Chapter 487: The Virtuous Folk of Gotham City (Part 2)

Just as a weather reporter who once appeared on a giant screen had said, tonight was the night with the most green lights in Gotham.

But these green lights refused to stay calmly on their traffic poles; instead, they darted wildly through the city like headless flies.

They had no idea what kind of abyss this city truly was, nor what darkness lurked in its narrow alleys, pitch-black stairwells, and flickering buildings.

At first, the activities of these oddly dressed individuals drew little attention, for Gotham was full of eccentrics—but a rumor spread among the truck drivers, whose range was the widest, claiming that Gotham was haunted.

These glowing figures were ancestral evil spirits risen from beneath the earth, come to punish the city and eradicate all its chaos and crime.

The moment Gotham's citizens heard this news, their reaction was not prayer or frantic flight toward churches, but rather grabbing guns, loading magazines, opening doors, stepping onto the streets, and blasting every green object within sight.

"We're here to save this city!" cried one Green Lantern. "We come for justice—our lanterns will purify all corruption!"

"Bang!"

The bullet struck the faint green glow, failing to pierce the Lantern's shield but knocking him backward; a freckled boy re-chambered his rifle and said:

"Save this city? Sorry, this city doesn't need saving."

He raised his gun again at the Green Lantern, who shouted in confusion, "Are you insane?! We can rescue this city from its crimes—we're here to save you! Don't you want peace?!"

In what seemed like good spirits, the newsboy smirked, still aiming his gun at him, and said:

"You say you want to purify corruption—but I'm one of the corruptions you speak of. When I was born, no one came to save me. Now that I've clawed my way to a decent life, you show up to purify me, to give me your so-called 'justice'..."

"Your peace might be nice, but I don't need it."

"I don't believe in peace or justice—I believe in the gun in my hand, because when danger comes, it's not you protecting me—it's this."

He was about to pull the trigger again when another boy ran up from the side, also carrying a gun, and said to the freckled newsboy, "Boss Cobblepot wants you! Pick up the phone!"

The boy glanced at the Green Lantern slumped on the ground and added, "Ignore these lunatics—full of talk about justice and peace. Who even says that in Gotham?"

The newsboy lost interest, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and followed his friend away. The Green Lantern struggled to his feet, arms trembling slightly; he shook his head, dazed, and murmured, "... Am I the one who's mad?"

The newsboy followed his companion through narrow alleys, then ducked into a small shed where a phone sat; he picked up the receiver and said, "Hello? It's me. Yes, everyone's got guns now, but so far we haven't killed any ghosts..."

"That glow of theirs is tricky—regular bullets don't work, Boss. I heard there's a good freeze gun. Can you get us one?"

"What? Recon and intel relay? Come on, don't do this—I'm turning thirteen next year, I can fight now!"

"Alright, alright, whatever you say... Really? Great! I'll notify them right away!"

The newsboy hung up, beaming at his friend: "Go get them—Boss Cobblepot says we're in charge of surveying the entire West District, reporting the ghosts' locations. Someone else will handle them."

His friend looked disappointed: "So we can't fight again? Why does it always happen like this? We're not kids anymore."

"Stop complaining—Boss says if we do well, he'll get us one of those top-tier freeze guns to play with. That thing's deadly—I've seen someone use it to shoot down a green fly and turn it into a block of ice!"

The two chattered excitedly; soon, the friend ran off to deliver the message.

This scene wasn't confined to the children of the West District—it was spreading through every child network across all of Gotham.

The smoke boys, newsboys, flower boys, street vendors—these street-smart, terrain-savvy local kingpins—revealed for the first time the full power of their nationwide intelligence network.

Gotham had countless children; until recently, most were idle, spending their days chasing dogs and fighting roosters, universally despised.

After the original child king died, Cobblepot took over the network.

One must admit, Penguin had far greater strategic vision than ordinary crime bosses.

The former child king used children to extort money—forcing parents to drain their meager earnings from them—but Cobblepot saw another potential in this network, one far more powerful than mere profit.

These ubiquitous vendors wandered every street and alley, knew every neighborhood secret, and many newsboys even doubled as mail carriers—they knew who received new letters, who had newborns, who had died, who had gone to work—perfect for building an intelligence network.

Previously, the network was only in its infancy; it was precisely through Cobblepot's network that Shiler first detected Merkel's anomaly. Agents like Merkel were hyper-aware of surveillance—but careless around cigarette vendors at train stations—and thus were exposed the moment they stepped into Gotham.

Having recognized the network's utility, Cobblepot eagerly awaited a chance to put it into practice—then the Green Lanterns descended.

The Green Lanterns, knocked down by Aisha's ultimate, scattered across Gotham; locating them was difficult. Though they glowed visibly, Gotham's countless corners made finding them all time-consuming if they chose to hide.

But with these children's network, it was different—these vendors excelled at squeezing into bizarre, hidden places, for those spots usually meant shortcuts or hiding spots.

Take the freckled newsboy—he knew every crack in every wall, every dog hole, every basement connecting one house to its neighbor in the West District better than anyone else, because he used that knowledge to deliver mail at lightning speed, completing his West District route daily and even stealing jobs in the East District.

Under Cobblepot's command, the children were unified; within moments, information cascaded upward. By the time it reached Falcone Manor, Cobblepot knew every Green Lantern's movements—their numbers, attire, appearances, and strength—all clear.

In a reception room at Falcone Manor, a massive map of Gotham was pinned with colorful pushpins; Cobblepot's short figure stood before it, radiating an undeniable authority.

"Tell the shooters to drive them out—no need to kill them, just force them out of the dark alleys."

One of Cobblepot's gang members asked, "Where should we drive them?"

Cobblepot's gaze settled on the center of the Gotham map; after a moment's thought, he said, "The Central Roundabout."

After the gang member left, Cobblepot stood before the map in silence. Then the door opened and Alberto entered, asking, "What's going on? Did the Professor contact you?"

Cobblepot shook his head. "No—but I can guess his intent. Do you remember the glowing figures who appeared in Arkham Asylum's hallway? One looked familiar?"

"Hal Jordan, right? We saw him in our dreams before."

"Exactly. He must be aligned with Professor Shiler—but he's leading these oddballs against us. I think he's Shiler's mole on the other side. Whatever they're planning, we'll find out once we herd them into the Central Roundabout."

Alberto nodded—he agreed with Cobblepot's idea of concentrating them—but he was thinking of another issue.

If the Green Lanterns fought separately, they'd be easier to pick off one by one—but the city would suffer greater damage, and repairs would be a nightmare. If they gathered at the Central Roundabout, though, it was already a ruin—another bombing wouldn't matter.

As Alberto stepped closer to the map to examine the layout, Cobblepot turned and walked away. Alberto called out, "Where are you going?"

"I'm making a call. Some arrangements to make."

Meanwhile, on the main road leading to Gotham University, a car sped past, kicking up snowflakes. The snowfall had intensified, yet the car ignored the worsening weather, accelerating relentlessly.

Harvey Dent in the passenger seat looked at Victor behind the wheel and said, "Don't worry—it's too coincidental for ghosts to land right on Gotham University's lab..."

But Victor's face was grim—he rarely looked so serious—and spoke in a low tone: "No. What if? What if those freaks landed near Gotham University's lab? What if they damaged the power? What if they cut the lab's energy supply...?"