[3rd POV]
The man wasn't the only one who was surprised.
The residents of the East End slums rarely get sleep because they always hear the sound of gunfire.
If there's a gang conflict going on, the gunshots could last throughout the entire night.
However, they also knew that as long as they didn't get involved in other people's business and stayed inside, they'd probably be safe.
They had kind of gotten used to it.
Moreover, there was always Batman or Catwoman—maybe some vigilante would swoop in to save the day.
There was no need for an ordinary person to step in, right?
That was true until tonight when the furious shouting of a strange old woman suddenly pierced the night.
"You bastard! Where the hell are you?!"
"BANG!"
They turned toward the direction of the voice in shock.
Over the past few years, they all knew who tried to play hero in Gotham never met a good end.
The only exceptions were superheroes or vigilantes.
They were powerful, they stayed in the shadows, and they did whatever they wanted. They didn't have to worry about normal stuff like jobs or paying bills to get by.
A lot of people in Gotham didn't like them, partly because they didn't understand them and also because they were scared… or even jealous.
However, a loud, angry woman came out, and she was holding a shotgun.
The man hastily pulled up his pants in furious. He was so mad that he grabbed his gun, ready to teach that woman a lesson for ruining his moment.
"BANG"
The deafening shot of the shotgun sounded through the alley like a lightning strike, instantly snapping the anger out of him.
It was only then that he remembered he was holding nothing more than a little handgun.
"BANG!"
The bullets hit the alley wall, making pieces of stone fly everywhere, and one little chunk even hit his face, waking him up even more.
"Damn it! You better hope I never see you again!"
After shouting a few final threats, the man fired wildly into the darkness in panic, then fled down the alley amid curses.
Tony hid around the corner, watching the bullets hit the wall nearby, silently thankful that he stayed out of it.
He didn't show his face. He just quietly turned around and went back upstairs.
As for the woman, Tony couldn't really help her anymore anyway, and hopefully, she would just go home soon.
He spent ten asset points to buy a one-time voice changer and used it to save the woman.
"Sigh..."
He calculated things carefully and decided not to bother trying to pick up the bullets from the wall.
No one died this time, so the Gotham police wouldn't be showing up, and they wouldn't be doing any analysis linking the bullets to his gun.
Moreover, the shotgun wasn't even his. He got it from someone named Clinton. If anything happened, they'd blame Clinton, not him.
The only part of the rescue plan that Tony wasn't sure about… was whether his shot would actually hit the wall.
He aimed at the wall on purpose, but if the bullet accidentally hit someone, that wasn't really something he could control.
Meanwhile, the man had already run far away from the neighborhood.
...
"Damn it, where the hell did that crazy woman come from?!"
He cursed furiously as he ran, "I swear, I'm gonna find out who she is… that woman is so dead!"
Then, a slim, shadowy figure leaped across the rooftops like a cat, silently following him from above.
Among all the things Gothamites believed about their city, there was at least one thing that held true: superheroes did, in fact, mark their own territory just like the criminals they fought.
The Gothamites believed a lot of things about their city, and one thing they were right about was vigilantes were kind of like the villains.
They had their own territory.
They'd go after criminals in their territory, and they'd use whatever force they needed… just not killing.
Moreover, the East End happened to be Catwoman's territory.
...
"Where did you go?"
Tony tiptoed back into the room.
Sure enough, Drake had been woken up and was standing by the window with a gun in hand, scanning the area.
Suddenly, Drake looked surprised when he saw Tony open the door and come in.
Tony locked the door behind him, sat back down on the couch, and replied, "I went to check things out. There was a shootout outside."
"You didn't get enough excitement last time with Old Jack's incident?"
"Wasn't that your fault last time?"
Before they could argue more, Mrs. Camilla interrupted them, "Gentlemen, it's three fifteen in the morning. If not for two lunatics having a gunfight outside, we'd all be fast asleep by now. Now that the lunatics are gone, kindly get back to bed."
Toy just shrugged and flopped onto the couch.
Drake saw the look in his wife's eyes, gave up on the argument, and quietly went back to the bedroom.
Mrs. Camila looked at Tony and made sure he understood what she said. After Tony nodded, she finally turned around and went back to the bedroom.
He agreed with her and knew that until he got better at using a gun, even just living in Gotham wasn't very safe—let alone trying to save people.
Right now, the most important thing is learning how to survive in Gotham.
After finishing the show he was watching, Tony started practicing how to drive again in a simulator.
The moon went down, the sun came up, and time passed.
The next day, at eight in the morning, Tony emerged from his simulated driving training to see the bright morning light.
After stretching lazily, he saw the bright sunlight and walked into the kitchen, humming a tune as he started making breakfast.
The morning smoke from his cooking drifted out the window, mixing with the scent of other homes.
The aroma of everyday life softened the sunrise, making it hazy and beautiful like it had washed away all the bad stuff from last night.
However, this morning really felt like a fresh, happy new start for someone.
"Good morning, Gotham… or should I say, bad morning?"
Tony joked with a smile.
...
Tony thought he had already gotten used to living in Gotham.
He had been working in the city for a whole week.
He had seen gunfights, criminals, gangs, one vigilante, a future supervillain, plenty of people from the bottom of society, and some wealthy elites.
He had even gotten used to falling asleep every night while looking at a guy hanging upside down on a gargoyle statue.
To be honest, except for the weird customers who liked his face too much, Tony thought he was getting used to the city or at least a little bit.
He thought he could handle the craziness, but he was wrong.
That day, Tony got off work like usual. He was carrying his wheelchair through a quiet alley when he suddenly heard a man's voice.
"Hey, buddy, hand over your wheelchair."
"…Huh?"
Tony, just about to head home, mentally froze for a few seconds.
It's not like he hadn't seen muggers before because muggings were a regular part of life in the East End.
Normally, they wanted money or valuables, and they all pretty much did the same thing, but this guy... had a very different idea.
"Uh… just to be sure."
He said cautiously, pointing at the wheelchair in his hands, "You're trying to rob my wheelchair?"
The man with the gun sneered proudly with a smug grin on his face.
"Yeah, that's right! Hand it over! I know who you are, and everyone in East End and Otisburg has heard about it. There's some damn man racing down the streets every night. I know how you go so fast every day, and I know that thing is special!"
'I can't make a move... If I use Save Point, it will expose me as I'm not strong enough to protect myself. Moreover, I won't be able to make a move with a gun on my face.'
Tony thought but pretended to be slightly puzzled, "No offense, but… you could just steal a car and go just as fast. Why are you targeting my wheelchair?"
The so-called genius paused for a few seconds. The expression on his face shifted from fierce to thoughtful… then from thoughtful to completely confused.
It was honestly pretty funny.
"A-Anyway!"
He stammered, trying to regain momentum, "Just give me the damn wheelchair!"
"I mean, just so you know. This wheelchair might be a bit dangerous for the average person like you to handle."
Tony replied mildly
"Bang!"
"I said! Give it to me, right now!"
Tonny twitched and looked at the wall nearby. A bullet had just narrowly missed him, leaving a hole only a few inches from his head.
'That was dangerous... I should probably give it to him and maybe he will not know how to use it.'
"Well, it's yours, and don't say I didn't warn you."
Tony said quickly, handing over the wheelchair.
The mugger still had a gun pointed at him, and Tony wasn't about to get shot just for talking too much.
He was standing face-to-face with a loaded gun, and it was too dangerous for him to suddenly draw a gun.
"And give me all your money and clothes too!"
"You can have the money, but can I at least keep my clothes?"
"Shut up! Take them off! Now!"
'This guy was seriously going too far!'
Tony was getting mad.
He quickly took off his jacket, leaving just a shirt and pants. Then he pulled his driver's license out of his pocket and took the SIM card out of his phone.
"Alright, alright, I've only got two pieces of clothing left. Just take my cash and get lost."
"And give me your gun t—"
"Bang!"
Suddenly, a loud gunshot cut through the air and hit the mugger. A big, tough-looking man walked up, holding a gun, and spat on the ground beside them.
"That damn gun's mine, you mother—"
The mugger clutched his hand, groaning in pain. The big man's shot had completely smashed the gun in his hand and also left a bloody hole in his palm.
"Get lost!"
Seeing the fierce look in the man's eyes, the mugger instantly gave up trying to fight.
He hastily grabbed his jacket from the side, quickly climbed into the wheelchair, and didn't even dare to reach for Tony's wallet or phone.
Instead, the mugger clumsily pressed some buttons on the wheelchair and sped off, disappearing around the corner of the street.
"He's actually kind of good at driving that thing... but I still wouldn't recommend going that fast—"
"Give me my damn gun back."
Clinton cut him off abruptly, "Stop talking nonsense. If you're too scared to use it, you shouldn't be carrying it."
"It's just a regular Beretta, okay? It's nothing special or modified."
Tony protested as he obediently handed the gun over, "You're making it sound like some legendary weapon or something."
"Shut up."
He holstered both his revolver and the well-worn Beretta.
Afterward, Clinton spat near Tony's feet and growled, "I waited at Old Jack's for a whole damn week. You coward didn't have the guts to show, and you're racing through the streets in that damn wheelchair like some lunatic from Arkham Asylum."
"You f**king coward."
'Son of a b*tch!'
Tony yanked his jacket back on with a sharp motion, stuffed his license and phone into his pockets, and stomped toward the stairs.
Sure, Tony was mad, but it wasn't worth fighting with some meathead like that.
Clinton gave him a disdainful glance but didn't stop him—just turned and walked off.
"This city is full of cowards."
...
"Yeah, this stupid Gotham is full of idiots and lunatics too."
Tony ranted to Drake, still fuming, "I only ride a damn wheelchair home, and someone still tried to rob me—with a gun! What the hell? Do they think a wheelchair is faster than a car or something?!"
"Judging by the time you get off work and come home..."
Drake said, glancing expressionlessly at his watch, "Your wheelchair speed yesterday was faster than ninety percent of Gotham's lunatic drivers. It's 10:14 now, and you came upstairs at 10:13. If getting robbed downstairs took three minutes, it means you got home in just ten minutes."
"Ah… well, actually."
Tony replied with an awkward grin, "I actually made it back in nine minutes."
"What the hell are you so proud of?"
Drake shook his head, "You've gotten twenty-five percent faster than before. At this rate, I'm seriously worried one day I'll open the newspaper one day and see a headline like, 'The speeding Wheelchair Collides with Supercar And Turns Into Pancake.'"
"It doesn't matter anymore."
Tony grumbled as he ate the dinner someone had left for him, "It got stolen anyway. What a waste... I spent so much time modifying that wheelchair. It could go up to 160 kilometers an hour!"
...
Meanwhile, in the dead of night on a quiet street in Gotham's East End, a colorful blur streaked past with a scream trailing behind it.
"STOOOOP—THIS WHEELCHAIR!!!"
Bang!
The next morning, Tony left early for work.
Meanwhile, Drake was eating breakfast and reading the Gotham Daily newspaper. Suddenly, a headline caught his eye.
"The Urban Legend' Ghost Wheelchair' Crashes Into Wayne Executive's Car. The Driver Is Currently In Surgery Right Now."
"Pfft!"
...
150 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter
250 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter
450 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter
1000 Power Stones = 2 Extra Chapters
2000 Power Stones = 3 Extra Chapters