About fifteen minutes later, the taxi discreetly stopped by the side of the road.
It was less than half a block from the bus station, and the distant sounds of gunfire and fiery explosions disturbed even the suspended monorail above the street.
As Downton indifferently got out of the car, the taxi driver toyed with a Magnum bullet and waved at him.
"Buddy, since you're so generous, good luck."
"Wish yourself luck. I don't need such favors."
As he spoke, Downton drew a pistol from his waist and swaggered against the crowd, walking toward the increasingly intense gunfire.
Seeing the bullet holes and bloodstains on Downton's clothes, passersby observing the battlefield from a distance quickly backed away, but the Gotham police approached him.
"GCPD!"
From afar, the officer shouted at Downton.
"Whose gang are you with? Sabatini's or Dimitrov's? Come clean!"
Downton sneered and waved his gun casually in response to the police inquiry.
"I'm with Sabatini, you sure you want to stop me?"
As the words fell, Downton unapologetically stepped forward, forcefully breaking through the police's weak blockade with his chest, heading in the direction of the gunfire.
Behind him, the officers looked at each other.
"Does Sabatini have any Asian guys under him?"
"Never heard of it. Falcone's men are almost all Italian, and Sabatini works with Falcone."
"Dimitrov's gang is the only one that's entirely Russian. As for Falcone, he's the king of Gotham—nothing unusual about the people under him!"
"You sure?"
"We work for Falcone. If the guy was Russian, we'd have to stop him, but if he's Asian, it's probably fine."
"Hope his identity checks out. We've taken enough money; we can't just sit here doing nothing."
The officers coldly watched as Downton steadily approached the battlefield.
The closer he got, the more the fire and smoke from the battle came into view. The sporadic tremors made Downton swallow hard.
The weight of the Desert Eagle in his hand eased what little tension he had left. As stray bullets flew around him, Downton quietly approached two thugs hiding behind cover.
One of the Russian thugs, occasionally firing random shots over the cover, froze when he saw Downton approach.
"Who the hell are you?"
"The boss doesn't have any Asians under him!"
Realizing something was off, the two Russians quickly tried to aim their guns at Downton.
But Downton had already fired!
"Bang!"
With a deafening blast, a massive cloud of blood erupted from one thug's right chest.
The Desert Eagle was incredibly powerful, often used by rednecks to hunt bears and wild boars. Using it on a person almost felt like overkill.
The gruesome sight startled the remaining thug, his companion's blood and shredded innards covering his face.
Despite his impaired vision, the surviving thug emptied his clip toward Downton in a crazed frenzy.
Bang bang bang bang!
With a series of gunshots, Downton grunted in pain. Although the thug's aim was wild, the close distance meant Downton still got hit.
He wasn't very experienced and felt like his lung had been hit, making it hard to breathe.
On top of that, the Desert Eagle's recoil was indeed too strong, leaving his grip feeling numb.
At least his legs were still fine—that was some good news.
Holding his bleeding left side with his free hand, Downton took two steps forward and pressed the barrel of his gun against the surviving Russian's head.
Bang!
With the shot fired, Downton's lips were splattered with something that made him want to vomit—whether it was blood or something more disgusting, like brain matter, he couldn't tell.
Quickly wiping his face with his sleeve and spitting a couple of times, Downton found himself coughing up blood.
In the distance, more Russian thugs noticed Downton's approach and actions.
"Damn it, Falcone's men got behind us!"
"Urichenovsky's head got blown off!"
"Where the hell are the cops?!"
"The police were bought off by Falcone—they let his guys through!"
Shouting and cursing, four or five of the Russian gang members rushed toward Downton.
At a distance, Downton aimed carefully and took down the one with the most predictable movements. But then his chest and thigh felt like exploding red balloons as more bullets struck him.
Gotham thugs were far more skilled than your average African warlord. Even future Batman got shot at often, despite his acrobatic skills.
As Downton collapsed from the gunfire, he lay motionless in a pool of blood.
Though his adrenaline was still pumping, Downton didn't want to waste his bullets on such a broken body.
He could barely see, let alone aim.
As the Russian gang members approached, one kicked Downton's ribs.
"Where the hell did this Asian come from?"
After cursing, the thug shot Downton in the head.
Bang! Blood splattered, but the next second...
"Holy shit!"
"What the hell?"
"He's… he's burning!"
"He's turning to ash!"
"He's gone!!!"
The Russian thugs stood frozen as Downton's corpse suddenly ignited and turned to ash within moments, disappearing into the air.
Atop a distant building, a homeless man observing the battle through binoculars also stood dumbfounded.
Then, quickly pulling out a camera, he snapped a couple of photos of the spot where Downton had turned to ash and muttered to himself.
"Alfred, I've only been gone seven years, and now even the dead in Gotham are acting strange?"
"Huh?"
On the other end of his hidden earpiece, Alfred paused while preparing tea.
"Master Wayne, the dead in Gotham have never been peaceful. But what exactly did you see?"
"Nothing much. I took pictures. I'll show you when I get back."
Bruce replied calmly and continued observing the battle.
Though he had just returned to the city, the hatred inside him left no room for idleness.
He desperately wanted to act and even more desperately wanted to make certain people pay.
That's why, in recent days, Bruce had roamed Gotham's streets and alleys in his disguise as a homeless man.
He wouldn't miss out on today's gang war.
As Bruce kept watching, a heavy breathing sound echoed from an alley behind Gotham's Natural History Museum in Burnley.
"Hah, damn, that really sucked."
Downton, his clothes even more tattered, took a deep breath before reloading his gun.
Slapping a fresh clip into place, Downton holstered his gun and jogged to the street.
"Taxi!"
After flagging down a taxi and giving directions, Downton quickly returned to the area where the police had blocked him earlier.
The officers were still chatting.
"I thought that Asian guy was Falcone's secret weapon."
"He went down just like that, but at least he took out three of them."
"Enough nonsense. At least the guy wasn't afraid of dying. It's hard to find underlings like that these days."
"You're right. I've been a cop for so long, and the only person I ever killed was for Falcone. That Asian guy took out three in a few seconds—that's more than I've ever killed."
Suddenly, a voice among the officers trembled.
"Fuck, what did I just see?"
"What did you see?"
The others followed his gaze and were stunned.
"Holy shit!"
"What the hell?"
"Is that… what the hell is going on?"
"It's that Asian guy!"
"But he… what the hell, is this Groundhog Day?!"
Amidst a flurry of curses, Downton, gun in hand, once again stood before the cops.
"Move!" He gestured with his gun at the shocked officers.
Looking at each other in disbelief, the officers hesitantly made way for Downton.
At the same time, Bruce, observing from the nearby building, took a deep breath.
His reaction piqued Alfred's curiosity.
"Master Wayne, what did you see now? You sound very surprised."
"You were right, Alfred. The dead in Gotham have never been peaceful."
As he spoke, Bruce raised his camera and snapped a clear shot of Downton.
Resurrection?
That was truly something extraordinary!