Morning Bad, Gotham

It's the second day since arriving in Gotham, and nothing happened.

This was Ma Zhaodi's summary of his second day in Gotham. It was already ten in the evening, and he lay on the sofa in the living room, closing his eyes in peace.

Drake and he had bought a lot of ingredients on the way home. Camilla was pleasantly surprised, and she happily made a rather hearty dinner. Everyone ate with great joy. Drake even talked a lot at the dinner table about plans for the future with Camilla.

Their rooms weren't very noisy tonight. Ma Zhaodi's ears were quiet. He figured last night was just a couple who hadn't had normal intimacy for too long; absence makes the heart grow fonder. Today, perhaps they were holding each other and cherishing the moment in bed.

Regardless, Ma Zhaodi had a quiet night. Apart from the occasional sporadic gunshots and the fine patter of rain outside the window, he could hardly hear any other sounds of Gotham. Looking up at the dark night sky, apart from the colorful neon lights in the hazy rain curtain, there were no other messy lights. Perhaps tonight he could get a good night's sleep.

I've probably been tamed by Gotham, he thought. Just being able to sleep well actually gives me a sense of happiness.

But thinking from another perspective, perhaps the city wasn't as crazy as he imagined. Gotham didn't have major events every day.

He thought this, so he opened his eyes and subconsciously glanced out the window. A blurry black shadow flashed past the tallest clock tower in Gotham. A figure was hanging from a gargoyle by the tower, swaying back and forth, seemingly struggling desperately for mercy.

He silently retracted his thoughts and lay back on the sofa to sleep.

Bullshit, nothing happened. Today, another unlucky soul was hung from a gargoyle by the Bat's grappling hook. Hopefully, he wouldn't have any psychological trauma after being taken down.

The next day, Ma Zhaodi got up at seven as usual to wash up. It wasn't that he liked waking up so early, but the rainy night yesterday was truly hypnotic. He slept so comfortably that he woke up once at seven and couldn't fall back asleep.

That's fine too.

He ran into the kitchen and started making breakfast. He had bought eggs, milk, cheap ham, and some bread yesterday. It was nothing more than frying them up and putting them in a sandwich. He had that much cooking skill.

The sizzling sound of frying soon woke Drake and Camilla in the room. They seemed to have slept well last night too. Ma Zhaodi's slight movement startled them awake.

"Good morning."

"Good morning."

Mrs. Camilla seemed to be in an even better mood than yesterday. For a long time, she had been suffering from the dual torment of mental stress and lack of sleep due to illness. Last night was almost the highest quality sleep she had had in a year.

After breakfast, Ma Zhaodi greeted them and went out. He had to go to work today. Going to the shop early might not be a bad thing; he could get familiar with the surrounding environment.

As for the Old Jack's Ride bus, he definitely wasn't taking that.

He wasn't riding his bicycle today either. He tucked the Beretta pistol into his waistband and walked out the door. There were already quite a few people on the street. Some, with somber expressions and hurried footsteps, were rushing along. They would move aside when they saw people with tattoos or those with unsteady gaits and pale faces, to avoid trouble.

These people were the true colors of Gotham, Ma Zhaodi thought silently. Not black, not white, but a gray of struggling, walking dead.

Even someone like Drake could earn a little breathing room in Gotham with his courage and a small amount of savings. But these bottom-tier citizens who had nothing and little room for error in their lives were the foundation for Gotham's dark network to grow.

To buy a birthday cake for his daughter, someone would agree to transport drugs for the mob once. To earn a little money for baby formula, a single mother might become a streetwalker.

What a damn world, Ma Zhaodi thought. Gotham City's developed crime industry was built on their suffering.

But if all the criminals were eliminated, would they be able to live differently?

The sense of security that came with living a regular life vanished without a trace. Ma Zhaodi's day began with a bad mood.

Morning's bad, you idiot Gotham.

Ma Zhaodi hailed a taxi. When he left, he only carried less than two hundred cash on him, just in case he got robbed. He could still go home with tips at night. He had figured it out: if he was lucky enough, the tips today would be enough to buy a wheelchair.

Then he could find a secluded spot and modify it directly. The cost for a beginner wheelchair driver was only a hundred dollar asset point, plus two hundred dollar asset points for the modification service.

This move, this move is extreme cost-effectiveness.

Getting into the car, Ma Zhaodi adjusted the position of his pistol slightly so the driver could see it in the rearview mirror, then began flipping through the System Mall.

He had no choice. Taxis that dared to start from the East End were battle-hardened. If he didn't show his gun a little, he'd be worried about attracting trouble.

Of course, this was also related to him not having a gang. Otherwise, having gang tattoos and symbols would also provide self-protection. As for the level of safety, that would depend on the size of the gang's influence.

Beginner Car Driving Mastery, five hundred dollars. Hmm, very affordable. Intermediate, two thousand dollars. You're a bit too ruthless. Advanced, ten thousand?! What the hell, are you using this skill for rally racing?

There was also Bicycle Driving Mastery, but this skill was useless. Umm, what is this? System Record Board, System Custom Q&A? One dollar per session? I told you AI has broad application prospects. Look, even this kind of cheat code comes with AI Q&A functionality.

"Feels inferior to Mobius."

"Sir, we've arrived."

The taxi driver's voice interrupted Ma Zhaodi's muttering. He glanced around; it was only barely 7:40 AM.

Sigh, Old Jack's Ride really isn't good.

"That'll be fifty-seven dollars."

Sigh, the value of Old Jack's Ride needs no further explanation.

This damn Gotham, even taking a taxi is so expensive.

Ma Zhaodi grumbled inwardly and paid the fare before getting out. If he hadn't been carrying a gun, the driver's quote would probably have been closer to a hundred dollars.

He walked along the street, circling the Red Dragon's neighborhood and streets to familiarize himself with the terrain, then entered the restaurant through the back door.

It was eight in the morning, and there were almost no customers in the restaurant, only the security guards in black and the waiters who were about to get off work and the shift-changing front desk staff. Ma Zhaodi greeted his colleagues and then found the supervisor, to whom he returned a book.

This was the store's training manual. Generally, new employees were supposed to undergo a period of training. However, Ma Zhaodi's situation, being penniless and urgently needing to work, was special. So Donat made an exception and allowed him to learn while working. The supervisor had given him the book yesterday, and he returned it today.

"You memorized the book?"

"One day was enough. I often did this before exams."