"Follow us," Shiller said.
"I don't have much meat on me," Little Jack shook his head and said, "The guy inside just died, but he was a drug user, so I guess you won't take him. If you really want someone, I can take you to find a healthy one. I'm local here, I know the area well."
Shiller was somewhat interested and said, "Do you know what we're doing?"
"You're a dirty cop, this guy should be a big boss, and that one... a poor unlucky guy. This combination is a bit weird, but no matter what you are, you come to the slum for two things: hookers and human meat. That guy just said he's an orphanage director, so he's probably here for the hookers, and naturally, you're here for the human meat."
Charles thought the talk about hookers and human meat was some kind of code, but Erik whispered something in his ear, and Charles's face immediately turned very unpleasant, almost vomiting.
Shiller obviously knew what he meant too. Slums are like this everywhere; upper-class people come here to pick people, but for what can you guess? Regardless of wealth, anyone can hit the genetic lottery in terms of appearance, and organs don't discriminate. The densely populated slums are the most stable supply channels for these two things; if you happen to get some good stuff, you'll make a fortune. Even if not, they don't lose anything. Everyone who seems important comes here for these two things.
"Follow us," Shiller repeated.
"You have a gun, I'll listen," Little Jack said and then followed Shiller without much care.
Charles wanted to struggle a bit more. He took a step forward, but Erik stopped him. Erik shook his head towards him, and they both looked at Doctor Strange's body on the ground.
Erik walked over, turned Doctor Strange's body over, and pulled open the clothes around the wound, and his face immediately darkened.
A first-time killer could never hit the heart with a pike so precisely. This kind of neat and quick method requires at least dozens or hundreds of practices. This guy is too dangerous.
Charles felt a chill down his back too. He looked at the small house again and suddenly realized they might have been deceived from the start; there wasn't a single truth from this kid's mouth.
That man wasn't his father, and this place wasn't their home. It was just a location Little Jack had chosen for his crimes.
Because the man lying dead in the house was over 1.9 meters tall and weighed over 180 pounds. This house was built by himself, but the door was extremely small, and anyone 1.8 meters tall had to shrink their body and lower their head to pass through. Someone over 1.9 meters walking every day like that, wouldn't he be exhausted?
If he built the house himself, he could have made the door bigger. The doors of the neighboring houses also varied in size, clearly customized based on their owner's body size, indicating this couldn't be the dead man's dwelling.
As for the fact this man wasn't Little Jack's father, Arkham Batman inferred. He said, "In the slums, kids almost never live with their fathers. Here, what provides the most stable birth rate is the prostitutes. You can't expect a customer to bring a child; those who bring children are usually the soft-hearted or those who couldn't abort successfully. Moreover, that guy has a long history of drug abuse, and long-term use of MDMA significantly reduces sperm activity until completely infertile. He probably lost his ability to reproduce at least 10 to 15 years ago, so it doesn't match up with Joker's age."
"He could use drugs for 15 years," Constantine's sigh was somewhat misplaced. "And I only smoked for over ten years before getting lung cancer."
"The constitution of Gothamites can't be compared, their drug resistance is much stronger than those of other cities. That guy seems more like a retired mob enforcer, having such a robust body to be an enforcer when he was younger meant better drug tolerance," Arkham Batman said.
"So I should have smoked in Gotham?"
"Once you're in Gotham, the cigarette smokes you."
Soon, it was pitch dark again, marking the scene's close. The score now stood at 2:1, yet it wasn't truly leading since the scene was their dream again, and naturally, they had the advantage.
Shiller also reviewed and summed up this victory: Mainly because Charles's side didn't understand Gotham. Any child who grows up to seven or eight years old in Gotham isn't an easy character. This isn't solely about the slums; upper-class society is included too. Gotham's upper-class dangers are not insignificant, haven't you seen Bruce Wayne nearly getting shot?
Aside from Gotham Rainwater's drug levels, every person is a drug-resistant warrior. Anyone with a weaker constitution or less tolerance simply doesn't live long, and those who survive will be affected to the point of madness. If you wish to find pure and adorable children, you can only go next door to Metropolis; Gotham has none.
And someone like Jack, born and raised in the slum, aside from being thin, has no major ailments and can even muster the strength to kill a retired mob enforcer and execute Doctor Strange with precision. His only weakness could be that he hasn't grown wings to fly.
Put it this way, if Batman and Joker's vendetta started in their childhood, Joker could beat Batman to a pulp. It's like an experiment-raised bacteria placed in a pot of moldy food, getting smacked around every step of the way.
Charles should never have claimed to be an orphanage director. For most orphans worldwide, meeting an orphanage director is indeed good news, but only in Gotham, where 90% of orphanages engage in human trafficking, the rest in organ selling; the orphanage director is practically East drinking with King Yan, West playing cards with God of Death. If Gotham had an Investiture of the Gods, his status would be equivalent to Hades.
However, for Gotham orphans, being sold in human trafficking may be seen as positive, at least offering a way up. However, Joker isn't your average kid, troubled by his rebellious nature without a place to unfold. The slum isn't his cage; it's his stage. His childhood there might have been happier than Bruce Wayne's. You try to take him away, and he's naturally reluctant.
"But, why would that be a nightmare for you?" Shiller asked.
Jack showed a disdainful expression, "That was my most embarrassing moment. He vomited too early, and I didn't have time to dodge, it sprayed all over me. Thinking back now makes me sick, ugh..."
As the darkness dissipated, the next dream began to appear before the group. First came a burst of blinding light, and then, with a loud "bang," a car spun and flew out and started to smoke slowly, leaving the silhouette behind the wheel life or death uncertain.