Unthreatened

"Ceres, one serving of grilled meat rice, one tortilla, and a chicken burrito. Also, what liquor do you recommend?"

Ceres glanced at Jude in surprise. "Since when did you start drinking? I remember you never ordered alcohol."

"That was the old me. After lying in bed for three days, I discovered that alcohol is really good stuff. The more I drink, the more energetic I get."

"You're paying, so it's your call. How about tequila? You're on Mexican turf—if you don't drink tequila, you can't call yourself a friend."

"If you recommend it, it must be good."

While waiting for the food, the two chatted idly. Ceres suddenly remembered the Foot Clan and couldn't help asking, "Buddy, have the Foot Clan guys come looking for you?"

Jude had intended to say yes, but changed it to no at the last moment. Five people had died, after all. There was no need to make a big fuss and invite more trouble.

"No? But I'm guessing it'll be within the next day or two. Buddy, I have a suggestion."

Jude looked at Ceres with amusement. "What? You want my car too?"

Ceres chuckled. "Who wouldn't? That's a 1957 antique. Tons of people want it. What I don't understand is why a guy like you, who usually can't even scrape together a hundred dollars, insists on clinging to that car. If you sell it, you'll become a millionaire immediately."

"Who told you I was clinging to it?"

Ceres's eyes lit up. "So you're planning to sell it?"

"I was, but unfortunately, the car is already gone."

Ceres was startled. "You sold it to someone else? We had a deal, buddy. I get first dibs. For that, I've been making one dollar less on every chicken burrito I sell you."

"I didn't sell it to anyone."

"Whew... that's more like it."

"I dismantled it."

It took Ceres a second to process that.

"What the hell! Are you crazy?"

"Of course not. I'm clearer-headed than ever. The car just changed form. It's still by my side."

As Jude spoke, he patted the laser emitter at his waist.

Ceres snapped, "Jude Herbert, from today onward, don't expect any more one-dollar privileges. Everything must be paid in full."

At that moment, the owner's wife, Anna, walked over. She shot her husband an annoyed glare, then consoled Jude instead. "Herbert, without the car, the Foot Clan will come after you. How are you going to deal with them?"

"Simple. Tell them who the boss is!"

The couple both wore expressions of utter confusion.

"Herbert, did three days of sleep make you stupid? What nonsense are you talking? At a time like this, you should either run as fast as you can or pray for Batman to show up."

Beep beep...

Suddenly, Jude's phone rang. He looked down at it, then smiled. "Don't worry. I'm confident I can handle it."

On the phone screen, four burly men in black trench coats briskly entered the street. Without hesitation, they headed straight for the apartment building where Jude lived.

"Suspicious fellows. Let's see what you're here for."

Jude scooped up a spoonful of grilled meat rice and stuffed it into his mouth while carefully watching the surveillance footage.

The moment they entered the apartment building, the men threw open their trench coats and pulled out an assortment of firearms—everything from handguns to semi-automatic weapons.

"Good. They really are here for me. There can't possibly be two troublemakers hiding in one building."

Then the screen went black. A few seconds later, it lit up again, and the men in black trench coats were already standing outside Jude's door.

The leader made several gestures. Someone immediately stepped forward and knocked on the door, while the others hid where they couldn't be seen through the peephole.

But after knocking several times without receiving an answer, the leader gestured again. The others rushed forward, smashed the door open, and charged inside.

However, once inside, they were dumbfounded. The room was a complete mess, with barely anywhere to step, and the target was nowhere to be found.

"Joe, he isn't here. What do we do?"

"Wait. He'll come back. He's trash. He just got a little money, so maybe he's sucking milk in some ****'s arms right now. But once he spends it all, he'll return to his dog cage."

After saying that, the four men lounged around Jude's room and began smoking. None of them noticed that, in a corner beneath the bed, Butter Bot Mark One's eyes had lit up.

At the restaurant, Jude crossed one leg over the other and downed a big gulp of tequila. The sensation was intensely sharp and refreshing. As he savored it, he casually tapped a button on his phone.

Command input. Activating attack mode!

Butter Bot's emotionless mechanical voice immediately drew the attention of the men in black trench coats.

"Someone's there!"

"Who's there?"

"Get out here!"

The men reacted quickly, instantly chambering their weapons as they searched the room for the source of the sound.

Then, a thirty-centimeter-tall little robot rolled out from beneath the bed. It looked rather comical, and the four men immediately relaxed.

"Didn't expect this guy to be a robot enthusiast. Don't tell me the money he extorted was for buying Gundam—the stuff from Neon Country."

"Haha, could be."

They were busy mocking Jude when Butter Bot Mark One's eyes flashed red. It suddenly raised both arms and opened fire. The revolver cylinders in its arms spun rapidly, spraying out twin tongues of flame.

The robot's accuracy far surpassed that of humans. Even at twenty rounds per second, it could kill without missing. Three of the four men in black trench coats were shot in the head, their heads blown apart like watermelons. The remaining man had all four limbs pierced through, but he was still alive.

Butter Bot then rolled up in front of the surviving man in black, its dark gun barrels aimed at him.

Command: Movement prohibited. Violators will be killed without mercy!

Even though the man was in excruciating pain, he did not dare move in the slightest. All he could do was curse this damned mission in his heart.

"Good boy!"

At the restaurant, Jude slapped his thigh in praise.

He downed the rest of the tequila in a few gulps, paid the exact bill, even left an extra ten percent tip, and hurried home excitedly.

His neighbor Banderra went to bed early and slept deeply. The gunfight had been extremely brief, so she noticed nothing unusual. Besides, this apartment building was very old and had few tenants. Even if someone heard gunshots, it wouldn't matter. Don't forget—this was Gotham.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk..."

"Let me see who this is. What little kitty got trapped?"

Jude grinned as he pushed open the door, locked it behind him, and crouched down in front of the sole survivor.

"Buddy, you broke into my room without permission. I think we need to have a talk. Don't you?"

The man in black grimaced in pain, but when he saw Jude, he laughed instead. He knew there was no negotiating with a robot, but people could make deals. In Gotham, few dared offend his boss, Penguin.

"Kid, your name is Jude Herbert, right? Do you know whose man I am?"

"No, but I'd like to know. Maybe you can tell me."

"Listen carefully. My boss is Mr. Oswald. So? Scared now?"

"Oswald... that sounds familiar. Wait, does he also go by Penguin?"

The man in black glared at Jude. "You dare call him that? Be careful, or he'll chop you up and feed you to the fish."

Jude burst out laughing. "Second question: why does Penguin want to kill me?"

The man in black frowned. The guy in front of him didn't seem afraid of his boss.

"I asked you, why does Penguin want to kill me?"

"I... I don't know either. We were just following orders."

The two stared at each other in silence. Just as the man in black was about to say something, pain suddenly shot through his neck, and he lost consciousness.

"Looks like I'll have to ask him myself."

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