The scenery of Gotham Uptown is indeed pleasant. The towering towering buildings like Titan giants are lined up one after another. The smooth and crystal glass reflects the colorful street lights below. The cars and horses are flowing endlessly, and the pedestrians are shoulder to shoulder. The brightly dressed red men and green women are walking in a hurry toward the bar and nightclub, and continue to live a decadent and intoxicated life day after day.

The refrigerated fish truck did not stop after all, but just drove past the edge of the upper city area, passed through a long underground tunnel, and quietly came to the lower city area full of desolate and decadent atmosphere.

The beautiful woman in exposed clothes leaned against the street lights, holding a low-quality cigarette in her mouth and sucked the clouds and mists. The dim light drooped weakly, attracting buzzing insects.

Several ragged tramps stood in the corner of the unfinished building with wine bottles in their arms. Trash was burning in the discarded oil barrels in front of them, and the sour and smelly fire provided them with cheap heat.

Finally, the truck stopped at the door of a scrapped warehouse.

The black driver lowered the brim of the baseball cap and looked around for a while. After confirming that there was no one around, he took out the intercom from his waist, "It's arrived, boss."

There was a slightly hoarse middle-aged male voice on the other side of the walkie-talkie, "There is no tail behind it, right?"

"I've circled around two times, no."

"That's good, come in."

The slightly rusted bearing chain made a tooth-sourcing friction sound, and the rolling shutter door of the warehouse slowly rose, causing the fish truck to slide in.

The tires ran over the cement floor, and the smugglers looked at each other in a slight uneasy manner until the door of the car was roughly opened by a white man with a gloomy face.

There was a narrow scar on his face, extending from his forehead to the corner of his mouth, looking quite ferocious.

Li Ang is very familiar with such people, cruel, tyrannical, and outlaws who tie their heads to their waists. Rather than saying that they went astray when they were helpless, they essentially had a bloodthirsty tone of abuse.

"Everything comes down."

The scarred man spat on the ground and shouted hoarsely.

The bright flashlight shone in, and the others in the car were busy covering their eyes. Li Ang had roughly seen the structure of the warehouse.

There were about seven gunmen standing here, and there were several tents supported by opaque plastic cloth around them. The shadows inside were so vague that they were not real.

Li Ang's heart moved and secretly broke off two three-finger-wide iron pieces from the edge of the mottled and rusty seat in the car, flipped his palm and hid it in his sleeve.

Smugglers flew out of the carriage and stood in a row under the command of a South Asian gunman.

The gunman looked at the smugglers like he was treating goods on the shelves, while writing and drawing on paper with pencils. Li Ang glanced at it and said that it was all about age, gender, health status, etc.

"Boss, there are 30 people in total."

The South Asian man said flatteringly to Scarface.

Scarface said lukewarmly: "Okay, I'll send it to Hancock tomorrow. He just got a few batches of powder-making equipment and needed manpower."

Li Ang raised his eyebrows, and he knew that this powder would not be any flour or powder with his toes. Then the so-called Hancock, who specializes in this kind of pickled activity, naturally would not be a conscientious entrepreneur who can provide welfare protection for employees.

These smugglers fell into his hands and all became laborers like slaves and laborers. They lost their lives in just a few years under the harsh working environment and long working hours.

Smugglers here all have their own ways to make a living. Some people are still in places where there are distant relatives in Gotham where they can surrender. When they hear scarfaces, a middle-aged man in the group of smuggling guests said in inexperienced English: "Sir, I have a cousin in Gotham, I can take out $500..."

The words suddenly choked, and scarred his neck with a grin, smashing him hard to the ground.

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

The middle-aged man was speechless, curled up like cooked shrimps, moaning in pain.

Scarface refused to give up and kicked the man's head like a demonstration. The pointed and hard leather boots directly scratched the flesh on the man's face, and blood splashed out from the bridge of his broken nose.

The rest of the stolen yelled in horror, Scarface pulled out his pistol impatiently, and the crisp sound of the safety shutdown made the noise disappear in an instant.

"If you want to survive, he will be honest with him!"

Scarface looked at the smuggler with satisfaction and said, "Stay here for one night and send it to Hancock tomorrow morning. Gotham's note patrolled every day recently. I really don't know what kind of gun medicine those pigs have taken."

He lazily inserted his pistol back into his belt's wallet and waved his hand to let the South Asian gunmen lead the smuggler into the tent.

"Wait a minute."

The black driver suddenly stopped the smugglers from entering the tent. 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 West City likes this, why don't he send this to him?"

"Hmm?" Scarface frowned and rubbed his chin with a green stubble, and said casually: "I've all become thinner and I have a good taste. I'll keep it for a few days."

"Hello." The strong black man laughed and grabbed the girl's wrist and asked, "Then can I try the water first? Passing from behind, I guarantee that Mr. Richard will still be in the original product when he got it."

"You can do whatever you want, be careful, don't be dying." Scarface shrugged indifferently, took a steaming pizza from the table next to him and stuffed it into his mouth and chewed it.

Although the smugglers did not know much about English, they could also vaguely guess what they were using the gunman's expressions and gestures, and the commotion began to spread.

The middle-aged woman who should be the girl's mother rushed forward and wanted to take back the girl from the black man, but was kicked in the stomach by him, and flew across the steel bracket in the tent, with blood flowing.

The middle-aged man lying on the ground climbed up with difficulty and tried his best to climb onto the black man's ankle. No matter how the other party kicked and beat him, he would not let go.

"Damn it, just a bunch of monkeys, why are you quarreling?"

The strong black man kicked the man out of touch, forced the girl to walk towards a small tent, muttering constantly: "Hehe, although it is a yellow-skinned monkey, he can barely make use of it..."

Li Ang covered his forehead helplessly, leaned to the sky and sighed, "Oh... As the saying goes, there is nothing wrong in the world, and people are disturbing themselves."

He took three or two steps forward, and his thin body blocked the black man, just like a swaying a tree and a mantis armed with a chariot.

"court death."

The strong black man smiled and let go of the girl's wrist, and swung his muscles and punched him, and the rushing fist blew a strong wind.

The gunmen next to them were smiling at the corners of their mouths, ready to see the thin Li Ang's head bleed and falling to the ground in dejection.

However, they were disappointed.

Li Ang took a step back and avoided the fist. He flipped his palm and two iron pieces lay quietly on the palm of his hand.

He clenched his fists, and the iron piece protruding from the gap between his fingers suddenly cut the air, gently cutting the weak neck of the black man. The scarlet red spraying from the slender carotid artery instantly smudged on the ground, splashing like plum blossoms.

The strong black man croaked "hoho" and tried to stretch out his hands to cover the wound on his neck, but Li Ang gently pried open his palm, allowing the thug to end his life with dull eyes.

There was a silence around. Before the stunned gunmen could recover from their shock, they heard Li Ang shout in Nanyang dialect, "Everyone, lie down!"

Before he finished speaking, he waved his arm, and a piece of iron in his hand flew out in an unstoppable manner, cleaving the plastic cover of the warehouse switch and cutting off the fuse.

The power supply stagnated, the light bulb at the top of the warehouse went out instantly, the blocked space was pitch black, and only a few dozen people were left with heavy breathing sounds.
Chapter completed!