In this godforsaken place called Gotham, there has never been true light. Harvey Dent, who aspired to become Gotham's White Knight, failed and fell to become Two-Face. Even Batman can only become the Dark Knight, fighting darkness with darkness.
The Gotham Police Department had been corrupted by the city's criminal underworld countless years ago, becoming both a shield and collaborator for criminals.
"So, you're saying that with Chidi Cole dead, we've lost our protection, and might even have to face pressure from both the Two-Face Gang and the Gotham Police?"
Hardy rested his chin on his hand, his eyes thoughtful.
"Well…"
"Forget it, I'll handle these issues. Just tell me the current situation of the gang."
"Boss Watt, let me explain! I used to handle the accounts for old Chidi—well, for Chidi. Right now, besides this factory on the edge of the old industrial district, our gang controls the whole of Hogg Street."
A middle-aged white man with glasses gave Hardy a fawning smile, then pulled a small notebook from his back pocket, wet his finger, and flipped it open as he spoke:
"Every household on the street pays us three hundred dollars a month in protection fees. We take half the profits from six shops, plus there's a department store and a used motorcycle shop. Over the past year, these have brought us more than fifty thousand dollars in income every month."
"But half of that goes to the Two-Face Gang. Of the remainder, Chidi Cole would take half, and what's left is barely enough for the brothers to get by—certainly not enough to live it up. So the guys usually pick up some side jobs, like manual labor or working security for people."
"As for weapons, we have seven handguns, all second-hand, with about a hundred rounds of ammo left. No other firearms. But the motorcycles from the used bike shop are at our disposal. The rest of the weapons are just baseball bats and crowbars…"
Hardy couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.
This Cole Gang was really dirt poor.
And this was still the best-equipped small gang he'd found in Gotham's slums.
Now it seemed their "good foundation" was only because they had the Two-Face Gang backing them.
After Chidi Cole and his brother Keman Cole took their cut, the thirty-odd members were left with only three or four hundred dollars each.
How is that enough to live on in Gotham?
But being part of the Cole Gang at least meant you wouldn't be bullied so easily in the slums—and you could bully the civilians instead.
In Gotham, three or four hundred bucks a month was practically slave wages.
But if you saw that as a base salary and added in odd jobs—manual labor, security, or petty theft and robbery in the alleys—then these thugs could actually make enough to indulge themselves.
"I see. The Cole brothers took over ten grand a month, so Chidi Cole must have quite a stash. Take us to it."
Hardy waved at the fawning middle-aged man.
"Uh… Boss Watt, I did handle Chidi's accounts, but…"
"You think I believe that?"
Hardy stared at the bespectacled man.
"Sorry, Boss Watt, I really don't know. But Chidi did have a room here that no one else was allowed to enter—only he and his brother had keys."
The middle-aged man grinned apologetically.
At the same time, his gaze drifted to the bloody, mangled mess on the floor.
The keys were probably no longer usable.
"Lead the way."
Hardy stood up from his chair, hands clasped behind his back. With a flick of his finger, he summoned Black Gold to his side.
"Heh, sure thing, Boss Watt. My name's Dura—Dura Bent. Graduated from Gotham Grady Church University with a degree in accounting. A few years back I did time for cooking the books at my company. My wife and kid left, I went bankrupt, so I ended up here to make a living…"
"No worries. Doing time means you've completed your accounting internship. I think you have a bright future as Gotham's top accountant."
"Boss, I'm Ang. I fix bikes—the used motorcycle shop is my responsibility…"
"Boss Watt, I'm Frank…"
…
Along the way, the gangsters scrambled to introduce themselves, hoping to leave an impression on Hardy.
Just seeing the imposing Black Gold, anyone could tell that Gotham was about to see the rise of another powerful supervillain. This gang's future clearly outshone the other small-time crews.
If they could curry favor with the new boss now, maybe they could become successful crime bosses themselves one day.
"Boom!"
The door to Chidi Cole's room was smashed open by Black Gold's pneumatic punch.
"Search."
Hardy ordered calmly.
"Yes, sir!"
"Right away, boss!"
"On it!"
…
The thugs began searching the room in a noisy scramble.
"Boss, want to take a seat?"
A blond thug dragged a chair over and placed it behind Hardy.
"Boss, let me massage your legs!"
"Boss Watt! I'll rub your shoulders!"
…
"Get to work. Following orders is more important than sucking up to me."
Hardy kicked the chair aside, his voice cold.
They were all streetwise, aggressive punks—no way they could be as disciplined as ninjas or soldiers.
But instilling discipline was the best way to improve a ragtag group's combat effectiveness.
If Hardy wanted to become a crime lord in Gotham, he had to start cultivating obedient subordinates now.
As it turned out, these bottom-rung Gotham thugs were nowhere near as capable as the high-level talent in Arkham—they couldn't even search a room properly.
By dusk, after a whole afternoon's effort, they still hadn't found a cent.
"Turn on the lights and keep searching."
Hardy sat on Heijin's shoulders, looking down at the room from above.
He had been observing all along.
Most parts of the room had already been searched; the remaining places didn't look like they could hide money, nor did they seem suitable for setting up traps.
The accountant, Dura, hurriedly pressed the light switch, only to find that the light didn't turn on.
"Boss! I know how to fix lightbulbs! Give me a few minutes, I'll have it working right away!"
A thug with brightly dyed, multicolored hair raised his hand and shouted.
"Go."
Hardy decided that if they still couldn't find anything within half an hour, he'd just have Heijin tear the place apart.
Soon, a subordinate brought over a stepladder and helped the colorful-haired thug climb up to fix the bulb.
As the bulb's base was twisted around once, before the bulb could be removed, the ceiling panel next to it loosened, revealing a gap.
Hardy's eyes flashed. He ordered, "Stop for now."
He then gathered chakra at his feet, walked up the wall, and hung upside down, moving toward the ceiling panel.
The thugs stared in astonishment, and the guy fixing the bulb nearly fell off the ladder.