When the Gotham police arrived and forced open the casino doors, thick streams of blood mixed with internal organs and filth flowed out into the street.
The strong smell of blood was so overwhelming that even Gordon, a veteran officer, couldn’t help but cover his nose and frown.
Gordon moved cautiously along the corner of the venue, while his old partner Harvey Bullock stepped right into a sticky pool of blood and lit a cigar in the center of the casino.
“Be careful not to disturb the evidence left by the attacker .” “Come on, Gordon!
Clues are everywhere here.
This guy didn’t even bother hiding his identity.” Bullock took a heavy drag, unconcerned, and flashed a smirk with his smoke-stained teeth.
He picked up a playing card from the floor.
The card was as if dipped in a bucket of glue.
He struggled a bit to peel it off, and dark red, sticky blood stretched across its surface before snapping back to the ground with a “plop”.
“Lucky; it’s an ace.
If I were you, I’d raise the bet.” He whistled, glancing down at the pitiful corpse torn open from shoulder to hip, surrounded by casino chips.
*A lucky gambler, an unlucky man.* Shifting his gaze back to the playing card, he carefully plucked a hair from it.
The hair was thick and stiff, like boar bristle.
After handing the clue to the forensic technician, Bullock exhaled smoke, removed his grimy felt bowler hat, and shouted at Gordon.
“Hey, partner, found anything?” “Yes, a massive print!” Gordon was examining the claw marks on the wall.
The marks were spaced about ten centimeters apart, finer and shallower at the bottom, shorter and thicker at the top.
Typical primate scratch patterns.
Gordon gestured with his hand, estimating that if it were a human palm, the attacker’s hand would be at least as large as a car tire.
*The killer possessed enough raw strength capable of tearing a person apart, along with a pair of large, hairy hands.
Bigfoot?* Gordon’s heart skipped a beat.
Harvey chimed in loudly.
“You know, there’s a new guy transferred from New York to replace the district attorney who was assassinated by the mob last week.
Name is something like Dent…
oh right!
Same name as me, Harvey Dent!” “Heard he just graduated a couple of years ago, but he is tough and stubborn.
Sent quite a few wealthy businessmen and politicians in New York to prison.” “Why are you telling me this?” Gordon frowned slightly and shook his head.
Even though he was known as the “clean cop” in Gotham’s police force, over decades of work he had learned when to look away and when to keep his mouth shut.
To protect his daughter Barbara, he had been forced to become the kind of person he despised.
*If Harvey Dent is truly as straight as the rumors say, he won’t last long in Gotham.* Bullock kept rambling: “Commissioner Loeb just called me.
Said we have to solve this case before he arrives; can’t let the New York kid look down on us.” “Look down on us?
The Gotham Police Department is already a joke in New Jersey!” Gordon snorted, his mustache twitching.
He knew this was just Loeb’s excuse.
In reality, he didn’t want Harvey Dent meddling in cases related to Maroni.
*If Harvey Dent goes along with the corruption, he’ll demand a piece of Loeb’s pie.
But if he stands firm, he’ll ruin his cash flow.
Either way, it is bad news for Loeb.* “Hey!
Over here, check this out!” A rookie poked his head around the corner of the hallway, waving the two veterans over.
The two followed and saw that the restroom looked as if it had been dug up by a giant groundhog, with dirt and remains everywhere.
The officer pointed at the large hole in the center and said: “I think those strange creatures crawled out from the Gotham sewers.
Should we send someone down to search?
There might be more clues.” Gordon and Bullock exchanged a knowing smile.
“Want to take a look?” “Sure Jim, but let me make this clear; if we run into any monsters, I’m running first.” …
Oswald woke up, trembling as he pushed himself up and leaned against the wall, vomiting clear fluid.
“Vin, where are we…
Where’s that woman?” “She got away.
You didn’t expect me to catch her alone, did you?” Vincent scratched his nose, avoiding eye contact.
Just a minute ago, Catwoman had been questioning Vincent relentlessly.
*Judging by her stubborn attitude, if I don’t give her a proper explanation, she’ll probably toss and turn all night, unable to sleep.* It wasn’t until Oswald showed signs of waking that the young woman gave up and left.
“Weren’t we inside the casino?
How did we end up outside?” Oswald’s memory started to return, and he finally sensed something was off.
“Ah…
yeah…
about that…
wait!
Don’t you remember?
You ran out with me to chase her.
I thought you seemed strange; turned out you were already unconscious?” Oswald blinked, his handsome face filled with suspicion.
*My lie is clumsy at best, but Oswald can’t possibly guess that I conspired with Catwoman to get him out.* After exchanging a few more words, Vincent estimated that the massacre must have ended and suggested heading back to the casino.
Before they could step out of the alley, several massive figures emerged from the back, completely blocking their path.
Backlit by the streetlights, Oswald couldn’t see their faces, but the intense murderous intent rolling off them was unmistakable.
“Get behind me!” He shielded Vincent behind him, drawing a knife from behind his belt.
“You’ve made a big mistake messing with the Roman.
Are you prepared to be hunted across the entire city?” But the response left Oswald stunned.
“What are you talking about?
The boss sent us.” Oswald lowered his knife.
In Gotham, the title “boss” usually referred to Mr.
Maroni.
But for Maroni to send people after them so quickly meant something big happened.
He stepped closer for a better look and realized it was Mr.
Maroni’s personal bodyguard team.
These guys were products of Blackgate Penitentiary, explaining the brutal violence rolling off them.
Yet they usually stuck to Maroni’s side like shadows, never leaving his presence.
Today was clearly an exception.
“Right, well, you guys clearly have family business to attend to.
I’ll just take off and stay out of your way!” Seeing the situation turn south, Vincent tried to slip away, but the alley’s exit was also blocked.
With the cold, dark barrel of a rifle pressed against his forehead, he had no choice but to raise his hands in immediate surrender.
A thick burlap hood was shoved over his head, and Vincent was forced into a vehicle with his arms twisted behind his back.
Blinded and restrained, he began to panic.
*Whether in movies or comics, Maroni is little more than a tool among Gotham’s many villains.
Aside from serving as cannon fodder for third-party forces, his only notable achievement is throwing acid in Harvey Dent’s face, leading to the birth of Two-Face.* *But all of that is just the perspective of a billionaire vigilante like Batman.
In the eyes of an ordinary person like me, the title of the second-in-command of the Roman Empire, who holds immense power in Gotham, is enough to make one’s teeth chatter in fear.
Not to mention, this man was born with a cold-blooded and cruel nature ingrained in his very bones.
He is a tyrant who treats human lives as worthless as weeds.* *Whenever his subordinates make a mistake, they face brutal punishments like having their hands or feet severed.* *Now, consider what Oswald and I have done.
We claimed to be chasing a thief, but we haven’t caught anyone.
Maroni will surely think we abandoned our duties and fled the scene.* *For a crime like this, I don’t even dare to imagine what fate awaits me.* The car stopped, and the two blindfolded men were led through a winding path.
After what felt like an eternity, they heard the sound of a door opening, and Vincent’s hood was roughly pulled off.
They found themselves in a dim, empty study.
On the left stood a tall, built-in bookshelf filled with an array of books, while on the right, there was only a spacious wooden desk.
On the desk’s ashtray rested a half-smoked cigar.
“Vin…
we are dead men.” Oswald licked his chapped lips, his voice trembling as if a large hand were squeezing his throat.
He recognized this place.
Three years ago, he had first met Mr.
Maroni within these exact walls.
Back then, Maroni had picked up an ashtray and smashed some poor soul’s skull to pieces.
Vincent remained silent.
From the moment he escaped the casino, the subsequent events of the comic had already unfolded.
*Now, I am sitting under the light, desperately flipping through the pages of the comic, searching for clues that can help me survive.* The ink on the page was still drying, spelling out their coming execution.