A Hero Appeared?

The sour stench of rotting garbage hung over the alley.

Qin Wei and Oswald stood back to back, watching two groups of Red Hoods advance on them.

"How do you want to die? A bullet through the head, a slit throat, or your dick cut off and stuffed in your mouth? How about this-if you don't resist, I might even let you live!"

The lead Red Hood kept taunting them. He held a gun in one hand and pulled out a Butterfly Knife with the other, flipping it in a flashy flourish.

Qin Wei's expression darkened. The trouble caused by the altered storyline had finally caught up with him.

These Red Hoods were nothing like Maroni and his ilk. These reckless thugs cared neither for profit nor consequences. They did whatever they pleased, the lowest of the low in the Lower District.

Nothing but violence could keep them in check.

And that was precisely what Qin Wei lacked most at the moment.

Before he could find a way out, the Red Hood swung his blade. In desperation, Qin Wei raised his left hand to block...

Something astonishing happened. As he blocked the blade, Qin Wei's body instinctively followed through with another movement.

His right hand clenched into a fist, and he sank into a lunging stance, gathering power...

His devastating uppercut shot up like a Saturn V breaking through the atmosphere and slammed into the Red Hood's jaw.

A crisp crack rang out, like a walnut being crushed. Through his fist, Qin Wei distinctly felt bone grinding against teeth, the vibrations traveling straight to his brain.

A moment later, his mind received precise feedback on the blow.

"Comminuted mandibular fracture, grade-three concussion, unconsciousness lasting at least five minutes, 95% probability of memory loss.

"The opponent has completely lost the ability to act.

"An excellent opening strike."

What the hell?!

This was the first time Qin Wei had struck with all his strength. In stark contrast to his limited fighting experience, his body seemed battle-hardened.

Without professional combat training, most people worked against their own bodies when throwing a punch, let alone used proper form to channel the power of their hips and waist into an effective strike.

Yet Qin Wei had done exactly that. He had even assessed the injuries his strike would inflict, as though this body had been born to fight.

But he had no time to wonder why. Behind him, an enraged Red Hood pulled the trigger.

Bang-

The riots in the Lower District continued. Almost the entire Gotham Police Department had been deployed, and even Gordon and Bullock, who were assigned to protect Harvey, had been alerted.

After settling Harvey in a safe house, the two drove to the scene.

As they crossed the bridge, the chaotic nightscape before them sent shivers through their bodies.

Gordon felt it especially keenly. A Gotham native and a veteran cop, he had personally lived through the night of riots twenty years ago that had earned its place in Gotham's history.

Now, this riot looked all too similar to that night.

Gordon remembered that night vividly. All of Gotham had seemed like Pompeii flooded with lava, bathed in towering flames. Like lemmings whose numbers had exploded, rioters broke through checkpoints and police cordons, knocked down riot police, and filled the streets and alleys, every government building, and every police car.

He no longer wanted to remember how they had dealt with those people.

And when the dust finally settled, Gordon had found the Wayne family lying in pools of blood in Crime Alley.

Just one week earlier, Thomas Wayne had spoken about his "revitalization plan" at a press conference.

He had proposed building more public welfare schools, moving three factories to the Lower District, and increasing food relief. He hoped that education and employment, combined with aid, would improve the chaos that had plagued the Lower District for decades.

The young Gordon had been full of faith in Thomas. As a Gotham native, he understood just how much those words meant.

In fact, he was not alone. Gotham's residents felt the same way. Everyone was talking about Thomas's plan.

The overcrowded Blackgate Penitentiary was only a symptom. The East End, abandoned by Gotham, was the source of the tumor.

But on that night of riots, every hope had shattered along with the Pearl Necklace, scattered across the ground.

Gordon had watched the ambulance leave. Inside lay the Waynes' only son, his spine pierced by a bullet. The poor boy had been shot four times in the back: one bullet had severed his spine, two had pierced his lungs, and the last had torn through his kidney.

With wounds that severe, it was a miracle the poor boy had survived until the paramedics arrived. But Gordon also knew that even if they snatched him back from death, he would spend the rest of his life in a hospital bed with a urinary catheter.

Poor boy. Sometimes living was more painful than dying.

Coming back to himself, Gordon rubbed his eyes and remained silent for a long time, until a young officer ran over to report the latest developments.

"The riots in the West End have been quelled, and the fires are under control. Commissioner Rob has ordered us to advance into the East End."

"How did it happen so quickly?"

Gordon was baffled. These riots were smaller in scale, but their sheer chaos probably surpassed even that night twenty years ago. How had the Gotham Police Department brought the West End under control so soon after arriving?

"Actually, we didn't do much. But there was this..."

The officer hesitated.

"What exactly happened? What's so hard to say?"

"There was this strange guy..."

Bang-

As though some annoying bastard were slowly pulling the tape out of a cassette, the gunshot that should have lasted only an instant stretched on endlessly.

Everyone's movements froze along with it.

Qin Wei saw Oswald lunging toward him, terror frozen on his face. The Red Hood he had punched away hung suspended in midair, arms spread like a white dove in an oil painting.

Was this my life flashing before my eyes?

Qin Wei could hardly describe what he felt. He felt like a decorated general who had spent decades on the battlefield, only to survive blades, bullets, and trampling hooves and die on the journey home to a bandit's tripwire.

Oh, right. There was an idiom for that-capsizing in a gutter.

If only I had the Speed Force. I could turn around and catch that bullet.

But there were no such what-ifs in this world.

Qin Wei made a wish deep in his heart. If he transmigrated again in his next life, he hoped he would get a superpower.

His final flash of life was nearly over, and time began to resume its normal flow. Beyond the piercing gunshot, he heard a rush of air behind his ear. The lethal bullet was hurtling toward the back of his head.

He could even feel the bullet's heat...

Clang!

The sound of the bullet's impact was strange. It did not sound like a skull being pierced, but more like a collision with a steel plate.

His life's final flash had clearly ended, yet the Red Hood behind him remained silent. Even Oswald and the annoying bastards in front of him were all staring with their eyes wide and mouths agape.

What was wrong with all of them?

Weren't they worried about their eyes drying out? Had they never felt the pain of a dislocated jaw?

Whew... wait, was there something behind me?!

Like a wound-up doll, Qin Wei mechanically turned his head, little by little.

He had imagined several possibilities for what might be behind him: Killer Croc, Professor Pyg, or perhaps Bane or Scarecrow. Even among Gotham's villains, those guys looked hideous.

But because Qin Wei had focused all his attention on the villains, he had forgotten one crucial fact.

In Gotham, the person truly entitled to be synonymous with fear had never been a villain.

The night breeze blew into the alley, carrying a faint scorched smell. A scalloped cape fluttered in the wind, revealing an unconscious thug beneath a pair of black tactical boots.