Before officially settling in Hell's Kitchen, Lance planned to return to the DC world to pick up a few local specialties.
According to his memory, most of the major villains had yet to make a name for themselves or had not appeared at all, but Scarecrow should already have begun his activities.
So Lance set his sights on one particular Gotham specialty: Jonathan Crane.
That man usually hid in underground warehouses of abandoned factories or in remote barns.
Since Lance wasn't sure what stage Crane was at, he simply wandered Gotham aimlessly each night.
Every evening, in the dark alleys of the East End, there was an extra figure holding a black umbrella and leaning on a cane.
Lance drifted like a ghost between abandoned factories and remote warehouses. At the same time, he put up his sign in the most chaotic part of the East End.
Lance Prescott Law Firm.
That's right. Even though he had mocked Batman, saying the East End was too dangerous for people like them, he still chose to establish his private firm here.
There was no sudden burst of heroism or desire to save the locals. Just like choosing Hell's Kitchen, this kind of mixed environment suited him better.
Batman's need for control was even greater than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s, and Lance was clearly not the kind of man who played by the rules. To avoid unnecessary trouble later, it was better to stay hidden for now.
But while Lance's plan was sound, he had underestimated his importance in Batman's eyes.
The very next night after he set up his firm in the East End, Batman came knocking.
At that moment, Lance was handing food to a tall teenager whose face was beginning to show patches of scales.
The teen looked tense and irritable. After taking the food, tyhe person quickly retreated, disappearing into the shadows almost immediately.
The sight reminded Lance of a German Shepherd, deeply insecure, wagging its tail while baring its teeth.
There was no helping it.
Lance had always had a soft spot for creatures like that.
He was a dog person.
At that moment, Batman arrived uninvited.
"It seems you've been unusually compassionate lately," Batman said, the voice modulator beneath his mask producing a low, distorted tone.
Even though Lance had already exposed Batman's identity the last time they met, he still kept up the disguise in front of him.
"Don't you think it's cute?" Lance clapped his hands lightly, watching the teen's retreating figure disappear. Then he rubbed his chin. "I've always wanted to raise something like that."
Batman: "…What?"
"Strong, aggressive, hard to kill. And most importantly, not very smart."
Lance rubbed his chin and nodded to himself. "I want to raise it."
"Do I need to remind you, Lawyer Prescott, that this line of thinking is extremely dangerous?" Batman fell silent for a moment, trying to steer Lance away from the idea.
"What are you talking about?" Lance looked at him in disbelief. "Do you really think I'm that kind of villain? When I say raise, I mean adopt."
You didn't mean that a moment ago, Batman thought, but he said nothing.
From their limited interactions, he had already learned one thing. Never let this man drag you into his logic.
Lance ignored Batman's silence and continued, clearly entertained by his own thoughts. "I've never raised a person before. What do I need to prepare to raise a kid this big? Aside from money, do I need to give it a lot of love?"
He imagined himself smiling kindly and waking the boy up, then immediately grimaced.
"If you can't even tolerate the idea, don't drag that child into this," Batman said. "Besides, you don't look like you actually care about him. You don't even know that person's name, do you?"
Lance raised a finger and waved it lazily. "Does his name matter?"
He sounded completely indifferent. "The moment I decide to adopt him, whatever he was called before becomes irrelevant. I'll give him a new name."
"Killer Croc. What do you think?"
"It's terrible."
"No taste," Lance concluded.
He looked at Batman, who remained hidden in the shadows. "What did you come to see me for?"
"You've been wandering around various places in the East End late at night these past few days. Found anything?" Batman asked directly.
Lance laughed at that. "You can be this polite? I thought the first thing you'd do was press those toy darts of yours against my forehead and ask whether those dead people had anything to do with me."
"Do they?" Batman pressed.
"Of course not." Lance waved his hands exaggeratedly, clearly dissatisfied. "I told you, I'm a lawyer. Lawyers deal with problems through legal means, not crude methods like that. Those people have nothing to do with me."
"So your presence in those places is just a coincidence?"
"Not exactly." Lance shrugged. "I'm following someone's trail."
"Who?"
"I'm not your thesis advisor. I don't need to answer that many questions," Lance said. "If I remember correctly, our employment relationship ended a long time ago. If you still want to ask questions…"
He extended his hand toward Batman. "One question, one hundred thousand dollars."
"Hyena," Batman said.
"Thank you." Lance gave a slight bow. "If you still have questions, I suggest you prepare a checkbook first. If not, I'll be on my way."
With that, Lance picked up the cane beside him, ignored Batman standing nearby, locked the door of his law firm, and stepped into the deep night of the East End.
He still hadn't obtained Scarecrow's gas. He wasn't returning to New York yet.
Batman followed silently behind him, clearly unconvinced by his words.
Lance shrugged, unconcerned, tacitly allowing Batman to follow behind him. It felt less like surveillance and more like he had acquired an extra bodyguard.
Anyone along the way who tried to rob him was promptly dealt with by Batman.
"Nice," Lance whistled after Batman handled the last troublemaker.
"Now I don't just want to raise Killer Croc. I want to raise you too."
"I'm very expensive," Batman replied flatly.
"All the more reason for me to keep making money," Lance said with a smile.
They stopped at the entrance of an abandoned factory.
For some reason, Lance felt unusually sharp tonight. Perhaps it was just a good night.
Trusting that instinct, he was convinced he would find Scarecrow's fear gas here.
He inhaled slowly. The air carried a faint sweetness mixed with a metallic tang.
"We're here," Lance said.
"Where is this?" Batman asked.
"The answer to your earlier question. You'll get it here."
With that, Lance pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"This one's free. Next time, bring your checkbook."