Bang!
"You little bastard! Now you know how to talk in Gotham!"
Bang! Bang!
"Old geezer! You're not the only one with a gun in Gotham!"
The two bus drivers opened fire on each other without hesitation. Passengers on both buses leapt cleanly through the windows with practiced ease, finding cover instantly. Anyone unlucky enough to get grazed by stray bullets ducked behind cover and joined the firefight. Those untouched calmly waited for it to end.
The entire process was smooth, chaotic yet orderly. Their reactions weren't exactly "professionally trained" but they were definitely experienced.
Immersed in the strangely orderly daily chaos of Gotham's East End, Marcus was so moved by this lively "local flavor" that tears welled up in his eyes.
"Drake, you bastard if you wanted me dead, you could've just said it. No need to torture me like this!"
"This is the fastest and safest bus in the East End," Drake said calmly. "Other buses? Either you get boxed in by armed cars during traffic jams, or you get pickpocketed or worse."
"In Gotham, people get raped on buses every week. Some disappear the moment they step off."
As Drake kept talking, a stray bullet shattered the concrete edge right beside Marcus's foot. Marcus nearly lost his soul.
"So what you're telling me I can't get my head blown open right now?!"
"Trust me," Drake grinned smugly. "This bus is different. Most people on it are here for revenge."
"Grudges need settling. In Gotham, sometimes you can't or don't want to handle things 'properly.' So people schedule it."
"Maybe you stole my client. Maybe I sold you fake goods. Maybe we just bumped shoulders."
"Everyone knows that's not the real reason we pull guns."
"But we just can't take it anymore."
"So if you've got something you can't deal with on the spot this is where you come."
"A bus full of desperate people. Cheap guns anytime. Nothing to lose."
"We shoot it out. Winner lives. Loser gets dumped in the ocean."
"The living vent their anger then go back to their miserable lives."
"So unless some lunatic singles us out deliberately, regular passengers are basically safe."
"And this spot?" Drake added proudly. "Perfect. Good sightlines, hidden, ideal distance. You can watch the show, stay unnoticed, and run back to the bus the moment it's over."
"I hid here for six months straight. Worst injury I got was a sprained ankle."
Marcus listened in awe. Drake had truly lived in Gotham for a year his mindset was already flying the old Gotham black flag. Look at that brain. Look at that mentality. Look at that adaptability.
Bang!
A bullet struck the ground by Marcus's feet.
"Hey, you little shits over there! I noticed you long ago! Riding this bus for six months, treating our duels like entertainment?! Come out here!"
Marcus looked at Drake. Then at the screaming gunman. He suddenly didn't want to acknowledge this friendship anymore.
"This is what you call safe?!"
"How was I supposed to know some psycho survived six months on this bus and made me his target?! I was being low key!"
Bang! Bang!
More bullets flew. Marcus's heart nearly jumped out of his throat.
"Enough! Think of something!"
Drake scanned the area. The position was great but escape routes were limited. To flee, they'd have to expose themselves to fire for three or four seconds. Facing death, Drake became eerily calm. Plans raced through his mind routes, timings, angles.
At that moment, he looked like John Wick possessed. Or Agent 47. No emotion. Pure logic.
"Don't be afraid," he said calmly. "I'll get us out."
He visualized it perfectly rolling behind the bus, using the engine block to stop 9mm rounds, sprinting between shots, diving behind a dumpster, bursting into a bookstore, leaping from the second floor clean escape. Bullets would graze past him. Never touch him.
"Watch my movement."
He smiled calmly, slipped off one shoe, and flicked it past the corner.
Bang! Bang!
Two holes appeared in the shoe. He calmly put it back on. One second passed.
"Coward! Come out!"
Bang!
Two seconds.
"Hahaha! Afraid?! Let's see whose gun is harder!"
Bang! Bang!
Three seconds
Marcus stared at him. "…What are you doing? Aren't we leaving?"
"I think hiding here is safer," Drake said, smiling politely. "His aim's better than expected. If we move, we'll be full of holes in the first second."
"…"
Marcus felt dead inside. I really am stupid, he thought. I knew Drake survived a year in Gotham. I didn't know he was this much of a magnet for trouble.
"Did you never consider that someone who survived six months on this bus might actually be good with a gun?!"
"Shut up and think!" Drake snapped. "You're Gotham born! You've got Gotham citizenship!"
"I've never even met my parents!"
As they argued, Marcus suddenly noticed someone standing on a nearby rooftop. A graceful figure dressed in black looked down at them a smile curled at her lips.
Like a cat.