*Chapter 11: See Ya Later, You Bastard*

Cody looked at Drake, his eyes showing four parts shock, three parts despair, two parts disdain, and one part grudging respect.

"Are you even human?"

"If we're gonna die, we die together."

"How did I not see that you were so—"

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

"I'll freakin' kill you sons of bitches! I'll flay your hides! I'm gonna chop off your goddamn dicks and shove 'em down your throats to eat! You bastards! You two are dead meat! If I don't kill you two today, I'll shoot myself in the head!"

The bullets, which had been hitting the corner for suppressive fire, suddenly became as thick as firecrackers. The man's shouting followed, echoing down the street. His choice of words and tone made it pretty clear he was a bit more pissed off than before.

"See? Pissed him off."

Drake shook his head. "What I hate most about Gotham is this kind of stuff. Citizens are kinda unstable, got short fuses. When things happen, they don't wanna just talk it out."

"Yeah, yeah, okay. If you're gonna talk, talk more. Better keep that style right up until you die."

As they bickered, they were silently praying the other guy would get run over by a passing dump truck or flattened by plane debris falling from the sky.

Or maybe they could try shooting back and killing him. After all, he was just one guy, and there were two of them.

Cody looked at the Glock in his hand, fumbling to find the safety, and sighed inwardly, Yeah, we're not that tight. He then looked over at the top of the nearby building. The cat-like figure had disappeared. He sighed again, Yeah, we're not that tight either. He figured he was definitely going to have to use a reload opportunity here.

Drake suddenly spoke up, "Hey, why'd the noise stop?"

Oh yeah, why did the gunshots and the man's yelling stop?

Two wildly different possibilities instantly popped into Cody's head: one was extreme luck, the other was extreme misfortune.

His heart suddenly started pounding. In the eerie silence, he stared intently at the corner, instinctively swallowing hard.

The next second, a burly guy with a sinister grin suddenly darted out. The dark muzzle of his gun was pointed right at them.

"Bang! Bang!"

Cody didn't even have time to pull the trigger. The guy instantly fired two shots. Cody felt a sting in his hand; the Glock was knocked away by a bullet. Drake's black pistol hit the ground along with it.

"Crap!"

"Bang!"

A wave of hot air exploded. The high-speed bullet ripped through the air, grazing Cody's temple and gouging a notch in his black buzz cut.

He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut, but the next bullet didn't follow as expected. Only the sound of gunshots around the bus and a heavy thud were heard.

Did Drake manage to counter-kill him?

He opened his eyes in confusion and indeed saw the burly man with the gun collapsed on the ground. But Drake was looking at him with the same bewildered expression, as if trying to confirm if he had counter-killed the big guy.

They exchanged glances. Cody could only squat down and gently turn the man's body over. He found there were no wounds on him, and he was still breathing and had a heartbeat.

"He's not dead, just knocked out."

"Why would this guy faint?"

"I dunno, maybe he got so mad he fainted."

Though he said that out loud, Cody already had a faint guess in his mind.

Even though in this world, the further you stayed from metahumans and vigilantes the safer you were, someone had just saved his life. He owed them one now.

The ability and style of knocking out a large, armed man in just a few seconds, and then disappearing without a trace, was classic Catwoman stuff.

"Don't just stand there! Take his guns and ammo, then tie him up tight."

Drake wasn't much of a fighter, but he reacted fast. Looked like he really had picked up a few things during his year in Gotham. While calling out to Cody, he quickly rummaged through the man's pockets. They found a Beretta, a Colt revolver, plus the Colt M2000 he'd had in his hand – three guns in total. Add in the two magazines and two bags of bullets in his pockets, and you'd think this guy was some famous mob enforcer.

"Are you sure he's not with some gang?" Cody asked while tying the man up. "I really don't want to get called in for a 'talk' by some mob boss tomorrow or something."

"I remember him joining quite a few gangs, but never for long. Look, the gang tattoos on him look like they've been scrubbed off. The remaining ones don't mean anything. I guess even gang bosses couldn't handle his temper."

"You've been riding this bus for half a year, and you didn't notice this guy wanted to mess with you?"

"One of the most important reasons I survived riding the bus for half a year is by not looking around or asking questions. Plus, this guy always looks like he's ready to fight anyone he sees. How was I supposed to know he was really after me?"

As Drake talked, he pulled out the man's wallet, then hesitated for a moment.

"Honestly, I'm kind of tempted not to let him walk away alive."

Cody looked at the burly guy. He felt a bit conflicted too. While murder and robbery were wrong, this guy had almost taken his life.

He thought carefully, then turned to look at Drake.

"Does he know where you live?"

Drake froze for a second, then his expression turned weird.

"He never seemed to show up anywhere near my place."

"But if he wanted to find out, he probably could have a long time ago?"

"Yeah."

Hearing that, Cody put his gun away.

"Since the person who saved us didn't kill him, let's follow their lead – put the wallet back too. This bit of cash is useful to us, but it's not that much."

Drake looked at Cody with some surprise. At that moment, he suddenly had a feeling that even without his help, his new friend might adapt to Gotham pretty quickly.

Of course, the Gotham way isn't necessarily the right way. Letting him go today, only to get shot by him tomorrow, was a distinct possibility.

"You call the shots," he casually stuffed the wallet back. "But I'm definitely not taking this bus again tomorrow. I'm no Wild West cowboy."

Cody shrugged. Drake didn't have save points or do-overs, so he totally understood.

"I'd say he looked more like a cowboy – what's his name?"

"Banner, Clinton Banner."

"Good name. As long as it's not Bruce or Floyd."

"Bang!"

A gunshot rang out from the street, followed by the strong, booming voice of an old man: "Old Jack's leaving! Everyone on board!"

Cody looked at Banner, who was tied up and leaning against the wall. He didn't seem to be waking up yet.

So, he casually slipped the revolver and bullets back into the man's hand and even put his hat back on him.

"See ya later, you crazy cowboy."

He said that, then ran with Drake towards Old Jack's battered bus.

Behind them, Banner opened his eyes. With a slight struggle, he broke free from the jackets they had used as makeshift ropes. Clearly, Cody wasn't an expert at tying people up.

He extended the revolver, aiming at Cody's back.

However, the trigger wasn't pulled in the end.

"Bang," he mimicked the sound of a gunshot with his mouth, then put the gun away and turned to leave.

"See you next time, you jerk."