Chapter 23: Haha, Robbed Again!

Cody thought he was getting used to life in Gotham.

He'd been working in Gotham for a whole week now and had seen gunfights, criminals, gangs, a superhero, a future supervillain, plenty of poor folks and rich socialites. He'd even gotten used to falling asleep while staring at the upside-down people on the gargoyles.

Seriously, the way they posed looked just like hypnotists doing their thing.

Honestly, aside from the occasional weirdo customer his face seemed to attract, he almost felt like he was adapting to the city, or at least getting slightly used to the craziness.

He was wrong.

This day, he got off work as usual, pushing his folded-up wheelchair through the alleyway. But before he could even go upstairs, a guy's voice suddenly called out.

"Hey, buddy, give me your wheelchair."

"?"

Cody, who was just trying to get home, had a few seconds of mental blue screen.

It wasn't like he'd never seen a robber before. Robbers were common in the East End. It's just that usually, when people robbed you, the process and the goal were pretty standard. But this guy's robbery strategy seemed... unique.

"Uh... just to be clear," Cody said cautiously, pointing at the wheelchair in his hands, "you want to rob my wheelchair?"

The robber holding the gun grinned smugly. "Yeah, that's right! Give it to me! I know you! The word's out all over the East End and Otisburg. There's some kinda glowing freak speeding around every night! I know what you're using to go so fast. I know that thing's special!"

Cody was a little confused. "No offense, but you could just as easily steal a car and go fast. Why are you so fixated on my wheelchair?"

The genius stood there for a few seconds, his menacing expression turning to contemplation, then to confusion.

It was pretty hilarious.

"Look, uh, bottom line!" he stammered. "Give me your wheelchair!"

"Just a personal suggestion, but this wheelchair might be a little dangerous for the average person..."

BANG!

"I said! Give it to me, damn it!"

Cody's mouth twitched as he looked at the wall next to him. The bullet had whizzed past his ear, leaving a hole in the wall just inches from his head.

This was the tenth-something shooting he'd encountered in Gotham this week.

Honestly, it was like sensitivity training. The initial fear was real, but after multiple times, you really did start to get a little numb. Cody had gone from being completely stunned to being constantly on edge, and now he was putting on a brave face. He was building up some resistance.

"Here you go, be my guest." Under the gun, he decided to cut the small talk to avoid getting a bullet in the head from the impatient guy.

It wasn't like he'd suddenly become a coward. It's just that every time before, he hadn't been directly facing a gun. He'd been hiding in corners or lurking in the shadows. This direct confrontation, staring down the barrel of a loaded gun, was definitely way more dangerous than before.

"And your money and clothes! Give me everything!"

"You can have the money, but at least let me keep my clothes, right?"

"Shut your mouth and strip!"

This was too much!

Cody's anger flared up, and he swiftly took off his jacket, leaving himself in just a shirt and pants. Finally, he pulled his driver's license out of his jacket and ejected the SIM card from his phone.

"Alright, alright, these are the only two pieces of clothing I have left. Just take my money and get lost."

"Give me your gun too..."

BANG!

The sudden gunshot interrupted the robbery. A tall, burly man walked up to the two of them, spitting on the ground.

"That's my damn gun, you son of a bitch."

The robber clutched his hand, groaning in pain. The burly man's bullet had shattered the gun in his hand, leaving a bloody hole in his palm.

"Get lost!"

Seeing the burly man's fierce glare, the robber immediately lost any desire to resist. He awkwardly grabbed his jacket from the ground, quickly hopped onto the wheelchair, not daring to reach for Cody's wallet and phone. Instead, he frantically pressed the buttons on the wheelchair, speeding away around the corner of the street.

"He's actually pretty talented at driving a wheelchair, but I still wouldn't recommend him pushing the speed to—"

"Give me my damn gun back," the burly man interrupted Cody's rambling. "Don't try to change the subject. If you don't have the guts to use it, don't keep it."

"It's just a regular Beretta, okay? It hasn't been modified or anything," Cody protested, obediently handing over the gun. "You're talking about it like it's some kind of ultimate weapon."

"Shut up." He tucked the revolver and the well-used Beretta back into his waistband, but didn't ask about the newer Colt. Instead, he spat at Cody's feet. "I've been waiting for you at Old Jack's for a week, you little coward. You didn't even have the guts to show up, just speeding around the streets in that damn wheelchair like some lunatic from Arkham Asylum."

"Coward."

What the—!

Enraged, Cody angrily threw his jacket back on, shoved his license and phone back into his pocket, and then turned and stomped upstairs.

He was definitely angry, but there was no need to argue with this kind of brute. He'd just been called a couple of names; it wasn't like it would cost him anything.

What if arguing back did cost him something? Last time Drake cursed at him, he'd gotten all red and bothered.

The burly man, Clinton, gave him a disdainful look but didn't stop him, instead turning and walking away.

"Damn Gotham, full of cowards."

"Damn Gotham, full of idiots, and crazy people too."

Cody complained indignantly to Drake, "I can't even drive a wheelchair home without getting targeted! And they actually pulled a gun on me! What the heck? Can a wheelchair even go faster than a car?!"

"Based on your commute time home, your wheelchair speed yesterday exceeded that of ninety percent of the crazy drivers in Gotham," Drake said expressionlessly, glancing at his watch. "It's 10:14 now, and you went upstairs at 10:13. Assuming the robbery downstairs took you three minutes, it only took you ten minutes to get home."

"Oh, well, not exactly," Cody said with an embarrassed smile. "I got home in nine minutes."

"What the hell are you so proud of?"

Drake shook his head. "You're going a full quarter faster than before. If this keeps up, I'm really worried I'll see a news headline one day about a 'Speeding Ghost Wheelchair' rear-ending a supercar and getting squashed into a pancake."

"Whatever, it got stolen anyway," Cody said gloomily, eating the food that had been left for him on the table. "It's a shame about the wheelchair I put so much effort into modifying. It could even go up to a hundred miles per hour."

And the five hundred points he spent on Advanced Wheelchair Driving Proficiency.

At the same time, on the deserted streets of the East End, a rainbow streak flew past with a terrified scream.

"Stop! Aaaah—this damn wheelchair!"

Thud!

The next day, Cody left for work early. Drake was eating breakfast while reading the Gotham Gazette. Suddenly, a news headline caught his eye.

"Gotham Urban Legend 'Speeding Ghost Wheelchair' Rear-Ends Wayne Executive; Wheelchair Driver Currently Being Pieced Back Together."

"Pfft!"