"Creeeeak—"
The truck's brakes were slammed down. The bat extended one hand, as if it carried the weight of a thousand tons, and effortlessly seized control of the steering wheel from Carl.
"Carl Scott."
A cold, merciless voice came from its mouth, accompanied by Duet's hoarse electronic tone. It sounded like the voice of some demon that had come from hell to the mortal world, making Carl's legs tremble.
"You know two people from the Falcone family."
"Me?" Carl instinctively tried to deny it, but when the words reached his lips, he could not bring himself to say them.
The bat's pupil-less eyes stared at him, its icy gaze seeming capable of piercing straight through his heart.
But he could not possibly volunteer information about the Falcone family. After mumbling wordlessly for a while, he still said with a tremble, "I—I'm just a truck driver."
"What did those two people make you do at four in the morning last Wednesday?"
"I..."
"Three years ago, on September 16, you were involved in a hit-and-run in the early hours of the morning. The woman carrying a child suffered ruptured organs after being struck by you and died on the spot. You got out of the car and watched the child in her arms bleed to death, then left the scene."
"Two years ago, on December 7 and December 25, you smashed into a motorcycle, then ran over a drunk lying in the road. Last year..."
Carl listened as the bat recited the things he had done in a mechanical tone. The fear in his heart continued to swell, eventually twisting into guilty, hysterical rage. "Enough! I have no idea what you're talking about! You freak—"
"Crack!"
"Ahhh—!"
The black pistol fell to the ground. Carl had originally intended to draw it, but his right arm had now become a limp, slightly deformed appendage dangling at his side.
"Answer my question."
The bat monster's tone remained calm and cold, as if it had not been the one to break Carl's arm.
"I fucking won't—ugh!"
"Crack!"
Carl tumbled out of the truck door and hit the ground. He had just tried to open the door with his left hand and escape, so this time, it was his right leg that was broken.
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
The agony radiating from his right arm and leg made Carl wish he were dead. He no longer dared to resist the monster for the sake of those so-called good brothers. "I'll tell you everything! Don't hurt me!"
The bat climbed down from the truck and effortlessly hoisted him up with one hand, as if he were a chick. It waved its hand and fired a grappling line. A few seconds later, the two of them shot rapidly upward and soon landed on the roof of a nearby building.
"Talk."
After Carl finished explaining everything he knew, he saw the bat withdraw its gaze from him and could not help letting out a long breath.
"I've told you everything I can. You can let me go now, right?"
The bat did not even turn around. It casually took Carl's phone and dialed a number.
"Hello, this is the Gotham Police Department."
"Tell Gordon to come to the Audisburg District and make an arrest. There's a wanted suspect here who has committed multiple hit-and-runs and intentional murders."
When Carl heard their conversation, his eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. "No! You fucking can't do this to me! You lying freak!"
"Bang!"
A fist the size of a sandbag lightly struck him in the mouth, loosening all his teeth. Two front teeth were knocked directly onto the ground.
Carl's cheek swelled up high on one side, and he immediately fell silent.
"I'll leave the call connected. Follow the location, and you'll find him in the truck." As he spoke, he hoisted Carl up again and chopped the side of his neck, knocking him unconscious instantly.
"Get here quickly, and remember to bring an ambulance."
As his final words faded, the black bat spread its wings and flew into the night sky, disappearing into the thick darkness over Gotham City. It still had to hurry to its next target.
As always, every night.
"Where did you get such a strange thing?"
"What do you mean, strange thing? I used it to race back here from Audisburg in twelve minutes. Show some respect for my beloved ride."
"What the hell? This unicycle can fly?"
"It's a wheelchair, thanks."
Ma Zhaodi casually flipped the unicycle over, and it transformed back into the Ghost Fire Wheelchair. The multicolored lights were already switched off. If he had kept them flashing indoors, it really would have been light pollution.
"..." Drake fell into a brief silence. From his perspective, neither a wheelchair nor a unicycle fit his stereotypical idea of a high-speed vehicle.
Yes, stereotypical.
"Anyway, today's work went pretty smoothly, right?"
"Harvey Dent came by."
"...You didn't get into a fight?"
"You really do know what happened over there!"
"I'm not stupid. I heard a little about it."
Seeing that Ma Zhaodi's mood seemed somewhat unstable, Drake hurriedly soothed him. "Relax, relax. That kind of thing is an extremely rare accident. Harvey usually doesn't go over there."
But whenever he did go over, something major would usually happen—either he extracted information or forced someone to make a move.
A year ago, someone really had lost control and shot Harvey in the bulletproof vest. That time, while lying in a hospital bed, he worked with Batman and Commissioner Gordon to use the opportunity to have a large portion of the Falcone family's gray-market businesses thoroughly purged. They also captured an important member of the Falcone family.
"Besides, setting aside those extremely rare incidents, the tips are pretty generous, aren't they?"
"That's true." The moment wages came up, Ma Zhaodi's mood immediately stabilized. The three hundred Asset Points he had spent today on modifying and driving the vehicle had been provided by his tip.
All he could say was that Gotham's rich really were not short on money.
The only slight disappointment was that the perfume worn by the wealthy woman he had served seemed to cling a little too strongly. There was still some of its scent on the right side of Ma Zhaodi's butt, making him sigh inwardly about how sweaty old ladies' hands were.
What could he do? He had to make a living.
That night, Ma Zhaodi casually browsed through the service insights recorded in the system log. After all, he had to do the work assigned to him each day. As long as he was paid, he had always been dedicated to his job. Learning from others' experiences would help improve his service and earn him more tips.
After enjoying a dinner cooked by Mrs. Camilla, he took a hot shower, counted his wages, and contentedly glanced at the unlucky person hanging from a gargoyle that night before sinking into sleep.
Today was Ma Zhaodi's third day in Gotham. Aside from encountering Harvey Dent, nearly having a shootout break out at his workplace, dealing with the Ghost Fire Wheelchair, and being chased home by several idiots firing wildly at him, nothing had happened as usual.
Another day of peace and quiet.
Before you continue