13

Clap.

"Make it stop! For the love of god, please make it stop!"

Clap.

John Richardson grit his teeth in annoyance. In comparison to most of the criminals around him who were nearly on the brink of insanity, he would claim that he was one of the patient ones. Honestly, he hated this. He hated this job – being a jailer and security guard at Arkham Asylum, a.k.a. the Home of the Criminal Boogeymen. He hadn't always hated the job, but ever since the Gotham Massacre, he could not help but despise it.

Clap.

The Gotham Massacre – that was where it all started. The Night of Bloody Hearts. The Disheartening. The Red Night. So many names given to one event. John couldn't care less about any of them. No, what he instead cared about, was the fact that numerous of his fellow co-workers had died that night. Well, along with a swooping majority of the city's police force. What did that mean? It meant extra shifts for him. It meant working overtime with no realistic expectation of extra pay. It meant that Arkham was effectively incredibly understaffed and did not have the manpower needed to properly soothe any escape attempts or riots should they occur.

It meant they were all lying on a bed, their ass held high and lubricated, waiting patiently for the massive dick that would shove in, to make them well and truly fucked.

Clap.

As if that fact wasn't enough to put everyone on edge, there was… the freak. Day in, day out, twenty-four hours nonstop – ever since he had heard about the Gotham Massacre, all he had done –

Clap.

"Honestly, if someone doesn't shut that damned clown up – I'll find a way to cut off his arms myself!"

John paid no heed to the disgruntled comment of one of the inmates, because he too, had been considering it. Yet, he knew why he could not do so. The cell of the man in question, small as it was, had the man sitting there, in his orange overalls, his face a plain, expressionless one, his skin, chalky white, his hair, bright green, and his hands –

Clap.

John ignored the urge to shudder. Of course the maniac would applaud the massacre of over three thousand people. In one night, The Consultant had probably killed as many people as he had in his entire criminal career. Probably. John didn't know how many people the psychopath had killed. He didn't want to know. All he wanted to do, was finish this extended shift of his, and go back home to his girlfriend. Gods, he'd need a cold shower and a shit ton of booze to get the sound of the clapping and the face of the green haired monster out of his mind.

"I'm here to relieve you of your post."

John immediately perked up at those words. Finally, he could look forward to a passionate session with his girlfriend earlier than he expected. "Alright ma –" he paused, staring intently at the person who had come to take over. The way he carried himself, the fact that his uniform was new – too new, and the realization that he had never seen this person in his life gave him pause.

"Hold up – I haven't seen you here before."

The minute made that statement, John regretted it. He knew, he was supposed to do his job. Yet, he was no fool. He'd watched enough movies and television to realize what happened when a guard realized that there was something suspicious about another guard. Normally he would dismiss it as fiction, but this was a world where superhuman beings existed – fiction was closer to reality than normal. He should have just ignored the suspicion – he should have simply left. Tanisha, his girlfriend, had the most amazing thighs, and she had a tongue trick that always got him. He should have thought of that – thought of never getting to experience that again before he spoke.

"No. No you haven't."

John swallowed.

He was no Cowboy. No superhero. Quick draws had never been his specialty. He couldn't do anything – not a single thing, as the hollow bang of a silenced gun echoed softly, and his brain barely registered the subsonic projectile that ripped through the dead center of his forehead.

The human brain could only maintain consciousness for about four seconds after a headshot. In those four seconds, John thought about a lot of things. His girlfriend, his brother, his pet dog, Timmy. A lot went through his mind, the final one being recognition, as he now knew who his killer was. It was hard not to, considering his face was one of the most wanted in the world.

He could not help but wonder, why Floyd Lawton of all people broke into Arkham Asylum.

Clap.

"Well now! Isn't this interesting…?"

DC – Remastered Edition

Gotham City

6:43 AM

Had she asked too much of him?

Naomi thought it over, after a rather unsatisfying night of rest and sleep. She couldn't help the inherently guilty sensation dwelling in the pit of her stomach. The boy probably didn't even go to school, he had been living on the streets, and didn't seem to have any form of stability in his life. Had it really been a wise decision to put someone like that into her life? Was it wise to force any form of responsibility unto him?

She woke up that morning, glanced at her reflection at the bathroom mirror, ran her hand through her head and let out a sigh. She grabbed the toothpaste and toothbrush, going to work on the morning essentials, her mind still deep in thought. She'd offered him the 'guest room' to sleep in, but he'd politely declined and chose the living room couch. She knew, and he knew as well, that the reason he declined was because the 'guest room' had actually been her boyfriend's – before he passed away.

The room was meticulously well-kept despite this, and he had merely taken a single glance to the inside before declining. She wondered if it was because he was trying to be courteous or if there was something else involved – but she wasn't too sure.

That summed up most of her thoughts about him. She wasn't sure.

In a bid of desperation, she'd made that demand because she felt that she knew him. Because she saw someone from her past, and she felt guilty. Guilty about what she did to him, guilty about what happened to his mother even though she could have done nothing to change it, guilty about never trying to find him –

Now, she was feeling guilty about putting responsibility unto him when he most likely had other things to do.

She turned off the running water, wiping the residue of the liquids from her mouth with a towel, before frowning at her reflection in the mirror. Somehow, the years hadn't been unkind to her, despite everything. She was lucky in that regard – being one of those odd people who had made terrible decisions and life choices, and managed to evade without outwardly disastrous consequences. Still, her eyes possessed a particular quality to them that did not speak of happiness or enjoyment. Bags under her eyes were often present from overworking, and they'd almost become a staple feature of her face. Her hair was frazzled and unkempt, and she did the bare minimum to keep them looking presentable.

For a brief second, the image in the mirror overlapped with something else. Younger, fuller lips, thick make-up, bleached-blonde hair –

She shook her head. Those days were gone. They were far behind her.

Now, she had two children to wake up and drive off to school before heading off to work.

"Awesome!"

The shout brought her to a rather sharp stop. Lucian was awake? At this time? No – that wasn't possible. She sighed. She hoped he hadn't pulled another all-nighter reading comic books again. She left the bathroom, only to pause at the pleasant smell of food wafting in the air. It smelt like bacon – rich, juicy bacon –

She immediately clambered down the stairs, still wearing her pajamas, she rose her eyebrow as the aroma got stronger, and so did the sound of noise and chatter. She reached the kitchen, and immediately paused at the scene in front of her.

Zack was pulling what seemed to be a balancing act, standing on one leg in the kitchen, with different plates, pots and pans stacked, held on his hands, his foot, his arms, and even his nose.

"Like I said – the trick is all in the mind."

Her children were present. Awake. Oh, not just awake – they looked fully dressed for school. She stared at the scene before her with no words able to leave her mouth.

"Now, for the fantastic finish –"

With a twirl that showed agility Naomi could never have dreamed Zack possessed, nearly all the plates soared into the air. She wanted to scream – until he moved deftly, catching each and every one of the plates with his right hand, spinning his body again, and then hitting the pan on the fire, before tossing two plates into the air like discs.

The two plates slid perfectly unto the table, immediately afterwards, two eggs and a large piece of bacon landed on each plate, forming a perfect smiley-face. At that same time, the toaster dinged, and two decently made slices of toast were flung forward and managed to land on the plates without shifting a single thing.

She couldn't help how her jaw lowered, and then proceeded to lower even further when the tossed the milk jug into the air, and spun two glasses unto the table like he was a ninja sliding shuriken. Milk soared into the air, pouring into both glasses, before he grabbed it from the air, and closed it – and not a single drop spilled anywhere.

With one more twirl, he spun all the dishes in his right hand back into their positions on the shelves, and then, he took a long bow.

The room was dead silent.

"THAT WAS THE COOLEST THING I'VE EVER SEEN!"

The silence was immediately broken by her son's excited scream. Naomi could only shake her head at Lucian's enthusiasm, even though she found that sentiment to be entirely true.

"DUDE!" Lucian said hopping in his seat giddily "You're like – those super butlers and chefs I see on TV! I didn't even know half of that was possible!"

Evelyn seemed to agree, although, she didn't vocalize her own thoughts.

"The secret is all in the wrists," he said coyly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Wrist movement and timing."

"Can you teach me? Can you? Canyoucanyoucanyou –"

"Hmm… I don't know." Zack put his finger to his chin, leaning back on the counter and making his best impression of someone deep in thought, "If you eat up your breakfast and get to school early, I might consider showing you a few tricks."

It was the fastest Naomi had ever seen her children dive into a plate of food. The sight was enough to make her laugh, to make her laugh audibly, and immediately draw everyone's attentions on to her.

"Mom – you're awake!" Lucian said, "Zack was showing us some kitchen tricks! You missed it! It was amazing! There were plates and eggs and toast soaring into the air and –"

"Ah – ah." Zack interrupted. "Table manners kid. No eating and talking at the same time."

Naomi almost wanted to sigh. She'd been trying to get Lucian to remember that for the longest time. Of course, as always, he'd just ignore the advice and continue…

"Oh – sorry." He said sheepishly.

Naomi stared. She stared at her son who had instead focused back on his breakfast, and then she whipped her attention over to the dark-haired pony-tailed boy responsible for that miracle. He didn't even seem to realize what he had done, and was instead… packing up… lunch?

"You – you made them lunches?"

He turned his gaze to her. "Yeah. I figured I'd help you out with a few stuff – after what we talked about yesterday. So… I made breakfast and packed up their lunches."

"No – I understand, I meant –" she didn't know how to explain it.

"Hope I'm not intruding or anything – Lucian said you wouldn't mind if I made them lunches in your place."

She snapped her gaze to the boy in question, who had gone very still in his seat. "He did now, didn't he?"

"Yes…" Zack said, his left eyebrow quirking "…And I get the feeling there's something going on here that I'm not in on. You usually make them lunches… right?"

She cringed at the question. He probably hadn't mean to phrase it that way, but the underlying meaning was still there.

"No," Evelyn said flatly, speaking up for the first time. "Mom usually just gives us some money and we buy whatever we can get in the cafeteria. Lucian lied. We've never taken a homemade lunch to school before."

"Oh." Zack seemed to cough awkwardly into his hand. "Ah – but at least breakfast –"

"Corn flakes, every morning." Evelyn said. "If we're lucky, we get the Frosties version or maybe some burnt toast and eggs."

"Shut up Evelyn!" Lucian snapped.

"What? It's the truth and you know it! Mom's always either too tired or too much in a hurry in the morning to ever make anything good!" She snapped back.

"It's not her fault! You know she's trying her best!"

"Well her best isn't good enough!" She yelled. "It's never been good enough!"

The room went silent.

"I can't believe my sister is such an ungrateful bitch."

"What did you call me?!"

No one could be certain of who had thrown the first punch. But, it didn't matter, as two bodies crashed into each other, punching, clawing and biting.

XXXX

Had I caused this?

"Lucian! Evelyn! That's enough!"

My cheeks twitched as I watched the squabble between children. It took me a considerable effort not to laugh at it. At this. At all of it. I never once thought a day would come where I would witness something like this – something so – so – funny.

A squabble between siblings. It felt familiar, yet completely foreign. I had no family in this world, and I could not remember my family from my old world. Had I also had a brother with excitable traits? A blunt sister? I did not know, and there was no way I would ever find out.

"Alright – I think that's enough."

It was literally child's play for me to move forward and separate the both of them. I held them both by the scruffs of their shirts, Lucian to my left, and Evelyn to my right. The momentary silence that filled the room was courtesy of the fact that I could hold two thirteen year olds in my hands as though they were feathers, and I merely shrugged, raising my hands higher until both of their feet were clear off the floor.

"Have you both cooled down?" I asked. They were either too angry, or too suffering too much indignation, to respond with anything other than side-thrown glances, as if there were an elephant in fishnet stockings present. Anything to avoid looking me in the face.

In this situation, I did not know who to pity the most. Naomi was looking torn, unable to decide if a punishment was necessary, or whether handing out any form of punishment would further acerbate the situation. Lucian seemed to be on his mother's side, valiantly supporting her even though he knew that Evelyn had a point. It seemed more or less like he was trying to deny the truth than he was attempting to defend his mother.

Evelyn on the other hand, was clearly dissatisfied with the life she'd been living. She was dissatisfied, and she wanted to express that dissatisfaction, to let it out and transform it into blame. And of course, who else was to blame but Naomi?

"Put me down!" Lucian said, struggling to be set free.

"Are you going to try and Batista-bomb your sister if I do that?" I asked, "Because if you both want to find new ways to give yourself epic scars, I can tell you – a brawl is not it."

I gestured to their faces, with Lucian was sporting several red marks courtesy of Evelyn's nails, and Evelyn had a few nasty bruises.

"Thank you, Isaac – you can put them down now."

I rose an eyebrow at her, to ask are you sure?

She gave me a firm look and I shrugged. Fine, she could have it her way. Both children landed to the ground with very soft thuds, and both grumbling, with Lucian turning a sharp gaze my way.

"Dude, are you a gorilla or something? How are you so strong?"

"Spinach." I said dryly. "It comes in a special can, and can give you super-strength when you eat it."

As I expected, the reference flew completely over his head.

"I can't believe the two of you would just –" Naomi said, shaking her head as she held on to Lucian. "You're siblings. Twins. You're not supposed to fight each other –"

Actually, I thought that was mostly what family was about… fighting each other.

"She started it – you heard what she was saying –"

"I was just saying the truth!" Evelyn yelled, growing more incensed "Just because you go around ignoring it and pretending everything's fine doesn't mean I can!"

This was getting more amusing by the second. Or perhaps it was my twisted sense of amusement that was to blame?

"Evelyn that's enough!" Naomi said sternly, "Not one more word from you. Not another one."

The girl bit her lip. "Of course you'd take his side."

"I'm not taking anyone's side – and where do you think you're going?"

I watched as the girl turned around and grabbed her bag.

"Evelyn! I'm talking to you! I'm still talking to you – don't you dare –"

The sound of the door slamming echoed all over the house.

Lucian snorted. "Good riddance."

"Lucian!" Naomi scolded.

"What? All she ever does is complain and complain. She never tries to actually fix anything – she just complains about it!"

"That's not an attitude you should have – she's your sister, Lucian."

The boy merely let out another annoyed snort. He then cursed silently as he touched the mark on the side of his face.

"I need to go sanitize this before I catch any of her bitchiness."

"Lucian you shouldn't call your sister a –"

The boy was already gone, his footsteps slowly receding up the staircase. It was only Naomi and I left in the dining area. There was only one word which could escape my lips.

"Wow."

She grimaced. "I'm sorry – you had to see all of that."

"You weren't kidding when you said you needed some help."

She winced. She winced and immediately went silent. Was that the wrong thing to have said? She already admitted needing help – and I already agreed to it – so why was she upset if I pointed out an already established fact?

Jesus… people are complicated.

… Since when were people so complicated?

Quest Progression!

The Things We Do For Love – Part I

Current Objectives: -

[Good Path] Follow Evelyn and make sure she's okay

[Evil Path] Follow Evelyn and help her 'blow' off some steam

[Good Path] Talk with Lucian and help him calm down

[Evil Path] Talk with Lucian and help him 'use' his anger

[Good Path] Comfort Naomi

[Evil Path] "Comfort" Naomi

Note: You may only select one choice.

Alternatively:

You may choose to select none of the above choices and do whatever you wish by selecting:

[The Third Path]

Your actions and/or inactions will progress the Quest accordingly, and will have major benefits and/or consequences later on.

This…. was new.

The world had frozen around me – turning a dull grey color with overlapping sepia tones, as though the entire world was somehow made of concrete, and then filtered out by a teenage girl with a social media app.

My mind was filled with several questions, such as how and why the Gamer system was suddenly choosing to be more active in quest progression. It hadn't done this when I'd completed any prior quests? So what made this different? Also, who, or what, designed this morality system? Just Good and Evil, and nothing in-between? I supposed they expected me to do whatever I wanted if I wasn't satisfied with the limitations, hence 'The Third Path' option.

I couldn't move. Likewise, I couldn't use any spells or skills, yet, the world remained completely frozen – frozen until I made a choice.

I pursed my lips and shook my head at this chaos. Family conflict was confusing. There was no one that was a hundred percent wrong or a hundred percent right – but because Lucian sided naturally with his mother, it made Evelyn feel like the outcast here. Naomi didn't know what to do – and I couldn't blame her. I wasn't quite sure what I would do if I was in her shoes.

Would I tell off Evelyn, and tell her to try harder and to suck it up? Would I tell her that life was not fair and the sooner she got used to that concept the better? Would I have made an excuse? Would I have punished her – for speaking the truth? Does the manner in which you say something matter more than what is said?

I didn't know. It annoyed me than I cared to admit, this slight irritation of not knowing something that was supposed to be so trivial. Not knowing what to do to mend a conflict of opinions between siblings.

The more I thought it over, the more I grew annoyed. How in the world was it, that I could think of a way to end a criminal organization and nearly all organized crime in a city, within a span of a few hours, but I came up blank with ideas to help mend an argument between two thirteen-year-olds?

I formulated plans to eliminate the world of superheroes and the Justice League – and I can't think of a way to make two kids see each other's point of view without being biased to either side?

Follow Evelyn Selected!

The world's color returned in a snap.

"I think I should try and find Evelyn before she gets too far," the words flew from my mouth with ease "She had some bruises on her face… I don't think it's a good idea to let her go to school with it and give people the wrong ideas."

Naomi's eyes widened and she immediately understood what "the wrong ideas" could be.

"That would be… for the best."

I didn't say anything, but I did tip my head to a slight nod as I turned my direction towards the door. I willed my minimap to flare to life, and I almost blinked when I eventually found the blue dot on the map that indicated an ally. It was mobile, and it was moving fast.

"She's passed three blocks already? What the hell?"

How many minutes had passed since she slammed the door? It couldn't be up to ten minutes yet. I didn't waste any time as I chased after her. Speed was not a problem, and although I was no Barry Allen, I was reasonably fast when I wanted to be. The problem was following the dot on the map, which I now realized, was passing through buildings or small alleyways, which meant that she was taking a shortcut.

Where exactly was she heading anyway?

If I were a teenage girl, who just had an argument with family, where would I go to cool my head?

I adjusted the mini-map.

"Of course."

A knockoff Starbucks.

DC – Remastered Edition

Nezumi was rarely ever stumped.

The Demon Butler clearly did not see the need for one to possess such a sentiment or emotion. Of what reason would he be perplexed to a state of inactivity? Surely, the surprises which came in the course of existing, were, in most cases, predictable or refreshing.

However, the significant exception, was when he became aware of the fact that he may have accidentally tapped into his Master's reality altering powers without realizing it. He had merely been conducting the necessary elements needed to create the army of Homunculi his master needed, tapping into his mass reserves of mana, all of which, of course, was as a result of absorbing and consuming the souls and flesh of countless of demonic beings and minions for thousands upon thousands of years. The most recent additions, the mage and the rhyming demon, had provided a significant boost to his powers. This was to be expected, however, what was not to be expected, was the sudden appearance of a spiritual figure in a white robe, when he began to draw on Etrigan's magic.

What was even more surprising, was the fact that words were floating over this spiritual figure's head.

Arch-Sorcerer

Merlin

Hence, this was the reason, that Nezumi found himself uncharacteristically stumped.

"How – is this – how has such a demonic presence gained the ability to invoke me?"

Invoke?

Ah. Of course. The Demon Etrigan could call upon the spirit of Merlin to perform grand mystical feats, and now that he had consumed the demon and his powers, this ability had transferred to him.

Nezumi bowed. "Great Sorcerer – may I ask –"

Merlin, stared, confounded at the manners present in what was clearly a demonic entity.

"I have never met a being such as yourself. What is it you wish to ask?"

Nezumi rose. "Is it true that you are perhaps, one of the most powerful, if not the most powerful wizard to ever exist?"

"Yes… what of it?"

"Are you, right now, present as a soul, or merely a corporeal visage?"

Merlin frowned. "It is my soul which stands before you demon."

"And is it not true, Great Sorcerer that you are half demon?"

Merlin looked agitated. "Yes – now is there a purpose for this trifling questions?"

Nezumi nodded, and then closed his eyes.

"Your power would aid me in my service to my master."

"Your master?"

Nezumi nodded.

Merlin scoffed. "And what makes you believe I will aid you or your master, demon?"

"Because –"

Nezumi blurred forward, mouth enlarging to demonic capabilities as he bit off the entire lower 'body' of Merlin's soul, leaving only the head.

"You do not have a choice."

"YOU FOUL –"

"Shut up wizard. You taste disgusting enough, I do not need your words polluting my meal any further."

Merlin could only stare, in disbelief, as the creature proceeded to slurp down his very soul as though it were a noodle meal.

"W-w-what are you?"

No answer was given, until every last drop of Merlin's presence was gone, and Nezumi promptly let out a quiet burp.

"A mere butler."

Suitably satisfied with his work, Nezumi sorted through the eons of memories, discarding those deemed worthless, and picking through the spells and magical repertoire. Then, he found what he was looking for.

"Ultimate Magic: Mass Create False Life: Homunculi."

The butler rose his hand, pausing slightly. His master needed effectiveness and ultimate loyalty above all others – but at the same time, he needed a group of warriors who could operate in the modern world with deadly efficiency and efficacy. Mindless drones would be both highly useful and likewise immensely counter-intuitive to this process.

He needed a model – a model for which all the Homunculi would be based upon, and from which he would then begin to ensure their absolute loyalty to his master. This model, of course, had to be a human, a suitably talented or otherwise skilled human. He rapidly sifted through the memories of all the beings he had absorbed in the years, trying to find insight to what he should utilize as a template. Failing that, he searched through his own memories and the memories his master had bestowed upon him, to find an ideal human, fictional or otherwise, that would be his default template.

After a few seconds – he came across one – from a fictional show that his master had enjoyed, and had imparted upon him with the knowledge.

"Personality Template: Golgo 13."

Despite his massive magic reserves, Nezumi could feel the significant drain on it, which was to be expected, considering he was making artificial lives with no souls, and he was doing so with nothing but pure magic – no elements, foci, or tubes required. Just pure, unbridled magic rewriting the world, creating and manifesting bones and flesh from the ambient air. It started from what seemed like an army of skeletons, rising from the sand of the large gladiatorial theater, before, slowly, the internal organs and nervous systems began to grow upon the skeletons like a form of blight. It covered the entire skeleton, flesh, growing, creeping, developing, and then ultimately morphing into what would appear, an army of flayed men. No sooner was this done, did the next step proceed, epidermal layer of skin covering the internal organs and muscles, growing and taking shape, each being the same identical tan Caucasian color. The process occurred differently for the males than females, the males immediately gaining layer of honed muscles and pectorals, giving them the figures of Olympic swimmers. The females had leaner muscle, with slight pectorals, but most significantly, were the rotund, perfectly symmetrical breasts which could not be found on a normal human female.

The hair grew next, all of them possessing dark shades of hair, average length for the males, long for the females. Then, the remaining facial features were added, the nose, eyes, mouth and ears, all of which came to life.

And then, there were five hundred. Four hundred men, and one hundred women – all of them, perfectly made.

As one, the naked first squadron of what would later become the Overlord's Army – opened their eyes.

They gained sentience.

Nezumi was pleased. He had chosen the right template – an assassin who had no ties to anything or anyone. A ghost in the wind with impeccable skill, ingenious tactics and a perfect record of kills. A weapon who had no true overarching goals or dreams – than to merely be pointed and released. There was a slight sense of right and wrong – a limited morality compass – but that would easily be overwritten, and the 'mercenary' lifestyle would instead be replaced with absolute loyalty and dedication to his master.

"You all have been created for one purpose and one purpose only," Nezumi said, "To serve my Master, Zack Cabrera. To be his weapons, his tools, or his toys. His goals are your goals. His enemies are your enemies. Are there any questions?"

"No, sir, Commander Nezumi sir!"

Commander? Nezumi mused.

He could get used to that.

The Demon Butler intended on giving his first instruction – when he felt it. The corrupt soul, and a myriad of other darker, bleaker souls confined at that place… they were set free.

Therein lied the problem. They did not escape, they were set free.

There was someone out there who orchestrated an intentional break-out, most likely with their own goals and intentions. Goals and intentions which would no doubt clash with that of his master.

"It seems that one of the unfortunate insects amongst this world's populace wishes to join my Master on the grand board," Nezumi said loudly.

"A rodent moving pieces by scurrying across a board believes himself to be a Chessmaster…" he shook his head. "...How quaint."

DC – Remastered Edition

Gotham City

7:22 AM

I walked into the comfy little Starbucks-knockoff coffee shop, not bothering to pay attention to the name as the scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries hit my nostrils. I flickered my guess across the place, before eventually finding my target, sitting, with what looked like a small bag of ice cubes in a paper bag, which she was applying judiciously to her face. I moved over to the main counter, briefly making an order of two cups, before I moved towards the seat, taking my place in front of her with ease.

"That looks like it hurts."

She flinched, her gaze shooting upwards. "How did you find me?"

"I wanted a cappuccino. I just happen to be lucky, that's all." I said simply, before passing a cup over to her.

She frowned, staring at it suspiciously.

"It's not poisoned you know. Who do you take me for? A scorned Greek housewife?"

Her lip twitched a bit, and I could tell that I got her. She graciously accepted it, before slowly taking a sip. "So, what – you're going to drag me back to my mom now?"

"Well, no – I have a feeling me dragging you anywhere will probably send the wrong picture."

She still gave me a suspicious look. "Then… why are you here?"

"I don't know." I admitted easily. "Though the cappuccino could be a reason."

"Wait – what?"

I shot a small grin. "Honestly? I don't know why I'm here. I don't have the slightest idea. Maybe it's to help you out with your issues, maybe it's to help your mom out, or maybe it's just to talk? I haven't quite figured it out yet."

She gave me a long silent look.

"I'm not sure about a lot of things lately. Like you and your family for instance." I admitted truthfully, "Meeting you guys… it confused me."

"Confused… you?"

"You were… real. Too real. The realest I've seen since I was born. I always felt the world around me was made of pastel, of grey paint. Like it was a grumpy, sarcastic mime. Then you guys come in – waving rainbow colors like an excited couple in a gay parade."

She snorted. Partially in disbelief, partially in amusement. "I wouldn't say we're real… we have… our issues."

"And I get it. Those issues, how you react to them… it's what makes you real."

She rolled her eyes. "So my brother calling me a bitch and what I said to my mom – that's real?"

"When the alternative is going around with a Mickey Mouse smile, yes, you're real."

She shook her head. "You're weird."

"I know. But it's the good weird. Or at least, I hope it is. Wouldn't want to give good weird people a bad reputation, now would I?"

She laughed. "Yeah. It's definitely the good weird."

I grinned, and we fell back into silence.

"I didn't… want to be mean to my mom, you know," she started, running her thumb around her cup, "But… I'm just so sick and tired of everything. I mean – I don't even have a cellphone, or a laptop, or anything. The TV we have belonged to my dad, and my mom has never bought another one."

"Oh." I said slowly, "I see."

"Don't – don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that." She hissed. "Like I'm some materialistic little girl. It's not that I want this things for myself, it's that if I don't have these things, I have to go to school and see people look at me with that gaze, and listen to their stupid condescending bullshit!"

I stared.

"They'll ask if I've seen a video on YouTube, or something on Facebook or Instagram, and I'll say – 'Oh, sorry, I don't have a phone or a laptop.' And then they'll look at me and ask 'Why don't you have a phone?'" She snarled. "Do you know what it's like to have to say, 'I don't have a phone cause my mom can't afford one for me and my brother?' or worse, do you know what it's like to say nothing at all, and just let the awkward silence fill the air as they look at your shabby shoes and hand-me-down clothes and put it together for themselves?"

Oh. "Oh."

"Yes, oh." She grit her teeth. "Do you know what it's like to be 'the poor girl?' To be the one who always gets the bare minimum, the one who isn't invited out for anything, the one who is always at the receiving end of some bullshit charity?"

"Do you know how it feels to get stuff from people, simply because they feel better about themselves by giving you things? As if they've done some great service to humanity? Do you know what it's like to make sure you never ask your friends to buy you stuff, because you know you can never pay them back, and don't want to be seen as some sort of golddigger?"

She gripped her coffee harder. "And Lucian?" she almost scoffed. "It's like he doesn't even care or notice. He cracks jokes about it all the time, he points it out to people as though it's not a big deal, and he doesn't get it – he doesn't get that just because you're laughing as well, just because you're laughing with them, doesn't mean they're laughing with you."

I found myself genuinely uncertain as to what to say for once.

"And I get it, okay?" she said, sighing back, "I get that my mom is trying her hardest and all that. But it's the truth – her hardest isn't good enough. It's never been good enough. We're poor, and we all know it. If my dad didn't leave that car and the house for my mom – we'd probably be homeless and on the streets. Or worse, my mom would have become a stipper or something."

I didn't blink, or even let a single facial muscle twitch to expose the fact that Evelyn had no clue how close she was to guessing Naomi's past.

"Have you tried… you know, doing something to change things?"

"Like what? I'm thirteen. I do some odd-jobs for the neighbors during the summer vacation – but I can't really do anything else. Most places start hiring from sixteen – or fifteen if you look old enough." She said with a sigh, before counting her fingers "Babysitting, dogsitting, waitressing, tutoring, mowing lawns and washing cars – no one feels comfortable hiring me. The ones that do, are already taken or aren't hiring."

"Wow." I said breathlessly.

"You're telling me," she responded.

There was… definitely more to this than I had expected. The problem was, I knew how to fix this, but couldn't. Money was realistically of no real value or import to me… but could I really just toss this family a million dollars just like that and believe that it would immediately solve all their problems? Would they even know how to properly spend it, or would they just lavish it all and have it gone in months?

Then, the Samaritan's Dilemma came up. Would a one-time help aid them in becoming better, or would it instead, make them reliant on that help once the help was gone?

"Now that I think about it… I don't even know what you do for a living… or anything about you really, other than the fact that you can cook my mom under the table, you're really strong, and you're kinda good at balancing stuff." She rubbed her head, "And… you're surprisingly really easy to talk to. I mean… I can't believe I just poured out half of the stuff I said to you. I'd been keeping it in for so long… but I just… told you… like it was nothing."

So, it seemed my Charisma score did have some uses after all. If that was the case, did it mean that people worshipped The Flash and Superman, and would spill their deepest, innermost secrets to both of them?

"I have that calming effect on people." I said briefly. "It's a staple feature of being this handsome."

She rolled her eyes. "Well at least you're not humble. You'd be too perfect if you were."

Was that a backhanded compliment? I think it was.

"If I recall, weren't you too speechless to say anything to me when we first met?" I asked dryly.

Her cheeks gained a hint of red to them. "Well – you were… something."

"I'll have you know, you're not the first woman to have told me that."

It took her several seconds for it to click, and when she did, she tossed a fork in my direction, her face significantly redder. "Oh my god – you're some sort of pervert. Keep it in your pants will you?"

I made an exaggerated gasp. "The little girl actually knows about the birds and the bees?"

"I'm thirteen, not six." She said dryly.

I turned a glance to her chest. "I can't tell the difference."

Her face turned ashen. Not the jokingly-amused ashen, but the 'that-actually-hurt-ashen'.

"I'm sorry," I said quickly "That – that was uncalled for."

She didn't say anything, but I could tell by her facial expressions that I'd hit a soft-spot… right in the insecurity.

When was the last time I apologized to anyone… for anything?

"If it helps, you're still growing – and if you're anything like your mother –"

She tossed another fork at me. I caught it between my fingers effortlessly.

"You're so – ugh." There was no real heat to her words though, which I was slightly thankful for. "You know, you never did answer my question," she said pointedly, "Who are you really?"

How did I go about answering that?

I shrugged, and gave her a serious look. "I'm a twenty-one year old man who was reincarnated into this world with the choice of bringing a grand utopia, or enslaving all of humanity to serve my every whim."

Silence.

"…Your imagination is worse than my brother's. What next? Playing dungeons and dragons and making up fake names like –"

"Dildo Faggins?" I supplied.

"Yes – exactly like that." She paused. "No – not –" she giggled, then laughed. "Oh my god. You're the worst. The absolute worst."

I grinned. "You know – you're not quite what I thought you'd be like when I first saw you."

"W-well," she stuttered, "I couldn't really help it at the time. I mean – you –"

"Were something." I said wryly. "Yes, we've already established that."

She shook her head. "That's… still not putting it lightly. I mean… look at you –" she blushed, before covering her face "I can't believe I actually said that."

"Now, now, I know I'm good looking, but –"

"Good-looking? Are you joking? When I first saw you I thought you were some sort of supermodel or something. Haven't you noticed that two different waitresses came by to refill your drink like three times?"

I flickered my eyes over to the coffee, which was, surprisingly, actually refilled. More than that though, I could find two distinct pieces of paper underneath, with only one correct guess as to what was going to be written on those papers.

"I didn't." I admitted honestly. "My eyes are focused on only one girl here."

"I'm sure that's what you say to all the girls."

"Do I really look like a playboy?"

"Does a cat really cough hairballs?"

"Touché."

We settled into a relatively comfortable silence, before I lifted the coffee, grabbing the papers underneath, and I stuffed them into my pocket.

Item Gained – Moonbucks Waitress Phone Numbers

Evelyn gave me a sharp look from the corner of her eyes, as if to ask 'really?'

"You'll understand when you're older."

"Again with this – I'm thirteen – you're only three years older than me!"

"And what a long three years it'll be."

She scowled. "Douche."

"Now, now, is that a way to talk to your kind, loving, older brother/uncle figure who's figured out a solution for your little money problems?"

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I'm not interested in drug trafficking."

I blinked. "Ouch. Hurtful. Is that what you think I do?"

"You've dodged the question like three times now about what you actually do – so I'm guessing it's not exactly legal."

Well, someone's smart.

"Smart cookie." I said. "But no, I'm not trafficking drugs," Not yet anyway. "Even if I were, I'm not stupid enough to admit it."

"So… what do you do?"

"I'm a… Jack-of-All-Trades of sorts." I admitted. "Auto-Repair, Computer Programming, Musical Instruments, Hacking, Woodworking, Sculpting, Gambling, Cooking, etcetera. There isn't a single thing in this world I can't do if I put my mind to it. So money is hardly an issue."

"You're joking."

"I'm not." I replied smoothly.

"Mom said you never went to school."

"I didn't." I admitted.

"How did you learn Hacking and Computer Programming?"

"I'm self-taught."

She stared at me. "You're joking."

"Look, long story short, I was born with an amazingly high IQ for my age, which could rival most adults, and I have a rather… gifted… ability to learn." I said smoothly. "Now, do you want a solution to your problems or not?"

"…Okay…?"

"I'll need you to make copies of everything you do in classes. Physics, Biology, and most importantly – History. Better than making copies, I want you to go to the library, read ahead of the material, and find out some more stuff. The greatest inventions of this era, the greatest scientific discoveries, the most notable scientists – everything and anything. I expect it to be thick, and very informative – kind of like a Doctor's Thesis."

The flat look she gave me was absolutely comedic. She grabbed my coffee, taking a long dry sip, as if to say: Not a chance in hell.

"In exchange, I'll give you a hundred bucks every month until you complete it. You'll also have to give me bi-weekly updates about anything that catches your attention – but once it's all done, I'll give you a hundred grand."

She spluttered out the coffee, which, thankfully, I could dodge with ease. "A t-thousand – h-h-hundred –" She coughed some more, before turning to glare at me, "That isn't funny."

"I'm not joking."

For once, there was no amusement on my face. Not even the tiniest of slivers of it. My face was the business-mode that I had grown accustomed to using as Makarov.

"Y-you're serious?"

"I am."

"I – I don't get it – how does this benefit you at all?" She said, sounding confused "Essentially, I study super hard and ace my classes and do some extra credit for that much money –"

"I didn't go to school," I said, "So, there are a lot of things I don't know about. The specifics of World War II, how this world developed with the realization of alien interference, political stances and movements which changed the world… a lot of things. You'd be doing me a favor by compiling it all for me to read."

"You could get all that from the internet." She said bluntly.

"I could," I admitted, "But then, I'd miss out on getting to know you better, to read your perspective on things. Also, to see if you have a dainty handwriting to go with your face, or if you have chicken scrawls on paper."

She frowned. "Why would you want to know more about me?"

"Because…" I moved my hand over to her cheeks, watching as her face grew incrementally redder, before I pinched both of them and stretched them. "…You're real."

"Huh?"

I smirked, letting go of her cheeks. "Also… you remind me of my mom. Kind of. She was also… very quirky."

"…You'll spend a hundred grand on someone because they're… quirky?"

"What better reason is there to spend a hundred grand on someone?"

She shook her head. "You're… really weird Isaac."

"The good weird?"

She nodded. "The good weird."

I allowed a smile to grace my lips. "That's nice. I half expected you to ask me how I could afford that much money."

"Are you going to tell me if I ask?"

"Well, no." I admitted easily. "But still – asking is normally the courtesy."

"I couldn't care less about where the money came from, as long as it gets to me – I'm all good."

I liked that.

"Of course, this little deal of ours comes with two conditions."

"What?!"

"Relax – it's nothing too serious." I said. "First, you just have to apologize to your mother when you get back home. This isn't up for debate." I added that part after I saw her mouth open, and she closed it back.

"And the second thing?" she groused.

"You don't tell your mother that I'm the one helping you." I said simply. "Actually, you don't tell anyone. If they ask – you can come up with something like tutoring some kids after school – but don't mention my name in any of this."

"Why?"

"I have my reasons."

She seemed suspicious at first, but the overwhelming temptation of money killed that suspicion eventually.

"Fine... I guess."

Objective Complete!

[Good Path] Follow Evelyn to make sure she's okay

Hidden Objective Complete!

Find a solution to Evelyn's money issues!

Rewards:

Information on History of the World

Your Reputation with Evelyn has gone up significantly!

Your Affection with Evelyn has gone up moderately!

Would you like to view the Reputation and Affection guide?

[Yes]

[No]

I turned down the option for now. Perhaps later – perhaps not. Still, my job wasn't exactly complete just yet.

"Come on, now – let's get you to school before the first bell rings. Wouldn't want you to be late now would we?"

"Um… I don't think it's a good idea to go to school today. To go anywhere today."

She pointed behind me, and I turned around, my gaze landing on the TV. I immediately noticed that a lot of people in the little coffee shop were also staring at it, the news clear and loud.

"Turn it up!" someone yelled.

"… and just days after the Gotham City Massacre, great disaster hits the city once more courtesy of the recent Arkham Asylum jailbreak. All of the Asylum's inmates were freed from their cells, including names such as Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Victor Szasz, Mr. Freeze and Killer Croc – and the Asylum's most dangerous and feared inmate –"

My eyes caught the sight of green hair and pasty pale skin.

"The Joker."

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