Gotham City was a dangerous place.
"Please! HELP! SOMEBODY!"
I made it abundantly clear to avoid turning my gaze and attention towards the sounds of the screams. It was a Sunday Morning, and, amidst the other civilians and pedestrians who were walking to or from their varied destinations, I was not the fool who was going to play hero. When full grown men and women merely increased the briskness of their gaits, taking their time to agonizingly ensure that they did not look in the direction of the alleyway. Sure the feminine screams were annoying and somewhat grating, but, of course, I knew it would only be a matter of time.
Yup. Cue the idealistic hero charging down the alleyway in hopes of stopping what he probably assumed was a poor woman being raped.
"You – GURK –"
The world's supply of altruistic people was once more chipped off.
A woman in a trench coat emerged from the alleyway, suspiciously smiling, before putting her hands in her pockets and walking away. I shook my head at the sight, letting out another sigh before I continued moving along. I had a convenience store to go shoplift from.
My small, childlike form walking around the streets without any form of adult supervision had clearly drawn some surprised looks and stares, but ultimately, no one in this city was bothered or invested enough to approach me and ask why. I supposed it was one of the few reasons that I truly enjoyed this place. Other than the constant nature of the cloudy skies which meant that Gotham never, ever got sunlight, and the stone gargoyles which hung on the tallest of buildings, looming down upon the mortals beneath as supposed protectors of evil, I would say that Gotham's ambient 'you-live-or-die-on-your-own' attitude resonated with me. When a city was steeped deep in corruption and crime and violence, the citizens and average folk had evolved to learn that it was never best to look too closely at things, and it was always best to mind your own business.
A lesson which, if not learned, would mean ending up lying in the ditches in some empty alley, bleeding out, and wondering how your desire to help had led to your untimely demise.
A major reason as to why Gotham seemed to be so horrendously bad, was of course, the lovely Batman. I had no idea how old he was supposed to be as of now, but I had begun hearing of him, being spoken by the angry and wrathful customers of my mother's workplace who ranted as to how their "Bat problem" was causing them to lose on their "legitimate" investments.
However, as it stood, Batman primarily operated in Gotham City at night. It was his M.O. which struck fear and panic into the hearts of villains and criminals alike, because they would never know when the dark shadow above them would morph into a dark bat ready to render 'justice.'
It was for this reason, that many criminals, both petty and grand, had moved their operations towards the day.
I knew for a fact that Batman still had to work as Bruce Wayne, and contrary to how the movies and books or shows portrayed it, there was no way the C.E.O. of an important company like Wayne Enterprises would just 'delegate' all his duties and responsibilities to someone else, without either losing faith from his board and employees, or utterly sending the entire company crashing.
Hence, Batman could not truly be as active in the day as he was at night.
And the ratio of daylight crimes skyrocketed once people realized that the Batman only went hunting once the sun came down.
I had realized that this was one of the aspects that most of the numerous franchises failed to mention or incorporate, or perhaps they did, and I was not simply knowledgeable enough to know.
People adapted.
They weren't the dumb, idiotic, one-dimensional villains and mooks that would continue to follow a pattern and stick with it regardless of the better alternatives. No. They were multifaceted beings capable of coming to their own conclusions and realizing their limitations – as all humans are. Adaptability is the sole reason we as a species have continued to evolve.
The Dark Knight's crusade to end all crime in Gotham city was a laughable quest. He was in essence, attempting to use anti-biotics to cure cancer. Beating up and locking up the crooks didn't truly dissuade them, instead, it only thought them how to be smarter, and how to avoid running into the Batman next time.
Ganged up on a poor defenseless girl with nefarious plans in a dark alleyway at night, only to find yourself beat to a pulp by the masked crusader?
Next time, they'd use chloroform or drug the girl first before she could scream and gain anyone's attention, and then commit the deed in a hidden location.
Got busted for trying to burgle a jewelry store at night?
They'd come back during the day dressed in an elegant suit, a mask, and pointing an SMG at the cashier, while wisely telling them that they dared not trigger the silent alarm you saw in your previous attempt.
Thrown in the slammer for supposedly committing arson?
They'd set up their explosives a few days earlier, get into a slight or minor altercation and be arrested, and then watch and snicker as the fire starts and they have a near-airtight alibi as to why they could not have been the one who started it.
In essence, Batman was causing the criminals to evolve.
Batman was making better criminals.
It annoyed me, personally, and I wondered if the idiot even realized what his actions were doing, or if he did, but insisted that he continued to 'fight crime' under some misguided notion of pride or purpose.
I shook my head as I ultimately strolled through the Department Store that was quite a reasonable distance away from my house. Of course, by reasonable distance, I was talking the distance of about twenty blocks, which, so far, my legs had walked and made me feel as though I had been trekking for an eternity.
So… what to steal?
My eyes turned to the left. There, standing, was a refrigerator. Within, bottles of chilled liquor, ranging from brands like Guinness to Jack Daniels, stood, uniformed. Side by side, with a small layer of glazed frost over the glass, they beckoned.
Beside the refrigerator, crates of cans of beer. Neatly packaged in four-rows, waiting and expecting to be purchased.
My eyes flickered over to the right. Aisle six stood, with cooking equipment, toasters, microwaves, pressure cookers, blenders, pots and pans.
Behind me, a rack of sunglasses. Beside the rack, cheap, easily made, hats and baseball caps hung quietly. To the right of that, lay an area for jeans, T-shirts, and clothes that were made more for practical purchase reasons than for any sense of fashion. Then, finally, behind that, was a display case for faux-golden wristwatches, and Made-in-China Rolex knockoffs.
I couldn't take everything. There was no way that they would fail to notice the significant number of items gone missing. Instead, I needed to weigh my options to figure out which of these things would be the best ones I could steal and pawn off to raise six hundred dollars. The liquor was probably one of them, the microwaves and cooking equipment were another, and the wristwatches would be a third and final option.
I decided that the wristwatches would be the best bet, they were small and inconspicuous enough, and then the liquor would be the next thing I could go for. I highly doubted that people would fail to notice a missing microwave.
My feet moved over to the display case, my eyes roving over the different collections and sizes, for men, women, and people of unfortunately diminutive heritages.
All I would need to do, would be to extend my hand out, and put it into my inventory.
Yep.
That was it. Simple.
Seconds ticked by as I continued to stare.
It was an easy task, no one was looking in my direction, and there were far too few people here to notice the theft.
Yet, I stood.
Fake silver and phony gold stared up at me, the seconds of the clock ticking in reminder of the non-stationary nature of the universe. My eyes could see them, recognize them, understand the value of them, realize the importance of them. My hands and fingers however, were magnetized to my sides. It was as though there was a kinetic force compelling them to refuse my mental commands to rise and pilfer.
Why?
A spark of emotion followed. Irritation, I could recognize with ease, annoyance came second, the two primary entities which were the inhabitants of my subconscious.
Why?
It's just pickpocketing, my mind rationalized. There was no need to be overly dramatic about it, and almost everybody had done it at one point or another.
You need this, my mind tried again, harder, when my hands still rebelled against it. You need to steal this to get money, to become rich, to help your mother, to pay off your debts.
And what would you say, when she eventually asks you how you got the money?
Lie to her face?
Tell her the truth?
To tell an explicit lie about something like this, it would be the start of the deterioration of any form of trust we have.
To tell the truth, would be to admit to theft and stealing.
What does that matter? She sleeps and strips with men for money!
The illegality of prostitution aside, there was the clear fact that this was a trade. It was an exchange. A service for a sum. She had not earned the money dubiously, she had worked hard to get it. Many would agree that a prostitute was somehow better off than a thief.
YOU! NEED! THIS!
The problem with this method of thought, I knew, would be when it would become my growing alibi for the fractured moral compass I would gain. I would shoplift with the justification of necessity. When things got harder, I would commit burglary with the justification of necessity.
From there on, the spiral continued and never ended. Blackmail, extortion, drug running and smuggling, armed robbery, grand larceny, human trafficking, and eventually – murder.
I would justify it all as a necessity.
Would I eventually justify rape as a necessity too?
I took in a deep breath, shaking my head to clear it. A snarl escaped my lips without me ever intending to, I could feel how my facial muscles contorted into avatar of disgust and uncertainty. Why had I chosen now, of all times, after walking twenty blocks, after making such badass claims and boasts, why had I chosen now, to develop a fucking moral compass?
It was stupid. Naïve. Absolutely ridiculous.
I could watch people get murdered and assaulted without batting an eyelash, yet, the thought of entering into the world of crime made me hesitate. Gotham City was not a place for bleeding hearts who were unable to do what needed to be done. It was not a place that would reward you for your humanity and munificence. No. It was a place that would tear you down to shreds, rip asunder any guise of innocence and goodness, and leave you feeling like an orange sucked dry from the lips of a parched whore.
DO IT!
JUST DO IT!
WHY WON'T YOU DO IT?!
Some people would claim that you could become a petty criminal all your life and never kill or get into anything serious or major. There were most likely individuals in the world who fitted that description. However, I knew that it could not be the case for me. Games advanced and progressed, and being a Gamer, any criminal activity I partook in would eventually lead to a serial escalation, no matter what.
Shoplifting? Oooh! Take this nifty skill and quest that will improve your skills and make you the best! Oh, you could even upgrade this into direct armed robbery!
What if I got a skill for murder? A skill particularly designed just to kill people in the most imaginative ways possible like I was in a hack-and-slash game and being awarded style points?
Or what if I unlocked some eroge feature that needed me to rape as many women as possible to gain experience points and level up faster?
Would I decide, then, that there was a line that should not be crossed, or would I bite down on my lower lip, steeling my mind to the fact that I needed the benefits, and as such, it was a necessity?
"Fucking hell!"
I found myself turning around, ignoring some of the stares I drew from my potty mouth, and immediately rushing out the door of the convenience store.
Good and evil were arbitrary, and there was no definite source on what morality was or should be. My standard however, was simple: Don't do anything to others that you wouldn't want done to you.
I wouldn't want to be killed, or burgled from, or sexually assaulted, or sold into slavery, or blackmailed, so, why then should I do the same thing to anyone else?
At the same time, there was the realization that just because humans did not eat lion meat, did not mean that a lion would spare you the same gesture should you encounter one. In essence, any and all of those things could happen to me, whether I liked it or not, or whether I did it or not.
"Gods I'm such a fucking pussy."
Where was my spine?
Where was that grit and determination that said I would do anything for my mother?
Where was the arrogant claims of becoming a legend in a world of gods?
It was always easier said than done, apparently. I let out a bitter chuckle. If I didn't even have it in me to shoplift, I would have to kiss my beautiful dreams of saving my mother from this hell-hole goodbye. I would have to live in poverty, and watch the only person I cared about in this world continue to live miserably, because I didn't have it in me to do what needed to be done in order to change that.
"Hey there little guy!"
My self-loathing was cut short. My gaze turned upwards. Nelly, Lv. 6, Donahue's Convenience Store Employee.
She – she followed me? Had she discovered what I had intended? No – it wasn't possible, I was certain that I had been careful, certain that I ensured I did not give away my intent – but then, why did she –
"Are you lost? Where's your mommy?"
I blinked.
Oh. That's right. I'm a toddler.
I resisted the urge to palm my face. Of course – I was a toddler. Being a child was so far shaping up to be one of the most irritating experiences so far. In her eyes, I was just a lost little infant who had no clue as to what he was doing.
"Fuck off."
I was already irritated at this point, and did not even bother attempting to maintain any childlike façade.
"Wow – that's quite the potty mouth you got –"
"So fucking what? Are you going to bend me over and spank me for it?"
Nelly frowned. "O-kay, wow, even I don't think I have a mouth that dirty."
"Maybe if you blow me, you can get the firsthand experience."
Silence.
"Wow. That was actually a pretty good comeback."
I stared, exasperation clear on my face.
"You're not good at taking a hint are you?"
"Maybe."
I stared at her for a second, before feeling a bit of my anger simmer down.
"Alright. What's your gimmick?"
She blinked. "Excuse me?"
"What are you, kidnapper, organ thief, drug dealer or child predator?"
"Excuse me?"
"This is Gotham City. If you live here, and you run out to help every kid you see – you'd be dead already."
"Well that's a rather cynical worldview."
I snorted.
Four seconds reached on the silence afterwards, which was the starting point of its awkwardness.
"You're a child predator aren't you."
The silence stretched on.
"Just. Fucking. Great."
"You know – gagging me was completely unnecessary. Tossing me in the trunk even more so. I could have just sat in the back or something. Oh, and I hope you're not planning on ransoming me back to my family afterwards – trust me, you'd probably be hundred times richer than my mom is. Hell, you have a car!"
I'd always pictured being kidnapped as a slightly more harrowing experience. Perhaps it was because I already had a jilted perspective to the world, or maybe it was just the Gamer's Mind which was capable of making me feel relaxed as the woman in her late twenties, Nelly, proceeded to lift me out of the back of her sedan.
Rather than agonizing over my fate, I blinked, staring up into the night sky with the realization that it was already dark, that my mother would probably be throwing a tantrum looking for me everywhere, and wondering if this kidnapping counted as a random encounter.
Random Encounter – The Kidnapping
Details: ?
Completion Rewards: ?
Failure: Death
Well, wasn't that convenient?
"You're a horrible conversationalist, you know."
The woman ignored my words throughout as she made her way towards what seemed to be an apartment. Her apartment complex was way out of the way though – on the outskirts of Gotham City and almost entering into Bludhaven, and it even looked abandoned. The only reason I knew this of course, was the nifty map which was always in the corner of my vision, that I could bring up any time I wished. Fortunately, the map also contained a 'trail' showing the direction I'd travelled, which meant that getting back home wouldn't really be an issue.
"I mean, aren't you supposed to be buttering me up or trying to make me have Stockholm Syndrome or something?"
Again, the woman was suspiciously quiet as she opened the door to the apartment complex with a swipe of a card.
"Also, quick question, is it the sight or the feel of tiny dicks that get you off, or is it just the concept of having some form of power over a male? Because if it's the latter, you can always just use your fingers – probably more pleasurable that way."
Again, she seemed to not want to give me a retort. I would praise her willpower, for that at least.
Until she unceremoniously dropped me on the ground.
–3HP!
"Ouch! That hurt! Please don't tell me you're into BDSM – that would be a major deal breaker."
I could make out a small briefcase on the floor. I rose my eyebrow, doubly so when the woman began to unceremoniously strip.
"You're lacking in poise. Tuck your stomach in more and let the clothes fall off you like you're made of butter and oils. Bounce your breasts a little bit more – oh, and don't forget to twirl your hips – you're a young woman, not a paraplegic gymnast."
SMACK!
–22HP!
"Shut. Up."
I blinked. There were still some stars in my vision, alongside the resounding static in my ears that accompanied the slap.
So. Things are getting serious now.
I stared in confusion, wondering why, after completely stripping, she put on a red hooded robe.
Don't fucking tell me –
Gamer Vision flared to life.
Two-Bit Occultist
Nelly Patterson
HP: 700/700
MP: 300/300
Level: 19
Age: 29
Race: Human
Affiliations: Gotham Magical Underground, Gotham Black Market
Base of Operations: Gotham City
Alignment: Evil
Occupation: Occultist
Identity: Unknown
Citizenship: American
Bio
An eager and greedy cultist desperate to rise through the ranks of the magical community, dabbling in occultism and rituals which uses the innate youth and vitality of young children to increase her magical prowess and revitalize her own youth. She sucks their souls dry via any method of hedonistic pleasure, leaving them as empty husks for the accomplishment of gaining enough power to accomplish her ultimate goal – serving the interdimensional demon, Trigon.
FUCK.
This was bad. Badbadbadbad!
I watched, from my spot on the ground, as the woman began lighting candles in the dim apartment room, immediately drawing my attention to the red, five-pointed, hexagonal looking thing that was painted with what could only be dried blood on the floor.
Why in the world was I running into psychos like this so soon? Why couldn't I start my way up in this world with slighter milder villains like Toy Man or Black Mask? Why did I have to find a bloody Trigon Cultist?
How the hell in the world did this woman even know of Trigon? My knowledge was sketchy – but should that have been possible?
Oh, wait. That's right. Raven's mother – Arella – was originally an inhabitant of Gotham City in some iterations. She'd been amongst the group of occultists that were planning on summoning the devil – and one thing led to another, Trigon showed up, she fucked the closest guy to Satan, and bam, Raven was born.
Fuck.
Fuck you – Gotham City.
Fuck. You.
–4HP!
– 6HP!
– 8HP!
I continued to methodologically slam my head into the floor.
FUCKING IDIOT!
There I had been, too chicken to simply shoplift – questioning the morality and decency of a never-ending spiral.
The fucking good that did me now!
Had I merely stolen what I needed and bolted, I would not have been around long enough to have run into this crazy woman, and I would not have landed myself in a situation where I was going to be the main ingredient in an evil magical ritual.
But noooooo!
I just had to uphold moral standards!
I grit my teeth hard enough to notice it chip my HP bar.
Then, I took in a deep breath.
And I exhaled.
My eyes, as they were, narrowed in focus.
Agonizing over past mistakes was pointless. Now, the only thing left was to move forward. I would take this experience as a form of divine intervention on my part, as a constant reminder to the moments of weakness and hesitation, as an ever-present souvenir of the day I decided to put moral 'good' over my personal benefit.
I would not make that mistake again.
Ever.
I instead focused on getting free. My hands were tied behind my back with duct tape. Likewise were my legs. I could squirm and turn and wiggle a little bit here and there, and for once, I was glad for having my mother's flexibility.
Nelly the Occultist continued working on her preparations in favor of ignoring me, and it suit me well enough. With my back on the ground and my hands tied under them, I brought my legs up, closer, and closer until my knees were against my chest and my feet were touching my forehead.
Then, I sprung.
The kick-flip I pulled successfully got me into the air, but I wasn't done yet.
'Double Jump'.
Interesting thing about the ability to jump while already in the air – I could choose the direction in which I wished to jump in. Essentially, the skill gave me an invisible platform to jump in any manner and direction I so wished, essentially defying gravity and laws of momentum.
Which was exactly what I did, lunging forwards towards the direction of the unsuspecting woman.
'Gamer's Body – don't fail me now!'
Her back was turned. I was accelerating at height level. Hence, I tilted my head back as far as possible, and let it rip.
CRACK!
–32HP!
INITIATIVE ATTACK!
Dealt x8 Damage!
CRITICAL HIT!
GODS IT HURT!
Had I been a normal child, there was no doubt in my mind that my skull would have shattered from the force I had put in the flying head-butt. I wasn't however, and other than the initial pain, my skull was none the worse for wear.
The same could not be said for Nelly however, as I had smacked her straight in the back of the head, and the unexpected blow had sent her tumbling to the ground with a slight amount of blood now coming from the wound.
My body had barely landed on before I continued.
'Double Jump!'
Tiny feet went up into the air, as high as about six feet, before coming down on the back of the woman's skull with a sickening crack, burying her face into the wooden floor.
'Double Jump!'
Again.
'Double Jump!'
'Double Jump!'
'Double Jump!'
The skill leveled up fourteen times.
I continued, endlessly, only stopping when I could feel a distinct wetness and sogginess at the bottom of my shoes. I was somewhat hesitant to look down, before I crushed the urge, and stared.
Blood and mushed brain matter; barely a head left on the woman.
I gained a healthy new level of fear for the Super Mario Brothers.
Random Encounter Completed!
The Kidnapping!
You have gained 5650 EXP!
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
You have leveled up!
You have gained new items:
Tome: The Secrets of Magic!
Totem: The Sex Vampire!
Item: Voodoo Doll!
Skill Book: Beginner Voodoo
Codex Entry on Homo Magi updated!
Codex Entry on Trigon updated!
Codex Entry on The Arts of Magic updated!
I watched, with some sort of awestruck fascination, as the rewards and 'drops' gathered around the dead woman.
Would you like to dematerialize the vanquished foe, or harvest the corpse?
(Dematerialize)
(Harvest)
I stared at the corpse. At the magical circle. At the blood which flowed and ran freely from the dead body. From the body of the woman I killed.
There was no revulsion.
There was no guilt.
There was no sense of strange anguish.
I had killed someone, and yet, all I could feel about the entire experience was…
Dissatisfaction.
It had been easy. Too easy. So ridiculously easy. It felt like it was truly a random encounter, like as though I was the Dragonborn in Skyrim who was being attacked by a bunch of vampires and bandits who did not realize that they were mere cannon fodder.
The woman, Nelly, had probably not even seen the killing blow coming. She would probably find herself in the afterlife, with a mix of confusion and uncertainty as to how she got there. Here I was, standing victorious, killing her despite my hands and feet bound with duct tape, and being given the option to turn her into particles of light, or use her body any way I wished.
I laughed.
I found myself laughing without even realizing I was doing it.
I laughed at the ludicrous nature of it all. At the strange, near anticlimactic victory. At the odd, now absolutely insane fact, that less than a few hours ago, I could not even shoplift, and now, I had committed murder.
I laughed, and with my laughter, came a realization.
This world… the fanciful world of superheroes and supervillains –
It was a nightmare. A nightmare designed to make everyone crazy. A nightmare that had demons and space beings and aliens and gods –
And this nightmare, was now my reality.
I laughed.
Isn't it funny?
XXXXXXXX
Gabriel Norris was not a man who was often easily intimidated. At the same time, the Landlord was not someone who usually expected people to meet and surpass his expectations.
Both of those thing happened, at the sight of the boy in front of his door. The boy, who was so young, yet, whose eyes possessed a dangerous, blood-curling mirth.
As though the universe and all within it, was but a mere joke.
"It's not Friday yet."
Thick wads of notes slammed into his hands.
"No. It's not."
He counted, silently.
"This is three times more than what I asked for kid."
"I know."
Gabe frowned. "Paying the rent up front are you?"
The boy said nothing, instead, he just kept staring at him with those weird, mirthful eyes.
"I thought –" Gabe hesitated, "I thought you were going to help me. Reunite me with my daughter."
The boy smiled.
"So did I."
He turned around, laughing.
The sound of the laughter would come to haunt Gabe for many, many nights.