The Dead in Gotham Are Never at Peace

About fifteen minutes later, the taxi pulled over to the curb in a low-profile manner.

This place was less than half a block from the bus station, and the distant gunfire and fierce artillery fire made even the suspended light rail above the street restless.

Watching Downton step out of the car with an indifferent expression, the taxi driver toyed with a Magnum bullet and waved at him.

"Buddy, for the sake of your generosity, good luck."

"Save your luck for yourself; I don't need the favor of that stuff!"

As he spoke, Downton drew his pistol from his waist and swaggered against the flow of the crowd toward the increasingly intense gunfire.

Seeing the bullet holes and bloodstains on Downton's clothes, the passersby hiding nearby to watch the battlefield gave him a wide berth, but the Gotham police officers walked straight toward him.

"GCPD!"

From a distance, the officer shouted at Downton.

"Whose man are you? Sabatini's or Dimitrov's? Give me a straight answer!"

Facing the Gotham police's inquiry, Downton sneered and flicked the muzzle of his gun.

"I'm with Boss Sabatini. Are you sure you want to stop me?"

As the words fell, Downton stepped forward without ceremony, forcefully bumping the officer's weak blockade aside with his chest as he headed toward the sound of gunfire.

Behind him, the officers enforcing the blockade looked at one another.

"Does Sabatini have any Asian subordinates?"

"Never heard of it. Boss Falcone's men are almost all of Italian descent, and isn't Sabatini just working for Falcone anyway?"

"Small gangs like Dimitrov's are the only ones that are truly all Russian. As for Falcone, he's the King of Gotham; it wouldn't be strange for him to have anyone under his command!"

"Are you sure?"

"We're eating off Falcone's plate. If the guy were a Russian, we'd have to stop him no matter what, but an Asian should be fine."

"I hope this Asian's identity isn't a problem. Otherwise, we've taken so much money, we can't just do the cleanup work—we have to put in some effort at least!"

The officers muttered to one another, watching coldly as Downton's back gradually disappeared toward the battlefield.

As he drew closer to the gunfire, the flickering firelight, smoke, and the tremors that came from time to time made Downton swallow hard.

The weight of the Desert Eagle did a good job of dispelling his remaining nervousness. He walked straight into the stray bullets and quietly approached two thugs hiding behind cover.

Seeing him approach, the Russian thugs, who were occasionally sticking their hands out from cover to fire blindly, froze for a moment.

"What the hell are you?"

"Boss doesn't have any Asians under him!"

The two Russian thugs suddenly realized something, and they immediately tried to shift their muzzles toward Downton.

But Downton had already fired!

"Bang!"

With a deafening blast, a large mist of blood exploded from the right side of one thug's chest.

The Desert Eagle was inherently powerful; rednecks usually used this thing to hunt bears and wild boars, so using it on a person was really giving them too much credit.

The gruesome scene startled the remaining thug, his face splattered with his teammate's blood and viscera.

But even with his vision obstructed, the unharmed thug acted like a madman, emptying his entire magazine in Downton's direction in a split second.

Bang, bang, bang, bang!!!

Accompanied by a series of gunshots, Downton couldn't help but let out a muffled groan. Although the opponent's aim was very poor, the distance was so close that he still took a hit.

He didn't have much experience yet, but he felt like he had been shot in the lung, which made it hard for him to breathe.

Besides that, the recoil of the Desert Eagle was indeed too great, leaving the web of his hand feeling numb.

However, his legs were still fine, which was good news.

Covering his left ribcage—which was bleeding profusely but hadn't started to hurt yet—with his free left hand, Downton stepped forward and pressed the muzzle against the remaining Russian's head.

Bang!

After the shot rang out, Downton's lips were stained with filth that made him want to retch; he couldn't tell if it was blood or something even more disgusting.

He hurriedly wiped his face with his sleeve, spitting twice, but as he spat, he couldn't help but cough up some blood foam.

Not far away, more Russian mobsters saw Downton's approach and his actions.

"Damn it, Falcone's men have gotten behind us!"

"Urichenovsky's head has been blown off!"

"Goddammit, what are those cops doing!"

"Those cops have all been bought off by Falcone; they let Falcone's men through!!!"

Shouting, the Russian mobsters split off four or five men to charge at Downton.

Downton aimed from afar, and after taking down the bastard running in the straightest line with one shot, his chest and thigh were hit by the enemy's bullets in succession, like red balloons exploding.

The quality of Gotham's thugs was far superior to the small-time crooks in Africa; they were actually quite accurate. Even with the movement techniques of that future Batman, he often took hits himself.

After being shot, Downton followed the force of the bullet and lay motionless on the ground.

Although his adrenaline was still surging, Downton did not want to waste his remaining bullets with his current body.

His vision was blurring, and he could no longer aim.

Seeing Downton lying motionless in a pool of blood, the gang members approached, and one of them kicked Downton in the ribs.

"Damn it, where did this Asian come from!"

The man cursed, then fired another shot into Downton's head.

Bang, blood splattered, but the next second...

"Holy shit!"

"What the hell!"

"He... he's burning!"

"He turned into ash!"

"He's gone!!!"

The thugs who had come to provide backup watched in horror as Downton's tattered corpse spontaneously combusted, turning into a cloud of ash that dissipated into the air within moments.

At the top of a building on a distant street corner, a vagrant watching the battlefield through binoculars couldn't help but freeze for a moment.

Then, the vagrant hurriedly took out a camera, snapped two photos of the spot where Downton had turned to ash, and asked.

"Alfred, I've only been gone for seven years, has Gotham become so abnormal that even the dead are acting up?"

"Huh?"

On the other side of the hidden earpiece, Alfred paused while pouring tea.

"Master, the dead in Gotham have never been quiet, but I am curious to know what you have seen."

"Nothing, I took some photos, I'll give them to you when I get back."

Bruce replied, then continued to observe the battlefield.

Although he had only just returned to this city, the hatred in his heart made it impossible for him to sit idle at home.

He was desperate to do something, and even more desperate to see some people get their retribution!

Therefore, for the past few days, Bruce had been wandering the streets and alleys of Gotham in his current vagrant disguise.

He certainly wouldn't miss a scene like today's gang war.

And while Bruce was observing, a sound of rapid breathing came from the alley behind the Gotham Museum of Natural History in the Burnley District.

"Hoo, damn it, that really didn't feel good."

Downton, his clothes even more tattered, took a deep breath, then removed the magazine to reload his bullets.

After reinserting the magazine, Downton tucked his pistol into his waistband and jogged out to the road.

"Taxi!"

After hailing a cab, Downton quickly gave the destination, and soon, he returned to the area where he had been intercepted by the police earlier.

The police officers were still chatting idly.

"I thought that Asian guy was Falcone's secret weapon."

"He died just like that, died so damn cleanly, but at least he took three of them down with him."

"Stop talking nonsense, at least he wasn't afraid of death; henchmen like that are hard to come by."

"That's true. I've been a cop for so long, and I only killed someone when I was paying my dues to the Falcone family. That Asian guy took out three in just a few moments—that's already more than I've killed in my entire life."

Just as they were chatting, a slightly trembling voice suddenly came from among the officers.

"Fuck, what am I seeing!"

"What do you see?"

The men beside him looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze into the distance.

As a result, they all froze.

"Holy shit!"

"Shit!"

"What the hell is that!"

"Am I seeing things?"

"It's that Asian guy!"

"He isn't... holy shit, is this Groundhog Day?!!"

Amidst a flurry of curses, Downton walked up to the police again, pistol in hand.

"Make way!" He gestured with the muzzle of his gun at the stunned officers.

The police looked at one another, then tremblingly cleared a path for Downton.

Meanwhile, Bruce, observing from a nearby skyscraper, drew a sharp, ragged breath.

His unnatural breathing drew Alfred's attention.

"Master, what have you seen this time? You sound quite astonished."

"You're right, Alfred. The dead in this city of Gotham never stay quiet!"

As he replied, Bruce pulled out his camera and captured a clear image of Downton.

Back from the dead?

This was far from ordinary!