哥谭市的冬天过后,气温开始回暖.现在是哥谭市少有的不下雨的季节之一.尽管天气仍然阴沉,城市笼罩着一层持续的雾气,没有晴朗天空的迹象,但它仍然比冬天要好.
当然,罗伊市长上任后采取的第一项改革措施,就是缓解哥谭市的交通拥堵问题.
当然,这并不是因为前一个死于车祸,而是因为哥谭市通过与其他沿海城市的合作进入了一个新的发展时期.各式各样的仓库和配套设施如雨后春笋般涌现,大批货船停靠在港口,排队等候卸货.
但是,哥谭的交通状况可以用一句话来形容——如果说这里有任何交通规则,那根本就没有任何规则.
它导致头痛的情况.货船有足够的运力,正在建设的仓库可以容纳货物.然而,问题出在码头和仓库之间的道路上.
这些仓库属于不同的黑手党家族.每个人都需要运输货物,而且他们昼夜不停地运作.但是哥谭市没有交通规则.没有人决定谁应该先走.在哥谭,解决这些问题的方法很简单——谁拥有更多的枪支和子弹,谁就先走.
但还有另一个问题.司机虽然是黑手党成员,但并不擅长战斗.当两辆车相遇时,护送的黑手党成员开始射击,卡车上的司机和其他技术人员受伤.
目前,哥谭市已经缺乏如此熟练的专业人员,再加上尽管损失惨重,但每个人都在战斗,结果是双方最终都住进了医院的僵局.
他们最终住进医院没什么大不了的,但他们的卡车挡住了道路.结果,那些后来到达的人被封锁,根本无法移动.
在这种恶性循环中,哥谭市的交通系统几乎完全死了.虽然大多数商品可以等几天,但如果继续下去,那就是浪费金钱.人工,仓库,货船的维护和违约处罚的费用都加起来.十二个家族的首领都无计可施.
这其中,其实也有一些名牌院校的毕业生.然而,没有人意识到这个城市最紧迫的问题是什么,在哥谭,这个污水池,每个人都已经生活了这么多年.每当他们想着如何协调时,他们能想到的就是如何击败其他黑手党家族,迫使他们让路.
但是,由于每个人都希望别人为他们让路,所以没有人让路,他们最终一起被困在路上.
最后,哥谭只是一个无序和混乱的城市.黑手党构建的邪恶秩序本质上仍然是无序的.
幸运的是,新任命的市长罗伊很聪明.他没有在最激烈的时候指导他们该怎么做,而是让他们陷入混乱,最终导致整个中央街道完全无法通行.
It isn't until the most important central circle and the four intersections of the outer ring are left in ruins that the mobs loses their temper. Money is right in front of them, but they can't get it. Goods in the ships can't fly to the warehouses on their own. No people ,no vehicles, now they don't even have roads.
In the end, they have no choice but to seek help from the old godfather. When the leaders of the major families sit down at the negotiation table, they are silent and submissive. The goods blocked roads include the Falcone's, after all. The old godfather's authority has not diminished over the years, and the heads of the families know they are in the wrong, so they mostly bow their heads and endure his scolding.
The problem is now apparent. If they continue fighting, the situation will only worsen. Eventually, not just the roads, but the entire city will be in ruins. How can they make money ? Or just wait to starve to death?
The situation develops to this point and requires a proper solution to improve the traffic.
Therefore, on the second Sunday after Gotham's temperature begins to warm up, Mayor Roy Brown holds a televised speech at Gotham TV station.
On the screen, Roy is no longer dressed in a trench coat and hat like he is in Chicago. Instead, he wears a suit and tie like the Gotham mob, with a flower pinned to his chest. Sitting in his office, he calmly announces:
"Dear citizens of Gotham City, I am your new Mayor, Roy Brown. I believe most of you are already familiar with me."
"The main purpose of my speech today is to advocate for everyone's compliance with traffic rules and to explain the new city administration I am about to implement in Gotham."
"As we all know, in this historic and ancient city, we have helped each other forward. And now, Gotham City is once again on the path to revival. A great opportunity for development is in front of us all."
"Therefore, as the mayor, I propose a new policy to serve the citizens of Gotham."
"The name of this new policy is the Gotham Civilized City Construction Plan. The main content of this plan includes: starting from tomorrow, Gotham's six major transportation hubs, 17 main roads, and 22 secondary roads will begin implementing the 'Gotham Traffic Civility Day' action."
"During this period, professional traffic guides will be available to help with traffic flow. I urge all drivers to adhere to traffic rules, or face the consequences."
The television speech ends here, and Bruce turns off the TV. Suddenly, he has a terrible feeling.
And as it turns out, Batman's intuition is always accurate, or one could say that Gotham's First Law is: in Gotham, no matter how organized, ingenious, or perfect your plans are, they can all turn into a pile of shit.
The next day, on the central circle in Gotham, a garishly painted sports car slows down. The man inside rolls down the window, sticks his head out, and whistles at a beautiful woman standing on the street. A hippie youth covered in tattoos shouts loudly, "Hey! That babe! Look here! Look at Gotham's speed racer..."
Before he can finish his sentence, the girl immediately turns around, flicks her cigarette butt to the ground, grabs the rifle leaning behind a lamppost, and fires a shot at the car's tire.
With a bang, the explosion startles the two people in the car. They are about to get angry when the girl approaches them, still holding the gun. She looks young, no older than 20, with a great figure and wild, dark-colored skin.
She lights another cigarette, takes out a small notebook from her jeans pocket, and glances up and down at the dazed individuals in the car. She says, "Speed racer, right? Bipolar disorder, neurotic headaches, and early signs of schizophrenia.Recommend a three-month treatment period."
While speaking, she scribbles and draws in the notebook. After finishing, she tears the piece of paper and throws it directly into the car. The tattooed youth picks up the paper and sees the words "Arkham Asylum Diagnosis" on top.
He immediately puts on a flattering smile, "Sorry, miss. I didn't know you were an intern at Arkham Asylum. Can we have another one of these? "
"By the way, what they said is true, right? With this, can we get into canna... I mean, get painkiller?"
The girl glances at him and replies, "Yes. Within three days, go to the office of the attending physician at the hospital for a consultation and wait for room allocation."
"Can I have one too? I think I might have some mental illness," the other youth shouts.
The girl ignores him and takes the walkie-talkie from her waist, saying, "Fourth Avenue! Fourth Avenue! One modified supercar, left front tire punctured, two passengers. They are...who is your boss?"
"Smoke in East End, our boss is Smoke!"
"They are from East End Smoke. Damn it, why is it these poor devils from the east again? Don't the rich gentlemen from the west drive on the streets anymore?"
Just as she finishes speaking, two people on police motorcycles ride over. One of them is in a police uniform, casually salutes, and then impatiently says, "Speeding, illegal lane change, running a red light, fine of $300."
Glancing at the rocket launchers hanging on their motorcycles, the youth reluctantly pays the fine. Then, another person who comes with the motorcycle approaches and smiles, "Hello, Doull Tow Company. Do you need tow service?"
"Doull, why is it you? You damn bastard! Why you wears a suit? And when did your family have a tow company?"
The youth named Doull straightens his suit and tie. Clearly, he has just bought this suit yesterday, and it doesn't fit quite well.
Leaning against the sports car, he lights a cigarette, "Don't be stupid. It is my family business. We've been in this line of work for eight generations. As a favor, I'll give you a 30% discount. $150 to tow your car to the nearest avenue. You know, only I know which avenue is not congested. You're in a hurry to go to the warehouse in the east, right?"
The youth in the car purses his lips, "Alright, it seems like your boss really likes you. He gives you such fat jobs. Help me tow the car, and we'll walk to Arkham to get some medicine."
They chat when the girl turns her head and sees a black Mercedes about to make a U-turn. She grabs the horn around her waist and shouts, "Stop!!! You break the traffic rules!!!"
Within a few seconds, there is another gunshot. The police and the towing company do not have to move, they immediately strike a deal.
Continuing along this street, at every intersection, there are two intern doctors responsible for stopping cars and making a diagnosis. With intercoms, as soon as they discover a traffic accident, the police and tow company quickly arrive at the scene on motorcycles. They swiftly issue fines, sign towing agreements, and within less than ten minutes, the vehicles are taken away from the scene.
Of course, it is only on the common main road and intersections further away from the city center. In the six major battlefields near the city center, the situations become much more intense.
Bruce turns to one of his bodyguards and says, "Go to stop that red Lamborghini. Tell the driver he made a wrong turn and go back. Then come to me to get diagnosis."
"Also, what happens to that guy who insulted just now? Catch and give him a beating, say it is Wayne who does."
As soon as he finishes speaking, he hears a swoosh sound. Bruce takes two steps back. Not far ahead of him, a car explodes. The driver rolls out, shouting towards the person on the high platform in the middle of the intersection holding a rocket launcher, "Are you blind?!! I go straight!! He changes lanes! It's he takes my way, why do you blow up my car?!!"
Before he can finish speaking, the aftermath of the explosion seems to have also hit the car that changes lanes. The engine hood of that car also makes an explosive sound, then bursts into flames.
The driver who changes lanes also scrambles out of his car. The two men are about to start a fight, but when they see the person on the high platform reloading the rocket launcher and aiming in their direction, they curse and leave. Soon after, they meet men from the tow company, and the wrecks of the two cars are swiftly removed from the battlefield.
"Listen!! You son of bitch! Are you deaf?!! It's our green light!! Do you hear me?! It's our turn!!"
"Don't you watch television?! Look at what's in my hand! What is this?! Gotham DMV! Do you see it?!!! You've gone through two rounds already! Next time it's our turn!!"
A burly tattooed man gets off a row of trucks opposite the roundabout, also holding a rifle in his hand. He gestures with a middle finger towards the person who is shouting, then insults, "Is your brain filled with shit?!! If it is, it should be the eastern road go first! Then it's our turn, you have to wait for a round!"
Bruce listens to them cursing at each other. He tries hard to think, but can't find any evidence in his genius brain to support the so-called traffic rules these two are so confidently talking about.
He asks one of his bodyguards, "Gotham DMV? Do we have it? Give me one."
The bodyguard hesitates, "Y...yes. But it was just printed yesterday, and it's a handwritten copy. It seems like our mayor was a little drunk when he wrote this..."
Nevertheless, the bodyguard goes to find a car and brings back a copy. Bruce opens it and takes a look, and the bodyguard is right. If he misses even a sip from the one kilogram bottle of vodka, he wouldn't be able to write such an outrageous thing.
The handwriting by Roy is extremely messy. The mayor, being from a common background, doesn't go to college. Many words are misspelled, not to mention the wrong grammar. After writing something wrong, he simply makes a careless crossing with the pen. Some lines are squeezed together, while others have plenty of space between them.
Bruce shuts down his own brain and tries to read the DMV from the perspective of these idiots. Despite the sloppy handwriting, chaotic content, and more curse words than the actual text, it actually makes a lot of sense.
The central idea of the entire DMV is one sentence: In this fucking place, there are no traffic rules. None of the people you see driving here have a valid driver's license. If you want to drive here, you only need to know one thing—grasp the steering wheel, step on the gas pedal, and pray to the God.
After a while, Bruce's phone rings. He answers, "Hello? Oh, Professor... Yes, the internship goes smoothly. Now I'm at the intersection east of the central circle. The traffic here is still manageable. The west side is more chaotic because of the sports cars..."
"Yes, I think this internship method is great. I heard they have memorized dozens of specific terms for mental illnesses. It's a miracle. I believe they can score at least 5 extra points in the final exam..."
"Evans? No... He's not here directing traffic, he has more important things to do."
As Bruce speaks, he raises his head. He sees not far away a person wearing a black suit who looks like the head of one of the twelve families, bowing to Evans, swiftly moving the obstructing vehicles aside. The previously congested traffic quickly becomes smooth.
Although Bruce says that, in reality, this so-called Gotham Traffic Civility Day is still as chaotic as ever.
Roy has built small observatories in the centers of major traffic hubs. The traffic directors on top of them are armed with machine guns and rocket launchers, aiming at wherever things aren't right.
Under this intimidation, the vast majority of cars are willing to choose to obey the traffic rules. But the problem is, Gotham doesn't have a unified set of traffic rules. The people here have never learned about traffic rules. So, Roy has also assigned someone who has experience driving in normal cities to guide from the observatory.
However, in the United States, traffic rules in almost every state are different. The content of the DMVs also varies. It leads to different traffic rules being used at each intersection.
Although this situation is much better than the previous situation where everything is at a standstill, it still does not meet the needs of logistics operation.
In the office of Gotham University, Professor Anna, who teaches advanced mathematics, covers her forehead and says helplessly, "The calculation error in the transportation capacity is really too large. Do you have any clues, Victor..."
Victor looks even worse. His eyes are surrounded by large dark circles, covering half of his face. If didn't listen to him talking, just looking at his current state, you would think that Mr. Freeze is already awake.
He sighs, "Don't forget, we also need to consider the shelf life. The goods on the second dock are all urgently needed for storage. They must have a fast lane, otherwise the goods may be damaged. There are also fragile items on the third dock, which cannot be driven too fast. When these vehicles enter the central roundabout, it will affect the overall speed..."
At this moment, the door is pushed open with a loud bang. Roy, holding a gun, rushes in and asks, "How is the logistics system plan going? There are a dozen bigwigs waiting for. Their goods are piling up at the docks. I can't hold on much longer!"
"We are manually calculating, have you ever seen manual work being fast?"
"They can pay more money, how much you want! 100,000? 200,000? As long as you can give resolution as soon as possible, business waits for no one! Friends!"
Victor puts down the documents in his hands, "Last night, I called a few of my old classmates. They are all professors of mathematics, physics, and biology. You have to offer them a satisfactory price, only then will they come here. You know, this city doesn't have a good reputation..."
"Give me their numbers, I guarantee they will be satisfied!"
On the other side, as Roy said, most of the heads of the twelve families are gathered in a meeting room, anxiously waiting for the processing results. Sitting in the host seat is the head of the Spencer family, holding a phone and saying,
"The goods in Warehouse 3 are damaged? Why? Weren't they frozen?"
"The temperature monitoring device didn't work as usual? Why didn't anyone check it?... Can't read the scale? Damn it! You illiterate! Those worth tens of thousands of dollars!!!"
"The quality of the low-temperature warehouse is also not good? What should we do? What about that expert we kidnapped ... I mean, hired before? Tell him, double the salary we offered him before! Let him find a solution quickly! No, forget it, I will talk to him on the phone!"
"Who? Professor Fries? Who is he? Gotham University? No... I can't go there, that's the territory of the godfather. Contract-based? Is he really good?"
"...What? A living woman? His wife? No... that doesn't matter!"
"Are you saying that he froze a living human in the cold storage and she is still alive?!"
"Ha... Oh, no... no... I mean, that's really unfortunate. What's a tragic love story. May God bless the poor lady. I'm very willing to donate for this. I will invite him tomorrow, you know, I'm also a believer in love..."
At this time, Schiller sits in his office at Arkham Asylum. There is a long line in front of him, and Schiller shouts without lifting his head, "Next!"
A burly black man with a face full of muscles walks up. He holds the diagnostic report in his hand, which is not even as big as one of his fingers. He carefully holds the paper and hands it to Schiller. After scanning it briefly, Schiller frowns, "Congenital infantile paralysis? Who wrote this? Which idiot who didn't pay attention in class wrote it? Didn't I say to find the terms in the textbooks and memorize them?"
He glances at the man and says, "Ward 3, Floor 2." Then, he picks up a pen and quickly scratches twice on the diagnostic report, signs it, writes a prescription, hands it to the man, and continues to shout, "Next!"
At this moment, Brandon rushes in wearing a white coat and says, "We can't take any more patients! We really can't take any more! We don't have any rooms!"
"Just let them huddle, there are still more than 100 people here."
"But even much more huddled, one room can't accommodate 30 people!"
Schiller looks up and thinks for a moment, saying, "Let them parole to jail, isn't there any room in Gotham Prison?"
Brandon is dumbfounded , "Let them parole... what?"
"But most of them came here for medical parole!"
"Then set up a medical station in the prison, let... let Bruce go, an intern doctor is also a doctor, he has experience, let him apply this model to the prison. If there is no place in the hospital, go to the prison, if there is no place in the prison, come to the hospital, like that."
After Schiller arranges the remaining numerous patients, he returns to the office of Gotham University. It is basically chaotic there, with all the people with a university degree or above being brought in for calculation.
In this era without supercomputers, it requires a terrifying amount of calculation to manually calculate the most perfect logistics route. The leader, Victor, and Anna are almost going crazy.
With Mist, Schiller also participates. In order to avoid traffic congestion when commuting, he is willing to work overtime a bit.
But soon, Roy comes again. He still holds a gun and a phone in his hand, and he rushes into the office , "Three financial officers at the City Hall ran for two of them. One of them was buried by the sand leaking from a sand truck, and still in operation. Who among you will come with me? The financial reports are piling up!"
One of the local professors in Gotham speaks, "This job doesn't suit everyone. In Gotham, although mayors don't last long, neither does financial officers. Everyone knows what they are up to..."
Upon hearing this, Schiller is not sleepy all of a sudden. He rolls up his sleeves and suggests, "Here we go, I'll join you!"
Roy hesitates , "Please forgive my offense, Professor. But aren't you a psychology professor,right? Does psychology include finance?"
"Of course. You see, psychology encompasses a wide range of subjects, and coincidentally, I have a wealth of personal experience in this field..."
Roy reluctantly agrees, half-believing.
The next day, Roy stands in front of all the heads of the mafia families and claims, "Now I have good news and bad news."
"Start with the good news, I've had enough of the bad news," one person sighs, "I still have three trucks stuck on Fifth Avenue."
"The good news is, if everything goes well, our city's GDP may surpass that of the metropolis this year and become the number one in the US."
Immediately, there is a commotion among the mafia bosses, whispering to each other, saying, "How do we become number one so quickly? We don't even sell our merchandise yet!"
"Weren't we ranked fifth or sixth before? How long has it been? Are you sure the data is accurate?"
Roy waves his hand, gesturing for them to calm down, and then says, "The bad news is it's not because our city develops, but rather because there are issues with the reports."
"So now it's up to everyone to decide whether or not we want to be number one."
The others become even more confused, wondering how big of issues with the reports could propel them from below the metropolis straight to the top.
To be honest, Roy doesn't quite understand this either. All he knows is after Schiller spends the whole night organizing financial reports, he comes up with a set of statistically sound but incredibly outrageous data.
He then told Roy that he would be soon to become the mayor who leads the fastest and most substantial economic growth in the history of American cities.
Roy continues, "According to an anonymous financial officer, if we become number one, we gain more fame and increase our investment opportunities. If we don't ..."
Roy stumbles for a moment, then takes out a paper and reads from it, "Some errors allowed in macroeconomic will provide more room for manipulation in actual data, including ...stable means of ...exaggerating growth, re...redundant space in the face of crises, and..."
As he reads, Roy can't continue anymore; he says, "I'm sorry, there are too many words in this passage that I don't recognize. In short, if we turn down this honor, we will have more..."
Roy makes a gesture commonly used in the mafia. All the bosses understand. They unanimously choose the latter option.
Of course, it isn't for the sake of facilitating official money laundering; mainly, it's because Gotham citizens aren't interested in vanity and prefer modesty.
Meanwhile, in Gordon's office at the Gotham City Police Department, Bruce can't hold it anymore; he replies, "You say you need to borrow my Bat-Signal? What do you need it for?"
Gordon looks a bit embarrassed too, "There isn't another choice. Yesterday, some brats had a crazy idea and modified the only old-fashioned traffic signal at the central intersection. It causes quite a mess."
That's right, just when the traffic finally begins to flow smoothly, chaos erupts again.
Most of Gotham's intersections don't have traffic signals. Because they were useless before, only the central roundabout in the downtown area preserves an old traffic signal pole.
Although it was useless in the past, Gordon realizes it's actually much more convenient than shouting orders under the threat of force.
So, most of the downtown traffic is controlled by traffic lights, while the person on top of the lookout tower is responsible for exerting force.
But in Gotham,as a genius city, never lacks absurd geniuses.
It's unknown which physics and engineering genius, in the middle of the night, tampers with this ancient traffic signal that has been there for who knows how many years.
Under the command of the wrong traffic signal, the situation at the central roundabout yesterday is as follows: left, right, straight, right, U-turn, right.
By the end of the day, the right lane is free-flowing, while the other three have nothing to be but be stuck.
Originally, every driver in Gotham City has a severe case of road rage. If no one can move, that's fine. But if others keep moving forward while they are stuck, they definitely become unhappy.
So, just when the central ring has been partially repaired, it is almost reduced to rubble again.
Later, the traffic signal is repaired. But after going through so many things, the old-fashioned traffic signal hardly works. The regular traffic signals probably have the same fate. During rush hour, they probably won't survive more than three hours.
The citizens of Gotham find it difficult to distinguish such an inconspicuous thing with their slightly crazy brains. So Gordon comes up with a plan, he plans to have a big guy.
So the question is, where is the most powerful light in all of Gotham?
Bruce looks at Gordon with a speechless expression. Gordon rubs his hands, "Actually, it is also a way to combat crime. If everyone is busy with goods transportation at night, most of them won't commit a crime."
Gordon pulls Bruce to the Gotham map hanging on the wall and says, "This is the recent statistics I've gathered. Look, the crime rate has significantly decreased in the neighborhoods where traffic conditions are good. Because usually, the gangs look for local drivers familiar with the routes."
"These drivers are mostly members of the local gangs, the main force of local crime. Due to the current lack of transportation capacity, the gangs are willing to pay a high price to hire these drivers to deliver goods overnight. It doesn't matter if they don't have a driver's license. After all, most people don't have one."
"They drive trucks all night to deliver goods, so naturally they don't have the time or energy to commit crimes. And the money they earn from making two trips can match the loot from two months of robbery. Most of the gangs who can drive have found similar jobs. I heard there's even a small gang that collectively switched careers to become truck drivers and is currently recruiting frantically."
In fact, this isn't beyond Bruce's expectations. Recently, Batman has been patrolling at night, but there isn't much to patrol because the streets are filled with people working.
Even if the drivers don't rest, they still need to eat and drink. After they finish delivering goods at night, they can conveniently have a late-night snack. So all the restaurants, bars, and street stalls stay open. After the daytime supplies run out, they need more reserves, more drivers to deliver them, and more cooks and waiters.
But regular restaurants have rent to pay, and the prices of the food they sell are relatively high. Moreover, the food cooked by the chefs might not suit the taste of the gangs who grew up eating street food.
So many people who know how to cook start street food stalls. Gotham doesn't have much urban management. Of course, they can set up their stalls wherever they want.
With the increase in street food stalls, the narrow alleys become even narrower. Most people have to demolish the illegal structures in front of their buildings and widen the roads to facilitate the night market.
The night shift drivers suddenly earn a lot of money, so of course, they are willing to spend. Casinos and dance halls also stay open all night, and along with them, bartenders, dancers, and dealers have to work through the night. These people create demands and require more service industry facilities.
In short, the streets near every transportation hub are brightly lit and even more lively than during the day. Once Gotham citizens gather together, they will find ways to seek excitement and engage in confrontational activities. There are no electronic games in this era. The only methods of seeking excitement are playing basketball, football, or gathering to boast.
Who is Batman? He is Gotham's Dark Knight.The emphasis is on "dark."
Now when you walk into any alley close to the main roads, you will first meet a group of people shouting and screaming, showing off their football skills, and at the end, you will find a group of truck drivers sitting on stools, eating and drinking while talking nonsense. The entire street is covered in wires. Various types of string lights are hung between lampposts, and high-powered floodlights are hung in mid-air, illuminating the ground. Batman is stunned as he lands from the dim rooftops.
Due to the excessive liveliness of the streets near these transportation hubs, Batman has no space. So he heads towards the more remote and less populated streets.
However, with the commercial gatherings comes population mobility. Even the most vulnerable groups in Gotham, such as single mothers with children, can find work serving dishes or washing dishes in the all-night restaurants attracted by these industries.
Generally, the strong labor will go for better-paying jobs. The restaurants need manpower and welcome more people to do this kind of work. The citizens of Gotham are not isolated, and there is communication between different groups. Information spreads quickly. Many of the marginalized groups living in more remote areas will find a lively night market nearby and work odd jobs there. Even if it is just collecting garbage, they can earn one or two dollars, enough for a meal.
But because their homes are far from their workplaces, it will waste their work time. So most of them will move closer.
In areas near these places, the rent will be higher. But the landlords aren't fools. Originally, they could rent out a room to one person for $100, but now they divide the room into three and rent them out to three people, charging each $50, earning an extra $50. Those people feel grateful.
So a large number of landlords on the night market streets start subdividing their properties into smaller apartments.Those marginalized groups don't care about how small or bad their rooms are, as they are not worse than where they used to live.
Then the gangs who manage and rule the street discover, if they can create more of these rooms, they can attract more outsiders, improve the efficiency of the entire street's operation, and collect more protection fees.
So they begin actively converting their attics or vacant rooms into smaller apartments, specifically designed for these newcomers attracted by the industry.
Some poor people don't even have a cent, and the gangs allow them to move in first, paying off their debt every month. Some gangs in urgent need of labor even waive the interest, rent-free during the initial period. As long as you work on my street, not only will I not charge you interest, but I'll also give you subsidy. It's not like I can't make a little extra money from your rent.
Then Batman finds Gotham has become strangely quiet recently. The new business districts, radiating outward from the traffic hubs, begin to gradually develop.
In these new commercial districts, it's rare for anyone to commit crimes. In the past, if someone killed two people in a dark alley, the police might not discover it for hours, and if they had some special skills, it could turn into an unsolved case.
But in this bustling night market, such a thing is almost impossible. Even during a soccer game, if someone fouls another player, the news spreads throughout the neighborhood the next day. If you try to rob someone, you better hope the police arrive quickly; otherwise, the local mobs will throw you into the sewer.
Because if you murder in public, it needs time to cover it up, right? The police come to investigate, witnesses have to be summoned and questioned, how much time will it waste? How much money will be lost? How much protection money will be reduced?
If it were far away, the mobs might not bother. But at such a close distance, there are dozens of gangsters patrolling every street. By the time you pull out your gun and say "robbery," you might already have a dozen holes in your body.
Business is business, but Gotham cannot abandon its tradition of shooting first and asking questions later.
On one dark night after another, Batman stands alone on rooftops, looking at the once dimly lit night gradually becoming brighter. Now, he stands on top of Wayne Tower, the center and highest point of Gotham, with a sea of lights beneath his feet.
He thinks, perhaps he witnesses a miracle from such a close proximity. This incurable, chaotic, and terrible city begins to sprout and grow amidst the chaos, blooming into a strange and unique flower.
It blossoms recklessly in the dark, unabashedly showing its chaos and malice. Batman thinks ,this black flower will still open towards the sun, simply to the black sun.
But he, Batman, does not feel defeated. A new power surges within him. A new idea, a broader one than just darkness and revenge,first time appearing in his heart.
He has a strange presentiment. This world, this universe, just like Gotham, is undergoing changes for something.
And next time, he thinks, in this miraculous change, he will no longer be a bystander, but undoubtedly a participant.
He watches as, after another night falls, lights slowly light up one by one. Besides the cold wind and darkness in the sky, flickering lights start spreading swiftly on the streets, illuminating the entire city.
Right here, right now, this lonely bat perched above the city feels that he has finally learned how to light.