The clouds were as black as ink, making the bright moon loom in the sky, and listening closely, the sound of the tides became louder and louder, and there was a hint of the salty smell of the ocean in the air.

"From 23 o'clock today to 8 o'clock tomorrow morning, the weather is heavy rain, the wind direction is northerly, the wind force is six to seven, and the visibility is 3km.

The female voice on the car radio is sweet and crispy, reminding people of the approaching rainstorm.

In the black car, the driver looked through the rearview mirror at Christina and others, who were wearing a pitch-black opaque cloth hood and tied their hands behind him with plastic anti-falling ropes, and whistled leisurely.

It's a concave and abandoned wharf, with nearly a hundred mottled and dilapidated fishing boats lined up in a narrow bay, and on the shore are old and dilapidated bungalows, which are inferred from the open doors and roofs covered with the pale excrement of seagulls.

At high tide, the water glows in the cold moonlight, and the wooden railings are silent, tied with hemp rope and huge rubber tires to prevent fishing boats from colliding.

The red-headed gulls perched on the railing were awakened by the flashing headlights, and reluctantly flapped their wings and flew away quickly, hovering in the air and making noise, as if scolding the Italian mafia in bird language.

A few decades ago, it was once a thriving wharf for fishing boats, with trucks coming in every day to bring a variety of fish caught from Gotham Bay to the market for the public to enjoy.

However, with the expansion of urbanization, the residents of the area gradually moved away, leaving only these ships that had lost their use to stand by on the sidelines.

The mafia convoy silently stopped on the edge of the bay, parked Mike's Lincoln Navigator on the side of the road, and escorted Christina and the others down the road to the barren and grassy fields.

The leading gangster was a young Italian man with a high and straight nose, a full forehead, deep and emotional eyes, and a well-tailored black suit, which was quite the appearance of Alpacino's youth, and his subordinates respectfully called him Mr. Patrick.

This Patrick, if he were in another place, such as a nightclub, would be an affectionate gentleman, with the melancholy buried between his eyebrows

It can attract young girls who are not deeply involved in the world, and let them indulge in the soft words of Italian men.

However, Christina and the others, who were forced to be pressed on the beach by the thugs here and now, were only left with boundless fear in their hearts.

Patrick first had Rachel Dawes taken out of the car, spread out on the beach, took a few photos with his phone, and then asked his men to drive her out of the place, not knowing where to go.

Then he asked his men to bring an ordinary briefcase from the car, and opened it in front of Christina and the others, smiling and opening the briefcase, which was a large pile of clear plastic bags wrapped in a white powdery object.

As you can imagine with your toes, these white powders will not be harmless flour that can be made into dumpling wrappers, but more pungent, more exciting, and more deadly methamphetamine compounds.

The teenager pale, watching Patrick take out an entire row of unopened syringes from under his briefcase, take another bottle of water, mix methamphetamine powder in proportion, close the cap, and shake it like a coke.

When the mixture had melted, he took the syringe and carefully pierced the bottle with the pinhole, filling the syringe with the liquid.

Patrick carefully squeezed out the remaining air in the syringe, and the hospital nurse pretended to flick it like that, and said indifferently: "I'll inject you with a large dose of methamphetamine mixture one by one in a while, and you will have a brief period of euphoria, distraction, dizziness, and then complete loss of consciousness." I'm going to put you back in the car and park on the shore, and when the police find your cold body and the syringes scattered all over the place, they'll automatically assume that it's just an ordinary teenager who died of a spree and didn't take a safe dose. ”

The disappearance of a group of bright-faced teenagers for no apparent reason is very different from the death of a group of teenagers from a drug overdose, the former can trigger a big search, while the latter can only cause a few comments in the newspapers at best, and perhaps social activists will come forward to carry out a social movement against the poisoning of teenagers.

But so what? Are there fewer people in Gotham who die of unnatural causes every year for various reasons? In this metropolis of nearly 10 million people, people are busy running and living, occasionally raising their heads from their busy work to look around, as long as they are not concerned with themselves, they can calmly bury their heads in the sand and isolate themselves from danger.

The boy and girl desperately struggled to pray for mercy, but the sneering gangsters pressed them to death, and the pale-faced Mike struggled to his feet and shouted at Patrick: "Don't kill me, my father is the manager of Seaver's company, I can come up with a lot of money!" ”

"Seaver, is that the pharmaceutical company that recently went public on the NASDAQ?" Patrick frowned and thought for a moment, and said in a flirtatious tone, "Sounds tempting, but I think you may not be able to afford to pay for your life." ”

It's just the manager of a pharmaceutical company, and it's nothing compared to the Gotham gangsters like deepwater crocodiles.

Mike watched in despair as Patrick injected a syringe into his veins, the chemicals stimulated his brain, and every cell was screaming and trembling, and soon his face was as white as gold paper, his whole body shivered and convulsed, his eyes were white, and the corners of his mouth were dripping with saliva, and the whole person staggered and fell to the ground, fainting, and he didn't know whether he was alive or dead.

Seeing this, other boys and girls cried even louder, what Versace, Hermes, Armani, Prada, Gucci's brand-name fashion, what Chanel, Givenchy's brand-name perfumes, what Emmys, Billboard's billboard music charts, Netflix web series have lost their meaning,

These children, spoiled by the ease of city life, saw the city for the first time in life and death, full of darkness, violence, despair and complexity.

Here, human life is the most worthless and cheap commodity, a fragile mustard in the eyes of the superiors, and a single step can trample the innocent involved into powder and become a sad victim of the whirlpool of struggle.

This is Gotham.

Sobbs rang out at the edge of the bay, echoing the cries of the red-billed gulls in the sky, and Patrick impatiently asked his men to cover their mouths and inject them one by one with methamphetamine mixture.

It was Christina's turn, and with tears in her eyes, she watched as the sharp pinhole pierced into the vein in her arm.