Gotham Gun God

A few minutes later, Harvey finally recovered and pushed open the car door to get out.

Du Mu glanced down. "Why did you change your pants too?"

Harvey's expression remained unchanged. "I realized those pants hadn't dried yet, so I changed into a spare pair."

"Not bad for a veteran. You came prepared—you even carry spare pants with you." Du Mu was impressed.

"Keep it low-key. You still have a lot to learn."

The police car had long since shut off its engine and sat silently at the edge of the abandoned industrial district.

Less than a hundred meters ahead lay the old docks along the Gotham River.

Dim ripples shimmered across the river. Several rusted-out cranes stood crookedly along the shore, and the air carried the damp smell of river water mixed with iron rust.

This riverside dock had once been Gotham's central hub for inland freight. Later, when the main port relocated, the place was completely abandoned.

Remote, deserted, and close to the river, it became a favorite spot for Gotham's criminal underworld—a place gangs most often used to dispose of bodies and erase evidence.

And after years of gangs chumming these waters, the fish here had grown plentiful and fat, drawing countless anglers who came by reputation. Almost every day, a row of fishermen could be seen sitting along the riverbank with rods in hand.

Except these anglers often reeled in all kinds of strange things—personal clothing, jewelry, Gundam parts, even intact Gundams.

Other than fish, they could catch just about anything.

And these anglers were astonishingly bold.

During their fishing trips, unidentified human-shaped objects often drifted past on the water. They would merely glance over before returning their attention to their floats, only calling the police after packing up and leaving.

Some had even witnessed the