Today was Zhaodi's second day in Gotham. Nothing happened.
That was his summary as he lay sprawled on the living room couch at 10 p.m., eyes closed in peaceful rest.
He and Derek had bought a good amount of groceries on the way back. Camila had been pleasantly surprised and happily cooked up a decently hearty dinner. Everyone ate well, and Derek even shared a few thoughts with her about their future plans over the meal.
The apartment was quieter tonight. *Zhaodi figured last night's noise was just the result of a couple finally reconnecting after too long apart. Tonight, maybe they were just curled up in each other's arms, enjoying some quiet intimacy.
*(TL/N - I will be using 'Zhaodi' from now on in narrative because its weird to pronounce his full name all the time)
Either way, it was peaceful.
Aside from the occasional distant gunshot and the gentle patter of rain outside the window, Gotham's usual chaos felt far away. The sky beyond the glass was dark and drenched, blurred neon signs flickering through the misty curtain of rain. There were no flashing lights, no sirens screaming through the night. Maybe—just maybe—he could sleep soundly for once.
I've been tamed by Gotham, he thought. The fact that I'm happy just to get a decent night's sleep… is kinda depressing.
But on second thought, maybe this city wasn't as insane as people made it out to be. Maybe Gotham didn't have to be a constant parade of madness and tragedy.
That thought lasted about three seconds.
He opened his eyes and casually glanced out the window—only to catch a flicker of movement across Gotham's tallest clock tower. A shadow flitted past the top, and below it, a figure was dangling from the mouth of a grotesque gargoyle, squirming and pleading for dear life.
Zhaodi wordlessly took back everything he just thought, lay flat on the couch again, and closed his eyes.
Yeah, nothing happened today. Just another poor bastard strung up by Batman.
Hope he doesn't walk away with too much trauma once he's cut down.
The next morning, Zhaodi woke up at 7 a.m. Not because he liked getting up early, but because the rainy night had been surprisingly relaxing. He'd slept better than he had in ages. Once he woke up at seven, he couldn't fall back asleep.
Which, honestly, wasn't a bad thing.
He headed to the kitchen and started making breakfast. Eggs, milk, cheap ham, and some bread—nothing fancy. Just a simple fry-and-stack situation. Thankfully, this much cooking he could handle.
The sizzle of oil in the pan quickly woke Derek and Camila in the other room. From the way they stirred, they'd also slept well—just a bit of noise from the kitchen was enough to rouse them.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Camila looked even more cheerful than the day before. She had been living under the weight of stress and illness for so long, and last night might have been the best night's sleep she'd had in a year.
After breakfast, Zhaodi greeted them both and headed out for work. Showing up early couldn't hurt. It would also give him a chance to familiarize himself with the area around the restaurant.
As for riding Old Jack's bus again? Yeah, no chance.
And no biking either today. He holstered his Beretta and stepped out onto the street. It was already alive with people—some pale and unsteady on their feet, others hurriedly avoiding anyone with tattoos or a dead-eyed look that screamed "trouble."
This, Zhaodi thought, is Gotham's real color.
Not black, not white. Just grey—grinding, struggling, hopeless grey.
Even someone like Derek could only barely carve out a livable space in Gotham through sheer courage and modest savings. But the people on the bottom rung? The ones with no buffer for mistakes? They were the bedrock of Gotham's criminal underworld.
One guy would agree to run drugs for a gang just to buy his kid a birthday cake.
A single mother might take to the streets just to afford baby formula.
This city's a joke, Zhaodi thought grimly.
Gotham's booming crime industry was built on the suffering of people like this.
And even if you wiped out every criminal in the city, would these people really be any better off?
The sense of routine and order he'd felt just moments ago evaporated. His day had started on the wrong foot.
Bad morning, you damn clown of a city.
He hailed a cab. He'd only brought a little under $200 in cash today—just in case he got mugged. Whatever he earned in tips tonight would make up the difference. And if he got lucky, maybe today's tips could even buy him a wheelchair.
He wasn't kidding. He'd run the numbers. If he could find a quiet spot, he could get one modded. Basic wheelchair driving skills cost just 100 asset points, and the extreme modding service was another 100.
That combo?
Pure bang for buck.
Once inside the cab, Zhaodi subtly adjusted his holster so that the driver could see the gun in the rearview mirror. Just a little insurance—any cabbie tough enough to work the East End wouldn't flinch at it, but not flashing it might invite trouble.
Then again, things would be easier if he were in a gang. A tattoo or insignia would've worked just as well to keep people in line. How safe that actually was, of course, depended on how powerful your gang was.
In the meantime, he scrolled through the system's marketplace.
[Basic Car Driving Proficiency: $500 Pretty reasonable.]
[Intermediate Proficiency: $2,000 Okay, that's steep.]
[Advanced Driving: $10,000?! What am I, a Formula One driver?!]
There was also a "Bike Driving Mastery" skill, but that seemed kind of pointless.
What's this? A system notepad? AI-powered Q&A for a dollar a pop?
Guess AI really is the future—even cheat systems come with chatbots now.
"Not gonna lie… this feels like Mobius tech."
"Sir, we've arrived."
The cabbie's voice interrupted his train of thought. Zhaodi looked up—it was only 7:40.
Tsk. Old Jack really is falling off.
"That'll be $57," the driver said.
Yup. Old Jack's still got value, he grumbled internally.
Goddamn Gotham. Even taxis are this expensive.
He paid the fare and got out. If he hadn't flashed the gun, the guy probably would've charged him a clean hundred.
He strolled around the block a bit, getting familiar with the area surrounding the Red Dragon. Once he'd scouted the layout, he slipped in through the back entrance.
At 8 a.m., the restaurant was nearly empty. A few black-suited security types, some waitstaff wrapping up the night shift, and a couple early front desk workers. Zhaodi greeted everyone, then made his way to the manager and handed back a book.
It was the training manual. Normally, newbies would be given a few days to study it as part of onboarding. But since Zhaodi was broke and in urgent need of work, Donald had made an exception—letting him learn on the job. The manager had given him the manual just yesterday.
He hadn't expected to get it back so soon.
"You already finished the book?"
"One day's enough. I used to cram like this before every exam."