Why would anyone rob a poor ghost?

Ma Zhaodi wandered aimlessly through the streets of Gotham. Strangely, he'd been wandering for twenty minutes without encountering a single mugger.

He even suspected he'd stumbled into a fake Gotham.

"Hey, buddy."

Just as he was thinking this, a man wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hoodie, dressed in a sweatshirt, stopped him on the street.

Damn, finally ran into one. Ma Zhaodi thought. Whether I can earn my first pot of gold tonight depends on this.

Even if begging wasn't exactly "earning wealth through labor," it could at least help him buy some food. He wanted to save as much money in the system as possible.

The next second, the man pulled a handgun from his pocket and aimed it at Ma Zhaodi. His voice was fierce and loud: "No nonsense, hand over everything you have."

His voice was so loud that a few passing pedestrians couldn't help but glance over before quickening their pace and disappearing down the street.

Looking at the dark muzzle, Ma Zhaodi's initial thought of begging for money suddenly became impossible to voice. Damn it, the criminals in Gotham are too high-level, starting with handguns.

If you'd pulled out a machete, I'd at least still have the courage to speak.

Ma Zhaodi dared not look directly at the gun barrel anymore. Instead, he subconsciously glanced at the upper right corner of his vision. Rapid Life Recovery and Save Point were there, ready to be used and effective at any moment. Most importantly, there were about ten minutes of safety time remaining, which allowed him to regain a little composure.

Seeing his continued inaction, the man's voice grew louder, almost a hysterical roar: "I said! Hand over everything you have!"

The handgun was thrust forward aggressively, almost touching Ma Zhaodi's head. He instinctively took a few steps back before freezing in place, his hand trembling as he reached into his jacket pocket.

Then he pulled out two empty pockets, turned inside out. Cleaner than his face.

He said cleaner than his face because Ma Zhaodi felt like he'd been in Gotham for a while, and his stubble was starting to grow.

"Are you fucking kidding me!"

Ma Zhaodi could feel the mugger's temper rising rapidly. So, despite being terrified, his survival instinct drove him to explain.

"You can't blame me for having no money. Do you think I want to be a poor bum?"

"Who are you calling a poor bum!"

Damn it, how can two words trigger PTSD in someone? I don't even react that strongly myself.

Ma Zhaodi cursed inwardly, his emotions actually calming down a bit. He reached into his pants pocket: "See, my pants pockets are just as empty."

The man's gaze followed Ma Zhaodi's hand. Since he couldn't see well in the dark with sunglasses on, he had to lift one hand to adjust them: "I'm watching you, don't try anything."

Then he saw Ma Zhaodi, who wasn't trying anything, pull out two more empty pockets, turned inside out.

His voice even had a hint of a sob: "You must have hidden something! Take off your clothes! Let me search!"

Ma Zhaodi offered no resistance and immediately took off his jacket, holding his hands up.

If you find a single cent, I'll call you the God of Wealth on the spot.

The man searched for a long time and, as expected, found nothing. He sat down on the ground in despair, ignoring Ma Zhaodi, lost in thought. After a while, he even started crying, holding his head.

Ma Zhaodi put his jacket back on and sat beside him, offering comfort: "It's okay, everyone has bad luck sometimes. If you really don't want to go home empty-handed, I can give you my jacket."

"Who the hell wants your jacket!"

The man smashed his gun towards Ma Zhaodi, hurting his arm. He raised the gun and pointed it at Ma Zhaodi: "What does a poor bum like you know! You won't even survive tonight!"

"I know you're a rookie, doing this for the first time. I've been wandering the streets for so long, and all the muggers could tell I was a penniless bum, my pockets cleaner than my face. But you didn't."

The man's hand holding the gun trembled slightly, and the tears in his eyes gradually turned into a flush on his face.

"You're robbing at night but wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hoodie, yet you're not wearing gloves, haven't disengaged the safety on your gun, and your gun might not even be real. After you controlled me, you didn't immediately drag me into an alley; you were too loud when robbing, drawing too much attention; you extended the barrel of your gun too far multiple times, and when I was reaching into my pockets, your attention even completely left your gun hand. You gave someone too many opportunities to disarm you."

"You son of a bitch--"

"Your emotions are unstable, and your robbery wasn't thorough enough. A thief doesn't leave empty-handed; you could have taken my jacket and other clothes, but you didn't. You could have left immediately after the failed robbery, but you didn't. You sat here and cried."

"Shut the hell up!"

The man swung the butt of his gun again, but Ma Zhaodi dodged it.

"I know you're anxious, but don't be. Most people don't just go out robbing people on the street for no reason, so whatever you're going through—what if I can help?"

The man didn't want to waste more words. He put away his gun, wiped the tears from his face, and as he took off his sunglasses, Ma Zhaodi saw his bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and his near-breaking mental state.

"Gotham already has enough lunatics, there's no need to add another."

Ma Zhaodi said from behind him: "You came out to rob, so you're short on money. You're using a fake gun, which suggests you have relatively high moral standards and education. You have severe dark circles, indicating this money problem has been bothering you for a long time. The amount of money you need must not be small."

"You can't rob a bank; that's for supervillains and gangs. I don't advise you to get involved. Wandering the streets and relying on luck is still relying on luck, and relying on luck by encountering me is also relying on luck. If you tell me, maybe I can help."

The man's footsteps paused. His voice, hoarse, spoke again: "Why would you help me?"

"I don't help people for free. I'm new to Gotham, unfamiliar with the city, and I need a reliable job. Plus, I have nowhere to stay tonight. If I can't help you, we part ways, you go home, I sleep on the street. If I can help you, we join forces. I'll stay at your place temporarily, help you solve your problem, and you help me find a reliable job. Of course, unreliable is fine too, as long as no one dies."

The man hesitated for a long time, then finally turned around and walked back, slowly sitting down next to Ma Zhaodi.

"You're not from Gotham. I'll trust you once." He took off his glasses and stared blankly at the dark Gotham night sky. "I don't have any other options anyway."