136-140

Chapter 136: The Body Collector 

Alex was a petty criminal. 

Before going to prison, he was a member of the Falcone family—though it sounds impressive, in reality, he was just the most insignificant punk in that super gang. 

When he first came to Gotham, Alex still wanted to find a legitimate job, but Gotham didn't give him many options. He worked hard for a whole year, but the money he earned was barely enough to support himself and his mother. 

The expired oatmeal distributed by the relief center was hard to swallow, his mother's asthma medicine could only be bought from the black market, the extra rent charged by the landlord was protection money for the Oswald gang, there were pickpockets in the subway cars, and robbers in the alleys at night. He heard that Wayne Enterprises was researching some clean energy plan, but it was too late for him, because the waste gas from the chemical factory had been spreading for who knows how many years. If it weren't for that, his originally healthy mother might not have developed asthma within a year. 

His first contact with the mob was when he was trying to raise money for his mother's medicine. A colleague told him that there was a side job that wasn't dangerous and paid well, asking if he wanted to join. 

Of course he wanted to join. 

Then, he was dragged to a casino. 

Fortunately, there was no one in the casino at the time, and his colleague wasn't taking him to gamble—he was taking him to clean. 

Large patches of viscous blood, metal bullet casings scattered all over the floor, and traces of something being dragged out of the blood to the door, bloody footprints, broken gambling tables, smashed glass cups, spilled wine, fragments of broken, blood-stained clothes—but no corpses or injured people were seen. 

"Bro, it's not dangerous." His colleague patted him on the shoulder and said with a smile: "A scene without living people is the safest. We don't even need to handle the corpses; there are special cleaners for that. Everyone just needs to help clean up this place—just cleaning, wiping away the bloodstains, sweeping up the casings, burning those pieces of cloth, and moving the broken tables onto the garbage truck. These are all minor things; just do it fast." 

"The most important thing is—the employer is generous enough, isn't that enough?" 

So, he became a black cleaner from that day on. He began to be able to afford the rent; gradually, he began to help transport corpses, and then he began to be able to afford his family's daily necessities; finally, he joined the Falcone family, and then he could finally rent a house from the family's internal channels that didn't require paying protection money, and he could also afford his mother's medicine. 

Day after day, he did this dirty work, hoping that one day he could take his mother to the hospital for treatment, until one day, he was stunned by a corpse. 

It was the corpse of an old woman, hunched over, wearing simple gray clothes, which could be seen at a glance as cheap promotional products. Her expression was not painful, because the bullet hole was in her head. 

Could this old lady also be a mobster? 

"Alex, what are you doing?" 

His companion came over and took a look, then understood why he suddenly stopped moving. 

"Don't look, Alex. This is probably an ordinary old lady who was caught in a gunfight—in Gotham, this kind of thing always happens, sometimes it's young people, but this time it's an old person. She must be very unlucky, being hit in the head by a stray bullet. But if that bullet had been a little off, she might have died very painfully." 

"We're just going to dispose of her like this?" 

"Yeah, we can't do anything else, can we?" 

"What about her family?" 

"Who knows? Maybe they're alive, maybe they're dead, maybe they're among the two sides in the gunfight. Anyway, the boss's request is to clean up the scene, we can't keep her body, we have to throw it into Gotham Harbor like before." 

Alex was silent and didn't move. He looked at the corpse, and the gray clothes reminded him of his own mother. 

"I know you might be very sad, Alex, I'm also very sad." His companion shook his head and began to move the corpse on his own: "But we are family members, the family's interests are the most important. Moreover, there are many things like this, I'm already used to it, and you'll get used to it sooner or later." 

Could he get used to it? 

Alex didn't know, but his numb brain did drive his body to move, helping his companion move the old woman into the car, helping his companion sink her into Gotham Harbor. 

The next day, when he passed that street again, everything was back to normal, calm and peaceful, pedestrians hurried back and forth, as if stepping on any street. There was no related news on TV, but it broadcasted Bruce's scandals, the Roman's high-class banquets, and the superheroes in Metropolis punishing evil as usual. 

The city seemed as peaceful as any day it had spent in the past, until several days later, a missing person notice for an old woman was posted in the corner of a newspaper, and then casually turned over by someone. 

Since then, Alex began to pay attention to the corpses he transported, some in their forties and fifties, some in their twenties and thirties, and some in their teens. Some looked like him, and some didn't look like him. 

He even looked up the information on those corpses. Most of them were punks, living in the poor East End like him; a few were middle-level gang members, living in the slightly more prosperous Audisburg; no one lived in the highest-class Burnley or Diamond District. 

Every night since then, he would always wake up from his dreams, dreaming of corpses all over the ground crying to him, dreaming that his hands and body were covered in blood, dreaming that those who fell on the ground also had his face. 

Maybe, most of them were really no different from Alex, just unlucky enough not to survive. 

Also from that day on, Alex began to resist using guns. He tried his best to avoid participating in gang fights, and also because he did a good job of collecting corpses, he avoided becoming a gunman. 

Of course, everything comes at a price. Alex, who was not a gunman, lost the possibility of continuing to climb up, and had his own nickname in the family. 

Coward, that's what others called him. 

Then, the war between two gangs in Gotham City suddenly began—at least in his eyes, it started suddenly. 

The middle-level members of the family went to prison like dumplings, then the high-level members, then the low-level members—including him, he was also arrested. 

On the day of his arrest, he was somewhat thankful that he was caught while cleaning up the scene, otherwise if his mother had seen him being stuffed into a police car with her own eyes, she might have been very sad. 

"I know you're going to send me to prison, and it's a private prison." he said: "So can you let me make a phone call to my mother, let me say a few words to her?" 

The bearded sheriff looked him up and down, then nodded. 

"Don't make a will, kid." he said: "The years in prison might be the most human-like years you'll live." 

Chapter 137: The Differences Between People 

It was three o'clock that afternoon, the weather was cloudy, and it was yard time for the inmates at Wayne Prison. 

In the corner, a few inmates had formed a small wall, blocking the view of others and hiding themselves from the guards' sight. In front of them were two figures, one tall and one short. 

"So, that's your story, huh? A coward who was too scared to even get in a gang fight? A pathetic worm who's been around this long and hasn't amounted to anything?" 

The bald tough guy lifted him up and pinned him against the wall. He recognized this guy; his name was Harlick, also from the Falcone gang. He'd clawed his way up to middle management by being ruthless and having no bottom line. 

At breakfast, he'd been at the same table as Alex, complaining about the prison food and getting agreement from the others. 

Alex hadn't agreed. He actually thought the prison food was pretty decent – the staple was still the usual toast and cereal, and for lunch and dinner, they even got some fruit, vegetables, and meat. 

Breakfast was milk, white bread, a boiled egg, plus oatmeal, and a piece of fruit. For him, it wasn't much different from his usual breakfast outside prison, and it didn't taste bad either. The portions of bread and oatmeal were enough to fill him up. 

Of course, for Harlick, standing here, this probably wasn't the meal he'd hoped for. There was no ham, bacon, butter, or honey for the toast, no yogurt for the cereal. All the food tasted just okay, clearly not high-class stuff. In short, he thought the food in this prison was tasteless and bland. 

Isn't that food good enough for a prison? Most people would think so. 

But the money the Godfather spread around in the justice system and Gotham politics wasn't thrown away for nothing. Harlick was a mid-level member of the Falcone family. If he'd been locked up in the past, as long as he was willing to pay, his breakfast really would have included ham, bacon, honey, or yogurt – and then he'd be busted out pretty quickly. 

Everyone was looking at Alex with unfriendly faces. This group was the lower tier of the Falcone family. After getting sent to prison, they still instinctively gravitated towards a figure like Harlick, a made man, forming their little group. Alex dared to disagree with the opinion of a family mid-level guy like Harlick, so they all turned on him. 

Just then, a voice broke the tension in the air. 

"Fight, fight!" A voice from the side cheered. "Add a year to your sentence for every person in your little group for each punch you throw, plus a hundred dollar fine multiplied by your forty-year sentence, and the medical costs are on you too." 

"Who the hell dares—" 

When Harlick, with a fierce look on his face, twisted his head back, he saw a familiar face. His aggressive posture instantly froze, and his voice became fearful and timid. 

"Cal... Calamity..." 

At this point, the group of inmates in the corner exchanged glances and slowly backed away. They had originally intended to form a human wall to help block the guards' view. After all, it was yard time. But they hadn't expected Cody, that Calamity, to also be out in the yard, wearing a prison jumpsuit. 

"Didn't expect me?" Calamity laughed. "I heard you sorry sacks talking at breakfast. Do you have any idea that the guards, and me, and you, are all eating the same food?" 

It was true. Aside from a few guards who might grab something extra outside, most of them actually considered the food in the regular prison mess hall perfectly fine for staff meals: cheap, plenty of it, sanitary, and the taste and nutrition were decent. After all, most of the guys who came to be guards were just ordinary poor folks from the East End. Some of them probably ate worse outside than in the prison. 

Harlick and Alex both froze for a moment, each taking a few seconds to consider the truth of Calamity's words. 

When they snapped back to reality, Harlick asked, outwardly fierce but inwardly weak, "Why are you here?" 

"I was sentenced for unauthorized photography: I sold photos of a dozen or so gang members' asses that I ran into on the street to several Gotham newspapers. So, I gotta do a year in the slammer, and during that time, I'm helping out with some guard duties. Those newspapers actually seemed to support me; they said they'll contact me if I get any news while I'm in here – don't just stare at me, keep fighting! If you land a punch, my sentence will turn into two years, and we can have an extra year together." 

Harlick immediately let go of Alex, dropping him to the ground. 

"Come on, you're Harlick! From the Falcone family, a real gangster, a guy who lives by the blade! Get yourself together, don't lose face!" 

Harlick pretended not to hear. Because he was from the Falcone family, a real gangster who lived by the blade – which was exactly why he knew when to bend and when to stand firm. 

He left Alex there and walked away with the others. 

Alex didn't get a chance to thank him. Cody (Calamity) just patted him on the shoulder and left too. 

From that day on, Alex slowly began to understand what Commissioner Gordon had told him. 

"The few years you spend in prison might just be the most decent years of your life." 

Life in Wayne Prison followed a pretty regular schedule. Wake up in the morning, make your bed, roll call, then breakfast. 

Bedtime was nine PM. They were allowed to talk quietly at night. The prison didn't restrict their conversations or worry about them communicating, organizing, or escaping, because everyone knew the situation outside – escaping was pointless right now. 

He no longer had to be startled awake at three or four in the morning by a phone call, then rush out into the cold to deal with bodies and bloodstains. He didn't have to live in fear, constantly worrying he'd die from a random bullet. 

His diet was healthy and sanitary, and he never went hungry. His daily life was simple. No big shots in the prison bossing him around, because everyone was a supervised inmate. He only had to focus on normal labor and studying. 

Wayne Prison's labor wages weren't set at the typical $0.10 an hour like in other private prisons where inmates were used as slave labor. Instead, it was half the normal rate you'd get on the outside. But at the same time, there were almost no extra expenses in the prison. The only place you paid for things was the commissary. 

He could send letters or call home. The price was about the same as outside prison. He could buy cigarettes in here. The price was also about the same as outside. In other private prisons, phone calls were a dollar a minute, and cigarettes were a dollar a piece. 

You didn't have to pay to use headphones for the TV. They didn't short you on heating and hot water. The only thing that made you a little worried was that they didn't call doctors very often – but because the hygiene was pretty good, the inmates in the prison hardly ever got sick anyway. 

He could even send money home to his mom from inside the prison, and Wayne Enterprises didn't take a cut. 

After a month, Alex, along with most of the inmates in the prison, realized that the living conditions in prison seemed better than outside, and the portion of their labor wages taken by Wayne Enterprises was actually, truly being used for the various infrastructure and facilities within the prison. 

Until this one day, he saw a group of listless new inmates arrive at the prison. Among them was even a figure famous throughout Gotham. 

"Sal Maroni? When did he get transferred to Wayne Prison?" 

"Three days ago, buddy." 

Chapter 138: Breaking the Old, Building the New 

What does it feel like to be reborn? Getting out of that maximum-security joint, that's what rebirth feels like. 

Three days. Just three days in that place, and everyone felt like they wanted to die. Honestly, the moment they heard the words "bug powder," they were already wishing for death. 

After explaining breakfast, the announcement over the loudspeaker added a special note. 

"I hope you can focus on your meal, because if you remember the little critters scurrying around your cells last night, it might impact your enjoyment of the bug powder bread." 

Marconi figured he must have lost his mind to even consider tasting those few things the voice on the broadcast called "food," claiming they were hygienic and nutritious. 

Food? "You gotta be kidding!" 

For the first three meals, even with ample food and nutrition provided, almost everyone in the prison, including Marconi, stayed hungry the entire time. Even though there were fines for leftover food based on weight, and even though not eating for long periods would lead to malnutrition and weakness, they still wouldn't touch what was on their plates. Because no matter what the food was, in the hands of that "chef," it always turned into some kind of culinary nightmare. 

And besides eating, they also had to complete the work the prison assigned them daily. For three whole days, they were dragged to the production line to work. With a lack of physical strength and malnutrition, they had to complete a fixed amount of production work every day. This led to many people being tired and hungry on the first day, practically wanting to collapse and sleep on the assembly line. 

However, the voice over the loud system boomed again. 

"Gentlemen, as I said before, completing the day's schedule is what counts as truly spending a day here. If you collapse on the production line, then today's day will have been wasted." 

Those who were about to fall asleep immediately pulled themselves together and stood up, continuing to work on the production line. 

"One more rule that applies to both prisons: if you work for a week without making mistakes, your sentence will be reduced by one week. If your work is outstanding within a week, your sentence will be reduced by two weeks." 

This time it was Marconi's turn to scoff. He glanced around and, sure enough, saw most people instinctively rolling their eyes, clearly quite disdainful of this reward system. 

"Of course, I know you folks probably don't think much of this sentence reduction method. You're all counting on the higher-ups to pull you out of this hellhole directly after this war is over. But I also urge all you big shots to seriously consider what you'll do if the side you're on loses?" 

"So, instead of hoping for this protracted war to end, you might as well make plans early now and think about the future. I'll just say one thing: all your deductions are based on the length of your sentence. In other words, the better you do the labor part, the faster your sentence will be reduced, and the less money will be deducted when purchasing services and paying fines." 

"It's all real American dollars, folks. The more you work, the more you save. Whether or not you pick up these dropped bills is entirely up to you." 

"You *******." Marconi cursed fiercely in his heart, and his movements couldn't help but speed up. 

There was no way around it; loving money was everyone's nature here, and no one was happy about the prison taking their cash. 

Are you kidding me? I went to prison to make money, and now you're taking it all back? Did I go to prison for nothing? 

That's exactly why, starting from the second day, the first person started eating the bug powder bread on their plate, then the second, and then everyone ate it. 

They forced themselves to swallow the only seemingly edible food on the plate, fighting back the nausea. 

Wake up, make the bed, roll call, eat, work, yard time, sleep. 

Everyone went through the motions like zombies, enduring these three days. Looking back now, it was like a nightmare. And the bigger nightmare was that by the time they finally got upgraded to the regular prison, this group had already contributed nearly ten million dollars in deductions to the Wayne Prison within those three days, including but not limited to the cost of late-night talks, leftover food, violence, and cell upgrades. 

There were just too many of them, totaling several hundred people. Gotham's economy is booming, and so is its organized crime, which combined results in an absurd number of wealthy criminals. 

The group of inmates returning from hell treated the regular prison like paradise. The other prisoners were probably puzzled when they saw them crying over the white bread on their plates and the milk in their cups; when they saw them rolling around hugging ordinary cotton quilts; when they saw them buying stacks of snacks at the commissary; and when they heard them retaliating with late-night talks after lights out. 

"What in the world did they go through?" 

So, the two sides started exchanging information, and the stories of the maximum-security prison quickly spread through the population. There were quite a few troublemakers in the prison who were itching for something, like Harik. When they heard the news from the maximum-security prison and remembered Cody's remark about "putting those who are unwilling to be reformed in there for a week," they immediately became noticeably more compliant. 

Come on, everyone grew up eating real food. Who the heck could last a week in a place like that, eating that stuff? 

Seeing that the initial reform work on the inmates was basically complete, Cody was very pleased. He casually picked up the phone and called Bruce. 

That evening, in a specially constructed quiet room in the prison, four figures were sitting around a table talking. 

"Mr Cody, didn't Bruce already get your little place certified as a legal prison in court? Why do we still insist on having the meeting here?" 

Cody shook his head, "Harvey, that's not my little place. Strictly speaking, from the moment Bruce bought it, it's his little place. Honestly, I never expected him to buy that thing and give it to me." 

"The certification has to be applied for by the homeowner. You need a way to get outside; you can't stay in prison all the time," Bruce replied. "Since you don't want to meet at the little place, let's do it here. From what you said on the phone, the time is right?" 

"That's right. Most of the inmates in prison now have no thoughts of breaking out. Most of them are willing to work hard, and that bunch of powerful elites have also temporarily settled down. We've also skimmed off the first batch of cash." 

Harvey on the side smiled and said, "Funding is in place, personnel are in place, the plan is in place. We can directly move to the next step." 

"This is the strangest plan I've ever seen," Commissioner Gordon let out a breath. "But this is Gotham, so maybe it's not that strange. Let's get to it. What's the plan called again?" 

"The Gotham Reconstruction Project," Bruce picked up where Commissioner Gordon left off. "Use their time serving their sentences to shatter the mob system they've internalized, let them adapt to a new, normal social system in prison, and have the inmates directly participate in Gotham's reconstruction plan. This can reduce the labor costs required for the plan; the remaining plan funds will be drawn from the serious offenders who have been put in prison." 

"However much they stole, that's how much they cough up. Whoever destroyed it, rebuilds it," Cody shrugged. 

"It's fair, isn't it?" 

Chapter 139: Victor Fries 

Based on Cody's intel, the Gotham City reconstruction plan officially kicked off. 

Wayne Enterprises submitted the proposal for Gotham's redevelopment and, leveraging its size and network, immediately began pushing it forward. The non-stop war between the two sides of the underworld naturally left them with neither the time nor the interest to pay attention to this grand plan, which didn't affect their conflict for the time being. The only hitch was that officials were getting thrown in jail so frequently that nobody dared to step up and fill their positions, which really slowed down the administrative system's efficiency. 

But Harvey, Gordon, and Bruce were all pretty patient. Gotham had been sick for so many years; now that there was hope for recovery, they didn't mind waiting a little longer. 

The inmates at Wayne Penitentiary soon got a big shake-up. The prison meticulously categorized them, noting their jobs before they were locked up and their special skills. Pretty soon, they started contracting them out based on their strengths, putting them to work doing things they were relatively good at. Areas in the city that had become vacant due to a large number of people ending up in Wayne Penitentiary suddenly had their gaps filled by this unexpected convict labor force. 

Of course, this meant most regular inmates had more chances to be outside, and the ways to escape increased significantly. 

Like the conversation between these two inmates: 

"Think we should make a run for it?" 

"Run? Are you nuts? Between Gotham City right now and Wayne Penitentiary, which one do you think is better?" 

"At least if we got out, we could cook for ourselves at home." 

"What about a job? Sanitation? Healthcare? Living expenses?" His buddy, wearing a prison uniform, scoffed, "Or are you saying you wanna go back to being the gangs' grunt labor outside?" 

"I could still take a walk on the street." 

"Seriously, buddy, what do you think we're doing right now?" 

The two inmates, walking down the street, exchanged glances, then looked at the traffic and pedestrians around them. 

"Man, this is crazy. Wayne Penitentiary is just letting us out on our own to work." 

"I guess the prison can't be bothered to waste energy and money renting a whole van just for two guys. But hey, this works out – we only have half an hour left of our outside time. We really gotta hurry; gotta get back to the prison before roll call." 

"...Thinking about it, if the pay was normal, being in prison actually wouldn't be so bad." 

"I don't know, Wade. I feel like ever since I got locked up, I've saved more money than I've spent." 

"So, are we even really serving time?" 

"So, are they even really serving time?" 

Commissioner Gordon watched the Gotham City reconstruction plan blossom everywhere, and he saw the inmates, now subdivided and outsourced to various Wayne projects across Gotham, and he couldn't help but fall into deep thought. 

"Gotham City has a lot of industries, and the economic structure that relied on the gangs needs a major overhaul. I get that. It's a long-term project, and we have to do it. We absolutely have to." 

At this point, he instinctively looked over at Cody, who had originally proposed the prison system design. "But bringing evil to justice and promoting good – that's what you call justice." 

"This is called labor reform, Commissioner Gordon. If the environment in Gotham City itself forces people to rely on crime, to work with gangs just to survive, then a significant portion of their primary crime should be attributed to the environment itself. That's one reason I don't advocate for Wayne Penitentiary actively mistreating regular inmates; they are perpetrators, yes, but they are also victims." 

Commissioner Gordon pondered his words, stroking his thick mustache. 

"Alright, Cody, I gotta tell you, I've seen countless criminals. Some people's situations are definitely worth feeling for, but some guys are just plain bad news. The necessary punishment is non-negotiable – that's also about getting some closure for the victims and their families." 

"Punishment for the criminals will absolutely happen, Commissioner Gordon. We're just having them first help rebuild a society where the victims of crime can live decent lives again. This is also a form of restitution for them." 

"And then what?" 

"Then, once the reconstruction plan is finished, Wayne Private Penitentiary will stop operating. All the profits made during that time will be used to complete the reconstruction projects. New factories, new companies, renovated buildings, attracting investments, all those big projects will be used to replace the economic industries and jobs left vacant by the gangs – I don't really understand all that stuff, but it's definitely a massive, long-term undertaking, and it needs the strength of most people." 

Harvey nodded along. "Yeah, that's right. If Wayne Enterprises wasn't doing this, and didn't have the financial backing of all those scumbags combined, I honestly wouldn't be sure a big plan like this could actually be pulled off." 

"Gentlemen, let's stay on topic," Commissioner Gordon tapped the table. "Where's the punishment?" 

"My first point, Wayne Penitentiary closes down, Commissioner," Cody replied. "Then the severe criminals left inside will have to spend the rest of their sentences in public prisons or other private penitentiaries. By then, the gangs will definitely be finished, and nobody will be able to bail them out. Also, compensation for victims' families will be deducted from the suppressed long-term wages they earned from their labor, as additional financial compensation for the victims." 

"Most of the minor offenders who've been reformed will be back in Gotham City by then. The city's operation won't be affected," Bruce added. "It's a long-term blood transfusion plan; it won't cause too much upheaval." 

Harvey Dent twirled the coin in his hand and nodded too. "That's a smart approach." 

"There's one more thing. After the reconstruction is complete, could you guys suggest pushing for capital punishment legislation in this state?" 

The three of them held their breath, all turning their heads to look at Cody, who had just said that. 

"Some people think they can achieve enlightenment just by dropping the butcher knife. They don't understand what dropping the butcher knife really means – a life for a life, pay your debts. You've truly 'dropped the butcher knife' only after you've fully atoned for your crimes." Cody shrugged. "That's a tradition where I come from, and it's the wisdom of our ancestors." 

Listening to Cody's suggestion, a strange light flickered in Harvey's eyes. 

Commissioner Gordon saw his expression and suddenly wondered if he was the conservative one. 

Bruce remained silent, seeming to think seriously. 

Just as the atmosphere was getting a little strange, Bruce's phone suddenly rang. This well-timed call was from the butler. 

So he took out his phone and answered it. 

"Alfred?" 

"Master Wayne, there's been a breakthrough on the matter Mr. Cody asked about." 

"You found him?" 

"Yes, indeed. A bank in Gotham City was robbed this morning, and the frozen traces left behind were quite distinctive. We've since pinpointed an abandoned building." 

Cody saw Bruce say a few brief words, then hang up the phone. 

"Hey, Cody, Alfred found the guy you were looking for." 

"Who?" Commissioner Gordon instinctively asked. 

"Mr. Freeze – Victor Fries." 

Chapter 140: Gotham City's Most Devoted 

[Ding] 

[You have a new side gig available. Please check it out.] 

Cody was driving through the streets of Gotham when he suddenly heard the system prompt he hadn't heard in a while. He hadn't gotten any gigs from the system during this period, which seemed to suggest that when he was doing things unrelated to superheroes or supervillains, the system wouldn't trigger side quests. 

He'd even considered dumping the Gotham transformation plan on Bruce and the others and heading out himself to see if he could stumble into something that would trigger a gig, but after a week cruising around Gotham, he came up empty. At the same time, the prison really needed someone who could keep the prisoners in line but wasn't too dangerous. Finding someone like that in Gotham City was seriously tough. 

Cody was pretty helpless about the situation, but you couldn't just do good deeds when there was a system reward involved. This plan was seriously significant for Gotham, and he'd proposed and helped design it, so he was willing to put in the work. That's why he'd asked Batman to let Poison Ivy out and returned those ten vines to her. 

"What? Batman needed something from someone?" 

"You don't seem too mad, huh?" 

Poison Ivy casually controlled vines to weave a simple outfit. Cody was grateful – it showed she respected the suggestion he'd made last time they met. 

"I can feel it," she replied with a smile. "Ever since St. Patrick's Day, someone's been planting trees in Gotham." She added, "Batman told me you planted a few with him too." 

"Ah, cypress trees... trees for mourning the departed..." 

Poison Ivy shrugged, not really caring about the reason for the planting. "Anyway, someone's been planting trees in Gotham, and that's put me in a good mood. That patch of forest has expanded a bit since I was locked up. That's good. So, I'll hear you out. What do you guys need?" 

"There's a private prison that needs someone who can keep things under control. Ideally, this person should be a criminal. That way, they can bypass certain rules and restrictions and keep the prisoners intimidated." 

Poison Ivy yawned at this. 

"Ugh, forget it. Sounds like nothing to do with plants, no real benefit. Too boring." 

"There's compensation." 

"Compensation... still boring. But seeing as you took such good care of the ten kids, I can guard for you for a month, free of charge." 

"This is a long-term job—how about this, I can give you a flowerpot and some fertilizer as compensation." 

Poison Ivy raised an eyebrow. 

"The kind of flowerpot and fertilizer you saw last time. You should be able to tell, any plant can grow in this pot. So, if there are some endangered plants in the world, or ones that are especially hard to keep alive—you can plant them in this flowerpot. They're guaranteed to thrive." 

Just like that, Poison Ivy joined the Wayne Prison. 

But just one Poison Ivy wasn't quite enough, so while Cody was at the prison, he also asked others to help him find a second super-criminal who could be brought into their corner. Once he found someone, he could get off prison duty. Catwoman and Batman were out. The former is too much of a free spirit and never stays put; the latter is still swamped dealing with all sorts of Gotham affairs. At this point, the ideal candidate in Cody's eyes was Mr. Freeze, who had just recently taken down GothCorp. 

He'd also asked Bruce and Commissioner Gordon to look into Victor Fries and confirm his origin story. A State University PhD, a young cryogenics expert with a wife named Nora. They had a great relationship. His wife's file showed she had a rare cancer. With current medical knowledge, treatment was super expensive, and the hope for a cure was unknown. The records showed that after the test results came back, Victor quit his teaching job, applied to multiple companies (got rejected), finally joined GothCorp (which wasn't really doing much), and then proposed his genius cryogenic freezing research idea, becoming famous overnight. 

Then came the news everyone knew – conflict between the GothCorp supervisor and Victor, a serious lab accident, and he vanished that night. After that was the news about GothCorp using his frozen wife for massive publicity and investment, and then being taken down by Mr. Freeze – this time, he successfully got his wife back. 

A story pretty similar to Drake and his wife, except Drake was luckier; his wife eventually recovered. Victor wasn't so lucky; he became a supervillain, using illegal means to keep his wife alive. Seeing the information, Cody was relieved because this was clearly the origin story he remembered. Victor operated on his own code and wasn't inherently evil; he could be recruited as an ally. 

Of course, when Bruce saw this info, his face wasn't exactly sunny, because this genius doctor had applied to Wayne Tech, S.T.A.R. Labs, and LexCorp back then and was rejected by all of them. 

"Why would the companies miss a genius who achieved something practically groundbreaking?" 

Cody didn't say anything, thinking to himself, 'It wasn't just Wayne. Barry Allen and Lex Luthor missed this genius too. In a way, you three were all blind together.' 

About fifteen minutes later, Cody arrived at a deserted warehouse in Gotham. According to Alfred's location fix, Mr. Freeze was inside. Cody casually pulled out a bowl of Laba Porridge and drank it down, giving himself a cold resistance buff. Then he popped a fruit candy and a milk candy into his mouth, finally getting ready to pull on the pumpkin head at any moment. If things went smoothly enough, he probably wouldn't need any of this prep. Finally, he opened the system panel and started looking at the prompt for this gig. 

[Gotham City's Most Devoted] 

[Task Description:] No doubt, Gotham City has tons of couples – same-sex, opposite-sex, neurotic, enemies-to-lovers, logically chaotic. But no matter how you look at it, these relationships are a mess. Because of that, a normal man-and-woman, one-life-one-partner relationship like Victor Fries and Nora's almost seems unreal here. 

[Note:] Tired of the superhero and supervillain love triangles, quadrangles, casual hookups that are practically everyday occurrences, and dramatic family relationships? Come take a look at Mr. Freeze, Gotham's most devoted, and cleanse your eyes. 

[Status: Pending Completion] 

[Reward: Friendship of Mr. Freeze, Enhanced Cold Resistance] 

Cody nodded, satisfied. The specific requirement for the task was, predictably, to treat Mr. Freeze's wife, Nora. That would probably be a job for one of the milk candies or fruit candies. If those didn't work, he'd use a Quick Life Recovery. But why was there a special resistance reward for cold attacks? Who was that protecting him from?