On the streets of Gotham City at dusk, a light drizzle washed over the hazy neon lights. On a rainy night like this, ordinary people should have gone home early.
But Ma Zhaodi had not gone home. It was nine at night, and his shift was not over yet. At that moment, he was very worried that he might not be able to clock out on time.
"Bang! Bang!"
Santos's face was twisted with fury. He was clutching a pistol and cowering with Buli Ji behind an overturned round dining table. Neither of them looked as gentle and courteous as usual; the veins on their foreheads bulged, making them look utterly ferocious.
"Bastards! You dared to cause trouble at the Red Dragon Restaurant! You're dead!"
Near the restaurant entrance, a group of burly gunmen were exchanging fire with the armed waiters inside. Clearly, they had not entered through a reservation.
A gunman in a gentleman's top hat and tailcoat shouted back at Santos from the entrance, "Cobblepot sends his regards! This is what happens when you compete with the Iceberg Restaurant for business!"
Gunfire, curses, and a madman's laughter mingled together. The hazy atmosphere of the rainy night was instantly torn apart by those manic notes. In the corner, Ma Zhaodi watched as bullets warped the wooden tabletop, exposing the sturdy bulletproof steel plate inside. Relieved, he pulled a Pocky stick from the box and put it between his teeth.
No wonder the restaurant tables are so damn heavy that several people have to carry them together. So they actually planned ahead.
Ever since arriving in Gotham City, he had not enjoyed a single peaceful day. If it was not a robbery, it was a shooting; at worst, it was a burglary. The most tranquil day he had experienced was when he performed an exorcism on a spirit car with nine soul rings.
"This fucking city... The people who live here are really blessed. They get to enjoy this for their entire lives."
The restaurant where he worked was no slouch either. He was always running into absurd customers. Last time, it had been Two-Face, Harvey Dent. This time, it was Cobblepot's gunmen.
Like Mr. Freeze, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot's identity as the supervillain Penguin was far more famous than his long birth name. As one of the four families that founded Gotham City, the Cobblepot family had not yet completely fallen when Penguin was young. His father still retained a certain amount of wealth, but he himself was short and fat, with a long hooked nose. Because of this, he had suffered jealousy and isolation from his classmates.
His father later died of pneumonia brought on by getting soaked in the rain, while his mother went almost completely insane. The Cobblepot family then declined. Through self-education, he eventually transformed himself from a down-and-out heir into an intelligent supervillain, becoming a renowned underworld magnate in Gotham City. But he also suffered from an inferiority complex and paranoia on a pathological level. Affected refinement and explosive rage were his usual style.
The Iceberg Restaurant was one of his businesses. On the surface, it was a popular, ordinary restaurant, but in reality, it handled illegal financial activities such as underground money laundering, along with all sorts of business dealings between Cobblepot and other gangs.
Clearly, when his men talked about "competing with the Iceberg Restaurant for business," they most likely were not referring to the restaurant's customers.
Under normal circumstances, Penguin would never have dared to come directly to their door and provoke them. But Batman's recent attacks on the Falcone family had been quite severe. The Wayne Group had taken advantage of the situation to seize and clean up many gray-market industries originally controlled by Falcone. This had forced them to turn around and actively squeeze out and seize Cobblepot's gray businesses. The Falcone gang had done the same thing plenty of times before.
Clearly, Penguin would have swallowed his anger in the past. But now, he was already growing impatient with the Falcone gang, which no longer held quite as much authority.
Amid the storm of bullets, Ma Zhaodi sighed. He bit down on the Pocky stick in his mouth and checked the cross pendant he wore beneath his clothes. Its durability was still at nine uses, which meant he had fortunately not encountered any danger to his life.
He gazed at the light drizzle outside the window and even found himself distracted for a moment. The rainy nightscape of Gotham City had a distinctly cyberpunk, dreamlike quality. It was also mixed with a bone-deep chill, but he personally enjoyed watching such beautiful rain from indoors.
He really wanted to go home now, buy a Happy Meal, and continue binge-watching shows while enjoying the view. In reality, however, he could not even be sure whether he would be able to leave the restaurant on time and make it home today.
Sigh. That's how it is for wage earners. We never have much choice.
The supervisor spotted Ma Zhaodi cowering behind the table and assumed he had been scared witless. He shouted in his direction, "Ma Zhaodi! Don't just fucking sit there! Shoot!"
"I fucking don't know how!"
Ma Zhaodi did not know whether it was his imagination, but the supervisor seemed to freeze for a moment the instant he shouted those words.
"What the hell are you talking about?" The supervisor's eyes widened. "This is Gotham!"
"Does Gotham not have a few people who can't shoot?" Ma Zhaodi protested. "The Waynes didn't even carry guns when they went out back then!"
"You should move to Star City while you still can!" the supervisor shouted through gritted teeth. "Take the safety off! Pull the trigger!"
Following his instructions, Ma Zhaodi fumbled around for a long while before finally figuring out his Beretta. The supervisor watched as he hesitantly took aim for a long time, only to lower the gun again.
"I might hit something in the restaurant."
"Don't fucking worry about that!" The supervisor had already been growing frantic watching him from the side. When he saw the man lower the gun again, his blood pressure shot up. He yelled, "These tables and chairs are fucking meant to be shot during critical moments! Shoot the damn thing!"
"You said it!"
Ma Zhaodi immediately aimed at the opposite side and pulled the trigger. The shot struck the chandelier overhead.
"Crash—"
A string of shattering sounds rang out. The enormous crystal chandelier dropped to the floor, scattering like splashing water and exploding into countless tiny, dazzling gemstone fragments.
"No—"
Although it was rude to say so, the supervisor's voice really did sound exactly like that of an old acquaintance from Ma Zhaodi's memory.
It even seemed as though familiar music was playing beside his ear.
"Snowflakes drifting, north winds blowing—"
"Ma Zhaodi!"
The supervisor's furious roar suddenly rang out, pulling Ma Zhaodi back from his distracted state.
"Do you have any idea how expensive that chandelier was—"
"I was clearly aiming at the table!"
"You fucking aimed—"
The supervisor had not been especially angry before, but after hearing Ma Zhaodi's blundering answer, he felt another stabbing pain in his heart.
The room had not been particularly well lit to begin with, and after losing the chandelier's light, it became even darker. Even the hazy lights outside the windows and the thin moonlight filtering through the clouds were overwhelmed by the darkness in this corner.
In the darkness, Cobblepot's men heard that the supervisor had fallen. For a moment, they looked at one another in confusion.
"Did their leader go down?"
"Seems like it. So... are we still fighting?"
Before you continue