4 Chapter 4: Black Gate Prison

After processing Bigfoot's corpse, Jude cleaned up the water stains on the floor and then enjoyed a peaceful sleep.

He woke up early the next morning, dismantled an old radio, sifted through the remaining TV parts, and assembled a miniature bug.

Armed with the laser transmitter and the miniature bug, Jude hailed a taxi to Black Gate Prison.

Black Gate Prison, distinct from Gotham City's Arkham Asylum, is a government-run facility for ordinary criminals like gangsters, thieves, and robbers. Arkham Asylum, on the other hand, is a hub for mentally unstable and super-powered criminals, including clowns, harlequins, scarecrows, mad hatters, mud faces, and more.

Located a considerable distance from the city outskirts, Black Gate Prison nearly depleted Jude's remaining funds.

Upon reaching the prison office, Jude addressed the front desk guard, "Hello, I'm here to see Deputy Warden Bob Dylan."

"Sir, do you have an appointment?"

"No, but I have a friend here, and I want to discuss business with him."

The prison guard displayed a nonchalant expression, commonplace in the thoroughly corrupt city of Gotham. Money could secure the release of even death row inmates, a power exceeding that of the president, whose pardons were limited.

Guided to Bob Dylan's room, the guards discreetly departed, taking others nearby with them.

"Hello, Deputy Warden."

Despite his aged appearance, Bob Dylan failed to recognize Jude but courteously gestured for him to sit. After all, who could dislike the boy who bestowed money?

"Sir, who is your friend? When did they arrive? What crime are they in for? With this information, I can negotiate a suitable price."

"Price? Is it really necessary to be so forthright, Mr. Deputy Warden?"

Bob Dylan chuckled, "This is Gotham!"

"Yes, this is Gotham; there are few righteous individuals here, except for Batman."

"Shh!"

Bob Dylan's expression darkened, "Don't mention that name; it's taboo; no one likes it."

"Okay, sir, let's discuss business; let's talk about your friend's situation."

Jude smiled, "It seems you didn't recognize me. I'm Jude Herbert. I arrived just four days ago, but you threw me out."

After Jude spoke, Bob Dylan scrutinized him, a flicker of recognition transforming into surprise and a subsequent grin.

"It's you! Why are you here again? Did you bring more money? If you can pay another $3,000, I'll tell you where your friend was sent."

"Frankly, it's not a good place. Compared to the prison, it's almost heavenly. Your friend is called Ai... Ivy, right? A fragile, impoverished little rabbit. I doubt she'll last long."

Bob Dylan, faced with Jude Herbert, showed no concern. A pauper with no wealth or influence in Gotham, what threat did he pose? Bob held a respectable position as deputy warden, ranking in the second echelon within the police circle.

"Of course, I need to know where Ivy was sent, but $3,000 is too little; I think $1 billion is more appropriate."

Bob Dylan recoiled, then erupted, "You dare to mock me! Get out of my prison immediately!"

Jude retorted calmly, "With $100,000 and information about my friend, I'll leave."

"Billy, damn this guy! Where were you? Get rid of this pauper!"

A brawny guard, towering at two meters, stormed in, noticing the situation. Jude, surreptitiously holding a small laser transmitter, raised an eyebrow and warned, "Approach, and you'll spend your life in a wheelchair."

The two men's expressions changed drastically. Mistaking Jude's device for a gun, they hesitated upon closer inspection, realizing it was nothing more than a tattered toy.

Without warning, Jude activated the laser transmitter, emitting a low muffled sound and causing the ground to shake slightly. The two-meter giant collapsed, his left leg melting and disappearing.

"What!"

A heart-wrenching cry escaped him as the affected leg disintegrated, leaving a blackened, crusted knee.

The commotion attracted the prison guards, armed with electric batons and firearms.

Seizing the opportunity, Jude pointed the transmitter at Bob Dylan, grinned, and shouted, "I accidentally broke a water glass; you lazy bunch, get back to work!"

Despite Billy's continued howling, the guards, obedient to Bob Dylan, reluctantly left. After all, this was Gotham—where the powerful held sway and everyone else was merely a worker.

"A wise decision. Can we discuss my request now?"

Bob Dylan stammered, "Sir, threatening a judicial officer with a gun will have consequences."

"Really? Perhaps you should listen to this."

Jude nonchalantly retrieved a miniature listening device, activated the speaker, and played the recorded conversation between them.

"While Gotham may be corrupt, I believe there are still some good officials, such as Director Gordon and Prosecutor Fatirme."

"If this recording reaches their hands, I'm confident you, Deputy Warden, will face serious repercussions. We could even delve into your darker secrets, and spending decades behind bars may become a reality."

"Son of a...! You dare to threaten me?"

"No, you've misunderstood, Mr. Bob. This is merely business, initially valued at $3,000. Through your cunning, it escalated to $100,000."

"Now, tell me—will you provide me with news and money, or will you spend the rest of your life in jail alongside those prisoners you've mistreated? If you choose the latter, I recommend preparing for some unpleasant experiences. Trust me; it'll be beneficial for you."

After half an hour, Jude exited the prison with $10,000 and a sense of refreshment. By tomorrow, an additional $90,000 would fill his account. With this money, he could embark on some intriguing endeavors.

Yet, news about Ivy eluded him, and Bob Dylan remained ignorant of her whereabouts—a predicament requiring resolution.