Chapter 23: Haha, Robbed Again

Ma Zhaodi thought he had already grown accustomed to life in Gotham.

He had worked in Gotham for a full week, seen gunfights, criminals, gangs, a superhero, a future super-villain, many impoverished people at the bottom of society and wealthy elites, and he had even grown used to falling asleep staring at the inverted figure on the gargoyle.

Come on, the way they are posed really looks like a hypnotist hypnotizing someone.

To be honest, aside from attracting some perverted clients with this face during the day, he almost felt he had adapted to this city, at least slightly adapted to its madness.

He was wrong.

That day, he got off work as usual, carried a wheelchair through the alley, but before he could go upstairs, a man's voice suddenly came to his ear.

"Hey brother, give me your wheelchair."

"?"

Ma Zhaodi, who was just about to go home, had his brain freeze for a few seconds.

It wasn't that he had never seen robbers; robbers in the East District were common, but usually, when people robbed, the process and purpose were all the same, yet this robber's approach seemed uniquely creative.

"Um... let me confirm." Ma Zhaodi pointed cautiously at the wheelchair in his hand: "You want to rob my wheelchair?"

The robber holding the gun grinned smugly: "Yes, that's right! Give it to me! I know you, it's spread all over the East District and the Odis District, every night some damn ghost-fire person races on the road! I know what you use to run so fast every day, I know that's a treasure!"

Ma Zhaodi was slightly confused: "With all due respect, if you rob a car, you can run just as fast, why are you obsessed with my wheelchair?"

That great genius froze for a few seconds, his expression shifting from ferocity to thought, then from thought to confusion.

It was particularly funny.

"In any case!" he stammered: "Give me your wheelchair!"

"From my personal perspective, I suggest this wheelchair might be rather dangerous for ordinary people."

"Bang!"

"I said! Damn it, give it to me!"

Ma Zhaodi twitched at the corner of his mouth and looked at the wall nearby; the bullet had grazed past, leaving a hole in the wall, only a few inches from his head.

This was the tenth-plus shooting scene he had encountered in Gotham this week.

To be honest, it was like sensitivity training; the tension was real, but after many times, one really becomes a bit numb. Ma Zhaodi had gone from being stunned like a wooden chicken, to being on edge, to now pretending to be calm, gaining some resistance along the way.

"Here, go ahead." Under the gunpoint, he decisively stopped talking nonsense to avoid being shot in the head by the impatient opponent.

This wasn't him turning coward; after all, every time before, he hadn't faced the gun directly but hid in a corner or in the shadows; facing a cocked gun head-on like this was definitely far more dangerous than before.

"And the money and clothes on you, give them all to me!"

"You can have the money, but at least leave me my clothes?"

"Stop your damn nonsense! Take them off quickly!"

Damn it, pushing people too far!

Ma Zhaodi's anger instantly rose in his heart, then he quickly took off his jacket, leaving only a shirt and a pair of pants, finally taking out his driver's license from the jacket and pulling the SIM card from his phone.

"Alright, alright, I only have two pieces of clothing left on me, take my money and get lost."

"Give me your gun too."

"Bang."

A sudden gunshot interrupted the robbery; a tall, burly man holding a gun walked up to the two of them and spat on the ground.

"That damn gun is mine, you son of a bitch."

The robber clutched his hand, groaning in pain; the burly man's bullet had directly shattered the gun in his hand, tearing a bloody hole in his palm as well.

"Get lost!"

Seeing the burly man's fierce eyes, the robber immediately lost the thought of resistance; he clumsily grabbed the jacket on the side, quickly sat on the wheelchair, didn't dare to reach for Ma Zhaodi's wallet and phone again, but fumbled with the buttons on the wheelchair, disappearing rapidly around the street corner.

"He actually has some talent for driving a wheelchair, but I still don't recommend he speeds it up to."

"Give me back my damn gun." The burly man directly interrupted Ma Zhaodi's rambling: "Don't beat around the bush; since you don't have the guts to use it, don't keep it."

"That's just a normal Beretta, okay? It hasn't been modified at all." Ma Zhaodi protested while obediently handing over the gun: "You make it sound like some peerless killing weapon."

"Shut up." He put the revolver in his hand and the well-used Beretta back into his waistband, but didn't ask where the newer Colt was; instead, he spat at Ma Zhaodi's feet: "I've been waiting at Old Jack for a week, you damn dog didn't have the guts to show up, racing around the streets on a damn wheelchair like a lunatic from Arkham Asylum."

"Coward."

Damn it!

Ma Zhaodi, in a rage, forcefully put his jacket back on, then shoved his driver's license and phone back into his pockets, turned around, and walked upstairs.

He was angry, of course, but there was no need to argue with such a brute; being cursed at twice wouldn't hurt him.

What if cursing back actually made him lose a piece of flesh? Last time after Drake cursed him, he had turned red-hot.

Clinton looked at him disdainfully, didn't stop him, but turned and left.

"Damn Gotham, full of cowards."

"Damn Gotham, full of idiots, and madmen."

Ma Zhaodi cursed angrily at Drake: "I'm just driving a wheelchair home and I get targeted, and they come with guns to rob me; damn it, can a wheelchair even go faster than a car!"

"Judging by your time getting off work and going home, your wheelchair speed yesterday already exceeded ninety percent of the crazy drivers in Gotham." Drake looked at his watch expressionlessly: "It's now ten fourteen; you went upstairs at ten thirteen; assuming the robbery downstairs took you three minutes, you only spent ten minutes getting home."

"Ah, well, not exactly." Ma Zhaodi smiled awkwardly: "I got home in nine minutes."

"What are you so proud of?"

Drake shook his head: "Your speed is a full quarter faster than before; if this continues, I'm really worried about seeing news on the paper one day about 'Speeding Ghost-Fire Wheelchair' rear-ending a supercar and getting crushed into a cookie."

"Whatever, it got robbed anyway." Ma Zhaodi ate the meal left on the table gloomily: "Pity the wheelchair I spent effort modifying; it could go up to one hundred and sixty."

And the five hundred points spent on Advanced Wheelchair Driving Mastery.

Meanwhile, on the quiet East District street late at night, a seven-colored streak of light flew past with screams.

"Stop! Ahhh—this damn wheelchair!"

Thud!

The next day, Ma Zhaodi went out early for work; Drake was eating breakfast while reading the Gotham Daily; suddenly, a news headline on the paper caught his eye.

"The Gotham urban legend 'Super-Speed Ghost Fire Wheelchair' rear-ended a Wei En executive; the wheelchair driver is currently being stitched back together."

"Pfft!"

(End of this chapter)