Chapter 3290

"What's going on? Why isn't that new dean answering the phone?"

"The mercenary I was in contact with before can't be reached either..."

"Has anyone gone to Arkham Asylum to see? Why is it suddenly under martial law? Who gave that new dean the guts?"

"Forget it, you go, I'm not going. If I get filmed again, I'll be completely finished..."

"It's full of traps there, who dares to go?"

"Try contacting him with another number. I don't believe he really dares to go against us!"

Such words kept spreading in shelters and safe houses. It can be said that Schiller has now become a hot figure in the upper society. All the big shots in the entire Cat Getan are contacting him.

But he has lost contact.

Arkham Asylum has become Cat Getan's most closed fortress.

The emergency restriction measures designed by Batman, which had almost never truly worked, took effect, trapping them in their cells according to the different weaknesses of each criminal.

Of course, not all of them; occasionally a few more powerful ones ran out. But isn't it a coincidence? The corridors are full of traps.

All the criminals' escape plans ended in failure. Arkham Asylum finally completed the duty of a prison for the insane for the first time today—trapping the lunatics here.

Some might think, the criminals are all controlled by Bruce, why would they want to run out?

That's because Bruce is also trapped here.

Schiller didn't show him any leniency. The door to the activity room was also locked directly. It was already too late when Bruce discovered it; he couldn't run out either.

After spending half a day trying to open the door, guess what? Outside, it was all high-power ultraviolet lamps, plus the freeze gun left behind when Victor came over to discuss trap design earlier.

Bruce felt the activity room was quite good too.

The criminals inside Arkham Asylum couldn't get out, which meant the upper society's investment in crime had failed. The knives they used in the past to disrupt the lives of ordinary people couldn't be pulled out. What consequences would this produce?

First and most serious, of course, is panic.

That group of mud-legged people who had always been trampled under their feet actually dared to set them up, causing their ugly deeds to be exposed and letting those outsiders kick them while they were down. If they didn't give them a bit of color to see, wouldn't everyone dare to do this?

But the fastest way they could think of to retaliate against ordinary people was to get super-criminals to commit crimes. But now this fastest method wasn't working well. Doesn't that mean they had no way to teach ordinary people a lesson right away?

This is not a simple matter of face, but involves a question of prestige.

How does a person establish prestige?

Of course, it's by doing what you say and having your actions match your words. You do it once, you do it twice, and you will make others feel that you can do it every time, and they will naturally believe in and respect you.

For the upper society, making the bottom-level masses believe they are unshakable is the cornerstone of their ability to trample on their heads so naturally, and the fundamental reason they can put a lid on a trash can.

They solved every resistance with thunderous means, which is why they made people feel they were unresistible.

That is why people like Ruth exist—clearly having everything and not lacking opportunities, but precisely in a situation where they could resist, they insist on being a dog for others.

Humans can be domesticated. The key to domestication is the whip the upper society holds in their hands—super-criminals.

Once people in a certain region are not obedient, they lash out with a whip, using the destruction of super-criminals to have their houses destroyed, jobs lost, debts incurred, and end up on the streets, with no possibility of ever turning things around.

Over time, those who don't want to end up in such a situation will naturally learn to be obedient.

Later on, even without the whip, they will obediently listen, and even if given the chance to bite, they won't open their mouths, completely domesticated.

But now, someone has bared their fangs, but they can't find the whip. This will lead to the prestige they established through lashing out again and again being shaken.

Those who were once domesticated by them have begun to have thoughts of questioning, and even begun to think, guessing whether they can't find the whip, or simply guessing whether they have broken their hands, or even died.

What's more, there are too many wolves in this city that have never been domesticated. They lower their bodies, close their mouths, pretending to be a domesticated dog, but once there is a flaw, they will immediately rush up and bite off a piece of meat.

When receiving Fiona's call, Gordon was stunned. He said to the other side of the phone in disbelief: "What did you say? You caught Paul?!"

"That's right, he's hiding in a house in the suburbs. My friends and I have already controlled him. When are you coming?"

Gordon paused and said: "Don't be too excited, don't lay a hand on him. We are going to send him to court and let him accept judgment."

"Don't worry, I... Hey, stop! Hick! What are you doing?! Stop it now!!!!"

A violent sound came from the other side of the phone, followed by roaring and screaming. Gordon's heart sank lower and lower. He hurriedly called people to drive.

By the time he arrived following Fiona's address, only two corpses were left on the ground.

One of them was the corpse of Cat Getan's steel tycoon Paul.

Ambulances and other police cars followed closely behind. But what gave Gordon a splitting headache was that reporters had also come, rushing into the house with long guns and short cannons. It just so happened that the police were carrying a stretcher out, and the face of Paul, who had been beaten to a bloody pulp, was filmed by them just like that.

Watching the stretcher pass by him, Gordon really didn't know how to evaluate it. He just felt that everything shouldn't be like this. Some force was constantly spinning the wheels when the engine hadn't started, absurdly shocking.

Soon, the police also brought the murderer out—a young man with blood all over his head. And Fiona followed behind him.

Fiona looked at Gordon apologetically and said: "I know you might not believe it, but I really didn't let them kill anyone!"

"Was he the only one who did it?" Gordon looked at him seriously and asked.

"Hick... Hick ran away." Fiona closed her eyes and said, "He still has a younger sister; he can't be caught."

"Where did you find them?"

"They are all my friends, friends from the neighborhood. They felt very angry when they heard about my father."

"Just like that?"

"I don't know," Fiona said, "Maybe I was impulsive, but... when I knew Paul was here, I didn't have time to think too much."

"How did you know he was here?"

"An informant gave me the news."

"Who is the informant?"

"Sorry, I really can't say, it would harm him."

Cars came and went in front of the villa, lively and extraordinary. But the neighboring street, separated by only one street, was so deserted that there wasn't a single person.

A young man wearing a jacket squatted at the corner of the alley, wiping the blood on his forehead. He took out his phone and dialed a number, then said to the other side: "The thing is done, Doctor. When will the money arrive?"

"Yes, thank you very much. Actually, even if you didn't give money, I would have wanted to do this. If it weren't for Paul's nephew, that damn bastard, my sister wouldn't be paralyzed in bed!"

"Okay, I know. I will come over as fast as I can."

The young man put down the phone, crossed the streets with practiced speed, pried open a car, and brushed past the police cars that were rushing here, but didn't stop at all.

He drove into the city with many turns, walked for another ten minutes, and finally entered a house on the outskirts of the chaotic slums.

A figure was sitting by the window waiting for him. The young man walked over and saw a woman with a beautiful and wild face.

"Hello, where's the stuff?"

The young man took something out of his pocket; it was a micro-camera, with the video storage component connected to the back.

He threw the thing to the woman and was about to turn and leave, but didn't expect to hear the woman say: "Someone went to pick up your sister; she can't stay at home for the time being. This is the hospital address."

The young man turned his head abruptly and looked at the woman. The woman waved her hand and said: "Don't look at me like that, I was just entrusted by someone. I'm just a thief, where would I have the ability to arrange for hospital admission?"

The young man still took the note, looked back at the woman, and then walked out.

Catwoman watched his back, shook her head, and said as if sighing lightly: "I really don't know how many more people will be dragged into this."

Another lower-pitched woman's voice responded to her: "Of course, the more the better."

Ruth squeezed in from the narrow back door, still holding the hospital test report. She took the micro-camera and storage device from Catwoman's hand and then said: "Only by letting more people know that rich people are also human, and will also get hurt and die, can there be more people in this world, instead of dogs."

"I'm not interested in humans or dogs." Catwoman curled her hair with her fingertips and said, "I'm just a cat."

Before Ruth turned and left, she said to her: "If you don't want to get involved in this, now is your last chance to leave. Next, anyone could become the one who is sacrificed."

"I think you didn't understand what I meant." Catwoman walked to the door leisurely, lowered her head to light a cigarette elegantly, and then said, "What I meant by saying I'm a cat is, whoever the hell provokes me, I will make them see some blood."

Ruth sneered and said: "You had better think clearly about who provoked you."

Catwoman stopped talking. She stood at the door watching Ruth get in the car and leave, shook the keys in her hand, finished smoking a cigarette quietly, and turned and walked out.

Fiona, exhausted, returned home. This place couldn't really be called home anymore. Her mother had returned to her maiden home in Central City, and she didn't want to go back, so she stayed. This place was now just an empty house.

After changing her shoes at the door, she moved inside in slippers, feeling pain all over, especially a headache that felt like it was going to explode.

But as soon as she walked into the living room, she saw a graceful figure standing in front of the cabinet, looking at her father's portrait.

"Who are you?!" Fiona stepped back vigilantly.

The woman turned around, having a wild and exquisite face, with a cigarette clipped between her fingers, but it wasn't lit. She put down the photo in her hand, looked at Fiona, and said: "I'm a friend of your father's. I heard you ran into some trouble, so I came to help you."

"How come I've never heard of you?!" Fiona didn't relax her vigilance at all. She reached toward her waist, but suddenly remembered her gun had been confiscated by Gordon.

She lowered her head in annoyance, but the next second she felt a breeze on her side; the woman, like a ghost, touched behind her and grabbed her wrist.

"I thought you really had a gun." A playful tone sounded in Fiona's ear. Fiona stumbled forward, and the woman actually circled around to the front of the sofa again.

"I have no malice toward you, I just wanted to come and remind you of one thing."

"What?" Fiona asked instinctively.

"People like your father have helped many people, maybe he didn't even know it himself. The existence of warriors itself buys space for the survival of others. There are more people than you imagine who are grateful to him and want to follow him."

"I know that." Fiona raised her head high and said, "He is a hero, you don't need to tell me that!"

"What I mean is, to completely swallow the little bit of survival space left for ordinary people, one must kill such warriors."

The woman's tone turned cold, and she said: "Not only must he not have a good end, but his whole family must also die without a burial place. Only then can others be deterred."

As soon as the words fell, with a bang, the glass in the living room was shattered.

Glass shards grazed Fiona's face, and she let out a scream. The next second, she was picked up by the waist, flown directly into the air, and thrown onto the second-floor corridor.

(End of chapter)