"Give me a gun."
Downton pushed open the door of the gun shop. Before even stepping inside, he called out to the bald shop owner who was sitting at the counter reading a newspaper.
Hearing Downton's voice, the shop owner lifted his eyes, his gaze sliding past the old lenses of his glasses to the man standing in front of him.
"You don't look like someone who can afford to pay. Should I even bother handing you a gun?"
The shop owner put down his newspaper, frowning as he eyed Downton's ragged appearance.
He was indeed dressed in rags: heavy bloodstains and bullet holes covered his linen shirt and casual pants. The owner could even see his leg hair through the torn fabric.
As for his pockets, they were completely flat, obviously empty.
Noting the shop owner's scrutinizing gaze, Downton walked forward without reacting, stopping in front of the counter.
"If you want me to pay, at least show me the gun first!"
Downton knocked on the counter and continued speaking to the owner.
"A handgun will do. You can tell I'm in a hurry."
"Heh, no doubt about that.
A handgun, huh? I should grab you a Glock, but that's too common. I know people like you prefer something else."
Looking into Downton's calm eyes, the bald shop owner had the strange feeling he was staring into a burning flame.
For some reason, curiosity sparked within the owner, and he pulled out two of his prized handguns from under the counter.
"A modified M1911 and a Mark XIX. Us old-timers love these antiques, especially the stability of the former and the large caliber of the latter.
These are my collectibles. But since business is slow, I'll give you a discount."
As he spoke, the owner began loading bullets into the two guns.
Seeing this, Downton couldn't help but mutter under his breath.
"Old man, your service is top-notch, even loading the bullets for me. Aren't you afraid I'll take the gun and shoot you?"
"This is Gotham, kid. Do you know why I'm still running a gun shop at my age?
If you want to try, go ahead, but I guarantee I'll be quicker than you!"
The owner replied, placing the loaded guns on the counter in front of Downton, his hand firmly pressed on them.
It was clear: if Downton made any sudden moves, the owner could pull the trigger in an instant.
Even so, Downton pushed aside the owner's left hand and took hold of the Mark XIX, cocking it.
At the same time, the bald owner grabbed the M1911 and aimed it straight at Downton's chest.
Facing the barrel of the gun, Downton grinned.
"I already have a gun. Why would I pay for it?
Respect the little trinket you just sold me."
With that, Downton pointed his gun at the owner's head.
The shop owner waved his gun slightly at Downton.
"Since you're about my son's age, I'll give you another chance to rephrase your words. And I'll offer you some advice.
Gotham is full of gun-wielding scum. The city's overflowing with high-as-a-kite thugs, so why add yourself to the list?
I can see you've been through something, but you're still alive. And if you're alive, you should value life, kid."
"Why value life? What doesn't kill me makes me stronger, and if it does kill me, it'll make me invincible!
Also, your prized antique is just a blued Desert Eagle, huh? Guess you're an old redneck."
As Downton replied, he stuffed the Desert Eagle into his waistband and turned to leave without a care.
Seeing how indifferent Downton was to his threat, the bald owner couldn't help but smile.
"Fine, tough guy. Consider that gun a rental.
And I'll throw in a box of .44 Magnum bullets. If you're still alive tomorrow, don't forget to come back and pay.
Oh, and what's your name? I should know who owes me."
"Downton, like Downton Abbey."
Downton caught the box of bullets the owner tossed him, then strode out of the shop.
As he watched Downton's back, the owner's hand twitched slightly on his gun, but in the end, he let Downton leave.
Just as Gotham was full of gun-toting criminals, it also had its fair share of shops getting robbed. The owner was used to both getting robbed and killing those who tried.
But today's robber piqued his interest.
"Downton, huh?"
The bald owner muttered to himself.
"We both know that if I wanted to, I could have killed him ten times before he even aimed at me.
If he doesn't care about death, why should I care about one gun?"
With that, the owner put away his gun and picked up his newspaper again.
The headlines made him raise his eyebrows: Bruce Wayne had returned to the city after years away.
At the mention of that name, the owner's gaze seemed to pierce through the walls, landing on the tallest building in Gotham's city center.
Wayne Tower. Just as Gotham could also be called Wayne's city.
The Emperor of Gotham had returned!
…
Leaving the gun shop, Downton frowned. The stormy weather and pouring rain made it hard to see the signs on the distant street.
Gotham was always shrouded in clouds, with its typical subtropical monsoon humid climate. Downton didn't like the city, but Gotham seemed to like him.
Earlier this morning, Downton had been managing the neighborhood store he'd just bought back in his hometown. On that stormy day, as he was stocking the shelves, a bolt of lightning sent him to this place.
Knowing how dangerous Gotham was, Downton immediately sought a way out. He quickly investigated the time period he was in.
When he found no mention of Batman, Superman, Flash, or other superheroes and villains in the newspapers, Downton knew what to do.
He bought a ticket to Metropolis.
Though Gotham was the first place he arrived after crossing over, he didn't want to stay. Compared to Gotham, Metropolis, without Superman, seemed much safer.
All he had to do was spend a few days in Metropolis and then head to Washington, where he could live safely for a few years.
Once Washington was no longer safe, he'd move to a country like Switzerland—one without any superheroes or supervillains.
His plan seemed solid, but just as he boarded the bus to Metropolis, it got caught in the crossfire of a Gotham gang shootout, and his jacket was lost in the explosion.
Of course, he lost something else as well—his life.
Gotham lived up to its reputation. In just one morning, Downton had already tasted death.
As for now, as he had said before, what doesn't kill him makes him stronger, and what had killed him would make him invincible.
Had he never died, perhaps Downton would still endure life's struggles.
But after coming back from death, all he wanted was for those who had killed him once to taste the very death he had experienced.
When they turned the intersection into a battlefield, using Downton and his bus as shields while firing rocket launchers at each other, did they ever imagine he would crawl out of hell?
Letting the pouring rain soak his body, Downton flagged down a taxi.
The car stopped, and the driver rolled down the window, waving his gun at Downton and pointing at the gun in Downton's waistband.
"You better just be looking for a ride, buddy."
"Of course I am. Take me to where the shootout just happened, near Gotham's bus terminal."
Downton replied as he climbed into the car, ignoring the driver's pointed gun. The driver eyed the bullet holes in Downton's clothes suspiciously.
"There've been a lot of shootouts today. The Italian and Russian mobs have gone at it.
Let me think—the bus terminal is in Sabatini territory. That whole area's run by the Sabatini family, and Sabatini works for Falcone. You'd better not mess around."
"Just drive."
Downton urged, and the driver reluctantly nodded.
"Fine, I'll drop you half a block away. I hope I don't get caught up in your business.
You don't look Italian or Russian, so what's your stake in this?
Though I can't say I'm surprised. From the moment I saw you, I knew you were dangerous. People like you, whose eyes burn with that fire, are the most dangerous of all."
"Since you know that, hurry up and drive. Are all Gotham cabbies this chatty?"
Downton pressed again, tossing ten bullets from the box the shop owner had given him into the driver's lap.
"I'm out of cash, so take these as the fare."
Seeing the bullets, the driver chuckled.
"Magnum rounds aren't cheap. You've got a deal. Let's go!"
(End of Chapter)