Marcus stared at Drake with an expression that was 40% shock, 30% despair, 20% contempt, and 10% admiration.
"Are you even human?"
"If we die, we die together."
"How did I not notice you were this"
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"I'll fing skin you alive! I'll rip your d off and shove it up your a**! You pieces of s***! You're dead both of you! If I don't kill you today, I'll shoot myself in the head!"
The bullets slamming into the wall suddenly intensified, like firecrackers going off in rapid succession. The man's screaming echoed down the street, his tone and word choice making it very clear he was even angrier now.
"See?" Drake shook his head. "He's mad. This is what I hate most about Gotham. People are emotionally unstable. Short tempered. They never want to talk things out."
"Great. If you're so good at talking, keep it up preferably until we die."
They bickered while silently praying that the man outside would get hit by a runaway dump truck or crushed by falling airplane debris. Or that they could just shoot back and kill him. After all, he was alone. They were two.
Marcus looked down at the Glock in his hand, still struggling to find the safety. We're not close, he sighed internally. He glanced at the rooftop again the catlike figure was gone. We're not close either.
Looks like I'm burning a Save Point, he thought.
Then Drake suddenly spoke. "Huh. Why did it go quiet?"
Right. Why did the gunfire and screaming stop? Two extreme possibilities popped into Marcus's mind one incredibly lucky, the other catastrophically unlucky. His heart started pounding violently.
In the sudden silence, he stared at the corner, swallowed hard and then a burly man burst out with a feral grin, a black gun barrel aimed straight at them.
Bang! Bang!
Before Marcus could even pull the trigger, two shots rang out. His hand went numb. The Glock flew from his grip. Drake's black pistol hit the ground at the same time.
"We're screwed!"
Bang!
A wave of heat exploded. A bullet tore past Marcus's temple, carving a shallow groove through his short black hair. He shut his eyes instinctively but the next shot never came. Only distant gunfire and the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.
Did Drake counterkill him? Marcus opened his eyes in confusion.
The gunman was down. But Drake looked just as confused like he was trying to confirm whether he had done it. They exchanged a glance. Marcus crouched and rolled the man over.
No wounds. Breathing steady. Heartbeat present.
"He's not dead. Just unconscious."
"Why did he pass out?"
"No idea. Maybe he got mad enough to faint."
Marcus joked but he already had a pretty good guess. In this world, staying away from superheroes was safer. But today, someone had saved his life. That debt was real. Knocking out a heavily built gunman in seconds and leaving without a sound that was classic Selina Kyle.
"Don't just stand there," Drake snapped. "Take his guns and ammo. Tie him up tight."
Drake wasn't much of a fighter, but his reactions were fast. A year in Gotham had taught him plenty. They stripped the man clean. A Beretta, a Colt revolver, plus the Colt M2000 he'd been using three guns total. Two magazines. Two bags of ammo.
He looked less like a lunatic and more like a small time hitman.
"You sure he's not with a gang?" Marcus asked while tying him up. "I really don't want to get summoned by some mob boss tomorrow."
"I remember him joining a few gangs but never staying long," Drake said. "See? His gang tattoos were lasered off. The rest don't mean anything. Even mob bosses can't stand his temper."
"You rode this bus for six months and never realized he was gunning for you?"
"One of the reasons I survived that long is because I don't stare or ask questions. And he looks like he wants to fight everyone. How was I supposed to know he fixated on me?"
Drake took out the man's wallet, then hesitated. "Honestly… I don't really want to let him go alive."
Marcus hesitated too. Killing was wrong but this guy nearly ended him. He thought carefully, then asked:
"Does he know where you live?"
Drake froze. "…I don't think he's ever been near my place."
"But if he wanted to find out he could've already."
"…Yeah."
Marcus put the gun away. "Since whoever saved us didn't kill him, we'll follow her lead. Put the wallet back. This money would help but not much."
Drake looked at Marcus with surprise. For the first time, he felt that even without his help, this new friend might adapt to Gotham quickly. Of course letting him go could get them killed later.
"That's your call," Drake said, slipping the wallet back. "But I'm definitely not riding this bus again. I'm not a cowboy."
Marcus shrugged. Drake didn't have Save Points. He couldn't retry.
"I think he does look like a cowboy," Marcus said. "What's his name?"
"Banner. Clinton Banner."
"Good name. At least he's not named Bruce or Floyd."
Bang!
A gunshot echoed down the street. Old Jack's booming voice followed:
"Old Jack's departing! Everyone back on the bus!"
Marcus glanced at Banner, still slumped against the wall. He slipped the revolver and ammo back into Banner's hand and placed his hat on his head.
"See you again, damn cowboy."
They ran toward Old Jack's shot up bus. Behind them, Banner opened his eyes. He tore free of the makeshift bindings easily Marcus's knotwork was amateur at best. He raised the revolver, aimed at Marcus's back but didn't pull the trigger.
"Bang," he said softly with his mouth.
Then he holstered the gun and walked away.
"See you next time, asshole."