The days of being a spiritual mentor in Meiman.

Chapter 3339 Bloody New City (88)

Chapter 3339 Bloodshed in New City (Eighty-Eight)

In the evening, the sky over Gotham's upper city was covered by heavy dark clouds. The drizzle that had been drizzling all day had just stopped, and the air was filled with the smell of damp earth. The streets were still flooded, reflecting the colorful light of the neon lights, as if the entire city was immersed in a blurry illusion.

Carter drove a black car slowly into the underground parking lot of Carter Group headquarters. The wheels rolled over the wet ground, making a slight "hissing" sound, as if reminding him that danger was never far away.

The final twilight spread over the Gotham skyline like a pool of blood about to solidify.

Carter's knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel, his face was as pale as paper, beads of sweat appeared on his forehead, and his eyes revealed panic and anxiety that were difficult to conceal.

His suit was wrinkled and he looked disheveled. His breathing was rapid and his chest was heaving violently, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.

The car slowly drove into the darkness of the underground parking lot. The lights gradually became sparse, and the shadows around him were like a huge mouth that opened up, swallowing him up.

Carter's heart beat faster and faster, and he seemed to hear the screams of the prisoners in Arkham Asylum and Schiller's cold and teasing voice.

There was still no sunlight in Arkham Asylum in the afternoon. The towering stone walls blocked the sunlight, and the dim lights in the corridors cast distorted shadows. There was a suffocating sense of oppression in the air.

The cell was filled with kidnapped rich people, their faces full of fear and despair. Some people sobbed softly, while others struggled frantically, trying to break free from their restraints, but everything was in vain.

The prisons that once held their investments were so solid. Perhaps they had contributed to the strong walls and bars, but no one dared to mention such a desperate fact.

Schiller stood quietly by the railing above the patio, one hand on the railing, the other hand in his suit pocket, with a faint smile on his face.

He glanced at the prisoners below, his voice low and calm, but with a chilling sarcasm: "Everyone, welcome to Arkham's special. I know you all want to leave here, but I prefer to leave the opportunity to those who know how to pay the price."

The prisoners in the cell raised their heads, their eyes full of fear and confusion. Schiller continued: "The rules are simple - as long as you are willing to participate in a death game, you will have a chance to leave here."

"Of course, the price of the game is your assets."

The cell was dead silent, with only the sound of breathing and heartbeats echoing in the air. Carter sat in the corner, his hands tied behind his back, cold sweat oozing from his forehead. His mind was in a mess, and his heart seemed to be jumping out of his chest. He knew that Schiller's game was no joke, but he had no choice.

At this moment, a man named Bron suddenly stood up and said in a hoarse but vicious voice: "Me! I am willing to participate!"

Carter suddenly raised his head and looked at Bron. Bron's face was also pale, but there was a hint of determination in his eyes. Carter gritted his teeth and finally stood up: "I will join too."

Schiller's mouth corners slightly raised, revealing a satisfied smile: "Very good, two warriors. Let's get started."

Carter and Bron were taken to a special cell on the right. There were no large bars here, only a small window on the side wall of the room. Outside was the rich man sitting at the table, watching them.

The room was dim and cold, and the air was filled with the smell of rust and mold. A worn wooden table was placed in the middle of the room, on which lay a revolver and several bullets. Schiller stood beside the table, playing with a coin in his hand, his eyes wandering between Carter and Bron.

"The rules are simple," Schiller said. "Each player has a six-shooter revolver. For every billion dollars worth of assets you bring in, you can add one more bullet to the other player's gun. Whoever falls first loses."

Carter's palms were soaked, his throat was tight, and he could hardly speak. He was a banker, a well-known tycoon on Gotham's Diamond Street - which meant he had more financial assets, but he was far inferior to Bloom from Texas in terms of industry.

Countless thoughts flashed through his mind: his family’s wealth, the company’s future, his own life…all of these were shaking before his eyes, as if they would collapse at any time.

"Let's start." Schiller's voice was like a cold blade, piercing Carter's eardrum.

"First round, base bet." Schiller's thumb pushed open the reel, and two .44 Magnum bullets rolled into the velvet tray. "Now please start your charity fundraising."

Bron's crocodile leather boots rolled heavily over the broken glass on the ground: "I'll add two!" The checkbook knocked over the candlestick when it was thrown out, and the melted wax dripped on the back of his throbbing hand. Carter watched five brass bullets being pushed in front of him, and the tip of the pen shook out jagged ink marks on the amount column of the check: "One... one first."

The metallic snap of the cylinder closing was like a venomous snake spitting out its tongue.

First Shot

Bron was the first to put the revolver against his temple, the candlelight reflecting red dots on the whites of his eyes. The Texas wolf who had used a shotgun to blast open the strikers' gates now had a dead white index finger joint due to excessive force.

"Give my regards to your damn Gulfstream!" He pulled the corner of his mouth, and the moment he pulled the trigger -

The muffled sound of the empty chamber startled the bats on the ceiling.

Cold sweat ran down Carter's jaw and hit the equity transfer document, blurring out the golden logo of "Carter Group". Bron shook off the gray hair stuck to his forehead, and the barrel of the gun made a harsh sound on the table: "It's your turn, Diamond Street baby."

Carter's right hand holding the gun showed bruises from the intravenous infusion. When the cold muzzle of the gun touched his cheekbone, he heard the sound of the music box in his childhood bedroom - his father was teaching him to calculate compound interest.

Compound interest, compound interest...how tempting, how dangerous.

The resistance of the trigger spring compression suddenly disappears.

There was silence.

Carter collapsed like a deflated balloon.

The only sound in the dead silence was the rustling sound of Schiller wiping his pen.

"Round 2, emotional premium time." Schiller suddenly lifted Carter's tie with the barrel of a gun. "One billion can not only buy bullets, but also the right to accompany your little daughter to piano lessons."

Carter's pupils suddenly contracted. Bron watched the sticky sweat on his opponent's palm dragging earthworm-like wrinkles on the paper as he signed the check. Carter suddenly grabbed the entire checkbook and tore it in half: "I bet on all the banks on Diamond Street!"

Amid the flying confetti, three bullets slid into the cylinder.

The shadow of the spinning wheel twisted on the wall like the noose of a greedy gambler. This time, Bron put the barrel of the gun into his mouth, his Adam's apple rolling up and down on his dark neck, and his lungs like bellows.

Carter noticed that his left hand was unconsciously stroking the cross pendant - this was now the most valuable thing they had, and he was not talking about faith.

At the moment of the explosion, Bron's dentures sprayed onto the iron table with blood foam. It was not the sound of gunpowder, but the sound of molars gnashing. Empty chamber.

Carter wiped the sweat off his palms on his pants, and smelled the smoke mixed with the smell of incontinence when he pointed the gun at his ear. When he pulled the trigger to the second safety, he began to call on God.

The vibration of the metal firing pin hitting the primer spread from the skull to the whole body.

It's over, it's damn over! ! Carter roared in his heart, but soon he trembled again. No... not yet.

But it's almost time. That damn wolf has four bullets in his gun. He'll be dead in the next shot!

"New rule, you can eliminate a bullet in your gun for the same price. Anyone want to bid?"

Bron roared and slammed all the checks on the table, and the golden bullets jumped in the tremor.

One. He could only withdraw one with his own assets. And there were three more in the gun. There was a one in four chance that he could survive.

As the wheel spun, the Texan finally let out a trapped animal whimper. Carter counted his own heartbeats before he pulled the trigger—seven, two fewer than when he first shorted all of Gotham's crude oil futures.

Amid a deafening explosion, the back of Bron's head splashed an abstract painting on the concrete wall.

Carter kept his gun raised until he saw Schiller stuff the bloody check into his suit pocket. "Congratulations. You are now 58% poorer than when you entered Arkham."

Carter's dull pupils gradually regained their spirits, and he found himself still sitting in the car, holding the steering wheel tightly with both hands. He shook his sweaty hair, as if this could calm him down.

He had no way out. Even if he lost a lot, the remaining wealth would be enough for him to live a stable life, but if he was arrested and imprisoned, he would have nothing.

He pushed open the car door and staggered towards the elevator. The elevator door slowly opened, and he staggered in and pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator was rising at the same speed as his heartbeat. He knew that his fate was sealed, but he had to do his best to survive this game.

The elevator door opened, and he walked out of the elevator and headed for his office. The lights in the office were dim and cold. He looked out the window and saw that the lights of the city were still bright, but behind the brilliance, blood was gradually flowing down from the head that the giant was most proud of.

Carter tugged at his tie, walked to his desk, turned on his computer, and began to check the company's financial records. His fingers tapped quickly on the keyboard, and a trace of determination flashed in his eyes. He knew that he had to win, otherwise everything would be over.

Carter Group main server room, 23:47 PM.

The monitor cast a dark green ripple on the concrete wall, and Carter pulled open his sweat-soaked shirt.

He pulled out a DVD-R disc containing offshore trading records from fiscal years 2003 to 2006 and stuffed it into an industrial-grade shredder. The fragments fell into the incinerator like snowflakes.

"Transfer the Bermuda subsidiary's wire transfer records to the RAID array!" he yelled into the encrypted satellite phone, his left hand using a lighter to burn the shell company's shareholder list.

The phone of David, the financial director, suddenly vibrated on the iron cabinet: "The IRS found our transfer pricing agreement in the Virgin Islands... They were too fast! There is no time to destroy it!"

"Activate the backup plan," Carter gritted his teeth and said, "Add the difference in patent licensing fees of the branch company to the tax-free project of Puerto Rico's manufacturing industry! Quick!"

IRS temporary office at GTO headquarters, 00:29 AM.

Agent Martha Coleman's canvas shoes rolled over the brass-colored data cables on the floor, and the workstation suddenly emitted a shrill buzzing sound.

"This guy is too cunning. The data stream we just captured has disappeared. In my opinion, we should just blow up his server!"

"Good idea. I'll let Lake do something about it."

Just as Carter was directing David to split his last $3.2 million in cash into hundreds of service fees and remit them to the European Trust Fund, the fluorescent tubes on the entire floor suddenly went out. In the darkness, only the emergency lights on the top floor of the Carter Group flickered in the rain.

"Hyena, go to hell!" Carter grabbed the cup and threw it out.

"The power is out, Boss. The backup power supply isn't working. Someone must have tampered with it."

"No, I have to go to the vault. I have to format the system operation log manually, otherwise I'm dead!"