Chapter 9: Cat

"Bang!"

"You little dog! Do you finally know how to speak in Gotham!"

"Bang! Bang!"

"You old bastard, you're not the only one with a gun in Gotham!"

Watching the two bus drivers immediately draw their guns and exchange fire without a word, the passengers in both vehicles agilely climbed out of the windows, skillfully finding safe positions; those unlucky enough to be hit by stray bullets found cover and drew their own weapons to join the fray, while those unhit waited quietly for the shootout to end—the entire process flowed smoothly amidst the chaos, and the passengers' reactions could not be called well-trained, but at least could be described as practiced through repetition.

Immersed in the orderly daily life of Gotham's East District, Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't help but shed tears moved by this lively atmosphere of gunpowder and smoke: "Drake, you scumbag, if you want me dead just say it directly, no need to beat around the bush like this to mess with me."

"This bus is the fastest and safest one we can catch in the East District," Drake shook his head. "Taking any other bus, you either get forced to the back by armed cars during traffic jams, or you might have your wallet stolen right inside the vehicle, or worse—in Gotham, every week someone gets raped on the bus, or simply disappears when getting off."

While Drake was rambling on, a stray bullet flew straight through the concrete corner right beside Ma Ma Zhaodi, making his already suspended heart hang even higher: "Is it possible that in this situation I could still get my skull cracked open by a bullet!"

"Trust me." Drake flashed him a proud smile. "This bus is different; most people inside are here for revenge. Debts have their debtors and grievances their sources; there are many times in Gotham when people hold grudges but find it inconvenient or undesirable to settle them according to the rules. In such cases, many of them will arrange a meeting here."

"Maybe you stole a customer from me, or I sold you a pack of fakes, or we just bumped shoulders on the road—it doesn't matter. We all know clearly that these trivial matters aren't the real reason we draw our guns, but damn it, we just couldn't hold back anymore."

"No matter what, as long as it's something you can't handle on the spot, you can come here to settle it—on this bus full of desperate men, cheap weapons are always available. We have nothing left but a life as fragile as grass and a butt-load of messy troubles. When you and I draw guns and shoot at each other, we determine both superiority and life or death. The dead are honestly tossed into the sea by others, ending everything. The living vent their anger, then honestly return to continue living their shitty lives."

"So unless some madman takes a dislike to us and insists on hunting us down, we, as mere passengers, will almost never encounter trouble. This corner is a spot I carefully selected: good visibility, concealed position, moderate distance. It allows us to peek out and watch the show while avoiding others' attention, and once the fighting ends, we can rush to the bus immediately."

"I've been hiding here for a full half-year; the most serious injury I've suffered was twisting my ankle because I ran too fast."

Listening to his explanation, Ma Ma Zhaodi couldn't help but feel a surge of respect. Drake had indeed mixed in Gotham for a year and already faintly possessed the demeanor of an old-school Gothamite from the Zheng Hei Flag faction. Look at that mind, hey; look at that mindset, hey; look at that adaptability.

"Bang!" A bullet struck the ground near Ma Ma Zhaodi's feet, interrupting his thoughts.

"You brat over there! I've been watching you damn fools for a long time. Riding the bus for half a year and treating our duel as entertainment? Have the guts to show your head! Today I'll shoot you dead, you little bastard!"

"?"

Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at Drake, then listened to the distant cursing, and suddenly didn't really want to acknowledge this friend anymore.

"Is this what you call safe?"

"How could I have expected there to be a madman who rode the bus for half a year without dying! And he specifically targets me to ride the bus! I was being so low-profile—"

"Bang! Bang!"

Seeing two more bullets fly over, Ma Ma Zhaodi's heart nearly jumped out of his throat.

"Stop talking so much damn nonsense! Think of a solution quickly!"

Drake looked around; this spot was good in every way except for the lack of escape routes. To slip out and run into other streets, they would have to expose their bodies to the opponent's firing zone for about three to four seconds.

Facing the threat of death, Drake seemed to become unusually calm. Over and over in his mind, he planned the escape route, possible scenarios, and the best posture and evasion maneuvers. At this moment, he was like John Wick possessing his body from a movie, or like Agent 47 from a game—no emotion, pure rationality.

"Don't be afraid, I'll lead you out."

He analyzed with perfect composure, as if he weren't being hunted down amidst a hail of bullets in Gotham City, but rather chatting leisurely on the bustling streets of Metropolis.

His mind rapidly mapped out an escape route; he could seemingly see his figure agilely rolling behind the car, rising up, using the car's hard engine block to stop 9mm bullets, sprinting and diving behind a trash can in the gap between the opponent's shots, using the visual cover to crouch and dash forward, swiftly bursting open the door of the bookstore opposite, lightly leaping out of the second-story window of the bookstore, rolling upon landing, and vanishing from the opponent's sight.

Even if the enemy angrily fired several shots, they would only graze past his cold face, unable to harm him in the slightest.

"Watch my moves."

A calm smile curved the corners of his mouth as he gently took off one shoe and flashed the toe of it across the wall corner like lightning.

"Bang! Bang!"

Looking at the leather shoe that now had two extra holes, he calmly put it back on his foot.

One second passed.

"You ballless cowards! Come out!"

"Bang!"

Two seconds passed.

"Hahaha, you cowards who dare not show your heads! Let's compare whose gun is harder!"

"Bang! Bang!"

Three seconds—

"What are you doing? Move!" Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at Drake in confusion. "Didn't you say you had a plan?"

"I think hiding here is actually safer." An awkward yet polite smile appeared on Drake's face. "His marksmanship is a bit beyond my expectations; if we followed the plan, we might gain a few extra holes in us the very first second we stepped out."

"."

I was truly foolish, really. Ma Ma Zhaodi raised his dull eyes and continued thinking: I only knew that Drake had lived in Gotham for a year, could find a reliable connection, could help me find a job, and then get to work alive; I didn't know he was such a clown and so capable of attracting hatred.

"Did it never occur to you that someone who could survive on this bus for a full half-year would have poor marksmanship?"

"Stop arguing, think of a solution! You are Gotham's own child! You have a Gotham household registration!"

"I haven't even seen my parents!"

Just as the two were quarreling, Ma Ma Zhaodi suddenly caught sight of someone standing on the rooftop nearby; a graceful figure clad in black was looking down at them, a cat-like smile playing on her lips.

(End of Chapter)