he couldn’t open it. He couldn’t force it without harming Bumblebee, so he piteously pressed his face against the window.

“Let me in, please? Dear Bee? I know I was wrong!”

The radio crackled with static before the door suddenly swung open, giving Peter a sharp shove that sent him stumbling back two steps.

Peter immediately felt like a girlfriend who had just been scolded for not being sweet enough—treated with a slap instead of affection.

Who else could be slapped by their own car? That was a unique experience, and Peter wasn’t upset at all.

At least the door was open. Even though Bumblebee tried to close it after shooing Peter, he stuck like chewing gum, bouncing and clinging, and suddenly slid into the driver’s seat so quickly Bumblebee didn’t even see how he moved.

“I’m taking you on a night patrol,” Peter said, gripping the steering wheel. “It’s going to be fun! We’ll stay in the shadows, so you don’t have to worry about being seen.”

He clenched his fist and added, “If anyone spots you, I’ll knock them out!”

The radio flickered, and after the phrase “Let’s take them down!” Bumblebee’s headlights flared on and the engine roared.

Peter panicked, “Shh—shh! We need to be low-key!”

Bumblebee promptly switched off the headlights and silently exited the garage.

Like a phantom in the darkness, after leaving the garage, Bumblebee didn’t head toward the main gate but instead went to the back of the manor. Arriving at a certain wall, Bumblebee transformed into a five-meter-tall Autobot, cradled Peter in his hand, and lightly leapt over the fence. Before landing, he shifted back into Camaro form.

“So cool!” Peter exclaimed.

Bumblebee vibrated proudly.

After Bumblebee took Peter away, the vast Wayne Manor was left with only Alfred in the Batcave, diligently providing logistics support to a group of energetic vigilantes.

“Maybe I should train the new young master to help me; he seems sharp,” Alfred muttered to himself.

“Oh no.” It wasn’t until several miles from the manor that sharp-witted Peter suddenly realized, “I forgot my bugging device, and I’m not even wearing my uniform! Plus, I never got around to making a voice changer.”

Bumblebee’s radio came alive.

“No, not that kind, Bee. I need to monitor the police channel to know where trouble is happening.”

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The radio slowly tuned frequencies, and after a few seconds, Peter heard the voices of Gotham police officers.

“Wow, wow, you’re amazing!”

Before Peter could finish admiring, the compartment beside the steering wheel popped open, revealing a pair of old sunglasses and a pink mask.

Peter picked up the mask, stared at it for a moment, and sniffed under the nose to make sure no one else had worn it before sighing, “Alright then, looks like it’s another night of silent takedowns.”

Using the police channel, Peter located the gathering points of Gotham’s police and vigilantes. To avoid them, he drove Bumblebee to Gotham Bay. Some shady dealings were scheduled there tonight. No one had noticed yet, but Peter’s spider-sense urged him to check it out.

Bumblebee glided silently over the shallow waters. Peter wondered if he wasn’t afraid of the water, when suddenly Bumblebee dramatically transformed into his robot form, splashing Peter with seawater.

Peter shook his hair like a dog and said, “So you were waiting here for me! You’re such a spiteful little car!”

Bumblebee’s laughter buzzed as Peter resignedly patted his thigh armor.

Though Bumblebee’s robot form could move silently, his size made stealth difficult. After drenching Peter, Bumblebee reverted back to Camaro to patrol the docks quietly.

Gotham Bay was silent at night. Most boats were still, except for two docks where loading and unloading continued as usual.

The vigilantes hadn’t cast their gaze here because the transactions were conducted openly. Usually, Gotham’s scum used abandoned docks or reefs to conduct shipments. As an island city with a long coastline, Gotham was impossible to patrol fully. So the vigilantes focused patrols elsewhere.

Peter donned the sunglasses and pink mask near the unloading dock, looking suspicious enough to be a creep. Fortunately, it was night—during the day, this outfit would have gotten him kicked out immediately.

Looking closer, he saw ordinary containers, ordinary workers, and ordinary machinery. Nothing seemed out of place.

Peter hid in the shadows, debating whether to plant a tracker when mechanical sounds came from beside him.

Bumblebee, now in robot mode, crouched behind a container. Only his head peeked out, wearing a very cool mask that obscured his innocent, round eyes, giving him an intimidating look.

Peter whispered, “That’s too obvious! Bee! Don’t get spotted!”

In combat mode, Bumblebee quickly scanned two shipping containers with thermal imaging, then concealed himself again. The radio announced, “They’re all humans inside.”

Humans? Peter was stunned.

Normal people wouldn’t cram themselves into containers to land at a dock. This was human smuggling.

Meanwhile, Red Robin was nearby, crouched on another container.

He had been chasing robbers who, seeing the dock at the road’s end, wisely gave up and allowed Red Robin to punch and tie one to a lamppost, notifying the precinct to pick him up.

Since he was here anyway, Tim decided to check out Gotham Bay.

At first, the active dock didn’t draw much attention, but Red Robin sensed something wrong.

Amid the salty sea air, he distinctly smelled human scent mixed with waste.

While many dock workers were unhygienic, on such an open seaside, that smell could only come from many people confined in a small space without freedom to come and go.

Tim realized this was smuggling, but was filled with questions.

Who would be desperate enough to smuggle into Gotham?

Outsiders coming to Gotham without contacts or places to stay were likely doomed to be exploited by local gangs.

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Normally, even innocent investors in Gotham risk poisoning from competitors, never mind smugglers. Most likely, they’d have their organs harvested and sold on the black market.

Wait, could this be an organ trafficking scene? But on such a large scale, how had the Bat Family not detected anything?

Red Robin drew his weapon. He couldn’t gamble with lives—he had to rescue these people now. Waiting to investigate with trackers might be too late.

There weren’t many workers, and no visible guards. The smugglers worked hard to make this look like a normal transaction.

Red Robin leapt down from above!

Peter and Bumblebee, hidden in the shadows, were startled.

The red-and-black-clad vigilante wielding a long staff swiftly knocked down two workers!

It was almost a martial arts performance. Red Robin moved as nimble as a bird; ordinary people couldn’t track him. With each encounter, someone collapsed, and in a flash, unconscious workers lay scattered beside the containers.

“Wow...” Peter watched with awe.

He mentally assessed what it would be like to face Red Robin. The man’s agility and combat skills were formidable, and he could open containers barehanded—but Peter was still no match.

Tim opened a container, his nerves taut as he dodged a thrown can!

The can’s edges were razor sharp. The attack was intentional.

“Run!” someone shouted, and amid the stench, people inside the container rushed out in a frenzy!

Tim fired a grappling hook to stabilize himself above the container, stunned by the scene.

These people were young and old, male and female, all ordinary, dressed in filthy clothes, fleeing chaotically.

But there were too many; Red Robin couldn’t catch them all. He quickly pulled a gas vial from his belt and tossed it into the crowd.

Then he jumped down, staff and rope flying, doing his best to round them up.

“Don’t run,” he scolded angrily, “I’m saving you!”

He swiftly knocked out and bound three people, then heard noises coming from the other side, hidden behind a container.

Tim froze, disregarding the people he was standing on, and silently crept toward the sound.

Moonlight revealed a slender figure.

One more step, and he would see who it was.

Tim lightened his footsteps, then suddenly everything blurred, and his vision darkened.

First, he smelled seawater, then felt warmth spread over his eyes.

More striking than the warmth was the strength of the hand.

Even Batman couldn’t render Red Robin powerless, but Tim had no strength to break free now.