Chapter 782: Deadly Joke (Nine)_1

The sky had completely darkened. Bruce, who had been driving all day, was somewhat mentally drained. All he wanted to do now was return to his rented room and get a good night's sleep. But in Gotham, good things never happened on any given day.

No sooner had he arrived home and sat down on the sofa, than he heard a noise from outside the door. Someone was banging on the door with a "thud, thud, thud". Bruce cautiously approached the door, listening to the commotion outside.

Shortly thereafter, a man's voice could be heard: "Open up! Open up now! I'm the landlord, open the door quickly!"

Bruce had no intention of opening the door, but, soon enough, the door was opened from the outside - not by force, but with a key.

Standing outside was a man with a gloomy face. He looked at Bruce and said, "Who are you? Where is the original tenant?"

"I'm Selina's boyfriend..."

"I don't care what your relationship is. I only rent my property to trustworthy people. Strangers, get out!" the landlord yelled.

"But the rent isn't due yet..."

"I don't care about the rent!" The landlord raised his voice, "Whoever I rent to can stay, and if you're not one of them, get out immediately!"

Bruce realized that the landlord simply wanted to take back the property to rent it out again and collect double rent. Faced with such unreasonable aggression, he decided to forgo reasoning, and raised the gun in his hand.

The landlord glaring at him said, "Don't think you're the only one with a gun. No one breaks the rules here. If you don't leave quickly, you just wait and see."

With that, he turned and left. Bruce stood by the door watching him, feeling a sense of foreboding.

Back in the room, the exhausted Bruce was drowsy. Just as he was about to go to sleep, he heard a faint noise in the room.

In an instant, he was wide awake and reached for the gun beside him. He went to the living room with the gun and found someone trying to climb through the window. Upon closer inspection, it was the drunkard he had seen earlier.

He was rummaging stealthily on the couch. When the barrel of Bruce's gun touched his head, he managed to dodge in panic. He mumbled something incoherently, unable to form a clear sentence due to the effects of alcohol.

Bruce pointed the gun at him, and he ran out of the door, his pants wet with fear. Then, Bruce put down his gun and prepared to go back to rest.

But before long, there was another noise outside. Bruce had to get up again, and then he realized it was another burglar.

After driving the burglar away once again, Bruce realized that he was being targeted. Maybe it was the landlord who had spread the news, informing them that there was a rich stranger here. Throughout that night, Bruce's room was broken into by burglars four times.

The balcony door was locked, but it could hardly keep these thieves out. After all, this was an apartment in a shantytown, not the well-equipped Batcave. Without prior preparation, Batman could only deal with each invader individually and there was no effective preventive measure.

Bruce had no choice but to sleep on the couch in the living room all night. When he woke up in the morning, he found that his neck was stiff. Instead of a soft quilt, he was hugging a gun. He also realized that he had scared off at least two more burglars last night.

After getting up, Bruce decided to go downstairs to buy a hot dog for a makeshift breakfast. In the stairwell, he met the Asian lady. The stout lady whispered to him, "You'd better leave, Hoff has put out the word. He won't stop the local thieves from entering your room..."

With the explanation of the Asian lady, Bruce came to know that this apartment building was not owned by a single person, but had been jointly bought by mid-level members of a Mob. Each person was assigned a certain area and could decide who to rent the rooms to.

Simultaneously, they would warn the local thieves not to bother their tenants, or they would be driven away by the Mob. However, if they encountered difficult tenants, they would specifically ask the thieves to harass them, until the tenants couldn't bear it any longer and moved out.

Generally speaking, landlords would not drive away tenants before their lease expired and collect double rent, as it could possibly offend the tenant's Mob and harm their own reputation, deterring others from renting in this area.

However, prior to renting, they would also state that they do not allow tenant changes or subleasing. Because if allowed, it would be difficult to determine the safety of the newcomers. If a bomb maniac were to be introduced, everyone in the building would be doomed.

The landlord did not know who Bruce was, or whether there was a dangerous soul hidden beneath his exterior appearance. So, to prevent himself, his tenants, and his building from being doomed together, he declared that he would no longer provide protection for the tenant of this room, explicitly stating that Bruce was a wealthy man.

As a result, countless thieves kept visiting this room in the following two days. Bruce worked all day and had to guard against thieves at night.

And he was alone against countless thieves. Even if they didn't come in and just knocked on the windows from outside, it was enough to keep Bruce awake all night.

Furthermore, Bruce noticed the landlord was gradually losing his patience. The last few that came all carried long guns. If it wasn't for Bruce's quick reflexes and pointing the gun at them first, he might have been in trouble.

Bruce realized he couldn't stay here any longer. So, he decided not to keep arguing with the landlord.

This was what was known as the principle of the strong dragon not suppressing the local snake. Even if he could defeat one landlord, he couldn't defeat all the landlords here, let alone the Mob the landlords were part of.

What's more important is that even if he could defeat all these people, what would happen to the tenants here? Without the protection of landlords and mobs, these people wouldn't be able to live in peace.

Bruce decided to leave, but he didn't know where to rent. Fortunately, having spent so many days in the East District, he had some leads. He found the supervisor of the restaurant where he used to work and asked for his help with referrals.

The supervisor did hold Bruce in high regard, but he shook his head regarding this matter. He said: "Renting in the East District requires a strong reference. Without it, no landlord would be at ease with you moving into their property."

"If you move in and start causing chaos, committing murder, explosion, or conducting illegal activities, the landlord and the mob ruling above him will get in trouble. Without any references, you might only be left with the option of Tin House District," the supervisor explained.

"Tin House District? Where is that?" Bruce asked.

The supervisor pointed across and said, "If you follow this direction and walk about 3 kilometers further, you'll find a landfill site. At the southern side of this site, next to the coast, you'll find a vast pile of houses made of corrugated iron, that's Tin House District."

"The residents there collect unwanted construction waste from the city, like bricks and corrugated iron, to build their homes. From afar, these abodes resemble tin cans, hence the name 'Tin House District.' "

The supervisor sighed and said, "I suggest you not to go there. Many who ventured there could not make it out."

"Couldn't make it out? Why?" Bruce inquired.

The supervisor shook his head and fell silent, but Bruce decided to go check out this Tin House District himself. The supervisor's description had reminded him of the slum where the little girl he had previously encountered lived.

At that time, the little girl was living in a bare-minimum shack made of corrugated iron at the end of an alleyway. That was already the bounds of Bruce's imagination of infrastructural dilapidation.

Upon arrival at the Tin House District, he realized how much he had underestimated the situation.

The little girl's residence at the very least had three walls. Only the roof and the door were made of corrugated iron. In Tin House District though, all the houses were made out of scrap metals and construction waste.

This area is situated in the south of East Gotham, the landfill area, where most of the factories' sewage pipes are located. In a city like Gotham, where every inch of land is precious, developers haven't exploited this area due to it being a shallow beach.

The soil here is unsuitable for construction. Building on this land would require sea reclamation work, which is highly costly. Therefore, it was abandoned but served as a home for another group of people.

Upon entering, Bruce noticed that most of the people hiding amongst the scrap were elders, disabled people, and those seriously ill.

Of course, there were also people like him, those who failed in finding a rental due to lack of personal referrals and had to make do here temporarily.

Bruce found a vacant corrugated iron house. It seemed that the last tenant of the house was a transient, too. Bruce didn't know where the former tenant had gone, but he knew he had found a place to stay for tonight.

Calling it a house is not entirely accurate. One wall of this 'house' was a triangular shaped broken wall slab, with steel bars sticking out, which looked like scrap materials from a demolished apartment building in the city. The other wall was a metal veranda door without glass, covered with a tarpaulin.

The two walls formed a triangular space with pieces of wood and boxes piled outside as the door. It's too archaic to call it a house but too advanced for a tent.

Standing on the beach, Bruce gazed into the distance. To his dismay, this was not a residential area but rather a graveyard. Within his view were three dead bodies lying in corrugated iron houses.

Carefully walking on the beach, Bruce soon discovered that his rain boots were not only overpriced but also of terrible quality. The seams looked secure, but water seeped in from the bottom when stepping on the sands. Before long, Bruce's feet were chilled.

The cold began to spread upwards from his feet. Bruce knew he had to warm himself up quickly, or he would meet the same fate as the little girl, dying from hypothermia.

While there was an abundance of wood here, it was impossible to start a fire with them. They had been discarded on the beach for too long, the dampness had seeped into the core, making it too moist to ignite. The problem was, there was absolutely nothing dry here, including clothes.

As night fell with temperatures dropping, Bruce was getting increasingly colder. Squatting inside an iron house, Bruce felt like a piece of meat inside a can, chilled from head to toe.

Bruce thought he had reached his limit until he discovered a human skeleton underneath the floorboards. He now knew where the previous tenant had gone.

If this had been Batman from before, he would have immediately revealed the skeleton and started an on-site analysis of the cause of death. But this time, Bruce silently covered back the floorboard and filled the gaps with a rag. Not because he was scared, but because he was cold.

The next morning, Bruce woke up and found he had caught a cold.

With a headache, cough, and a lack of energy, Bruce felt extremely uncomfortable and only wanted to lie down all day.

The bat that descended was not gentle at all. Sometimes it was too staunch, but Gotham city never saw a favorable night - only cold ones.