The Gotham rain pelted against the black umbrella, droplets converging along the ribs before falling into oily puddles on the asphalt road.
William walked within the shadows of Lake Street.
Thirty meters ahead, Selina moved through the curtain of rain.
Watching the ‘Little Wildcat’s’ awkward running posture, born of extreme anxiety for her younger sister, William felt a sliver of warmth in this gloomy, cold, and predatory city of Gotham.
Speaking of which, when he brought the chatterbox and friendly neighborhood attributes of Peter Parker, Spider-Man, to Gotham, the city would surely be turned upside down.
It would be fun then.
What kind of wonderful chemical reactions would occur when Bruce met the little spider?
He wouldn’t try to recruit the little spider as Robin, would he?
William let his imagination run wild while quietly following Selina.
Selina clutched the spray bottle that could save her sister’s life.
Her racing heart interfered with her judgment as she moved in a straight line toward St.
Marys Convent on the edge of the East District.
She had completely abandoned her defenses.
After William integrated ‘Master-level Combat,’ the inherent stealth and counter-reconnaissance instincts were activated.
The rhythm of his leather shoes stepping on puddles synchronized perfectly with the frequency of the falling rain.
The sound of his footsteps was perfectly stripped away from the night.
He knew the nature of Gotham’s low-level gangs well.
A lone wolf like Selina would eventually run into fatal trouble, and this was the perfect opportunity for him to show favor, recruit her, and obtain the System’s storage ring.
The outer wall of St.
Marys Convent appeared in his field of vision.
This Victorian-era building was in shambles; the ivy on the outer walls had long since withered, leaving only shriveled vines clinging to the blackened brick crevices.
Selina kicked off the wall and lightly flipped over the rusted iron fence.
Her landing was standard, with knees bent to absorb most of the impact.
Half a second later, her figure froze.
The wooden door in the backyard, which leaked air year-round, had been brutally kicked into splinters.
Wood shards were stuck in the mud.
Messy footprints from combat boots remained on the ground, with deep treads belonging to heavy tactical boots.
Intruders had broken in.
William stood in the blind spot of a streetlight across the street, the brim of his umbrella lowered.
The rain masked most odors, but the breeze still carried a hint of the sour stench of low-grade tobacco mixed with engine oil.
This was the characteristic body odor of the lowest-level thugs in the East District.
Gotham’s criminal ecology had an extremely strict hierarchy.
At the top of the food chain were traditional mafiosos like Falcone and Maroni, who controlled the ports, drugs, and politicians;
The middle layer consisted of various organized gangs responsible for collecting protection money and running underground casinos;
The footprints on the ground were disorganized with varying strides, indicating the intruders had no professional tactical training.
There were between three and four of them.
Selina’s breathing rhythm broke.
Her chest’s rise and fall surged from sixteen times per minute to over thirty.
Sympathetic nervous system arousal led to a massive secretion of adrenaline, redistributing blood to the skeletal muscles.
She rushed toward the pile of wood splinters.
William was in no hurry to appear.
Surgery is all about timing; cutting the wound too early leads to unnecessary bleeding, while being too late misses the optimal rescue window.
Recruiting someone followed the same logic.
Only when the other party is in absolute desperation, with all their pride and trump cards crushed, will they desperately grab the rope handed to them.
To put it simply, providing help in an hour of need is better than adding flowers to a bouquet!
He crossed the street and walked to the iron fence, the architectural map of the convent’s interior quickly constructing itself in his mind.
The main building was a chapel with a twelve-meter-high ceiling, flanked by corridors and living quarters.
The refraction and echo characteristics of sounds allowed him to accurately judge the distribution of personnel inside.
A shrill cough echoed from the dilapidated hall of the convent, accompanied by crude shouting and cursing.
That was Maggie’s voice.
The coughing had a distinct wheeze, typical of small airway spasms.
Inflammatory factors stimulated the bronchial smooth muscles to contract, leading to expiratory dyspnea.
William closed his black umbrella, the tip touching the ground.
He stepped over the pile of splinters and into the shadows of the backyard.
Several large holes were broken in the stained-glass windows of the hall.
Dim candlelight peeked through the holes, casting several distorted spots of light on the muddy ground.
He walked to the window and looked through a hole.
Three figures in tattered leather jackets had the frail Maggie cornered.
Rat totems were tattooed on their necks.
The lead thug raised his foot and kicked over the iron pot on the floor.
Scalding oatmeal porridge splashed out, landing on Maggie’s frostbitten hands.
Blisters quickly rose.
Maggie curled up in pain, her asthma flaring up, her chest heaving violently.
The supraclavicular fossa, suprasternal notch, and intercostal spaces visibly retracted during inhalation.
Her face turned blue-purple from suffocation as the airway spasms prevented oxygen from entering the alveoli.
Selina charged into the hall like a maddened leopardess.
The battle was about to begin.
His fingertips touched cold metal handles—three No.
11 high-carbon steel scalpels.
He needed to observe the upper limit of Selina’s actual combat ability.
This would determine what level of work he would arrange for her in the future.
Selina rushed into the hall without a word.
Her right leg kicked off the ground, her core muscles exploding with power far exceeding an ordinary person’s.
She leaped into the air, her right knee aiming straight for the lead thug’s face.
Anatomically, the most fragile bones in the face are the nasal bones and the perpendicular plate of the ethmoid.
When struck by a blunt object weighing over two hundred pounds, the bones shatter instantly, the cartilage tissue collapses, and bone fragments may even pierce the frontal lobe of the brain.
The crisp sound of bone cracking echoed through the empty hall.
The thug hit the ground, a massive amount of blood spraying from his nasal cavity.
He clutched his face and wailed, tears and nosebleed mixing together to coat his entire face.
The other two thugs took a half-step back and pulled switchblades from their waists.
The blades snapped open with a mechanical click.
They were from the ‘Rat Gang,’ the most despicable gang of thieves in Gotham’s East District.
The Rat Gang’s operation model was extremely primitive.
They had no fixed industrial chain and relied entirely on exploiting the lowest-level homeless people and orphans.
The gang leader, Fith Chell, was a bottomless piece of scum.
He had taken a liking to Selina’s stealth talent and looks and had tried multiple times to recruit her.
“Boss Fith’s final ultimatum,” the thug on the left said, spitting out a mouthful of bloody phlegm.
“He likes your skills and your face.
Become his woman and work for the gang, and both you sisters can live.”
Selina sneered.
She shielded Maggie behind her and drew a short dagger from her leather boot.
“Trafficking homeless children in the East District, breaking the limbs of those who can’t be sold, and blinding them to throw them out for begging…” Selina stared at the tip of her blade.
“Fith is a beast, a piece of trash.
I’d rather starve to death than bow to someone like him.”
“Refusing the easy way for the hard way.” The thug on the right stepped forward.
“Stealing on Rat Gang territory without paying protection money—today we’re taking Maggie to sell to the black market organ traffickers to settle the debt.”
These words touched Selina’s absolute bottom line.
Maggie was her only pillar in this rotten World.
Anyone who tried to harm Maggie would pay a price in blood.