Drake looked like a total rookie during the robbery, but hearing gunfire over the phone didn't faze him at all.
"Donald, are you busy?" he asked calmly.
The rough voice replied patiently, "Not right now. Just wrapping things up."
Bang!
"I have a friend. Just arrived in Gotham. Only has normal person skills useless here."
"You want him working for me?"
"You have a restaurant, right? His face attracts women. He won't fight, but he's not scared either. Just a regular guy good with words, steady nerves."
"Good with words means loose lips."
Bang!
"Please don't"
Bang!
"I guarantee his mouth is tight. He's just a regular guy. He's not stupid enough to brag and lose his life."
Bang! Bang!
After several more shots, the rough voice returned.
"Drake. We're even now."
"Of course."
"Is the kid with you?"
Marcus immediately took the phone.
"I'm here."
"Be at work tomorrow at nine."
Beep Beep
Section 5
Staring at the disconnected phone and listening to the dead tone, Marcus Reed looked at Drake in complete confusion.
"?"
"What are you looking at me for?" Drake said casually. "He told you to show up for work. That means he agreed."
"But where? What are the requirements? I don't even know what I'm supposed to wear!"
"I'll take you there. Just remember the route. The restaurant provides waiter uniforms. As for the job just normal waiter stuff. Greet customers, take orders, serve food, wipe tables. Nothing else."
"Oh, right and you'll need to bring a gun. Doesn't matter if you know how to use it. You have to carry one. I'll leave mine to you."
Marcus chuckled dryly. F***ing Gotham. A gun is the standard work accessory. Everything else is secondary.
"By the way do you have a wallet?"
"No. I'm already used to just carrying my phone wait, f***, I don't even have a phone!"
"I can give you my wallet. Can't give you my phone, but Camilla doesn't contact people much and barely socializes. I'll talk to her she can lend you her phone."
"You do have a SIM card, right?"
"No problem. That I have."
Marcus accepted Drake's generosity without hesitation. He'd earned it. Even ignoring the fact that he literally saved a life just counting asset value alone, he'd handed over a Rapid Health Regeneration worth $9,999.
Ten thousand dollars for a wallet, a phone, a gun, and a waiter job in Gotham? That was already a bargain.
He silently praised the system's thoughtfulness it provided multiple common U.S. bank cards and SIM cards, saving him a ton of trouble.
Drake didn't waste time. He went to talk to Camilla first no idea what they were doing in the room until Marcus finished setting up bedding on the floor. Only then did Drake come out and hand him a compact phone.
That night, Drake and Camilla's bedroom was unusually quiet. Marcus slept soundly on the couch.
The Next Morning
Drake woke up early and shook Marcus awake. "Let's go. I'll take you to work."
Still half asleep, Marcus glanced at the wall clock. Both hands pointed at seven.
"…Why are we up so early? It's only seven."
"We don't have a car."
"…What?"
Moments later, Marcus scrambled up, threw on his clothes, and was dragged outside by Drake. They jogged to a battered metal pole nearby scarred and riddled with holes.
"Drake, I get that you don't want me to be late, but shouldn't we at least eat breakfast first?"
"No time. We'll eat on the way. Any later and we might miss it."
As Drake spoke, he wrapped a scarf around Marcus's neck.
"Jesus, how far is this place?"
"Otisburg District. Not close to the East End, but the route's decent. If we're lucky, we'll get there in about half an hour."
After the scarf, Drake plopped a hat onto Marcus's head.
"…Huh?" Marcus stared blankly. "What do I look like to you?"
Screech
A bus pulled up and the doors opened. Marcus's question died in his throat as Drake dragged him onboard and found seats.
Marcus collapsed into a seat, about to continue questioning then icy wind blasted across half his face, jolting him fully awake.
He turned his head. Every window on the bus was gone. Cold air roared in through the empty frame where the windshield should've been. Everyone around them had their heads tightly wrapped.
"…What the hell?"
Before he could process it, Marcus saw Drake pull out a gun from his pocket.
"What are you doing?!"
Drake didn't answer. He stood up, walked to the driver, and started chatting.
"Hey don't interrupt the dri"
Marcus reached out to pull Drake back then froze. Why were there holes in Drake's seat?
He'd noticed earlier the bus body was covered in welded metal patches, layered like a patchwork quilt.
"…Wait. Are those bullet holes?"
He'd expected thugs, gangsters, prostitutes, addicts not gunfights. Maybe walking to work would've been safer?
At that moment, Drake seemed to finish negotiating. He opened his wallet, handed over colorful bills. The driver grinned, pulled out a handgun and several magazines from nowhere, and passed them over.
"…Huh?"
Drake returned proudly, gun in hand, and sat beside Marcus. Seeing Marcus's unstable expression, he asked with concern:
"What's wrong? Feeling unwell?"