[Zhongyingmei] The style of the game is wrong

The little bat cub stood in front of the little milk spider who fell off the horse.She stopped and looked up, waving the baguette in front of his eyes pretendingly.

In her other hand, she held the little book that the little milk spider snatched from under the eyes of the little milk spider. After reading it from beginning to end, she threw it into the little milk spider's arms with great momentum.

The interrogation begins—

"Aunt May, work records, today's plan... dare you say that you are not Peter Parker?"

Peter huddled in the corner, hurriedly caught the thrown notebook, and stuffed it into his pocket desperately, as if he could stuff it back together with all the previous embarrassment.But before he could take the time to mourn his lost vest, he faced the interrogation of the little bat cub.

Dorothy stood in front of him, with the baguette under her arm, and took her diary and watercolors from her pocket with her free hand.

The flustered little milk spider couldn't help but think wildly, is Dorothy's pocket connected to another dimension?

The sound of the pen hitting the hard shell interrupted the little milk spider's thoughts. Little Dorothy flipped to the blank page and said:

"Name?"

Little Milk Spider: "Uh...Peter Parker"

"age?"

"15"

The little milk spider swallowed, he felt that at least he had to struggle to die, so he mustered up the courage to say again: "Alice, you, you can't do this."

The interrogated Spider-Man Peter Parker cried and pointed out: "Private individuals have no legal right to interrogation!"

"Why not?" Little Bat Cub Dorothy looked up and gave him a strange look, "This is my Gotham."

The fierce and fierce Dorothy glared at the little milk spider, emphasizing her tone: "Outsider!"

At that moment, Peter, who was originally from New York, seemed to see through Dorothy the figure of Batman, the black shadow ruling over Gotham.

So the little milk spider, who had fought a little bit, froze.

The interrogation is still going on, and the sound of the crispy, sweet and crispy milk is very loud.

The little milk voice was cold and ruthless: "Address?"

The little milk spider drooped its head: "New York...Queens, New York."

She continued: "Contact number?"

The little milk spider suddenly raised its head and stammered: "This, this too?"

Dorothy tilted her head, held the watercolor pen and tapped her chin with the cap, and thought for a moment: "It's okay if you don't say anything, I can call the Daily Bugle to inquire."

"But in order to save each other's time, I think it's better to talk about it together."

"Wait, I said!" The little milk spider was so frightened that its hairs exploded, and quickly spit out a string of numbers, in case Dorothy really planned to do this.

Dorothy scribbled a few strokes on the diary and continued to ask, "What are you doing in Gotham?"

The little milk spider tremblingly: "Follow the Bugle Daily and come to interview the technology exhibition."

He quickly added: "However, just after receiving the notice, the technology exhibition has been postponed. So I came out to pick up a part-time job after finishing the manuscript."

Led by the Stark Group and the Wayne Group, a technology exhibition jointly held in Gotham.Dorothy had heard Bruce talk about it.

No wonder there was no follow-up news, she nodded and thought, it turned out to be a delay.

There was confusion in Peter Parker's tone. It was obvious that the young intern reporter didn't know the reason, and just followed the instructions.

Dorothy snapped the diary shut, swapping places with the baguette she was carrying under her arm.

The baguette was again in Dorothy's hand.

The blue eyes stared at Peter without blinking: "One last question, what's the matter with the news you wrote today?"

The little milk spider was a little confused, but the small intern reporter of the Bugle Daily finally answered honestly.

"It's really just because I caught Superman last night," he said, "in mid-air Gotham."

Batman actually allows Superman to enter his territory, and the last time Superman flew in was to save Bruce Wayne.

Superman, Peter Parker thought, took off in Gotham and it all started.

If Dorothy had known what he was moaning about, she would have corrected that Batman was the one who started it all.If it wasn't for Hei Qiqi's strength to be intimidating, little Dorothy would not be able to get up and down the Wayn Tower until Superman came to the rescue.

"According to the request of the deputy editor, I wrote it based on the gossip in the previous newspaper. Both the Gotham Daily and the Daily Planet have made special reports on this."

"Mr. Wayne is funding Batman, Gotham knows that."

Dorothy interrupted him: "No, Batman is cheating money."

"Uh, okay."

Peter Parker babbled again and ended with a sentence: "Just...reasonable speculation and bold proof."

As he finished speaking, his voice became weaker and weaker until he closed his mouth.

Dorothy was content to hear the standard answer she liked—it was all Batman's wishful thinking, and Papa Bruce didn't like Batman at all.Her beautiful little golden retrievers are jumping happily.

——Actually, Dorothy couldn't help jumping up in excitement.

Noticing the confused gaze cast by the little milk spider, she calmly patted the corner of her cloak, and then began to talk nonsense seriously, her expression hidden under the domino mask was extremely solemn.

"My brother is Batman's fanboy," Dorothy lied bluntly, taking Damian's blame and adding another sentence, "The kind who sleeps with a Batman doll in his arms every day."

The beautiful blue eyes blinked: "But because of your news, he is very angry."

"He decided to make you into a cookie."

Damian from Lost and Lost Children: ...No, not everyone is a little fool like Dorothy.

Dorothy uses carrots and sticks.

"You can rewrite the report under a new pseudonym," Dorothy looked up at him and reminded heuristically, "Well... just write an argument that three people will never be together."

"Especially Bruce Wayne." Dorothy emphasized emphatically, before Peter Parker could react, she finished hurriedly, "You can play whatever you want, anyway, it's just what it means."

If it wasn't for the fact that Dorothy's vocabulary still needs to be improved, she would have liked to put on a vest and fight with the tabloids for [-] rounds.

Since it's not true, it's better to let it out in advance, and strangle any signs of it in the cradle.

She took out the black card and waved it in front of the little milk spider: "I will pay you."

Dorothy wanted to fling out the black card handsomely with a "snap", but suddenly realized that she was now a cub who was going to support a family, and the handsome and unrestrained gesture of throwing the card had already waved her away.

So she smacked her mouth regretfully, put the black card out for a walk, then stuffed it back into her pocket.

"And give you pictures of Bruce... Bruce Wayne."

Turning around, the little milk spider who was almost turned into a cookie was relieved, and hurriedly agreed, and accepted the extra money that was not in the plan.

"Go out and I'll treat you to carrots."

Dorothy, who tried the carrot-and-stick strategy for the first time and ended it perfectly, expressed her joy.

At this time, she heard the little milk spider let out a surprised "Huh?"

Peter, who had relaxed the whole spider, let go of the hand that was tightly holding the bunny doll, and suddenly felt a little strange.

He stretched his hand inside along the ripped sideline, fumbled for a moment and pulled it out, holding a key in his hand covered with tattered and blackened cotton wool.

Dorothy leaned her head to look, and Peter deliberately raised it to the height of Dorothy's eyes.To be honest, this is a bit tiring, after all, the height difference is a bit obvious.

It's the kind of key that's often found on carved doors, but—

"It's a good discovery." Dorothy spread her praises and praises without hesitation, but the little milk voice would also point out the problem sharply, "but this villa has no gate."

There are high walls on all sides of each floor, and the windows are firmly nailed by iron plates, making it impenetrable.

A crazy idea spiraled up in the mind of the little milk spider and exploded into fireworks.

"Who is the teammate you are talking about?" He exclaimed, and then finished with difficulty: "Also, that family photo."

"Spider-Man..." She paused, once reminded, the clever little Dorothy immediately realized the problem.

She remembered the description of the copy:

[Dungeon: A Doll's House

Teammate: Spiderman

Mission description: Find her and take her away. 】

There is only Spider-Man in the teammate column.

She pointed to the tip of her small nose, her blue eyes widened: "Find her and take her away."

"I'm 'she'."

Dorothy, who has an inexplicable connection with the copy, is designated as a member of the copy "she".Familiar and unfamiliar family portraits, dolls all over the place representing children...

The truth is actually right in front of our eyes, but both of them fell into the dark situation under the lights.

Case solved.

Dorothy thought impassively, hating ghost games and playing word trap again.

She took out the family portrait that she couldn't see clearly, pinched it in her hands and looked at it, and under the influence of literature from her dear little wing, she expressed herself in a literary and lyrical way.

"Memory flew by on a train, pierced through the thick fog and dropped the mountains, and was blocked by the criss-cross sleepers. Since then, the dense fog hangs over the mountains."

To put it in human terms: she doesn't remember everything in the past - the only thing that is certain is that she was indeed involved.

The Emperor of Science and Technology Little Milk Spider thought in confusion: Does it mean that his head was run over by a wheel?

However, the little milk spider's intuition—or the spider sense told him that something bad would happen if he said it.

So he stared at the key taken out of the doll: "This is not necessarily a figurative, realistic "door", it may be a symbolic meaning."

A flash of lightning flashed across his mind, and he suddenly remembered something: the most abrupt thing in this weird room.

The little milk spider murmured: "The cradle is the 'door'."

That unlocked room, with its out of place cradle.

Dolls are always a symbol of children, and the other most so is the cradle—the place where newborn babies first arrive and are bound to leave.

He picked up Dorothy, wrapped it around with his other free arm, turned around and ran back to the third floor.

The dazed Dorothy hugged the little milk spider's neck tightly, the camera caught her, and stared at the dusty bunny doll opposite until she stepped on the floor again.

The little milk spider looked forward to turning its head, and pointed to the dilapidated little cradle.

"If you dare to put me in the cradle," Grandma Dorothy glared back ferociously, "I'll drive you and put you in the bat light, so that you and Black Paint can see each other every day."

In fact, her toy car could only hold one of Dorothy's cubs—well, if Damian had to be in it, he could barely squeeze it in.Of course, this cannot be said in front of Damian.

The little milk spider who found the trick to clear the level was relieved, and the poor little Peter finally saw through Dorothy's fierce milk essence at the last moment.

Her inner core is a piece of sweet toffee, the little milk spider thought, relying on the chocolate coating on the outside to scare people, but the mouth is full of sweetness.

He stretched out his hand to hold little Dorothy, lifted the old cloth covering the cradle, threw the key in, and finally made a joke:

"That's not bad, I haven't played with the Batlight yet."

Tim is engaged in a three-way melee battle with two human instincts - sleepiness and hunger - and is losing ground in the confrontation.

He held tons of coffee in one hand, and stuffed cookies into his mouth with the other—it was specially sent by Alfred.

Long live Alfred, President Drake is having fun.

Bruce has news of the postponement of the tech expo.This bought him a little breather, so that he could take a hand to check what Bruce was hiding in the middle of official duties.

What broke the tranquility of the office was an inexplicable phone call from the devil boy.The annoying voice of the bear kid came——

"Drake, did you die suddenly?"

Also based on physical instinct, he retorted: "I've let you down, devil bastard. Not at all."

Then the other person hung up suddenly, as if just to disgust Tim.

Tim threw his phone on the table with his hand, and he could barely lift his eyelids, but he still stubbornly moved his gaze to the computer screen where the data was flying around.

He took this as Damien's daily provocation.

That's no surprise, Tim yawned and thought, the devil bastard suffers from a day of inactivity.

Of course he knew about Damian and Dorothy's sneaking out of Wayne Manor, and even helped Bruce a little, in retaliation for Bruce having time to come to Wayne Group—focusing on the point and deliberately avoiding him.Of course, smart Tim figured it out--but couldn't spare a second to save his son, who was drowning in papers.

Hiding not far away, Bruce sneezed after discussing the abnormal fluctuations in the energy threshold of the world in Gotham.Then, against the background of Superman's hurried farewell, he also got up and left.

President Drake, who established Gotham's Lost Children's Agency, still doesn't know what Damian has gone through.

But he was not built for overage children, but for little sisters.

At that time, he told Dorothy to use Damian as a target to euphemistically express his concern as a brother: "If Damian is lost, you can go to the Lost Children Office to bring him back."

And went out of his way to make sure the devil bastard could hear him clearly.

Although Damian is a bad-tempered demon cub, Tim has to admit that he's usually pretty reliable.

President Drake, who has been exhausted by various things, is unable to take care of his worrying brother.He is intensively pursuing the clues obtained from the cocoon.

Tim's eyes flicked across the computer, browsing all kinds of data that dazzled people, and he doubted his IQ in the next moment, analyzed and summarized, and calculated quickly.

Among the messy balls of wool, an inexplicable account popped out.Tim is like a cat intent on grabbing the thread with its paws, and—twisting the disjointed mystery into a single thread.

He bit his nails and thought in confusion: the flow of funds is unknown, as if someone has modified the data to cover up the traces.

He poured himself another sip of coffee, and paid attention to his second brother, Jason Todd.

Jason would never be obedient, he was sure.Jason, who used the excuse to find trouble with the black mask, must be secretly continuing to follow the clues of the court of owls.

Obedience to Yin and Contradiction to Yang have always been a good skill of Robins, whether they are former or current.

Same goes for Tim Drake.

Unknowingly, Red Hood, who had been placed with high hopes, has indeed gained a lot. To teach Black Mask a lesson is just a cover for him to cover up his real purpose.

A cave on the outskirts of Gotham—a temporary stronghold for Hydra, with an owl or two in it.

He kicked away the last enemy who was struggling to shoot him, and the opponent smashed into the wall and passed out with the sound of falling to the ground.

Stepping on the mud with tactical boots, he probed deep with one deep foot and one shallow foot. He bent down to explore, and the water-logged tunnel spiraled downward, and silence and darkness descended together.

"It's really not enough for the row of noodles." Red Hood lifted his foot in disgust, and the mud splashed all over the shoe. He taunted, "I'm so poor that I want to punch a hole."

Suddenly, Red Hood paused.

The next moment, his vision was blurred, the scene changed, and the feeling of powerlessness and dizziness hit him like a tide, and he was swept in.Tim's coffee maker seemed to be churning wildly in his head.

"It sucks," said Red Hood, furious as he found he couldn't control his body, and the angle of view was weird.The next moment, he understood what was going on with this weird perspective——

Red Hood hovered over the tombstone, like a pale, wandering gray ghost, looking down on the cold gray-black land, and the wind and drizzle slapped the soil through his transparent body.

Amidst the crackling rain, the sobs could be heard clearly, and the immature voice was full of the sadness hidden in the sobs.

"Dad, what is death?"

He panicked at the sound, and desperately moved his body, the camera finally shifted——

He saw the black umbrella and the blurred figure below.

The tall man grabbed the speaker, picked her up and forcibly took her away.The red hood tried hard to see everything clearly, but he could only see a little bit of the back of the girl, who was about four or five years old.

The frosted lens conceals the backs of those who come and go.

"... nothing."

The blurred and broken syllables dissipated with the wind.

The scene begins to blur.

The little girl who was out of breath from crying lay on the man's shoulder and looked back.

Strangely, this time the Red Hood saw clearly.

It was a touch of familiar blue, and he saw his own reflection clearly in the clear blue eyes.

"Kangdang—pop——"

The gun fell feebly from his hand.

The echo of the gun hitting the ground brought Red Hood back to his senses.

He murmured absently: "Dorothy..."

All the doubts and oddities spiraled up in his mind, collided, tumbled, and finally strung together, piercing through the fog to see the light again.

"I understand."