Chapter 107: The Black Pyramid

Bruce never imagined that after returning to Schiller and giving him a definitive answer, he would hear such an astonishing plan from Schiller.

His professor, who claimed to be an ordinary good man, told him directly: “It’s not Gotham that’s wrong—it’s the world.”

To prove it, Schiller presented a plan so alarming that even Bruce considered withdrawing, though the professor insisted it was merely a sudden insight from one morning.

In this plan, Schiller detailed exactly how he would impose a new order on Gotham; if Bruce had to summarize it, he could only say that the name Schiller Rodriguez might one day be etched into history—not for any noble honor, but because this professor could well be hailed as the “Father of Modern Crime.”

In the plan, Schiller described Gotham as a “perfect” city, one that had seized the advantages of heaven’s timing, earth’s location, and human harmony—but “perfect” only in terms of the black industry.

The first step of the plan was to link the three major ports along America’s East Coast: Gotham Port, Chicago Port, and Miami Port; remarkably, all three cities were notorious for their gangs.

Gangs meeting gangs, eyes welling with tears. Even more coincidentally, Gotham held an unmatched advantage here: even if Chicago’s and Miami’s gangs combined, they still couldn’t defeat Gotham’s gangs.

By connecting these three cities with Gotham as the head, they would control over half of all port trade along America’s East Coast.

Individually, none of these three cities could absorb the entirety of America’s black industry—but together, their combined power was far more than 1+1+1=3.

A black industry chain that a single port city couldn’t complete would be further refined by other downstream cities; with the three ports echoing each other and structured like Gotham’s Twelve Crime Families, they could collectively handle over 70% of America’s black industry chain.

Most cities on America’s West Coast remained orderly: Haibincheng, where Green Lantern Hal was based, Los Angeles, and Seattle—all had high overall crime rates, but still far surpassed those on the East Coast.

Look at the East Coast cities: Gotham, the largest crime center in the universe; Miami, whose specialty was tornadoes and gangs; Chicago, known as the crime paradise, where the Chicago Typewriter was famed nationwide.

America’s average crime index was 30–40, but the combined crime index of Gotham, Chicago, and Miami likely exceeded 300—true synergy.

What Schiller didn’t mention in the plan shown to Bruce was that, as a man from another world, he knew that in roughly seven months, in October 1987, a Black Monday would strike—the nation would suffer a violent stock market crash, with stocks hitting circuit breakers, corporations going bankrupt, masses of unemployed flooding the streets, and crime rates nearly doubling.

Gangs received a flood of fresh recruits; countless laid-off financial workers turned to crime; even minor street gangs began professionalizing, and major new gangs took a giant leap toward corporate and shareholding structures.

Then came the end of the Cold War; vast quantities of military equipment were decommissioned, and the excesses of the arms race began to show their toll—many personnel were discharged, most having undergone professional military training but lacking any livelihood skills; after arming their minds, gangs could now enhance their physical strength as well.

Afterward, the flood of hot money fleeing from the 1987 stock crash triggered the 1994 Mexican economic crisis—yes, Mexico’s specialty was also…

It was foreseeable that if this plan succeeded, the next few years would be Gotham’s most favorable.

Of course, Bruce had no clairvoyance—he only knew that one of them, either him or the man who devised this plan, was certainly insane.

When you seek to bring new order to a city of crime, what would you do?

Most people might think of suppressing gangs, or using brute force to eradicate crime at its root.

But no one would ever think: “If I can’t be good, then let everyone rot together.”

Yet if this plan truly succeeded, Bruce’s brilliant mind calculated clearly: once Gotham’s gang model was applied across the entire East Coast, Gotham would become the apex of this black pyramid, just as the Falcone family now stood atop Gotham.

Becoming the apex of America’s largest crime industry pyramid meant Gotham could leap to become the nation’s most developed city—everyone in it would be passively elevated to the pinnacle, even the last feather of the phoenix would shine brighter than any other feather.

Of course, Gotham wouldn't change its essence as a city of crime—after all, the apex of a black pyramid is still black.

But Gotham differed from other cities in that whether as phoenix head or chicken tail, it had already sunk to the lowest possible depth; Gotham had no lower limit to break through, so since it was already rotten, why not make the rot prosperous and thriving?

Bruce had many opinions on this plan, but he swallowed them all.

Because he had already given Schiller a definitive answer.

He had assumed this was merely another passing question from Schiller, like the countless others the professor had posed—something requiring thought, then a reply, and then it would be over.

Empiricism had misled him; the moment Bruce gave Schiller his answer, the professor instantly produced a plan so meticulous, absurd, and potentially effective.

Bruce suddenly felt as if he’d been boarded onto a pirate ship.

But he had already promised Schiller—he always felt unwilling to lose face before Schiller—so he agreed to participate in the initial arrangements.

The first step of the initial arrangements was to appoint a new mayor for Gotham; the previous mayor had died in a traffic accident, and Gotham had gone without a new mayor for some time.

Ordinarily, Gotham couldn’t appoint a mayor because no one wanted to risk their life there, so most mayors were paid for by Wayne Enterprises—among so many politicians, there were always a few who valued money over life.

But this time, Gotham had set its sights on the former mayor of Chicago; just like Gotham, Chicago’s two previous mayors had both met violent ends—one in a car accident, the other shot twice in the back and then committed suicide.

The former mayor was still alive because he was the head of Chicago’s second-largest gang, the Gospel Gang.

Schiller believed such a resume made him ideal for Gotham’s mayor—at least he’d managed Chicago’s traffic decently, since most drivers gave way to the Chicago Typewriter.

Thus, at the very start of the story, Bruce appeared in Chicago and successfully courted the Gospel Gang boss’s younger sister.

Of course, this wasn’t the original plan—Batman would never devise a scheme based on seducing a woman to reach his target.

But the problem was, Bruce couldn’t use his Batman identity to accomplish this; Batman wasn’t yet famous outside Gotham, and had no authority over Chicago, so he naturally used his identity as the world’s richest man, Bruce.

A playboy like Bruce arriving in a city naturally had to spend a few days eating, drinking, and partying—otherwise he’d seem too earnest.

Upon hearing the world’s richest man had arrived, every ball in town invited him; Bruce attended several parties in two days, nearly all of Chicago’s socialites were there—including Tina Brown, the younger sister of Roy Brown.

She was stunningly beautiful and danced exquisitely; the chemistry was mutual, and they quickly became lovers, burning hotly.

Bruce held Tina’s shoulders and said: “...That’s the situation—I simply can’t find a suitable candidate. Politicians in Gotham don’t live long. I can’t keep spending huge sums just to buy a few months of peace.”

Tina brushed her hair back and lay against Bruce: “I’m starting to wonder if you arrived on purpose—my brother’s been having serious trouble lately, and he’s desperate to disappear.”

“What’s wrong? What trouble could make the boss of the Gospel Gang want to flee?”

“A few days ago, during a gang war, a seven- or eight-year-old boy was killed—white, shot by a stray bullet on his way home from school. The incident caused a huge uproar; if you read the papers, you’d know many places issued condemnations.”

“The Gospel Gang wasn’t involved—we’re a branch of the Mafia, we don’t glorify daily gunfights—but unfortunately, it happened on Gospel Gang territory. No one knows which idiot fired a bullet so far…”

“My brother isn’t afraid of local gangs, but the Joint Investigation Unit is a problem—they’re made up of state senators, each backed by different factions, and you can’t just shoot them.”

“So your brother wants to flee and lie low?”

“Of course—if you’re willing to spend some money to help my brother resolve this mess, the Brown family will be forever grateful,” Tina said.

Bruce didn’t care about her ulterior motives—he’d known from the start that Tina was targeting him, just as his own intentions weren’t pure; this was merely performance.

“Think carefully—Gotham’s mayor isn’t an easy job.”

Tina raised an eyebrow in surprise: “Don’t you know? The patriarch of Gotham’s most famous Falcone family actually split off from Chicago’s Mafia—we share the same roots. My father always kept in touch with that patriarch; after he died, my brother even traveled to Gotham to visit Lord Falcone.”

“Of course, I know my brother couldn’t rely on just that connection to hold his ground—but if you stood by him, things would become much easier.”

Bruce said nothing, but he felt the future mayor’s most crucial asset might well be the professor’s insane plan.

His meeting with Roy still took place one morning in Gotham—he was a quintessential Chicago gang boss: wearing a trench coat, a felt hat, carrying a violin case filled with the famed Chicago Typewriter.

This new mayor pleased Schiller immensely; within the span of a single cigarette, he fully grasped Schiller’s intent: for Gotham’s and Chicago’s gangs to cooperate and develop together.

And he strongly agreed with the immense potential in this idea.

Roy was a ruthless man; during Chicago’s era of rampant public housing gangs, he had preserved traditional gang territory using only the legacy left by the Mafia.

Chicago’s gangs weren’t as terrifying as Gotham’s, but they were far more complex—caught between traditional and modern gangs, and racial conflicts; anyone who survived such chaos couldn’t be a fool.

As Chicago’s gang boss, he would never dare try to link up with Gotham’s gangs—that would be like inviting wolves into his home. But if he joined Gotham’s gangs and then linked Chicago’s gangs, he’d become the wolf inside the house.

And he had legitimacy: the Falcone family was also a branch of the Mafia, and the old patriarch Falcone was a true Roman, his veins flowing with Italian blood.

What does it mean that the Mafia’s true lineage resides in Gotham? This, my friend, is called restoring the true source, returning to one’s ancestral roots.

Precisely because Roy understood gangs, he knew this plan had a very high chance of success.

In this era, the idea of uniting to expand the pie was still rare—everyone operated as lone wolves—but once the clever ones saw the enormous profits this could bring, they would naturally unite.

So Roy became a spiritual Gothamer without hesitation, eager to leave Chicago’s ruins behind.

A foreigner from Chicago coming to Gotham to give orders would be rejected by the gangs—but if that man was the adopted son of the Falcone patriarch, it was entirely different.

Some speculated that perhaps the patriarch found his biological son, Evans, unfit to inherit, hence Roy’s arrival; Roy was indeed slightly older than Evans, but still young—a fine successor.

The first step of the plan achieved remarkable results: the alliance between Gotham’s largest crime family and Chicago’s second-largest gang proved extraordinarily effective.

They subdivided dock cargo, reassigning landing points based on the type of smuggled goods and transport distances; all docks under Gotham’s control and those under the Gospel Gang’s control in Chicago united, swiftly organizing their previously chaotic, fragmented smuggling routes.

Of course, they didn’t forget external recruitment; smuggling always involved various connections; all they needed to do was pay a small cost, offering preferential policies to grant access to the key docks of both cities, and even establish a new logistics corridor to accelerate the flow of contraband across the entire East Coast.

The effect was striking—the steadily rising economic reports in Falcone’s hands were the strongest proof.

The old patriarch had long been in his twilight years; his greatest wish was to smoothly transfer the Falcone family’s legacy, ensuring his life’s work wasn’t wasted.

But now, Schiller had placed a giant cake before him, claiming it was merely an appetizer—and Falcone’s long-dormant appetite suddenly revived.

Falcone had been invincible in Gotham for too long, but a patriarch’s appetite had never been small; upon seeing Schiller’s slightly insane plan, Falcone suddenly thought he could rule Gotham for another forty years.

Falcone thought: if this black pyramid described in the plan could truly be realized—if only half of it came to pass—perhaps the entire world’s black industry would undergo a massive realignment.

The cigar in the hands of this long-dominant patriarch had gone out, but what rose anew was the same immense ambition he’d held when he first set foot on this land.

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling window of his estate, he heard the bells of Gotham Cathedral ring again—just as decades ago, when he stepped ashore from the waves, drowning in the city’s tide of sin.

In countless dreams where he glimpsed the truth, Falcone remembered: the clouds that blocked most of Gotham’s raindrops were his first half-life.

He thought: clouds are clouds, just as a black pyramid is still a pyramid.

He hoped he would live to see that day—to witness a pyramid rising from this land he so loathed yet deeply loved, facing head-on the bone-deep, soul-consuming rain.

In his office, Schiller stood by the window, listening to the muffled bells echoing across the city, drifting farther and farther through layers of cloud.

Now, the thinning clouds were about to part—Gotham would soon face all this malice directly.

He thought: here, only evil could fight evil, only deeper darkness could resist darkness.