Blackgate Penitentiary

After dealing with the Foot Clan corpses, Jude cleaned up the water stains left on the floor, then slept soundly.

Early the next morning, he dismantled an old radio, rummaged through the remaining television parts, and cobbled together a miniature listening device.

Then, carrying the laser emitter and miniature listening device, Jude took a taxi to Blackgate Penitentiary.

Blackgate Penitentiary in Gotham City was not the same place as Arkham Asylum. Blackgate was a government institution managed by public officials, and it held ordinary criminals such as gangsters, thieves, and robbers.

Arkham Asylum, on the other hand, could be called Gotham City's research center for abnormal humans. Only criminals who were extremely dangerous, mentally unstable, or possessed superpowers qualified to be imprisoned there.

Joker, Harley Quinn, Scarecrow, Mad Hatter, Clayface, and the like were all frequent residents of Arkham Asylum. It could be said that Arkham Asylum was Gotham City's talent market.

Blackgate Penitentiary was more than ten kilometers outside the city. Getting there was no easy task, and the trip nearly drained all of Jude's remaining money.

At the prison office, Jude said to the guard at the front desk, "Hello, I'm looking for Deputy Warden Bob Dylan."

"Sir, do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I have a friend locked up here. I want to discuss a business deal with him."

The guard immediately showed a knowing expression. This sort of thing was far too common, especially in Gotham, a city that had long since rotted to the core.

As long as you had money, they would even dare release a death row inmate. At least in that regard, their power exceeded even the President's, since presidential pardons still came with limits.

The guard led Jude to Bob Dylan's office, then tactfully left, taking the people nearby with him.

"Hello, Deputy Warden."

Having aged more than ten years, Bob Dylan did not recognize him. Instead, he politely invited him to sit down. Who would dislike a man delivering money to their door?

"Go on, sir. Who is your friend? When were they brought in? What crime were they charged with? Once I know that, I can give you an appropriate price."

"A price? Is it really wise to be so blatant, Deputy Warden?"

Bob Dylan laughed loudly. "This is Gotham!"

"True. This is Gotham. Other than Batman, there probably aren't many righteous people left."

"Shh!"

Bob Dylan's expression changed. "Don't mention that name. It's taboo. Nobody likes it."

"All right, sir. I think we should discuss business. Tell me about your friend."

Jude smiled faintly. "It seems you really didn't recognize me. I'm Jude Herbert. I came here four days ago, but you threw me out."

After Jude spoke, Bob Dylan studied him carefully for a while. He found him somewhat familiar, then first startled before breaking into a grin.

"So it's you. What? Did you come to give me more money? If you can pay another three thousand dollars, I can tell you where your friend was sent."

"To be honest, that isn't a nice place. Compared to it, prison is practically heaven. Your friend was called I... Ivy, right? A frail, pitiful little rabbit. I really wonder how many days she can hold out."

Bob Dylan was not the least bit worried about Jude Herbert. A poor nobody with no money or influence, Gotham trash—what could he do, no matter how dissatisfied he was? Bob Dylan was the Deputy Warden, after all. Even within the police system, he ranked in the second tier.

"Of course I need to know where Ivy was sent, but three thousand dollars is too little. I'd say one hundred thousand dollars is more like it."

Bob Dylan froze for a moment, then caught on and roared, "You dare toy with me! Get out of my prison immediately!"

Jude said calmly, "One hundred thousand dollars, plus information about my friend. Tell me, and I'll leave."

"Billy! You damned bastard, where the hell did you die? Get in here and throw this pauper out!"

With a bang, a burly prison guard nearly two meters tall charged in. After taking one look at the situation, he rushed straight at Jude.

At some point, the small laser emitter had appeared in Jude's hand. Raising an eyebrow, he said, "Take one more step, and you'll spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair."

Both men's expressions changed drastically. They had thought Jude was holding a gun, but upon closer inspection, they realized something was off. This was no gun—it was clearly a piece of junk toy.

Having actually been frightened by a pauper wielding a toy, the burly guard Billy became furious. He reached out and grabbed for Jude's shoulder.

Killing him would be troublesome, but crushing a few bones would be easy enough. After all, anyone could trip and fall while walking.

Pfft!

Unlike the sharp crack of a gunshot, the laser emitter produced only a low, muffled sound. Then came a bang as the ground trembled slightly, and the two-meter-tall guard collapsed to the floor.

"Aah!"

A heartrending scream tore from his throat. His struck left leg had melted away completely, leaving only a blackened, scabbed knee.

The commotion instantly threw Blackgate Penitentiary into an uproar. Dozens of guards came running over with batons and firearms.

Hearing footsteps in the corridor, Jude smoothly aimed the emitter at Bob Dylan and smiled as he gestured toward him with his chin.

Bob Dylan stared at Jude in terror, then pretended to remain calm as he shouted toward the door, "I only broke a water glass! You useless idiots, get out and go back to work!"

Although Billy was still screaming, Bob Dylan had spoken, so the other guards could only obey. This was Gotham, after all, and they were only employees.

"A very smart decision. Now, can we discuss my demands?"

Bob Dylan said awkwardly, "Sir, threatening a judicial officer with a gun won't end well for you."

"Is that so? Why don't you listen to this first?"

Unhurriedly, Jude took out the miniature listening device and turned on its speaker. The conversation between the two of them immediately began to play.

"Although Gotham's roots have rotted through, I believe there are still some good officials left, such as Commissioner Gordon and Prosecutor Harvey Dent."

"If this recording falls into their hands, I imagine your career as Deputy Warden will be over. And if they dig into your dirty secrets, it wouldn't be impossible for you to spend decades behind bars."

"Son of a bitch! You dare threaten me!"

"No, you've got the wrong idea, Mr. Bob. This is merely a business deal. It was originally worth three thousand dollars, but through your own intelligence and wisdom, you turned it into one hundred thousand."

"Now tell me your choice. Will you provide me with information and money, or will you spend the rest of your life in prison alongside the inmates you abused?"

Half an hour later, Jude walked out of the prison with ten thousand dollars in his pocket, feeling thoroughly refreshed. Another ninety thousand would arrive tomorrow. With that money, he could make some interesting little gadgets.

However, he still had not found any news about Ivy. Bob Dylan did not know where she had been sent either, and that was a problem.

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