Ma Zhaodi looked at Drake, his eyes holding four parts shock, three parts despair, two parts disdain, and one part admiration.
"You're still a person, right?"
"If one of us dies, we both die."
"How did I not realize before that you were this—"
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
"Fuck your fucking—! I'm gonna skin you two alive! I'm gonna chop off your fucking— and stuff them into your fucking— to use as fucking—! You pieces of shit! Just wait until you die! If I don't fucking kill you two today, I'll put a bullet through my own forehead!"
The bullets that had originally been fired at the corner of the wall for suppressive fire suddenly became as dense as firecrackers. The man's cursing echoed through the streets. His choice of words and tone made it clear that he was probably even angrier than before.
"See? He's getting impatient."
Drake shook his head. "The thing I hate most about Gotham is places like this. The citizens are emotionally unstable, a little hot-tempered, and whenever something happens, they don't want to sit down and talk it out."
"Fine, fine. If you can talk, then talk some more. It'd be best if you kept this up until you died."
The two traded barbs, but in their hearts, they were praying that the other would be crushed by a passing dump truck or killed by falling airplane wreckage.
Alternatively, they could try shooting back and killing him. After all, their opponent was alone, while they had two people.
Ma Zhaodi looked at the Glock pistol in his hand, whose safety he had spent ages trying to find, and sighed inwardly. We aren't close. Then he looked toward the roof of the building beside them. The catlike figure had already disappeared. He sighed again. We aren't close either. He thought that this Save Point opportunity looked like it would have to be used once.
Drake suddenly spoke. "Huh? Why did the sound stop?"
That was right. Why had the man's gunfire and cursing both stopped?
Two radically different possibilities immediately sprang into Ma Zhaodi's mind. One was extreme luck, and the other was extreme misfortune.
His heart suddenly began pounding. In the silence, he stared fixedly at the corner of the wall and unconsciously swallowed.
The next moment, a burly man suddenly flashed into view with a ferocious grin, the dark muzzle of his gun pointed straight at the two of them.
"Bang! Bang!"
Before Ma Zhaodi could pull the trigger, the man had already fired twice. Ma Zhaodi felt a numbness in his hand as the bullets knocked the Glock from his grip. Drake's black pistol hit the ground at the same time.
"We're screwed!"
"Bang!"
A scorching blast of air erupted. The high-speed bullet tore through the air, grazing Ma Zhaodi's temple and carving a gap through his short black hair.
He instinctively closed his eyes, but the next bullet never came. Only gunshots around the bus and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground rang out.
Had Drake killed him?
He opened his eyes in confusion and, sure enough, found that the gunman had collapsed on the ground. But Drake was just as bewilderedly looking at him, as if trying to confirm whether he had been the one to kill the burly man.
The two exchanged a glance. Ma Zhaodi could only crouch down and gently turn the man over. He found no wounds on him, and the man was still breathing with a beating heart.
"He's not dead. He just passed out."
"Why did he pass out?"
"I don't know. Maybe a dog pissed him off so badly that he fainted."
Though he said that, Ma Zhaodi already had a vague guess in mind.
Although it was true that in this world, the farther one stayed from superheroes, the safer one was, someone had still saved his life today. He owed her a debt now.
The ability and style of knocking out an armed, heavily built man within seconds and then leaving without a sound were classic Catwoman.
"Don't just stand there. Take all the guns and bullets off him, then tie him up tighter."
Drake wasn't much of a fighter, but his reactions were quick. It seemed he had indeed learned a thing or two during his year in Gotham. While calling out to Ma Zhaodi, he swiftly searched the man and took his belongings. In the end, they found a Beretta, a Colt Revolver, and the Colt m2000 in his hand—three guns in total—along with two magazines and two bags of bullets. Anyone who didn't know better might have thought this guy was some famous gang enforcer.
"Are you sure he isn't in some gang?" Ma Zhaodi asked as he tied up the man. "I really don't want some Black Gang Godfather summoning me tomorrow for a little 'chat' or something."
"As far as I remember, he's been in quite a few gangs, but never for long. Look, the gang tattoos on his body seem to have been removed. The tattoos he has left don't mean anything. I'm guessing even the gang leaders couldn't stand his temper."
"You rode the bus for half a year and never noticed this guy wanted to kill you?"
"One of the main reasons I survived half a year of riding the bus was that I didn't look around or ask questions. Besides, this bastard always looked like he was about to attack whoever he saw. How was I supposed to know he'd really taken an interest in me?"
As Drake spoke, he took out the man's wallet, then hesitated for a moment.
"Seriously, I kind of don't want to let him walk away alive."
Ma Zhaodi looked at the burly man, feeling conflicted as well. Killing and robbing someone was wrong, but this man had indeed come within a hair of taking his life.
He thought carefully, then turned to Drake.
"Does he know where you live?"
Drake froze for a moment, and his expression quickly turned strange.
"He's never actually shown up near my house."
"But if he wanted to investigate, he could have found it out long ago?"
"Right."
Hearing that, Ma Zhaodi put away the gun in his hand.
"Since the person who saved us didn't kill him, we'll follow her wishes and leave him alive. Put the wallet back too. That money would be useful to us, but it isn't much."
Drake looked at Ma Zhaodi in surprise. At that moment, he suddenly felt that even without his help, his new friend might be able to adapt to Gotham very quickly.
Of course, Gotham's way of doing things wasn't necessarily right. They might let him go today, only for him to shoot them dead from behind another day.
"Your call." He stuffed the wallet back into place. "But I definitely won't be taking this bus tomorrow. I'm no Wild West cowboy."
Ma Zhaodi shrugged. After all, Drake had no Save Point and couldn't start over. He completely understood.
"I'd say he looks pretty much like a cowboy. What's this guy's name?"
"Banner. Clinton Banner."
"Good name. As long as it isn't Bruce or Floyd."
"Bang!"
A gunshot rang out from the street, followed by an old man's booming shout: "Old Jack's about to leave! Everyone get on the bus!"
Ma Zhaodi looked at Banner, who was tied with his hands behind his back and leaning against the corner of the wall. He didn't seem to be showing any signs of waking up.
So he casually stuffed the Colt Revolver and its bullets back into the man's hands, then put his hat back on him.
"See you next time, you fucking cowboy maniac."
With that, he and Drake ran toward Old Jack's battered bus.
Behind them, Banner opened his eyes. With a light tug, he tore free of the jackets the two had temporarily used as ropes. Clearly, Ma Zhaodi wasn't very skilled at tying people up.
He raised the Colt Revolver and aimed it at Ma Zhaodi's back.
In the end, however, he didn't pull the trigger.
"Bang." He imitated the sound of a gunshot with his mouth, then put away the gun and turned to leave.
"See you next time, asshole."
Before you continue