(Edited with Grammarly to clean it up a bit)
'Am I the bad guy here?'
That thought kept cropping its ugly head back up, each time an ethereal hand formed of sheer willpower was used to viciously squish it back into place. But Albert only needed to look down at his handiwork to bring those uncertainties back all over again.
There, curled into a tight ball, lay a grown man stripped down to a pair of dress pants and a faded button-up shirt. His suit jacket used to cover up those eyes that sent out burning beams of hate into the world. Around his legs, multiple layers of duct tape tied them together tightly enough that it was most assuredly uncomfortable. Having knees rub up against each other didn't really sound all too pleasant. Combine that with his arms held up high by the remaining half of duct tape and attached to a massive pipe, the man really did look like a victim in all this.
It didn't matter that, from a few clues, he'd killed some random homeless guy or if he was working for a criminal syndicate. In this moment and time, restrained in that way, with no background information, he was a victim. And Albert, being the one who put him in that situation, was the assailant.
If a caped crusader burst through a window right then, he wouldn't even have a chance to explain himself before facing a well-choreographed barrage of blows that would leave him bloody and broken on the ground.
'And with my luck, that might actually happen.'
[LCK: 25/45]
Glancing behind him, he peered long and hard at the surrounding windows. Making extra sure none of the curtains had mysteriously opened. Or anything 'unfortunate'. It had been quite a while since he'd drawn upon his providence to this extent, and it was making him very antsy. But it needed to be done. When he got to the top floor with some relative ease, this particular guard had been his greatest obstacle.
In simplest terms, 'Chicken Fingers' was either very lazy or good. As on the previous floors, the guards there at least got bored and moved around a bit. Leaving their station to smoke or go to the bathroom, or even going off somewhere just to get a new view. They weren't terrible, but it was clear that their shift was coming to a close. But when he first entered this floor, he'd only dipped behind a piece of furniture before settling in to wait. At the time, he had thought it was going to be the same as all the other floors….but the world had proven him wrong.
This floor only possessed a single guard, an apparently not very well-liked individual. But be that as it may, the guy was like a statue. Just standing at the far end of the hall with not a single thought through his mind. Even staying there for ten minutes, he didn't move a single time. Not to lean against the wall, to peer out behind the curtains, or even to take a sip of coffee. There wasn't even a shuffle!
With time ticking away, he'd been right about ready to hide out in one of the rooms until the guards switched over. Sure, he would be dealing with a more alert sentinel, but at least they would surely act more human than this man was being.
So when he'd heard some heavy footsteps coming up from the stairwell, Albert had stayed still as a statue as another giant of a man came waltzing out of the darkness. Even from just having him pass, it sent a shiver of dread down the teen's spine. That guy was dangerous, more so than a lot of the thugs he'd skimmed past that night.
If that was the new guard, then he was prepared to try again on a different night. So when he found out that this person was his boss, or at least the head honcho, he felt some relief fill him. It was just a middle manager dressing down their employee. An unwanted employee who had gotten in through unconventional channels.
In that moment, he took that newfound opportunity and crept his way forward. Using the head guards' impressive bulk to hide his movement as he ducked into a nearby doorless room. A break room, if he had to describe it, but with a lot of its chairs missing and only really having a single counter, which should've held a coffee maker or microwave. But it was high enough for him to snuggle up under, and there he waited for a good while. Hearing their chatter peter off, 'Chicken Fingers' was given a new task.
Body stilling once more, with his eyes squinted shut to avoid the whites of his eyes exposing him, those heavy foot steps passed his spot and continued on their way. Somehow, they sounded somewhat lighter as they stomped down those stairs.
Knowing that the guy was going to the head office, he knew he was going to need some sort of advantage to not get instantly caught and finally experience his first physical altercation in this world. And with the man being nearly double his own size, he really didn't expect things to go well. It was more likely that he would be tossed through a window than that he would come out on top.
So using his talent again seemed like the more prudent thing to do, and instead of some godsend weapon or time, he'd instead been met with a barely used roll of duct tape hidden somewhere in the molasses-like darkness.
Peeking his head around the corner, he'd seen the man turn back and begin to creep behind him like they were in an old cartoon. He is moving slowly in a greatly exaggerated manner, with his target none the wiser.
Maybe he'd grown too lax, or maybe his figure was caught in one of the nearby reflections, but whatever the reason, he barely had enough time to drop low behind another table. Pressing himself close to the ground, where the shadows came to swallow him whole. Backpack pressed in time, he silently counted the seconds away. Not even daring to breathe as the guard squinted through the dim lighting.
Spinning on his heels, the large man increased his pace. Most assuredly spooked by the strange happenings and waiting only a heartbeat, Albert followed quickly behind. This time, taking extra care, stalk him a few more steps behind. When his target disappeared around the corner, there was no longer a real reason to be so careful, so he scuttled his way over and peered around the corner. Only to see the man already opening a far door and placing a small bundle inside.
That's when his plans began to fall apart. As that entire wing didn't loop around back to the staircase like it did on every floor thus far. Instead, only a dead end lay ahead. Meaning, there was only one way in and one way out of that office. There would be an altercation, but how it went would solely depend on how well he could cobble together a decent plan.
Looking down at the duct tape in his hand and feeling that cold iron pressing up against his ankle, it was clear what the best plan going forward was. So, placing his backpack down, he'd taken a few quiet steps forward and turned a single knob open before dashing back with its surface covering his retreat.
The creaking sound that filled the deathly quiet top floor was near deafening and haunting to boot, like something heard in a horror movie, a precursor for the lone yellowed eye that would assuredly be peering out of the darkness. Heart thumping loudly in his ear, he slipped his knife out and readied himself. That ethereal cloaking tightening around him, its nature changing marginally. From prey to predator. Stanch shifting, shaking fingers stilling.
He didn't need to wait long for those foot steps to clatter their way, slowly and with some noticeable effort to appear stealthy. But in his ears, it all sounded the same. Counting those steps down, he slipped out and around as they dashed forward into the small closet. From behind, it was like those most critical spots were highlighted in his view.
Like a pair of spectral fingers were grabbing his eyeballs and focusing them on those particular spots.
The back of the man's neck, exposed and vulnerable. A single blow there would send him out of this world and into the next, quick and painless, too. He wouldn't even know what hit him. But as much as it would make things easier for Albert, and even if the guy was really guilty of killing an innocent person….he really didn't want to kill anyone. Naive, especially given how mercy in DC Comics was often rewarded.
But even then, with that risk, he knew he wouldn't sleep at night if he actually took this man's life. A threat then.
That turned his gaze lower, eyes zeroed in on his lower back. To the right, on the guard's dominant side, the very tip of the pocket knife was used as his greeting.
The rest was history.
Looking down at the thoroughly immobilized guard, he stuffed the stolen gun into his pocket and closed the closet door carefully.
'Please don't make me regret this.'
With the man dealt with for now, he quickly made his way further down the hall. Already feeling the time slip away. The shift change would happen soon, and if he couldn't get down to the bottom floor in time, he really didn't think he would be getting a second chance to do this now.
Once they found that guard, security would increase exponentially. Even from the outer rings, he expected them to tighten up their act with the force of a steel clamp.
Slipping into the room, he resisted the urge to turn on the overhead lights and instead began to rummage through the dark. Hands checking through couch cushions, fingers digging under every loose sheet of unreadable paper, and even going through the crash before forcing himself to still.
'This isn't going to get me anywhere.' He knew his clock was ticking away, and the stress was mounting. But going about it as he was now wasn't helping things in the slightest. Pulling up the corner of his mask, he breathed in long and slow, his lungs contracted as a steadying streamer flowed out of him. 'Turn on your light, towards the floor and away from any reflective surfaces.'
Doing exactly that, he took out his phone and finally turned on the flashlight. Taking extra care to avoid using his shoulders to block the one window in the door and the wall to block any excess light from peering out through the door light's panel.
With a much clearer mind, he slowly began to search once more. Still with urgency but no longer with that near panic-like state he'd once been in. From this, he still came across very little of actual note. A few lingering cigarette butts, condom wrappings, and even a few empty small plastic bags. But other than that, a majority of everything else was neatly placed in their assigned location. And the few filing cabinets he did come across were completely empty. More for show than possessing anything of value.
That only left one more place to check. A large desk sits in front of a window with dark curtains covering its surface. A lone home phone lay as the central piece, and a series of drawers lined either side of its legs.
'What are the chances they hide stuff in the same location?'
Opening the drawers one by one, he rummaged through each and came across a few notable items.
There, at the very bottom, was a very nice-looking handgun. A forty-four magnum revolver with a distinctly less modern appeal, ebony coated with a lone skull etched into its polished handle. Whistling silently, he held it up reverently. It was perfect. A nice weight, an excellent balance, and just the way his hand so easily formed a firm grip on the beauty, it was the exact sort of weapon he would love to tote around. Not now, his hands were far too small to handle something like... but later? When he was all grown up? This would do very nicely.
Just holding it made him feel like he was in the middle of an old western movie, where outlaws ran rampant and cowboys trotted into old dusty towns on the back of mighty steeds.
'I wish I could take you,' He sent those thoughts to the exquisite specimen, longing prevalent in his gaze as he reluctantly placed it back. 'But you're too beautiful for me.'
From how well taken care of it was, it's an older model, and etchings, caring something like that around would be like screaming out to the world that it was he who infiltrated the Circuit and held no concerns of any retribution they might enact onto his poor person. For that reason, it was why he'd foregone using his own gun when holding up the guard. Its pinkish handle was a very noticeable detail that he really didn't want getting back to him.
Closing that drawer up, he continued his search with a lot less enthusiasm. His eyes were continuously dropping back down to the drawer in question. Temptation gnawed at his self-control. With a shake, he forced himself forward. And unlike his recent find, there wasn't really anything of note.
Not even a single black book in sight, instead, there were just more condoms with a few packs of cigarettes and even a few rolls of tightly rolled up cash. Five-dollar bills mostly, but from his count, there was approximately eighty to a hundred and thirty dollars just casually left behind like yesterday's garbage. He closed it before his mind could even try to tempt him further.
'I am not a thief…' The statement sounded hollow, for why else was he even there but to steal documents? 'I will not steal cash or jewelry….unless I'm paid to do so.'
Slightly better, but it sounded a bit wrong. Pushing that to the back of his mind, he shifted to the next drawer. And the next, and the next, meeting with multiple knick-knacks that wouldn't really help him then. There was even an open plastic bag filled with a few pink capsules, his light highlighting the interior in a distinctly neon light. A single symbol of a tree was emblazoned across the bag's surface.
Snapping a few photos, he continued on. Who knew when that was going to be useful?
But even after a few more attempts, that looked like all there was in this desk. A big, fat nothing. With everything going on, his mental fingers 'itched' to press that cheat button and get the hell out of there as soon as possible. His talent was very useful in getting what he needed without even really trying, but he'd already used it two times, and dropping his providence below twenty seemed like a recipe for disaster. Who knew what might happen? Maybe the guard's restraints loosened, or maybe the roll of tape he'd gotten was frail and old, only requiring some brute force to snap them. And then what?
Sure, he had the man's gun and walkie-talkie, but that didn't really mean much when they were both surrounded by patrolling Circuit guards. One scuffle would easily attract their attention, and Albert would be in some real trouble then.
Besides, relying so heavily on an automatic win condition wouldn't allow him or his skills to actually grow. Hypocritical, he knew, since he used his talent not even a few minutes ago.
So instead of leaning on that, he actually tried using his deductive reasoning to find what he needed.
'Now if I were leading a secret, underground fighting ring that got big enough to attract the attention of the upper echelons while also being backed by one of them….what would I do?'
'Not do it, especially not in Gotham of all places.'
But that was his own meta knowledge coming into play, so he quickly threw all those thoughts out of the window. They wouldn't have that, so he too needed to be ignorant.
'I would know that my backer couldn't be fully trusted, after all, from my short meeting with some of their youths, even the nicer ones still held some level of disdain when dealing with me. Even if they tried hiding it. And I wasn't even a criminal….how would they treat a 'lowly gutter scum' like that?'
'Like I was a pet, a toy project. A source of amusement and a way for them to easily flex their power.'
Feeling constrained, he rose to his feet and walked over to the door. He tried to fully put himself in that position, trying to balance reward with pride. A middle manager, someone who pushed the numbers for more dangerous fish. Surrounded by all sides by thugs who he once cowered in the face of, who now looked at him like the paycheck he was. It was a stressful job, trying to manage all these fights, balancing the costs while trying to earn a large enough profit to not go crawling back to his backer.
Maybe they made him beg, or made him feel lesser each time he dared to pollute the elite's lungs with air infected by the 'poor'. But as for why he stayed? In a city as old as Gotham, criminal groups are a dime a dozen. One gang falls and five more pop up, bleeding each other to the last at the remains. No, if he needed to toss away his pride to cling to the leg of some spoiled brat, then so be it.
A sycophant, then, two-faced. A smile stretched across his face, congenial while hiding a sneer so pronounced that it was like he was screaming it out to the world. Eyes squinting, back hunching, he even moved to adjust the imaginary tie before stopping himself.
Stalking the room, he felt his muscles loosening. This was his safe space, an area where he could unwind without the ever-watchful eyes of people who would love to prove their masculinity. To prove that he didn't deserve to tell them what to do, that he was just some paper pusher and completely undeserving of the position he'd been placed in. Fools, the lot of them, who did they think started all this? Any of them would've been beaten to pulp well before they had a chance to proposition their backer.
All this, The Circuit, the fighters, the money, the headquarters, all of it was HIS. He made it; he was the one who tossed away his pride and many nights of sleep to make this work. So, why didn't he deserve a little bit of relaxation to ease the edge off?
Coming around the back, he pulled the chair out and took a seat. Eyes tired, tension leaving him as he leaned back and propped his feet up on the desk. Gazing up at the ceiling.
'Leverage.'
This sort of job, surrounded on all sides by enemies both, at his level and beyond, was stressful beyond belief. And to be so willing to get in bed with elites and thugs alike, one needed something to come out on top. To make it not so convenient to get rid of him completely. Something that would allow him to go free while leaving the blame on someone else's feet. Like a lizard leaving behind its tail.
His gaze met a metal grate, inky and dark.
'Jackpot.'
If he were to hide leverage anywhere, it would be somewhere he could get to easily but would be overlooked by all but the most observant of people. Behind a photo, in the lining of the desk...or in a vent.
Carefully, he scaled up onto the table. Straining on his tiptoes, he began to gently press into the grate. Bits of drywall came flying onto his mask, but with his goal so close, turning back now was no longer an option. The metal grate, light as a feather, didn't immediately come undone. The screws were loose, but it still had to finish turning them before what was left was a small opening. Barely big enough for an adult arm to rummage through.
With another hand, he checked inside and immediately felt his fingers nudge against a pretty thick object. Sliding it over, the holy grail lay before.
A black folder, almost a solid inch thick. Slipping it under his hand, he screwed the grate back in place and got himself down to somewhere a bit safer. Flipping open the holy grail, it was like golden beams of light came hurtling out and into his retinas. Each sheet was lamented. Neat and meticulous.
'If this isn't his insurance, it still has to be something valuable.'
But whatever it was exactly, it could wait until he was safely away from the place, and so slipping the folder into his backpack, he quickly began to make his escape. The shifts were changing after all, and it really wouldn't take long for them to notice 'Chicken Fingers' missing. But before he left the room, he placed the guard's items right there on the desk. Gun, wallet, walkie-talkie, and all. Anything that might connect him to this place.
Creeping into the deathly quiet hall, he pressed his ear to the closet door and heard some shifting within.
'If you were a nicer guy, I would've wished you luck.'
***
Things had been going well; Albert's exit met no opposition. The guards he slipped past barely even paid attention, their eyes glazed over as they waited on bated breath for their replacements to save them from this hell. And he'd even been able to exit through the same bathroom window, landing on the ground with not even a rustle to expose his position.
But when he'd just passed the inner circle and ducked beneath a broken-down porch, that's when everything went straight to hell. Peering down the alley, he could see the entire headquarters flash with light. One by one, dark rooms were filled with harsh white light until there wasn't even a single window not lit. And if that wasn't concerning enough, the multitude of shadows he saw flutter through the building was more than enough reason for him to skedaddle with his prize.
'Time for your time to shine.'
Reaching into his backpack, fingers trembling with nerves, he pulled out the bright red object. Beaten up and worn, it still looked beautiful to him. Its hour and minute hands weren't in sync, the lens cracked, and even its surface had multiple dents from fists being pounded into its face. Turning it in his hands, he instantly began turning the small crank on its back. Hearing gears whirl, he stopped just as audible clicking made itself known.
Breathing in that cool night air, he sprang forward into the night. Not towards the next alley, but down the sidewalk itself. Trying desperately to create as much distance as possible from the Headquarters. The sounds of men yelling out into the night slammed into his ears, but he didn't stop. Allowing his dark clothes to do all the heavy lifting as he traveled East. Lungs straining against his ribs, heart beating against his chest, he stopped right at the corner.
He took in heavy gasps of air and leaned out far enough, instantly spotting the patrol in complete disarray. Instead of that somewhat orderly group, they'd broken off into one-man teams as they kicked down door after door with guns raised. It seemed like they were in shooting mood that night.
'Some parkour would help me a lot right now.'
Despite how thoroughly they were searching, no one tried looking above them once. Showing they'd never dealt with someone like Batman or any highly trained vigilante. Pushing that thought aside, Albert dashed forward. Crossing halfway across the street before taking the clock in his left hand and chucking it as far as possible behind him. Aiming at one of the boarded-up windows, but hitting the side of the building instead. The bang dragged caused their group to freeze in place, but the sudden and harsh screech that followed was enough for them to completely shatter any semblance of discipline as they routed. Each scattering off by themselves, none of them even took a glance behind them as they fled into the night.
An opportunity he was not going to pass up.
'Best eight bucks I ever spent!'
Hunching low, he broke out into a dead sprint. Crossing the rest of the street and right through the next alleyway without pause. There was no way the guards this far out in the ring would actually go investigate such a cursed sound.
Just as he passed into the alleyway leading to his freedom, he paused. Quickly placing his book-bag down, he nearly tore the mask off his face. Blonde wig and all, before following it up with his black sweatpants and jacket, and then all up in a tight ball. With as much urgency as possible, he quickly replaced them with his previous clothing, even changing out his gloves for a pair of dark green ones. With everything together, the teen dunked them fully in a nearby puddle. Watching them soak through the fabric, he stuffed them into a nearby, overflowing dumpster.
That done and rubbing his eyelids with the palms of his hands, he calmly lifted the bag back on his shoulder and exited out of the alley mouth and onto the street itself. Exuding confidence as he walked with a purpose in mind, he instantly bumped shoulders with an early riser stumbling awake. Their eyes drawn and red-rimmed, most assuredly matching his own.
Not even acknowledging his presence, they pushed past him and into the early morning rush. Soon, he too flowed into the light traffic. Becoming nothing more than yet another forgettable face in the crowd. Leaving behind the chaos that was assuredly befalling the Circuit.