At 1 p.m., Ma Zhaodi finally returned to the rundown tenements of Gotham's East End, riding his beloved new "vehicle."
Don't get it twisted—it's not that the two of them spent hours picking out a ride. The whole buying process only took about ten minutes. The real reason he came back this late was because the ride he chose had a tiny disadvantage when it came to speed.
"Hah... hah... hah..."
Panting like he'd just finished a marathon, drenched in sweat and gasping for air, Ma Zhaodi looked like a half-dead dog as he pushed a foldable bicycle to the curb.
Trailing behind him at a casual pace was a taxi, which came to a gentle stop beside him. The door opened, and out stepped a perfectly composed Derek, looking fresh and completely at ease.
"Seriously? It's just a ride from Oldsburg to the East End. Why do you look like you're about to collapse?"
"I—I had an 8 a.m. shift! If you think it's so easy, how about you try biking the whole way!"
Truth be told, Ma Zhaodi wasn't totally out of shape—but he wasn't exactly athletic either. The only reason he made it back at all was thanks to frequent breaks along the way.
And hey, at least he got some satisfaction. Derek's taxi had followed him the whole way, and because of that, the fare was ridiculously high. The sour look on Derek's face when he paid it almost made up for Ma Zhaodi's physical suffering.
"I told you, didn't I? You could've just gotten a cheap scooter or a used car. But nooo, you had to get a foldable bike."
Derek shook his head and sighed. "Driving in Gotham's a triple win—you can run from gangs, use the car as cover in a shootout, and block enemy firing angles. It's practically a must-have."
Finally catching his breath, Ma Zhaodi looked like he'd been holding back something for a while before blurting out, "I can't drive."
Yeah, he really couldn't drive. His driver's license was something the system gave him—it wasn't like he passed a test himself. Back in his home country, he'd only passed the written test. Never touched a steering wheel.
Derek blinked. "Wait… What about your license?"
"It's real. But I can't drive. So if I did get a car, we'd probably be making headlines tomorrow—'Random Pedestrian Injured by Newbie Driver in East End Shootout.'"
Originally, Ma Zhaodi was planning to browse the system's shop for driving skills or maybe a cheap vehicle. You know, get a feel for the market.
But as he strolled through the streets and opened the system shop again, his eyes went wide like dinner plates when he saw his balance.
Still $3.
$3.
Excuse me?! What happened to the four grand I just made?! It's still in my bag—shouldn't it be showing up here by now?
Did the system skim off the top?!
Ding!
[One earns by working. No work, no gain.
Only after completing a full term of labor corresponding to the assigned wage will asset points be credited.
Current balance will be updated after four weeks of completed employment.]
"Oh, for fu—"
That… shifted Ma Zhaodi's mental state just a bit.
"Okay, what about tips?"
[Tips will be credited to your account immediately after each job is completed.]
"Then—I'm—FINE."
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to breathe deeply. Chill. Chill.
At least the system wasn't entirely out to screw him. He could still earn a bit through tips during his daily grind.
So, no increase in asset points meant no shopping for new rides or driving skills—for now.
Which left one question: what was he supposed to use as a mode of transport until then?
Gotham's infrastructure wasn't total garbage. The East End had buses and a subway line. But both of those were frequent haunts for petty thieves and gang members—or worse, actual crooks rolling ten deep.
Ma Zhaodi, being more of a reserved type, wasn't keen on making "cordial exchanges" or "heated negotiations" with these folks, unlike Old Jack, who seemed to thrive on it. But he still needed to carry home his tips in cash.
And reality was reality—his wages couldn't be thrown into the System willy-nilly. If he earned money the normal way, the system would convert it into asset points automatically. But to manually deposit that cash into the system? That cost more asset points.
So for now, he needed something practical—bike, scooter, or taxi—until he could learn how to drive.
And thus, Ma Zhaodi begrudgingly shelled out $60 for a cheap foldable bicycle. Why not a scooter? Because he could stash the bike at home safely. A scooter? Too easy to steal.
And the crappier your vehicle looked, the safer you were in the East End. Muggers prioritized folks in cars. A broke dude on a dinky bike? He'd be lucky to keep his own shoes—let alone have cash worth robbing.
Only downside? Biking burned energy. And time.
He hadn't expected that a trip that took Old Jack just forty minutes in the morning—with two busted tires, no less—would take him until 1 p.m. to finish.
Guess Old Jack really was built different. Even with wobbly wheels, the guy's driving instincts made up for it.
"At this rate, if I try biking to work, Donald's gonna fire me in three days."
Just as he started spiraling into despair, the system's voice chirped in his ear:
[Our shop proudly offers:
– Extreme Bike Modding Service: starting at 50 asset points
– Extreme Electric Wheelchair Modding Service: starting at 100 asset points
– Extreme Car Modding Service: starting at 1000 asset points"]
"…What in the actual—hell is this?"
Forget for a second how you could mod a car with just a thousand bucks—what the hell was that electric wheelchair option doing there?!
He squinted and read the wheelchair's product page:
[Top speed: 80 mph.
Mood: free and easy.
Style: unmatched.
Swagger: maximum.
CAUTION: Use only with the 'Wheelchair Driving Proficiency' skill.
Reckless driving may cause your loved ones to cry.]
To be fair, in a city like Gotham, the bad news was you'd run into every kind of lunatic imaginable.
The good news?
When you started acting crazy, everyone just looked at you like you were the newest member of the local madhouse. No biggie.
And honestly?
Right now, Ma Zhaodi was seriously tempted.