Huh?

Drake looked like a complete novice while committing a robbery. Even after hearing gunshots over the phone, his expression remained calm. He asked into the phone, "Donald, are you busy?"

The rough male voice seemed very patient. After listening to Drake, he answered unhurriedly, "Not busy right now. I'm just wrapping things up."

"Bang!" Another gunshot rang out.

"It's like this. I have a friend who just came to Gotham. Everything he knows is just ordinary-person stuff, which is completely useless in Gotham City."

"You want him to work for me?"

"Don't you have a restaurant? His face is perfect for attracting women to come eat. He can't handle fighting or killing, but he isn't too afraid of it either. He's just an ordinary person, but he's pretty articulate, brave, and won't get stage fright."

"If he's good with words, then he won't know how to keep his mouth shut."

"Bang!"

"Please, don't—"

"Bang!"

"I guarantee you, he knows how to keep his mouth shut—he's just an ordinary person. It wouldn't be worth risking his life just to brag."

"Bang! Bang!"

Several more gunshots rang out from the other end of the phone. Only after a moment did the rough voice speak again. "Drake, we're even now."

"Of course."

"Is that kid with you?"

Ma Zhaodi immediately took the phone. "I'm here."

"Come to work at nine tomorrow morning."

"Beep—beep—"

Staring at the disconnected phone and listening to the dead tone, Ma Zhaodi looked at Drake in bewilderment.

"?"

"Why are you looking at me? He told you to go to work, so that means he agreed."

"What about the location? The requirements? I don't even know what I'm supposed to wear."

"I'll take you there. You just need to remember the route. The restaurant has waiter uniforms. As for what you'll do—it's what waiters normally do: greet customers, take orders, serve food, wipe tables. Nothing else. Oh, right, you'll also need to bring a gun. Whether you know how to use it or not, you definitely have to carry one. I'll leave mine with you."

Ma Zhaodi chuckled bitterly. Damn Gotham. A gun was standard equipment for going to work, while everything else was secondary.

"By the way, do you have a wallet?"

"No. I'm used to leaving home with just my phone. Damn it, I don't even have a phone!"

"I can give you my wallet, but I can't give you my phone. Camilla doesn't usually contact anyone, and she rarely socializes. I'll talk to her and have her give you her phone. You have a SIM card, right?"

"No problem. I have one."

Ma Zhaodi accepted Drake's gifts without hesitation, because he deserved every bit of it. Setting aside the fact that he had given up a life, even if they calculated it purely in Asset Points, he had already given away the life restoration that had originally been worth $9,999.

Ten thousand dollars for a wallet, a phone, and a gun—even with a job as a waiter in Gotham included, that still counted as an inflated price, right?

Thinking of this, he couldn't help praising the system's thoughtfulness. It had provided several bank cards from common American banks, as well as a SIM card, saving him a great deal of trouble.

Drake didn't waste any time. He went to find Camilla first. Ma Zhaodi had no idea what the two of them were getting up to in the room. It wasn't until he had laid out a bed on the floor that Drake finally took out a small phone and handed it to him.

That night, Drake and Camilla's room was unexpectedly quiet, and Ma Zhaodi slept very soundly on the sofa.

The next morning.

Drake got up early and woke Ma Zhaodi, who was still sleeping.

"Let's go. I'll take you to work."

Bleary-eyed, Ma Zhaodi looked at the clock hanging in the living room. Its hour and minute hands both pointed at the number seven, leaving him somewhat confused. "Why are we getting up so early? It's only seven, isn't it?"

"We don't have a car."

"Huh?"

A moment later, Ma Zhaodi climbed out of bed with a look of despair and hurriedly pulled on his clothes. Drake immediately dragged him out the door. The two jogged all the way to a battered iron pole nearby, riddled with holes.

"Drake, I understand that you don't want me to be late, but shouldn't we at least eat breakfast first?"

"There's no time. We'll eat on the way. If we leave any later, we might not make it."

As he explained, Drake wrapped a scarf around Ma Zhaodi's neck.

"My God, how far away is this place you recommended?"

"The Audisburg District. It isn't close to the East End, but the route is pretty good. If we're lucky, we can probably get there in half an hour."

After wrapping the scarf, Drake took out a hat and put it on Ma Zhaodi's head.

"Huh?"

Ma Zhaodi stared blankly. "What do you mean, 'if we're lucky—'"

"Screech."

A bus pulled up at the stop and opened its doors, interrupting Ma Zhaodi's question. Drake pulled him onto the bus and found them seats first.

Ma Zhaodi dropped into a seat and was just about to continue asking when he suddenly felt wind rushing across half his face. The icy air instantly woke him up. He turned his head and saw that all the bus windows had somehow disappeared. Cold air roared into the bus through the gaps where the windows and windshield should have been, while most of the people around them had their heads wrapped up tightly.

"What the—?"

Before he could recover, he saw Drake, sitting beside him, pull a gun from his pocket and hold it in his hand.

"What are you doing?"

Drake didn't answer. Instead, he stood up, walked over to the bus driver, and started chatting with him.

"Damn it, you can't just leave—"

Ma Zhaodi was about to pull Drake back when his eyes fell on Drake's seat. He suddenly realized something was wrong. Why were there holes in Drake's seat?

He had wanted to ask about it the moment he got on the bus. Why were there so many welded sections on the bus's body? Tiny pieces of sheet metal had been welded all over it, with patches covering it like a crazy quilt sewn from scraps of cloth.

"Wait, are those bullet holes?"

He had thought there might be a few thugs, gang members, prostitutes, or junkies on the bus. But who would have expected a gunfight on board too?

Maybe I should just get off and walk to work. That might actually be safer.

Just then, Drake seemed to reach some kind of agreement with the driver. He opened his wallet, took out several colorful bills, and handed them over. The driver grinned at him, then somehow produced a handgun and several magazines and gave them to Drake.

"Huh?"

Drake walked back with the handgun raised as if he were showing off an achievement and sat down beside Ma Zhaodi. Seeing that Ma Zhaodi's emotions seemed unstable, he asked with concern, "What's wrong? Are you feeling unwell anywhere?"