The police cruiser crawled through Gotham City's dreary stream of traffic, stopping and starting. Li Jie leaned back in his seat, tilted his head toward the dusty window, and narrowed his eyes, pretending to doze.
Waylon Jones. He didn't remember the name, but he did recognize the face. Probably the infamous Killer Croc. He certainly had the build for it, but look at how meek he was. Did he look like he could kill anyone?
Fine. He was still a kid, after all.
He couldn't resist checking his skill cards and suddenly noticed that he had gained another skill point. At the very bottom of all the cards was a faintly glowing line of small text.
[Changed Waylon Jones's fate to a · degree. Gained 1 skill point.]
He scrolled back and found another line of small text above it. He must have missed it earlier.
[Changed Edward Nygma's fate to a · degree. Gained 1 skill point.]
Changed...
He didn't think he'd done much. It was only a hundred bucks. Maybe I could find a way to pocket Wilson's cut next month?
Heh heh heh...
This time, though, he didn't dare try anything fancy. The first card was clearly related to firearms, which happened to be exactly what he needed. Better to play it safe.
An invisible hammer seemed to strike the card, sending ripples spreading across it. Its shell cracked and peeled away without a sound, dissolving into flecks of light like tiny fireflies. The lines of the revolver image grew crisp and sharp, its barrel gleaming with cold metallic light. New words appeared across it, line by line, as though being engraved.
[American Iai: Your knowledge of and proficiency with most firearms have reached the level of proficient·. You draw faster, hold steadier, aim more accurately, and control recoil far better than an ordinary person. You are no longer the rookie who couldn't even disengage the safety.] [Upgrade tasks: Firearm disassembly/repair: 0/1000 Firearm shooting: 0/1000] [*Complete all tasks to increase the skill level.] [*If you have a gun but insist on using martial arts, how can you call yourself a grandmaster?] [*The system only raises your ceiling. Your effort determines your floor. Have you ever seen Gotham at four in the morning?]
What a load of bullshit. Like I haven't seen enough of Gotham in the early morning? He had only been in this world for two days, but his memories included plenty of night shifts. Three or four in the morning was prime time for murder and dumping bodies. The fragments of memories of what happened in those dark corners were enough to give anyone nightmares.
But in Gotham, nightmares weren't restricted to nighttime. They could happen whenever they pleased. Wilson slammed on the brakes, and the cruiser's tires let out a sharp, brief screech against the road. Caught off guard, Li Jie smashed his head into the windshield beside the A-pillar. If he hadn't been wearing his seat belt, he would have nearly flown out of the car.
"Are you fucking insane?"
Wilson didn't answer. He just stared outside, dumbstruck. "Holy shit! Did you see that? What the hell just ran past the front of the car?"
"I wasn't looking." Li Jie held his head, hissing through his teeth. "What did you see?"
"I saw someone... with his bare hands... dragging an ATM across the intersection." Wilson swallowed hard. "Toward Coventry."
"What?" Li Jie gave his partner a puzzled look, then caught on and slammed his palm onto the passenger-side dashboard. The glove compartment fell open, spilling a wrench, a screwdriver, documents, tissues, and discarded wrappers everywhere. "FUC-FUCK! Dale, you swore you weren't doing drugs! And you stuffed your pizza trash in here?"
"I'm not fucking high, okay? Forget the trash! I swear on my grandmother's skull, I've never even smoked weed. I really saw it!"
"Seriously, you should spend a few days in school instead of messing around with voodoo. Ripping out an ATM, bolts and all, would take at least a ton and a half of pulling force. If what you saw was real, a monster like that could snap off a door handle and throw it at us hard enough to turn our brains into an oil painting." Li Jie rubbed his forehead and looked helplessly at his partner. "Are you sure you want a better look?"
"Uh... no. I think I saw it wrong." Wilson's eyes immediately cleared, and he shook his head rapidly. "Didn't see a thing."
"Turn right." Li Jie pointed. "As long as I get through today in one piece, I'm off tomorrow. Let headquarters deal with that thing."
"Don't say shit like that! You're tempting fate!" Wilson protested, turning the wheel. "Let's check out Cathedral Square. We can score lunch from a food truck while we're there."
"Donald's salt-and-pepper hot sauce wraps? Not even a dog would..."
"Eat it! If a dog won't, I will! Half price for a limited time, plus buy one, get one free! Only an idiot would pass that up!"
Li Jie held an enormous flatbread slathered with a special cheese-and-hot-sauce mixture, eating with sweat pouring down his face.
"Don, your food gets worse every day." Wilson sat down on a sheltered step beside the fountain and called to the vendor, "Being cheap is the only thing it's got going for it now."
"Then fuck off." Donald Francis waved his little spatula without looking up. "If it tasted good, why the hell would I sell it this cheap? It's only this cheap because the cheese and flour are about to expire."
"You really are a fucking asshole."
Wilson grinned, stuffing the wrap into his mouth as he mumbled to Li Jie, "Nothing usually happens around here. We might even get a little nap in after lunch."
"Maybe."
Li Jie pulled out a napkin and wiped his mouth, then stuffed the last little piece of flatbread into its wrapper and crumpled it up. Once the first ravenous mouthfuls were over, the wrap tasted so spicy and greasy that he couldn't swallow another bite. "Unless someone steals a little boy from the bishop's room."
"Buddy, I think you'd give God shit if he walked through here. Hey, what's that?" Following the direction of Li Jie's jump shot toward the trash can, he spotted a prison transport speeding toward them from Rand Bridge.
"A Blackgate Penitentiary van. Say, how much do those guys make a year?"
"Fifty to seventy thousand, not counting the extra cash from fines," Wilson said enviously, watching the van pass nearby and disappear behind a block of buildings. "I want to put in for a transfer there too. Watch some security feeds, play whack-a-mole, and make easy money every day."
Sure, sure. The heavy hitters who could tear the place apart haven't really shown up yet, have they? Give it a few years, and you might not sound so relaxed.
Li Jie took out a tissue and blew his nose. Then a series of dull blasts came from the direction where the van had disappeared, making him jerk upright.
"M870? Fuck. We've got trouble."
Both men sprang to their feet. Li Jie slid across the still-warm hood, swung into the driver's seat, and turned the key, worked the clutch, and stalled the engine in one seamless sequence.
"You fucking-!"
"Don't start! Don't start!" Li Jie wiped away his sweat. Fortunately, his second attempt went smoothly. The cruiser belched black smoke and shot forward with its tires screaming.
A burly bald man in a dark leather jacket glanced at the guard still twitching on the ground and blasted the lock off the transport van's door. An accomplice behind him fired another shot, dropping the escort officer lying in wait inside. The bald man dragged the corpse out, dumped it on the pavement, and shouted into the van:
"Hargrove!"
A cowering Black man stood up in a corner of the compartment. The bald man smiled. "Come on out. We need you."
Suddenly sensing something behind him, he whipped around with his gun raised. A police cruiser that had just appeared at the mouth of the alley floored the accelerator and vanished behind a wall.
"The cops in this city sure are something," the men laughed. "If they're all this spineless, we ought to thank God."
"If my fucking neck snaps, I'll have you to thank!" Wilson tore off his seat belt and jumped out. "What the hell are you doing?"
"If I hadn't reacted fast, we'd both be Swiss cheese. Didn't you see their Uzis?"
Li Jie grabbed the radio microphone, banged it a few times, and shouted, "Emergency traffic! All units, Signal 33! Signal 33! Officer shot! Shots fired between Cathedral Square and Adams Wharf! Four suspects armed with automatic weapons have hijacked a Blackgate Penitentiary transport. Officers down. Adam-12 is exiting the vehicle to engage! We need all available units responding Code 3! Repeat, multiple officers shot!"
The radio crackled twice, as though complaining. He dropped the microphone and jumped out, his hands trembling slightly. With his right hand, he drew his 1911 and pulled the slide back a fraction to check the chamber. With his left, he opened the trunk and yanked a Mossberg with a wooden stock and steel fore-end from atop a pile of warning signs, first-aid kits, and toolboxes, then tossed it to Wilson.
"We've got some heavy hitters too. I'll draw their fire up front. You go..." He pointed to a narrow passage piled with trash cans along the side of the neighboring apartment building. "Around there. Get close and hit them hard."
"Okay!" Wilson stripped six rounds of twelve-gauge buckshot from the cartridge belt and clumsily loaded the shotgun. Ferocity and excitement had already spread across his face, and he raced toward the fire escape behind the building like a wild dog let off its leash.
Li Jie watched his partner disappear around the corner, steadied himself, and disengaged his pistol's safety. This was his first time facing multiple armed criminals on his own. He had once responded to a bank robbery as backup, but all he had needed to do then was park outside the perimeter and hold his gun as though he were aiming. If negotiations failed, heavier firepower would arrive anyway. This time, he would probably have to rely on himself.
Three!
He counted silently, lowered his center of gravity, and gripped his pistol tightly, keeping it pointed ahead. Hugging the wall, he moved toward the edge of the alley mouth with quick, silent little steps, then pressed his back against the wall. His palms were drenched in sweat. The metal grip felt cold as ice, freezing his fingers into rigid steel rods.
In theory, a maneuver like this required a whole series of assessments beforehand, but there was no time for that now. The hard, rough texture of the brick wall pressed through his uniform, making him feel a little safer.
Two!
A breeze drifted around the street corner, carrying the mingled smells of gun smoke, blood, and Gotham's ever-present garbage and rust. A deathly silence settled over him, broken only by the faint traffic in the distance and his own pounding heartbeat.
It hammered at his eardrums, beat after beat, so clearly it almost drowned out everything else.
I'm not going to die here, right?
One!
He drew a deep breath. The cold air stabbed his lungs like needles, but it sharpened his mind too. Tensing every muscle, he suddenly leaned out, exposing his left eye and half his forehead beyond the wall for a quick look, then jerked back even faster! His body slammed hard against the wall.
Woohoo, I'm still alive! Nice work!
The good news was that the men seemed eager to leave and hadn't posted much of a watch. Four were armed. Three had already climbed into a vehicle, while the fourth was shoving a handcuffed Black man into an SUV.
The bad news was that they had spotted him at the same moment he spotted them. Just as he pulled his head back, a burst of bullets flew out past the alley mouth and thudded into the brick wall opposite.
He reached his hand out low, fired twice, and quickly pulled it back. The .45's recoil was a little heavy, but with his improved proficiency, it wasn't much of a problem. The biggest issue now was that if they got into the vehicle and forced their way out, his pistol wouldn't stop them. They might even cut him down with a burst as they drove past.
Sporadic probing shots from the other side made it almost impossible to peek out. Fortunately, at that moment, a second-floor window in an apartment building a short way down the alley shattered with a crash. Then Wilson shouted:
"GCPD! Everybody drop your weapons!"
The robbers instinctively turned their attention toward him. Taking advantage of that instant of distraction, Li Jie slipped sideways out from behind the wall, raised his pistol, aimed at the man in a trench coat holding a submachine gun outside the vehicle, and pulled the trigger.
Wilson was probably following the proper warning procedure, but Li Jie firmly believed in the age-old Chinese principle of striking first. As long as he killed the man first, whether a warning had been given was his call.
The skill card had made handling a gun much smoother, but it didn't guarantee accuracy. He had aimed at the man's head, but the bullet punched into his right shoulder instead. The tremendous impact slammed him against the vehicle, and the Uzi flew far from his hand.
The shot must have severed something like the subclavian artery. A shocking jet of blood spurted from the bullet hole. The man's right arm immediately went limp. He let out an agonized roar and instinctively clamped his left hand over the wound, but hot blood kept surging wildly between his fingers, staining the ground beneath him bright red.
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