"What a prosperous place." On a rooftop terrace, Bobo spoke to Deathstroke, who was posing like Batwoman. "Did you notice? There are lots of things like cameras on the streets."
"I saw them. A city full of cameras is every criminal's worst nightmare, isn't it?" Su Ming replied with a smile as he watched the pedestrians below. "Though in Gotham, no amount of surveillance does anything to prevent crime."
People still dressed as if it were the 1950s, from the women's skirts to their hairstyles, as though time had been frozen there forever.
Centuries had passed without the slightest change in taste. Women still used curling tongs to make large waves in their hair, then wrapped handkerchiefs around their heads.
If Harley went out dressed like that right now, her identity would probably be exposed immediately.
The men did not dress much better. They still wore long trench coats over suits, topped with felt hats. The era's fashion sense was not all that different from the Prohibition era.
Everything in the city was standardized, as though measured with a ruler. Every street followed a grid pattern, yet the people did not seem particularly oppressed. On the contrary, they appeared to be in good spirits.
That made sense. Once they knew that all their compatriots outside had died and only they had survived underground, a strange human trait came into play: when people knew that others of their kind were living worse lives than they were, their own miserable existence somehow became less painful.
Why say that they were not actually living well? Because underground was ultimately not the surface. There were very limited industries that could operate in such a place, and competition alone was enough to make many people miserable.
Not to mention that if Deathstroke ruled this Underground