The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

"You haven't answered my question yet, who the hell are you?"

Although she could tell that the man in front of her was not ordinary, the fat lady was not afraid at all. She still held the Thompson submachine gun firmly in her hand: "Hey! That drug-addicted idiot in there crashed my store! Don't even think about taking that car, get out of here! My losses today all depend on it!"

"I'm sure this driver is not on drugs, but has turned into a zombie." Watson didn't intend to fight him. He faced the woman with his left hand, quietly took out a rope gun with his right hand, and walked in with a shaky step: "Or let me put it another way, he is infected with the T virus, so for your safety, you'd better stay away from him."

"What zombie?"

The muzzle of the submachine gun was raised: "Don't lie..."

puff!

It was easy to aim at the human body at this distance. Watson didn't even need to raise the rope gun in his hand. The tip of the hook spear immediately pierced into the chest of the "driver" with a puff of air. Before the fat lady could react, he grabbed the rope with his left hand and pulled it back, pulling the zombie out of the store.

"Hey! What the hell are you doing? He hasn't compensated me yet! Wait for him to pay first before you kill him!" The fat lady was anxious. She didn't even bother to be alert to Watson, and walked quickly towards the driver who was thrown in the middle of the street. Seeing the other party stand up with his arms, she was immediately happy, but her words were more unpleasant than the last: "You're still alive? Why didn't you die? Idiot, you're in big trouble! Look at what you did?"

When the driver turned around, the fat lady was speechless.

The man's entire jaw was missing, leaving only a long tongue hanging there, and perhaps because of the collision just now, his left eyeball was squeezed out of his eye socket. The female owner had seen dead people before, but she had never heard of someone who was in such a state and could still crawl up and move.

"Well, there's something wrong with him."

The Gothamite's passive skill took effect. The fat lady frowned and stepped back to let Watson come over.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

After asking a symbolic question, Watson picked up the MSG90, tilted the gun 45 degrees counterclockwise, and used the non-magnification holographic sight installed on the side to assist in shooting.

Of course, this action is also symbolic.

Perhaps because the fat lady's figure was more conspicuous, the zombies kept staring at her. Suddenly, her entire torso leaned forward and took a running posture, then strode towards the female shop owner. This scene shocked not only the fat lady, but even Watson. In just over a year, has the T virus infected body already restored such a high level of sports skills?

Maybe... this isn't the T-virus?

Or is it that you Gothamites have special physiques that make you so powerful after turning into zombies?

Surprised as it was, a 7.62mm rifle bullet still accurately opened the back of the zombie's head. The full-power bullet was still effective against this new type of infected body, knocking it forward to the ground. However, even though it had lost most of its mobility, the zombie continued to struggle. Watson followed and shot it in the head again, and the unlucky driver was finally freed.

"How the hell is he still moving?"

The fat lady was really scared.

"If you were bitten or scratched by him, you would probably become like this, and your brain would definitely be even dumber than those idiots who took drugs." Watson removed the magazine and carefully checked the state of the feeding spring: "I suggest you burn the body completely to prevent the spread of the virus. By the way...if you want that car, remember to take disinfection measures, especially if there are any unknown liquids or food in the car, I suggest you throw them into the fire together."

"Uh... ok."

"Thank you for your cooperation." Watson said, and climbed back to the roof with a rope gun, and continued to move towards other areas with movement. Virus mutation, special physique, no matter how the two speculations just now were, the results were the same. If more similar cases appeared in the future, it can be basically confirmed that the mobility of Gotham's local zombies has made a qualitative leap compared to their "compatriots" in Raccoon City.

According to the development of the plot of the "Resident Evil" timeline, in the future, various people will continue to come up with T-Veronica virus, Ouroboros virus, Abyss virus, upgraded Plaka parasite, C virus, A virus, etc., and the more they evolve, the more magical they become. For example, in the sixth generation of the original, the virus-infected body can completely be like its own black light servant, with vehicle driving, gun control and other skills. As for some extremely special individuals, it is not impossible to retain their sanity.

So Watson quickly got to the heart of the matter:

Who did this?

Just as I was thinking, the sound of a cat's meow interrupted my thoughts.

A small black cat was lying among the broken boxes in the corner.

Don't? Again?

The familiar scene and situation immediately reminded Watson of the time when he met Lady Death on a rooftop in Raccoon City. She had also turned into a black cat, but fortunately the real Miss Watson hadn't come out yet. If it were now, hugging Lady Death and kissing her would be considered a light punishment.

And to be honest, just by looking at the little black cat in front of him walking crookedly towards him, Watson felt that a certain unnamed cow in his body was surging wildly, and he couldn't help but want to say loudly with a loving expression in his eyes: "Little~~Kitty~~Mi——"

Hold on, don't get nervous.

Lady Death said she would never see me again.

"Isn't it just an ordinary kitten that can be kissed, hugged and lifted up at will?" The words came out of nowhere, and the voice was Miss Watson's. Watson stood there for half a second, then took off his helmet with an expressionless face and punched himself hard on the head several times.

"Meow?" The black kitten had already walked to Watson's feet and looked up at him in confusion.

"What's up?"

Watson squatted down.

"Meow~"

The little black cat sat up, raised its big yellow eyes, and yawned.

"Well, I guess Ms. Wayne is also busy trying to find the mastermind." Watson picked up the little black cat with one hand, found a barely intact broken box to sit on and continued to get wet in the rain: "Let me see... Oh, there's so much dirt in the corners of your eyes. Your mother didn't wash your face properly, did she? Is your mother still alive? You're only a few months old? Why are you out in society so early?"

"Meow~?" The little black cat just kept sniffing Watson's fingers.

boom--!

At this moment, there was a sudden explosion in the distance. The little black cat shrank up in fear, but Watson didn't move at all, concentrating on rubbing its face. The rain was still light now. If it got heavier, Watson would have to consider stuffing the little black cat back into the crack of the broken box. After all, if this kind of cub, which has not yet fully grown up, is left unattended, it is easy to die if it gets sick.

"Oh, she's still a little girl."

Watson spread the cat's hind legs and turned it over, staring at its yellow eyes. "It's a pity that a certain doctor doesn't like cats, and our place of residence is not fixed... Maybe I can really take you back? Anyway, that certain person will definitely be happy. When you grow up, she will find a few handsome cats for you, and ask you to give birth to a litter of kittens every year for her to play with."

"Meow~?"

"It sounds scary, right? So why don't you think about it before making a decision? We are often not at home." Watson rubbed the cat's head with his fingertips and suddenly said, "How long are you going to eavesdrop? Dear Ms. Bruce Wayne?"

After saying that, he turned his head and looked to the left.

I thought it was a good thing that Miss Watson didn't really show up just now.

Half a head popped out from the eaves, and then a tall figure climbed up.

Bruce was almost hanging from the eaves just now, but Watson didn't wear a helmet after all, so he still caught the slightest movement she made. The combat uniform the woman wore was very similar to Watson's, only different in details, but the material was probably upgraded several versions. She glanced at the little black cat, then turned her gaze to Watson's pretty face: "Watson Taxner, what are you doing in Gotham?"

"I wanted to say travel, but I guess you wouldn't believe it." Watson stood up holding the kitten and walked towards the woman: "So I heard that a biohazard broke out in Gotham, and I planned to come and see the situation. If it's not serious, I'll take a trip."

"You can certainly help."

Unexpectedly, Bruce didn't ask any more questions. She threw a communicator over and got straight to the point. "Install it in your helmet. It has the same size and specifications as the original one. The communication channel has been adjusted. I am not acting as Batwoman now. You use the number 1 as your code name. Leave the emergencies in the city to the police and my people. You and I have more important tasks."

"Isn't it too fast? Can't you just say 'please'? Although I really don't mind helping you, your attitude is really annoying. The point is that it makes me look like a licking dog. Do you know what a licking dog is?" Putting the little black cat back into the pile of broken boxes, Watson picked up the MSG90 and quickly caught up with Bruce. After the cooperation in the Raccoon City incident, the two of them were not so estranged, but he always had a feeling that Batwoman did it on purpose.

"Why do you, a 70-year-old man, care about these details?"

"Good, you even checked my birthday."

Watson checked the weapon while continuing to fight with her: "So how did you find me? Camera footage artificial intelligence recognition? You took the Red Queen from the Umbrella Group, right? I don't think you would destroy that thing. Did you connect it to Gotham City's surveillance system?"

Ms. Wayne did not stop, but turned around to look at Watson. Unfortunately, the equally tight full-coverage helmet made it impossible to see her expression: "You are a 70-year-old who knows a lot about modern technology."

"Strictly speaking, I'm not even 70 yet." Watson rolled his eyes and changed the subject: "I need to ask you something more critical. For example, if the target is not a zombie but poses a threat to my life, can I kill him?"

"No."

"So it means that as long as you don't die, it's fine?"

"In principle, yes."

"I like your flexible moral standards."