Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 618 Fool, he's an ally!
How long has it been since I last fired a gun since the Gotham Rehabilitation Program began and I went to prison?
The passengers on the bus reminisced briefly, and their shared feeling was that for about a year, since entering Gotham Prison, they had never been able to touch a gun, were working all day long, and had no spare energy. Their only way to vent their frustrations was through prison ring duels.

At first, everyone still had the energy to duel, but as time went on, they realized the importance of the sentence reduction system. Sentences are a base in prison, and prisoners' quality of life, expenses, and job opportunities are all calculated based on this base. Instead of spending time lavishly venting excess energy, it's better to use that energy to tighten a few more screws.

Moreover, you can actually save money working in prison, and the environment is much safer than in Gotham.

This is why, even though Ma Zhaodi stipulated that most prisoners work eight hours a day, they would still work overtime like crazy in order to quickly reduce their sentences. One person would roll up their sleeves, and everyone would roll up their sleeves. Of course, they would take a break after rolling up their sleeves for a few days, and they would only work eight hours a day.

Later, they were assigned to work in various areas of Gotham City, which reduced the restrictions on their personal freedom to some extent. They were able to use their time away from home to see their families. However, these brief but precious opportunities to meet did not alleviate their urge to go home; instead, they greatly intensified their longing for their families.

Even their families would advise them to work hard in Gotham City Prison, and once their sentences were reduced, they could become full-time contract workers for the prison, freeing them from restrictions on their personal freedom. They could continue working for Wayne State Prison as contract workers, and their wages would even increase.

What else is there to say? Just do it.

Wayne Private Prison is quite generous with sentence reductions. As long as you work hard enough and work like crazy every day, prisoners serving sentences of ten years or more can be released in about two years. Even those who work normally can be released in four years. The first phase of Wayne's reconstruction plan for Gotham is basically within this framework.

Therefore, regardless of the length of their sentences, these prisoners generally had no objections to the prison rules. When they went out, they never touched guns or caused trouble, so as not to have their sentences extended again. This also turned the crazy bus that Old Jack used to take the madmen to commit crimes every day into the 8 a.m. bus that took the prisoners to work every day.

It was bland, uninteresting, and everyone's face carried a faint sense of death.

This is normal. Without the thrill of gunfights and bumper cars, everyone becomes an ordinary 8 a.m. worker, getting up earlier than the chickens and going to bed later than the dogs. Although everyone knows it's for their own better future, it's unavoidable to feel resentful after working for a long time.

When people are crazy, they all yearn for a normal life. But once they settle into a normal routine, they all realize that people need to be a little crazy to be happy in a normal life.

So, not long ago, everyone found themselves back in Gotham, a place of utter chaos and disorder.

The biting, chilling rain, the gloomy, dark sky, the air thick with the stench of blood and burnt flesh, the filthy, chaotic, and dilapidated urban slums.
There were also criminals and madmen who carried guns and went around burning, killing, and looting.

Fortunately, Clinton's broadcast reminded them, so they quickly headed towards Gotham prison. Just as they arrived at the meeting point, they saw Jack driving his old car into the neighborhood from another direction.

"What are you dawdling for! Get in the car! We still have to pick up other people!"

So they got back on Old Jack's bus and drove through the chaotic Gotham City.

It felt like returning to a past that wasn't pleasant, but was wildly free. Sitting on the old Jack, listening to the sounds of passing thugs being smashed and run over, every passenger couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia.

Then—then suddenly there was a car crash.

The car ride, the car crash, Old Jack's group chat, the insults—those old times became clearer in my mind, reminding me of the not-so-distant past.

Everyone instinctively reached for the wild pistols, rifles, and shotguns they'd picked up along Old Jack's reckless path. It was a natural muscle memory; based on years of experience riding in cars, they knew the next thing they needed was—

bang!

A bullet pierced through the carriage, and in that instant, everyone couldn't help but let out a long, relieved sigh.

It's back! It's back! The crazy old days are back! It's both nostalgic and repulsive, disgusting and joyful.

"How to do?"

"Self-defense? What do you suggest?" "Don't bother with the law. These people are thugs. Let's all fight them together!"

What to do? Only kill.

The next moment, the rioters on the military vehicle witnessed a scene that left them speechless—everyone on the bus, including the driver, quickly pulled out one or two guns from their pockets, including pistols, rifles, submachine guns, and shotguns.

Their eyes gleamed with danger, their faces beaming with unrestrained laughter. Excitedly and skillfully, they vaulted out of the windows and doors, disappearing behind buses or abandoned vehicles in just two or three seconds, pointing their guns at military vehicles.

By the time they realized what had happened, the bus was completely empty, and even Old Jack was nowhere to be seen.

"No, these people aren't ordinary citizens. We've been ambushed!"

The thugs on the military vehicle were terrified. They hurriedly raised their guns to return fire, but at that moment, lines of gunfire were already aimed at their positions and opened fire.

bang! bang!

boom! boom!
Boom boom boom!
Da da da--

"Go eat my big bastard! You stinking country bumpkin!"

"You son of a bitch! Fire another shot and see what happens!"

"I'm going to peel off your skulls and use them as bowls!"

As they unleashed their full firepower, the citizens of Gotham habitually accompanied themselves with music, recalling the golden sunsets when they used to shoot each other in the streets—a memory of their lost youth.

Well, it's not that poetic, but after a year without firing a gun, being able to legitimately unleash their firepower now makes the prisoners who've been in the factory for a year feel great.

How could a few guns possibly deal with dozens? The steel storm of suppressive fire enveloped the entire military vehicle, and two of the thugs inside died instantly.

The remaining two men huddled in the car, cowering and trembling. They had initially fired because they thought the other man was incapable of fighting back, but now they just wanted to shoot the idiot who had fired the first shot dead.

Oh, he's already dead. That's alright then.

Just as the battle was raging, two black Batmobiles finally caught up, and two figures jumped out and quickly approached the center of the battlefield.

"Holy crap! It's Batman! Run!"

Someone shouted, and the dozens of gun lines vanished instantly, with dozens of figures in prison uniforms scrambling and crawling in all directions.

Jack couldn't help but curse out loud.

"Idiot! He's on our side now!"

(End of this chapter)