23

Leslie ended up waking up around One in the afternoon.

He'd gone to a different empty apartment building and got himself set up, did his dishes and passed out.

At this point, he didn't really know what he needed to do. He had a list, but it had gotten pretty long.

He needed to read the rest of his spellbooks, sort through all of the stuff he'd acquired, determine whatever other perks he needed to choose... And that was strictly on the Gamer front of things.

And he needed to add grabbing a copy of Mind Blank to that list, seeing as psychics were a thing here and he apparently couldn't keep his thought to himself. He wasn't actually upset about M'gann calling him out for his thought crimes, but the others out there could be a lot worse.

On the local issues... Well, that could be a bit more problematic. He couldn't remember the order things happened in, and he hadn't caught every episode anyway. So he was going to have to work off of context clues.

One of his bigger weaknesses.

Regardless, this was his day off to work on his own projects. Short of someone getting seriously hurt, the Justice League and its problems could wait.

Cracking open his spelltome of Haste, Leslie got to work.

-----

Okay, you know what? Superspeed is weird.

It had taken him about forty minutes to get through the book because some of the terminology was just convoluted, but he'd been able to cast it without any issues.

He was currently existing at a little over twice his normal speed and everything was just... Off.

Sounds weren't right, moving things didn't go well, and he tried to shower with superspeed on and it...

Had been a wet, slippery mess that involved water flying a lot further than he'd expected.

Speed times force equals power, and he'd multiplied half of that equation.

And this was just at level one! He didn't want to imagine how absurd it would be at its maximum level of sixteen!

He couldn't deny, it would be incredibly useful... But he still didn't like it. Attempting to do -anything- demanded more care and caution than he was used to.

Maybe if he could control it, dial it up and down as he wanted, he could see the appeal to having it as a permanent superpower. But with how his spells were literally just on and off? He wouldn't recommend it.

Casting it on his laptop had given him some interesting results though! It had been able to operate at twice the normal speed, and began chewing through its battery just a bit faster than it could charge.

It couldn't load webpages any faster than normal, and it shut off from overheating after about fifteen minutes, but it was fifteen minutes where it was running like it was a brand new Lexbook!

The last half hour (Fifteen minutes) of his time he spent reading the skill book for MP Boost. That one had been... Odd.

Leslie was going to go with odd.

It required that he create a sort of pseudo-soul space around himself that he could fill with his own magic.

Except he didn't know how to do that.

Trying to imagine his magic around himself did nothing. Closing his eyes and trying to meditate on it did just as much. Imagining his magic as something solid and trying to push that deeper into himself did do something!

It sent him to the bathroom.

He didn't want to admit it, but he lacked either the context or the skill to do what the book was describing. Which was... Frustrating.

Instead he hit himself with Haste again and finished off his current list of spell books, Berserk, Shell, Curse and Holy.

It was boring, but so long as he was careful while he turned the pages it was a good way to get that done.

It was closing in on Four in the afternoon when Leslie got done with that, he'd let his MP regenerate, now it was time to go and do something productive!

Pulling an old silver coin out of his inventory, he made a decision. Heads he'd get started with Strange, buffalo he'd figure out what to do with Freeze.

He flicked the coin up into the air and...

-----

Oswald Cobblepot had gotten out of the game.

Not the -Crime- game, heavens no! But he'd gotten out of the part where he personally did stupid things that inevitably got the Batman involved.

It turns out that, if you're not stealing valuable specimens or relics from the museum and actively being a public nuisance? The caped crusader had better things to deal with.

Most nights anymore he really just ended up watching the dishonestly wealthy mingle and give their money away from his office, his own criminal empire almost ran itself.

The benefits of management and making an effort to hire -and retain- talented people.

He was brought out of his musings as he heard a knock on his door. A quick glance at a nearby monitor showed it was Jeffrey, one of his doormen.

"Enter!" The man waited just a moment before doing so. He stopped directly in front of Oswald's desk, his back straight and eyes forward.

An honorably discharged veteran, with a few anger issues that kept him from having a job on the 'Right' side of the law. Most of the Penguin's visible muscle came from similar backgrounds.

"Sir. We've got a kid out front, asking to be let in." Oswald flipped through his security feeds before finding the one in question. A young man, blond with bright blue eyes, was standing right in front of Ronald.

"I somehow doubt he's old enough to be here." Did he actually care about the legal drinking age? Absolutely not. But if the law could be used to keep the riffraff out from under foot he'd gladly use it.

"He claims he wants to ask for information. He gave me these to offer as incentive." Jeffrey put a pair of coins on the desk and Oswald's face dropped in a sneer.

If the kid seriously thought anyone would be bought off for...

He took a closer look at the coins.

Silver Eagles.

Holding one in his palm, the weight felt right.

Two of these had a value that wasn't even up to one-hundred dollars, but if they were just the incentive...

"Send him on up. Have Ronald escort him." Oswald took a look at a few papers as Jeffrey left. Earnings on his more lucrative 'Businesses' had dropped recently and he wanted to make sure it was in line with his predictions or if there was an outside factor he'd need to look for.

And if the boy had meant the coins as some kind of threat, there would have been thirty of them.

Of course he knew about theme villains! He was one of them, after all.

Moments into a report from a street level vendor he heard a knock on the door. He didn't even bother to check who it was as he yelled for them to enter.

The boy walked into the room while Ronald remained at the door. The man made eye contact with Cobblepot for a moment before closing the door when he received no subtle or trained cues.

He would remain right outside the door in case Oswald needed any intervention. Or, more likely, the boy needed to be escorted out of his nightclub.

The boy, rather contrary to Oswald's expectations, simply stood in place silently and looked out the window over the club as he continued to review his paperwork.

"Well." Cobblepot finally said, adjusting his monocle as he looked up. "If you're looking for information, I may be able to provide it. For a modest fee, of course. What is it that you need?"

The boy relaxed, just a smidge, but noticeable enough.

"I'm looking to collect a few things, I was hoping I could get the name of a good fixer." Not the most common term for a middleman that Cobblepot had ever heard, but still one he knew.

It was also a good sign that the boy wasn't asking him to do such menial work. He'd entertained such ludicrous notions in the past only so long as it took to remind a particular patron that -he- was the villain in the room.

"I'm sorry, I don't think I know-" The boy reached halfway across his desk, leaving behind a single coin.

Gold.

"-what your price range is."