A Calm Day

"Screech—"

The truck's brakes were slammed on. The bat-like figure extended a hand and, as if possessing immense strength, effortlessly seized control of the steering wheel from Carl.

"Carl Scott."

A cold, ruthless voice emanated from its mouth, a duet with a hoarse electronic tone, like a demon from hell come to earth, making Carl's legs tremble.

"You know two people from the Falcone family."

"I—" Carl subconsciously wanted to deny it, but the words caught in his throat, and he didn't dare speak them.

The bat's pupil-less eyes stared at him, its icy gaze seeming to pierce his very soul.

But he couldn't possibly reveal information about the Falcone family willingly. After a moment of speechless stammering, he finally trembled and said, "I, I'm just a truck driver."

"What did those two have you do at four in the morning last Wednesday?"

"I—"

"On September 16th, three years ago, you were involved in a hit-and-run. The woman with the child you hit suffered internal injuries and died on the spot. You got out of the vehicle, watched with your own eyes as the child in her arms bled to death, and then left the scene."

"Twelve days ago, on December 7th and December 25th, you smashed a motorcycle and then ran over a drunkard lying on the road; last year..."

As Carl listened to the mechanical tone recount his misdeeds, the fear in his heart swelled, eventually transforming into a guilty, hysterical rage: "Enough! I don't know what you're talking about! You freak!"

"Crack."

"Ah—!"

The black handgun clattered to the ground. Carl's right arm, which he had been about to use to draw his weapon, now hung limply and slightly deformed at his side.

"Answer my question."

The bat-like monster's tone remained calm and cold, as if it hadn't just broken Carl's arm.

"I don't— Ah!"

"Crack."

Carl was thrown from the truck door and landed on the ground. He had tried to open the door with his left hand to escape, and now his right leg was broken.

"I'll talk, I'll talk!"

The excruciating pain from his right arm and leg made Carl wish for death. He no longer dared to confront this monster for the sake of two so-called good brothers. "I'll tell you everything! Don't hurt me anymore!"

The bat descended from the truck and, with one hand, easily lifted him up as if he were a small chicken. It waved its hand and shot out a grappling hook. Moments later, the two figures ascended rapidly towards a high point, quickly landing on the roof of a nearby building.

"Speak."

After Carl confessed everything he knew, he saw the bat withdraw its gaze and couldn't help but let out a long sigh of relief.

"I've told you everything I can, can you let me go now?"

However, the bat didn't even turn its head. It casually took out Carl's phone and dialed a number.

"Hello, this is Gotham PD."

"Tell Gordon to come to the Audisburg District to apprehend a fugitive suspect wanted for multiple hit-and-run and murder cases."

Hearing their conversation, Carl's eyes widened in fury: "No! You can't do this to me! You lying, abominable freak!"

"Bang!"

A fist the size of a sandbag lightly tapped his mouth, making his teeth rattle precariously, and knocked out two of his front teeth.

Carl, with one side of his face swollen, immediately fell silent.

"I'll keep the phone on. You can track the location and find him in the big truck." As he spoke, he lifted Carl again and delivered a chop to his neck, instantly rendering him unconscious.

"Come quickly, and remember to call an ambulance."

With his final words, the black bat spread its wings again and soared into the night sky, disappearing into the thick darkness above Gotham City. It still had another target to reach.

As always, every night.

"Where did you get such a strange contraption?"

"What strange contraption? I rode it back here from Audisburg in twelve minutes. Show some respect for my beloved ride."

"What? This unicycle can fly?"

"It's a wheelchair, thank you."

Ma Zhaodi casually flipped the unicycle over, and it transformed back into the Ghost Fire Wheelchair. However, the colorful lights were off; if they were on indoors, it would be quite the light pollution.

"..." Drake fell into a brief silence. From his perspective, whether it was a wheelchair or a unicycle, neither fit his rigid stereotype of high-speed transportation.

Hmm, stereotypes.

"In any case, did today's work go smoothly?"

"Harvey Dent has arrived."

"...You didn't get into a fight?"

"You really knew what was happening over there!"

"I'm not stupid, I could hear some rumors."

Seeing that Ma Zhaodi's emotions seemed a bit unstable, Drake quickly tried to calm him down, "Calm down, calm down, this kind of thing is a rare accident. Harvey usually doesn't go there."

But once he went there, he could basically stir up big trouble, either by extracting information or by forcing people to act.

A year ago, someone really couldn't hold back and shot Harvey's bulletproof vest. That time, while he was in the hospital bed, he cooperated with Batman and Commissioner Gordon. They seized the opportunity to severely crack down on a batch of the Falcone family's illicit businesses and, at the same time, captured an important family member of the Falcone family.

"And putting aside these rare incidents, the tips are always considerable, right?"

"That's true." As soon as wages were mentioned, Ma Zhaodi's mood immediately stabilized. The three hundred dollars in assets he used today for modifications and driving were provided by his tips.

It could only be said that the rich people in Gotham were really not poor.

The only drawback was that the perfume of the rich lady he served seemed a bit too persistent. There was still a faint scent on Ma Zhaodi's right buttock, making him sigh inwardly about the aunt's sweaty hands.

He had to make a living.

That night, Ma Zhaodi casually flipped through the waiter's notes recorded on the system log. After all, he was just going through the motions. As long as he was paid, he was always dedicated to his job. Learning from excellent experiences would help him improve his service and earn more tips.

After enjoying a dinner cooked by Mrs. Camilla, he took a hot bath, counted his wages, and glanced with peace of mind at the unlucky guy hanging on the gargoyle tonight before sinking into dreamland.

Today was Ma Zhaodi's third day in Gotham. Apart from encountering Harvey Dent, nearly getting caught in a shootout at his workplace, the Ghost Fire Wheelchair, and being chased and shot at by a few idiots on his way home, nothing else had happened.

Another calm and uneventful day.