Chapter 21: Here's Johnny!

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“Morning sucks, Gotham.”

Ma Zhaodi woke from a dream, instinctively offering the city his first greeting. It was mainly because he had a nightmare—he dreamed of being hung upside down on the gargoyle statue atop Gotham’s tallest clock tower by some perverted figure dressed in a bat suit, who then proceeded to scratch the soles of his feet.

Scratched all night long. Damn terrifying, brother. It was sheer hellish torture.

Though they say what you think by day haunts your dreams at night, he hadn’t even seen that guy much—at most, he’d watched him hang a few people last night and the night before—so why suffer torment in a dream?

It had to be Gotham’s fault. Hence, “Morning sucks, Gotham.”

Ma Zhaodi instinctively got dressed and glanced out at the dawn sky, then immediately lay back down.

At this moment, Gotham was still shrouded in darkness. Pulling out his phone, he checked the time: 11:22 a.m.

He’d only slept ten minutes.

Yet his mind was already so energized it verged on hyperactive. Sleep was out of the question, prompting a sigh.

“The aftereffects are pretty strong—this stuff from Tongzi is too pure.”

He opened the system store and browsed carefully, checking how long his current state would last.

“Flower tea infused with abundant blue petals
Price: $30 per serving
Note: I can keep chatting with you all day!”

Good. He’d been a bit stressed that morning, so he had planned to buy the flower tea at 2 p.m. to refresh himself. But unexpectedly, this state would last until 2 p.m. the next day.

“Never thought this stuff would even override my sleep. The original version didn’t advertise this effect. Even Steve, after taking his meds, still needs to sleep. You’re even stronger than Steve.”

Swearing to himself never to buy random things again, Ma Zhaodi scanned the store closely and indeed found a pink version of the flower tea.

Heh.

His spirit was far too charged now to fall asleep, so he flipped through the store again and bought a $5 beginner’s driving manual to study.

Maybe he could earn more asset points later, but for now, he’d save money. After all, there was no rush to learn driving. Learning by himself could save him some asset points on basic car driving proficiency.

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The system store was quite generous—he could pay to upgrade skills he’d already purchased to higher levels. Now that he had intermediate wheelchair driving proficiency, he only needed 200 more points to master advanced wheelchair driving. Similarly, if he reached basic car driving proficiency himself, he wouldn’t have to spend $500 in asset points buying it.

At that moment, he noticed another intriguing option.

“Hm? Simulated driving training?”

Ma Zhaodi clicked on it with interest. The cost was 5 asset points per session, each lasting two hours.

“Customizable scenarios, terrain, road conditions, and vehicle types? That’s pretty thoughtful... Only cars, though? Makes sense.”

He wondered if an F1 racecar counted as a car.

After skimming the manual, he found no mention of racing. Reasonable—after all, it was a beginner’s driving guide. Teaching F1 racing would be a bit of a joke.

The simulated driving did include racecars, but since he didn’t know how to drive one, it was pointless to try. So he decided to stick to the basics.

He carefully read the beginner’s manual, but there were too many flashy terms, so he also watched the video section. After half an hour familiarizing himself, he entered the mental simulation training.

...

Two hours later, Ma Zhaodi emerged from the simulation, exhilarated after crashing spectacularly.

After all, you couldn’t die in simulation, and you could change terrain at will. Of course, any novice would joyfully push their limits.

Who wouldn’t want to drive a car flying over the Grand Canyon, crashing straight into the DC film department, and taking out some of those executives who love ruining things?

The only limitation was that planes weren’t allowed in this driving simulation, which curbed his impulse a bit.

Coming out, he didn’t even glance at the store’s skill section, as his driving was definitely not at basic proficiency. Two hours of practice had only taught him acceleration, deceleration, braking, and stopping; finer details were still far off.

Two hours felt a bit dull, so he spent one asset point buying a TV series he hadn’t finished watching, then three more points on a bunch of skewers and a soda, settling in to binge.

He decided to enjoy the night, even if it was a bit wasteful. Eating skewers and drinking cola while watching shows late at night, without worrying about being tired at work the next day—that was sheer bliss for a working guy.

...

At 3 a.m., a sudden gunshot rang out outside his window. The sound was so close to Drake’s place that Ma Zhaodi tensed instinctively.

His hand reached to his waist, fingers brushing the Beretta he hadn’t dared to take off.

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Should he go downstairs to check? But he had no idea what was going on below, and he’d only briefly trained with Drake on gun use. At best, he could pull the trigger, but where the bullet would go was anyone’s guess.

But if he didn’t go down, what would happen to the person getting shot?

He was beginning to understand the difference between superheroes and supervillains.

Whether steel or flesh, whether gifted with extraordinary strength or intellect, when facing a bullet, they confronted it head-on. They dared to face the barrel.

“But I’m just an ordinary person. The less ability I have, the less responsibility I bear,” he thought, taking another bite of skewer. Without the power to save the world, looking out for oneself was paramount.

“Bang!”

Another gunshot.

“Tch...” He thought again. The person shot was probably already dead. There was no point in trying anything now.

“Bang!”

“Damn it, won’t this ever stop?”

Ma Zhaodi reopened the store and started browsing again.

Suddenly, a loud, angry voice pierced the dark night air, a West Coast black woman cursing nearby.

“Damn you! Who the hell’s awake at this hour? Like disturbing the peace, huh? Beach kid, if you’ve got the guts, stand and fight. I swear, I’ll shoot a bullet from your ass all the way into your mouth!”

In a dark alley, a woman moaned in pain, pinned against a wall. Gun barrels pressed against both her hands, blood flowing freely.

A man with bloodshot eyes gripped her clothing, his gaze wild and greedy. Suddenly, he froze, startled by the cursing.

Then he heard footsteps approaching from a nearby alley.

“Boom!”

The shotgun blast echoed through the East District.

“Bastard! Where are you?”