The scenery of Gotham's Uptown was indeed charming. Towering skyscrapers stood shoulder to shoulder like titanic giants, their glossy glass facades reflecting the vibrant streetlights below. The streets were bustling with vehicles and teeming with pedestrians—well-dressed men and women, hurrying toward bars and nightclubs, continuing their daily cycle of indulgence and decadence.
The refrigerated fish truck didn't linger in Uptown. Skimming its edges, it slipped into a long underground tunnel before emerging in Gotham's Downtown—a stark contrast to the upper district.
Here, women dressed in provocative outfits leaned lazily against dim streetlights, cheap cigarettes dangling from their lips as they exhaled plumes of smoke. The yellowish glow of the lamps flickered weakly, drawing swarms of buzzing insects.
A group of ragged homeless men huddled by a crumbling building's corner, clutching liquor bottles. An acrid-smelling fire burned in a discarded oil drum, its meager flames offering meager warmth against the night's chill.
Finally, the truck stopped in front of an abandoned warehouse.
The driver, a burly Black man, pulled the brim of his baseball cap low over his face. After glancing around cautiously, he retrieved a walkie-talkie from his belt. "Delivery's here, boss."
A raspy male voice answered from the other side. "No tails?"
"I circled the area twice. We're clear."
"Good. Bring it in."
The warehouse's rusted chain pulley let out a grating squeal as the roller shutter door slowly creaked open. The truck rolled inside, its tires crunching on the concrete floor.
The stowaways in the truck exchanged uneasy glances as the vehicle came to a stop. The door of the cargo hold was yanked open by a white man with drooping eyes and a vicious scar running from his forehead to the corner of his mouth. His menacing appearance exuded violence and cruelty.
Li Ang had seen such men before—ruthless, bloodthirsty criminals. These weren't victims of circumstance; their nature reveled in inflicting pain.
"Get out!" the scar-faced man barked, spitting onto the floor.
Blinding flashlight beams pierced the truck's interior, making most stowaways shield their eyes. In the confusion, Li Ang scanned the warehouse layout. He noted seven armed guards with handguns and a few tents made of opaque plastic sheeting, their interiors barely visible.
Silently, Li Ang pried two rusted iron shards from the edge of his seat and tucked them into his sleeves.
The stowaways filed out of the truck, herded into a line by a South Asian guard. The guard jotted notes on a clipboard as he inspected them like livestock. Li Ang caught a glimpse of the list: age, gender, health status.
"Boss, 30 in total," the guard reported obsequiously to the scar-faced man.
"Good," the man replied coldly. "Send them to Hancock tomorrow. He just got new equipment for processing powder and needs the manpower."
Li Ang's brow furrowed. The "powder" was certainly not flour or makeup, and this Hancock was no compassionate employer. These stowaways would be enslaved in brutal conditions, their lives snuffed out in mere years.
A middle-aged man in the group spoke up in broken English, "Sir, I have a cousin in Gotham. I can pay $500..."
Before he could finish, the scar-faced man grabbed him by the neck and slammed him to the ground.
"Don't think you yellow monkeys are worth anything!" he snarled, kicking the man in the head with a steel-toed boot. Blood poured from the man's broken nose as he curled up in agony.
The other stowaways screamed in terror. The scar-faced man silenced them with the chilling click of a handgun's safety being released.
"Shut up and behave if you want to live!"
Satisfied with the fearful compliance, he ordered the South Asian guard to lead the stowaways to the tents.
"Wait," the Black driver interjected, pulling a scrawny, short-haired girl from the group. "Boss, I hear Mr. Richard in Westside likes this type. Why not send her his way?"
The scar-faced man scratched his stubbly chin. "Too skinny. Richard's picky. Fatten her up for a few days first."
"Got it," the driver replied with a grin. "Mind if I test her first? From the back, so she's still intact for Richard."
"Do what you want. Just don't kill her," the scar-faced man said nonchalantly, biting into a slice of steaming pizza.
The stowaways didn't understand much English, but their expressions turned horrified as the driver dragged the girl toward a tent. A woman, likely her mother, rushed forward to stop him, only to be kicked into a steel frame, her head bleeding.
A beaten man crawled to grab the driver's ankle, clinging on despite being viciously stomped.
"Damn monkeys," the driver growled, yanking the girl harder. "Annoying pests..."
Li Ang sighed deeply, muttering, "Trouble finds those who seek it not."
He stepped forward, a frail silhouette blocking the driver's path.
"Move, or die," the driver sneered, throwing a massive punch.
The guards smirked, expecting to see the boy crushed. But their amusement turned to shock as Li Ang sidestepped gracefully, revealing the iron shards in his hands.
With a flick of his wrist, the shard slashed through the driver's neck. Blood spurted from the severed artery, splattering onto the ground like crimson petals.
The driver gurgled, his hands fumbling at his throat before collapsing lifelessly.
The warehouse fell silent. The guards froze in disbelief as Li Ang bellowed in Malay, "Everyone, get down!"
Before they could react, he flung another shard at the power box, severing the circuit. The lights extinguished, plunging the warehouse into pitch blackness. Only the sound of ragged breathing filled the void.