When the reputation of the police falls to rock bottom, they are indistinguishable from the mob.
The angry reporters didn't care about the police's shields or batons. They pushed, they kicked, and they used every trick in the book.
An old reporter who covered criminal cases pointed directly at Sergeant Quincy's nose and demanded loudly, "As a police officer, why are you taking money from a gang? Are you Falcone's running dogs?"
At that single question, the surrounding police officers' faces instantly changed.
There were parasites in the force, but not every officer was a criminal; there were good people among them.
Sergeant Quincy wanted to defend himself, but noticing the Mayor's demanding stare, he had no choice but to swallow his frustration and order his men to drive the reporters back.
The more they pushed, the more the reporters resisted. Pushing and shoving turned the scene into utter chaos.
This chaos soon affected the citizens in the plaza. Many didn't fully believe the flyers and had only come for an explanation. Unfortunately, the Mayor couldn't even provide the most basic one.
Patience was depleted, and anger piled up.
Someone in the crowd finally roared,
"Kill Martin Jessie!"
The crowd began to move, surging toward the City Hall building like a tide.
Martin Jessie's face went ghostly pale. His mind was blank; he couldn't think of anything. Only one thought remained in his panicked mind: Run!
He had to hide and couldn't fall into their hands.
He pushed his assistant away, shouting orders for the police to stop the rioters while scrambling into the City Hall building without looking back.
Seeing this, the police were immediately stunned.
The commander had fled before the fight even began. What was the point of fighting now?
Morale plummeted.
There were easily tens of thousands of people in the plaza, and only a few dozen police officers maintaining order. Dozens against tens of thousands—they weren't muscle-bound strongmen. What could they do? They couldn't exactly open fire with a Gatling gun!
The situation was completely out of control.
The number of citizens was too great for the police to resist. To prevent his men from being beaten to death by the mob, Quincy was forced to order the police line dissolved. The officers grouped together in a tight circle, trying their best to protect themselves.
Even so, they were subjected to frantic attacks from the citizens. One officer stumbled backward and fell to the ground. The next second, he was dragged into the crowd and never emerged.
Quincy began to show fear. It wasn't just him; all the surrounding officers felt it. This was different from past protests. The citizens, overwhelmed by fury, didn't want answers; they wanted lives—the lives of the police and the government.
"Forget it! Retreat! Everyone retreat!"
Quincy shouted, signaling his men to abandon the scene. As for the Mayor and City Hall, he could only offer a mental apology. Everyone's life was at stake; no one's was more valuable than another's.
As the police retreated, the situation descended into complete anarchy.
The enraged citizens stormed into City Hall, searching room by room. Any employee wearing a uniform, guilty or innocent, was immediately rounded up.
One newly hired City Hall employee was cornered. When confronted, he could only frantically clutch his head, begging them not to hurt him.
This scene played out in many places. The situation was escalating rapidly into something terrifying. If no one intervened, a human tragedy was inevitable.
The Confessions
Just then, two gunshots rang out in the crowd.
An elderly man with a large beard, a military cap, and sunglasses stood on a table and shouted,
"We are here to demand answers, not to kill people! Follow the flyers, and do not harm the innocent!"
At his words, the crowd calmed slightly.
The cornered employees seized the chance to ease the situation, swearing they had not taken bribes and were just ordinary people oppressed like the citizens. They offered to help the citizens find the Mayor.
This suggestion was met with loud cheers.
With "insiders" leading the way, Martin Jessie and the other corrupt government officials hiding in secret rooms were quickly dragged out. City Hall was left a wreck, with many valuable objects and confidential files missing.
The citizens marched the Mayor and his "accomplices" like prisoners to the fountain in Central Plaza.
Facing countless angry eyes, Martin Jessie experienced unprecedented terror. Overwhelmed, he simply fainted.
His collapse didn't matter, but the people next to him became scapegoats.
Few people can face death without fear.
To avoid being torn apart by the furious mob, the Mayor's assistant spilled everything he knew. As one shocking piece of inside information after another was revealed, the air fell into a deadly silence.
Many citizens who hadn't believed the flyers were now silent. They had never imagined their city was so dark, or that their Mayor had been installed by a crime boss.
In the crowd, the bearded man with the military cap and sunglasses let out a long sigh: The young master was right. Gotham needs change, a thorough, top-to-bottom transformation.
With the assistant's confession, the other officials dared not stay silent. They rushed to plead their case, detailing how dominant Falcone was, how he forced good people into crime, and how he coerced them using various methods, including threatening their families. They swore before God they would testify in court against Falcone's crimes, asking only that the citizens not harm them.
Someone recorded this scene and posted it on ShowMe.
Instantly, all 50 states of America exploded.
The video spread at an unimaginable speed. In just a few minutes, view counts surpassed half a million.
Major news outlets followed suit. CBS, NBC, and ABC interrupted their programming to dedicate full coverage to the news out of Gotham City.
As Gotham's darkness was exposed, another terrifying fact surfaced.
People cross-referenced the officials' testimonies and realized that the account numbers, dates, locations, and monetary amounts on the flyers were all correct. The content was true. Not just the Mayor, but the City Council President, the Chief Justice, the District Attorney, and a large number of police and lawyers were all Falcone's lackeys.
The initial anger instantly boiled over again.
The crowd automatically split into several groups: some charged toward the courthouse, some toward the police headquarters, and another group remained in Central Plaza, guarding Martin Jessie and the government parasites.
At the Mossack Hotel, Falcone, having watched the TV reports, slumped in his chair. His right hand trembled uncontrollably, and his face twitched.
He cursed Martin Jessie countless times in his mind.
That useless idiot! He couldn't even handle this small matter. Why doesn't he just die?
I must have been blind to choose such an imbecile for mayor. (Of course, he forgot that he had chosen Martin Jessie precisely because he was timid, spineless, and, despite his smooth talk, utterly useless—the best kind of person to control, unlike other politicians who, once in power, try to whitewash their past.)
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