Axel stepped out casually, pistol tucked at his waist.
The driver, toying with a .44 Magnum round, gave a wary wave.
"Buddy, for your generosity, good luck," the driver said.
"Wish yourself luck," Axel replied without looking back. "I don't need it."
He walked straight into the chaos, swaggering toward the growing cacophony of gunfire.
Passersby froze at the sight of bloodstains and bullet holes in his clothes, but Gotham Police officers stepped forward, calling out.
"GCPD! Whose side are you on? Sabatini or Dimitrov? Speak!"
Axel smirked and spun his Desert Eagle in his hand.
"I'm with Boss Sabatini. You really want to stop me?"
Without waiting for an answer, he shoved through the weak police blockade with his shoulder and advanced toward the battle.
Behind him, the officers exchanged confused glances.
"Does Sabatini even have Asian subordinates?"
"Never heard of it. Falcone's people are mostly Italian. Sabatini is his lieutenant, right?"
"Small gangs like Dimitrov's are strictly Russian. But Falcone's reach is wide. It wouldn't be surprising if he has… exceptions."
"Still, if this Asian causes trouble, we can't just sit around. Maybe we need to get involved after all."
They watched silently as Axel disappeared into the firefight.
---
The closer he got, the harsher the scene became.
Flames flickered, smoke swirled, and stray bullets cut through the air.
Axel's grip tightened on the Desert Eagle.
Two Russian Mafia thugs crouched behind a barrier.
One, firing wildly, froze when he noticed Axel approaching.
"What the hell?" one muttered.
"The boss doesn't have anyone like him!"
Before they could react, Axel fired.
Bang.
One thug's chest exploded in a crimson cloud.
The Desert Eagle was overkill, designed for hunting bears, but Axel didn't do things halfway.
The second thug, blinded by blood and gore, panicked.
He emptied his magazine toward Axel in a flurry of desperate shots.
Bang bang bang bang!
A bullet tore into Axel's lung, stealing his breath, while the weapon's recoil slammed into his arm and shoulder.
Blood soaked his side, but he forced himself forward.
Two steps, then another shot—this time the muzzle pressed against the remaining thug's temple.
Bang.
The man didn't scream.
He didn't even have time.
Axel's lips were streaked with gore as he wiped roughly at his face and spat, only to cough up blood-tinged foam.
Other Russian Mafia members saw the scene.
"Damn it! Falcone's men got behind us!"
"Ulychenko's head… it's gone!"
"What are those cops doing?!"
"They're all bought by Falcone! He's letting his men through!"
The thugs charged.
Axel fired, dropping one running man instantly, but bullets tore into his chest and thigh.
Gotham's gangsters were better trained than the low-level scum Axel had faced before.
He hit the ground, nearly motionless, letting adrenaline keep him alive for the moment.
They closed in, one kicking his ribs, another aiming at his head.
Bang.
A shot meant to finish him.
Then it happened.
Axel's body caught fire, burning from within.
Flames licked his tattered coat, his soaked shirt, and his torn pants.
In moments, his corpse turned to ash, scattering into the wind.
A homeless man on a nearby rooftop binoculars in hand froze.
He snapped two photos of the ashes and muttered to a hidden earpiece.
"Alfred, I've only been gone seven years, and even the dead in Gotham are becoming… abnormal?"
On the other end, Alfred paused, tea in hand.
"Master, the dead in Gotham have always been restless. I'm curious what you see this time."
"Nothing yet," Bruce said, still scanning. "I'll show you the photos when I return."
Even though he had just returned, Bruce could not stay home.
Hatred boiled inside him.
The city demanded action, and he was desperate to make people pay.
---
Axel emerged again from an alley behind the Gotham Natural History Museum, his clothes shredded and soaked.
He took a deep breath, reloaded the magazine, slid it back into his Desert Eagle, and jogged onto the street.
"Taxi!"
He flagged one down, gave the destination, and soon returned to the spot where the police had tried to stop him earlier.
The officers were chatting among themselves.
"I thought that Asian guy was Falcone's secret weapon."
"He died fast, but he took out three of them."
"Less talk. At least he isn't afraid to die. A subordinate like that is rare."
"One person in my whole career under Falcone… this guy killed three in minutes."
Suddenly, a voice trembled.
"Fuck… what did I just see?!"
"See what?"
The men followed his gaze and froze.
"Holy shit!"
"Shit!"
"What the hell?!"
"It's him… again?!"
Amidst the uproar, Axel appeared once more, pistol raised.
"Move aside!" he barked.
The police obeyed, wide-eyed and trembling.
From a nearby skyscraper, Bruce inhaled sharply.
"Master, what is it this time? You sound… alarmed," Alfred asked.
"The dead in Gotham… they never rest," Bruce replied, snapping photos of Axel. "This… resurrection… this is extraordinary."
---