Chapter 8: The Bus Ride is Thrilling and Intense

"Where does it hurt?"

"Damn it, how do you have the nerve to ask me that?"

"You've only lived in Gotham for a year; do you have absolutely no concept of ordinary life anymore?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi had ten thousand complaints swirling in his heart but didn't know where to start, so he instinctively fixed his gaze on the gun Drake was holding.

Seeing his look, Drake chuckled with a hint of self-deprecation: "I originally wanted to give you my gun, but then I remembered Old Jack seems to be having his clearance sale today, so I just went and asked; you're in luck, he still has one barely used Glock 17 left, and if you buy it with 9mm ammo and a magazine together, it's only three hundred dollars."

"Wait, clearance sale? A Glock 17? Is the driver's side hustle arms dealing?"

"Don't worry, quite a few locals in Gotham buy these, but since the quality is hit-or-miss and they're too light, plus they're all cop-issue, many people sell Glocks sourced from police stations, which sometimes gets everyone into trouble—but this one is absolutely fine; Old Jack wouldn't screw me over."

Amidst the conversation, several tattooed, burly men boarded the bus.

Ma Ma Zhaodi bewilderedly took the gun into his hands, while Drake thoughtfully tucked the remaining magazines into his jacket pocket.

He instinctively glanced at the driver again, only to find two or three people already queuing beside him; the old man looked utterly relaxed, steering with one hand, occasionally turning his head to chat a few words with customers, while his right hand pulled out gun after gun to hand over to passengers extending cash.

Hell, he even executed a one-handed drift through an intersection.

"By the way, I haven't even asked yet." Ma Ma Zhaodi, as if waking from a dream, looked at the windshield, which seemed merely decorative: "Why does this bus have no glass?"

Several leather-clad hooligans who looked somewhat like gang members walked in through the door.

"There used to be some, but after they shattered a dozen times, the operations boss refused to repair them anymore."

"A dozen times?"

"Ah, well, since this bus departs from the East End, little friction occurs from time to time."

"Wait, wait..."

Ma Ma Zhaodi pressed his forehead, thinking hard for a long while: "Are you saying we live in the East End?"

Several women dressed in revealing, garish attire giggled as they boarded the bus.

Ma Ma Zhaodi's comic book reading volume was not ideal; unlike certain die-hard Batman or DC super-fans or lore scholars who could recite every major event, character relationships, organizational structures, origins, regions, and institution names off the top of their heads, he did indeed have some impression of the East End.

Achieving widespread fame is rather difficult, but becoming notorious is incredibly simple, and the East End of Gotham City is exactly such a place.

As the world's capital of crime, the land of deepest darkness, a dangerous city built on crime and gangs, Gotham's name is a household word across America, while the East End is universally recognized within Gotham as its most infamous district.

As Gotham's least developed area, the East End is rife with poverty, crime, prostitution, drugs, and weapons trafficking; beggars, gangs, criminals, prostitutes, addicts, thugs, and arms dealers are visible everywhere. Its most famous alley was originally called Park Row, where Thomas Wayne and Martha Wayne were shot to death, and precisely because of that shooting, the alley was renamed Crime Alley.

If you don't know who those two are, just remember that the Wayne family is one of the four great families that founded Gotham.

"Exactly, otherwise where do you think I'd live? The Diamond District?"

"..."

Several addicts looking pale and listless staggered from the front door to the seats at the rear of the bus.

Watching them settle into the back seats, Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't help but feel a surge of despair; no wonder so many 'sleeping dragons and phoenixes' had been flooding onto the bus all along—the composition of people inside was now extremely mixed, like sealing sulfur, saltpeter, charcoal, and shrapnel inside an iron shell.

You couldn't say it would definitely explode, but you knew that once it encountered fire, it really might; now Ma Ma Zhaodi could only pray that Drake was reliable enough not to let him run into an iron explosive shell waiting to meet fire.

"Screech—Bang!"

The driver of the speeding bus suddenly slammed on the brakes; just as everyone on board was about to be thrown about, the braking bus crashed heavily into another bus pulling into the lane from the side, turning everyone into rolling gourds.

"Damn it! You son of a bitch, don't you know how to drive? Driving this fast in the East End, do you want to go to hell early to f*** your mother?"

"You idiot, keep f***ing yelling and I'll shove the barrel up your a**! F*** your f***ing mother!"

The driver of the opposing bus was a middle-aged Black man; after Old Jack initiated the vocal exchange first, he immediately responded with enthusiasm no less than Old Jack's and flowery rap delivery rivaling famous West Coast rappers. The intensity of their exchange grew increasingly heated, yet miraculously, the street did not descend into gridlock; clearly, Gotham's residents had developed strong driving skills and psychological resilience through their daily lives.

Of course, they also possessed the mental readiness to discard morality and prioritize survival.

To put it more simply, Old Jack and the Black man started screaming insults at each other, but the other passing Gotham citizens were already accustomed to it; they pressed over the solid lines and sped off against the flow of traffic.

There was no helping it; in modern society, everyone is busy, with horses, carriages, and mail all in a rush—an ordinary citizen might only have time in one morning to sell a few dozen grams of product, take six or seven clients, or dispose of three or four corpses.

After all, one must make a living.

"Bastards!" As the shouting match grew more intense, Old Jack became increasingly agitated, his speech accelerating until even a few spittle droplets landed on his beard: "I'll show you right now how we reason in Gotham!"

Immediately afterward, he pulled a dark shotgun from beneath his seat.

"Bang!"

"Holy crap, it really met fire!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi's face was filled with despair; trembling, he hugged the pistol in his arms tightly. Although he had only obtained it a dozen minutes ago, clearly, from the moment Old Jack fired, this gun had become one of his sworn brothers in life and death.

However, everyone around wore indifferent expressions, having long since drawn their guns; even Drake patted his shoulder: "It's fine; in a moment, we'll get off first and find a safe place to hide. Once Old Jack finishes fighting, he'll continue driving, and you'll still make it to work on time."

What the hell does 'continue driving after finishing the fight' mean?

(End of Chapter)