Martin Variety in American Comics.

Chapter 3: Not running away is enough
Sitting in Gordon's car, Martin realized that not every place in Gotham is full of crime and murder.

When the police car entered the city center, the streets that were originally full of garbage instantly became clean and tidy.

The shabby hut that sold second-hand drugs, guns and other items has been transformed into a high-rise building filled with luxury goods.

The people walking on the street also changed from poor people who were starving due to drugs and poverty to white-collar workers in suits and ties.

“It’s really two different worlds!”

Martin leaned against the car window and looked outside. The dividing line between poverty and wealth was so obvious in Gotham. The difference between inside and outside the street was like heaven and hell.

"Jim, how do you stand this?"

He suddenly turned his head, and his clear black and white eyes behind his glasses stared at the police chief of Gotham City.

Faced with this question, Gordon's lips and beard moved, and finally turned into helplessness, sighing: "Do you think that I, the police chief, am just here to eat dry food and can only say nice things every day?"

Martin shook his head. "On the contrary. If you were just a freeloader, Gotham would have become a battlefield long ago."

"Be patient. This is my only choice."

Gordon gave a vague answer and asked Martin, "What would you do if you were in my position?"

"Of course I'll do it regardless of the consequences."

The answer was crisp and clear, with an indomitable determination. Although Martin was not very old, the identities and experiences he had experienced were things that ordinary people would never encounter in several lifetimes.

If he hadn't had firm beliefs to support him, he would have long been lost in different identities and turned into a schizophrenic lunatic.

“You are still young after all!”

Gordon sighed, "I am old now, and I don't have your courage. I will be satisfied if I can keep Gotham as it is."

Gordon is already 50 years old this year, and his only daughter has been crippled by the Joker. Facing such a predicament, he has not retired yet, which is enough to show his courage.

Martin neither mocked nor praised, but just nodded silently.

Soon, the car arrived at the gate of a museum.

"This is where the Riddler issues a challenge to Batman."

Gordon took out a paper bag from his bag and handed it to Martin: "This is the certificate prepared for you, and there are some small gadgets produced by the Wayne Group. With these things, you can save a lot of trouble."

Martin got out of the car and took the bag: "If you don't go with me, who should I go to if I need help?"

"Call!" Gordon rolled down the window and gestured, "I have a lot of criminals to deal with. I don't have time to run around Gotham with you."

"Well, that's a strong reason."

Martin shrugged, said goodbye to Gordon, and walked towards the museum funded by the Wayne Group.

From the outside, this museum looks like it is made up of several large white stones stacked together, with an ancient Greek style.

Martin looked at the museum, shook his head and muttered, "Is there something wrong with the brain of this museum designer? There are only a few sunny days in Gotham throughout the year. What's the difference between building a white building here and throwing a cotton ball into a pile of coal?"

"Stop, the museum is closed and is not accepting any visitors now. Leave immediately."

While Martin was evaluating the museum in his mind, the security guard at the door spotted a stranger approaching and immediately raised his automatic rifle and pointed it at him.

Martin was not at all panicked when facing the black muzzle of the gun. He was about to take out the pass prepared by Gordon from his pocket when he suddenly heard someone calling his name.

"Are you Martin, the great detective who often appears on TV?"

Martin stopped taking out his pass and pointed at himself in surprise and said, "You all know me?"

"You're a famous person who can fight with Batman, it's hard for us not to know you!"

The security guards lowered their guns, gathered around him, and besieged him like fans, asking for his autograph.

Although the media has mixed opinions about people like Batman, the people living at the bottom of Gotham are very supportive of these vigilantes. Apart from these vigilantes, no one cares about their life or death.

Martin looked at the ferocious security guard, took out a pen and paper like a magic trick, and the corners of his mouth twitched.

It seems that I still underestimated the influence of this identity.

After he realized what was happening, he did not reject these people's requests.

"What if you guys get caught for being away from your post like this?"

"If he gets caught, then so be it. Anyway, this museum is often visited by criminals like Catwoman, and Batman always finds his stuff back in the end."

The security guards surrounding Martin showed no concern for the safety of the museum.

"We are just a bunch of bystanders. Gotham is in such a mess, but we are still able to stay here and not run away. We are doing them a favor."

This is really Gotham-style!
Martin shook his head and signed all the security guards, asking them to take him to the crime scene left by the Riddler.

The security guards who had successfully chased their idol surrounded Martin and walked into the museum.

Walking in the empty museum, the shoes hit the ground and made a "tapping" sound, which was reflected by the walls and mixed with the next batch of footsteps. It was simply an amplified noise maker.

Martin covered his ears, suppressing his dissatisfaction with the museum's stupid designer. He glanced at the exhibits around him and found that a Renaissance-themed exhibition was being held here.

He had been an archaeologist, adventurer, and antiquities appraiser, and he soon smelled the flavor of the Renaissance in those paintings or statues that deliberately exposed private parts.

The peripheral exhibitions only contain some unknown works, most of which have unknown authors. They only have archaeological value but no commercial value.

But as he went deeper into the corridor, Martin saw works by famous people such as Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Dante.

However, the exhibition stand is now empty, except for a few riddles written in green paint, and the rest is just air.

Martin walked around the exhibition stand and smacked his lips and said, "Wow, the Wayne Group is really rich! All these stolen artworks, even if sold at a low price, can be sold for hundreds of millions of dollars?"

"Hundreds of millions?"

The security guards' eyes lit up like light bulbs, and their entire bodies turned into the shape of dollars.

This is a number that all of them combined could not save even if they went without eating or drinking for several lifetimes.

If they...

"Don't even think about it. Trading in cultural relics is not like selling drugs on the street."

While checking the alarm mechanism of the exhibition stand, Martin explained to the security guards: "All famous cultural relics are almost all hyped up in the market, so if you want to turn stolen goods into cash, you must use special brokers to contact those wealthy people who have money but nowhere to spend it. People like you who can't even enter the door of an auction house, you'd better not get involved in this business."

Martin's words were like a bucket of cold water, extinguishing the fire of greed that had just ignited in the security guard's heart.

If ordinary people want to live in Gotham for a long time, they must learn to be content and recognize the limits of their abilities so as not to do stupid things and avoid the danger of death.

While talking, Martin had already removed the alarm device from the exhibition stand.

Just as he was about to climb out, he heard a very ugly insult coming from outside:
"*Gotham swears*, who asked you to come here? You are such a lazy bunch, if you don't want to work, just get out of here. What Gotham lacks the least right now is thugs, *Gotham swears*..."

"I asked them to come here."

Martin stood up with a frown, looking at the young man who was no more than thirty years old and wearing a suit. He recognized him as the director of the museum, Andy Rosen.

This guy enlarged his own photo and hung it at the entrance of the museum, making it hard for others not to recognize him.

"It's Mr. Martin."

Andy's expression changed instantly, and he no longer looked arrogant, but became extremely flattering to Martin.

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(End of this chapter)