Chapter 291

Batman rarely goes out during the day, and when he does appear in Gotham, it means he has something urgent to do—like catching the thief who stole his tires.

Batman wasn't particularly angry about his Batmobile tires being stolen; he found it absurd that someone capable of independently cracking the Batmobile's security system could only be a car thief in Gotham—this city was truly surreal.

Finding the thief's hideout wasn't hard for Batman. Clearly, these two tire thieves were far less skilled at counter-surveillance than in technical matters. Soon, Batman slipped into the cellar at the end of Tailwind Street.

slkslk.

The underground base had no real security. Batman slipped in effortlessly and found the tire still hanging on the wall, untouched.

Normally, Batman would have waited here for the thief to return, then apprehended him.

That was his original plan—but while waiting, with nothing else to do, he began investigating the base.

The more he investigated, the more confused he became. Every sign indicated the occupants weren't adults, but children.

It was easy to tell: the floor wasn't tile or wood, but fine dirt, and the footprints hadn't been cleaned up—clearly not from adults. Tools on the workbench bore fingerprints, all pointing to a user under ten years old.

Surprised, Batman also felt a new thought stir within him. He knew adults in Gotham were beyond saving—their beliefs and habits were set. There was little to do but lock them away. But children were different.

Batman also knew that even if Gotham's children were worse than those in other cities—forming gangs, fighting on the streets—they still had the potential to be reformed, especially ones with such talent.

By evening, Jason limped toward his base, wearing a tattered jacket, while Small Slippa supported him, sighing: "I know you have to fight to keep your territory, but you've been fighting too often lately—your last wound hasn't healed…"

Jason wiped his lip, where a trickle of blood had stained his sleeve. He was used to it. He grinned through gritted teeth: "I've got no choice. Those damn Red Lips thugs are squeezing me too hard. If I give up the entrance to Tailwind, we won't make a dime."

He rubbed his eyes hard, then shook off Small Slippa's hand, walked to the cellar, opened the door, and slowly climbed down.

Small Slippa hurried after him, afraid he'd fall—but just as they reached the workbench, the cellar door clicked shut behind them, and a shadow appeared.

Both jumped. As they turned, Small Slippa stared at the dark figure and said: "Batman???"

Batman paused. "You know me?"

Jason glanced at the Bat tire hanging on the wall, then at the imposing figure before him, then up at the locked cellar door—he knew he couldn't escape. He slumped against the workbench. "Fine. How could we not know you? The legendary hero, Batman…"

But his tone held no reverence, only deep annoyance. Small Slippa rubbed his hands and said to Batman: "I'm sorry, Batman. We did steal your tires, but we didn't damage them. You can take them back. Just let us go…"

"After all…" Small Slippa adjusted his glasses, "the police won't take kids our age. If you arrest us, they'll just send us back tomorrow. Why not let us apologize sincerely and skip the whole process?"

Batman looked at Jason. He saw a deep bruise on his neck, a swollen lip, and the blood on his sleeve. "How did you get this badly hurt?"

Jason shook his head, scowling, clearly unwilling to speak—but then: "He's the boss of Tailwind Gang. To hold territory, you have to fight."

"And we won!" Jason emphasized.

"How exactly did you pry off my tires?"

"What's hard about it?" Jason raised his voice. "Your car's a piece of junk. If those tires weren't so damn big, I'd have taken all four!"

His speech was laced with local gang slang and curses, his tone and mannerisms pure street thug.

But Batman wasn't angered. After years as Gotham's vigilante, every child he'd met was just like this.

"Batman, just leave us alone. We're just kids. Jason stole your tires because he needed cash. We know stealing's wrong, but we've got no other choice."

Small Slippa explained: "Jason's Tailwind Gang has over a dozen kids. Five or six are too young. When they try to sell cigarettes, older kids from other gangs beat them up. They sell almost nothing. Jason has to earn money to feed them—or their bosses will kill them."

Batman frowned. "So your kids are cigarette sellers?"

"Isn't that what all juvenile gangs do?"

"Who do they pay?"

"Their bosses—usually older kids—who then hand the money to their 'mom and dad.'"

"And then?"

Small Slippa shook his head. "I don't know. I'm not in that line. But I heard it goes up the chain—to someone called the Big Boss."

"You're not in that line?" Batman studied Small Slippa. He was unlike Gotham's usual kids—no jacket, but a half-worn turtleneck, a bowl cut, glasses. He looked like a bookworm.

"I'm a tech worker. I'm enrolled in Gotham's vocational school. Jason saved my life, so I followed him."

"I didn't save you so you'd owe me! Get out of here! I stole the tires—any trouble, come after me!"

"Don't be like that, Jason. I believe Batman's a good man. I heard he saved a dancer from muggers—he'd listen to us…"

Small Slippa continued: "Not every kid is as lucky as me—with a skill, a job with the gangs, even a stable school life. Most kids work under their 'parents'—selling cigarettes, begging, doing dirty work…"

"You stole my tires. I should arrest you or beat you. But since you're children, I'll let you go—if you agree to one condition…"

Jason glanced at Small Slippa, touched his lip again, and said: "I did it. What's your condition?"

"I want to know who's controlling these children. Who is this 'Big Boss'? I need you to help me investigate."

"No chance." Jason shook his head. "The Big Boss is a ghost. We kids can't even get near him. And there are too many like him. How am I supposed to investigate?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way. Won't you?"

"You're Jason, right? Listen, Jason…"

Batman looked into Jason's eyes. "You fight for those kids. You spend your money to feed them. That means you're not bad. You're loyal."

"You know this won't last. When these kids grow up, another batch will take their place. You can't protect them forever. The only way is to uncover who's controlling them—and destroy them."

Jason rested his forearms on his knees, head down, silent. Batman continued: "You've heard of me. You know I've taken down many criminals. But for this, I need an ally. I'm not a child—I can't join your world…"

"If I succeed, you and your kids will live better, won't you?"

Jason stayed silent for a long while, then said: "Fine. But I call the shots. No brute force. And you must promise—no matter what happens—you won't come after us again."

Batman nodded, then tossed Jason a cylindrical device—a small flashlight. "Press the button on the tail to project a mini Bat-Signal. I'll come when I see it. Hold it down to send a private comm only I can receive—for emergencies."

Small Slippa stared at the device, eyes gleaming. Batman said to him: "Don't try to take it apart. You won't be able to reassemble it. If you give me useful info, I'll let you use a lab at my outpost in the South Suburbs. It's got some good gear…"

Jason and Small Slippa exchanged glances, then looked at Batman. Together, they said: "Alright. Deal."

After Batman left, Jason said to Small Slippa: "You should leave. You don't need to get involved. If I help him investigate, it'll be dangerous. Those 'parents' won't let me live."

"Batman's right, Jason," Small Slippa said calmly. "You said yourself—the 'parents' are getting worse. They're raising quotas, demanding more money. Those who fail get punished harder. If this keeps up, the kids won't survive. We have to stop it."

Jason frowned. "I've thought about it too. It's strange, isn't it?"

"Since I started on the streets, this system never changed. But lately, it's gotten worse. Could something be happening with the Big Boss? Is he panicking and squeezing the kids harder?"

"Not just that." Small Slippa rubbed his chin. "At vocational school, I've met the parents of other students—the gang bosses. From their gossip, I heard Gotham's underworld is unstable. The Twelve Families at the top… they're stirring."