"Click."
The harsh sound of a gun bolt being pulled back seemed magnified endlessly in the downpour. Three powerful flashlight beams sliced through the thick curtain of rain like swords, sweeping deeper into Alley 22 inch by inch.
"Search carefully! I put two bullets in that bastard. He's bled enough to fill a sewer-he can't have gone far!" The gravelly voice approached rapidly, accompanied by a jumble of splashing footsteps.
Yang Ming knelt on one knee in the mud. Rain streamed down his pale cheeks, mixing with blood from the cut a throwing dart had just grazed across his face, and dripped onto Bruce Wayne's battered tactical body armor.
He looked down at the future Batman lying on the ground-a nearly two-hundred-pound man built like a bull calf, now barely drawing breath.
"You're a real fucking burden." Yang Ming pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth and tasted a trace of blood.
His mind raced under the crushing sense of danger.
Run? With a two-hundred-pound dying patient, I wouldn't make it ten yards down this muddy alley.
Fight? I wield a scalpel. Those Gang hitmen out there have Thompson submachine guns.
Just as the flashlight beams were about to sweep past the edge of the dumpster, the blue countdown panel at the edge of his vision flashed violently.
[Host detected performing first high-risk emergency treatment. Beginner safety-net reward issued: Optical Camouflage Medical Blanket (disguised as an invisibility cloak).] [Note: This item perfectly refracts light and conceals the scent of blood. Duration: 30 minutes.]
A sudden weight settled into the inner compartment of his medical bag.
A hard glint flashed through Yang Ming's eyes. His hand shot into the bag like lightning and pulled out a silver blanket as thin as a cicada's wing.
Without hesitating for even half a second, he flung it out with both hands and covered Bruce's massive body completely.
Something miraculous happened in the downpour. The instant the silver blanket touched the ground, Bruce's body and the bloodstained water around him vanished as though an invisible eraser had wiped them away.
Light twisted and refracted strangely across the blanket's surface, finally blending perfectly into the filthy redbrick wall and rusty dumpster behind it.
Gone without a trace.
But there was only one blanket. Yang Ming had nowhere to hide.
The beams had already reached the mouth of the alley.
Yang Ming drew a deep breath, cold rain pouring into his lungs as he forced his pounding heart under control.
In a tenth of a second, his gaze changed-from panic to utter indifference and irritation at being disturbed.
He hastily smeared the Bruce's blood coating his hands over his old white coat, yellowed around the edges, making himself look as though he had just finished a bloody emergency procedure.
Then he grabbed his tactical medical backpack. Instead of hiding, he strode straight toward the alley entrance, into the three blinding beams.
"Who's there? Stop! Hands on your head!"
The moment Yang Ming stepped out of the alley, three Thompson submachine guns snapped up, their dark muzzles aimed squarely at his head and chest.
The Gang lieutenant leading them had a brutish face, with a knife scar running from the corner of his eye to his chin. He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the newcomer through the rain, his finger already tight against the trigger.
The atmosphere froze instantly. One unnecessary movement from Yang Ming, and he would be riddled with bullets the next second.
"Did you see a masked freak dressed in black?" Scarface demanded viciously, thrusting the muzzle forward and jabbing it painfully against Yang Ming's forehead.
Yang Ming did not raise his hands.
With his eyelids lowered slightly, he stared coldly at Scarface through eyes ringed with dark circles, as though studying a corpse already laid out on a dissecting table.
"Move it." Yang Ming's voice was quiet, but its calm in the rainy night was chilling.
"What the fuck did you say? You looking to die-"
Scarface flew into a rage, but just as he was about to explode, the powerful flashlight finally illuminated Yang Ming's refined, sickly exhausted face.
Scarface's voice cut off abruptly.
He saw the old white coat covered in fresh blood, the unmistakable black medical bag, and, most importantly, those utterly indifferent black eyes that seemed capable of looking straight through human bones.
"D-Dr. Yang? What are you doing here?!" Scarface sucked in a sharp breath. Even his gun hand began trembling uncontrollably.
The two men behind him clearly recognized the face too. They jerked their muzzles downward as though shocked, even retreating half a step.
In this stretch of the East End controlled by the Maloney Family, you could fail to recognize the mayor, or even the police commissioner, but you absolutely had to recognize the "unlicensed miracle doctor" standing before them.
Last month, during a gang shootout, a rival had blasted away half of Boss Maroni's belly with a shotgun, spilling his intestines all over the ground. The specialists at Gotham General Hospital had issued a critical-condition notice that very night.
This man had walked into the hospital room carrying a battered bag, thrown everyone out, and spent four grueling hours dragging Maroni back from death's doorstep.
The first thing Maroni said after waking up was, "Anyone who pisses off Dr. Yang gets their whole family chopped up and fed to the dogs."
"I'm on a house call."
His face cold, Yang Ming casually pushed aside the gun barrel pressed against his chest. He jabbed his blood-covered index finger into Scarface's bulletproof vest without ceremony, leaving a glaring red mark.
"My patient just died. I'm in a bad mood. Is the Maloney Family going to stop me from collecting his body now?"
"No, no, no! A misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding!"
Scarface bowed repeatedly in fright, forcing a smile onto his brutish face that looked worse than crying. Rain and cold sweat streamed down together.
"We didn't know you were working here... We're chasing a freak who hurt some of our boys..."
"A freak? Other than dead rats, the only thing in that alley is the poor bastard who just died under my care." Yang Ming tugged impatiently at his collar. "What, do you want me to pull out his organs so you can inspect them?"
"No, no! You must be joking!" Scarface swallowed. He hardly dared ask why Yang Ming had appeared in the slums in the middle of the night, in a torrential downpour, much less who this supposed "poor bastard" was.
But the radio behind him suddenly crackled with Maroni's furious roar. "Have you found him yet? I want him alive or I want his corpse! If you don't find him, you're all sinking to the bottom of Gotham Bay tonight!"
Scarface shuddered, his expression turning troubled. He glanced at the dark alley, then at Yang Ming's stony face, and reluctantly spoke.
"Doctor Yang... The boss gave us strict orders. We... we still need to take a look inside. Just one look. We won't interfere with your work! Otherwise, we can't report back..."
Yang Ming's heart leaped into his throat, but not a crack appeared in his expression.
He snorted coldly and stepped aside, clearing the way. "Search. If you find nothing, when I change your boss's dressings tomorrow, I'll ask him whether he thinks he has too many men working for him."
Scarface shivered. Gritting his teeth, he led his two men into Alley 22 with their guns raised.
Yang Ming stood at the entrance and pulled a flattened cigarette from his pocket, placing it between his lips without lighting it. He watched the moving flashlight beams coldly, his left hand behind his back already closing quietly around a scalpel inside his medical bag.
"Drip... drip..."
Rain hammered down.
Scarface's flashlight beam swept back and forth around the dumpster.
The light passed over the redbrick wall, over the puddles on the ground, and over the area covered by the invisibility blanket.
There was nothing there but a pile of stinking trash.
One of the Gang members took a step forward.
"Splash."
A heavy leather boot landed in the puddle beside the dumpster. That puddle lay right at the edge of Bruce's thigh.
The corner of Yang Ming's mouth twitched sharply around the cigarette.
Muddy water splashed against the edge of the invisibility blanket. The droplets paused unnaturally in midair for a tenth of a second before sliding down a transparent curve. But amid the downpour and dim light, that tiny visual distortion went completely unnoticed.
"Boss, there's nothing here. Not a damn soul." The underling wiped rain from his face and complained.
"Fuck, this is weird. Someone clearly said he came through here..."
Scarface spat and glanced back apprehensively at Yang Ming, who stood motionless at the alley entrance like the Grim Reaper.
He could not imagine Yang Ming sheltering a freak who fought the Gang. After all, this miracle doctor had taken plenty of their dollars.
"Pull out! Next block!" Scarface waved his hand and led his men out of the alley with their tails between their legs. As he passed Yang Ming, he still remembered to bow and nod. "Sorry for the trouble, Dr. Yang. Take care!"
The footsteps and sirens finally receded, disappearing completely into the curtain of rain.
Yang Ming spat out the cigarette, already soaked to pulp. His tense shoulders instantly sagged. He hurried back to the dumpster and yanked off the silver invisibility blanket.
Bruce Wayne lay motionless in the muddy water, his face as pale as a corpse in a morgue. The rise and fall of his chest was almost imperceptible.
The blue countdown in Yang Ming's vision had turned a glaring scarlet.
[Time remaining: 24 minutes, 15 seconds. Target's vital signs continue to decline.]
"Fuck."
Yang Ming swore through gritted teeth. He stuffed the invisibility blanket into his backpack, then bent down, gripped the straps of Bruce's tactical vest with both hands, and drew a deep breath.
"Up! Goddammit, Bruce, you fat pig! Why are you so heavy?!"
Two hundred pounds of dead weight pressed down on his shoulders. Yang Ming's knees buckled, nearly dropping him straight into the mud.
"You'd better pray you can afford my medical bills someday, Master Wayne."
Yang Ming forced the words through clenched teeth. Carrying the mountain of a man, he staggered out of the alley and jogged toward his clinic under cover of darkness and pouring rain.