Cat

"Bang!"

"You little shit! Do you know how to talk in Gotham now?"

"Bang! Bang!"

"You old bastard, you're not the only one in Gotham with a gun!"

Watching the two bus drivers draw their guns and start shooting at each other without a word, the passengers in both buses nimbly climbed out through the windows and expertly found safe positions. Those unlucky enough to be hit by stray bullets each found cover, drew their guns, and joined in. Those who weren't hit simply waited quietly for the gunfight to end. The whole process flowed smoothly amid the chaos, orderly despite the disorder. The passengers' reactions couldn't exactly be called disciplined, but at the very least, they were clearly practiced.

Immersed in the orderly daily life of Gotham City's East End, Ma Zhaodi couldn't help being moved to tears by the lively, down-to-earth atmosphere. "Drake, you son of a bitch! If you want me dead, just say so. You don't have to beat around the bush and screw me over like this."

"This bus is the fastest and safest one we can take in the East End." Drake shook his head. "Take another bus, and either you'll get forced to the back by a car with a gun during a traffic jam, or your wallet might get stolen on board. Or worse—in Gotham, someone gets raped on a bus every week, or simply disappears when getting off."

As Drake prattled on, a stray bullet flying across the street shot straight through the concrete corner beside Ma Zhaodi, making his already-suspended heart rise even higher. "So I can't possibly get my head blown open by a bullet in a situation like this?"

"Trust me." Drake gave him a smug smile. "This bus is different. Most of the people inside are here for revenge. Every grudge has its target. In Gotham City, people often fall out with each other but can't—or don't want to—settle things according to the rules. At times like that, plenty of them arrange a duel."

"Maybe you stole one of my customers, or I sold you a fake product, or you just bumped my shoulder on the street. It doesn't matter. We all know those things aren't the real reason we draw our guns, but we just fucking can't swallow it anymore."

"Whatever the matter is, if you can't conveniently settle it on the spot, you can resolve it here. This bus full of desperate criminals always has cheap weapons for sale. Everyone has nothing, just a shitty life and a huge pile of troubles. You and I draw our guns and shoot at each other. We settle who's stronger and who lives or dies. The dead get dumped into the sea without complaint, and everything is over. The survivor gets it out of his system, then honestly goes back to his shitty life."

"So unless some lunatic takes issue with us and insists on chasing us down, we passengers almost never run into trouble. This corner is an especially good spot I carefully picked out. It has a clear view, good concealment, and a moderate distance. We can peek out and watch the show while avoiding attention, then get to the bus right away when the shooting ends."

"I've hidden here for a full six months. The worst injury I've suffered was spraining my ankle because I ran too fast."

Listening to his explanation, Ma Zhaodi couldn't help feeling deeply impressed. Drake truly deserved the fact that he had spent a year surviving in Gotham. He already faintly had the bearing of Old Gotham Black Flag. Look at that brain of his—wow. Look at that mentality—wow. Look at that adaptability—

"Bang!" A bullet struck the ground beside Ma Zhaodi's foot, interrupting his thoughts.

"Hey, you little shit over there! I've been watching you for ages. You've been riding the bus for half a year, treating our duels like entertainment? If you've got the guts, show your face! I'll shoot your ass dead today!"

"?"

Ma Zhaodi glanced at Drake, then listened to the distant cursing. Suddenly, he didn't really want to acknowledge this friend anymore.

"This is what you call safe?"

"How was I supposed to know some lunatic could ride a bus for half a year without dying? And then make me his target and deliberately ride the bus! I've been keeping such a low profile—"

"Bang! Bang!"

Seeing two more bullets fly over, Ma Zhaodi's heart nearly leaped out of his throat.

"Quit the bullshit! Think of something!"

Drake looked around. This spot was good in every way except that there weren't many escape routes. If they wanted to slip away and run into the other streets, they would have to expose themselves to the other side's firing zone for roughly three or four seconds.

Faced with the threat of death, Drake seemed to become unusually calm. He planned his escape route over and over in his mind, considering what might happen, along with the best postures and evasive maneuvers. At that moment, he was like John Wick possessing him from a movie, or Hitman 47 from a game—devoid of emotion, pure reason.

"Don't be afraid. I'll get you out."

He analyzed the situation calmly, as if he weren't being hunted through Gotham City amid a hail of bullets, but chatting leisurely on the bustling streets of a metropolis.

He rapidly mapped out an escape route in his mind. He seemed able to see himself nimbly rolling behind a car and rising, using its sturdy engine block to stop nine-millimeter bullets. During a lull in the shooting, he would sprint and dive behind a dumpster, hunch forward under cover of the obstructed view, crash through the bookstore door opposite them, lightly leap out through a second-floor window, roll upon landing, and disappear from the shooter's sight.

Even if the shooter angrily fired several rounds, they would only graze his cold face and fail to injure him in the slightest.

"Watch what I do."

A composed smile curved his lips. He gently took off one shoe and flicked its toe past the corner with lightning speed.

"Bang bang!"

Looking at the leather shoe with two extra holes in it, he calmly put it back on.

One second passed.

"You gutless coward! Come out!"

"Bang!"

Two seconds passed.

"Hahaha, you spineless bastard who doesn't dare show his face! Let's see whose gun is harder!"

"Bang! Bang!"

Three seconds—

"What are you doing? Move!" Ma Zhaodi looked at Drake in confusion. "Didn't you say you had a way out?"

"I think it's safer to stay here." An awkward yet polite smile appeared on Drake's face. "His marksmanship was a little beyond my expectations. If we follow the plan, we might have a few extra holes in us within the first second of stepping out."

"."

I'm such an idiot. Really. Ma Zhaodi raised his dull eyes and continued thinking: I knew Drake had lived in Gotham for a year, that he could find a reliable way to take me to a job, and that he could get me to work alive. I didn't know he was such a clown, or that he was so good at attracting hatred.

"Did you never consider that someone who could survive for six whole months on a bus like this probably wouldn't have bad aim?"

"Stop arguing and think of something! You're the one Gotham raised! You have a Gotham household registration!"

"I've never even seen my parents!"

Just as the two were arguing, Ma Zhaodi suddenly caught sight of someone standing on the roof beside them. A graceful figure dressed in black was looking down at them, a catlike smile playing at the corners of his mouth.