The Tiger-Cocksucker Asian Has Set a New Record

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Downton reloaded his magazine as he walked, though he could no longer hear the sound of gunfire—which was certainly not good news.

Following the flow of the crowd toward the recent skirmish, he found, as expected, that the gang members had already finished their business and fled, leaving behind a large contingent of police officers to clean up the scene.

It was no wonder he had been able to follow the crowd here; as long as no one was actively shooting, the citizens of Gotham didn't mind crowding around a crime scene to gawk at the various corpses.

This city was riddled with countless rumors, all stemming from the vibrant and insatiable curiosity of the Gothamites.

Seeing that the situation had cleared, Downton had no choice but to holster his gun.

He then stripped off his conspicuous, bullet-riddled shirt and, bare-chested, tapped a nearby citizen on the shoulder.

"What's your name?" Downton asked casually.

The citizen he addressed glanced back, his gaze lingering on Downton's pectoral muscles for a moment before he replied.

"Hey, buddy, I don't swing that way."

"I asked for your name, and you tell me you don't swing that way? Are your ears blocked? Do you want me to cut an opening to clear them out!"

Downton drew his gun again, pressing the muzzle discreetly against the citizen's waist.

Feeling the gun, the citizen immediately shivered and nodded.

"Don't get excited, I was just joking. I mean... you look pretty sexy with your shirt off, so if you really wanted to, I wouldn't be opposed."

"Hey!" Downton slammed the butt of his pistol hard into the man's kidney. "Get serious!"

"OK, take it easy, there are cops all over the place! Just say what you need to say. My wife is waiting for me to bring home some condoms so we can have a good time. I only came out because I ran out, so you have to forgive my impatience—I don't want to mess with anyone!"

The citizen explained hurriedly, and Downton leaned in closer, shielding the handgun from view as he asked, "Do you know which gangs were shooting at each other just now?"

"Damn, who here doesn't know that? This is Falcone's territory, and it's always been his man Sabatini running the show! As for their opponents, can't you tell by looking at them? They're just Slavic trash from the Russian mob!"

"Do you know roughly where their strongholds are?"

"How would I know that? I only know Falcone has an Iceberg Lounge where a lot of gangsters hang out. Other than that, I know nothing. I'm not one of them, for God's sake!"

"The Iceberg Lounge, got it."

Downton withdrew his pistol and turned to leave; after all, there were no gang members left in the immediate vicinity.

As for the GCPD officers busy drawing white chalk outlines around the various corpses, Downton had no grudge against them.

Bare-chested, Downton might have looked a bit threatening, or perhaps his tattered pants were simply off-putting.

As he walked by, the surrounding citizens parted to clear a path for him.

But he hadn't even gone twenty meters when he heard a shout from behind.

"Help! That bare-chested Asian guy threatened me with a gun to make me have sex with him, and he was asking about Falcone! I think he's a hitman hired by the Russian mob!"

"Damn it!"

The moment he heard that, Downton spun around with his gun drawn, only to see the citizen he had threatened sprinting toward the police.

Without a second thought, Downton gave chase, covering the distance in a few strides and catching up to the man.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

He fired three shots in succession, and only when the big-mouthed citizen had been shot in the legs and was reduced to crawling did Downton stop, satisfied, and crouch down in front of him.

Grabbing the citizen by the hair, Downton roared at him.

"Do you know why you took those shots? It's not because you called the cops, but because you were slandering me! 'Have sex,' is it? You just can't stop talking about having sex, can you!!!"

Thud!

Downton kicked the man hard in the crotch, then tossed the curled-up, convulsing citizen onto the ground.

Having vented his anger, Downton holstered his gun and walked away, his blatant behavior leaving the surrounding police officers stunned for a moment.

After the brief pause, the police immediately gave chase.

"Stop! Don't move!"

"GCPD!"

"Drop the weapon, get on the ground, and put your hands on your head!"

"Wait, something's wrong with that guy!"

"Damn it, that crazy Asian guy who was killing everyone earlier has respawned!"

Some officers recognized Downton; after all, even in Gotham, it wasn't common for someone who had just been shot to return and kill multiple times in a single day.

However, few of the police officers recognized Downton. Once he turned around, more of them simply raised their guns and opened fire.

The flying bullets and the harsh, deafening gunfire sent the crowd that had just gathered scattering in every direction. The constant, overlapping screams made Downton reflexively rub his ears.

If you're so scared, why crowd around a crime scene? Look at those women shrieking.

And those men, too—screaming just like women.

Meanwhile, the few officers who had recognized Downton began to block the others.

"Stop shooting, take him alive!"

"That's right, the guy is weird. If you kill him, he might just pop up somewhere else again!"

"That Asian guy can't be killed. Capture him alive and hand him over to Falcone!"

"Damn it, there are so many civilians nearby! Are you all crazy, firing in their direction?"

The one who shouted the last sentence was a lean, sharp-eyed little old man. Despite appearing to be in his forties, he ran faster than Downton.

In just over a dozen seconds, the little old man left the rest of the police force in the dust, catching up directly behind Downton.

"Stop right there!"

While shouting, the little old man fired two shots into the ground on either side of Downton. The gravel and sand splashing against his legs made Downton frown as he turned back.

"You're a fast one!"

Downton instinctively aimed his gun at the old man, but before he could line up the shot, the old man fired again.

Bang!

Downton felt a sharp pain in his right hand as a bullet punched straight through the back of his hand.

"Hiss!" He sucked in a cold breath. "That's some accurate shooting."

As he spoke, the old man shifted his aim toward Downton's lower legs.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

As the old man practically emptied his magazine, Downton collapsed to the ground, deciding to take a nap to improve his sleep quality.

Unfortunately, the surrounding police didn't give him the chance. Seeing that Downton's legs had been shattered, they stopped firing.

As for the little old man, he lunged forward, straddling Downton and pressing his gun barrel firmly against his forehead.

"Someone get cuffs on him, take him to the station!"

The old man signaled for the nearby officers to handcuff Downton, and a female officer even grabbed a medical kit to provide emergency bandaging.

Watching the female officer tear open his pants, remove his shoes, and wrap bandages around his calves and ankles, Downton endured the pain and chuckled.

"Being a cop isn't easy, huh? You even have to give the prisoner a foot massage."

"Go to hell!"

The female officer pressed hard into Downton's wound, causing him to stiffen in agony.

Nearby, the few officers who had seen Downton before approached the old man straddling him.

"Detective Gordon, this Asian guy is the one we told you about."

"We saw with our own eyes—twice—that he was riddled with bullets by Falcone and Dimitrov's men. Then his body started burning, and within seconds, there was nothing left!"

"That's right, he spontaneously combusted like a vampire in the sunlight, and not long after, he'd come back perfectly fine to kill again!"

"We aren't joking!"

The officers kept explaining, trying their best to make Gordon believe them.

Listening to his subordinates, Gordon's mustache twitched, and he nodded solemnly at them.

"I don't disbelieve you. After all, in Gotham, anything bizarre can happen."

"You're right about that, Detective Gordon!"

Suddenly, Downton, who had been struggling to suppress the pain, lay there and waved at Gordon.

"Now that I know you're Gordon, my heart skipped a beat. I should really have a good chat with you, but my legs are hurting like hell! Since anything bizarre can happen, I suppose it's only normal for things to get even weirder, right? Goodbye, Detective Gordon. Don't worry, we'll see each other again—or perhaps quite often. Haha!"

As he laughed, Downton followed his instincts and closed his eyes.

A moment later, when he opened them again, he appeared, completely unscathed, in another unknown location.

Ever since he had died once this morning, his instincts had told him exactly what kind of talent he possessed.

His ability was very simple: it allowed him to appear in a random location in a perfectly restored state.

The conditions to trigger this ability were also simple, consisting of only three elements.

Loss of life, loss of consciousness, and loss of freedom.

The freedom mentioned included the freedom of thought and will.

Once he lost any one of the three aforementioned things, he could either passively or actively reset his state, causing himself to appear in another location.

"What a wonderful ability."

After landing, Downton grinned and tucked his pistol back into his waistband.

The two gangsters who had killed his original self were no longer fighting; he would just have to hunt them down one by one.

But before that, it was time to settle some outstanding debts.

The gun shop owner had maintained the pistol exceptionally well, making it feel remarkably smooth to use.

With that, Downton made his decision: he needed to find a lucky bank to withdraw some cash.

Right, before heading to the bank, he first had to find a lucky clothing store to change into an outfit without bullet holes.

At the thought of this, Downton turned his head to the left and let out a soft chuckle.

What a coincidence, wasn't there a clothing store right there!