Gotham's train station had just received another innocent unfortunate.
In a place like Gotham, strangers did not usually show up. And when they did, they were generally gangsters doing business with the locals, thugs, smugglers, human traffickers, or criminals who had stirred up trouble somewhere else and fled here for refuge. In short, anyone who took a train to Gotham was usually neither a model citizen nor a wealthy tycoon.
After all these years, not a single foolhardy capitalist from outside had set his sights on Gotham. There might have been plenty of cooperation, but there was very little open communication. It was simply a matter of taking what each side needed: you needed a little access to the black market, and I needed a little green paper.
Even so, in a city as huge as Gotham, a few exceptions appeared from time to time. Every now and then, some truly innocent unfortunate would mistakenly wander into this far-from-innocent city.
One of them was James Gordon. He had walked into the Gotham Police Department alone to take up his post, possessing nothing but a heart full of passion and justice. Completely unprepared, he had jumped straight into the Gotham Police Department's cesspool. And now, he had already made something of himself there—not that the current Gotham Police Department was anywhere near bright and righteous, but there was no doubt that Gordon's efforts had not been fruitless.
Another was Gotham's White Knight, Harvey Dent. As a district attorney who hated evil with a passion, he had done plenty of good in Gotham, setting things right and punishing evil. Of course, he had been luckier than Gordon, because after coming to Gotham, he had received help from both one of Gotham's most violent psychopaths and the commissioner of the Gotham Police Department, James Gordon.
And the next one was this Asian young man who seemed to carry a distinctly Gotham-like air about him.
Of course, you could also say he had a touch of insanity about him. After all, how could anyone mix around in Gotham without going crazy?
Anyone who didn't go crazy was practically a god.
As for everyone else? It wasn't that there were none. Some became part of Gotham's darkness, while others became part of Gotham's piles of corpses. Those who couldn't fit in would soon leave the city. Even if they did not leave now, they would leave eventually. In short, they did not belong here.
Thus, the three people mentioned above had more in common than simply being innocent. They were also all still alive—and wanted to stay alive in Gotham.
At least, that was what Selina believed.
She normally would not appear in public during the day without good reason. Cats were nocturnal, after all. From time to time, she would visit Gotham's train station to see whether some sucker or rich man had dared to walk Gotham's streets carrying a fortune. It was part of her profession, anyway: taking some glittering treasures from the rich and bloated, then using them to decorate her little cat's nest—or helping some unfortunate souls in the East End when she had time.
After all, when certain petty thieves stole from the wrong person, they could end up with a bullet through the head. Even in Gotham, such a punishment was rather too harsh.
Just yesterday, she had seen an Asian man like this one get off at the station. His eyes were clear, yet he knew nothing; he was extremely alert, yet full of openings. From head to toe, he exuded a strange air of poverty, along with a sense of alienation from the city.
Perhaps he had heard of Gotham's notorious reputation. Perhaps he had seen how the locals behaved during the train ride. Yet he had still come here headfirst, penniless and lost.
Selina had grown up in the lawless East End. She could see through a person like that at a glance. He had neither the nerve to throw his weight around nor the ambition to set things right. He was nothing more than a husky that had lost its home.
What could he possibly do after coming to Gotham? Get a job?
Though she found his appearance strange, Selina had still given him a small warning out of convenience. She had taken the only thing he possessed—the driver's license from his coat pocket—and looked it over before putting it back in his trouser pocket.
To be honest, she had felt a little regretful while stealing from him that night. She had been so shocked that such a dirt-poor loser existed in the world that she had actually forgotten to slip some money into his pocket.
That pocket had been truly spotless. Even the faces of the socialites and wealthy ladies at Gotham's high-society parties, carefully maintained as they were, were still inferior to his pockets.
So when Selina saw Ma Zhaodi on the street today, she was slightly surprised. After all, she had prowled through the streets and alleys of Gotham's East End the previous night and had only seen two dead gang members. She had originally assumed that the outsider she had seen at the station had already been disposed of so thoroughly that not even scraps remained.
Yet this fellow seemed to have found somewhere to spend the night on his very first day here—and had even made a friend.
The hat and scarf he wore were old, but they were neither dirty nor torn. His spirits were good, and his clothes were clean. That meant he had slept in a safe shelter and a normal bed, rather than on the filthy floor of some abandoned building.
Combined with the gun in his hand and the man beside him who had taken him on buses and brought him to a shelter, it was obvious that the man was very close to him and had given the penniless newcomer considerable help.
That man was not a Gotham local either. Selina could clearly tell.
Judging from his expression, the man trusted him deeply. Perhaps the two of them were brothers who had not seen each other in many years?
If so, then he was not a very competent brother. He himself carried an air of alienation that clashed with Gotham, so he should never have allowed his friend to enter the city.
Selina stood atop a rooftop with great interest, watching the two men hiding in the corner. The pauper from the station was not only remarkably ordinary but also remarkably unlucky. She had spent ages trying to figure out how someone so harmless and poor had managed to provoke such an enraged, hot-tempered marksman.
Indeed, how had this happened? Ma Zhaodi was considering the same question.
"What do you think? If I push you out, will he let me off?"
"That depends on his anger level. Someone who's lost his temper will definitely kill indiscriminately. After all, everyone knows that fighting is exhilarating."
"Then I think there's still hope. He looks like he has at least a little reason left."
"Does he?"
Drake twisted his head around and began hurling abuse at the man outside the corner: "You're a useless piece of garbage! Even with a gun, all you can hit is my busted shoe! My brother says your gun isn't as accurate as his aim when he was three! At least when he missed, he could still splash someone! You'd better stop using a gun! Go home and practice shooting your own pistol!"
After finishing his tirade, Drake pulled his head back from the corner and gave Ma Zhaodi a haughty smile.
"He probably doesn't have much reason left now."
Before you continue