About fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulled discreetly over by the roadside.
The bus station was less than half a block away. Distant gunfire and blazing artillery fire kept even the elevated monorail above the street from finding any peace.
Watching Downton get out of the car with an indifferent expression, the taxi driver toyed with a Magnum round and waved at him.
"Buddy, seeing how generous you were, good luck."
"Wish yourself luck. I don't need that kind of blessing!"
As he spoke, Downton drew the pistol from his waist and swaggered against the flow of the crowd toward the increasingly concentrated gunfire.
Seeing the bullet holes and bloodstains on Downton's clothes, the bystanders hiding nearby and watching the battle gave him a wide berth. The Gotham police, however, walked toward him.
"GCPD!"
The officer shouted at Downton from a distance.
"Whose man are you? Sabatini's or Dimitrov's? Talk!"
Faced with the Gotham police's questioning, Downton sneered and flicked his gun barrel.
"I work for Boss Sabatini. You sure you want to stop me?"
With that, Downton strode forward without ceremony, forcibly breaking through the police's weak blockade with his chest as he headed toward the gunfire.
Behind him, the officers enforcing the blockade looked at one another.
"Does Sabatini have any Asian men working for him?"
"Never heard of it. Boss Falcone's men are almost all Italian. Isn't Sabatini one of Falcone's people too?"
"Only small gangs like Dimitrov's are exclusively Russian. As for Falcone, he's the King of Gotham. Nothing about the people under him would be surprising!"
"You sure?"
"We make our living under Falcone. If that guy were Russian, we'd have to stop him no matter what. But an Asian should be fine."
"Let's hope there's nothing wrong with that Asian's identity. We took so much money—we can't just be here to clean up the mess. We ought to put in some effort!"
The officers talked over one another as they coldly watched Downton's retreating figure gradually approach the battlefield.
As the gunfire drew closer, the flickering firelight, smoke, and occasional tremors made Downton swallow.
The weight of the Desert Eagle did a fine job dispelling what little nervousness he had left. Walking straight into the stray bullets, he quietly approached two thugs hiding behind cover.
Seeing him come closer, the Russian thugs—who occasionally raised their hands over the barricade to fire a few wild shots—froze.
"Who the hell are you?"
"The boss doesn't have any Asians under him!"
The two Russian thugs suddenly realized something and immediately tried to swing their guns toward Downton.
But Downton had already fired!
Bang!
One thug's right chest exploded in a cloud of blood.
The Desert Eagle was absurdly powerful. Rednecks usually used the thing to hunt bears and wild boars. Using it on people was giving them far too much credit.
The gruesome sight startled the remaining thug. His teammate's blood and shredded organs splattered all over his face.
Yet even with his vision obstructed, the uninjured thug went mad, emptying his entire magazine toward Downton in moments.
Bang bang bang bang!!!
Amid the string of gunshots, Downton let out a muffled grunt. The other man's aim was awful, but at this distance, he still got hit once.
He had no experience yet. All he knew was that he seemed to have been shot in the lung, leaving him short of breath.
Besides that, the Desert Eagle's recoil really was too strong. The web of his hand had gone numb.
At least his legs were fine. That was good news.
Using his free left hand to cover his left ribs, which had yet to start hurting but were bleeding nonstop, Downton took two steps forward and pressed the muzzle against the remaining Russian's head.
Bang!
After the shot, even Downton's lips were smeared with something filthy enough to make him gag. He had no idea whether it was blood or something even more revolting, like tofu brain.
He hurriedly wiped his face twice with his sleeve and spat several times. But as he kept spitting, he couldn't help coughing up bloody foam.
Not far away, more Russian gang thugs noticed Downton's approach and what he had done.
"Damn it, Falcone's men got behind us!"
"Urichenovsky's head got blown off!"
"What the fuck are those cops doing!"
"Those cops have all been bought off by Falcone! They let Falcone's men through!!!"
Shouting as they did, the Russian gang sent four or five men charging toward Downton.
Downton aimed from afar and dropped the bastard running in the straightest line with one shot. Then bullets from the others struck his chest and thigh in rapid succession, bursting like red balloons.
Gotham thugs were far more capable than African street punks. Their shooting was pretty accurate. Even the Batman of the future often got shot despite his agility.
After being shot, Downton went down with the force of the bullets and lay motionless on the ground.
His adrenaline was still doing its best, but Downton didn't want to waste his bullets with his current body.
He couldn't see clearly anymore, and he couldn't aim either.
Seeing Downton lying motionless in a pool of blood, the gang members came closer. One of them stepped forward and kicked him in the ribs.
"Fuck, where'd this Asian come from!"
The man cursed, then put another bullet into Downton's head.
Bang. Blood sprayed everywhere, but the next second...
"Fuck!"
"What the hell!"
"He... he's burning!"
"He turned to ash!"
"He's gone!!!"
The thugs who had come to reinforce them watched with their own eyes as Downton's mangled corpse spontaneously combusted out of thin air, turning into ash within moments and scattering through the air.
Atop a building on a distant street corner, a homeless man observing the battlefield through binoculars was also stunned for a moment when he saw it.
Then the homeless man quickly took out a camera and snapped two pictures of the spot where Downton had vanished into ash, asking at the same time.
"Alfred, I've only been gone seven years. Have even Gotham's dead started acting strange?"
"Hm?"
On the other end of the concealed earpiece, Alfred paused slightly as he brewed tea.
"Sir, Gotham's dead have never rested easy, but I'd still like to know what you saw."
"Nothing. I took pictures. I'll show you when I get back."
Bruce answered, then continued observing the battlefield.
Though he had only just returned to the city, the hatred in his heart would not let him sit idle at home.
He desperately wanted to do something, and even more desperately wanted certain people to receive their due!
So over the past few days, Bruce had wandered Gotham's streets and alleys disguised as a homeless man.
Naturally, he would not miss a gang war like today's.
As Bruce observed the scene, hurried breathing came from an alley behind Gotham History Museum in Burnley District.
"Whew, fuck, that felt awful."
Downton, whose clothes had become even more tattered, took a deep breath, then removed the magazine and loaded it full of bullets.
After reinserting the magazine, Downton tucked the pistol into his waistband and jogged out onto the street.
"Taxi!"
After flagging down a taxi, Downton quickly gave the driver the destination. Before long, he returned to the spot where the police had stopped him earlier.
The officers were still chatting.
"I thought that Asian guy was Falcone's secret weapon."
"Dropped dead just like that. Fucking clean death, too. Still, he took out three of them."
"Quit talking nonsense. At least he wasn't afraid to die. Men like that are hard to find."
"True enough. I've been a cop for so long, and the only person I ever killed was when I gave the Falcone family my proof of loyalty. That Asian killed three people in moments—more than I've killed in my entire life."
As everyone chatted, a slightly trembling voice suddenly rose from among the officers.
"Fuck, what am I seeing!"
"What are you seeing?"
The people beside him looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze into the distance.
They all froze.
"Fuck!"
"Shit!"
"What the hell is that!"
"Am I seeing things!"
"It's that Asian!"
"Wasn't he... fuck, is this Groundhog Day?!!"
Amid a chorus of curses, Downton once again arrived before the police with his pistol in hand.
"Move." He waved the gun barrel at the stunned officers.
The officers looked at one another, then tremblingly made way for Downton.
At the same time, Bruce, watching from the nearby building, drew in a sharp breath.
His unusual breathing caught Alfred's attention.
"Sir, what did you see this time? You sound very surprised."
"You were right, Alfred. The dead in Gotham have never rested easy!"
As he answered, Bruce took out his camera and clearly captured Downton's appearance.
Coming back from the dead?
That was far from ordinary!
Before you continue