Gotham Avengers (Part 2)

Before long, the temporary Avengers alliance made up of Evans, Cobblepot, and Batman began investigating every corner of Gotham.

Batman’s approach was correct. In investigations like this, comprehensiveness mattered more than precision.

Especially when dealing with a mysterious organization like the Court of Owls, investigating from the top down produced little result. Investigating from the bottom, however, could uncover additional information. The earliest breakthrough came from Cobblepot—or, more precisely, from the team he had organized at the vocational school in Living Hell.

There was no need to explain the backgrounds of the vocational school students. Without question, most of them had been born in the Slums, raised in the Slums, and would spend the rest of their lives there.

They knew every detail of Gotham’s street life like the backs of their hands. They obeyed Cobblepot’s orders because everything happening here was closely tied to their own lives.

In a vocational school classroom, the chubby boy Tire folded his arms and said, "…You think we wanted to live like we did before? The whole hallway stank like a garbage dump. My nose was practically numb, you know? I couldn’t even turn around in my bathroom!"

"Wasn’t that because you were too fat?" said Rocket Launcher, the tattooed girl. She curled her lip and continued, "But seriously, this place used to be way too dangerous for kids like us. When I was eight, my right arm got hit by a bullet. It left a really ugly scar, so I had to cover it with tattoos…"

Red Truck lit a cigarette and said as he smoked, "Things have gotten better lately. I’ve been working in the towing business with that guy named Doyle, and I’ve made quite a bit. My dad thought I’d finally gotten smart and learned how to rob people."

The group burst into laughter.

Rocket Launcher turned to Cobblepot again. "Is what you said true? Our messed-up lives before were because the rainwater was poisoned? That sounds ridiculous."

"It is kind of strange," Tire said with a frown. "You all know my grandpa was the oldest man in Living Hell. He only died the year before last."

"He told me that Gotham City went through a major renovation back then. The other streets in the East District all got running water. Sure, it often had problems, but nowhere else used wells that had been around for over a hundred years like Living Hell did."

"Come on, what era are we living in? We still had to draw water with buckets to drink. Don’t you think that’s strange?" Tire asked, spreading his hands.

Red Truck chimed in, "What’s even stranger is where those wells are. My dad’s legs are bad, so I’ve always been the one fetching water, ever since I was little."

"I noticed there were five wells in the North District, but only one in the South Side. But more people lived in the South Side. Every time, they had to come all the way to the North District for water. When they built this place, didn’t they consider that?"

Perhaps because these students were young, they were better at accepting and understanding new ideas. When Cobblepot said Gotham’s rainwater might be a problem, they did not dismiss it as nonsense like the adults did. Instead, they recalled details that had seemed wrong.

Rocket Launcher put one foot on a stool and complained, "Whatever. We have running water now, so we don’t need to drink well water anymore."

"But don’t forget," Cobblepot said darkly, "running water doesn’t appear out of nowhere. If this rain keeps falling, Gotham’s groundwater will be contaminated too. When that happens, nobody will escape it."

"Then what do we do? I don’t want to go back to living like before."

Red Truck and Rocket Launcher exchanged a glance. Red Truck tugged at his hair and said, "Fine, we’re all bad kids. Like they say, born rotten. But we all have to admit that life is much better now than it used to be. It’d be great if it could stay this way forever."

"We can’t just sit around and wait," Cobblepot told them. "That’s not the Gotham way. We have to take the initiative. The first step is investigation."

They all looked at him. Tire said, "All the professors said you were the best student here. That probably means you’ve got the best brain too. Tell us, what should we do?"

Cobblepot took out a plan, and the others all turned their eyes toward the tabletop.

The facts proved that when people’s immediate interests were involved, everyone could act quickly.

The people of Living Hell had been the first to receive improvements and the first to experience the benefits of reform.

If they had continued living in that chaotic environment, they naturally would not have thought about changing anything. But now that they had tasted the sweetness of reform, they would never allow themselves to return to that dangerous, disorderly state.

Red Truck, Tire, and Rocket Launcher might not have looked like much, but their parents all worked in crucial positions throughout Living Hell.

Red Truck was the most obvious example. Despite being so young, he could drive, ride a motorcycle, and knew the freight routes well because his family worked in that business.

His father and two uncles had once driven garbage trucks, while his mother swept the neighboring streets. They knew the terrain here better than anyone.

You could tell from Rocket Launcher’s name that her father was an arms dealer. Her family had not moved to Living Hell because they were poor, but because doing business here was convenient.

As for Tire’s family, their business was small but vital. His mother ran a small gas station, one of the fastest places for information to be exchanged. Most drivers passing through would brag and chat while filling up.

When the three went home to spread the word, their education was limited and they could not explain things clearly. Their parents’ comprehension was limited too, and the entire story became badly distorted in the retelling.

Soon, a rumor began spreading through Living Hell—someone had been continuously poisoning Gotham’s water supply. The toxin drove people insane, and if they did not want Living Hell to return to what it had once been, they had to find the culprit.

That greatly stirred the enthusiasm of Gotham’s citizens.

Everyone knew Gothamites had bad tempers. Shoot one of them once, and they would risk their lives to shoot you twice. Upon hearing that someone had poisoned them before, of course they were furious.

The story grew more bizarre with every telling, and it spread faster and farther. Many people came to believe it.

Anything involving their own safety would naturally draw some attention. So whenever there was the slightest disturbance, they began passing messages along layer by layer until they reached Cobblepot.

As a result, Cobblepot’s intelligence network became extensive. Among all the true and false reports, he quickly filtered out useful information.

First, there had indeed been disputes when the wells in Living Hell were built. The South Side had only one well, and its residents could not simply watch their interests be harmed. Naturally, they resisted.

But in the end, the matter was dropped. Cobblepot learned that a brief epidemic had broken out in Living Hell at the time, killing many people. He compiled lists of deceased elders and relatives provided by residents and discovered that most of the dead had been from the South Side—and had been the fiercest opponents.

This confirmed that someone had indeed been controlling the water supply in Living Hell.

Next, Cobblepot obtained an old map of Living Hell from an elderly drug dealer. When the man had been young, he had traveled throughout Living Hell to smuggle contraband and drawn the map himself.

The map showed that there was a reason the North District had so many wells.

The North District’s buildings were more spread out, with more open spaces. The South Side, however, was so densely populated and built up that there were almost no open areas at all.

This further confirmed their suspicions. The Court of Owls had likely used this method to let rainwater contaminate Living Hell’s drinking water. The rain exposure combined with poisoned water had turned the place into the craziest and most chaotic part of the East District.

After obtaining sufficient evidence, Cobblepot began investigating another question. Why was Living Hell so important to the Court of Owls that it was worth such an elaborate arrangement?

Cobblepot truly could not guess the answer, but this was where their three-person alliance came into play. Batman’s thinking was more scientific.

During one of their small meetings, Batman speculated, "First, Living Hell has no strategic importance. Though it is the most densely populated area in the East District, it is not a transportation hub, and its location is relatively remote. It is far less strategically valuable than Elizabeth Street."

"Second, Living Hell is the Slums of the Slums. Even if everyone here vanished, it would have little impact on Gotham’s economic ecosystem. From an economic standpoint, Green Street would be a more worthwhile target."

"If Living Hell has one defining characteristic, I think it is its population," Batman concluded. "Nowhere else in Gotham has this kind of population density."

"It could be their testing ground," Cobblepot said, staring at the map as well. "There are many people here, and most cannot escape even under terrible living conditions. And because sanitation is poor, even if an epidemic breaks out, people won’t find it strange."

"More importantly, its ecosystem is closed," Evans said, circling the area of Living Hell with his finger. "It has an established commercial system. People can meet all their needs for food, clothing, housing, and transportation here, so population movement is limited."

"The Court of Owls must have made arrangements in Living Hell. That much is certain."

Then Batman said, "The only question is this: if they made arrangements here, they must also have surveillance. How are they monitoring Living Hell?"

The three paused, then looked at one another and said at the same time, "The wells!"

"Everyone needs to drink water, and everyone needs to draw water. Even if some people cannot come out to fetch it themselves, their family members will do it for them. To draw water, they have to lower a bucket into the well, which means they have to look down at its surface…"

Batman’s deep voice sent chills down the other two’s backs. "And at that moment, someone is at the bottom of the well, looking back at you…"