In an underground warehouse in the West End of Metropolis.
Luke Shaw sat on a sofa, eating ice cream and watching the latest reports from Gotham City on TV with great interest.
Under the bright sunshine, countless flyers drifted down like snowflakes.
Citizens chased the "snowflakes" like children seeing snow for the first time.
"This scene, truly beautiful."
Luke sincerely sighed, then turned his attention behind him.
"Mr. Sidney, stop pretending. I know you're awake."
"Since you're awake, it's time to talk business."
Luke dragged a chair over and sat in front of Sidney. He looked him up and down and nearly laughed out loud. Sidney wasn't tall, and with his advanced age, he was gradually developing a portly figure. Hanging from a cross like this, he lacked any of the solemnity of Jesus' Passion and instead gave the impression of a 1930s silent comedy star.
Luke cleared his throat and spoke in a deep tone.
"I hear Mr. Sidney is a devout follower of Judaism. I'm sure you don't mind me binding you this way. Of course, if you feel the form isn't solemn enough, I can strip your clothes and drive iron nails through your wrists and ankles, but that's too bloody, and I personally wouldn't want to."
Sidney opened his bloodshot eyes, glaring at Luke as if to eat him alive.
"Demon! You will go to Hell."
Luke shook his head with a "tsk-tsk." "That's quite incorrect."
"A very important tenet of Judaism is: The Creator rewards those who obey the law and punishes those who trample it. While I am not a Jewish follower, I have never violated this tenet in my seventeen years of life. It's you, Mr. Sidney—murder, rape, molestation of minors, oppression of the innocent, drug smuggling, arms trafficking..."
Crime after crime. With each count, Sidney's cheek twitched. Eventually, he simply closed his eyes, refusing to hear, see, or ask.
Luke chuckled, his face showing undisguised mockery.
"You, a devout follower? If God knew he had a follower like you, he'd be so angry."
"You..."
Sidney's eyes widened. He struggled desperately, but no matter how hard he tried, the chains binding his hands and feet wouldn't budge. Instead, he was left breathless. From last night until now, he had been beaten by Batman, hit by Luke's car, and then hung on a cross for hours. His body was completely exhausted.
"Alright, stop the charade. You don't believe in God; you only believe in money."
"Let's be realistic. Tell me, how much is your life worth?"
Sidney spat. "Yellow dog, I won't give you a single penny."
"Good! That's spirit!"
Luke held up his hand delicately and said with a smile, "I like people like you."
With that, he picked up a dagger from the table.
The steel dagger reflected a blinding glare under the light. As the blade approached his neck, Sidney couldn't help but roar,
"What are you doing! Don't come closer! Go!"
Luke sighed. "Mr. Sidney, you are supposedly a figure of some importance in Gotham City. Have some integrity, please. Don't make me look down on you."
"Don't worry, this is my first time personally killing someone. I won't make it too messy. I'll give you a warm and painless death, guaranteed to satisfy you. Remember to give a five-star review."
The dagger sliced through the air, drawing two lines across Sidney's wrists. Blood flowed down his skin, drop by drop, splashing into a copper basin with a rhythmic sound.
Despair flashed in Sidney's eyes. He tried to beg for mercy several times but held back, finally lowering his head and remaining silent.
Luke wiped the blood from the blade and said flatly,
"A normal person takes about an hour to die from this kind of self-inflicted wrist injury. I don't have that much patience, so I slit both your wrists. Combined with the injuries to your shoulder, abdomen, and chest, you have a maximum of twenty-five minutes."
Luke took out a prepared alarm clock.
"It's 8:13 AM now. I'll be back at 8:30 AM for your last chance."
With that, he set down the clock and turned to leave. At the door, he looked back.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you something. I already know about the phone call you made to your son. I believe it won't be long before Falcone finds them. Have fun, you and your family, in Hell."
Luke gave a slight nod. With Sidney's desperate eyes fixed on him, he closed the iron door and vanished.
Chaos at City Hall
Despite all the preparations Mayor Martin Jessie had made, fear uncontrollably surged when he stepped out of City Hall.
There were too many people!
The entire Central Plaza, a fourteen-hectare space, was packed.
A dark, dense mass of people, too numerous to count at a glance.
The crowd gathered without much shouting or noise. A large majority simply stood there, calmly staring ahead.
Normally, Martin Jessie would have gladly showcased his oratorical skills to such a large audience, but today was different. He felt pure terror. Those eyes looked like blood demons escaped from Hell, ready to devour him, flesh and blood.
His assistant reminded him, "Sir, we can't delay any longer."
Martin snapped back to reality, braced himself, and walked up to the microphone. He habitually cleared his throat, but just as he was about to speak, an unidentified object flew out of the crowd.
The projectile grazed the podium and landed on the steps.
It was a hamburger wrapped in a flyer. Under the harsh sunlight, the text, obscured by grease and condiments, was particularly glaring.
A reporter burst through the police line and shouted a question:
"Mr. Mayor, are the flyers true? Did you really accept a bribe from Falcone?"
Once one person broke the ice, the other reporters weren't to be outdone. Using their paparazzi skills, they broke through the police blockade, and over a dozen microphones were thrust into Martin Jessie's face.
"Mr. Mayor, on April 8th, you attended a charity gala at the Mossack Hotel. Falcone was also present. The next day, you received a bribe of $2.76 million. Through what channel did this money reach you? Was it Central Bank?"
"Mr. Mayor, Precinct Chief James Colvin was promoted by you, and now he stands accused of taking bribes. How do you explain this?"
"Mr. Mayor, please answer my question!"
"Mr. Mayor..."
Martin Jessie felt a thousand mosquitoes buzzing in his ears. He couldn't hear what they were saying, nor did he want to. Seeing that the situation was on the verge of spiraling out of control, he frantically motioned to the police to push the reporters away.
In the past, the reporters would have retreated. But not now. That flyer exposed the dark underbelly of Gotham. The police were no longer perceived as the embodiment of justice, but as a swarm of corrupt parasites who took bribes.
And parasites should be killed!
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