Even though the old man was cursing and swearing, in the end, he still drove his old pickup truck to Gotham Port with the bodies of one and three of the bastards in it in the middle of the night.
It wasn't that Seb didn't know how to drive, nor was it that he couldn't handle such a small situation. It was just that the environment of Gotham Port was too dangerous for an outsider. This kind of weather was most suitable for secret transactions. His father didn't want to let the helper that he had painstakingly found sleep under the surface of Gotham's sea without knowing why.
Saber was indeed good at fighting, but in this day and age, fighting alone was not enough to solve problems.
The rainy night of this season was a little cold, especially when the wind was blowing at the pier. Seiber moved the three big black bags out of the car and found some heavy rocks nearby. He tied them up neatly with a metal wire and pushed them into the sea under the watchful eyes of his dad. There was no moon on this rainy night, so other than God and these two people, no one else knew about this sorrowful scene that had just happened.
"Catch, kid."
His father's hand reached out from the window and threw a cigar to Saber. Saber held it in his mouth and lit it up with difficulty. The thick smoke floated around him and covered his upper body in the rolling smoke of the rainy night.
The fragrant smoke drifted in the chilly night air around Seiber. As the cigar flickered on and off, Seiber's muddled mind couldn't help but fall into the memories of the past.
The fragmented memories were not because of the muddled journey, but because of the fragmented life of the past. Saber could vaguely remember that he opened the envelope again and again. There were all kinds of names written on it, some in English, some in Chinese, and some in distorted words.
That used to be his goal and his life. He used guns, knives, hands, ropes, and traps to make those who should not have survived accept their deserved endings. But at that time, he should not have been a bad person in the traditional sense.
Because in those memories, there was the scene of him swearing an oath and the heavy duty of his mission.
He traveled from one city to another, from one country to another, from one continent to another. His life was never controlled by himself. His circle was frighteningly pale. There was no friendship, no love, no family. What did it look like? That kind of life …
"Weapon!"
Saber muttered the word in his mind. He shook his wet hair.
Yes, he lived like a weapon. He did not even need to think. He only needed to focus on his mission, focus on … killing.
He was like a snake living in the dark or a fierce dog. He only needed to sharpen his fangs. He was once used to this kind of life, but why did he have to break it?
Seiber tried his best to endure the increasing headache. This body didn't seem to want him to remember too many things, but this was enough for him.
The last scene that flashed through his mind was him in pajamas, standing in front of a child holding a plush toy. It seemed to be a city in this country. He should be on a mission. On the street in front of the hotel, bullets flew towards him like shadows.
He closed his eyes. He knew he was going to die …
"There is a next life … Live for yourself!"
That was probably the last sentence he said in his previous life. But ironically, if his biological clock was not wrong, he should have said it two hours ago. Fate was so magical. Maybe it was because he killed to save people in his previous life, so at the last moment, the gods gave him a chance …
"Tsk."
Saber snorted two puffs of smoke from his nostrils in disdain. He then pointed his middle finger at the sky. He did not believe in gods.
But he felt that the sentence was wonderful. He turned around with the half-burnt cigar in his mouth and leaned against the cold railing. He lowered his head in the heavy rain, feeling the raindrops that became more and more violent. He looked at his hands, watching the rain wet them. Then, he slowly clenched his hands into fists.
"In this life, live for yourself!"
"Clang."
A bolt of lightning flashed across the sky, lighting up the dark Gotham Port. Papa looked at Saber who was walking with his head down in the heavy rain. He looked at the moment when the lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating everything except for Saber's figure, which was as dark as ink in the light.
It looked … very … coooool!
Saber stayed in the rain for a full five minutes before he returned to the car.
Papa started the car and looked curiously at Saber who was leaning his head against the car window. He asked in a low voice, "What were you doing just now?"
Saber, who was usually talkative, was very quiet at this moment. When he returned to the Old Gun Bar and walked through the creaking wooden door, he threw the cigarette butt out of his mouth into the rainy night outside. Then, he smiled at Papa.
"I was saying goodbye."
Papa looked at Saber as if he was crazy. Then, he stuffed the mop in his hand into Saber's hand and pointed at the bloody footprints on the floor.
"Very good. You are a villain with a lot of emotions. So, clean this place up and go to sleep. There is food in the fridge on the second floor. Remember, tomorrow at nine o 'clock … Jamie might come looking for trouble."
Christian, the old soldier, wrapped his hand around Saber's neck and strangled him. This was probably his way of expressing goodwill. Then, Saber heard Papa's voice that was suppressing his anger.
"Teach them a good lesson. Let me see if you are really capable or if you only know how to bully those little thugs."
Saber's face immediately turned bitter. He looked at Papa. "This … It's not good to kill people in the day, right?"
Papa looked at Saber as if he was crazy. He scolded and let go of Saber's neck.
"Killing people is not the only way to solve problems, you lunatic. Jamie might be hard to deal with, but his subordinates are just fools. Three days! I only need three days! Do you understand? "
Papa yawned and headed to the second floor, leaving behind an empty bar and Seber who was cleaning the place. When there was no one around, this chatterbox quietened down and started to hum a certain tune as he started to work happily.
He seemed to be very meticulous in his work. He would even squat on the ground and wipe away the blood stains with a rag. By the time he was done, the hands of the clock were already pointing at 4: 30 pm, the real midnight.
Saber's body was shaking. He locked the door and walked up the stairs. He took a red sausage from the fridge on the second floor and chewed as he went up to the third floor. He opened the door of the room closest to the window. Without looking at the layout of the room, he took off his soaked jacket in the dark and threw it aside. Then, he collapsed on the bed.
Soon, the sound of snoring could be heard.
At the same time, in the darkness of this rainy night, in a mansion not far from the pier, two bald men were gathered together to discuss something. This room was very exquisite and luxurious, but on the table, there was a stack of photos and a pistol placed on top of the photos. Next to them was an open bottle of vodka. This kind of high-precision drink was generally kept at a respectful distance from most people.
But it was the favorite of the Russians.
The shortest bald man picked up the first photo and looked at it. It was a woman with brown hair and a gentle smile. Looking at the photo, the bald man's hazy drunken eyes revealed a sinister smile.
"Tsk tsk, what a beautiful chick. What's her name?"
"Rachel Daws, the local prosecutor's assistant."
Another bald man took a sip of the vodka. His collar was open, revealing his strong muscles and lush chest hair. He grumbled, "I'm sorry, but I'm sorry.
"She's a troublesome little beauty. She doesn't like money and isn't afraid of threats. She's investigating Boss Falconi's background. Boss asked us to create an 'accident'. Boshkin, I'll leave it to you."
The short bald man shook his head and snorted.
"Good, Gotham's security is getting worse. These righteous people might encounter some accidents when they go to work. Those poor beggars on the narrow island are willing to exchange their lives for money. A bullet is just like the Wayne couple. Hahaha."
Speaking until here, the short bald man named Boshkin threw the photo aside. He looked at his boss and lowered his voice.
"Boss, the Bruce Wayne who died seven years ago is back. I heard that his company is planning to buy the entire Gotham Port. Do you think he will … After all, seven years ago, Boss Falconi asked you to kill Zili outside the court …"
Hearing Boshkin's question, the bottle in Jamie's hand paused. He took a deep breath and placed the bottle on the table. He then sneered.
"Then Young Master Bruce should be thanking me. I helped him kill his father's murderer. Besides, it was Falconi who asked me to do it … But what you said makes sense."
Jamie closed his eyes and thought for a few minutes. He straightened his body from the sofa and hooked his finger at Boshkin.
"That old fart Christian still doesn't intend to sell his bar?"
"Don't worry, boss. I've already sent Bowen and the rest to 'deal' with it."
Boshkin licked his lips. "He's just an old fart. But I don't understand. Boss, why do we want that broken bar?"
"What do you know!"
Jamie glared at his brother, but he quickly explained, "Wayne Industries is planning to revitalize Gotham Port. Once the port is flourishing, there will be a place to have fun. That old fart doesn't know how to do business, but we will! Find some women and get a batch of goods from Boss Falconi. Isn't that more profitable than fighting and killing? Boshkin, we brothers came all the way from Siberia to America. We didn't come here to work for anyone! Once Bruce Wayne and Falconi go up against each other, it will be time for us to reap the rewards! "
"Just wait. No matter who it is, don't even think about taking Gotham Port away from me!"
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