Pixel Maniac in the Comic World

Chapter 51 Revenge is not over yet
  Evening in Gotham City.

Such a big thing happened in Arkham Asylum during the day, but it didn't seem to make the residents living here any more worried.

They lived their lives as usual, watching the police cars and fire trucks roaring past in silence, and then looking in the distance towards an isolated island to the west of the city.

There used to be the notorious Blackgate Prison, and now it is the even more notorious Arkham Asylum. The distance between the island and the city is only a high suspension bridge, and even a walk probably doesn't take ten minutes.

Take a look, then lower your head and continue to do your own thing silently. This is the biggest reaction they can give.

"Hiccup~"

He has a red nose, a short white T-shirt, and is wearing a yellow jacket that has been washed until the outer layer of leather is mottled and peeling off.

A drunk old white man pushed open the glass door of a bar and staggered to the front desk.

"A glass and fill it with the freshest Baricole for me."

Even though his tongue was full from drinking, the drunkard still expressed his needs accurately. After all, this had been a habit he had developed for many years after he lost his job, and it was as if it was engraved in his DNA.

The old man continued to yell indignantly, but his pretentiousness failed to disturb even the other regular patrons of the tavern.

During this period, I covered my mouth and nose to avoid the smell of the noisy old man.

The bartender wiped the glass, looked at the old regular customer who arrived first when the door opened every day, and shook his head.

But today, his spiritual food was not delivered to him in time.

However, since he always regarded beer as spiritual food, he did not use the extra relief money to improve his life. Instead, he used it to drink every month.

"Your relief fund has been used up. You have already paid on credit three times this month. I would also like to give you a drink, but unfortunately our boss only allows you to pay on credit three times a month."

Because he is very old, the old man does not have a job, but there is a stupid and rich Wayne Enterprises in Gotham City. That company seems to have an idea, and cooperates with the government to launch a social relief fund for the needy.

Everyone around noticed this young man's behavior. It seemed that this energetic young man was suppressing his emotions.

The old man clenched his fists, and his bloodshot eyes were wide open. The excessive stretching of the corners of his eyes caused the eye mucus accumulated from not cleaning his personal hygiene for a week to break away from his skin and happily fall onto the marble table at the front desk.

"Call Erwin to come out and see me! I helped him so much in the past, but now I'm not even willing to let the old man drink a glass of beer!"

They all know that this old man actually knows very well that if he really messes up for a glass of beer, the so-called boss Erwin will not take care of the old relationship, but will directly ask the security to throw the old man out.

Just when everyone was guessing how long this young Asian man could hold out before he could no longer bear it and meddle in his own business, he viciously picked up the cup, drank the remaining beer in one gulp, and walked straight away. Got to the bar - dropped some bills.

The old man was a little angry, his withered cheeks twitched a few times, and he tried hard to move his tongue muscles that had not memorized other words, trying to curse out some curse words.

It was a young Asian man with black hair and eyes, with fat cheeks and a bloated figure. He was wearing a gray hooded sweatshirt and was sipping a glass of light wheat beer in his hand.

"Nonsense... nonsense!"

After the bartender finished giving the change, the young man opened the door and left the bar.

He seemed to be a little upset by the noise. He placed the wine glass heavily on the table and squinted at the situation at the bar.

Except for one new face who came to this pub for the first time today.

During the day, I wake up and drink at home. When the pub opens, I wander from home to the pub to drink.

Guys like this who are already old and can only receive social subsidies happen to be within this range.

The bartender didn't talk to the old man anymore. In fact, this scene happened almost every month, and he was used to it.

Turns out he was a coward.

The old drunkards who had nothing to watch looked away in boredom.

But at this moment, the bartender pushed a cup of barricol that the old man just ordered in front of the old man.

"It seems that you met a kind person today. The young man deliberately gave you a little more when he paid the bill. It was just enough to buy you a drink."

The old man who was already a little bit clamorous opened his eyes in surprise. He had already planned to leave. There were still some cheap canned beers frozen in the refrigerator at home. He could still cope with it for a while before the relief funds were distributed next month. time.

"Oh my god, a young man passing by has more conscience than Erwin!" The old man held up the wine glass, took a sip, and narrowed his eyes comfortably.

"Such a great guy, what kind of drink did he order just now?"

"Wheat beer."

"Ah, it's a pity that the choice of drinking is the same as that of a sissy...

The old man drank half of the wine glass as big as his head in a few sips, burped with satisfaction, and raised the glass high again.

“Cheers to the good samaritans!”

However, not many people responded to him. Only a few drunkards were just about to take a sip, so they simply raised their glasses to cheer him up.

The old man didn't care, drank the rest of the wine in one breath, and then pushed the glass full of saliva back to the bartender.

Satisfied that he could have a drink today, he raised his butt and staggered out of the pub. He even let out a loud and rude fart while pushing the door open.

His home is not far from here, it only takes five or six minutes to walk there.

While passing by a small alley, the old man suddenly caught a glimpse of a figure standing against the wall. He had just taken a cigarette out of the cigarette case and stuffed it into his mouth.

The old man should have been more vigilant when seeing people like this in Gotham City who like to hide in small corners.

But his swollen eyes recognized the man in the gray hoodie.

The man inside seemed to have seen him, and patted his empty pocket up and down: "Is there a fire?"

"Ha, if you would give me another cigarette."

The old man took out a lighter that was low on gas from his pocket and leaned over happily.

The young man lit the cigarette with the old man's lighter, took out another cigarette from the cigarette case, and handed it to the old man along with the lighter.

Just as the old man was lighting up his cigarette happily, the young man blew out a smoke ring and smiled: "Did you enjoy the drink just now?"

"Eight years ago, I worked as a janitor at Angel House Orphanage——

The old man raised his head in surprise and saw the young man spitting out his cigarette on the ground, along with a large roll of tape in his mouth.

This made the young Asian's originally fat face quickly lose weight, and he said the rest of the words.

"Mr. Borg."

"Don't be stunned, I still have a lot of things to talk to you about."

The young man pulled out a short sword from nowhere and put it at the old man's throat.

"Smoke it, and then let us recall together the story of how you agreed to the director of the welfare home to help the police with perjury just because of a pack of cigarettes and a can of beer as a bribe."

The lingering smoke gradually dissipated, and the old man finally saw the young man's appearance clearly, and remembered the other person's name with a reaction speed that was not suitable for his age.

After all, the orphanages in Gotham City have adopted very few Asian orphans.

He started to tremble, the cigarette holder danced between his lips, and the lighter's flint failed to ignite a spark several times.

"Terry Pickles..."

The old man cried under the tremendous mental pressure: "I can't light it, I can't light it!"

"That's quite a pity."

With a gentle look on his face, Terry slowly pushed the tip of the sword forward, as if he was pushing a clothes pole.

"I really wanted you to drink the last glass of wine and then smoke the last cigarette of your life."

(End of this chapter)