Gotham Still Has Many Good People

At the shop entrance under Downton's gaze, the young saleswoman was equally startled by his sudden appearance.

Just moments ago, she had seen off a generous customer.

While she was still standing at the doorway, lingeringly watching the customer's car pull away, Downton—shirtless—had popped out from behind the vehicle in a flash.

"Am I seeing things?!"

The saleswoman instinctively covered her mouth, staring at Downton in utter disbelief.

When she realized Downton was looking back at her with a cold smirk, her heart skipped a beat. She scrambled back into the shop and slammed the door shut, locking it tight.

Meanwhile, Downton stepped past the idling car and arrived right in front of the door the woman was desperately guarding.

He tapped on the glass door and laughed.

"Come out and serve your customer!"

"I won't!... Wuu-wuu-wuu!"

The saleswoman burst into tears. Serving a customer was out of the question; he—he—he was not human!

Who just pops out of thin air?

He was a demon, a devil, or perhaps...

Suddenly, the saleswoman's already wide eyes widened even further.

She recalled a nursery rhyme her mother had told her when she was a child.

Beware the Court of Owls, that watches all the time. Ruling Gotham from a shadowed perch, behind granite and lime. They watch you at your hearth, they watch you in your bed. Speak not a whispered word of them, or they'll send the Talon for your head.

Though it was only a fleeting thought, the content of that reverie made the saleswoman's legs go even weaker.

How many children in Gotham didn't know that rhyme?

Even Bruce Wayne had been terrified by it as a child; owls were the animal young Bruce feared most, aside from Batman.

Downton, of course, had no idea what the saleswoman was thinking. He simply knocked on the door while peering through the glass at her black-stockinged legs.

Don't get the wrong idea; he wasn't a lecher. Even if he did want to do something, he wasn't perverted enough to target a woman who reeked of urine.

That's right—even though the saleswoman had clamped her legs together, she had still wet herself.

Bodily instincts were not something an ordinary person could suppress.

Seeing this, Downton couldn't help but roll his eyes. He drew his pistol from his waistband and tapped the glass door with the muzzle.

"Let's try a different way to talk. This is a robbery. Open the door right now, or I'm shooting!"

"I—I—I...?"

For some reason, even though Downton had drawn a gun, the saleswoman's fear subsided significantly.

Looking at the muzzle pointed at her through the glass, she even felt a sense of relief.

So you're not a demon, not a devil, and not a Talon from the Court of Owls.

You should have just said you were robbing the place! If you'd said that earlier, I wouldn't have been so scared—I'm used to this!

"Don't shoot, this door is very expensive!"

Determined that Downton was merely a robber, the saleswoman obediently pushed the door open.

As she ushered him in, she spoke.

"The boss is out, and my colleague went shopping with her new boyfriend. There's only me here. You... the register is at the counter, help yourself... just please don't hurt me, please, wuu-wuu!"

As she spoke, her sobbing grew louder. The damp sensation on her legs made her feel increasingly ashamed, and with that feeling mixed with her fear, she couldn't stop the tears.

Seeing the woman crying like that, Downton pointed his gun toward the counter.

"Go change your clothes. The smell is strong, hurry up!"

"I..."

"I what? Move!"

Seeing her hesitate, Downton tapped her head with the butt of his gun. The saleswoman, who stood about 1.7 meters tall, looked like a little chick in front of the 1.86-meter-tall Downton.

Startled by his threat, she scurried toward the counter, eager to reach the staff breakroom in the back to compose herself.

Passing the counter, she couldn't help but pause to open the cash register first.

Clang~

The sound of the register popping open was crisp and pleasant. Aside from several stacks of bills of various denominations, a few coins clinked together.

However, Downton didn't touch the money. Clothes were more urgently needed than cash. While the saleswoman was changing, he helped himself to a black suit and headed into the fitting room to put it on.

When Downton emerged from the fitting room, the saleswoman was mopping the floor by the entrance. Hearing his voice, she froze for a split second before immediately picking up her pace.

While scrubbing away, she managed to squeeze in a word to Downton.

"You'd better grab the money and leave quickly. Someone already called the police. I... I didn't press the alarm, but someone saw you threatening me with a gun."

"Ha, my thanks. A pity about the timing, or I'd certainly toast to your cooperation."

Hearing her, Downton looked up and glanced at the store's surveillance cameras.

He then walked over, drew his gun, and blew all three cameras to pieces.

The sound of the gunfire made the saleswoman squeeze her legs together tightly; she felt like she might wet herself again.

Fortunately, Downton's next question distracted her from her fear.

"Hey, are these the only three cameras in your store?"

"Uh... there's one more in the staff breakroom. Is... is something wrong?"

"Nothing at all."

Having received his answer, Downton walked over to the cash register at the counter.

This was a mid-range luxury boutique, so most customers paid by card. There was no large sum of cash in the register, only small bills kept for change.

Downton grabbed a handful of bills, walked back to the saleswoman, and casually stuffed the cash into her cleavage.

The saleswoman was quite well-endowed, and her chest held the bills well enough, which was the least he could do for his "kindness."

"The store's been robbed anyway, so who cares who has the money? If anyone asks, just pin it on me."

Leaving those words behind, Downton raised his gun again and fired wildly around the shop.

After emptying the magazine, he reloaded while pushing open the shop door under the saleswoman's complex gaze.

As Downton stepped onto the street, the onlookers who had gathered at the sound of gunfire scattered like birds and beasts.

Only two sturdy middle-aged men drew their own pistols, intending to confront him.

Seeing them looking as if they were facing a mortal enemy, tense and ready to empty their magazines at any moment, Downton laughed with interest.

"Fellas, there's no need for this. I haven't even hurt anyone.

I just borrowed less than a thousand bucks and a set of clothes, that's all."

Right in front of them, Downton gestured goodwill by pointing his muzzle toward the sky.

At the same time, the two men confronting him checked inside the clothing store.

The saleswoman was standing there in a daze, but she was clearly safe, and her clothes were perfectly intact.

They exchanged a look and holstered their weapons.

The slightly balding man hurried into the store to fuss over the saleswoman.

Unlike him, the younger man turned to Downton and said, "The cops around here usually 'patrol' the bars two streets south. You'd better head north.

If you hijack a car, they might not be able to stop you in time.

Who doesn't have a shitty day? Good luck, pal."

"Ha, interesting. My thanks!"

Hearing the young man's well-wishes, Downton laughed. Gotham really was full of good people.

Taking the advice to heart, he glanced in the direction the young man had pointed, then walked up to a car parked on the side of the road, intending to smash the window with his gun butt.

Not far away, the young man who had just advised him froze for a moment, then rushed toward him.

"Don't you fucking move, that's my car!!!"

"Shit, you should've said so earlier!"

Downton sheepishly pulled back his hand just before the strike.

"Almost hit friendly fire!"