Chapter 817 Red Hood (11)_1

The heavy rain continued ceaselessly, the truck once again plunged into the pitch-dark rainy night like a bolt of lightning.

"Where are you taking us?!" Jason asked anxiously.

"I'll get you out of here! To a safe place!" Bruce said loudly as he turned the wheel.

"Stop!" Jason screamed aswell. With the sound of rain increasing outside the window, they both had to exert full strength, shouting to communicate, so that their voices would not be drowned out in the torrential rain.

"You're driving us to our deaths, you're going to get us all killed!" Jason's voice was trembling, he said, "You and me, we can break these rules, we can leave whenever we want, but these kids can't!"

"Please, Bruce, stop!" Jason's hand gripped the seat desperately. Bruce wasn't sure if he heard a sob in his voice, but there was no doubt that Jason was extremely fragile now.

"I should never have let you fix this truck!" There was deep regret in his voice, he said, "It's going to kill us all…"

"We shouldn't have trucks, we shouldn't let the truck move, and the worst thing is, driving it on Gotham's roads when everyone is hiding inside!"

"Why can't you drive on the streets of Gotham?" Bruce asked loudly, he said: "Anyone can drive, including you!"

"No, you don't understand. Bruce, the mob spares us because we have so little, and we dont pose a threat to them, but once we have enough, our deaths are imminent!"

Bruce could hear the deep fear in Jason's voice. Jason's breathing was becoming irregular, he said, "If we can steal a truck, it means that one day we will steal guns, rocket launchers, and then fight them for territory…"

"All of the Children's Gangs. We are parasites that live off the mob, we have to be weak enough, unthreatening, to survive. This is our way of life and it can't be broken…"

Bruce felt a deep chill. Jason's tone reminded him of the little girl who died that night at Wayne Manor.

He finally understood why she had died.

This society, everyone in this society, told her with extreme violence that she could not own anything, she had to be sufficiently weak, or they would take more from her, including her life.

Therefore, she burned this brutal survival rule onto her skin, engraved it into her bones, and her heart.

Bruce provided her with food, shelter, and medicine, but to accept these, she would have to flay her own skin, break her bones, carve out her heart.

"This is our mask…" Jason said: "This society has put these masks on us..."

"We know, the masks torture us, starve us, but we still have to do everything we can to protect the masks."

"Because, as long as we have the masks, we can survive in this society, and as long as we can survive in this society, there are some gaps to fill our bellies, to build our shelters, rather than die under the gun in a never-ending chaos."

"So, please Bruce..." Jason's body temperature was rising and he was becoming delirious, he said: "Don't take off the mask, I can't take off the mask, even though I can, I can't do it…""

Bruce's face became colder, his hand gripping the steering wheel till his veins were bulging. How should a person striving to survive in society take off his mask?

At this moment, he thought of the Joker, and of himself.

The raging fire burned away the Joker's only means of survival, leaving him no room to survive in society. So, he used the flames of madness to burn away this mask instilled by society.

And him, Batman, realizing that to save the suffering society he had to live like every ordinary person, no longer so serious. When he laughed, the original mask of the playboy dissolved completely in the chemical pool.

And now, these children, or those like them, how should all the people trained by the rules of Gotham take off their masks?

Or even Jason, a bright, keen, and brave child, who is aware that everything is wrong, but can only be swept away or become a supporter of these cruel rules, resisting the changes Bruce is trying to bring, pleading for the lives of his companions.

In such a desperate situation, where should this old, rickety truck go in the stormy night to find a way out?

Bruce kept asking himself this question, where could this city, which had already hit rock bottom in the darkness, possibly go?

Bruce heard Jason's cry, but it was no longer prominent, as more crying voices came from the cab of the truck, they couldn't change the horrifying situation they were in. They didn't want to cry, didn't want to show weakness, but there was nothing else they could do.

Among these cries, Bruce felt long-lost sorrow and anger, his hand gripping the steering wheel started trembling, then gradually regained its calmness, as if he had made a decision.

"A long time ago, I read an analysis of class conflict. At that time, I didn't fully understand the part about non-confrontational and confrontational conflict, but at least I remember one sentence..."

In Wayne Manor, Bruce wrote:

"The conflict between classes is irreconcilable, and the means of resistance... is violence."

With a snap, the light was turned on. Alfred, carrying a cup of hot milk, came to Bruce's side. He gently put the cup down and said, "Sir, you should have turned on the overhead light. The desk lamp isn't bright enough for you to read by at night."

"Oh, I was writing a crucial part and didn't realize it was already dark," Bruce put down his pen, looked up at Alfred, and said: "I have finished writing this part of the narrative, only the argument part is left to write."

Having said that, he paused and looked at Alfred: "Alfred, do you think if I add some theoretical quotes to this part of the narrative, will it affect the overall score?"

"Sir, I studied mathematics in college." Alfred shook his head and said: "I've barely written any decent articles in my life. If you have questions in this area, you should ask Mr. Dante."

"You're being overly modest." Bruce turned back and said: "I remember you taught me grammar when I was young."

"Indeed, sir, but those were very basic aspects, if you need to look up any material, I can help you find books."

"I…" Bruce paused with his hand on the table. He didn't know if Alfred was deliberately avoiding certain topics or just didn't want to discuss it with him.

If it was the former, Bruce figured he shouldn't keep pushing him, but if it was the latter, did he appear so obtuse and uneducable in Alfred's eyes?

For this reason, Bruce looked at Alfred and said, "Alfred, I'll read out this part, could you help me check for any mistakes in grammar?"

"Of course, I would be happy to help, sir." Alfred replied.

"The car was aimlessly driven on the street. I tried to accommodate every child asking for help. I kept driving forward without a target, until Jason started questioning me…"

The truck kept moving forward, and as it jolted, Jason asked, "Where are you going? Where are you taking us?"

Hearing his somewhat weak question, an inexplicable emotion welled up in Bruce's heart, in the roar of the truck, he said: "I'm going to the North District."

Jason closed his eyes in pain, "There's no one there who needs your help, and there's no more room for people in the car."

Bruce glanced back, the back of the truck full of people, the children huddled together shivering. Luckily, due to the high crowd density, heat was retained and while majority looked pale, they hadn't started to feel cold yet.

Bruce's hand, clutching the steering wheel, paused and said: "Indeed, there are no people I need to save there, but I must go there. I want to know, who created these rules and for whom?"

The creator of these rules… Jason thought as he lay in the seat, who created the rules in Gotham today? Many might say it's the Godfather, perhaps Bruce also thinks it's the Godfather, but Jason felt it wasn't as simple as that.

This city was like a microcosm of something, every form of evil could be found here. These evils were not created by the Godfather, it was even more chaotic and evil here before he came to this city.

Jason hated the cruel rules, but he was also one of its proponents, because he knew that once these rules collapsed, the weak would only become more miserable. But if it wasn't the mob rule that led to evil, what was it?

As the truck charged into the bridge leading to the North District, all of Gotham North District seemed to be ignited, lights coming on one after another, shouts never ceasing.

Blurry-eyed, Jason saw the lights of the manor up close, yet their fate was still heading towards the unknown.