Wonder Woman, who had been transformed into a little pig, was happily eating leftovers from a garbage can when someone suddenly picked her up. Looking up, she saw a bearded man staring at her.
"Huh? Why doesn't this pig have a brand?" The truck driver examined the strange little pig curiously and muttered to himself. "Is it a sow?"
The head chef snorted, his expression darkening as he spoke.
"It's not yours, so you're claiming it escaped from our kitchen? Don't you dare tarnish the reputation of the Zeus Hotel! We don't slaughter live animals here, and we certainly don't keep pets. If you don't believe me, go ahead and look for yourself! Why don't you come inside and search the place?"
Seeing the head chef lose his temper, the truck driver no longer dared to enter and investigate.
The Zeus Hotel was one of the most famous establishments in Gotham City, and its owner, Maxie Zeus, was an extremely influential figure. The hotel's daily meat purchases represented the largest orders their factory received.
Left with no other choice, the workers could only vent their frustration. They tossed the pink pig into the back of the truck, slammed the door shut with a loud bang, and prepared to head home.
Just as the truck driver pulled over near the entrance to a side road, Constantine was examining a street sign. Seeing the man approaching, he casually called out.
"Hey! I'm a police officer. Have you seen a pig around here?"
The truck driver was already seething with resentment. When he realized that the man standing before him was yet another police officer, his anger immediately erupted. He spat directly at Constantine.
"Pig! Pig! Pig! What the hell is it with these pigs? You've got time to run around the entire city chasing pigs, but you can't be bothered to investigate the explosion site? Damn cops!"
With that, he climbed into his truck and drove away, completely ignoring Constantine's frown.
Constantine was left standing there, utterly bewildered, with saliva splattered across his face.
"What the hell? Did that bastard swallow a stick of dynamite? I was just asking a question! Was there really any need to get so worked up?"
While the truck carrying the miraculous little pig headed toward a nearby village, Karl was busy preparing his own plan.
As the most powerful figure in Arkham County, any order he gave would naturally be carried out by his subordinates.
Sure enough, in just half a day, most of the industry's leading executives had already been rounded up and brought to this location.
These men, who normally appeared in immaculate suits and carried themselves with an air of superiority, were now being dragged out of the vans outside like dead pigs.
They struggled desperately on the filthy ground, which was covered in grime and wastewater, before being hoisted onto the racks with iron chains.
Hanging there, they looked no different from the rows of cold, lifeless pig carcasses surrounding them.
"Is everyone here?" Karl asked quietly, sitting in a nearby chair.
The smell in this place was truly unbearable.
The stench of frozen meat, combined with the filthy atmosphere of the slaughterhouse, made him unwilling to remain there any longer than necessary.
"That's right. Of the sixteen TVU affiliates, we've managed to bring in nine. These are the people who were most strongly opposed to allowing you to attend the meeting in the first place."
Edward Nygma glanced at the documents in his hands and answered in an equally quiet voice.
By this point, the television moguls hanging in handcuffs had begun waking up one after another.
After all, when someone was suspended upside down, with blood constantly rushing toward their head, it was extremely difficult to remain unconscious.
These men had experienced their fair share of hardships. When they realized the situation they were in, they remained silent instead of opening their mouths and screaming like characters from some cartoon.
"Karl, so it really is you!" one of the television moguls finally summoned the courage to speak. "Let us out of here! You do realize that what you're doing is illegal, don't you?"
"Of course! You're absolutely right! I'm perfectly aware of that. After all, I'm a police chief myself."
Karl smiled as he continued.
"If necessary, I'll even write a letter of commendation to the officers who eventually rescue you. That is, assuming the kidnappers here don't accidentally kill you before those officers arrive!"
The television moguls immediately flushed with embarrassment.
The Gotham City Police Department was notoriously strict about jurisdiction. Aside from officers assigned to headquarters, it was extremely difficult for police officers from one county to investigate cases in another district.
There was no need to guess where they were currently being held. They were obviously somewhere in Arkham.
In other words, unless Karl personally gave his approval, there was practically no chance of any police officers being dispatched to rescue them.
"Hey, Karl! I know why you're doing this."
Another television mogul spoke in the gentlest tone he could manage.
"But the main reason we refused to let you host Gotham's Got Talent was that you simply weren't qualified. There are also issues involving professional standards, funding, and other considerations. Leaving the program in our hands is undoubtedly the best arrangement—"
At that moment, the television mogul seemed to notice the displeased expression spreading across Karl's face.
He hurriedly changed the subject, his voice growing increasingly serious.
"It's our tradition! Our established procedures simply don't allow us to do things your way. That's how we've always operated. These methods are meant to... guarantee that we produce the very best programs for the people of Gotham City..."
Hearing this, Karl burst into laughter.
He slowly lowered himself into a crouch and addressed the man, whose expression had already changed dramatically, in an unusually serious tone.
"Tradition? Well said! I'm a man who respects tradition."
"For example, in one of the industries I'm involved in, whenever I encounter arrogant, self-important fools like you, I have a particular tradition I enjoy following."
"I like to bring them to a place like this, gag their mouths, and throw them straight into a meat grinder."
"Then I watch as their bodies are ground into minced meat alongside the pigs, cattle, and sheep."
"Finally, their remains are packed into coffins no bigger than tins of canned herring and shipped off to be stuffed into the mouths of thousands upon thousands of families."
"Straight into the stomachs of countless households!"
The television moguls remained completely silent.
Karl was not only the chief of a Gotham police district but also one of the most important figures in the criminal underworld.
In particular, ever since he had driven Carmine Falcone out of power, his influence had reached unprecedented heights.
Even the Mafia had not dared to make a move against him for quite some time.
"Although lately, I've been reluctant to have people running their mouths around here. After all, aside from polluting the environment, it would also affect the canned beef produced by our meatpacking plant—"
(End of Chapter)
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