Martin Variety in American Comics.

Chapter 5: Just a bunch of gangsters

"I hid it in the safe of a small bank. That bank specializes in these kinds of..."

"Stop, I don't have time for your propaganda."

Martin interrupted Andy, looked straight ahead and said, "You'd better pray that I can find all the treasures, otherwise you will spend the rest of your life in jail!"

Andy became anxious instantly: "You promised me..."

"What I promised is that you will serve your sentence in the Metropolitan Prison, but the length of your sentence is not decided by me. And the more things I recover, the shorter your prison term will be. Is this hard to understand?"

Martin's words were simple, direct and ruthless. Andy collapsed powerlessly on the seat. He wanted to escape, but he didn't have the ability. He could only begin to pray silently in his heart.

Ten minutes later, they arrived at the bank.

A group of robbers wearing green question mark shirts were loading large boxes onto a truck.

Andy couldn't help but put his hands together, closed his eyes and said devoutly: "Thank God!"

"You should be thankful that I stepped on the accelerator deeply enough."

Martin parked the car across the street and strapped Andy's hands to the steering wheel.

"If you don't want to die, don't come out, and don't even think about running away."

Andy was already frightened out of his wits, so he nodded obediently and huddled himself under the steering wheel.

The Gotham sky was covered with lead-gray clouds, without a trace of sunshine. The cold wind blew slowly along the streets, pushing the foul-smelling exhaust gas emitted by the ACE Chemical Plant forward.

The Riddler's men were like hard-working ants, transporting large amounts of gold and artworks from the vault with a hole blown in it into the containers of large trucks.

Suddenly, a bullet flew over and pierced the tire of the truck.

"Where did the gunshot come from? When did those losers from the Gotham Police Department become so fast?"

Riddler's men grabbed their weapons and took cover before looking around.

They did not find the enemy, but discovered that the tire of the truck farthest from them had been pierced by bullets and was leaking air.

Riddler's men had to leave their cover and crawl forward to change the tires on the cart.

The bank contained a large amount of gold, statues, jewelry and artworks, all of which were large items. Without a large truck, they could not transport those treasures.

Martin, who was hiding in the dark, was also aware of this, so he punctured the tires to slow down their escape.

But a pistol is not suitable for long-range shooting, so he had to fire one shot first to recall the feeling of being a legendary cowboy yesterday.

After the identity is changed, the special abilities brought by the previous identity will disappear, but the instinctive reactions remaining in the body and the knowledge and skills that have been used will not disappear.

Martin held his breath, feeling the wind blowing on his face. All the pores on his body opened up. He suddenly opened his eyes. Everything around him magnified in his eyes, slowed down, and the target became clearer.

boom!
Martin pulled the trigger without hesitation, and bullet casings flew out and fell on the concrete road surface, making a crisp sound.

Before that, the spinning steel-core bullet had already pierced the tire of the truck loaded with stolen goods.

The successive gunshots scared the Riddler's men back when they showed up again. They didn't even see where the shooter was, so they could only hide behind the cover and pull the trigger randomly. The bullets flew everywhere but hit nothing.

The feeling, which was similar to bullet time, was fleeting, but Martin did not feel any regrets. He regained some of the feeling of a legendary gunman, and then used the building as cover to shorten the distance between himself and the enemy to within a hundred meters, and then pulled the trigger again.

boom!
Gunshots rang out, blood splattered, and a bullet shot a large bloody hole in the head of one of the Riddler's men. The Riddler might be smart, but the quality of his men was very average.

Of course, this is not just a problem for the Riddler. The gangs under the Gotham villains are not the army. Even if the leaders are willing to formalize it, no one will suffer for them.

So, when these robbers wearing green question mark vests found that the bunker could no longer protect them, their first reaction was not to move to a safer place, but to turn around and run, exposing their entire backs.

In a range of less than a hundred meters, no matter how fast the ten robbers ran, they could not be faster than the bullets, so they all became prey to be slaughtered.

Martin pulled the trigger repeatedly, and the bullets hit the vital parts of the robbers. They fell to the ground one by one, and most of them died on the spot.

But there was one man whom Martin deliberately spared. He was a very special person among the robbers and was obviously different from the others, so Martin only hit him in the thigh.

At this moment, the guy was lying on the ground and shouting at the top of his lungs, like a pig on the chopping board waiting to be slaughtered by the butcher.

"If you don't want to end up like your companions, then tell me where the Riddler is."

Martin put the muzzle of the gun to the robber's head and questioned him threateningly.

Hundreds of millions of dollars in stolen goods may be worthless to a madman like the Joker, but the Riddler is not someone who treats money as dirt.

The fact that he took the risk of failure and let a group of rabble transfer the stolen goods only shows that there are more important things that have attracted his attention.

In the eyes of these villains, what could be more attractive than real money? Of course, it's Batman.

The Dark Knight is now Martin's financial backer, and for the sake of the greenbacks, he decided to give Batman a hand.

With the muzzle of the gun pressed against his head, the robber who was shouting at the top of his lungs instantly quieted down.

The pain of bullets tearing flesh and blood is unbearable for ordinary people, but compared with losing your life, it is nothing.

Just by looking at his companions lying in a pool of blood, he knew that the seemingly young boy in front of him was actually a ruthless man who killed people without blinking an eye.

"Uncle, father, dear dad, ancestor, you think too highly of me. I am just a piece of cannon fodder. How could I possibly know where the Riddler is going?"

The robber cried, but Martin remained unmoved.

"Since you know that you are just cannon fodder, and you are not deaf or blind, can't you find a way out for yourself?"

Martin's finger pressed lightly on the trigger, and both men could hear the sound of the mechanism moving clearly.

The robber's face, which had been purple, turned pale in an instant. He seemed to hear the footsteps of death approaching, and death was wrapping him tightly from all directions.

"I said, I said, the Riddler went to a date. Someone invited these bosses to a banquet."

"Location." Martin's hand did not leave the trigger, but instead added some strength.

The robber closed his eyes and tilted his head, trying to get further away from the gun. He said hurriedly, "They will meet at Penguin's 'Last Offer' tonight. This is all I know. Big brother, please spare my life. I am willing to work like a cow or a horse for you. From now on, I will be your dog."

The robber tried his best to say all the flattering words he had learned in his life, but got no response.

He quietly opened his eyes a little, only to find that Martin was no longer in front of him, so he prepared to run away.

But when the adrenaline brought by fear subsided, the intense pain from the wound suddenly attacked his nerves. Coupled with the weakness from blood loss, he fainted from the pain.

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(End of this chapter)