In the evening, the sky in Gotham upper city was covered with heavy dark clouds. The drizzle had just stopped all day, and the air was filled with a humid earthy atmosphere. The water on the streets had not yet subsided, reflecting the colorful light of neon lights, as if it was a whole
All the cities were soaked in a blurred phantom.
Carter drove a black sedan and slowly drove into the underground parking lot of Carter Group headquarters. The wheels ran over the wet ground and made a slight "hissing", as if reminding him that the danger was never far away.
The last twilight was like a pool of blood that was about to solidify, spreading across the Gotham skyline.
The knuckles holding the steering wheel turned white, Carter's face was as pale as paper, fine beads of sweat oozing out from his forehead, and unconcealed panic and anxiety in his eyes.
His suit was wrinkled and he looked embarrassed. His breathing was rapid and his chest was undulating, as if he had just woken up from a nightmare.
The car slowly drove into the darkness of the underground parking lot, and the lights gradually became sparse, and the shadows around him were like huge open mouths, swallowing him up.
Carter's heartbeat was getting faster and faster, and he could still hear the screams of the prisoners in the Arkham Asylum and the cold and playful voices of Schiller.
There was still no sunshine in the Arkham Asylum in the afternoon. The towering stone walls isolated the sunshine. The dim lights in the corridor cast twisted shadows. The air was filled with a suffocating feeling of depression.
The cells were filled with kidnapped wealthy people, their faces filled with fear and despair. Some sobbed in a low voice, while others struggled wildly, trying to break free, but everything was in vain.
These prisons that once held their investments were so strong. Perhaps they had their own efforts among the hard walls and railings, but no one dared to mention such desperate facts.
Next to the railing above the patio, Schiller stood quietly, holding the railing with one hand and putting the other in the suit pocket, with a faint smile on his face.
His eyes swept over the prisoner below, his voice low and calm, but with a chilling mockery: "Everyone, welcome to the Arkham special. I know you all want to leave here, but I'm more
Willing to leave opportunities to those who know how to pay the price.”
The prisoners in the cell looked up, their eyes full of fear and doubt. Schiller continued: "The rules are simple - as long as you are willing to participate in a game of death, you will have a chance to leave here."
"Of course, the price of the game is your assets."
There was a silence in the cell, only breathing and heartbeat echoing in the air. Carter sat in the corner, his hands tied behind his back, and cold sweat oozing from his forehead. His mind was in chaos, and his heart seemed to jump out of his chest. He knew,
Schiller's game is by no means a joke, but he has no choice.
At this moment, a man named Bron suddenly stood up, his voice hoarse but vicious: "I! I am willing to participate!"
Carter suddenly raised his head and looked at Bronn. Bronn's face was also pale, but a trace of determination appeared in his eyes. Carter gritted his teeth and finally stood up: "I'll participate too."
Schiller's mouth raised slightly, and a satisfied smile appeared: "Very good, two warriors. Let's start."
Carter and Bron were taken to a special cell on the right, where there were no large amount of railings, only a small window on the side of the room, outside the rich people sitting at the table watching them.
The room was dark and cold, and the air was filled with rust and mold. A shabby wooden table was placed in the middle of the room, with a revolver and a few bullets on it. Schiller stood by the table, playing with it in his hands.
The coin, his eyes wandered between Carter and Bronze.
"The rules are simple," Schiller said, "one person takes six revolvers at a time. For every billion dollars of assets, you can add an extra bullet to the other party's gun. Whoever falls first will lose.
.”
Carter's palms were soaked, his throat was tight and he could hardly speak. He was a banker and a famous tycoon on Gotham Diamond Street - which meant he had more financial assets, but in
In terms of industry, it is far inferior to Bronn from Texas.
Countless thoughts flashed through his mind, the wealth of the family, the future of the company, his own life... All of this shaking in front of his eyes, as if it would collapse at any time.
"Let's start." Schiller's voice pierced into Carter's eardrum like a cold blade.
"First round, basic bet." Schiller's thumb pushed the wheel away, and two 44 Magnum bullets rolled into the velvet tray. "Now start your charity fundraising."
Bron's crocodile leather boots rolled over the broken glass on the ground: "I'll add two!" When the checkbook was thrown out, the candlestick was scraped down, and the melted wax oil dripped on the back of his hand with blue veins. Carter looked at the five
The brass warhead was pushed in front of him, and the pen tip shook out jagged ink marks in the check amount column: "One...one first."
The metal bite of the closed nest sounds like a poisonous snake spitting a letter.
The first shot—
Bronn took the revolver to his temple first, and the candlelight reflected a beating red dot on the white of his eyes. The Texas wild wolf, who had used a hunting rifle to open the striker's door, had his index knuckle turned white due to excessive force.
"Greetings to me about your damn Gulfstream plane!" He pulled the corner of his mouth, and the moment the trigger was pulled down—
The muffled sound of the empty chamber frightened the bats on the ceiling.
Cold sweat hit Carter's jaw on the equity transfer book, fainting from the golden logo of "Carter Group". Bron shook the gray hair that was stuck on his forehead, and the barrel of the gun made a twitch on the table: "It's your turn to be yours."
, Diamond Street baby.”
Carter's right hand holding the gun showed bruises left by intravenous infusion. When the cold muzzle was pressed against his cheekbones, he heard the sound of a music box in his childhood bedroom - his father was teaching him to calculate compound interest.
Compound interest, compound interest...how tempting and dangerous.
The resistance of the trigger spring compression suddenly disappeared.
Silent.
Carter limped like a leaky balloon.
In the dead silence, there was only the rustling sound of Schiller wiping his pen.
"The second round, emotional premium time." Schiller suddenly used the barrel to pick up Carter's tie, "A billion can not only buy bullets, but also buy your little daughter's company rights for piano lessons."
Carter's pupils suddenly contracted. Bronn watched the sticky sweat on his opponent's palms that were signing the checks and dragged out the earthworm-like folds on the paper. Carter suddenly grabbed the entire check book and tore it in half: "I bet on all banks on Diamond Street
!”
Among the scattered paper confetti, three bullets slid into the bullet nest.
The rotating shadow of the rotating wheel twisted on the wall like a greedy gambler's hanging rope ring. Bront stuffed the barrel into his mouth this time, and the Adam's apple rolled up and down his dark neck, and his lungs were like an agitated bellows.
Carter noticed that his left hand was unconsciously rubbing the cross pendant - this was the most valuable thing on them now, and he was not talking about faith.
The moment the burst sounded, Bron's dentures sprayed on the iron table with blood foam. It was not gunpowder, but the sound of molars biting. The empty chamber.
Carter wiped the sweat off the slit of his palm. When he pointed his muzzle at his ear canal, he smelled the smoke mixed with the smell of incontinence and urine. When the trigger was pulled to the second safety line, he began to shout God.
The vibration of the metal striker hitting the bottom fire spread from the skull throughout the body.
It's over, damn it's over!! Carter roared in his heart, but soon he trembled again. No...not yet.
The newest ⊥Xiao⊥Speak⊥Send⊥Six⊥9⊥Book⊥⊥⊥⊥⊥Book⊥⊥⊥First⊥!
But it's almost there. There are four bullets in that damn wolf gun. He will die with the next shot!
"The new rule, giving the same price can eliminate a bullet in your gun. Does anyone want to bid?"
Bron roared and slapped all the checks on the table, golden bullets leaping in the tremor.
One. The assets he can take out are only enough to withdraw one. There are three in the gun. There are one-quarter chances that he can survive.
When the wheel started to spin, the Texan finally let out a trapped beast-like whimper. Carter counted his heartbeat before he pulled the trigger - seven times, two less than when he shorted all crude oil futures for Gotham for the first time.
Amid the deafening explosion, Bronn's back of his head splashed an abstract painting on the cement wall.
Carter kept holding his gun until he saw Schiller stuffing his bloody check into his suit pocket: "Congratulations, you are 58% poorer now than when you entered Arkham."
Carter's dull pupils gradually regained his spirits. 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 was enough for him to spend his life safely, but if he was arrested and went to jail, there would be nothing left.
He pushed open the car door and staggered towards the elevator. The elevator door slowly opened, and he walked in staggeringly and pressed the button on the top floor.
The elevator was rising like his heartbeat. He knew that his destiny was destined, but he had to do his best to survive in this game.
The elevator door opened, and he walked out of the elevator and towards his office. The lights in the office were dim and cold. He looked out the window. The lights of the city were still bright, but behind this glamorous, blood was gradually becoming the most proud of the giant.
The top of his head flowed down.
Carter pulled his tie, walked to his desk, turned on the computer, and began to check the company's financial records. His fingers twitched quickly on the keyboard, with a trace of determination in his eyes. He knew that he had to win, otherwise everything would be
Finish.
Carter Group Main Server Room, 23:47 PM.
The monitor casts faint green ripples on the cement wall, and Carter pulls away his sweat-soaked shirt.
He pulled out the DVD-R disc that burned the offshore transaction records of fiscal 2003-2006 and stuffed it into an industrial-grade paper shredder, and the fragments fell into the incinerator like snowflakes.
"Transfer the wire transfer records of the Bermuda subsidiary to the RAID array!" he shouted at the encrypted satellite phone, and his left hand was igniting the shareholder list of the shell company with a lighter.
The cell phone of the financial director David suddenly vibrated on the iron cabinet: "IRS found our transfer pricing agreement in the Virgin Islands... They were too fast! It was too late to destroy it!"
"Activate the backup plan," Carter said gritting his teeth, "put the difference in the branch's patent licensing fee into the duty-free project in the Puerto Rico manufacturing industry! Quick!"
GTO Headquarters IRS Temporary Office, 00:29 AM.
Agent Martha Coleman's canvas shoes ran over the brass-colored data cables all over the floor, and the workstation suddenly buzzed.
"This guy is so cunning. The data stream we just caught has disappeared. If you want me to see, just go and blow up his server!"
"Good idea. I'll let Lake move."
Just as Carter directed David to split the last $200 million in cash into hundreds of service fees and transferred it to the European Trust Fund, the fluorescent tube on the entire floor suddenly went out. In the dark, only the emergency lighting on the top floor of the Carter Group was left.
The lamp is extinguished in the rain.
"Hynas that should go to hell!" Carter grabbed the cup and threw it out.
"The power is off, boss. The backup power supply is not effective, someone should have tampered with it."
"No, I have to go to the vault. I have to manually format the system operation log, otherwise I will be dead!"