Chapter 1633

Before the Penguin could be shocked, Batman, who was watching the movie in the Batcave, was stunned first.

Of course he knew about the mayoral election, and he knew Lincoln March's situation better than anyone else. After all, before the universe rebooted, he had already dealt with March.

Robin, Penguin, and the mayoral election—these three words look normal when viewed separately, but they look weird when combined together, or rather, it's already very strange that these three words have the opportunity to be combined together.

And at this moment, the Joker, who was sitting on the sofa, had already started laughing his head off. He wiped away the tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes, opened a new bag of potato chips with a "bang," and while throwing snacks into his mouth, said.

"I have to say, this is a good choice. If they really want to achieve their goals, they naturally need to find enough of their own people, and they must be spread across all walks of life and all social strata. And Oswald Cobblepot has been trapped in the identity of a gang boss and businessman for many years. Who can say he doesn't have the ambition to go further?"

The Joker crossed one leg over the other, shook his foot, and then said, "He possesses a lot, but lacks even more. Violence can help him guard his industry in a city full of chaos, but to go further, he lacks a sufficiently long-term vision, a sufficiently profound understanding, and a true gang mindset."

Batman's fingertips moved lightly, which meant he was interested in a certain word in the Joker's words, so he repeated this word: "Gang mindset……"

"Have you ever thought about why Italian gangs were able to blossom all over the Americas? They even got rid of the stereotype of street thugs being unable to enter the hall of elegance, and developed a unique family culture and godfather culture."

"Oh, Batman, of course you have thought about it!" The Joker deliberately raised his tone and said, "After all, you were the one who destroyed all of this with your own hands. You killed the Italians."

"Falcone's death was just an accident." Batman was silent for a while, then, as if he had accepted the current situation, he really spoke as if they were just chatting.

"The success and failure of Italian gangs come from the same reason. They need a leader with sufficient personal charisma. He is the head of the gang, the shepherd of the flock, and also the father of everyone."

"His strength, wisdom, and impeccability bring confidence and motivation to all Italian gang families. He is more like a cultural symbol, condensing all families together."

"But likewise, if he dies without a sufficiently convincing successor to take over his shift, then the family will collapse in an instant—it was the Italians who killed themselves."

The Joker, as if he suddenly thought of something, revealed a slightly malicious smile, then he pressed his thumb against his lower lip and asked, "Do you think Cobblepot can become a gang godfather?"

Batman thought for a moment and said, "I am more concerned about what on earth the Robins want to do. It seems you know more than I do, Joker."

"Yes, but I won't tell you so easily, Batman. You should open a few more eyes and, as usual, closely watch any changes happening in this city."

The Joker turned his head back, narrowed his eyes slightly, looked at the screen, and said, "Then you will understand that a monster born in the darkness shouldn't throw its eggs out of the nest, because even I can't guess what can be hatched inside."

"Now, Nottingham Avenue, Baladi Avenue in Cat Getan's Midtown, and the Swan Avenue we previously took down have formed a perfect triangular block, with a radiation range reaching half of Midtown, and even the top and bottom right corners of the triangle can radiate to Uptown and Downtown."

On the top floor of an apartment at the corner of Nottingham Avenue, Jason was holding a baton, pointing at the topographic map he had just drawn on the blackboard. He tapped the center of the triangular area and said.

"We will eventually establish the Naiwei family's base in the center of the three avenues, and then expand outward in turn until the entire Midtown is included in our sphere of influence. But to control such a large territory, we need to absorb enough manpower first. Do you have any good suggestions?"

Sitting on the sofa were Dick, Tim, and Aisha. They were pointing at the topographic map drawn on the blackboard, expressing their suggestions, not noticing that a tiny black dot's central light flashed outside the window of this building, and the scene inside the house was captured by the camera, at a glance.

When hearing the name "Naiwei" family, Batman widened his eyes slightly. This kind of shallow wordplay couldn't deceive the Joker, and naturally couldn't deceive Batman either. But at this moment, he still didn't feel that all of this was Robin's own idea.

Because according to normal logic, they didn't have such motivation. No matter which universe's Robin they were, they were Batman's adopted sons and his good assistants. Although their styles of doing things were slightly different, most of them were justice-oriented. In any case, there was no reason for them to be a gang.

But the situation that appeared on the screen next exceeded Batman's expectations once again, and even exceeded the Joker's expectations.

After the two sets of Robins joined forces to take down the three Midtown avenues and built a stable rule, the little Robins started to exert their strength.

First, Jason started looking for all the children under the age of fifteen in this area, understanding their situation, and gathering them together.

The living conditions of the children in Cat Getan now were not good, or, it could be said that they were much worse than in the gang era.

This is not to say that gangs were that good, it's just that gangs could use them, and the stronger individuals among them could at least find a way out.

Becoming a gang thug is not a good path; it's barbaric and dangerous, with a very high probability of losing one's life, but at least it counts as a path, one that can be walked and has room for upward mobility, and there is still a certain probability of improvement and development.

As long as one is young and strong enough, one can rise from the lowest-level street gang to a thug, participate in a few shootouts, change from a newcomer to an old-timer, understand the rules of every level of the gang, and then go to nightclubs or bars to watch the place. As long as one's skill and brain are sharper than three or four people in one aspect, one can become the smallest little boss, leading a few people under one's command, and the survival probability is greatly improved.

If one is a bit smarter, knows how to read the situation, uses the convenience of one's duties to make some extra money, and bribes the higher-level bosses, one might even be able to climb further up, becoming a little boss of a low-level business place, and then study some fast-money businesses. Even if one dies one day, at least one has enjoyed life while alive.

It seems that this kind of upward mobility is going further and further on the road of illegal crime, but people must have something to look forward to while alive. Jason has seen what kind of person one becomes when living a life with absolutely no room for upward mobility and nothing to look forward to.

The area of the three avenues is very large, and there are quite a few children, but Jason mostly found them in dirty restaurant kitchens, dark and enclosed black-hearted factories, cramped and cold sewers, underground marijuana plantations that never see the light of day, and even bottom-level brothels that are unbearable to look at.

The vast majority of these children are the products of a night of pleasure. The less educated people are, the more they focus on immediate indulgence, and they never care about the consequences of indulgence. Thus, the descendants they leave behind become the cheapest labor force.

They only need to guard those darkest alleys and most chaotic red-light districts, pick up those children who were born at will and then abandoned, and give them something to eat. Those who can grow up can work, and no one cares if they are worked to death, just like batch after batch of consumables.

Those who can luckily survive and escape are still impossible to form a stable family, and can only linger in those areas, breeding the next batch of descendants.

When gang order existed, every population that could work was the gang's wealth. Although there were still no human rights, the gang at least knew that a healthy way of reproduction was the root of obtaining abundant combat personnel, so they would take pains to maintain it, ensuring stable population output as much as possible.

But without this kind of rule, the reproduction of bottom-level humans is more like producing livestock. They don't need to be strong, they don't need to be intelligent. The things that can be exploited have changed from labor to every piece of meat on their bodies. They seem to still have the appearance of humans, but every part of them had already been marked with a price for extraction when they were born.

This is the current situation of the bottom-level people in Cat Getan in the post-gang era. Without any upward channels, living is just living. What remains is not even pain, but numbness.

When the Robins rushed into these places with guns to get the children out, they didn't even cry, scream, or resist. They followed the guidance and honestly came to a room, then squatted down, looking at no one, saying nothing, just waiting to be sold to the next place to repeat their lives.

Seeing the environment where this group of children of the same age as him lived before, Jason once thought that if he fell into such a situation one day and was completely unable to resist, he would rather choose to die.

But standing in the room and looking at the children with almost identical expressions squeezed together densely, he understood again that these children wouldn't die—the low point that could make normal people raise the thought of dying was already the peak of their lives.

But facing such a situation, the Robins didn't appear at a loss. They didn't attempt to make these children do something by giving passionate speeches. They just got some food to ensure that everyone wouldn't starve to death, and then let this group of children stay in that room.

The Robins didn't angrily rush into the black factories to give those bosses who exploited child labor a burst of gunfire, nor did they attempt to follow the clues to find the culprit. They just very simply, extremely plainly, started collecting protection money.

Literally, they rushed into every business place in the street block with guns, demanding everyone to squat down with their heads in their hands, and the boss to come out to see them. If they didn't give money, they would change to another boss.

Not only that, they would take all the cash in the business premises and the liquid funds in the boss's pockets, and then demand them to pay protection money at a fixed time and place. If they couldn't pay, they would cut off the water and electricity, and they would be in deep shit.

This kind of behavior, which is very blurred from home invasion and robbery, accumulated a large amount of funds for them in a short period of time. Facts have proven that the methods of making money are indeed all written in the criminal law. The faster this group of people exploited, the faster the Robins robbed.

But soon, certain people who controlled these industries reacted. But they used the original methods of dealing with business rivals to deal with the traditional gangs that had suddenly revived, which appeared not so powerful.

Interest exchange, fighting for power, appearing on the stage for court arguments, hiring assassins, shooting at each other—these mechanisms that were originally popular in the post-gang era of Cat Getan's upper-level interest redistribution couldn't stop the gang model that directly intercepted resources from the bottom and middle levels.

Suddenly, the surging murderous intent that was originally hidden under the undercurrent of Cat Getan was like a shattered vase, with a "clatter" sound, clearly spilled on the table, piercing the fingertips of all the masterminds behind the scenes, making them truly bleed.