Unable to figure out the behaviour of the warden for the time being, Bruce decided to be even more cautious.
After dinner, he headed to the library, as part of his reward for the cleaning job. However, in the library, he didn’t speak to anyone, instead quietly eavesdropping on the conversations around him.

New prisoners rarely got opportunities like Bruce, and unless someone had been in prison for a long time, not many bothered to come to the library.

“Boss Kyle got moved to another cell…”

“So did someone in my block,” another whispered. “All the troublemakers got moved out.”

“Do you know where they’ve been moved? Are they putting all the strong ones together?”

“Maybe it’s your turn tomorrow, eh?”

“Don’t joke like that… hahaha.”

Cell transfers?

Bruce spent two hours in the library, hearing multiple groups of people talk about the same thing.
——The cell transfers seemed to be a recent occurrence, starting after Bella Bettywen took over as warden.

The prisoners being transferred had a few things in common: they were all physically strong, no elderly among them, all of them were major criminals with more than one murder to their name, most of them were serving life sentences, and they were the troublemakers in their previous cells.

Bruce noted this information and approached the guard at the library entrance, indicating he was interested in participating in tonight’s voluntary work.

The sudden transfer to the psychiatric wing had heightened Bruce’s sense of urgency. He initially didn’t want to stand out, but now he felt he needed to act faster.

The guard looked him up and down, asking a few questions. “I remember your case, not a big one. Yeah, you haven’t killed anyone… are your fingers nimble? Any hand injuries?”

Of course, Bruce had none.

The guard chuckled. “Well, I hope you’ve got patience. And remember, you’re not allowed to talk about what you’ll be doing tonight. But since you’re in a single cell, I guess that won’t be a problem… come with me.”

What kind of job had such secrecy?

Bruce furrowed his brow but followed, reminding himself to stay alert.

He focused on the guard’s back, estimating that he could knock him out in under three seconds without making a sound, and take his gun.

Bruce glanced up at the security cameras, mentally noting their locations as they walked down the hallway. He could easily get out of his handcuffs, but his goal wasn’t to escape—yet a vague sense told him that even if he neutralized the cameras and the guard, something else, something unspoken, might be watching him. He had to be extra cautious.

Bruce maintained his vigilance as they passed through most of Blackgate Prison. It was already 11 PM, but he wasn’t tired, still sharp and alert.

The job site was located in the northwest corner of Blackgate’s first floor. One look told Bruce it had once been a warehouse.

The guard unlocked his handcuffs and pushed him inside. “Go register your number, and you’ll get paid by the piece.”

The lights flickered on.

Bruce squinted for a moment, then quickly opened his eyes wide in surprise.

Before him was a bustling workshop filled with sewing machines, all in use.

Now he understood why the guard had asked if his fingers were nimble!
Clearly, this wasn’t what Bruce had in mind.

“How does making handicrafts for the warden fit into a ‘conspiracy’?” he thought with a faint smirk. Still, since he was here, he might as well do the work.

Glancing at the armed guards, Bruce kept his head down and approached the inmate in charge of registration and piece counting.

The inmate was short and overweight, with a sour expression. When he saw Bruce, he shouted, “Hey, you idiot, what are you standing there for? Get over here!”

Bruce felt a strange sense of familiarity with this man, though he couldn’t place why.

Still, sticking to his low-profile approach, he quickly walked over, gave his number, and was assigned a sewing machine.

Yes… a sewing machine.

Bruce figured out how to use the machine fairly quickly and began working like everyone else, sewing thick, green hoods.

He examined the hood for a moment—

Fluorescent green, which would make the wearer stand out at night.

The back of the hood had the word “Eco-Friendly” stitched into it, suggesting the prison had taken this contract from some environmental organization.

The neck was fastened with a buckle, making the hood difficult to remove quickly; the belt had to be unbuckled first.

The goggles were for light protection, and there was a ventilation slit at the bottom… fairly considerate in design.

Bruce concluded that the prison had taken a contract from an environmental organization and tasked the inmates with making fluorescent green hoods, likely for use during some sort of labour task—though he couldn’t imagine what kind of job would require hoods like these.

Even cleaning sewers wouldn’t explain it—Bruce quickly noticed that the hood didn’t have any gas filtering capabilities, meaning it couldn’t block out bad smells.

Its only apparent functions were making the wearer “visible” and “covering the face.”

Strange. Bruce kept working on the sewing machine, pondering the oddity.

Another strange realization hit him: he knew a lot more than he thought.

He was proficient in various forms of martial arts, almost instinctively. His body was incredibly agile, and his learning ability was strong. He quickly mastered the sewing machine, and when he had walked through the library earlier, he had recognized the books, able to predict what would come next just by reading a few lines. He must have read them before, but had forgotten.

Yes… Bruce had a vague feeling that he had forgotten something.

But his memories were flawless; there was no space in his past for all the books he seemed to have read or the nearly instinctive physical training he had undergone.

——What was going on?

“Hey, hey, brother,” a voice whispered from the inmate next to Bruce. “You’re new here, which cell block are you in?”

Bruce felt a flicker of suspicion but, of course, didn’t answer directly. Instead, he asked, “Why do you want to know?”

The prisoner shot him a sly grin. “You see the guy handling the registry? That used to be the infamous Penguin, a former crime boss, but now he’s stuck doing piecework like the rest of us. Don’t be fooled by how he just sits there looking idle; after he’s done with his own quota, he’s gotta log our work and sort out the defective products. The guy works late every night.”

Bruce smiled faintly, a glint of calculation in his eyes. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

The prisoner leaned closer, lowering his voice even more. “What kind of job forces the mighty Penguin to work the sewing machines? And have you noticed all the hoods we’ve made are piling up in the warehouse, yet no one ever comes to collect them?”

“And the most important part,” the man added, “prisoners have been getting moved to new cells recently. My brother was taken away.”

Bruce: “What did your brother do?”

The inmate hesitated before answering, “He had a bad temper. Killed his boss and six coworkers in a fit of rage. They arrested him on the spot. I’m here for stealing.”

“He was always like that—violent, said whatever he wanted. Even when we were kids, he used to beat me up a lot…”

“But still, he’s my brother. I just need to know if he’s dead or alive.”

So it seems the prisoners being moved are indeed dangerous criminals?

Bruce continued working while speaking softly, “I’m new here. Everyone in my cell is a new prisoner.”
He didn’t mention that he had been transferred to the psychiatric wing.

The man looked disheartened. “I guess you don’t know much, either…”

“Ever since the warden started this separate mealtime and exercise schedule, I haven’t seen my brother or any of the other prisoners they took. I don’t even know if they’re alive or dead…”

The room buzzed with the sound of sewing machines, loud and distracting. The man known as the Penguin had two sparrows perched on his shoulders. Suddenly, he stood up and strolled over to Bruce’s table, rapping his knuckles on it.

The others stopped sewing in surprise as the Penguin fixed Bruce with a long stare and said, “Your name.”
“Bruce,” Bruce answered, observing the dark circles under Penguin’s eyes. It was clear he hadn’t been sleeping well. “Bruce Malone.”

Penguin: “…”

Penguin stared at him with an odd intensity before snapping, “What were you two talking about? You, and you—”

He pointed at Bruce and the thief beside him. “Your workload is cancelled for today! Chatting while working?”

The thief’s face showed a flash of resentment as he muttered under his breath, “We didn’t break any rules by talking…”

“Talking isn’t against the rules,” Bruce said calmly. “You’re just trying to flex your authority, to intimidate others and punish us.”

Penguin: “Shut up! You—do you want to end up in solitary confinement?”

Bruce glanced at him.

And then, in a sudden move—

Bruce grabbed Penguin’s shoulder and slammed him onto the table, and the two started grappling. Penguin, caught off guard, was slow to react. Though his combat skills weren’t bad, he shouted, “What are you doing? Hey, don’t just stand there! Help me—”

Some prisoners hesitated, but others, fearing Penguin’s potential retaliation, rushed in. However, their fighting skills were even worse than Penguin’s. Bruce easily knocked most of them down with a single punch.

The sewing machines fell silent, and the commotion finally attracted attention. Guards fired warning shots, storming in to subdue everyone and slap handcuffs on them.

“You’re all going to solitary!” one of the guards barked.

Bruce glanced up at him, then lowered his head with a chuckle.

His goal had been achieved.

——Sleeping in solitary was far better than spending another night across from the Joker.
And besides, Bruce knew he needed to speed things up. He had to find a way to meet the warden and decide his next steps.

His memory was flawed, and something was definitely wrong with this prison. That contact who was supposed to reach out in a week might not be reliable. He needed to start planning his own escape—his plan B.

What puzzled him most was why he hadn’t already prepared a plan B. It made him feel like he had been foolish when he first got himself imprisoned.

Five minutes later, in the office of South Hinckley’s town mayor, Vivi received word of the incident—
——After all, one of those involved was her focus of attention, the Penguin.

Vivi’s land purchase plan wasn’t going smoothly, as the town’s land commissioner had become standoffish after learning she wasn’t from Gotham but an outsider.

And even though “Vivi White” was technically a Gotham resident, when the official looked up her registration and saw that her identity had only been created recently, he gave her that knowing smile—he likely believed “Vivi” was an undocumented immigrant who had only recently obtained legal status in Gotham.

“South Hinckley doesn’t welcome outsiders,” the land commissioner sneered. “Ms Bettywen… or should I say, Warden? No matter what your title is, it’s best you leave quickly.”

The warden was unceremoniously escorted out of the office, as no one else was willing to meet with her.
Vivi rubbed her chin, feeling utterly speechless.

South Hinckley was an autonomous town under Gotham’s jurisdiction, located on an island. In the past, due to poor road access, the town was granted autonomy. They had a small copper mine, and the area’s mineral resources were relatively abundant. The locals made their living through mining and were known for being isolated and highly xenophobic.

It seemed buying land in South Hinckley was out of the question. In fact, Vivi suspected this place might be the key to unlocking some sort of main storyline related to construction—after all, no game would allow a part of the city to remain out of the player’s control, right? Maybe there were just some prerequisites she hadn’t fulfilled yet. If she returned a few more times and got to know the town better, she might be able to trigger it.

Vivi shook her head. Did she really have to buy land in Bristol County?

She didn’t mind, honestly. The goal of buying land was to build a manor, a place that would be entirely hers—especially since Bella’s house had been blown to pieces. With her own estate, she could hire teachers more easily and have a proper place for training.

…But Bristol County was also home to Wayne Manor.

It was said that Batman and Wayne were on good terms. Wouldn’t she be living right under Batman’s watchful eye?

Forget it… Besides, she still hadn’t found a suitable skill trainer.

And then there was the fact that she had tasked Penguin with training those hardened criminals who had used THE1, but before they even got started, Penguin had landed himself in the prison’s infirmary. How could he be so useless?

The inmate who had single-handedly taken down Penguin and put the others in the infirmary, A07S1771, was completely fine. He was locked up in solitary confinement with no injuries serious enough to need medical attention.

And he had fought multiple opponents at once…

Vivi’s expression turned thoughtful. “Matches Malone… I think I need to meet him.”

---