Chapter 4074

Cursing came from one of the houses, accompanied by the sound of things breaking, indistinct whispers, and the night crying of a child scared to tears nearby. An owl that had just woken up to forage stood on a utility pole not far away, not at all scared by this sound, just staring with those eyes, looking into the distance with spirit.

A thin little boy was driven out of the house. He looked like he had just been beaten; his head was broken by something, blood was flowing down, his arm was dislocated, the shape of his shoulder was a bit strange, and he was limping.

Arkham Batman's group stood quietly not far from the house and watched, no one rushed up rashly. It wasn't until the boy had walked a bit further away that Shiler leaned into the house to take a look.

"MDMA," he said. "Already passed out from taking it."

Arkham Batman lowered his head and curled his body. Through that narrow door, he saw the man lying on the ground dressed in rags, almost naked, his figure was still quite strong, and the ground around him was full of his vomit. Some small red pills were placed on the table next to him.

The room was filled with a very strong smell of vomit; Constantine couldn't even enter, but Shiler and Arkham Batman turned a blind eye.

"Is there any saving him?" Shiler looked at Arkham Batman and asked.

Arkham Batman shook his head and said, "Judging from the traces of the vomit, it's projectile vomiting, most likely a cerebral hemorrhage."

"As expected of..." Shiler didn't continue speaking here.

The two walked out of the house, and Constantine asked with a frown, "He just walked that way, are we going to chase him?"

"Follow him, but don't let him discover you," Arkham Batman said.

They walked in the direction the boy left, following him from a long distance, watching him circle around, get a cart from somewhere, and push it back.

They jumped onto the roof of the low bungalow, so they weren't discovered by the other party. But just at this moment, three figures appeared next to the alley.

"Good show to watch," Shiler said.

The three people who came were exactly Doctor Strange, Erik, and Charles. They also quickly noticed the house where the boy was, because the smell of vomit emanating from here was spreading outward.

The two walked over, leaned to the door, and saw the man lying inside and the boy standing next to him. Although the light was a bit dim, they could still see that this seemed to be the young Jack. Doctor Strange couldn't help but cover his nose with his hand and then said, "What's going on?"

"He's dead," little Jack replied.

"I know, then are you okay?"

"Got beaten up by him, but didn't die, not bad, right?"

"Is he your father?"

"Yeah. Do you guys have anything? If not, move aside, I have to throw his corpse into the Cat Getan River. Once it rots in the house, I won't be able to live in this house."

Charles looked at little Jack with some sympathy. At this time, Jack might already be ten years old, but because of long-term malnutrition, he looked like he was only seven or eight, so thin that he was literally skin and bones, his eyeballs were deeply sunken in his eye sockets, and his limbs were skin and bones.

The two of them watched him drag the cart inside with one arm. Doctor Strange also couldn't bear to look anymore, he said, "Is your arm dislocated? I'm a doctor, I can help you reset it."

Little Jack rolled his eyes at him and said slowly, "How could big shots like you come here?"

"We are staff from an orphanage," Charles said casually.

Little Jack looked at him inexplicably, lowered his eyes, and walked slowly to Doctor Strange's side. Doctor Strange reached out to him, but the distance between the two was a bit far, and he couldn't exert force, so he held little Jack's hand, pulled him closer, and then leaned down to check the condition of his shoulder.

Just as he leaned his upper body close to little Jack, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his chest. When he came to his senses, an iron rod had pierced his heart.

He looked up in disbelief, but saw the same smile on little Jack's face as the later Joker.

"I thought you guys would like prettier ones," he said, smiling just like that. "Sorry, I was afraid that when I was serving those old men, I wouldn't be able to help but kill them. You guys should change to someone else."

Charles also looked at him with quite a shock. He immediately realized that the Joker was a natural antisocial personality; it couldn't be said that it was because of whose persecution that he was driven crazy to this extent. This degree of madness couldn't be without innate factors.

As the headmaster of the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters, Charles had seen many children with antisocial personalities, but most of them weren't this... Charles didn't know how to describe it. If madness was a talent, the Joker's talent was on par with Batman.

Anyone would feel fear when facing this kind of madness, and Charles was no exception. He was glad he didn't use his powers to connect to the other party's brainwaves, but now he didn't want to have any physical contact with the other party either, so he took two steps back, looking vigilantly at this very thin child.

Even Erik frowned. He had seen many cruel people in this world, but the Joker was an accident at any time.

Just at this moment, a group of people appeared behind little Jack. Little Jack turned to look, and a gun was pressed against his forehead.

"What do you want?" little Jack asked.

"Come with us," Shiler said.

"I don't have much meat on me," little Jack shook his head and said. "The man inside just died not long ago, but he was a drug addict, I guess you guys don't take that. If you really want, I can take you to find a healthy one. I'm a local, I know this area well."

Shiler was a bit interested, he said, "Do you know what we do?"

"You are a dirty cop, this guy should be a big boss, and this one... a poor little unlucky guy. This combination is quite strange, but no matter who you are, coming to the slum is nothing more than looking for two things: prostitutes and human meat. That guy just said he was an orphanage director, so he probably came to look for prostitutes, then you guys naturally came to look for human meat."

Charles thought the prostitutes and human meat he mentioned were some underworld slang, but Erik whispered a few words in his ear, and Charles's face immediately turned very ugly, even almost retching.

Shiler of course also knew what he was referring to. Slums everywhere were like this; people from the upper class came here to pick people, what else could they be doing? Regardless of rich or poor, the genetic lottery of appearance was something anyone could win, and organs were even less picky. Densely populated slums were the most stable supply channels for these two things. If they happened to get some good goods, they would make a fortune. Even if they didn't get any, they wouldn't lose anything. All the big shots who looked different came here just for these two things.

"Come with us," Shiler repeated again.

"You have a gun, I'll listen to you," little Jack said, and then followed Shiler away as if it didn't matter.

Charles still wanted to struggle a bit; he stepped forward, but was stopped by Erik. Erik shook his head at him, and the two looked at Doctor Strange's corpse on the ground together.

Erik walked over, flipped Doctor Strange's corpse lying on the ground, pushed aside the clothes at the wound, and his face sank.

A person who killed for the first time could never hit the center of the heart with an iron rod. This crisp, neat, and precise technique required at least dozens or hundreds of practices. This guy was simply too dangerous.

Charles also felt a chill on his back. He looked at the small house again, and then suddenly realized that they might have been deceived from the beginning; there wasn't a single true word in this kid's mouth.

That man was not his father, and this was not their home; this was just a place for committing crimes chosen by little Jack.

Because the man lying in the house was over 1.9 meters tall and weighed over 180 pounds. This room looked like it was built by himself, but the door was exceptionally small; a person 1.8 meters tall would have to tighten their body and lower their head to walk past. A person over 1.9 meters tall walked like this every day, wouldn't he be tired?

Since the house was built by himself, he could have made a bigger door. The sizes of the doors of the houses next to it were also different, obviously customized according to their own stature, so this couldn't be the residence of the dead man.

As for this man not being little Jack's father, it was inferred by Arkham Batman. He said: "It's almost impossible for a child to live with his father in the slum. The most stable birth rate here is provided by underground prostitutes. You can't expect a john to bring up a child; most of those who bring up children are those prostitutes who are soft-hearted or failed to have an abortion. What's more, that guy had a long history of drug abuse. Long-term use of MDMA will significantly decrease sperm activity until complete infertility. He might have been unable to reproduce at least 10-15 years ago, which doesn't match the Joker's age."

"He could actually take drugs for 15 years," Constantine's focus was obviously a bit wrong, "and I've only smoked for ten years, and I already have lung cancer."

"The constitution of Gothamites cannot be mentioned in the same breath; their drug resistance is much stronger than people in other cities. That guy looks more like a retired gang thug. Being able to be a thug when young shows that his physical fitness is very good, so he is more drug-resistant," Arkham Batman said.

"In that case, should I go to Cat Getan to smoke?"

"When you get to Cat Getan, the smoke smokes you."

Soon it was pitch black again, which proved that the scene had ended. This time the score reached 2:1, but it couldn't be considered a lead, because the dream that appeared this time was theirs again, and it was normal for them to have an advantage.

Shiler also reviewed this victory: actually, it was mainly because Charles's side didn't understand Cat Getan too well. There wasn't a single good person among the children who could grow up to seven or eight in Cat Getan. This didn't just refer to the slums; the upper class was also included. The danger of Cat Getan's upper class was not small at all. Didn't you see that Bruce Wei En was almost shot to death?

Not to mention anything else, the drug content in Cat Getan's rainwater was truly everyone being a drug-resistant warrior. Anyone with a weak constitution or intolerance wouldn't live long, and those who could survive would also be crazy because of various influences. If you want to find that kind of simple and cute child, you can only go to the neighboring Metropolis; Cat Getan doesn't have any.

And someone like Jack, born in the slum, grew up in the slum, besides being thin, didn't have any major problems, and even had the strength to kill a retired gang thug, as well as kill Doctor Strange with one blow. The only weakness was basically not having wings and not being able to fly.

Let's put it this way, if the grudge between Batman and Joker started when they were children, the Joker could beat Batman so hard his mother wouldn't recognize him. This is like that bacteria carefully cultivated in a laboratory, put into a pot of moldy rice, and you get three big slaps for every step you take.

Charles shouldn't have said he was an orphanage director. For most orphans in the world, meeting an orphanage director is indeed good news, but only in Cat Getan, 90% of orphanages engage in human trafficking, and the rest are organ trafficking. An orphanage director is basically someone who has drunk with Yan Wang in the East and played cards with Death in the West. If Cat Getan had a Fengshen Bang, his status would be approximately equal to Hades.

However, in fact, for Cat Getan orphans, being trafficked out can be considered good news; it's at least an upward channel. It's just that the Joker is not an ordinary child. He is worried that he has nowhere to display his rebellious spirit. The slum is not his shackles, but his stage. His childhood here might be happier than Bruce Wei En's. If you want to take him away, of course he won't be happy.

"However, why is that considered a nightmare for you?" Shiler asked.

Jack showed a look of disgust. "That was my most miserable time. He vomited a bit early, I didn't have time to dodge, and sprayed it all over me. I feel disgusted just thinking about it now, ugh..."

Accompanied by the dissipation of darkness, the next dream gradually appeared before everyone's eyes. First, there was an extremely intense light, and then only a loud "bang" was heard. A car flew out spinning, slowly emitting black smoke, and the figure in the driver's seat was dead or alive.

?? Marvel advantage, some people scold me for weakening DC

? DC advantage, some people scold me for weakening Marvel

? Why don't you guys fight, I love watching