Starting from scratch, Batman crushed my dream of getting rich

Chapter 617 The Ensemble of Veteran Artists

Old Jack never dreamed he would have a chance to find a new job in his lifetime.

Of course, Old Jack doesn't dream, after all, he's a bus, without a head, and doesn't need to sleep.

It doesn't even need to be alive, because after more than a decade of weathering the storms of Gotham, everything on this bus, from the engine, fuel tank, and driver to every piece of glass and screw, has been replaced countless times. From the perspective of the Ship of Theseus, old Jack is undoubtedly finished, and his death was painful and prolonged.

After all, you can't lie and point at this bus that's been shot for over a decade, had hundreds of patches before being retired, still has dozens of bullet holes, and runs shakily and leaks air, and say that it's in stable and good condition.

But from the perspective of Gotham's troublemakers, Old Jack has always been alive, and living a good life; he has never died.

For over a decade, this vehicle has been carrying all sorts of lunatics, thugs, prostitutes, and black marketeers from Gotham, and now it continues to carry all sorts of former lunatics, thugs, prostitutes, and black marketeers from Gotham.

Yes, it has become a bit broken and old, with more patches on the body, and several drivers have died. It has probably been renovated quite a few times, so much so that this current driver is too lazy to waste money repairing its windshield.

But old Jack is still the same old Jack, who used to drive around the streets of Gotham with that group of filthy, low-class, struggling zombies who didn't fit in with the upper class; and he still drives around the streets and alleys of Gotham with this group of people who have become prisoners.

They used to go their separate ways, but now they've unified their activities and started leaving prison regularly to work.

Everyone felt that it had lived in the city for more than a decade and would continue to live for another decade or so.

After Bruce announced Gotham's rebuilding and renovation plan, old Jack's driver went to jail, and the old car, which had been through countless hardships and worked year-round, should have finally had a short and peaceful vacation.

Well, actually Bruce originally wanted to discard it and display it as an exhibit in the renovated Gotham Museum, but old Jack's driver explicitly opposed this approach when he went to jail.

“Old Jack isn’t old yet,” he exclaimed. “She just needs a little maintenance and refurbishment, and I just need a little money to refurbish her.”

"I took over his car myself. You people have no right to deal with it. Don't touch it!"

After discussing it, Ma Zhaodi and Bruce decided to agree to the driver's request to keep him on the road—but the driver would have to work as a driving instructor at the Gotham prison and also be responsible for transporting prisoners every day.

Old Jack's driver readily agreed.

After all, it's not feasible to use a dilapidated vehicle to transport prisoners. It would be unreliable, unsightly, and difficult to identify. So Bruce simply funded a major overhaul of this war-damaged, rubble-strewn bus, which was worn down to the point of being a battle-hardened vehicle. Now it looks brand new, with no trace of the gunfire it once endured.

That was the case at least ten seconds ago.

At the intersection, the bus and the military vehicle collided head-on, destroying Old Jack's headlights and custom-made bumper, making the already slightly dented and blood-stained front of the bus even more twisted and deformed.

Fortunately, the bumper was custom-made, so the rest of the car was undamaged—this wasn't Bruce's special modification, it was just old Jack's standard configuration.

For this special bus, even if the bulletproof performance is not good, at least the frontal collision protection performance should be improved, since this can effectively reduce the driver's fatality rate.

The military vehicle was sent flying several meters after being hit, nearly overturning. Although the vehicle and its occupants were not visibly deformed, the driver was clearly in a state of shock for a short time, and the vehicle stopped moving.

A few seconds later, the thugs in the military vehicle finally came to their senses. Looking at the bus that had inexplicably appeared and blocked their way, they were still trying to figure out what had happened. But when they thought about the two black Batmobiles chasing after them from the road, everyone turned pale.

"Damn it, where did this car full of idiots come from, daring to block our car at this time!"

In a fit of shock and anger, the thugs in the military vehicle immediately raised their guns and yelled at the bus, "Bastards! Back up the bus right now! Get out of our way!" They then received a much more enthusiastic response than they had expected.

"Damn it! Which blind bastard is driving recklessly on the road?! Are they rushing to your mother's and father's funeral—"

Enraged, the old driver Jack's Gotham instincts were reawakened at the moment of the crash. When he heard the other party initiate a voice communication request, he could no longer hold back.

He began to showcase his extensive vocabulary, honed through long-term practical training, in a beautiful and fluent Gotham accent. Phrases beginning with "father" and ending with "mother" flowed on and on, like a solitary musician playing a piece of moonlight.

As soon as the driver made the crucial opening move, the other passengers on the bus immediately followed suit, joining Old Jack in angrily cursing the military vehicle.

The chaotic West Coast rap suddenly erupted into a cacophony. If the Deadly Rhythm of Old Jack Driver was a solo performance, then the current market-like coordination of everyone was like a symphony orchestra taking up their instruments and ganging up on the audience.

"You fucking idiot, you're asking for it!"

The thugs, their faces flushed, listened to the cacophony of Gotham City's saga, their blood pressure soaring—they only had a few mouths in total, how could they possibly out-argue dozens of mouths?
bang!

A bullet pierced Old Jack's car, followed by the thugs' angry shouts: "I told you to back up! Are you deaf?!"

However, the bus suddenly fell into an eerie silence.

"What are you doing? Are those guys scared out of their wits?"

The thug driving the car grinned and pointed his gun at a passenger in the window—they dared not bombard the car with rockets or kill the driver, otherwise the road would be completely blocked.

So he decided to kill someone first to bring the foul-mouthed passengers on this stupid bus to their senses.

However, he then noticed that the passengers on the bus were all staring at them with a strange look in their eyes.

Those gazes were deep and strange, seemingly carrying a hint of nostalgia and a touch of madness, making him feel uneasy, as if he were being watched by wild beasts in the forest.

Did he shoot at us?

"Isn't that nonsense?"

"Can we fight back?"

"It should be fine, these guys don't look like good people."

"But the jinx and Batman already said they wouldn't let us."

"This is legitimate self-defense."

In the end, the whispers in the carriage merged into one voice.

"Haven't you had enough after holding it in for a year?"

(End of this chapter)