Chapter 784: Deadly Joke (Part 11) (Patreon)

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Bruce left with a firm attitude, but the old man handed him a rolled cigarette, saying, "Every newcomer here, I provide them with a free cigarette. It might save their life at a critical moment and also add one more customer for me. If you really can't bear it, then come find me. The doctor welcomes every patient."

Holding the cigarette, Bruce returned to his truck with stiff steps. He casually tucked the rolled cigarette into his pocket and sat in his seat, lost in thought until Gotham was once again drenched in rain.

Nowhere else to go, Bruce had to stay in the truck. It was his only shelter, not very warm, but at least it provided some protection from the wind and rain.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Bruce's mind echoed with the words of the old man—absurd and unreasonable, like a joke.

But the old man wasn't joking; he genuinely considered himself a doctor, searching for solutions to deal with those patients, believing he could cure them. In his view, if the pain was gone, it was considered cured.

Wasn't it ridiculous? Perhaps, but not without reason.

In these past few days, Bruce deeply realized the importance of labor here. It was the only hope for everyone.

They had to be able to work to survive here. If they couldn't move, they were essentially waiting for death.

To gain the ability to work, they would try any method, including using drugs for pain relief.

There were two ways to treat illnesses: treating the symptoms or treating the root cause. Bruce completely disagreed with this slow form of self-destruction to treat symptoms, but he couldn't question these people about why they didn't address the root cause.

Because, with the two crumpled US dollars in his hand, he couldn't even afford the registration fee at the hospital.

If one could only rely on oneself to obtain the basic necessities for survival, the saying "calamities may strike unexpectedly" wasn't just a simple reflection; it was a bolt from the blue.

On the day the thunder fell, many people had already died. The death sentence was pronounced on the first day, but some only faced it on the fifteenth.

Bruce, lying in his seat, gradually felt drowsy. However, this time, his dreams kept descending, hovering between falling and waking repeatedly.

His grip on the long spear loosened gradually. The dual torment of body and mind plunged him into a deep dream, so he didn't hear certain strange noises.

The next day, Bruce woke up in his bed, sitting in his seat and stretching lazily. He felt a bit better; the symptoms of stomach pain had disappeared, his strength had recovered, and today's temperature was no longer dropping, dispelling the cold sensation.

Bruce felt everything was turning around, but this feeling didn't last long. Ten minutes later, he found out the car wouldn't start.

Getting out to check, Bruce discovered that the fuel tank lock had been pried open.

The full tank of gas he had added earlier was all stolen, and he had slept too deeply last night to hear any movement.

Now the problem was, if he wanted to eat, the money wasn't enough for gas, and if he wanted gas, the money wasn't enough for food.

If he didn't refuel, he couldn't work today, and after eating today's meal, he would still have no money for tomorrow's. But if he didn't eat, his gastritis might get worse, and his body would become weaker.

After weighing the options, Bruce decided to refuel. He had to ensure sustainability rather than worry about short-term gains.

In the end, he arrived at the gas station, used the remaining money to fill up the tank again, leaving a little for a new lock. Thus, he was broke once again.

With gas added, he could go to work. As long as he worked, he could earn money, have food the next day, and everything would get better.

With this mindset, Bruce set out on his journey again.

Like the previous days, he arrived at the gang's warehouse, started loading goods, and today's business was exceptionally good. He filled the truck with goods and even received a two-dollar tip. Once he delivered this load to the distribution point, he would earn another ten dollars, enough for three days' worth of meals.

Bruce felt he made the right choice. Not impulsively spending money on food meant he wasn't worrying about tomorrow's meal right now.

Driving on the road as usual, he went over the overpass bridge and entered a long traffic jam.

However, today the traffic seemed to be stuck as if welded. It didn't move at all, and even though it was only a twenty-kilometer journey, it took several hours. Despite being slower, it was still manageable.

But today, the traffic seemed to be completely stuck. Watching the sun reach its zenith and half of the overpass bridge still unfinished, Bruce couldn't help but join other drivers in getting out of his car to check the situation.

To his despair, one of the transport trucks carrying dense ice materials from a refrigerated warehouse had a leak. The leaked material had frozen the second half of the overpass bridge, and now they were waiting for professionals to deal with it. If the professionals didn't arrive, they could forget about delivering goods today.

Stuck on the bridge until two in the afternoon, Bruce finally got a notification. The professionals had arrived, but they weren't professional enough. They had to find even more skilled professionals, and the more professional ones wouldn't arrive until tomorrow. The entrance to the overpass bridge was already sealed, and being stuck on the road was their misfortune. They could only wait until tomorrow to move again.

Standing on the overpass bridge, Bruce could clearly feel that the sunlight here was better than on the ground. Though it still didn't reach a clear sky, the view was broader, yet his mood wasn't as uplifted.

He felt anger, frustration, regret, but didn't know whom to blame.

After inquiring, Bruce learned that the driver of the raw material truck had driven through the night without sleep. When he woke up to check the valves today, he overlooked it, and by the time he noticed, the material had leaked clean.

The first professional who arrived said these materials couldn't be recovered. In other words, a small negligence from the driver burdened him with at least 300,000 US dollars in debt. Bruce now realized that 300,000 US dollars was more than just a few meals.

Most drivers dared not leave their trucks; they had experienced what Bruce had gone through. Just going for a toilet break or a meal could result in stolen fuel. With the roads blocked, they had no choice but to stay put.

Some kids ran up to the overpass bridge to sell food. Many truck drivers bought, but Bruce couldn't afford it because he had no money.

Hungry for another day and night, Bruce felt his body fat rapidly depleting. However, his spirit seemed to improve somewhat, no longer tormented by the omnipresent hunger.

The next day, after the road was cleared, Bruce drove to the distribution point. However, when he went back to settle the accounts, half of the money was deducted.

The reason was the delayed delivery. They missed the last batch of freight, and the next batch had increased in price. The gangs had to recover their costs somehow.

Bruce had no strength to argue with the gangs now. All he wanted was to take the money and buy food because his body warned him that the risk of hypoglycemia was imminent without a meal.

Holding a few tens of US dollars, Bruce found a roadside bakery. He bought two bags of cheap ready-made white bread, two baguettes, and some easily storable cookies, which he placed in the truck. He also bought a few bottles of purified water at a high price, placing them in the truck as well.

Meat didn't have a good source, so he had to settle for ready-made sausages. However, most of these sausages were made from offal, and hygiene conditions weren't up to standard. Bruce had to make do; without fat supplementation, his body temperature would drop even faster.

The only challenge now was vitamins. Vegetables didn't store well, and he had no place to cook. Bruce had to find a more stable place for himself as soon as possible.

With food replenished, Bruce felt more at ease. As long as he could save some money, he could rent a better house. With a stable place to live, his journey through the slums would officially begin, and the next step would be to make his way out of the East District with his own strength.

But Gotham was like that—whenever someone was full of ambition and wanted to do something, accidents would happen.

After dark, Bruce planned to find a place to park. However, as he started the car, he felt that something was off with the steering system.

Bruce tested it for a while and found that the car indeed had a problem. He had to crawl under the car to fix it, but after a thorough inspection, he discovered that the car wasn't entirely new.

Although it looked shiny on the outside, Bruce knew, upon seeing the internal structure, that it was a used car pieced together from various old parts.

Initially, he had thought that the gang wouldn't be so kind as to give him such a good car for free. But the condition of the aging parts inside was worse than he had imagined.

The next day, Bruce went to the same gang as before. Their attitude was good; they were willing to fix the car for Bruce. However, after fixing it, it broke down again after driving for just a day. The tire had issues this time.

Bruce realized that the gang's method of fixing cars was to swap malfunctioning parts from one car to another and hope for the best. Or, in other words, they considered it a success if the parts they swapped worked, and with the first batch of college students in vocational technology college yet to graduate, most people fixed trucks based on intuition.

Bruce knew that continuing this way wouldn't work. He had to replace the worn-out parts to make the car run smoothly, rather than breaking down halfway. But he didn't have the money to buy good parts.

Bruce found that all the problems he encountered in the slums ultimately boiled down to two words—no money.

No money meant no money. Things he wanted to buy, lacking a single cent, still counted as having no money. Being short of one cent wasn't an exaggerated description, especially when Bruce was short of even that one cent; he only had one cent.

At this moment, a group of people found him, claiming to be there to deal with Bruce's financial trouble.

Looking at the leader, a strong man, Bruce asked, "You say you can lend me money. What about the interest?"

The strong man waved his hand and said, "We don't discuss that here. We'll just tell you how much you have to repay each installment. The minimum loan amount here is 300 US dollars. For the next year, you'll repay us 50 US dollars every week."

Bruce didn't even need to think about this number. He knew it was what they called a loan shark. Seeing Bruce's disinterest, the strong man put his arm around him and said, "Our conditions are already very favorable. Believe me, those demanding several thousand US dollars from you at once are just extortion."

"You see, when you urgently need money, take 300 US dollars from us, and from the next week, you only need to repay us 50 US dollars. 50 US dollars isn't difficult for drivers like you. You might even have a few tens of US dollars left over each week for household expenses."

Seeing Bruce still unwilling, he added, "Well, if you prefer a more traditional approach, we'll lend you 300 US dollars, and you'll repay us 800 US dollars next month."

Bruce knew that 800 US dollars were a huge sum in the slums, let alone 800 US dollars; even 80 US dollars was a huge sum for him now.

Looking at the strong man, Bruce asked him, "What if I can't repay?"

The strong man smiled and said, "Don't worry. The gang is currently short of people, and you'll have a good place to go, especially since you're a pretty face."

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Next Chapter>>Chapter 785: Fatal Joke (Part Twelve)