The scenery of Upper Gotham is truly pleasant, with Titan-like towering high-rise buildings, smooth crystal glass reflecting the colorful street lamps below, cars and horses flowing endlessly, pedestrians rubbing shoulders one after another, and brightly dressed red men and women hurrying towards bars and nightclubs, continuing to live a decadent and intoxicated life day after day.

The refrigerated fish truck did not stop after all, but just drove along the edge of the upper town, and after passing through a long underground tunnel, it quietly came to the desolate and decadent downtown town.

Scantily clad and flamboyant women reclined on street lamps, spitting out inferior cigarettes in their mouths, and the dim lights hung limply, attracting buzzing insects.

A few ragged homeless men stood in the corner of the unfinished building with wine bottles in their arms, garbage burning in discarded oil drums in front of them, and the sour-smelling glow of the fire provided them with cheap heat.

Finally, the truck stopped, in front of a scrapped warehouse.

The black driver lowered the brim of his baseball cap and looked left and right for a moment to make sure that there was no one around before taking out the walkie-talkie from his waist, "It's here, boss." ”

On the other side of the intercom was a slightly hoarse middle-aged male voice, "You didn't follow the tail, did you?" ”

"I circled the neighborhood twice, no."

"Alright, come in."

The lightly rusted bearing chains made a tooth-aching sound, and the warehouse's roller shutter door slowly rose, allowing the fish cart to slide in.

The tires ran over the concrete floor, and the stowaways looked at each other with some uneasiness, until the door of the carriage was rudely opened by a white man with a gloomy face.

He had a long, narrow scar on his face that stretched from his forehead to the corners of his mouth, and he looked rather hideous and ferocious.

Leon was familiar with these people, cruel, tyrannical, outlaws with their heads tied to their waists, and they had a bloodthirsty and sadistic tone at heart, not so much that they had gone astray out of necessity.

"All down."

The scar-faced man spat on the ground and shouted hoarsely.

The flashlight light shone in, and everyone else in the carriage was busy covering their eyes, and Leon had already roughly seen the structure of the warehouse.

There were about seven gunmen with pistols standing here, surrounded by several tents propped up with opaque plastic sheeting, and the shadows inside were too real to see.

Leon's heart moved, and he secretly broke off two pieces of iron three fingers wide from the edge of the mottled and rusty seat in the carriage, and flipped his palm to hide it in his sleeve.

The stowaways streamed out of the carriage and stood in a line under the command of a South Asian gunman.

The gunman looked at the stowaways as if they were goods on the shelves, and as he wrote and drew on the paper with a pencil, Leon glanced at them, and the words were all age, gender, health, and so on.

"Boss, there are 30 people in total."

The South Asian leaned over to Scarface flatteringly and said.

Scarface said lukewarmly, "Okay, let's send it to Hancock tomorrow, he just bought a few batches of powdering equipment, and he needs manpower." ”

Li Ang raised his eyebrows, this powder knows with his toes that it will not be flour or fat powder, so the so-called Hancock, who specializes in this kind of pickling, will naturally not be a conscientious entrepreneur who can provide welfare protection for employees.

When these smugglers fall into his hands, they will all become slaves and laborers, and they will lose their lives in just a few years under the torture of harsh working conditions and long working hours.

The smugglers here have their own ways to make a living, and some of them have distant relatives in Gotham and other places where they can take refuge, and when they hear Scarface's words, a middle-aged man in the smuggler group said in English that he is not very proficient in: "Sir, I have a cousin in Gotham, I can come up with 500 dollars..."

The words suddenly choked, and Scarface grinned and grabbed his neck, smashing him to the ground.

"You yellow-skinned monkeys don't take yourself too seriously, you know?"

The middle-aged man was completely speechless, curling up and moaning in pain like cooked shrimp.

Scarface refused to give up, and kicked the man's head in a demonstrative manner, and the pointed leather boots scraped directly through the flesh of the man's face, and blood splattered from the bridge of his broken nose.

The rest of the stowaways let out a frightened cry, Scarface impatiently drew his pistol, and the noise cleared with the crisp sound of the safety closing.

"If you want to live, be honest!"

Scarface looked at the stowaway with satisfaction, and said, "Stay here for one night, and then send it to Hancock tomorrow morning, Gotham's strips have been patrolling every day lately, and I really don't know what guns and poison those pigs ate." ”

He slouched his pistol back into the wallet of his belt and waved his hand for the South Asian gunman to lead the stowaways to the tent.

"Wait a minute."

The black driver suddenly stopped the smugglers from entering the tent, and he pulled out a thin, short-haired girl about ten years old from the crowd, and said with a smile, "Boss, I heard that Mr. Richard from Xicheng District likes this very much, why don't you send this to him?" ”

"Huh?" Scarface frowned and rubbed his blue stubble chin, and said casually: "It's all thin into a stick, Richard's taste is very good, let's raise it for a few days." ”

"Holo." The strong black man laughed and grabbed the girl's wrist and asked, "Then can I try the water first?" From the back, it was guaranteed that Mr. Richard would still be the original when he got it. ”

"Feel free to do so, be careful, don't play to death." Scarface shrugged his shoulders indifferently, took a steaming piece of pizza from the table next to him, stuffed it into his mouth and chewed it.

Although the smugglers did not know much English, they could vaguely guess something through the expressions and gestures of the gunman, and the commotion began to spread.

The middle-aged woman, who was supposed to be the girl's mother, pounced on her and tried to get the girl back from the black man, but he kicked her in the stomach and flew sideways into the steel support of the tent, her head bleeding.

The middle-aged man lying on the ground struggled to get up, and grabbed the black man's ankle with all his might, refusing to let go no matter how much the other person kicked and punched.

"Damn, it's just a bunch of monkeys, what a noise!"

The strong black man kicked the man unconscious, dragged the girl to a small tent, and kept muttering: "Hehe, although it's a yellow-skinned monkey, it can barely be used for life...."

Li Ang covered his forehead helplessly, leaned up to the sky and sighed, "Alas..... As the saying goes, there is nothing in the world, and mediocrity disturbs itself. ”

He took three or two steps forward, and his thin figure stood in front of the black man, just like a grasshopper shaking a tree, and his mantis arm as a car.

"Look for death."

The black man let go of the girl's wrist with a cruel smile, and threw a fist with a twisted muscle, and the rushing fist blew a fierce wind.

The gunmen next to him all had smiles on their lips, ready to see the thin Li Ang's head bleeding and falling to the ground.

However, they were disappointed.

Li Ang took half a step back to dodge the fist, and with a flip of his palm, two pieces of iron lay quietly in the palm of his hand.

He grasped his fist in his hand, and the iron piece protruding from his fingers sliced through the air, delicately slicing through the weak neck of the black man, and the scarlet scarlet surging from the slender carotid artery instantly smeared on the ground, splashing like a plum blossom.

The black man hissed hoarsely and tried to reach out his hands to cover the wound on his neck, but Leon gently broke his palm, causing the thug to die in a blank stare.

There was silence all around, and before the stunned gunmen could recover from the shock, they heard Li Ang shouting in Nanyang vernacular, "Everyone, get down!" ”

Before he finished speaking, he waved his arm, and a piece of iron in his hand spun and flew out diagonally, unstoppably splitting the plastic cover of the warehouse switch, cutting the fuse in it.

The power stalled, the light bulb at the top of the warehouse went out instantly, and the closed space was pitch black, except for the heavy wheezing of dozens of people.