Thea completely ignored the provocation from these people. She accelerated, surpassing several trucks, and disappeared from everyone's sight.
Did she give up? Certainly not. After all, this was near the university, where the traffic was more developed. Thea planned to find a narrow road along their route and intercept all these trucks.
Gas station? No, it was too risky with the possibility of accidental explosions. It wouldn't be good if someone with poor aim blew up a fuel tank, accidentally triggering an explosion and causing widespread damage. So, she gave up on that idea.
An intersection? Even worse. What if she managed to stop one truck, but the other two escaped in different directions? She couldn't clone herself, so she had to give up on this option too.
She searched and searched until she suddenly spotted a stretch of road where four lanes were inexplicably blocked halfway. No need to ask—it was surely the work of the city's thugs. Were they setting up a toll booth? Was this their way of saying 'this road is mine'? It seemed like fate was on her side, saving her a lot of trouble. This was the spot.
Thea gained altitude, watching as the three trucks slowly approached the blocked road from the main thoroughfare. Contemptuously, she thought to herself, What fools! Did they not think to send someone ahead to scout the road conditions? They rushed out without any sense of caution. Truly low-class, not even knowing how to spell 'careful'.
In fact, she was wronging them. Professor Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, was not foolish. He was a university professor who managed to thrive under Batman's shadow with his wit intact. There had indeed been orders to scout the road conditions beforehand, but Thea had kept his men busy all night, causing them to forget about these orders.
At this moment, the driver inside the lead truck was trembling nervously. He was certain he would be the enemy's primary target. In his panic, he couldn't distinguish between the gas and brake pedals, causing the vehicle's speed to fluctuate wildly. Under these conditions, the driver mortality rate was as high as ninety percent. In movies, the enemies always target the driver of the lead vehicle. The others felt less pressure, but they still held their rifles, ready to fight the enemy at any moment.
Just as the lead driver was contemplating whether he would be struck by an arrow through the eye or blown into the sky by a rocket, he saw someone setting up a roadblock ahead. A man with a full beard and a fierce demeanor was waving at him to stop.
Who was this? As a minor leader in the Scarecrow's team, he had some ability, but the sudden appearance of this bearded man had left him bewildered.
Although the flying enemy's gender or age from earlier couldn't be discerned, judging by the body shape, it wasn't the person currently in front of them. Moreover, looking at this person's appearance—disheveled hair, a face so grimy that one couldn't make out his complexion—and with his big mouth full of yellow teeth, this was the typical look of a Gotham hobo. Why would the flying enemy send this guy?
Filled with confusion, but not knowing whether it was to scout the enemy or alleviate his stress, the driver slowly stopped the car and stuck his neck out. "Something wrong?"
The hobo smirked but didn't respond. Instead, he put his left hand to his mouth and blew a sharp whistle.
With the sound of this whistle, various oddly dressed people began emerging from all around. Men and women of all ages were armed with pistols and some wielding iron bars. About twenty people appeared, armed and ready, with a mischievous look on their faces.
"Give us half of what's in your truck!" The lead hobo with the big beard shouted, and with a shotgun in his hand, he fired a shot into the air to show he meant business, provocatively looking at the criminals in the vehicle.
Watching this from a distance behind a tree, Thea couldn't help but burst into laughter. Who said Gotham was filled with troublemakers? They were absolutely adorable, willingly offering their help without expecting anything in return, even bringing their own provisions. They were good people indeed.
But while some were happy, others were distressed. The lead driver was currently in anguish. As a local, he knew that this group below had nothing to do with the flying enemy from earlier. They were just a typical Gotham gang, seizing the opportunity to rob travelers.
The weapons these people carried were all different, with no semblance of organization or even a basic gang structure. They could barely be considered a gang, belonging to the bottom rung of the criminal ladder. Compared to him and his colleagues, with their good equipment and specialized training, these people were like children still nursing.
Feeling a sense of superiority, a hint of mockery inadvertently crept onto his face.
As the standard-bearer blocking the road, the bearded hobo relied on his keen eyesight. He naturally caught the driver's disdain and felt his dignity had been challenged. Without much thought, he grabbed the shotgun and fired a shot at the driver's rearview mirror.
Bang. The gunshot rang out. "Did you hear me? Get down!" The big-bearded man shouted fiercely.
If he hadn't fired that shot, the Scarecrow's gang were ready to step on the gas and rush through. They really didn't have the time to waste with this rabble. But that shot had ignited the anger of several people. After being tormented by the enemy all night without sleep and now having to move again before dawn, it was only natural that they were feeling frustrated. They were just forcefully suppressing their temper.
Now, seeing these lowlifes provoking them, they couldn't hold back any longer. The driver picked up the walkie-talkie. "Everyone get out and teach these bastards a lesson."
It could be said that the Scarecrow had put in quite a bit of effort into his gang. After the chaos in Gotham, they successfully raided a US military arsenal, equipping their men to the level of regular soldiers. While this level of strength might not make them invincible in Gotham, it was quite formidable among the various factions.
Each of the three cars had a driver and three gunmen, twelve men in total, all wearing bulletproof vests and helmets and carrying rifles. As they got off the trucks, they didn't need to be commanded to find cover or a blind spot, displaying remarkable military skills.
The big bearded hobo was dumbfounded by the professionalism of these men. He wondered if they were American soldiers. Had he kicked the hornet's nest? He only intended to make some pocket money; he wasn't prepared to fight an army.
Unaware of his thoughts, the fully armed Scarecrow's gang showed no intention of wasting words with him. A loud voice rang out, "Ready, fire!"
Watching from a distance, Thea was initially startled by the excellent equipment of these men. Seeing that they were about to open fire, she couldn't let the Gotham citizens who had come to help get hurt. Although the numbers were twelve against twenty, giving the citizens a certain advantage, the gap in equipment was too great. A real fight would result in a one-sided victory.
She quickly drew a magnetic arrow. Upon hearing that they were about to open fire, she didn't hesitate and shot it towards the middle of the battlefield.
A low hum sounded, and the guns were continuously attracted to the arrow by its immense magnetic force.
Thea was quite fair. She included people from both sides within the range of this one arrow.
In less than ten seconds, the low buzzing noise ceased, and everyone on the field, regardless of which side they were on, was surprised to find that the guns in their hands were gone.