Is it wrong to be a good Samaritan in Gotham?

The man wasn't the only one surprised.

Residents of Gotham's East End rarely got a good night's sleep. Usually, they could hear gunshots every night, and if there was a shootout, it might go on for half the night.

People would often grip their guns tightly when gunshots rang out, cautiously watching their doorways and windows, and would never dare to go out in the middle of the night because of it. But they all knew that as long as they minded their own business and stayed home, it was safer.

So they had actually come to terms with the gunshots in the East End at night. Some old residents had even gotten used to falling asleep to the sound. Although everyone knew that the victims could be gangsters, drug dealers, prostitutes, or even their neighbors or ordinary passersby.

But no matter who the victim was, no one wanted to interfere, because the people surviving in the East End were concerned with their own lives, and their lives had never had much room for error.

Besides, there was Batman or Catwoman. Maybe some guy in a costume would come to save them, so why should an ordinary person step up?

Until today, a strange, shouting old woman appeared in the Gotham night.

"You bastard! Where are you!"

"Bang!"

Everyone looked in the direction of the sound in stunned silence. Even in Gotham's East End, people found such behavior incomprehensible. Because for years, reality had proven one thing to everyone: ordinary people who tried to be heroes in Gotham never ended well.

Only those in costumes, operating outside the law, were exceptions. They were like those dangerous supervillains, treating the city as their own territory.

They were incredibly powerful, they never showed their faces, they did whatever they pleased, and they never had to struggle for a living like normal people. A significant part of Gothamites' aversion to them stemmed from the unknown, fear, and jealousy.

But in reality, these heroes generally had no family, or if they did, it wouldn't last long. Most people in Gotham didn't know this.

But in any case, there was definitely no neurotic, hot-tempered, middle-aged Black woman spewing profanity among the images of this group.

And she was holding a shotgun.

The man, his blood boiling, hastily pulled up his pants again. Filled with rage, he picked up his pistol, intending to teach the fat woman who ruined his business a lesson.

"Bang!"

A deafening shotgun blast, like a clap of thunder, suddenly scared the blood back down. He then remembered that he was only holding a small handgun.

Did he want to teach that crazy woman a lesson? To risk his life with a handgun against a shotgun just to save face?

"Bang!"

The bullets struck the alley wall, sending gravel flying. A piece of gravel hit his face, making him even more clear-headed.

"Damn it, don't let me catch you later!"

After spitting out a few harsh words, the man frantically fired into the darkness and then fled, amidst the incessant curses.

Ma Zhaodi hid around the corner, watching the bullets hit the wall beside him, and couldn't help but feel fortunate that he was cowardly enough.

He didn't show himself either. He turned and went upstairs. As for the woman, he couldn't help her anyway, so it was better for her to go home quickly.

It only cost him ten dollars in asset points to buy a disposable voice changer to save someone once. Saying it wasn't a loss wasn't exactly wrong, but calling it a profit would be pure fantasy.

Alas, he was afraid of leaving any traces or impressions. Otherwise, he could have at least shown his face and asked the woman for some reward.

He carefully calculated. He wouldn't retrieve the handgun bullets from the wall. Since no one died this time, it wouldn't attract the Gotham Police Department, so he didn't have to worry about ballistics analysis recording his gun.

No, this gun was taken from Clinton, so if it were to be recorded, it would be on him.

The only uncertainty in this rescue plan was whether his bullet could hit the wall. Ma Zhaodi was aiming at the wall. If he happened to hit someone, then there was nothing he could do.

Meanwhile, the man had already run out of the block.

"Damn it, where did this crazy bitch come from!" he cursed as he ran, "I'll find out who that son of a bitch is. Damn it, that bitch has to die!"

At this moment, a slender black shadow leaped nimbly between the buildings like a cat, following him.

Among the many impressions of Gothamites, one thing was true: superheroes did carve out territories like criminals. They would fight criminals they saw in their areas, but they wouldn't kill. In other words, they would use all means of violence except killing to achieve their goal of cracking down on criminals.

And the East End was precisely Catwoman's usual territory.

"Where did you go?"

Ma Zhaodi tiptoed back into the room. Drake had indeed been woken up and was observing the situation with a gun by the window. Seeing him push the door open, his expression was somewhat surprised.

He locked the door from the inside and then sat back on the sofa, replying, "Watching the show. There was a shootout downstairs."

"Haven't you had enough of Old Jack's incident?"

"Wasn't that incident your fault?"

Mrs. Camilla interrupted their argument: "Gentlemen, it's three-fifteen in the morning. If it weren't for two lunatics shooting nearby, we would have been fast asleep by now -- the lunatics are gone now, please go back to your beds."

Ma Zhaodi shrugged and collapsed on the sofa. Drake, seeing his wife's murderous glare, also gave up the desire to argue and obediently went into the bedroom.

"Di, remember, try not to get involved in trouble on Gotham nights."

Mrs. Camilla carefully instructed Ma Zhaodi. After confirming he had heard her clearly, she turned and went back to the bedroom.

Ma Zhaodi agreed with her. Before he could buy the handgun shooting specialization skill, even his daily life wasn't safe enough, let alone having the ability to save people.

There was only one most important thing now: to possess sufficient Gotham survival skills. So he finished watching his show and re-entered the simulated driving training.

The moon rose and set, time flew by.

The next day, eight in the morning.

Ma Zhaodi woke up from the simulated driving training and saw the bright daylight. He stretched and walked into the kitchen, humming a tune as he made breakfast. Outside the window was the alley where the woman had been crying and sobbing, and the man had been cursing and shooting last night.

Morning cooking smoke drifted out the window, mingling with that of other households. The atmosphere of human life made the morning sun appear hazy and beautiful. It was as if the moment sunlight appeared, it washed away all sins and filth, making last night's events seem like a dream.

But in reality, someone's mood was indeed shining this morning.

"Good morning, Gotham."