Chapter 842

The veteran employee led a group of chattering children down the corridor, and along the way, Jason realized this place truly resembled a hotel more than an apartment building.

The dark gray floor tiles bore beige patterns; every three meters or so stood a large potted plant, each room had a rug at its door, and every third room had a trash bin beside its entrance.

The ceiling still bore intricate carvings; the lighting was soft, almost dim, yet it added a homely warmth. At the very end of the corridor, the employee pressed a panel beside a door, and a name appeared: "Jason Todd."

Jason stepped forward, grasped the doorknob without hesitation, and with a flash of light and a soft "click," the lock disengaged.

The veteran employee explained: "The door material is highly advanced—no firearm currently known in Gotham can breach it. The windows are the same."

Jason pushed the door open, and the room before him nearly made him cry out in surprise.

It truly resembled a hotel room—a small space barely large enough for a single bed, but along the wall facing the corridor hung a built-in cabinet, above the head of the bed was a painting, and opposite stood a window.

The window wasn't large—about half the length of the bed—but it had a tiny bay window, just wide enough for Jason to sit on.

Looking out, he saw the unrenovated street below and distant construction sites still under transformation; the view stretched far and clear.

"Rooms at the corner have better views," the veteran employee said. "Interior rooms don't have such views, but they're larger—some even have balconies, and all guarantee adequate sunlight."

Many children rushed into the room chattering excitedly; Jason didn't get angry. Instead, Six-Finger, the gang leader, stormed in and shouted: "Out! All of you out! Don't touch anything! You'll break it—and then you'll pay!"

One child touched the soft bedsheet and said: "God, if I slept on this, I'd never want to wake up…"

"This cabinet's pretty big—could hold a lot. But I don't have that much stuff. Should I go out and find more?"

"Look! Look! There's storage under the bed—the bed pulls out! There's space underneath for things…"

"Whoa! You can store stuff behind the painting too!"

The children rummaged through the room like treasure hunters, discovering that though small, it was fully functional—every possible storage spot had been utilized, even the headboard had hidden compartments.

Jason was thrilled too. He clenched his fists and whispered: "The cabinet on the wall can hold books, the space under the bed can hold clothes—no, wait, it might get damp, maybe…"

The veteran employee heard him and smiled: "Don't worry about dampness. The entire building has an intelligent ventilation system that automatically regulates humidity and temperature—no cold, no dampness."

The children erupted in cheers.

Leaving Jason's room, they turned at the end of the corridor and found the space opening up. Jason realized this building was a cylinder, with a hollow central plaza inside—similar in structure to the South Zone of the Living Hell.

When the Living Hell was upgraded with running water, some wells were preserved and turned into recreational plazas. Though small and poorly lit, they at least gave people a place to move freely.

This place was no different. Standing on the footbridge, one could see the small plaza below—paved with tiles, furnished with benches, and equipped with a few exercise machines.

Additionally, every three floors, the structure jutted outward slightly, forming a crescent-shaped balcony for public use. The western side of the building remained unfinished, meant to connect to adjacent structures.

After touring the residential area, all the children visited their assigned rooms. By then, night had fallen, but the tour wasn't over. The veteran employee led them down in an elevator to the building's ground floor.

The floor level with the central plaza was the living center—street vendors, newsstands, and restaurants lined it. Clearly, once tenants moved in, the children could find work here.

Gotham had no scruples about child labor. Many kids already worked in restaurant kitchens or kneaded dough in bakeries. Here, all the conditions for employment existed—even if Gotham's weather was often bad, they could work without stepping outside.

This was Wayne's design philosophy: to fully internalize the human city, merging housing, commerce, and storage within the building itself, then linking communities through interconnected structures.

Thus, nearly limitless expansion became possible. As long as technology supported it, the structure could grow upward or downward, with each section mutually reinforcing the others, all functional zones complementing one another—to transform Gotham into a single, ever-growing tree.

Bruce and Shiler both knew Gotham's rain was problematic. Even without the Court of Owls, the rain here was far from clean, and it contaminated drinking water, polluting groundwater and the ocean.

Once this three-dimensional structure was operational, water purification would become a complete, integrated system, ensuring every resident used only clean water—and thus lowering their chances of going mad.

After touring the ground floor, the veteran employee led the children to the rooftop. The greenery there was incomplete, but hints of a park were already visible.

The employee pointed to the nearby construction site and said: "The building beside this one will be sixteen floors taller. This garden will become its rooftop garden—and yours."

"All plants here will be connected to a drip irrigation system. You won't need to water or maintain them—they'll also supply fresh air."

And the rooftops of the buildings across from you will become shared high-level plazas, compensating for insufficient sunlight within the structure.

As he spoke, a commotion rose from below. They looked down and saw a crowd of gang members gathered around the building.

Some children worriedly said: "Even if they don't come in, if they block off the area and keep all vehicles out, how will we eat?"

"Don't worry. The supply route doesn't use roads. We have one underground passage, and two more under-construction overpasses aligned with the building's fourth floor. Even if they wait there for a year, it won't affect you."

"Current prices here match the outside because the renovation isn't complete. Once all of Gotham's renovations are finished, prices will be intelligently regulated to ensure everyone has sufficient wealth to buy basic necessities."

The children leaned over the railing, murmuring in awe—but soon, they saw the gang members raising their guns toward them.

Some children stepped back in fear, but the veteran employee said: "Don't worry. If they wait outside without firing, we won't fire either. But if they attack the building, the defense system will activate targeting mode—until they're subdued."

The children shuddered, remembering the horrific sight of the gang members before. They realized these weapons only struck limbs, never vital organs—but if a person took four or five shots to their arms or legs, they'd likely die—or if they survived, they'd lose all mobility.

"In the future, the chip markers on your bodies will grant you different access permissions, allowing you to move through designated areas—all controlled by the system, with no human interference…"

"What if I want to move?" one child raised his hand and asked.

"You can apply for a new residence at the sales office downstairs. Any vacant unit is available. But if it's a different model from your current one, you'll need to pay extra or receive compensation."

The children began asking questions all at once, mostly trivial ones: Could they keep flowers? What if the flowers died? Could they keep pets? Who cleaned the bathroom?

Then the veteran employee led them to the leisure area—a large indoor plaza, more like a cafeteria. The serving windows were still empty, but people would soon move in.

Beside the cafeteria was a bathhouse. The entire building had two: one with individual shower stalls, and another for soaking baths. The employee said: "The water here is recycled, so don't worry—but usage is limited. You can't bathe every day, or the recycling system can't keep up."

"But how will they track how often we come?" Jason asked.

"Your marker activates when you enter the building. The system automatically logs your entry time. In summer, once every other day; in winter, once every three days. If you return before the interval, you'll be barred at the door."

The other children didn't care about this. But Jason felt like he was being monitored. Soon, though, he thought: Only I would be this sensitive. The children were ecstatic.

When survival is at stake, no one cares about privacy. Not even if cameras were installed inside the bathhouse—they'd still be happy just to soak in warm water. The rest? Let God worry about it.

But Jason could foresee that once the children adapted to this lifestyle, they'd grow accustomed to this urban model—and to the chip-marked permission system.

Yet he didn't know whether, in the long run, this was a good system. He only knew it was far better than the gang system. At least here, the children could live—and live well.

When night fell, Jason put on his uniform again and went to the unfinished garden on the rooftop. Then he heard a low voice behind him.

"Nice uniform. Did you make it yourself?" Batman asked.

"No, my friend made it for me," Jason said, glancing down at his uniform. "Black uniforms are cool, aren't they?"

"I want to make one for Dick too. But I'd rather he learn to make it himself. Want to learn with him?"

Jason looked up into Batman's eyes and said: "No. I don't want to learn. Because the uniform doesn't matter."

But Batman's eyes grew brighter.