Drake's Top-Tier Improvisation

A new innocent unlucky soul has arrived at Gotham's train station.

In a place like Gotham, strangers rarely visit. If they do, they're usually gangsters with business ties to the locals, enforcers, drug dealers, human traffickers, or criminals fleeing people they shouldn't have crossed. In short, anyone arriving in Gotham by train is generally not a model citizen or a wealthy magnate.

Over the years, no foolish capitalist from outside has ever set their sights on Gotham. While there might be plenty of cooperation, open communication has always been scarce. It's a simple exchange: you need a little black market channel, and I need a little green cash.

Even so, the vast city of Gotham occasionally sees a few exceptions, with innocent, unlucky souls stumbling into this not-so-innocent city from time to time.

One was James Gordon. He walked into the Gotham PD alone, armed with nothing but passion and a sense of justice, jumping unprepared into the cesspool that is the Gotham police department. Yet, today, he's made a name for himself within the Gotham PD. Don't get me wrong, the Gotham PD is still far from righteous and just, but Gordon's efforts have undeniably yielded some results.

Another was Gotham's White Knight, Harvey Dent. As a district attorney who loathed evil, he's brought about much reform and done many good deeds in Gotham. Of course, he was luckier than Gordon, as he had two people helping him upon his arrival: a certain violent psychopath in Gotham and the police commissioner, James Gordon.

And the next one is this Asian youth who carries a certain Gotham air about him.

Of course, you could also say he carries a hint of madness. After all, who can survive in Gotham without going a little crazy?

Those who aren't crazy are gods among men.

As for everyone else? It's not that there aren't any others. Some have become part of Gotham's darkness, while others have become part of Gotham's corpse pile. As for the rest who can't fit in, they leave the city quickly. Even if they don't leave now, they will in the future. In short, they don't belong in this city.

So, the commonality among these three individuals is not only that they are all innocent but also that they are currently alive and wish to continue living in Gotham.

At least, that's what Selina believes.

She doesn't usually show herself during the day, as cats are nocturnal creatures. She occasionally visits Gotham's train station, looking for any suckers or rich folks who dare to carry large sums of money onto Gotham's streets. It's her job, after all, to snatch some shiny treasures from the fat-cat rich and use them to decorate her little cat den, or to help out the unlucky souls in the East End when she has free time.

After all, some petty thieves might accidentally steal from the wrong person and face a bullet to the head. Even in Gotham, such a punishment is a bit too harsh.

Just yesterday, she saw an Asian man getting off the train at the station. His eyes were clear yet clueless, his guard was up yet full of openings, and he exuded a strange aura of poverty and a sense of detachment from the city.

Perhaps he had heard of its notorious reputation, or perhaps he had witnessed the local Gothamites' behavior on the train, but he still iron-willedly came to this city, penniless, lost, and helpless.

Selina grew up in the vicious East End. She could see through people like him at a glance. He lacked the courage for violence and the ambition for reform; he was just a lost husky.

What could he possibly do in Gotham? Find a job?

Although she found his presence strange, Selina casually gave him a small warning. She took out his only possession, his driver's license, from his shirt pocket, looked at it, and then returned it to his pants pocket.

Honestly, she regretted it a little when she was stealing that night. She was so shocked that such a penniless loser existed in the world that she forgot to put some money in his pocket.

That pocket was truly clean. Even the most meticulously maintained faces of socialites and noblewomen at Gotham's galas couldn't compare to his pockets.

So, when Selina saw Ma Zhaodi on the street today, she was a little surprised. She had scoured the streets and alleys of Gotham's East End last night and only found two bodies of gang members. She had assumed the outsider she saw at the station would have been reduced to nothing by now.

But this guy seemed to have found a place to stay on his first night—he'd even made a friend.

The hat and scarf he wore were old, but not dirty or torn. His demeanor was good, and his clothes weren't stained, indicating he slept in a safe shelter and a proper bed, not on the dirty floor of some abandoned building.

Combined with the gun in his hand and the man pulling him along to take the bus and seek refuge, it was clear that the man had a very good relationship with him, offering him considerable help despite his being penniless.

That man wasn't a local to Gotham either; Selina could tell that clearly.

Judging by his expression, the man trusted him deeply. Perhaps they were brothers who hadn't seen each other in years?

If so, then his brother was not a very good one, as he carried a sense of detachment incompatible with Gotham. He shouldn't have let his friend enter this city.

Selina stood on the rooftop with great interest, watching the two men hiding in the corner. The penniless guy from the station was not only unusually ordinary but also unusually unlucky. She had thought long and hard but couldn't figure out how a harmless pauper had managed to provoke such an enraged, hot-tempered shooter.

Yes, what was going on? Ma Zhaodi was also pondering this question.

"You know, if I pushed you out, would he let me go?"

"That depends on his rage level. The higher-ups would definitely kill everyone. After all, everyone knows fighting is fun."

"Then I think there's still hope. He seems somewhat rational."

"Really?"

Drake turned his head and began to curse loudly outside the corner: "You worthless piece of trash! Even with a gun, you can only hit my worn-out shoes. My brother says your gun isn't even as accurate as his when he was three! At least when he missed, he still splashed someone! Stop using a gun! Go home and practice your shooting!"

After cursing, Drake retracted his head from the corner and gave Ma Zhaodi a proud smile.

"Now he should have no rationality left."