Day 17 of customs clearance

In the Golden Hall, lingerie and hairpins swayed in the breeze, a massive crystal chandelier hung from the dome, its countless facets refracting light into a fine rain of diamonds. Silk and taffeta skirts rustled softly, and jewels on necks and wrists reflected a cold, expensive gleam. Laughter and conversation mingled into a continuous, luxurious buzz belonging to high society.

Anyone who follows the news even slightly knows their identities: there are celebrities and political figures from Gotham, and beautiful new art stars... They are all big shots who only appear on television. Being among them, it's as if you can smell the rich fragrance of money in the air.

However, in the man standing with his back to the door in the center of the crowd, everything else seemed to become secondary.

Good evening, Bruce. I hope I haven't spoiled your good mood.

Bruce Wayne, who was talking with his partner, turned around when he heard the familiar voice and suddenly looked back, a smile still on his lips.

The doubt in his icy blue eyes seemed to pierce through the swaying crystal glass, the gentleman's shoulder line, and the lady's swaying earrings, and suddenly froze.

In that instant, Adrian felt as if all the sounds, lights, and subtle fragrances around him were rapidly receding, blurring into a magnificent yet out-of-focus background. Time did not stand still, but was infinitely stretched, extended enough for Adrian to see those eyes clearly—they were looking at him across an entire noisy and extravagant world, as calm as an underwater glacier, and as sharp as an arrow that had pierced through countless years.

Upon closer inspection, it seemed like an illusion. Adrian thought that what he saw was not a glacier, but a soft, blue honey containing some kind of power.

A pair of very pleasing eyes.

"Roman? Aren't you supposed to be unavailable lately? How come you have time to attend my banquet today?"

As he spoke, he frowned his handsome eyebrows, seemingly puzzled as to why someone with ties to the underworld would approach him.

Black Mask never held a grudge against Wayne, neither in the past nor now; he suppressed his dissatisfaction.

“If I had missed Wayne’s party, I probably wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night, let alone something as big as today,” Black Mask smiled and turned to the side, pointing to the person next to him. “I have to introduce you to this person. This is my friend, Eggers Stu, a director of a biotechnology company in Chicago. He is very much looking forward to meeting you.”

Only then did Wayne turn his gaze to the middle-aged man beside the black-masked man, his icy blue eyes filled with doubt.

"Bruce, you probably wouldn't believe that Eggers is actually from Gotham. Now that he's doing well outside, he wants to contribute to his hometown and make a contribution to beautiful Gotham."

Eggers, with great tact, extended his hand, a perfectly timed smile on his face, a smile that conveyed only the joy of seeing the legendary Mr. Wayne, without a trace of flattery.

“Good evening, Mr. Wayne. You may call me Eggers. I have heard of all that you have done for Gotham, but I have never had the chance to meet you. It is truly an honor to have the opportunity to meet you in person.”

The man with the black mask who was introducing him couldn't help but ask a question. He had never expected that his "old friend" would be so easily swayed by Wayne that he would only say nice things. Wayne was a difficult person to deal with.

As expected, Bruce grasped the hand in front of him, his expression strained, showing no desire to continue the conversation.

"Oh, thank you for your kind words."

"Your contributions to education, healthcare, and philanthropy in Gotham are admirable, and Wayne Enterprises' achievements in healthcare are particularly noteworthy."

Eggers' bluntness made Black Mask almost lose his composure. How could he believe his statement that Wayne was a brainless rich man? It seems that Eggers had heard of Wayne's reputation as a good-for-nothing and therefore underestimated him.

Wayne glanced at his watch, his impatience fading rapidly, the polite expression he had maintained vanishing.

"Wait, sir. If you've come to me seeking cooperation, please seek out another president of Wayne Group—Lux. He'll likely be more interested in the project you've presented."

He bluntly stated, "Everyone knows I'm just a nobody at Wayne Group, not in charge of any projects. You came to me? Ha!"

After listening, Eggers went from being polite to looking puzzled in just a few seconds, and the scene became very quiet for a moment.

Knowing Wayne's temperament, Black Mask naturally wouldn't show his face if Wayne got angry and spoke up for Eggles. In his anger, Wayne could easily have kicked them both out of the banquet on the spot.

Wayne, a celebrity in Gotham newspapers, is not an exaggeration by Black Mask. Every reporter in Gotham would chase after Wayne to take pictures. The market dictates behavior, and Gothamites love watching Wayne.

Whether it's an old, worn-out rumor or baseless speculation about Wayne, it will be scrutinized by the citizens of Gotham. Black Mask can already imagine what the Gotham tabloids will be headlined tomorrow after he's kicked out.

However, he still couldn't do anything to Wayne, damn Batman!

Thinking of this, the black-masked man stared expressionlessly at the champagne tower not far away, while Eggers moved a little further away.

"Mr. Wayne, your champagne." The waiter broke the awkward silence as Bruce took the champagne.

“This is either Mr. Stuart or Mr. Bruce Wayne,” Bruce Wayne frowned and gave up. “Roman, next time you introduce someone, remember to pay attention. I’m not going to keep you company for now.”

“Bruce, give him a chance. Maybe Eggs is just having a momentary lapse of judgment and doesn’t understand you,” Black Mask said, eventually giving up as well.

Wayne practically pointed his finger at him and yelled at him for bringing random people to see him. Black Mask, unable to do anything else, shrugged at Eggers. "Eggers, maybe you should go find Lux. Is Lux at the party, Bruce?"

"I don't know, maybe he left, maybe he never came at all."

"Alright, Roman, you take this gentleman to enjoy the banquet. Excuse me."

Bruce's new love interest, who had been playing the role of a wallflower behind him, spoke up at the opportune moment, "Bruce, has the gift you mentioned arrived? I'm curious what your other surprises are. Please stop bothering Mr. Siennis and his friends."

"Roman, we'll meet again sometime."

As Bruce Wayne turned to leave, the hem of his satin suit drew an elegant yet aloof arc. He and his female companion disappeared into the flowing champagne and laughter under the crystal chandelier, like a blue fish gliding into the shimmering depths of the sea, leaving behind the black-masked man and his companion, whose name had not even been remembered, frozen in place.

The crowd, pushed aside by the black-masked figures, regrouped around Wayne, the man who symbolized wealth and power, even though most people would secretly consider him a good-for-nothing.

But now, sorry, you still have to lick his boots. The sensitive Wayne is not easy to please, but as long as you lick his boots, he generally won't mind.

Watching the guest leave with displeasure, he already knew what was going on: a stranger who couldn't even understand how to flatter Wayne.

Black Mask adjusted his bow tie, ignoring the stares from the banquet as he turned to the man beside him. His tone softened, but his embarrassment was palpable: "Aegis, I told you, Wayne... well, he's rather picky. You know he's Wayne, so he has the right to be picky."

Eggers, who hadn't even been given a second glance by Wayne, stood silently in place.

“Are all Gotham people like this? I thought only Stark was such a bastard,” Eggles muttered to himself, finally realizing that all the rich are the same, especially Wayne from Gotham.

Black Mask almost felt sorry for Eggles. People who had never dealt with Wayne had no idea how difficult he was to get along with, let alone that he was a very capricious and capricious super-rich man.

Black Mask, who had been angered by Wayne many times and had always wanted to assassinate him, was in a good mood at the moment. Only by comparison can one realize that what one has experienced is nothing. Look at his old friend.

At this moment, his eyes were churning with inferiority and anger ignited by contempt. He stared intently in the direction where Bruce Wayne had disappeared, almost burning two holes in that broad, upright back.

It's unclear what was going through Eggers' mind: "Who does he think he is?" Eggers' voice was very low, like sandpaper rubbing against rough wood, "Just a spoiled brat who squanders his family fortune."

“He’s Bruce Wayne,” Roman kindly reminded him, with a hint of enticement. “This is Gotham. Wayne represents everything.” He patted Eggles’ arm, feigning reassurance. “Don’t worry about him. Luke, I remember he seemed interested in the renewable energy project, the one he told you about… uh, not what we’re here for tonight, remember?”

Eggers abruptly averted his gaze, forcibly suppressing the anger in his eyes into a cold, hard light. "Of course I remember," he said stiffly. "I think Wayne will regret what he did then."

His gaze returned to the depths of the crowd, where Wayne was holding a glass of champagne, listening to a socialite speak, a perfectly timed, nonchalant smile playing on his lips, as if the harsh words from just moments before had never happened.

Eggers' fingers curled slightly at his sides, forming a white fist, but his voice became strangely calm: "I will make Wayne pay the price."

Roman shrugged. “Suit yourself. Have fun, Eggers. The champagne here is pretty good.” He said, then strolled toward the bar, not taking Eggers’ boast to heart. He was just waiting to reap the rewards of his old friend’s legacy.

To date, none of Arkham Asylum's roommates have been brought back, and Wayne, being both a wealthy man and a Batman trap, will not let tonight's party pass him by.

Eggers stopped looking at Wayne and instead slowly and carefully scanned the entire banquet hall—glancing past the laughing and talking businessmen and politicians, past the priceless abstract paintings on the walls, and past the dazzling yet cold night view of Gotham outside the window.

His lips curled down in an extremely subtle, cold arc.

A few minutes later, as Bruce Wayne was impeccably socially adept at dealing with yet another museum curator seeking sponsorship, his peripheral vision inadvertently caught sight of that corner.

The man named Eggers has disappeared.

Bruce's expression remained unchanged, and his laughter was still relaxed and carefree, but deep within his icy blue eyes, something extremely perceptible flickered almost imperceptibly, like an undercurrent swiftly passing beneath a calm sea.

Another troublemaker. Hopefully, he has nothing to do with the two-faced man. Time is running out.

Wayne tilted his head back slightly and drank the last drop of golden liquid in his glass.

He had to find out who this "momentarily confused" Eggers really was. Perhaps it was another instance of Black Mask's greed, but Bruce Wayne—especially the part hidden beneath the mask: Batman never believed in coincidences.

Especially in Gotham.

*

"Heads or tails, Bruce?"

A hoarse voice suddenly emerged from the shadows somewhere in the banquet hall.

They've arrived.

Bruce, disguised as Wayne, nearly dropped the champagne in his hand—Harvey stood there, half his face bearing burn scars that gleamed brown under the light, the hypertrophic scars grotesque, only the other half still faintly revealing the former glory of Gotham's top prosecutor.

He wasn't carrying a weapon, but was holding an identical coin in his hand, his knuckles grinding the edge until it turned white.

Who could have imagined that justice would slip into darkness, especially in such an extreme way?

“Harvey,” Bruce said, placing his glass on the table with surprise, “How did you get in?”

"Your security is terrible." The two-faced man smiled, seemingly ignoring the question, a strange wrinkle appearing at the corner of his burned mouth.

"Bang!!"

A deafening roar shattered the facade of harmony in the banquet hall! It wasn't a gunshot, but rather the massive, ornate glass door leading to the second-floor terrace being violently smashed open from the outside! Shards of glass rained down like deadly hailstones, eliciting terrified screams from nearby guests!

The music stopped abruptly.

Everyone stared in horror at the doorway.

Under the lights, a group of robbers wearing two-tone masks burst in, soaking wet, their expensive suits stained with dirt and...blood?

Someone spoke up: "Those are Two-Face's men."

There was a moment of silence in the crowd, followed by deafening screams.

Panic spread like wildfire, exploding instantly!

The elegant and composed gentlemen and ladies were suddenly thrown into chaos, shoving and jostling like frightened sheep as they tried to get away from the danger lurking near the door. Glasses slipped from trembling hands and shattered on the floor, champagne and red wine trickling down like blood.

Almost simultaneously, in several other inconspicuous corners of the banquet hall, seven or eight men dressed as waiters or security guards, but with fierce and ruthless eyes, suddenly tore off their disguises!

In unison, they pulled out guns or pistols from their waists or hidden under trays, not pointing them at Harvey, but quickly seizing advantageous positions to roughly drive away and control the crowd. Clearly, they were Harvey's men planted beforehand!

"Get down! All of you get down!" a gang leader wearing a two-tone mask roared, smashing a man who was trying to rush toward the side door with the butt of his rifle.

Blood was everywhere; the real chaos had only just begun.

Cries, screams, the sound of furniture being overturned, and the shouts of the mob mingled together, creating a unique, desperate symphony of Gotham.

Bruce Wayne, the brightest star in the crowd, had already escaped the moment the glass door shattered, silently pushing the stunned and defenseless guests behind a huge Roman column like a cheetah.

His expression looked as panicked as everyone else's, or even more so—the reaction one would expect from a pampered billionaire facing sudden violence.

But under his seemingly slightly trembling fingers, a gemstone on his suit cufflink was pressed very lightly.

The alarm had already been sounded silently.

The two-faced man directed his henchmen to cause destruction everywhere, showing absolutely no interest in negotiation.

"Dent!" The voice from the black mask rang out, carrying a hint of annoyance at being offended and a barely perceptible wariness. Enough with running into a fellow professional.

Black Mask was not afraid of Two-Face's threat. Unlike the others, he did not panic and hide. Instead, he stepped forward with the help of several guards who had surrounded him when the accident happened, and confronted Two-Face.

"What the hell are you doing? This isn't your territory!"

The man in black almost cursed him out, ruining his plans again.

Two-Face abruptly pointed his gun at Black Mask, causing his bodyguards to instantly raise their weapons in alarm. "Siennis?"

The two-faced man tilted his head, a twisted, almost mocking expression on his half-undamaged face under the light, and said nervously, "No...it's not you, tonight...I didn't come to see you, but he's here...I know he's here!"

His gaze swept across the chaotic crowd like a searchlight, passing over terrified faces, and finally, as if drawn by some invisible magnetic force, it fixed on Bruce Wayne, who was trying to comfort a woman who was almost fainting, next to the Roman column.

"Wayne!" Two-Face roared in agony, like he was on drugs, the gun suddenly turning and pointing directly at Bruce! "Or... should I call you something else? Director Wayne? Mr. Wayne? Neither!"

Bruce, sensing what Two-Face was about to say, looked up, his face a perfect mix of shock and confusion, even a hint of resentment at being unjustly accused: "Harvey? Good heavens... what's wrong with you? I'm definitely not a Wayne board member or Mr. Wayne. Have you continued seeing a therapist? You need help..."

"Help?!" Two-Face let out a broken, maniacal laugh, the muzzle of his gun trembling violently with his laughter. No one had helped him when he fell into darkness, not even his good partner—no, Two-Face glared angrily at Bruce Wayne, his good partner!

"Yes! Help! You come and give me! You come and give me an answer!!"

He suddenly raised his left hand, and with a flick of his thumb, he sent the iconic coin, smooth on one side and broken on the other, soaring into the air! It spun rapidly in the light of the crystal chandelier, tracing an elusive silver streak.

"Front! You come with me! Back! I'll blow your head off right now!!"

Two-Face stared intently at the spinning coin in the air, all his madness and obsession concentrated on that fateful coin!

At that moment, all of Two-Face's men instinctively pointed their guns at Bruce Wayne, following their boss's will!

Time seemed to stretch out. The coin spun, rose to its peak, and then began to fall.

At this critical moment—

Hey! You over there, buddy! You didn't buy enough tickets!

A light yet powerful voice shot out like an arrow from the domed beam high in the banquet hall!

Immediately afterwards, the blue-black figure descended from the sky at an astonishing speed, like a raptor spreading its wings! With perfect precision, he kicked away the submachine gun in the hand of the thug closest to Bruce during his fall, and with the momentum of his descent, he kicked another thug who was aiming his gun hard in the back of the neck!

Bang! Crack!

The dull thud of bones dislocating and the screams of the thugs rang out almost simultaneously!

Nightwing! Dick Grayson! He crashed into the chaotic center of the battle like a blue whirlwind!

With almost no cushioning upon landing, the calico in his hand transformed into two black lightning bolts, striking the third thug's wrist with precision and ferocity!

"Ah!" With a scream, the pistol flew out of his hand.

Nightwing's movements were fluid and graceful, full of a dance-like rhythm and explosive power. His blue cape fluttered behind him, becoming a strange and hopeful splash of color in this chaotic and violent scene.

"Sorry everyone, the party is ending early!" Nightwing announced loudly, his voice coming through the Domino Mask with a reassuring firmness. "I'll temporarily take over security!"

His sudden appearance completely broke the stalemate.

Enraged by the sudden interruption, Harvey Dent's attention was completely diverted from the coin, and he roared furiously, "Kill him!!" He no longer even looked at the coin about to hit the ground, and his gun instinctively turned towards Nightwing!

However, in that split second when Harvey was distracted—

Bruce Wayne, who had been feigning panic, suddenly sharpened his gaze! The fear he had been feigning moments before crumbled like a mask, revealing the cold, steel core beneath.

He abruptly and gently shoved the nearly unconscious woman beside him towards a safe corner, simultaneously sliding sideways with ghostly speed to avoid a gun being pointed haphazardly. His right hand, seemingly out of nowhere, held a dinner knife—just an ordinary silver one from the table—and with a flick of his wrist!

In the chaos where no one was paying attention, he transformed the dinner knife into a silver line, striking Harvey Dent's wrist, which was holding a gun, with unparalleled precision!

"Ugh!" Harvey groaned in pain, his fingers went numb, and the large-caliber pistol slipped from his hand and fell to the ground!

But a two-faced man is still a two-faced man. The excruciating pain only fueled his ferocity. Almost simultaneously, his left hand shot out, not to catch the gun, but to grab a terrified woman in an elegant evening gown standing nearby, intending to strangle her!

"Stop!" Nightwing's voice boomed like thunder.

He executed a dazzling side somersault, dodging two bursts of bullets. The bullets struck the wall behind him, leaving smoking bullet holes.

While he was in mid-air, a calendar flew out of his hand.

The stick slammed down heavily on Harvey's outstretched left elbow, as if it had been precisely guided!

Harvey let out another painful roar, his arm instantly went numb and powerless, and his grabbing of the hostage completely faltered and missed.

At the same time, thick smoke rose.

At that very moment, Nightwing charged forward! His movements were devoid of any unnecessary flourishes, relying solely on the most efficient fighting techniques honed through countless trials! A low sweeping kick landed precisely on the back of Harvey's supporting leg's knee!

Harvey Dent's massive body immediately lost its balance and fell forward with a scream!

The coin that would decide fate finally landed on the marble floor with a "clink," spun a few times, and finally stopped—heads up perfectly intact.

But fate is no longer determined by it.

Nightwing swept through like a blue storm, his other short stick precisely striking and knocking out the last thug who tried to sneak up on Bruce from behind.

Without stopping, he instantly reached Harvey, who had fallen to the ground, and pressed his knee firmly against Harvey's back. Special restraints were then quickly and professionally wrapped around Harvey's hands and feet.

"Long time no see, Mr. Dent." Nightwing's voice carried a slight pant from the battle, but still maintained his signature relaxed tone that could infuriate his opponents.

Nightwing bent down to pick up the coin that had just landed, twirling it deftly between his fingers. "Still playing the heads or tails game? Looks like your luck isn't on your side tonight."

Harvey struggled, trying in vain to lift his head. His heterochromatic eyes, almost spitting fire from failure and anger, were fixed on Bruce Wayne, who had somehow retreated a few steps and whose face now wore a look of utter shock.

“He’ll come…” Harvey’s voice was hoarse, mixed with the smell of dust and blood from the carpet, filled with resentful bitterness, “Batman…he will come! He owes me! He owes everyone! He has to face me! Wayne…tell him…tell him I’m waiting!”

He's gone mad.

Batman, having changed into his new gear, watched Two-Face being roughly dragged away by GCPD officers, and suddenly felt as if a block of ice had been stuffed into his stomach.

Images from many years ago flashed uncontrollably through my mind: a sun-drenched prosecutor's office, Harvey Dent—then Gotham's Light Knight—excitedly patting his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with idealism, as bright as the expensive chandeliers in a banquet hall today, brimming with anticipation for the future.

"Once we've got the Penguins all locked up, Bruce, let's go fishing in Gotham Bay! I know an old captain who knows where the fish are the best!"

The laughter from that time still seems to echo in my ears. The light from that time was so intense that I almost dared not look directly at it.

Batman instinctively raised his hand, wiping his mouth with his fingertips. In the brief, almost imperceptible movement and exertion of his hand, a shard of glass had accidentally cut his lips, causing a trickle of blood to seep out. The stinging pain pulled him back to reality.

Nightwing has completely subdued Harvey and is now quietly contacting Commissioner Gordon's men via communicator.

In the chaotic banquet hall, the still-shaken guests cautiously peeked out and, once they found it safe, rushed out the door as if their lives depended on it.

Black Mask stood not far away, watching everything with a gloomy expression. His eyes darted back and forth between Batman, Nightwing, and the captured Two-Face, as if he were plotting something.

But in the end, he still hurriedly left with the "good friend" he had introduced to Wayne a dozen minutes earlier.

The banquet hall was emptied, and Nightwing seemingly casually kicked one of Harvey's henchmen, who had been knocked unconscious and was wearing overalls, at his feet.

“By the way,” his voice wasn’t loud, but it reached Batman’s ears clearly, “this guy has something interesting in his pocket.”

Nightwing's hand swiftly and discreetly reached into the man's pocket, pulled out a crumpled piece of paper, and, using his body as cover, slipped it into Batman's hand.

Bruce's fingers paused slightly the moment they touched the paper. He subtly withdrew his hand into his suit pocket, as if merely adjusting his clothes. His gaze lowered, quickly scanning the contents of the note.

There was no text on it, only a very simple yet sharply drawn black bat symbol. Below the bat symbol, in red ink (or perhaps blood?), a line of text was scribbled:

Batman.

The handwriting was chaotic, filled with hatred and obsession.

Batman's pupils contracted almost imperceptibly.

“And this,” Nightwing’s voice trailed off. He seemed to be checking the other pockets of the work-wearing man, but he was actually slipping something else to Bruce—a Polaroid photograph. “Under his belt.”

Bruce felt the texture of the photograph with his fingertips. He quickly glanced at it again, using his body as cover.

The photo is blurry and dimly lit, like it was taken secretly. The background is clearly the iconic, moss-covered, rust-covered walls of Arkham Asylum. The focus, however, is on a huge, dripping stone statue belonging to Batman next to the wall.

But next to the stone statue stood a "person".

Or rather, a figure clad in full retro knight's armor. The armor covered the entire body, its style ancient and menacing, gleaming with a cold, hard metallic sheen in the dim light. The figure's posture was strange, one hand placed on its chest, the other seemingly resting on the head of a stone statue.

It looks like a salute.

It also seemed like a provocation.

It's more like... declaring occupation.

Arkham Knight! Bruce's fingertips unconsciously traced the edges of the knight's armor in the photo—the material, the specific metallic sheen reflecting in the dim light, made his heart sink.

Those were samples of the new alloy prototypes that Wayne Heavy Industries' laboratory lost last year.

"It seems there are people who care more about Batman's identity than we do, and with rather... unique tastes."

Nightwing's voice was extremely low and tinged with seriousness; his earlier lighthearted banter had vanished without a trace.

"Several of the masked men were arrested downstairs just now. They were making a lot of noise, repeatedly chanting 'knight' and 'what the knight wants'."

Bruce silently slipped the photo and note into his inside suit pocket, placing them alongside Harvey Dent's coin. The cold metal and paper pressed against his chest. He looked up, his gaze passing over the terrified crowd, over the shattered glass door, and out the window.

The Gotham night sky was pitch black, and the rain poured down harder, pounding against the windows. Thick clouds obscured the view, casting no light. But he could almost see through it all—the Bat-shaped signal light atop the GCPD building, a light that might illuminate at any moment.

A chill more biting than the rain crept up his spine.

He felt that the rain in Gotham tonight seemed colder than any night in previous years.

“It seems,” Bruce’s voice was low and steady, devoid of any emotion. Only he knew the purpose of concealing his past encounter with the knights; he couldn’t allow Nightwing and the knights to meet.

"We need to go and meet this 'knight'."

Nightwing nodded. He had known about the recent appearance of an Arkham Knight in Gotham since back in Brudhaven.

The cold wind from the terrace, mixed with raindrops, poured into the warm banquet.

Beside the shattered glass door, expensive silk curtains fluttered wildly in the wind. Amidst the mess on the marble floor, several fresh, deep scratches were clearly visible on the cold metal railing of the terrace, mixed with the still-wet rainwater and a dark red bloodstain, gleaming with a cold and ominous luster under the flickering light.

While Nightwing and Two-Face were fighting, Adrian followed Black Mask and witnessed a double-cross.

The spectacular action he expected never materialized, nor did it follow the monitored plan. Instead, a swift and deadly move occurred—a sneak attack from behind.

Adrian watched helplessly as the system displayed the outside forces as [Black Mask Possession].

Meanwhile, a bunch of little red dots appeared on the system that I hadn't checked for a few days: [Nightwing], [Two-Face], [Scarecrow], [Penny One], [Shadow], [Father]... What are they?