(Edited with Grammarly on 5/28/2026)
The cold air would've felt nice right about now, a sudden breeze to act as a palm to the sweat soaking through Albert's shirt. Should've run across his skin and quickly brought relief to his rapidly beating heart that sounded as if it had been taken out of his chest and brought right up to his ear. But instead, that thick smoggy mess did nothing but send icy daggers through his chest.
Cutting through his dried throat and running rampant through his poor airbags. So much so that even as out of breath as he was, apparently, he still had enough strength to begin coughing up a storm just a few moments later. Leaning on a nearby wall, he tried to bring himself back under control.
Everything hurt, from the soles of his feet to screaming calves, past his wobbly knees that felt like they would fall off with just an errant breeze, to a sore and probably rubbed raw spot right below his right hip, before finally ending off at his heart, which felt like it was going to explode at any given moment.
His hand reached down, fumbling at the root cause of his hip soreness. He unclipped the metallic water bottle... no, it was more of a jug than anything else, and tried to take only a sip. But the very moment that cool, delicious drop of ambrosia touched his tongue, any semblance of control flew out the window. And he began to chug, and chug and chug. Uncaring of the water spilling from the corner of his mouth, nor of the growing wet spot across the front of his shirt.
Forcing his lips away with a force of will, he took in heavy gasps of breath. Spluttering up a few drops as some of his faculties kicked back into gear.
'Who said running is good for you?' He spat off to the side as though that was going to help in the slightest before his gaze locked onto a nearby stoop. Surely, a short sit won't hurt anyone, right? 'No.'
The teen dragged his gaze away from the far too tantalizing trap, ignoring the siren call it seemed to admit as he began to slowly trudge forward. He'd fallen for that ploy far too many times, and the last time he'd needed help to get back up. Not this time.
What he needed right then was a distraction, something to occupy his mind long enough to trick his body into forgetting about its fatigue.
'Status.'
[Albert Nelson
HP: 20/20
MP: 10/10
SAN: 25/47
LCK: 45/45
IP: 4
Skills:
- Appraise: 28%
- Art/Craft (Photography): 55%
- Acting: 13%
- Disguise: 29%
- Dodge: 25%
- Fire Arms (Handgun): 62%
- Library Use: 60%
- Listen: 36%
- Navigate: 24%
- Occult: 35%
- Persuade: 7%
- Psychology: 54%
- Spot Hidden: 60%
- Stealth: 45%
- Psychometry: 24%
Talents:
- Resourceful
- Lucky
- Psychic Power
Cthulhu Mythos: 0%]
Looking over everything, a few things did make themselves known. Firstly, from whatever natural increase of his POW, it seemed that it pushed over the hedge and finally reached ten total MP. And if the calculations were the same, it meant his POW had to have reached fifty. Meaning, no more coughing up blood from an unlucky expenditure of energy from Psychometry. Completely and utterly making the skill far, far safer to use and train up. And combine that with his natural rate of one per hour…
'Oh yeah, I'm for sure using this on everything in my house.'
He'd been hesitant to outright abuse the skill before, but now? All he had to worry about was accidentally reading another extremely cursed item and shattering his mind...again.
With that said, his eyes dropped lower to see the still steadily falling SAN values. Like grains of sand slipping through his fingers. He should've been worried, and was in some ways. Particularly, he was concerned about the complete lack of signs. Where were his hallucinations? Is erratic behavior?
'Have...have I been acting strange?'
Other than that weeks-long fugue state, there was nothing that absolutely screamed insanity. He felt fine, really. And no matter how thoroughly he gazed through his memories, nothing of note really reached out to him.
But besides those two big updates, everything else seemed to be coming along nicely. And from the looks of things, Disguise and Appraise appeared like they were going to be the very first of his skills to reach thirty naturally. Of course, unless Dodge came out of nowhere to steal the spot, but he highly doubted it.
Both skills had some semblance of sense; he'd been abusing and stretching Disguise for all it was worth, especially with his Toby persona. And with his new method, it was only a matter of time before it broke through. And Appraise was the same, maybe a couple more items from the Madame, and he would be in the clear.
Finally seeing his home so close, he tossed those thoughts to the back of his mind. A pretend hot shower and new clothes sounded nice right about now. And maybe even a few more hours of sleep if nothing disturbed him. Fumbling for his keys, he quickly unlocked the door before glancing around at the much homier interior. The same couple of chairs were still circling a lone long table somewhere near the middle of the room, but something new had joined it. There, pushed into the far corner, sat a ragged couch. Covered in all manners of brightly decorated patches, some of laughing hyenas or smiling clowns.
A clearly better sight than when he and Harley stumbled across the abandoned furniture a few days ago. It had been during one of their somewhat regular morning jogs when she saw the thing just halfway hanging out of a dumpster. Along with a bunch of other amenities just haphazardly thrown somewhere close by. And from how thoroughly smashed the rather pricey WayneCube, along with a few disc fragments that had a few cartoon characters on them or the size ten men's shoes looking as if they'd been cut with a pair of scissors, it had to be the result of a break-up going terribly wrong.
The couch itself had a few stab wounds, leaking fuzz all over the ground like it better belonged on a crime scene, with even the wooden frame exposed thoroughly to the outside world.
Albert hadn't even spared the thing a second glance before trying to jog away from the sight, only to be stopped by an overly excited blonde just positively gushing over their good luck. Saying how good it would look in his home and how it would liven up the place, while also throwing in the fact that Red was for sure sick and tired of sitting in those stuffy office chairs all the time.
He'd tried to argue, saying how they had no idea if this couch had bugs or if something untoward happened on it. She'd only waved him off before getting him to help take the couch for themselves. All the while, she kept calling back to him, acting as if they were thieves and he was some sort of lookout.
And after a few random visits to clean and stitch back together the couch, it was now something usable. Enough so that even he felt comfortable enough to sit on it in short bursts...with a sheet atop it, of course.
But other than that? Everything else looked the same. So using the wall as a crutch, he began to make his way deeper inside. Passing the mostly unused bathroom and kitchen that was frankly beginning to reek. Maybe a mix of open cans of cat food was finally making themselves known.
'Should I tie up now, or later?' If he did it now, the bag would be sitting next to his back door as a constant reminder...but if he kept it hidden, he could still irresponsibly stuff the can with a few extra knick-knacks. After all, waste not, want not. But he quickly shook his head at that. 'No.'
A sign escaped his lips as he bent down on wobbly legs and began to act responsibly for once. He knew himself too well; it would keep being pushed back again and again until it became a problem. Whether that be acting as a critter magnet or the lining breaking apart and ending up with spoiled meat juice soaking into his shoes.
Ignoring how his back screamed or how his legs felt like they were going to rebel at any moment, or even how the scent alone was enough to trigger his gag reflex. But soon, after much struggle and even a double bag just to be on the safe side, he dropped it right next to his back door. Not just off to the side either, but right in the middle, so there was absolutely no chance of him 'forgetting' about it.
'Don't say I don't do anything nice for you, Future-Me.'
That done, he turned back to face the challenge ahead of him. Those dark and imposing steps, steeper than a climb up Mount Everest, and looking at the ascent was enough for his already weakened and frayed muscles to nearly fall apart altogether.
But instead of sitting back and accepting defeat, he began his climb. Not in a gracious way or anything. Crawling on both his hands and knees, he made some progress without much difficulties...in fact, he could maybe even call it somewhat enjoyable. From the way his gloved hands dug into the old and chipped wood, or how his knees pushed down on certain loose boards that let out a groaning creek.
That was, until the harsh and soul-rattling sound of his phone ringing blared to life. It was a tinny and high-pitched tone, something he made extra, extra sure to always turn off while he was asleep, or else the massive influx of spam or prank calls coming in would keep him up all night. And with him not really being home most of the time, it did make some sense why he hadn't grown accustomed to the tune.
He glanced up at the remaining distance, silently calculating how worth it the call might be...and ceremoniously continued onto his meandering pace. If it was someone he knew trying to get in contact with him, they had his personal number and had no real need to call his business phone. And if the person was truly desperate or was in the middle of an emergency, they could always just call the cops.
'They can leave a message.'
He'd already cleared everything out last night, so maybe it shouldn't be a problem, and with that in mind, the teen continued his pace. Leaving snails in the dust, completely uncaring, as the phone rang thrice more before beeping once and finally leaving him to wallow in the silence.
And after what felt like an eternity, he collapsed chest-first onto the rough wooden flooring. Taking this time to take a few steadying breaths, just appreciating his slowly contracting muscles. Shaking out his wrists and ankles, he pushed himself to his feet and made a beeline for his office.
Pushing open the door, he immediately flipped the light on before stalking around his desk while avoiding the boxes of papers strewn about. Just a few newspapers from a few states over. Magazines of the world's most famous people, or of high-class vehicles that the common folk like him could only drool over uselessly. Each of them were covered in ink. Circled, squared, connected with arrows in a logic that didn't quite make sense.
Even now, he couldn't quite figure out the thought process behind it all. While he'd been able to convince Harley not to toss out his beloved corkboard, she had forced him to take down a vast majority of the cutouts. And its place, a lone lost person flyer was nailed in the near center.
His own constant reminder, a small thing he would never be able to let go of easily.
Albert turned quickly, trying to avoid the large eyes silently smiling widely out at the world, before putting all of his attention on the lone red bulb flashing.
Clicking the button, he collapsed into his seat and tried to get comfortable. A sigh escaped his lips as all that fatigue no longer tried to hold back for his sake and instead simply let it all out.
'Yeah, I'm for sure not going to be able to move for a while now.'
It was a good thing then that he did have something of note to do.
"Hello? Hello?" The voice was muffled but did sound distinctly masculine. Shuffling could be heard as their volume increased suddenly. "Hello? Oh, a message, okay. Look, man, I've been trying to get a hold of you for days now, and now you're starting to piss me off!"
Ah, that's why they sounded so familiar, and suddenly it took all of his self-control not to delete the message before it ever had a chance to finish. He could at least hear the man out, but it already wasn't looking good for them in the slightest.
"I've been telling you how important this news is, and you're just keeping on dodging me!" Here, the strain in their voice was clear to hear. And maybe it was even tinged with a tiny thread of madness. "Things...things have been progressing on my side and not in a good way. Even making this phone call was already such a massive risk! Who knows who could be listening in right now? I need some help, dammit! No one will ever believe me, and everyone else I turned to all called me mad! My money is good and everything! Look, if it helps any...I found a few clues that could help us! Help me unmask Batman for my paper, and I'll put you and your organization down as co-authors! This will be my last time reaching out to you. If you don't want to be on the right side of history, then so be it! I will do it myse-"
[Case Opened: Unmask the Bat!
Description-
'NO!'
Before the message even had the chance to fully form, he quickly hit the delete button on the answering machine. Sweat, as cold as the grave, dripped down his brow as he double-tapped the button just to be on the safe side. Maybe he even tapped it a third time. Heart thumping loudly in his ears like a massive marching band, and only after a few frantic turns to the shadowed corners and ceiling did he finally allow himself to relax long enough to curse the madman.
'Does he want to kill me?'
From an outsider's perspective, there were already so few candidates that Batman could be just based on the sheer wealth on display with all those gizmos being thrown around like they were candy. And combine that with the massive gap of history the man disappeared for before returning, and how it 'coincidentally' correlated with the sudden emergence of a small-time vigilante. There was plenty of evidence, bread crumbs that would surely lead anyone seeking those answers to their untimely 'disappearance'. But even if they could work together to unmask the Caped Crusader, what then?
Batman wasn't like the other heroes out there. When those superheroes took off their mask, they were just ordinary citizens trying to live amongst the population without stirring up too much trouble...But the Dark Knight was different. Bruce Wayne, billionaire bachelor, was the mask.
Exposing his alter ego and that surely unleashes a Batman who no longer needs to hide. Something none of the Rogue Gallery would ever want.
Something they would quite literally KILL for. And probably have.
And if he thought the rest of the Justice League would be cool with one of their own member's having their mask ripped away…?
A shiver ran down his spine at that thought.
'He'd better hope Superman finds him first.'
Pushing said madman and their random schemes out of his mind, Albert turned back to something a lot less deadly and beneficial.
With the most recent disaster of a case with Chelsea and the frequent times he'd been either tricked or nearly attacked by some of his past clients, it was very, very, very clear that he needed some sort of vetting process.
Surely just outright asking if they were insane would only antagonize people further, and slapping down a questionnaire wouldn't be much better. He could imagine their reactions now.
'What is this? Paperwork? Nah, I'm good.'
The world was already filled with enough bureaucratic nonsense to make anyone sick and tired of even looking at another dotted line.
So that too was out...but what about he kept meeting up with them? Just taking the time to ask a few poignant questions so that he could get a better feel for their mental state. But he could admit that it brought about its own problems.
If he met up with them, they would take the time to spill out their guts. Really try to get him to fully be on their side, just long enough to get him to agree to their job before throwing a curveball his way. And if they went through that whole song and dance only to not get the answer they want, there would for sure be an altercation.
But just the sheer advantage he had while talking to someone face to face wasn't something he was all too eager to give up on. He could catch lies as they were taking off, take more time to figure out they were hiding anything, and just overall get a better sense of who they were. That and also being able to actually see their appearance in case things go awry was always a plus.
'What about a two-step process?'
Meeting them in person was a must, but it didn't need to be an immediate thing; maybe a follow-up call would do? Get their names, have them retell him what their problem was, and what they wanted him to do. A simple test to see if their answer would change. That and maybe asking three times for the same story would also expose some of the ones more prone to violence. And honestly, if they were desperate enough to come looking to him of all people for help, then a bit of patience wasn't much to ask.
Maybe he was asking for too much, putting more stress on people who're already well and thoroughly on their last leg. But he needed to find some way to vet these clients before one of them got him killed or arrested. If he had this system set up, then the Chelsea disaster would've never happened. She would've for sure blown up at him earlier on, and with him no longer on that case, there was no way she would've been able to muster up the nerve to actually take steps to enact her plans.
Saving him from a lot of time and trouble.
But...he could admit that then, she would still be running around completely anonymously with those plans having more time to ferment. Adrian would have no idea of the kind of person Chelsea was, nor that there were people out there who were obsessed with him.
So maybe, just maybe, he could afford to not keep this process as an ironclad rule. It would need to be a balancing act with his morals and personal safety, but it could be done.
Now, with that said, all he needed to do was test it out. And reaching down, he pulled out a small notebook from one of the drawers before flipping to a seemingly random page. One figure roamed down the lines of numbers, each of them possessing a name and a short description of their woes.
'Let's see how you react…'
Dialing the number, Albert sat back and waited. Hearing it ring, once-twice-thrice, and just as it was about to ring for the fourth time, someone picked up. And all he could hear was heavy breathing from the other end.
"Hello?" He decided to break the silence first, eyes dropping down to the notes he had left himself about this particular person. "Is this Mr. Perry?"
"Yeah." The voice was soft, barely audible. "What do you want?"
"Ah, yes, I am a representative of-"
"Not interested."
And before he had the chance to respond, the call went dead almost immediately afterward.
'Huh.' Albert shrugged one shoulder, crossing off the name. 'Guess he didn't need help anymore...shame too, that was a particularly interesting case. I just hope he found his parrot.'
Glancing down at the near-endless list, he just let out a sigh. This was going to take all day, but at least by the end of this, he should have his script down and mastered.