Chapter 108: The Longzhong Dialogue of Gotham (Part 1)

“...What I’m saying is, this is it, just as you’ve all seen—everyone knows what I used to do...”

On the bar counter, an old television screen showed Roy Brown pulling a violin case from beneath the table and placing it on the surface, then snapping it open to reveal a gun inside.

“I’m from Chicago, yes—I was a mob boss there, a member of what you know as the Mafia...”

“This is my weapon, see? This beautiful little thing—you call it a typewriter, but I prefer to call it Hef...”

“What do you think this place is? What do you think I’m doing now? Do you imagine I should be sipping tea in the mayor’s office? Let me tell you—this isn’t a threat...”

“I was born and raised in Chicago; my father and grandfather were too. Back then, they said it would become the second Gold Rush. People flooded in, all chasing the dream of wealth—huge corporations, massive machines, running day and night...”

“But those people left, leaving behind a fire and a pile of pollution. After Prohibition, what did my hometown leave behind? A total mess!”

“Riots ran rampant, everyone lived in fear—what could we do? We had to pick up guns to defend ourselves...”

“So you say, ‘Oh, Chicago’s gangs are out of control, it’s a goddamn hellhole.’ Well, let me tell you—it IS a hellhole! A hellhole that could swallow you whole!”

“When immigrants here started shooting people, the governor only told everyone to calm down. After the gangs exploded, what about the police? Ha! You dare mention that?”

“I want to ask you—where did the police budget go? Why does Chicago have the largest police training school in the East, yet not a single new officer wants to stay?”

Can you believe it? A year ago, Chicago had only one gun for every three police officers—some support staff could only carry a baton for self-defense!

“Is this what you call public safety legislation?”

“Why did those damn public housing streets appear? Because there were too many unemployed people!”

“Why were they unemployed? Who should bear the blame for the economic collapse? What did those fat pigs sitting in Congress do? They left the people of Chicago to rot! That’s it!”

“Now you all issue press releases condemning me—saying Gotham elected a mob boss as mayor. Let me tell you—I’ll be the best mayor this city has ever had!”

“Because I am a member of the mob. If you won’t solve our economic problems, we’ll solve them ourselves. I’ll do whatever I damn well please!”

“I know some say Gotham is worse than Chicago—oh, who else? Miami? Broodhaven? Imperial City?”

“Yes, to them, our Eastern cities are dogshit—but they’re forced to stare at that dogshit right in front of them. Did we get any help from them?”

Roy yanked the Chicago typewriter straight from its case and slammed it onto the table: “Don’t expect me to listen to your bullshit about being good little boys. Go tell that to the people on the West Coast!”

“The East is this godforsaken mess. The only thing I’m here to do is pick up a gun, kill everyone who stands in my way, then lead everyone to wealth—I don’t care if they’re mobsters or anyone else!”

After the speech ended, the TV screen on the bar flickered twice. The bartender slapped the set and said, “Well, looks like this old thing’s broken again.”

The patrons grumbled a few complaints. A large Black man sat at the bar’s side, holding a glass: “Looks like the new mayor’s not bad—a real hardass. He said exactly what I wanted to hear...”

“I was born in Gotham—yes, just two blocks from here. You know, our boss once took me out once—where was it? Oh right, Metropolis. When they heard I was from Gotham, they acted like I was some filthy thing...”

“I think this mayor’s different. The ones who used to sit in the mayor’s office? They just cowered when reporters yelled at them.”

“The Demon War God”

Then he let out a cold laugh: “Then he died—a car accident over a month ago...”

“Oh, him? I don’t even remember his name, but I heard he was Gotham’s second-longest-serving mayor.”

“I think this one’ll break the record. He’s the old don’s godson—and way tougher than those spineless mayors before him.”

The Black man added: “He’s got a point. Whether it’s Gotham or Chicago, this hellhole was like this before we were born. We live here, want to make some money—what’s wrong with that? All they do is call us bastards...”

“If I could’ve grown up like those people in Metropolis—gone to school, college, put on a suit, tied a tie, sat in an air-conditioned office—I’d be insane to become a mobster and take bullets!”

“He’s just talking,” another Black man walked over, ordered a drink: “You think he’ll really become mayor and lead all the gangs to wealth? What kind of mayor does that exist? Even if the reporters don’t shit him out, the state government won’t allow it...”

“I don’t expect him to make us rich—just don’t let him be like the old mayors, always throwing out some ‘clean city’ ordinance or ‘anti-gang public safety law’ to nag us every day...”

“Fuck the anti-gang public safety law—who in Gotham isn’t a gangster? Why doesn’t he just nuke the whole damn city?”

The bar erupted in laughter; some even made nuclear explosion gestures.

The next day, Roy’s speech made front-page headlines across the East Coast and all major U.S. newspapers. By now, Prohibition was long over—the Mafia had scattered, and gang culture had lost its glory.

At this time, for a mayor to step forward and say, “I am a gangster, I am the Mafia—I not only admit it, I plan to make money with the gangs”—of course, every media outlet launched a furious assault.

The Metropolis Daily called it “a horrifying regression of the times.” The Global Times labeled Roy “a crude, savage brute.” But regardless, the title “Gangster Mayor Roy Brown” spread across America overnight.

Yet strangely, several cities remained silent. Some of their leaders even suppressed public opinion, adopting an ambiguous stance—including the very Eastern cities Roy had mentioned.

In truth, every city whose economy relied on illegal industries knew Roy spoke the truth.

Their histories were nearly identical—the origins of their gangs were all historical legacies: either to resist immigrant waves, or the fallout from Prohibition.

Most people in these cities felt Roy’s words were cathartic. After all, everyone only issued orders and warnings—no real action to improve their dire conditions.

Most only looked down with superiority, claiming those born here were born evil—that their own wickedness created these crime capitals.

But in reality, economic collapse was the root cause. Aside from Gotham’s slight uniqueness, nearly all gang cities became what they were due to high unemployment from economic decline.

People raised in this environment were born gangsters. To try eliminating gangs with public safety laws is as pointless as nuking these cities to the ground.

Many gang bosses in these crime capitals, led by Gotham, were furious. We risk our lives for money—it’s hard enough already. Yet these people who never feel pain keep yelling at us, scaring off investment and worsening the economy.

In the past, gangs themselves felt guilty. After all, illegal industries were undeniably illegitimate.

But now, Roy’s speech reminded them of one thing: they were not primarily to blame for how these cities became what they are.

Leaving aside historical legacies, the state government’s and Congress’s inaction was the main reason nothing improved.

I was born here, with nowhere else to go. I joined the gang—and you call me a monster. I want to be good, but your empty condemnations and public safety laws don’t give me bread. If I don’t join the gang, do I just starve to death?

Then why shouldn’t I rot? I’ll rot!

The most important effect of Roy’s speech was giving these poorly educated gangsters a unified guiding belief: I’m this rotten not because of me—it’s the world’s fault.

In truth, given Gotham’s current state, this belief wasn’t wrong. People born in Gotham had no choice in their birthplace. Once born here, you could only choose this hellish life—or die.

Geniuses and superhumans are rare. The majority are ordinary people powerless to change their class.

Those condemning him likely knew this truth already. But Roy laid it bare, cutting straight to the point: it was the inaction of all factions and the weakness of law enforcement that created America’s most violent cities. It was like tearing off the last veil of shame from those politician bastards.

Naturally, this speech sparked massive backlash in the orderly society. State legislators bought by the Wayne Group also began to buckle under pressure. The state government ordered Gotham’s mayor suspended for review and planned to restart the mayoral election process.

In the past, this process in Gotham was a mere formality—Wayne said who could run, and who won. The gangs didn’t care, because Gotham’s mayor had no real power. Gangs never listened to mayors anyway. Whoever won made no difference.

But the state government felt Roy had gone too far. Even the federal government sent a reprimand: “You may be rotten, but you can’t be rotten with such arrogance—it makes us look bad.”

So they planned to hold a new mayoral election.

This was their usual tactic for quelling such troubles: restart the election, ensure the guilty candidate loses decisively, proving his views lacked public support—and thus calm public outrage and superior pressure. In past experience, this trick had always worked.

Until the state legislators saw the top candidate on the new ballot: Carmine Falcone.