My hand stretched out from under the covers, easily hitting the stop button on the enchanted alarm clock, and stopping the Japanese declaration of a sparkly vampire from continuing to invade my dreams – what little of them I had anyway, thanks to Gamer's Mind giving me near-dreamless nights.
I ignored the cursory good morning notification about how Health and Mana had been fully restored and all status effects had been removed from sleeping in my own bed. Instead, I sat up, scratching my head slightly and stretching my arms afterwards, as I gazed back down on my naked form underneath the covers. I rose an eyebrow when it came to me that the covers where also entailing another form. I dragged them off immediately, and came to the sight of a naked brunette.
Oh yeah. It had been one of those nights.
What was her name again? My eyes glanced to her head – Kelsey, yeah, that was it.
"Hey," I whispered into her ear, as she was still sleeping. The response I got was a series of unrecognizable sounds.
"Hey," I tried again. The sounds got clearer this time.
"Hmm?"
"I'd appreciate it if you would kindly get off my bed, get your clothes, and show yourself out."
Her eyes slowly opened at that.
"Wuh?"
"You have twenty minutes before you're late to class and before people realize you didn't spend the night in your dorm room."
The eyes snapped open wider at that. "Oh – OH SHIT!"
I watched her scramble off the bed and begin to search desperately for her clothes, which, were neatly arranged in a pile to the side, and she began tossing them on as quickly as she could. Amusement colored my eyes at the entire scene.
"Shit – Shit – I'm going to be late!"
"Yes, I believe that was what I said not too long ago."
She turned her gaze to me, whilst strapping her bra in a frenzy. "How did you know I was a student at the University?"
I shrugged. "Your age, demeanor, and behavior suggested someone who was educated – however, you didn't exactly have the confidence and assurance of someone who had completed that education. Your purse and bag is filled with pens and notes – your hands had stains of ink gotten easily reminiscent to the shade of the student's choice of pen on them – and you clearly said that you didn't have a job – so I deduced, you were still in education."
She stopped pulling her skirt, to stare at me. "What are you, a detective or something?"
I grinned. "Or something."
"Ooh, observant and mysterious."
"Maybe. Or maybe I just saw your student ID card sticking out of your bag and made that entire thing up to blow your mind."
She turned to her bag, which had its contents spilled on the floor, and the ID card of 'Gotham University' clearly sticking out.
"You ass! I can't believe I almost fell for that!"
"That's because you wanted to. People like to be deceived – it's why magic tricks are so amusing to us."
I gestured my hand out, showing it was empty, before flipping it, and in an instant, an Ace of Diamonds appeared in the spaces between my index and middle fingers. I flipped my hand again, and it was gone – stored back into my inventory, not that she was aware of that bit.
She gave me a long, yet cursory glance, even as she tried to make her hair look straight and finished the touches on her outfit.
"Neat party trick."
I summoned another card once more and tossed it to her, which, to my pleasure, she was able to catch.
"Zeddicus Zul Zorander? That's your name?"
"You can call me Zed for short."
She gave me a blank look. "You're fucking with me."
"No," I said, grinning. "I was fucking with you last night, and seeing as how you're not moaning out God's name anymore, you can be rest assured, that you are not being fucked with."
I tapped the bed.
"However, that can be arranged once more, when you're interested."
She rolled her eyes, but the flush of pink on her cheek gave her away. "When?"
"My dear, you would be deceiving no one but yourself should you believe that being with me is a matter of if rather than when."
She didn't bother giving me a retort, rather, she couldn't, and instead, she returned her eyes to the card. "Private Investigator, Professional Clearance Agent, Certified Escort and Special Consultant?"
"I also do birthday parties and events. Though I feel my fees might be too exorbitant for you."
I rose from the bed, craning my neck slightly, and feeling Kelsey's gaze roam over my body, which, thanks to a particular skill, was filled with lean, dexterous muscle. "Oh, and by the way, you only have twelve minutes left now."
I watched her scamper off, the minimap indicating her icon confirmed to me that she had left the premises, before I sighed and then moved over to the bed. There it was, a single strand of brunette hair, which I picked up from a pillow and focused as a foci.
There was no need to make any drastic changes, not necessarily. However, a cursory use of Soul Conditioning made it so, that she would completely forget the location of my house and my physical appearance – but would particularly remember the wild evening that had begun with me pinning her against the outside wall of a bar and snaking my hands up her skirt.
Once that was completed, I began preparations for the day.
I moved into the bathroom, a particular skill of the Alchemy Tree branch that I learned over thirteen years ago sprung to life, Animation, and I watched as the toothbrush floating in mid-air, twirling like a surfer, before slamming down on the stomach of the toothpaste, the required substance shooting out and being caught on the bristles, before the brush made its way to my teeth and began working their literal magic.
I stared at myself in the mirror, or rather, I stared at the form of myself that was created after I had realized that Alteration could be used to manipulate photons and light in order to create an unbreakable illusionary form. The form in front of the mirror easily looked what had been my actual age before I died, twenty-one or so. However, I made it so my blonde hair grew out into a simple short ponytail, which was accompanied by a slight stubble of a beard. I had selected this age, particularly because I felt more comfortable around this range than I did any older or younger.
A mental command had the tap turn open, the water defy gravity and enter my mouth, with me giving a gargle before spitting out and completing the rinse.
Once I was done with that, I took a nice, long, comforting shower, particularly just to remove the scent of Kelsey from my own person. That girl needed a better taste in perfume than the cheap one she used.
I walked into the living room with a towel around my waist and hair, and began pointing my fingers at objects over in the kitchen, Animation springing to life.
Bread danced and jiggled, flying into the air and landing into the toaster. A pan and a spatula engaged in brief swordplay, before two eggs got in between them, cracking open and landing on the pan, before subsequently landing on the stove, which whirred to life with a burst of blue flame. A bag of coffee beans swayed into the air like a snake commanded by a swami, landing into the machine which turned, enabling a mug to roll its way into the right place.
I gestured two fingers in a 'come here' motion towards the bedroom, and out came my smoothly ironed business suit, making a façade of walking in the air with the chest and tie puffed out, before wrapping around my form. The inner white button up shirt came first, the buttons affixing themselves from the below to the top. Cufflinks flew like magnets and held the sleeves in place. The pants followed suit, and then the inner-jacket and blazer wrapped around my form, just as the black, dragon-emblazoned tie knotted itself snugly around my neck.
I sat, the blazer left unbuttoned, as a familiar 'ding' of the toaster hit my ears, and a tray zoomed overhead with a plate on it like it was Aladdin's magic carpet, catching the toast, swooping the coffee, and flipping the pan to allow the eggs land on the side of the plate, before positioning itself directly to my right side, floating, and ready to serve breakfast.
I snapped my fingers, and the remote appeared to my left hand, just as the large flat-screen TV flared to life.
"…and in other news, from Metropolis, the Man of Steel himself, foiled attempts by a group of unknown criminals who intended on sabotaging the unveiling of the new statue of Superman –"
I munched on a toast. Next.
"… creating great advancements in technology and science, the development of Star Labs' Particle Accelerator is comparable to making a miniature Einstein-Rosen Bridge with the capacity of generating energy waves in the electromagnetic spectrum that is greater than anything imaginable –"
I sipped the coffee. Next.
"… and the ongoing election continues as many are wary to vote Hamilton Hill as Mayor for a second term due to allegations which supposedly put Hill as being connected to numerous crime families of Gotham, particularly the Falcone, Maroni, Ibanescu and Moxon –"
The egg went well with the toast. Next.
"… once again showing the true love and comfort that the Wayne name is known for, billionaire Bruce Wayne makes another sizable donation to the Gotham City Police Department, and is going even further to organize a fundraising auction for numerous of the Wayne family's priceless paintings and artefacts valued in the millions –"
I sat up, a half-munched slice of toast in my mouth.
"… with the likes of billionaires ranging from Oliver Queen to Michael Holt, both contemporaries of Gotham's first son showing up for the event –"
Ah there it was. Mr. Terrific, Green Arrow, and Batman all in one place for the night, occupied. Perfect.
OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!
OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!
OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEI –
My phone levitated into my palm.
"You have reached the phone number of Zeddicus Zul Zorander – this is Zed Rander speaking, how may I help you today?"
"You son of a fucking bitch! You – you set me up! You fucking set me up!"
I removed the phone from my ear and cleaned it with a pinky.
"Ah, a disgruntled customer. So who exactly am I speaking to?"
"It's me! Eddie!"
"Ah! Eddie! Finally got those jawbreakers yet?"
"What? What the fuck are you talking about?"
"Never mind. It's an inside joke." I said, "So, which Eddie is this? With how common the name is and how unimportant you are to my life, it's often easy to forget."
"You bastard! It's me! Eddie Skeevers!"
I blinked. "Oh – yeah. You're the guy from that minor crime family that started muscling in on Falcone and Maroni territory with your 'revolutionary' designs in drug smuggling. Didn't Tony Zucco bring up those plans in the first place?"
"Zucco's dead you fucking asshole!"
I blinked. "Ah, well. Unfortunate, but at least that means less competition for you."
"Are you fucking kidding me? The Falcone's want me dead, the Maroni's want me gutted, the fucking League of Assassins want me beheaded and I'm caught in-between a turf war with Penguin's Gang and Two-Face's gang! All because you asked me to smuggle a fucking crate!"
"Ah! Perfect!"
"How the fuck is this perfect?!"
"You said you wanted to create the greatest Crime Family in Gotham and rule it – so consider this your first test. If you can't get yourself out of this mess – you're not going to last very long."
"YOU FUCKING –"
BLAM!
There was the unmistakable sound of a bullet going off, at an incredibly close range too. Consequently, the phone line went dead. Well, there went one more customer.
OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!
OMAI WAE MOU –
"Hello, you are speaking to entrepreneur and professional criminal consultant, the roguishly handsome and talented Zed Rander. What can I do for you?"
"Rander you fucking piece of shit!"
"Ah! Mickey! The Mink himself. How's my favorite Irish head of the Sullivan family doing?"
"I'm the only head of the Sullivan Family, and I'm pissed enough to send my boys down to pump lead into that skull of yours!"
I frowned. "Come on now Mickey – I held up my end of the deal didn't I? You found the crate that Skeevers was smuggling didn't you?"
"You said there'd be weapons inside of it!"
"Aren't there?"
"No! This is – what the fuck is this shit anyway - Chinese cartoon porn! What the fuck am I supposed to do with Chinese cartoon porn?"
"Ah… actually, that's Japanese hentai – I think our man Skeevers may have smuggled the wrong crate."
"And I think, the world is going to be down a consultant by the end of the evening."
"Actually, that'd be nice – but you see – I already kinda cut a deal with Akahara-san of the Yakuza. Your goons did some stuff in Chinatown that they weren't too pleased about, so… they should be probably be ambushing you right about now."
Silence.
"You didn't –"
"Omai wae mou shindeiru – paddy."
I levitated my cup around, allowing the coffee to settle over the sound of automated gunfire and distinctively Japanese yells, before, once more, the phone went dead.
OMAI WAE –
"Hello! You have reached the sexy and fabulous Zeddicus Zul Zorander – Criminal Consultant Extraordinaire – what may I do for you today?"
"Zetto Randa – you are dead man."
I grinned. "Akahara-san! How's my favourite Japanese Yakuza Boss doing?"
I idly hummed one of Fairy Tail's opening theme songs in my head, as I sat down backstage and watched the proceedings of the show from the camera and sound check crew behind.
"Mr. Dreyer – the cappuccino you asked for –"
I turned my attention to the young intern, and nodded before taking the cup from his hands. I sipped. The sensation of heat had long become accustomed to my tongue. It was strange, realizing that I could eat and eat and never actually get fat. Gamer's Body came with a ludicrously impossible metabolic rate, which was, more or less, connected directly to buffs than it was anything else.
I watched the proceedings around me, the sound crew doing their best to ensure that the program went smoothly, the bright, red 'On-Air' sign hanging ominously behind them as a reminder that they were responsible for what the entirety of Gotham would see and hear. In another life, or perhaps, even in this one, I wondered if I would ever take up this sort of job. To hang from behind the scenes and operate the program, or to take center stage as the host with a luminescent smile and an audience paid to laugh at my jokes and clap at my words.
Probably not.
"Mr. Dreyer, sir, you're on in five."
I nodded, before I swiveled around the chair I was on, and stood, my clean-cut Business Suit of the God of Industry feeling snug, comfortable and warm in the relative cold winter of Gotham. Of course, enchanting a business suit to be bullet-proof, explosion-proof, water-proof, knife-proof and also enchanting the fabrics to stop and absorb all latent incoming kinetic energy in the manner of a certain Black Panther would be considered as insane by some, but it was time well spent as far as I was concerned.
"…and we have a special guest tonight folks! He's one of Gotham's two youngest billionaires, but, he's a new player in the game, with his net worth striking a heavy ninety-seven billion dollars despite his company only existing for thirteen years!"
I stood, rolling my eyes at the audience's clearly exaggerated sounds of surprise and awe.
"Some of you here may know his company – considering how it's been building schools and universities all over Gotham, renovating old homes and creating new places to live, funding scholarships and research works, and hey – it's even got its own newspaper division and cereal!"
This world had been in desperate need of more cereal options.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to welcome, the mysterious and enigmatic founder and C.E.O. of Legend Industries, in his first ever appearance on any television program – Makarov Dreyer!"
I did not walk forward. I strode. The ground could have well been water and it wouldn't have made a difference to the amount of effort I put into being as elegant as possible. If one were to look up the dictionary definition of the word 'Gentleman', they would probably have found a picture of me in that moment.
Of course, there was a significant difference between 'Zeddicus' and 'Makarov.' Whilst both had blond hair, Zeddicus' shade of blond was platinum blond, whilst Makarov was a darker, thicker, almost golden blond. Zeddicus had soft, elegant, dare I say it, 'bishounen' features, whilst Makarov had a manlier, rugged appearance and a more heavily built shape in contrast to Zeddicus' slender-muscle. The slightly thick beard Makarov had was also a difference, and the fact that 'Makarov' had green eyes instead of blue was another distinguishing feature.
Oh, and of course, 'Makarov' was 29 years old, and not 21.
I smiled as I walked up to the host, shaking the hand of the person whose name was not worth my attention, and then comfortably taking a seat. The show, Gotham Tonight was some localized version of the numerous celebrity talk show programs that seemed to pervade television these days. Still, I had decided to acquiesce to the interview, because, as it stood, it was about time for me to make a move.
"So, Makarov – mind if I call you Macky? – Tell us –"
The questions, for the most part, were predictable.
"What is the secret to your phenomenal success?"
"Did you ever have any role models?"
"How do you spend your leisure time?"
"Is there anybody special in your life?"
My answers, in turn, were just as obvious.
"Dedication and the ability to take risky, insane decisions."
"Yes, I am my own role model."
"Relaxing, playing video games, travelling and I suppose a bit of chess at the side.
"Not at the moment, no. I'm not quite ready for the settled life."
However, there was a purpose for this, a purpose which I would make outstandingly and overwhelmingly clear, the purpose, of course, which came from the seemingly innocuous question of 'anybody special'.
"Ah, you here that ladies! That's another handsome billionaire out there who's single!"
There were cat calls from the audience. Cat calls, to which, I ignored, and waited, waited, until the question was asked.
"Speaking of billionaires – tell us Makarov, have you ever interacted with Gotham's first son – and what is your opinion of him?"
BINGO!
I took a deep breath, and immediately, I sat up.
There was a sudden silence that completely permeated the entire stage, filling the audience, and even the host himself with my sudden change in posture and demeanor. They could tell, like starving vultures failing to find a dead carcass – that something had changed, the natural order had been disturbed.
"No, I have not had the pleasure of meeting Bruce Wayne. And as it stands, I would prefer it remains that way."
You could almost hear the pin drop.
"Ah – er – wow. That was –" The host seemed flustered. "Is there any… bad blood between Legend Industries and Wayne Enterprises?"
I shook my head. "You seem to misunderstand me. Although we may be competitors, my… dislike, is not necessarily for Wayne Industries, as it is for Bruce Wayne himself."
"The first son of Gotham?" the host asked, perplexed.
"Yes, that one." I said, leaning back into the chair. "You see, this is a matter of principles. I got to where I am today, becoming Wayne Industries biggest competitor with my own sweat and blood. I started Legend Industries when I was sixteen. Thirteen years ago – I clawed my own way to the top, biting through until I became the success that I am today. Now tell me, what exactly has Bruce Wayne done?"
At the audience and host's confusion, I clarified.
"As I said, it is a matter of principles. Wayne Enterprises has existed in Gotham for the past 200 years. As it stands, Bruce Wayne did not so much as work to get his company, as he did sit down and have it handed to him on a silver platter."
The Host cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not quite sure that having your parents murdered in front of you is considered a silver platter –"
I waved my hand dismissively. "I, too, am an orphan. The difference between myself and Bruce Wayne is that I acquired my success in spite of it, and not because of it."
There was silence, and I knew that I had them.
"Speaking of the Wayne Industries and family – their presence has been in Gotham for the past two hundred years. Two hundred – and yet, what do we have to show for it? Rampart crime and poverty, political corruption, inept police forces, and on and on the list grows. You would perhaps think, that the presence of an international billion dollar corporation like Wayne Enterprises would at least, make Gotham a shining city set on a hill – but it isn't. It hasn't."
I shook my head. "In thirteen years, just thirteen years, Legend Industries has done almost as much for this city, as Wayne Enterprises in two hundred. If that doesn't make you question what motives Bruce Wayne truly has for this City – then nothing will."
XXXXXXXX
The cave was illuminated with numerous lights. It was often drafty, with cold winds rushing in through numerous crevices and openings, and the steep drop down into a small lake providing an updraft. This didn't stop the man who stood in front of the machine. If anything, the cold wind was more of a comfort to him than it was a disadvantage. The computer made numerous noises and sounds, whirring, tinkering, processing, even as the man clad in black stared, eyes unflinchingly fixed against the monitor.
"You know, I have been considering moving your bed down here – perhaps the sight of it would suggest the reminder that abstinence from sleep is not your superpower."
Another man entered, the elevator he departed from closing silently, his left hand occupying a tray filled with numerous edible treats and a cup, alongside other ingredients needed to prepare tea.
His response, was a small, noncommittal hum.
The man with the tray sighed, being much older, he moved with a grace that was tremendous for his years, and instead continued with his duties.
"I suppose I am I to take it that there is another venture which requires your immediate attention and me serving breakfast once more in this dreary cave?"
A brief, solitary nod. The man cloaked in black collected the cup of tea, before turning his attention back to the screen.
"There's a pattern."
The older man rose an eyebrow.
"A pattern?"
Another nod, before, the computer screen brought up pictures of numerous individuals, before providing a big red 'X' placed on them.
"It's been subtle, but in the past four months, there have been a series of coups in the Crime Families of Gotham."
He turned his attention to one of the most recent ones.
"The Sullivan family was completely destroyed by the Yakuza just today. Yet, two months ago, the Sullivan family was embroiled in a turf war with the Maroni's – a war which ended in a tie with both sides suffering heavy causalities."
The computers then pointed to another group.
"Before that, the Maroni's were violently going against the Moxons, and before that, the Moxons were at it with the Ibanescu. Most attacks and takeovers happen in the form of ambushes, with either the leaders or key members of a family being in a position that's disadvantageous to them, but advantageous to someone else."
He pulled off his black, pointed cowl, revealing dark hair and a face marred into a scowl.
"What's most disconcerting… is when the takeovers happen. It always coincides with a bigger, more dangerous event, an event in which I would have to focus on rather than the gang disputes… ensuring that there's no possible way I would be able to intervene."
The older man caught on. "You think… someone is… deliberately orchestrating this?"
The man in black nodded. "The Sullivan-Maroni turf war happened while I was on League business. The Maroni-Moxon turf war happened when I was on League business. The Moxon-Ibanescu scuffle as well – all of it, occurring quickly and swiftly, and wrapping itself up before I returned, with more and more Mafioso dropping dead, and with fewer crime families in Gotham."
The older man sighed. "I suppose it's too much to expect it to be a mere coincidence."
"There are no coincidences in our line of work Alfred."
Alfred, to his part, merely sighed once more. "Should I contact Master Grayson? I'm sure he would be willing to take some time away from Bludhaven –"
"No."
"Then perhaps young Master Drake would be willing to depart from the Titans for a brief period –"
"No." The word again, but slightly more clipped.
"Ah, I suppose that only leaves Miss Gordon then. She was complaining about how utterly droll her senior year has been so far –"
"Alfred –"
"Perhaps Miss Kane then? Or would you prefer Master Fox?"
"I'll handle this on my own Alfred."
"As much as I revere your work-ethic and determination Master Bruce, I am afraid omnipresence is a device we have yet to affix to your utility belt."
Bruce Wayne, as he was, shook his head. His eyes instead clocking back to the screen, and narrowing slightly. "I don't need to be everywhere. I just need to be at the right place, at the right time. As it stands, Falcone and Maroni will soon realize that they're being played, pushed and dropped like pieces on a board. Once that happens – they'll be out to find this person."
"And I suppose they're not quite going to invite him to sit and drink tea."
He nodded. "I simply need to find him before they do, and –"
"…though numerous people have called into question the words of Legend Industries' C.E.O., a shocking discovery makes itself clear that there were no hyperboles in his speech."
Both men turned their attention to the computer, particularly the aspect of it that was on the local news.
"Master Bruce… isn't that the alert you set up to discover whenever your name was mentioned controversially in the media?"
"It is."
"I've never seen it come up before."
A slow, laborious nod.
"Neither have I."
"… as many call into question the truth about Wayne Enterprises role, or rather, lack of a more profound role in the city of Gotham, darker truths begin to bubble after an interview with an anonymous employee of Wayne Enterprises was released to the public, with admissions that Bruce Wayne has been less than the perfect C.E.O., and has, on numerous occasions, been missing from his office for days, weeks or months at a time, with no justifiable explanation given…"
XXXXXX
A small part of me, remnants of the moral compass I previously possessed, felt bad for poor Bruce. I'd opened up a can of worms that would not, and could not easily be sealed or closed. Still, it was needed, and it would only be a matter of time before the dominoes began stacking and everything fell. I wonder what excuse Bruce would give to justify his month-long absences, when he was usually out of the planet with the Superfriends.
Still, the drive back to my work of residence was incredibly more upbeat than I thought. The sleek feel of my Lamborghini Huracan that could go from zero to sixty in two-point-eight seconds and had a max speed of 201mph was capable of making the trip a speed fantasy, which was only accelerated by my own feeling of euphoria.
Thirteen years was a bloody long time. Ever since that day that it all began, the day I decided on my goal, the day I chose my mission, time seemed to advance at a snail's pace, yet, paradoxically, at the same time, it blurred so fast.
Real life didn't have any annoyingly tasking time-skips, unfortunate as it was, and I lived out those thirteen years with a slow, methodological step-by-step process which included having more than one identity, being incredibly careful in generating information and false pasts for these identities, even complete with fake childhoods, faux hospital records and people with false memories.
Then, I had separated both identities.
Makarov Dreyer was the consummate business man and professional. He was sharp, blunt, cutting, and had a no-nonsense attitude backed up by a serious, 'it's all business' persona. Makarov was the part of me that acted my actual mental age of thirty-seven, and the part that was goal-driven to the completion of my ultimate goal.
Zeddicus Zul Zorander however –
The car blazed by on full throttle, and I grinned as I watched the skirt of a woman fly up and give me an excellent panty shot.
Zeddicus was more or less – the wild me. The free me. The fun-loving part of me who remembered, that there was no point in sleeping with women and killing alien god beings if I couldn't have fun doing it. Essentially, Zeddicus was me being me – the amorous, untamed, pseudo-insane philanderer, womanizer and general overall asshole.
When you had Acting as a skill which as fully maxed out, I could play both roles nigh-perfectly and lived as though I was the world's greatest method actor.
I did have a third persona/alias… but… well… that was more or less the 'me' that the Joker and Trevor Philips would pat on the back and call their greatest drinking buddy. Basically – it was the 'me' that would slit throats in a dimly lit room with candles, while having an erection at the sight of the dead woman's gargling attempts to survive.
I didn't 'use' that persona unless I really needed to.
Keeping the separate identities however, was somewhat of a chore. Different lives meant different homes, different places of work, and different active times, different social circles, different rules as to what was appropriate and what wasn't – and on and on the list went.
Thank you Gamer's Mind for helping me sort through it all.
It was originally out of amusement that I took up the occupation of a Criminal Consultant. It was more of a subtle nod to James Moriarty of my favorite depiction of the British detective Sherlock Holmes than it was anything serious. Of course, as I didn't really need money in one way or another, and ultimately the job was more or less a farce which allowed me to manipulate and set up the gangs and change the hierarchy of the Gotham Underground in one way or another. At least, whenever one of the organized Crime Families came up to me and decided that they were in need of an easily disposable informant.
Other than that, the other 'customers' I had gotten were from overzealous gold diggers trying to find out ways to best kill their spouses or parents and inherit their fortunes, or groups of amateurs and rookies with delusions of grandeur about becoming the next Falcone. Once or twice, people who wanted to 'disappear' would arrive seeking help, and it'd be child's play to use one of my contacts and whip up a fake passport, solving their problems with ease. The pay for this was actually ludicrously good, but when you were a walking Philosopher's Stone, the zeroes added to the back of a string of numbers was superfluous.
Eventually, the line between "Consultant", "Organizer" and "Informant" began to blur, as I hired and took up many of the idiots that came my way with delusions of grandeur. I ensured that the all the rich golddiggers I'd aided in one way or another remembered their debt to me and pulled strings when I told them to. The only legitimate thing I'd done was the Private Investigator bit – which, honestly, was almost too easy. I solved missing cases in less than half a day – and a cursory use of Gamer's Vision would always confirm whether the spouse was cheating or not.
Spoiler: They always were.
I pulled the car into the driveway of my office building complex, and let a slightly bemused sigh escape my lips. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that a Criminal Consultant was most certainly not needed in a world of geniuses. Nearly every superhero or supervillain was a genius in one way or another – masters of disguise, espionage, assassination, combat, etcetera.
Even the crazies like the Joker and Harley Quinn had genius-level intellect. What in the world would they need a criminal consultant for that they couldn't figure out themselves?
Hence, I hadn't actually gotten any real supervillains who needed my 'consultation' and instead, I had been sticking to the crime families – eliminating them one after another by helping position them in strategically deadly places. Kind of like I was playing Shadow of War and determining who went up and who went down – except, there was no pesky revival feature for the ones who were killed.
Still, I felt it'd have been amusing if a member of Batman's rogues gallery actually came to me for consultation. With their genius intellect – I could only imagine that they would need help on something actually challenging.
"Speaking of genius intellects… Status."
Name: Isaac Zachariah Cabrera
HP: 35,250/35,250
MP: 43,112/43,112
Level: 47
Age: 16 (Appearance: 21)
Race: Human (Homo Magi)
Occupation: Private Investigator, Consulting Criminal
Current Title: The Consultant
Current Alias: Zeddicus Zul Zorander
Aliases: Zeddicus Zul Zorander/Makarov Dreyer/Salem Spellman
Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Gotham Nightlife Association, Gotham Criminal Underground, Gotham Magical Underground
Base of Operations: Gotham City
Alignment: Neutral
Identity: Relatively Known
Citizenship: American
Education: Criminology Degree, Psychology Degree, History Degree, Business Degree, Law Degree, Biochemistry Degree, Physics Degree, Robotics Degree, Medical Degree
EXP: 1,293,043/1,350,000
Money: $97,960,000,000.00
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: 912
Vitality: 2732
Dexterity: 1093
Charisma: 1023 [TOGGLED – OFF]
Intelligence: 840 [TOGGLED –OFF]
Wisdom: 403 [TOGGLED – OFF]
Luck: 349 (+50) [TOGGLED – OFF]
Status
Buffs:
N/A
Debuffs:
N/A
Foils:
(Tragic Origin Story: +50 Luck, +50% Random Encounter Rate of the Heroes/Villains of the world)
(Magical Cost: Hubris)
Boons:
General
(Raised by Strippers: +35% Reputation Gains with Women, +60% Resistance to Seduction Tactics, +60% Boost to Dancing and Seduction Skills)
(Red Light Child: +65% Reputation Gains with Strippers, Prostitutes, Call Girls, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Bouncers, Thugs and the Criminal Underbelly)
Zorander Boons
(Criminal Mastermind: +10% Reputation Gains with Criminal Elements of the world)
(Amoral Consultant: +20% Reputation Gains with Criminals and Evil Characters)
Dreyer Boons
(Rugged Gentleman: +50% Reputation Gains with Women, +25% to all Reputation Gains)
(Billionaire, Genius, Philanthropist, Entrepreneur: +50% to all reputation gains)
Spellman Boons
(Nullified Morality Compass)
(For the Evulz)
Bio
Isaac "Zack" Cabrera, is the world's most reclusive sorcerer who possesses the goal of conquering the world of masks and capes. To do this, he has created three separate identities that will contribute in his grand master plan of slowly, but surely, overthrowing the world. Learning from his previous hubris, Zack wishes to conquer the world in a slow and calculated manner, to avoid any unexpected occurrences. Of course, there is no point in having a life's goal without having a little fun at the side, and Zack is content with spending his wealth, living frivolously, sticking his dick into anything with a pretty face and a skirt, and generally causing subtle chaos and mayhem wherever he goes in his path of conquest.
I'd long since broken the system. There were no annoying nerfs, no ridiculous reasons as to why I shouldn't have become this powerful in thirteen years, and as such, I had become as strong as I was. Of course, this power had come thankfully with the ability to toggle limiters on my ludicrously expanding stats – if not, my natural charisma would cause quite a stir in Gotham, or my luck would have caused a series of unending string of events to happen to me in one way or another, not all of which were particularly good.
I alighted from my car, beeping the button on the remote and getting the familiar sound of the door locks engaging, before I briefly waved my hand and felt a significant drop in my mana pool. Alteration worked its magic, and the Lamborghini metamorphosed into a plain black sedan with no one ever the wiser. With that complete, I patted down my suit and began the way to my office. The entire apartment complex – Illumination Plaza – was actually mine, I had bought it and owned it under a shell corporation, but, I used only one room in the complex as my office, and the rest of the rooms were either occupied by people who didn't even know that they were employed by me. There was a laundromat on the ground floor which I had installed as a brief homage to ISIS –The fictional Intelligence Agency, not the terrorist cell – then the top floors were filled with generally what you would find in this sort of office complex – accountants, brokers, loan sharks and what not.
At the center room in the second floor, was my office.
Zed Rander
Private Investigator and Professional Consultant
I made my way to the door, before stopping just as my hand reached the knob.
The Minimap clearly displayed that there were two dots in my office. Red dots.
I grinned. Damn I needed to start upgrading security in this place.
"Well hello gentlemen!"
As expected, the men were in suits, and equally as expected, glancing up to their heads confirmed to me just who these men were.
"Are you Zed – Zed Rander?"
I grinned even more. "Actually, no, my name is Richard Rahl. Zed Rander is on the next floor."
They both paused, stopping to stare at me, and I sighed.
"You know – it's kind of annoying when no one ever gets your references. I mean, really, what passes for entertainment in this place? You have Shakespeare, Chaucer and Marlowe, Yeats, Wordsworth and Elliot, and hell, even Lewis and Tolkien – but nothing else?"
The two men turned to look at each other, before turning back to me in what was clearly confusion. "The Boss would like to have a word with you –"
"Of course he would. Considering how paranoid that old fuck is." I sighed. "But I guess you don't get to run the largest crime family in Gotham City without being a little twitchy."
Two guns were now pointed in my face.
"The boss would like to have a word with you… now."
I rubbed my nose and sighed.
"Please – don't do that. Don't point a gun at me in my own office. Killing you isn't worth the experience points, and I'd like to assume that you have families who may or may not miss you."
"Enough. We're taking you along with us to see the boss and it'd be best if you just –"
One of the men moved forward to grab me, and I rose one hand in objection.
"Don't touch me unless you want to die. No, really. Don't."
He snorted.
To be fair, I did warn him. I mean, honestly, it wasn't my fault that the idiot still attempted to grab me. Hence, I could not be held responsible in the slightest, when he dropped to the floor, motionless. I sighed, patting my suit, whilst turning my gaze to the second man who was present, and who was now clearly shaken as he pointed his gun in my direction.
"What – what the fuck – WHAT THE FUCK – what did you just fucking do?!"
I shrugged. "Intent-based, Soul Vanquishing Suit. You have to have a wisdom score that's at least one-fifth of mine to resist. Unfortunately for your friend here – he seemed to be lacking in that aspect."
I snapped my finger, a brief mental command of Alteration and gone was the body, and in its place, was a beautiful potted plant. I ignored the shaking man, before carrying the potted plant and putting it on the allocated space for it behind the window, along with about fourteen more which were there.
"Huh, I'm kind of running out of space."
I turned to the only other man in the room with the gun.
"Where would you like?"
He stared at me, shaking. "W-w-w-what?"
I rolled my eyes. "I'm asking you where you would prefer your corpse, reincarnated as a potted plant, to be placed, in my office."
Silence.
"T-t-t-he w-w-w-indow?"
I nodded.
"Good choice."
I shot my hand out.
"Soul Drain."
A few minutes later, when there was a shiny new plant enjoying rays from the afternoon sun on my window, I sat in my chair, before slowly humming the Game of Thrones opening theme in my head, with a cellphone I had taken from the body of the second mook now in my hands.
"Is it done? Where is the Consultant?"
"Ah! Carmine "The Roman" Falcone! If it isn't my favorite head of the Falcone family! How nice to finally have a one-on-one chat with you."
There was silence.
"The Consultant."
I swiveled on my chair. "Oh, is that what I'm being called now? Catchy."
"What did you do to my men?"
"You mean the gifts you set me? I've set them up. Thanks for that by the way, they really add a certain ambiance to a room."
"You have no idea as to who you're dealing with here boy –"
"You know," I brought my voice to a dangerously lower tone. "I was about to tell you the exact same thing."
I stood.
"You see, Carmine ol' pal, had you simply gone on your way without bothering me, I would have merely left you alone for the time being. You see, there are flies and worms on this planet who I judge as more important to me than you are – in the grand scale of things, you're like a sardine at the bottom of the sea who believes himself to be Poseidon."
"You dare –"
"And I am going to show you, Carmine. I am going to educate you, slowly, painfully, until you realize your folly, until you realize the price of your own arrogance and ignorance. Until you beg for mercy, until you plead and cry – and until you comprehend, that you're not a god amongst men –"
I chuckled.
"You're an amoeba."
I crushed the phone in my hands, before patting away the remains.
Sighing, I stood up, with the realization that a lot of people were going to die this night, and a few women were going to be raped. Also, it was about time Nezumi – my zombie butler rat came back from his training session in my Hell-themed instant dungeon. He'd been grinding there for almost six years now.
I turned my attention to the potted plant on my window, before humming. It really did add to the décor.
"Yeah, I'm gonna call you Phillip."
And with that, thus began my first act as a true megalomaniacal supervillain –
Watering Phillip the Potted Plant.