Chapter 20: A Calm and Peaceful Day

"Squeak—"

The truck's brakes were slammed, and that bat extended a hand, as if wielding a force of a thousand pounds, effortlessly wresting control of the steering wheel from Carl.

"Carl Scott."

A cold, ruthless voice rang from its mouth, a duet with a hoarse electronic undertone, like the voice of some demon from hell come to the human world, making Carl's legs tremble.

"You know two people from the Falcone family."

"I—" Carl instinctively wanted to deny it, but the words reached his lips and he dared not speak them.

The bat's pupil-less eyes stared at him, its cold gaze seeming to pierce through his heart.

But he could not voluntarily reveal information about the Falcone family, so after stammering in silence, he still said with a tremble: "I, I'm just a truck driver."

"What did those two people make you do at four in the morning last Wednesday?"

"I—"

"On September 16th, three years ago, at dawn, you had a hit-and-run. The woman with the child you hit suffered ruptured internal organs and died on the spot. You got out of the car, watched with your own eyes as the child in her arms died from excessive blood loss, and then left the scene."

"On December 7th and December 25th, two years ago, you smashed a motorcycle and then ran over a drunkard lying on the road; last year—"

Carl listened as it recited the things he had done in a mechanical tone; the fear in his heart swelled, finally reversing into a guilty, hysterical rage: "Enough! I have no idea what you're talking about! You freak—"

"Crack!"

"Ah—!"

The black pistol fell to the floor; Carl's right arm, which he had intended to use to draw a gun, was now a soft, slightly deformed limb dangling uselessly by his side.

"Answer my question."

The bat monster's tone remained calm and cold, as if it had not just broken Carl's arm.

"I f— ah!"

"Crack!"

Carl tumbled out of the truck door onto the ground; just now he had tried to open the door with his left hand to escape, so this time it was his right leg that was broken.

"I'll talk, I'll talk!"

The excruciating pain in his right arm and right leg made Carl wish for death; he now dared not oppose this monster for the sake of two so-called good brothers: "I'll tell you everything! Don't touch me!"

The bat stepped down from the vehicle, lifted him up with one hand as easily as picking up a small chicken. It waved its hand, shooting out a rope; a few seconds later, the two figures shot upward at high speed, quickly leaping onto the roof of a nearby building.

"Speak."

After Carl confessed everything he knew, seeing that bat withdraw its gaze from him, he couldn't help but let out a long breath.

"I've told you everything I can say; can you let me go now?"

However, that bat didn't even turn its head; it casually pulled out Carl's phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, this is the Gotham City Police Department."

"Tell Gordon to come to the Airds Fort District to make an arrest; there is a fugitive suspect here who has committed multiple hit-and-runs and intentional murders."

Hearing their conversation, Carl's eyes nearly burst from their sockets: "No! You can't do this to me! You lying freak!"

"Bang!"

A fist the size of a sandbag aimed gently at his mouth knocked all his teeth loose, and two front teeth were knocked straight to the ground.

Carl, with half his face swollen high, immediately fell silent.

"I'll keep the phone on; you can follow the signal to find him in the truck." While saying this, he lifted Carl up again and delivered a knife-hand strike to the other's neck, causing him to faint instantly.

"Come quickly, and remember to call an ambulance."

With the last words spoken, the black bat spread its wings again and flew into the night sky, disappearing into the thick darkness above Gotham City. It still had to rush to its next target.

As always, night after night.

"Where did you get such a strange thing?"

"What strange thing? I used it to speed back here from Airds Fort in twelve minutes; please show some respect for my beloved vehicle."

"What thing? This unicycle can fly?"

"It's a wheelchair, thank you."

Ma Ma Zhaodi casually flipped the unicycle, and it turned back into the Ghost Fire Wheelchair; however, the seven-colored lights were off; if left on inside a room, the dazzling colors would indeed be a bit of light pollution.

"..." Drake fell into a brief silence; from his perspective, whether it was a wheelchair or a unicycle, neither quite fit his Stamp Imprint of high-speed transportation.

Hmm, Stamp Imprint.

"In any case, was today's work relatively smooth?"

"Harvey Dent showed up."

"..." "Didn't you fight?"

"You actually knew about the situation over there!"

"I'm not stupid; I can hear a bit of the wind."

Seeing that Ma Ma Zhaodi's emotions seemed slightly unstable, Drake hurriedly soothed him: "Calm down, calm down; this kind of thing is an extremely rare accident; Harvey usually doesn't go there."

But once he goes there, he basically causes some major incident, either extracting information or forcing someone to act.

A year ago, someone really couldn't hold back and shot Harvey's bulletproof vest; that time, the man on the hospital bed cooperated with Batman and Chief Gordon, using this opportunity to thoroughly clean up a batch of the Falcone family's gray industries, and also caught an important family member of the Falcones.

"And putting aside those extremely rare incidents, the tips are generally substantial, right?"

"That's true." As soon as wages were mentioned, Ma Ma Zhaodi's emotions immediately stabilized; the three hundred dollars in asset points spent on the modification and driving today came from his tips.

One can only say, the rich in Gotham are truly not poor.

The only flaw was that the perfume of the wealthy woman he served seemed a bit too sticky; a trace of the scent still lingered on Ma Ma Zhaodi's right buttock, making him sigh, "Auntie's hand is so sweaty."

No choice; one must live.

That night, Ma Ma Zhaodi casually flipped through the waiter's notes recorded on the system log, after all, one beats the drum while being a monk for the day. As long as the wages were in place, he was always dedicated to his work; learning more excellent experiences would help him improve his service level and earn more tips.

After enjoying a dinner cooked by Lady Camilla, he took a hot shower, counted his wages, took a reassuring look at the unlucky ghost hanging on the gargoyle tonight, and then sank into sleep.

Today was Ma Ma Zhaodi's third day in Gotham; aside from encountering Harvey Dent, a near-gunfight at the workplace, a ghost-fire wheelchair, and being chased and riddled with bullets by a few idiots on the way home, nothing else happened.

Another calm and peaceful day.

(End of this chapter)