Chapter 817: The Red Hood (8)

I found that truck and returned to announce to them that it could serve as a safe shelter for the night; they cheered and slapped hands, but what puzzled me was that Jason didn't seem particularly happy—he kept frowning, looking worried…

Elegant English script appeared on the white paper; in the afternoon, weak sunlight filtered through the curtains, brushing over the words and brightening the scenes they conjured.

The paper was slowly set down; behind it, Schiller adjusted his glasses and picked up his coffee cup with his other hand, taking a sip.

Victor leaned over and asked: "What are you reading? A thesis?"

"No, it's more like a travelogue—written by Bruce. Want to take a look?" Schiller handed the stack of papers to Victor; Victor took them, glanced over, then carefully read the first page and said in surprise: "Is this really written by Bruce? The actions described here as 'I'… don't sound like Bruce at all…"

"I told you—he's gotten better. If he hadn't recently reflected deeply and come to terms with things, you'd be reading nothing but nonsense philosophical rambling, not this readable travelogue."

Victor nodded and turned to the second page. "His writing is still quite good—concise and straightforward, yet elegant. He captures environment and atmosphere well…"

Schiller picked up his empty coffee cup and walked to the coffee machine, turning back to say: "Keep reading—you'll find more surprises."

Rich coffee dripped into the cup; the level rose slowly, like Gotham's streets after sunset, again battered by rain.

"Hurry! Get on! We're missing you!" the big sister called out to another child. "Why are you so late? Did you deliver to the wrong place?"

The child scrambled up the truck bed in three strides. "Don't even ask—I had terrible luck today. The guy who ordered the goods changed his mind, so now I have to figure out how to sell them myself."

"Come in, we've boiled water—you can take a bottle to warm your hands." The big sister shoved a plastic water bottle into his hands; it had warped from the heat. The child grinned foolishly and said: "Thanks, but I'm not cold. Give it to the little ones."

Inside the truck bed, two dozen children pressed tightly together—twelve on the left, eleven on the right; nearly everyone was wrapped in blankets, while a few older kids used spare torn quilts and cotton padding to seal gaps around the truck's canopy.

After a while, Bruce climbed up, wrench in hand. "While the rain eased up, I checked the vehicle—the engine's fine, it just won't start. Probably something else. If we fix it today, we can drive to higher ground."

The big sister waved her hand. "That's already good enough. Go check on Jason up front. Take this bottle—he might be cold."

As Bruce took the bottle, the big sister glanced around, then lowered her voice: "If Jason says anything crazy later, don't agree. We can't afford any more trouble."

Bruce didn't know what she meant, but he nodded, took the warm bottle, and walked toward the truck's cab.

The cab, being enclosed and better sealed, was warmer. Bruce laid a blanket between the two seats and had Jason lie down. After climbing in, he tucked the bottle into Jason's blankets and said: "The kids are all settled. Get some sleep—you'll feel better tomorrow."

Jason frowned and shook his head. "No, it's not that simple. Can we fix this truck?"

"Yes, but what do you plan to use it for? Hauling goods? That's tomorrow's problem." Bruce sat beside the driver's seat.

"No—I need it tonight." Jason looked at Bruce. "While the rain's lighter, go fix it. We'll need it tonight."

"Why tonight?" Bruce asked, puzzled. "What do you plan to do with it?"

Jason swallowed hard. "To rescue people nearby—other kids' crew. Cough… This storm's going to be terrible. Basements won't hold. They'll be forced out into the rain—but they can't die…"

Bruce's grip on the steering wheel paused. He looked at Jason, astonished—because he knew how rare it was for a child raised in Gotham's slums to possess such extra kindness.

As he thought this, Jason seemed to read his mind. "No, don't be naive. I'm not kind. In Gotham's gangs, every friendly act is for profit."

He struggled to sit up. "Surviving this rain isn't hard. But we must think beyond it."

"Drainage won't recover quickly. This could turn into a flood like the snowstorm. Transportation will be crippled. People will again rely on kids to deliver goods."

"But the snowstorm came slowly. Most kids anticipated the cold. Most had prepared firewood, could stay indoors, and avoid freezing if they didn't stay out too long at night."

"This storm came too fast. Most weren't prepared. They didn't patch their homes. Other kids' crews didn't get lucky enough to find a truck like ours."

"At night, the rain pours hard. Basements leak badly—they'll be forced onto the streets, soaked. Not everyone catches a cold, but many will fall ill."

"Once they're sick, they lose their ability to work. More people need deliveries, but fewer kids can deliver. That'll cause severe consequences."

"People need supplies—it's a hard demand. But the number of working kids has plummeted. If we can't meet demand, they'll find other ways—no longer relying on us…"

Jason swallowed again. "That's how our hard-won new path collapses."

"They spent years building this habit. If kids become useless, they'll build new systems to replace us…"

Jason took a deep breath. "They'll hire these kids not out of kindness, but because we're useful—cheaper than adults, don't demand high prices, just enough to survive."

"But if we're no longer useful, they'll abandon us. They have other options. We don't."

"So no matter how many conflicts I've had with other kids' crews, I have to save them this time." Jason coughed twice. "Otherwise, even if we survive now, there won't be a tomorrow."

Bruce froze. His gaze at Jason grew distant—he truly couldn't understand how an eleven-year-old could see so clearly the city's human supply chains and economic structures.

"Bruce. I promised to help you, but I'm sorry—you need to help me first. Fix the car quickly and tell them this is my order...," Jason said anxiously. "If we wait any longer, it'll be too late. We must rescue all the children on this street before the flood destroys the local supply chain."

"Bruce. I promised to help you. But right now, you have to help me. Fix the truck fast, then tell them it's my idea…" Jason said anxiously. "If we wait any longer, it'll be too late. We must rescue every child on this street to keep the supply chain from collapsing after the flood."

Bruce reached out and slowly brushed his fingers across Jason's forehead. He paused, then said: "Jason, think carefully. Even if I fix the truck, driving in this weather and terrain will be brutal. Your wounds might reopen…"

"And even this heavy truck doesn't have enough space to take in all of Gotham's kids."

"I know." Jason replied instantly. "Save one street if we can. Save one entire neighborhood. If even part of the supply chain holds, we prove to other areas we're the most reliable."

Bruce's fingers trembled. For the first time, a strange emotion rose in him—he didn't know if it was what people called heartache, but he remembered it for a long time, still vivid when he wrote it down.

Words born of intense emotion always carry unique power. And beyond recording them in the travelogue, one must also express these feelings to the closest person.

"Don't you find it amazing, Selina? I don't know why he can think so far ahead and make such a miraculous decision so decisively. He's truly a genius."

On the roof of Wayne Tower, Batman and Catwoman stood together, watching the sun set. Selina smiled. "You think he's a genius? Then you'll soon learn—Gotham is full of geniuses."

"You were born with endless resources, endless wealth to squander, so of course you don't know how much potential a person can unleash when backed into a corner," Catwoman shrugged. "If you've been pushed to the brink multiple times, even what you couldn't do before, you'll learn to do it."

"You were born with endless resources, endless wealth to waste. So you'll never know how much potential a person can unleash when pushed to the edge." Catwoman shrugged. "If you're pushed to the edge enough times, you'll learn what you didn't know. You'll do what you couldn't."

"You think we're all selfish, evil people. But I must tell you—Gothamites, to survive, show a unity, strength, and sacrifice you can't imagine. We're each other's enemies—and each other's saviors. We see each other as foes, and as kin."

"You must understand, Batman—in the harshest environments, nothing is more reliable than the collective. And gangs? They're simply one form of collective will."

"You think the gangs follow so many rules just to make trouble, as if we should be chaotic and reckless."

Catwoman turned to Bruce. "Gangs don't represent chaos. Quite the opposite—they represent order. Order born of collective consciousness."

"You think gangs follow so many rules because they're pointless, because we should be a lawless mess?"

【55】 "But the truth is the opposite. Gotham gangs are the most orderly, most disciplined gangs in the world—not because we're kindest or most visionary…"

【56】 "But because our conditions are the worst. And only by being the most united can we fight the deepest darkness."