Axel didn't know Bruce was watching him. Even if he had, he wouldn't have cared.
He swaggered past the police blockade toward the spot where he had just died.
Compared to before, the Russian Mafia was scattered; clearly, the Italian gang was gaining the upper hand.
Axel didn't care who won. As long as they held guns, none of them would escape him.
Bang.
He dropped the nearest Russian thug, grabbed the man's pistol, and continued his carnage with two guns blazing.
Across from him, a few of Falcone's men had broken into the Russians' position.
One approached Axel with a cruel grin.
"Good job, you actually got behind the Dimitrov family. After this, we'll put in a good word for you with the boss."
"Put in a good word for your ass."
Bang.
The man froze, eyes wide, before falling.
Axel didn't pause.
He emptied his clip into the first wave of Falcone's men charging into the Russians' position.
Five went down in seconds.
The gangs froze.
"Damn it, he's not one of us!"
"This is a madman!"
"Whose subordinate is he anyway?"
"Kill him!"
"Federov's dead!"
"To hell with him! No one can save him!"
Within seconds, bullets rained down on Axel from every direction.
In less than five seconds, his body went up in flames again, warming Gotham's cold rain with a fiery glow.
A moment later, he reappeared, alive, two guns in hand, scanning left and right.
Since his first death that morning, Axel had developed a new ability: whenever he died, he would reappear perfectly at a random spot near where he fell.
Luck or curse, he didn't care.
He spotted two homeless men huddled under a fire beneath the elevated train tracks.
Seeing him approach, they bolted.
Bang.
"Stop right there!"
The men froze mid-step, raising their hands, stepping backward instinctively.
"I didn't see anything!"
"Less talk," Axel barked. "Where is this? Not a taxi in sight."
"This is Naihe Island," one of them stammered. "The poorest slum in Gotham. Nobody can afford taxis here. We're lucky to have garbage to eat."
They exchanged terrified glances before splitting up and running in opposite directions.
Axel pursed his lips.
"Naihe Island, huh? Arkham Asylum is close… but no taxis, no private cars. How the hell am I supposed to get back to the city center?"
He slid his pistol back into his waistband and followed the tram tracks into the rain.
The slum lived up to its name.
Nobody carried umbrellas.
Axel's tattered clothes weren't out of place here; in Naihe Island, even ruin had a uniform.
After half a kilometer, a car finally appeared.
Axel stepped into the road, forcing it to a screeching halt.
"Are you f***ing blind?!" the driver yelled, fumbling for his pistol.
Before he could aim, Axel pressed his gun against the man's head.
"Want an extra eye?" Axel spat back.
He leveled his other gun at the back seat.
"Get out!"
A figure in the back opened the door and smiled gently.
"No need for shooting. You're in a hurry, I can give you a lift."
The person waved at the driver, Anthony.
"Anthony, put the gun away. We're not going to get hurt. This gentleman needs a ride first."
Turning to Axel, the passenger nodded kindly.
"Life here is hard. I understand. You don't need to fight to survive. Call me Jonathan; I work at the asylum over there. Where do you need to go? Anthony will drive you."
Axel didn't answer, climbing into the back seat.
Rainwater soaked Jonathan's pants, but he handed Axel a towel.
"Use this. I also have spare clothes if you need them. Anthony, get in the car and drive."
"Got it," Anthony muttered, begrudgingly returning to the driver's seat.
He spat out the window.
"In this rotten Gotham, I shouldn't be nice. Should've run him over."
"To the city center, near the bus station," Axel said.
"City center?" Anthony glanced back, surprised. "There was a battle. Are you sure?"
"Drive." Axel pressed his pistol against Anthony's head.
Anthony sighed.
"Fine. You're the boss today."
The car moved through the rain.
Jonathan spoke quietly.
"Are you with Falcone or the Russian Mafia? How did you end up on Naihe Island? It's almost an hour since the shootout started downtown. You may be late."
He offered a glass of whiskey.
"Want a drink? Gotham rain chills to the bone."
"No. Shut up." Axel knocked the glass over with his gun and pressed the barrel against Jonathan's chest.
Jonathan adjusted his glasses and gave a bitter smile.
"Strong liquor stains worse than rainwater. Shame about my suit."
"Shut up!"
Bang!
The bullet grazed Jonathan's chest, ripping his jacket.
He gasped.
"Okay, okay, I'll shut up."
The car remained silent for a full half-hour before stopping near the recent battlefield.
Axel stepped out, waving at Jonathan and Anthony without looking back.
Anthony leaned toward Jonathan.
"Boss, we just let him go?"
Jonathan shook his head.
"He's a Gotham-style accident. People like him don't live long here."
He changed into the spare suit, rolling down the window to watch Axel's retreating figure.
"I'll speak to Falcone. Even if I don't know his name, he'll owe me for this suit."
---