(Edited with Grammarly on 11/6/25)
Heavy cigarette smoke mixed with the pungent stench of musk and soured dreams. The room was dim and flickering from the old overhead lights, struggling to even make it one more day. Filing cabinets lined the wall, rusted and creaky. Paper stacked precariously on its surface, leaning slightly off to the side. In the middle, there sat a rough and beaten-up desk.
A pair of crisp black dress shoes propped atop its surface without care, the small bobble-head figurine nodded with every movement. A massive grin stretched across its surface, chest puffed out, hands resting on non-existent hips, and legs spread in a wide stance. Red cape rigid and 'floating' in an unseen breeze. That iconic red, stylized 's' with a yellow backdrop completed the image of the object.
"You're not hearin' me." The man dropped his feet to the ground, leaning in close as he held up a faded gray phone to his ear. A hand flickered out and dislodged the long curly cord from getting tangled up. A lone tooth gleaming with gold as it flashed in and out of sight. "You could earn the big bucks with what I got! Money that'll make Red look like a complete chump change!"
"…." He waited on bated breaths, a low murmuring leaking out from the receiver. "Of course it's not dangerous! You'll be doing the exact same thing as you've already been doing in Red! At most, your opponents are going to be other people from Red, but other than that? You should be able to completely wipe the floor with them! Just think of it, easier fighters, more money, and….I really shouldn't be telling you this, but I heard from up the grapevine that there might be some VIPs watching as well. This could even be your chance to make some very lucrative connections. You did say you wanted out of that shitty mall cop job, right? This is your chance!"
A good lie is always layered with bits of truth. Of course, the Black was dangerous. The Circuit wasn't playing fair in the slightest with this new tier. Fighting dogs, drug addicts, and even makeshift weapons had made it an incredibly risky opportunity. Honestly, it was a good thing that that particular fact hadn't been leaked yet. For he knew the moment even a hint of it slipped, every fighter would avoid the tier for the death trap it was.
Sure, the reward was equally as lucrative as it was threatening, and maybe that was enough to keep most of them quiet….but he had no idea how long that would last. And hopefully, when all this came to light, none of the people he tossed in the fire would come looking to get their pound of flesh from him.
"I know this is new," He smiled oily, as though his prey was sitting right before him. An instinctual action, a grin here and a 'genuine' or 'comforting' expression there, was more than enough to cause someone to lessen their guard. And if his handsome mug wasn't enough, he had plenty of attractive underlings that wouldn't mind using their more womanly charms to work their magic. Anything to get them to agree. Preferably in writing, but something verbal would always do. He just needed that initial hook, and everything else would fall into place. "But just think about it! You know what people call mall cops, right? Police academy flunkies, that's what! I'm not trying to rile you up or anything, I'm just telling you how people think! You could find somewhere else to live, somewhere you won't have to feel embarrassed about bringing company over, and you'll actually be able to afford cigarettes that don't crumble at your touch or taste like absolute shit!"
Temptation was yet another tool in his trade; it would be better if he could connect with them on some personal level.
"Like now," To emphasize his point, the man slid open his drawer and pulled out a small case. From within, a thick cigar danced across his fingers. While still on the phone, he sniffed loudly for all to hear. Letting out a near moan-like breath, he continued. "I got a Cuban cigar here, a whole box. That good stuff, I know….How did I get them? It was a gift, of course, that turned into a habit….I won't do something crass like trying to bribe you with a whole box of cigars, but I'll tell you what, don't make a decision yet. Take a shower, get dressed in some nice clothes, and I'll come by to pick you up. And I, along with some ladies, will take you out on the town. Hop some bars and I'll show you some cigar lounges, the real high-class stuff….I didn't ask if you could afford that! It's on me, we've been working together for a while now, think of this as a sign of my appreciation! What do you say?"
"You'll do it? Great! I'll be by around eight-thirty...and I'm serious, wear something nice. I'm bringing some real quality women! See you then."
Hanging up the phone with an audible click, that 'warmth' slipped off his face like water splashing across stone. Grin turning colder and more malevolent as a lone gold tooth gleamed.
"Fucking wash-up." The man cursed, pulling out a small tool and clipping off one end of the cigar. Fidgeting around, he quickly found a gold lighter with a lone coiling snake embroidered across its face before flicking it open and allowing an orange flame to spring to life. Taking in a single, short puff, he allowed that smoke to roll down his throat and into his lungs. One moment, two, and on three, he let out a massive plume of grayish smoke. Shoulders slumping, his eyes narrowed. "Louie! Get your ass in here!"
Not even a second later, the door cracked open and a large man with a perpetually confused expression poked his head in.
"Yeah, Uncle Bautista?"
"Gather up some of the girls," Bautista didn't even try to correct or berate the giant; his nephew was never one for professionalism. Something that was beneficial when less-than-legal forms of persuasion were required. "Tell them we're going out and make sure they wear their good stuff."
"Okay," Louie said simply, his squarish jaw breaking out into a wide, lascivious grin. A certain glint entered his eye as he continued. "Can I get one? I swear I won't ruin them like I did last time, I swear! I was just surprised, that's all!"
"Hell no." The middleman shook his head vehemently, slamming shut that small box and slipping it into his inner coat. "Stick to smokes, you ain't ready for these. Last time, you fucking puked everywhere. You're the reason why I hired a janitor."
"That was a year ago, though!" The man puffed his chest out proudly, appearing far younger than his appearance might entail. "Just give me one more chance!"
"You'll get your chance tonight." He really didn't see things going any differently from last time; hopefully, there wouldn't be puke in his car. "Put on something nice... actually, let's go. I have to change as well."
With that, he stood up from his chair and made his way out of the office. Scooting past the massive guard, he strolled down the hall. Peeling paint and water stains followed him no matter where his eyes landed. Rough tiled flooring creaked under each step; an ugly red rug was all that was keeping the sound to a reasonable level. Something that was completely ruined by his nephew's heavy foot steps following close behind him.
Bautista let out a breath of heavy cigar smoke, really taking the time to just enjoy this small moment of heaven before interacting with the rest of the world. Going down a set of stairs and turning the corner, it was like someone had twisted a lemon in his mouth, and suddenly, he had to resist the urge to spit out his Cuban. There, standing with no regard or worry or even a hint of vigilance, were a pair of 'guards'. Guards he paid very good money to not talk and just look intimidating.
They, in all their wisdom, were openly sneering at some short figure nervously mopping the floor. Or at least trying, as each time the figure would finish mopping one spot, one of them would either step on the floor with their muddy boots, sprinkle a little bit of ash, or just spit to force the janitor to go back over that area again. And it seemed they were making it into a sort of game.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Honestly, he didn't give a damn that his guards were making things tougher for the janitor. If the guy wouldn't defend himself because he was fooled by their large statures, then it was none of his business. But what he did care about was HIS money. And how it was getting completely wasted by these losers who couldn't keep a positive balance in a savings account between the two of them! Did they have any idea how much it cost to constantly hire new cleaning staff because of them? Before, maybe he could've gotten some of his girls to come down and clean up the place every once in a while, but these two made them so uncomfortable to be around that he HAD to only hire male janitors.
But now, after all that, here they were still costing him more money than they already were? If they weren't messing around, the guy could've been done ten to fifteen minutes ago!
"B-boss!" The buffoon on the left straightened his spine, gut pronouncing itself louder as he did so. As though to appear busy. Followed only moments later by his more leaner companion, that vicious grin no longer in place. "Uh! We were just making sure they're supposed to be here! He's here a bit early, that's all!"
"Yeah!"
Idiot number two piped up, his voice a bit whiny like someone had given him a good punch in the nose he oh so desperately deserved. Possessing a face that not even a drunk mother could love, that nervous grin did nothing to hide his overlapping front teeth that only further emphasized his rat-like features.
If they thought sticking up for each other would get them anywhere, then they would sadly be mistaken.
"I don't care." He waved his hand dismissively at the pair, making extra sure to avoid shaking his ashes on the freshly mopped floor. "Let him do his fucking job so he's no longer taking more money out of MY pocket! Or do either of you two want to clean?"
"I can find some nice maid uniforms for them, the ones that ride up real high on their thighs."
Everyone froze and turned in unison, revealing an openly grinning giant of a man who didn't look the least bit embarrassed. In fact, he even had the nerve to send the two a single 'saucy' wink.
"…." He loved his nephew; he truly did. Right hand on the Bible and everything...but sometimes, that love was tested in strange ways. "What he said."
That threat, of being openly leered at by someone like Louie while being forced to wear something tight and revealing, hit far too close to home for either to risk. And as one, they locked their gazes forward, staying as still as a statue as they looked anywhere but the source of their discomfort.
"How much do you have left?" Holding back a derisive snort at the irony of it all, Bautista eyed the short figure, positively quaking in their boots. Dull yellow, rubbery boots that hiked up a good portion of their shins. Wearing a faded, but sturdy, navy blue coverall that covered up a good portion of their skin. Maybe at first, he would believe that they were a kid just solely based on their diminutive height...but just one look at his face was enough to dispel that notion. Even downcast, those hard lines over a heavily tanned forehead and at the corner of his eyes spoke of years of hardship. Possibly even some history as a druggie. Mix that with a beaten-up cap that did nothing to hide the wrinkled head devoid of anything but a few, desperately hanging strands of hair, and it was clear to anyone that this guy was hit with the ugly stick so many times that not even the most talented and/or skilled plastic surgeons could do anything but start over from scratch.
"I-" The janitor's voice cracked with a warble, and from just that simple opening of his mouth was enough to expose the multitude of yellow-nearing orange or brown stained teeth and a breath so rancid that it felt like he had gotten punched full force in the face. "I-I have this...and the upstairs to do...I swear it won't take any more than-"
"Shut up!" Bautista spat, leaning back from the disgusting bastard. The cigar tasted like absolute filth, bile nearly welling up from the back of his throat. Just breathing in the same air as...that was simply an impossible task he wouldn't dare allow his lungs to endure. "Just hurry up and leave! Don't even worry about mopping, just sweep and go!"
Without even waiting for the man to respond, he quickly brushed past them and almost sprinted away. Holding his breath all the way as he tried to escape the almost visible fog of funk, trying its damnedest to invade his body. Followed shortly by his nephew, who easily devoured the space between them and even surpassed him to reach the door ahead and forced them out into the open evening air. Taking in mouthfuls of comparably 'clean' air, even his usually chatty nephew, for once, had nothing to say.
***
The janitor nodded once to the pair of still guards before stumbling his way up those stairs with a broom in hand. Each step creaked under each of his steps, no matter how careful he tried to be.
After rising to the top and turning a corner, that air of anxiety faded. Like putting it on a nearby coat rack. Their spine straightened, shoulders relaxed, and gait turned deathly quiet. And with a cautious uptick in speed, he pulled that ethereal cloak around himself tighter. Rolling from one end of his foot to the other. Heel to sole while keeping the outermost part of his shoe hovering above the old tiled floor.
Muddy brown eyes flickered through room after room, passing many that appeared just as empty as the last, until finally his gaze fell on something of interest. One of the rooms actually looked fully furnished. With an actual desk, a few cabinets, and when he creaked the door open, the heavy lingering scent of cigar smoke smacked him in the face.
'Jackpot.'
Slipping inside, with all the grace of a serpent, he quickly scanned the room. Three cabinets forced into the far corner, a single window giving a frankly awe inspiring view of a wall of crooked brickwork, a lone plastic chair that looked a few sizes too small sitting in front of a sturdy looking desk raised up a few inches to give the occupant a sense of being looked down upon and a comfy swivel chair with it's height jacked up to the maximum. Stalking closer, he crept along the perimeter. Taking extra care to check for some safe or any sort of hidden cache, but alas, real life was not a movie.
Much to his disappointment, there was no hidden button to expose some hiding spot. Instead, all he found was a few receipts and a couple of tax forms. Instead of dwelling further on this, he only took out his phone to snap a few photos before ghosting along for anything else of note until his path eventually led him to the throne.
There on the desk, a series of knick-knacks lay littered across its surface. A Rubik's cube here, a pair of dice there, and of course, a bobble head toy of the physical god just across their little ocean of misery. It was rather odd to know a broker like Bautista was indeed a fan of Superman. Makes one wonder if his life would've been different if he had set up in Metropolis instead of this place. Would it be better? Worse? The world would never know.
Besides that, a simple blocky home telephone took up a good portion of the remaining space. Those bulky buttons and curly cord tangled up in a mess as they connected to a nostalgia-inducing handset. With a shake of his head, that childish urge to do something stupid was forced down deep into the pits of his subconscious.
Something like that could wait.
Pushing the chair aside, he crouched down and began to open every single drawer he could get his hands on. On the very bottom drawer, a massive yellow book made itself known, and with a casual but brief flip through, it was gently placed right back where it was. In another drawer, a thick stack of folders lay haphazardly. Opening one, he began to skim over it.
Countenance growing darker as he continued, and after being done with one, he picked up another and another. Only to come across a rather concerning pattern. Each vanilla folder was filled to the brim with random people's personal information. Names, date of birth, current residence, close family, spouses, known phone numbers, occupation, work history, estimated income, and even a quick bullet point step-by-step rundown of their normal days.
It was frankly, a scary amount of information for anyone to have. Especially so for someone as sketchy as this particular broker.
Searching, his eyes scanned over name after name until they finally locked onto someone familiar. A particular idiotic giant with a massive heart and a particularly weak sense of self-worth.
Despite just wanting to snatch this folder away and run for the hills. He knew it wouldn't be the best idea. If... no, when they find out that they had a break-in, they would comb over everything in case anything was missing. And if only a single folder was stolen, it wouldn't take a genius to suspect that their burglary had something to do with the now ex-fighter.
The guy might be strong and would fight till his final breath to protect his family, but he was still just a lone man. It would only take three men to overwhelm him, especially if they came at him all at once. He was no peak human, no martial arts master; he was just a decently strong human.
So with that in mind, if he wanted to keep this information out of more nefarious hands, there were only two options. Either stealing all of them, which in itself would prove difficult with just the sheer number of these documents. They weighed a decent amount, and sneaking them past the guards downstairs would prove fruitless.
That left destruction as the final option. Preferably, by lighting it all on fire. The nuclear option that would leave him in a heap of hot water if it ever came to life. In a city as old as Gotham, no one liked the idea of an arsonist running around. No matter how damp the air might be, most of the buildings were already only staying up due to pure spite.
Or maybe he could just dunk them in water? He had passed a bathroom, and while he didn't peek inside, there surely must be a toilet and sink. Given time, the ink wouldn't just bleed through, but with how cheap the paper felt, they would turn to mush. Making them useless.
Muddy brown eyes flickered over to the far window; it didn't look sealed up or anything. He could just dump them all outside and pick them up when he finally departed. A sure-fire way to get this information out of that man's hands….but the real question was, did he really want or need this information?
'Not really.'
Other than blackmail or surveillance, none of this was all that important to him. He didn't have a supercomputer that could store all this information and create profiles for each. Instead, it would likely remain stored in one of his cabinets and only be used if or when his path crosses with some of the people written there.
'Destruction it is.'
With that decision made, he continued his search. Opening a few more drawers did bring some results, primarily just some financial reports that he, of course, snapped a few photos of. But what really caught his attention was a small, lone, black notebook barely the size of his palm, just sitting in one of the remaining drawers. Flipping through, his heart surged as he came across a series of names and addresses. Along with dates and even a few monetary amounts, with question marks at the end.
It wasn't much to go on, but it was a start.
Snapping some careful and clear photos, he carefully slid the notebook back in place. With nothing else, he quickly stood to his feet and collected the massive pile of documents before making his way out of the office. Stepping carefully down the hall, he slipped into the bathroom and dumped them into the toilet. Both the bowl and tank. Stuffing them full, he then filled the sink before turning the hot water on and letting it go wild for just long enough to submerge them.
With his mind clear, he exited and began to make his way further back down the hall and descend those stairs with his broom in hand. Falling into that persona once more, shrinking in on himself and looking down at the floor with anxiety blanketing him. He ignored the glares burrowing into his back as he passed the twin guards, before taking the mop bucket and pushing it to another room.
After entering, Albert quickly pushed the bucket to the side and made his grand escape. Slipping through the back exit, he turned down an adjoining alley and disappeared into the darkening streets of Gotham.
***
"Now that's what I'm talking about." Bautista slapped his nephew's massive shoulder with a grin. "Dress up like that more, and I'll take you with me more often!"
"Really?" Louie looked down at the pristine suit tailored to his frame, maroon in color and shimmering slightly under the overhead light. "It's nice and all, but I don't see what's so special about it?"
"People will judge you based solely on your appearance." He felt himself go into lecture mode; it was his job to pass along this family knowledge to the younger generation after all. "If you can't afford a nice suit, they'll look down on you. And even if you get one later on, that first impression will speak louder than anything else you can provide. Keep that one and order two more. I know a guy who can get you a deal."
"Gee, thanks! Mom always told me yo-"
Breaking the warm air moment between the two, a sudden and loud ring entered the room. Fishing into his pocket, Bautista flipped open his phone.
"What?"
Here he was actually acting like an uncle for the first time in years, and the world just had to rear its ugly head to ruin it all.
"Ah," The voice replied, a little bit shaken and unsure, but they still continued nonetheless. "Bautista, sir? I am sorry, but I will be a bit late today. I had an appointment I needed to attend. I should be there in about an hour."
"….Who is this?"
"It's Johan, sir? I'm your temporary janitor until the agency can fill in for your...last one?"
"Oh….wait!" His heart froze in his chest. Dread so heavy that it felt nearly tangible filled him. "Didn't you guys already send one today?"
"….?" Even through the silence, Johan's confusion was clear to all. "No? I don't think so, I would hope the agency would inform me so I don't waste gas money-"
By then, he was beyond caring. Hanging up the phone, he turned his furious glance on his nephew, who shrank away instantly.
"We have to go, now!"
Maybe he would feel bad about snapping at his Louie later, but now, he could feel that anger boiling up to the surface.
"Wh-"
"Because that wasn't our fucking janitor!"