Now Batman knew the fate of Gotham's gangs.
Mexico Gotham did not have that problem.
Everyone knew how terrible Mexico was, and everyone knew how terrible Gotham was. In Guadalajara, if you threw a punch every ten meters, you would hit half the drug lords and gangsters. Wouldn't that call for Buddha's Palm?
Gotham's gangs were formidable, and the local gangs were no slouches either. The two remaining parties were decent enough, and the ruling party had the military in its hands. But none of that was actually useful. The most stirring thing about revolution was that when ninety percent of a country's people hoped for something to succeed, all of that became paper tigers.
Land used to grow poppies? Confiscated! Railway stations controlled for drug transport? Intercepted! People sent to guard drug warehouses? Raided! Customs bribed for smuggling? Detained! The corrupt officials serving as protective umbrellas? All gunned down!
Batman watched helplessly as Bruce, the moment he took office, began happily playing whack-a-mole. Judging by his rhythm and force, he had put up with those assholes for a long time.
This system was the natural nemesis of large-scale criminal organizations. Even if the occasional fish slipped through the net or some places escaped the hammer, those people had become rats in the sewers. They did not dare show their faces and could only hide away to scrape together a living through shady side hustles.
For example, Mexican drug lords used to stroll down the street and casually pick pedestrians to gun down, while the police could do nothing about them. They openly photographed executions, openly recruited people to manufacture and sell drugs, and commandeered public transportation on a massive scale to move narcotics. They acted as though they were the true masters of the country.
Although it was still