Chapter 742: Rain in Gotham Tonight (Part 2) (Patreon)

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After Schiller walked into the room, Batman followed. The children showed signs of fear upon seeing Schiller, but when Batman entered, they all scurried to a corner, terrified of this strange person in a black tight suit.

"Copperpot, these are the children you rescued?" Schiller scanned the children and said, "The situation is worse than I thought. They need to eat more."

"They've been well-fed these past few days," Copperpot replied expressionlessly. "Give it another two weeks, and they'll be back to normal."

Batman shook his head, "That's impossible. Each of them is suffering from severe malnutrition, they have wounds that are close to infection. They must be taken to a hospital."

"The children of Gotham are all like this," Copperpot said calmly, not even looking at Batman. "Hunger and injuries aren't a big deal as long as they are alive and have enough food and a safe shelter. They will recover quickly."

"You're missing the best time for treatment," Batman interjected. "This will affect their growth and development and leave them with permanent scars."

"As long as it's not a disability that affects movement, it's not a big deal," Copperpot retorted, frowning.

Batman stared at him silently, his dissatisfaction clear on his face. Suddenly, Copperpot grew agitated, tremblingly saying, "Stop spreading your useless sympathy, rich man. Stay away from us... Get out of here!"

"Calm down, Copperpot," Schiller stepped forward, patting Copperpot's shoulder. "Let's ignore his nonsense since he's a rich man."

"I'm just stating very normal medical knowledge that everyone should know," Batman said, his voice slightly raised. "Malnutrition lowers immunity, extreme hunger damages their stomach and intestines, and these hard breads might cause them to choke or vomit."

"The temperature is only 15 degrees now, and it's raining outside. Four or five of these children have fevers, and one is shivering all over. What we should do now is take them to a hospital for treatment."

Saying this, Batman approached the children and gently grabbed the arm of a particularly weak little girl, intending to bring her closer to check on her.

The girl, a mixed-race child with dense black eyebrows and big eyes, was so thin that she looked disproportionate, like a tree branch topped with a grape.

Because her arm was so thin, Batman was very gentle when he captured her arm, not using much force. But the moment his gloved hand touched her, she bit down on it fiercely.

She let out a sharp cry, clinging to Batman's wrist, then flung his hand away, screaming as she ran to a corner, pushing at the door and crying hoarsely, her body twitching.

"I just want to take you to the hospital," Batman said to her. "You don't have to be afraid of me. I'll take you to see a doctor who can cure your diseases."

He looked down at the surrounding children, but each one who met his gaze trembled and ran away, screaming. Soon, there was no one left around Batman.

Even with a mask covering his face, it was clear that Batman's demeanor was much kinder than Copperpot's, whose hawk-like nose gave him a particularly sinister look. Yet, it was around Copperpot that the children gathered the most.

"You're preventing them from getting proper treatment," Batman stood up and said to Copperpot. "Even if you don't have medical knowledge, you should at least know that malnourished children, especially those who are also feverish and wet from rain, can easily die young."

Copperpot held a multi-functional army knife, spinning it in his hand, looking into Batman's eyes, "Do you know why they are hiding from you?"

Batman silently looked at him, his eye contact seeking an answer.

"Perhaps you know, these begging children all have 'parents,' meaning their leaders. These leaders pick up abandoned babies no one wants, raise them in the simplest way, and then send them out to beg."

"But they're not real parents, just businessmen. Businessmen hope their products sell well, but sometimes, when business is bad and they don't make enough money, the 'parents' pick a child who did the worst and beat them half to death."

"Of course, sometimes they go too far, and such children can't go out to beg the next day. No one in Gotham will give them more money just because a begging child is badly injured – they only care that the blood flowing with the rainwater might dirty their leather shoes."

"Such children are of no use anymore. The 'parents' then declare they will send the child to a hospital and later to a rich family for adoption, claiming the child will be freed from misery."

"But the children aren't foolish. Everyone knows they won't be taken to a hospital but will be thrown onto a garbage truck and die in the rain overnight. Every child dragged away by their 'parents' meets this fate."

Copperpot looked into Batman's eyes, "When you tell them you're taking them to a hospital, it's like telling them you're going to kill them."

Seeing the eye contact of the children hiding in the corner, Batman realized Copperpot wasn't making up stories. These children heard the word "hospital" for the first time from their abusive leaders.

At that moment, Schiller knelt down and beckoned one of the children, "Come here, child."

It was a young black boy, his legs trembling, but he slowly approached Schiller. Schiller asked him, "Where do you feel uncomfortable?"

"No, I'm fine, I can work," the little boy said tremblingly. "I can work out in the streets."

Schiller looked up at Copperpot, who explained, "The streets he’s talking about are the Pier. It's crowded there, with many rich people going out to sea on yachts. Sometimes, they give a little money to the street kids for good luck on their trips. But the Pier also has some fierce workers. You have to be strong and smart to survive there."

"Okay, your health is good. I saw you just ate a piece of bread. Are you full?" Schiller asked again.

"No, I'm still a bit hungry, but I don’t need more food," the boy replied fluently, as if he had rehearsed the sentence hundreds of times.

"Good, do you feel cold? Do you need to put on more clothes?" Schiller asked again.

"I'm a bit cold, but I don't need more clothes," the boy answered once more.

After Schiller finished asking, he stood up, shook his head, and said, "They need to see a doctor, but a psychologist."

Batman looked at him, seemingly seeking an answer. Schiller, however, made eye contact with Copperpot, and they walked out of the room.

Batman followed them, but as Red Truck was about to leave, Schiller stopped him and said, "You stay here for a while with them. After all, you are the one who gave them food."

Red Truck, a bit confused, nodded and stayed back. After the others left, Schiller tapped the ground with the tip of his umbrella and said:

"You can see, their answers are strange. When I ask about their condition, they first admit it’s not good, then add that they don’t need any improvement."

"They say their condition is bad because they are signaling to their controllers that they are still under control, still cold and hungry, weak and easily dominated."

"But at the same time, they are saying they won’t waste the controller's resources. They won’t ask for more food or clothing, keeping costs low."

"Clearly, this isn't a natural way to express themselves." Schiller, turning his head to glance at the situation in the room, said, "They are trying hard to maintain the state most desired by their controllers and abusers: weak, compliant, cost-efficient, obedient, and capable…"

"But they are close to dying," Batman said solemnly.

"Then give them some medicine," Copperpot said emotionlessly. "An anti-inflammatory for each of them, fever reducers for those with fevers, more clothes for those feeling cold, and bread for the hungry."

"You are still abusing them," Batman inhaled deeply. "You’re no different from the leaders who exploit and abuse them. Why can’t you completely save them?"

"I am saving them completely," Copperpot stepped close to Batman, poking his combat suit with the army knife in his hand, and said:

"Batman, this is me, this is us, this is why everyone in Gotham hates you. You think you're the only one who can save Gotham, you think you're a savior, but you're not. You can't save anyone here, nor the city."

"You do nothing, yet place yourself as a savior, looking down and criticizing anyone who doesn't follow your ways. Batman, if I weren't busy right now, I'd teach you a lesson."

As Copperpot's expressionless face turned fierce, even Batman felt a sense of menace. He sensed an evil soul brewing within Copperpot, ready to become one of Gotham's greatest threats.

"At least, I provide them with professional medical help when they're in pain," Batman looked into Copperpot's eyes. "At least, I can save these children, while your lack of common sense will only lead to their deaths."

"Enough, both of you!" Schiller, holding his temple, apparently found them noisy, said, "Here’s what we’ll do: each of you take half the children and save them your way. Anyway, they would have died in some alley."

Batman was about to refuse but held back at Schiller's glance. Without saying a word, he and Copperpot exchanged looks.

Copperpot went inside, instructing his subordinate, "Get some anti-inflammatories from the drug dealer Andrew on Green Street. If he has morphine, get some, but no syringes."

"Ask the nearby restaurant for a kettle, have the upstairs bar boil water and bring it here. Let the bar owner know to send today’s leftovers – unfouled fish and chips, meat pies, and vegetable salads for the kids."

"Also, you and Red Truck watch over them. Don’t let them run out or make noise, don’t disturb the bar’s business. If the bar owner comes down, tell him the Spencer family is hosting a dance party soon, and I can give him an invite to forget about this place."

After speaking, Copperpot left without looking back at the children. Batman, watching his back, said, "You're endangering lives for profit."

"Soon, you'll see who really is," Copperpot retorted.

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 743: Rain in Gotham Tonight (Part 2)