His breathe hitched, heart beating a mile a minute as the rather random comment struck deeply at the heart of his spirit. Maybe it would be a good idea to thank Patrick, otherwise he wouldn't have found a possible clue to one of his stumped cases….Nah, the guy could still eat rocks.
But nonetheless, it was both rather concerning and interesting that the Circuit had somehow trickled up to even the upper casts of society. But not overly surprising. The Circuit itself probably cost a lot of money to keep it going and an absolutely massive starting capital to even get it off the ground. Maybe things could've stabilized by relying on taking cuts from every bet, or by the differing tiers but even then such an organization must've been bleeding money.
For them to not have gone under, there must be some form of financial backers pulling strings from behind the curtain. And from what Willow told him, it sure as hell wouldn't be any crime lord or gang. Fighting rings that allowed death or maiming would simply cause too much heat and Albert would get his last pack of ramen noodles that if any of the Rogue Gallery had anything to do with it, Batman would've been kicking the doors in a long time ago.
So, whoever was silently backing the organization must be someone who had no background in Gotham's underground. Thus, the only real suspect had to be someone both rich enough to not care about how much money was lost and reckless enough to even try such a stunt.
The lines were crossing, too many clues coming together to neat surround an entire tax bracket. Those born in excess, taught to disregard to lives of any they considered lesser and raised to believe that any trouble could just be written away with a check. It fit. And there was already one person that could neatly slide into place with some wiggling.
'I wish it was Patrick.'
But again, that was probably the teen's bias speaking. Sadly, the guy didn't fit the MO. The Moore didn't come across as reckless. Arrogant, yes but he wouldn't be caught dead being anywhere near that ticking time bomb. Besides, he wasn't born into money. It being a pretty recent thing for him.
So as much as Albert wanted it to be his reluctantly client, he just didn't match the requirements.
From everything, the primary puppet master had to be an elite. Not an heir, but related. Young or immature enough, with a lot of extra time on their hands. Meaning either someone on break or not in school or work. Thus, the profile was set...unless he was completely wrong about everything.
Whatever the case, answers were hidden behind this door and despite the ticking clock, this was way more important. Besides, mindlessly running down these halls had been a desperate attempt. Now, after having a few moments to collect himself, he could admit that his previous strategy wouldn't have worked. After all, he was essentially just checking every room which would've been fine if there wasn't a time limit.
Spending a few minutes here wouldn't do any more harm than him aimlessly running around like his head had been cut off.
And so, taking a deep breathe while straightening out his suit, Albert did the only polite thing to do. He simply knocked once. Not an authoritative knock but more timid and unsure. The room simmered down to dead silence. The previous hooting and hollering now gone. A few seconds passed before someone finally called out.
"Come in."
Shifting those scales tighter around himself, he took a hesitant step forward. The room itself wasn't anything special, if a fully decked out miniature theater was normal. Being around the same dimensions as three or four studies, there were three rows of booths with five seats per row. Bright red cushions that made normal theater seats laughable in comparison, small levers that could cause the chair to recline and outstretch a small platform to rest one's feet up. One the walls, a line of hooded lamps kicked on to his entrance. Their light set to the dimmest possible value, providing just enough not completely stumble blindly in the dark. And at the far end of the room, a massive unfurled sheet took up an entire wall by itself with a frozen image of a very, very familiar arena.
Thick twin lines surrounded by a circle only further proved that, yes he was in fact interrupting.
"Who're you and what do you want?"
Despite the lamps, it was simply impossible to get a good look at whoever was speaking. But the voice did come from the projector, so it was likely this was the person he needed to convince to stay.
"He's the guy!" Another voice answered, this one sounding a bit younger. Their tone dropping down to a 'whisper'. "You know, the one with the hot date who got hit with the Wayne Special?"
"Yeah," Albert wasn't one to miss such an easy opening, he would have to applaud the local gossip mill for working so fast. If news even reached this side of the mansion, in such an isolated place then there must be some really enthusiastic gossips amongst the upper echelon. The type of people who he wanted to make their acquiescence as soon as possible. So, pulling upon that skin of despair and embarrassment, he continued. "I didn't think that got here so quickly….well do you mind if I stay here for few? I just want to get away from the party for awhile..you know let the rumor die down a bit?"
"…" From what he could see, there were a total of seven shapes in the darkness. And round outlines turned to each other, before a few shoulders shrugged. "Sure, we can add one more...but don't tell anyone what you saw here. They won't believe you and we'll know."
"Thanks."
Nodding exaggeratedly, the teen spotted the closest chair and took a seat. Instantly almost sinking into the material with an audible sigh. In all honestly, if he hadn't sat in that gaudy chair before, this would've probably been the most comfortable thing he'd ever sat in. But this was a close second. And just wriggling around to find that sweet spot was enough to cause his lids begin to flutter.
One second, he was looking at a paused screen and in the next, his body jolted to attention as the film boomed to life. Cheering could be heard and movement slammed into place.
On the big screen, a pair of masked fighters squared off against each other. Each holding some sort of weapon, either a baseball bat or a crowbar. With roar, they began to circle each other. Lashing a pointed tip through to air to gather some sort of reaction from their opponent, only for a flash of wood to come whistling past. Nearly taking their head off along with knocking that crowbar out a most assuredly sweat grip.
"That guy got so lucky!" Someone further upfront commented, sounding feminine. "That should've taken his head clean off!"
"From I heard," Another women spoke up. "Most of these fighters come from Yellow and Red, they know how to fight. Those two from before was just the appetizer. Those crackheads were only worth fighting dogs...shame Man-Killer didn't get rid of both-but the twins got her in the end so it's fine."
"They're sooo cautious!" A whiny man complained, stamping his feet like a petulant child. "Why won't they go at it?! Cameron! Do you only have this boring stuff?"
"You guys want to skip this one?" 'Cameron', the one who seemed to be manning the projector asked the group. "I don't remember this one being too eventful, let me just…"
Suddenly, the fight speed up supernaturally so. And even then, there were only a handful of blows actually being dealt out. All of them were probing strikes that didn't nothing but bounce their weapons away from each other. And from what a particularly bloodthirsty and inhumane way of thinking, maybe the fight could've been categorized as 'boring'.
Even the end of the fight, which ended in a single good swing from the bat wielder striking at their opponent's hand. And despite the masks covering their facial expressions, crowbar's grimace of pain was plain to see. As was the hand shooting up to surrender before the larger man could really get another shot off.
"What a pansy." Another guy almost booed at the screen, and if he was holding a bag of popcorn, it probably would've been thrown at the screen. "If I were there, I would've just paid a thousand just to see the big one get one good swing off that rat's head….Speaking of that, when is the next Black event?"
"I don't know." Cameron responded. "They're not like other events. I think they're doing that artificial rarity scam. But I'll be sure to bring you next time."
"Hey!" A new women squawked, obviously offended. "You have to bring me as well!"
"I'll bring everyone I can."
"But there's something I have to know." The same women started. "Can we bring our own fighters? Because I have few servants that can probably put up a good fight, they're the type of people to do ANYTHING for money. I once got one of my maids to preform oral on one of the hunting hou-"
"Please." Someone else, gratefully cut her off. Sounding as though they were moments away from gagging. "I do not want to hear about that! You're sick, you know that?"
"You're right, I am sick." The figure pushed some hair over her shoulder, leaning in a hair closer. "But you love it though."
"If you're going to keep flirting," Another male interrupted the 'romantic' air. "Go find a spare bedroom, like everyone else."
"You're no fun!" The sick dog lady 'pouted'. Slamming back in her chair before turning back to their host. "But seriously, can we?"
"I don't know…." Cameron sounded a bit unsure. "I can ask, but I don't see a reason why not. I think it'll work better if you have a list of who you want."
"...What if we could get Sam's servant?"
Albert's ears perked up a bit at that name. It might've been abbreviated, but Patrick had been 'kind' enough to show him a photo of his fiancee along with her name.
Samantha Winstanley, third daughter of Caspian Winstanley. A pretty well off family known for their iron-like grip on Gotham's steel market. While it wasn't to the point of a monopoly just yet, if there was ever need for steel their company would be the closest. And, if Patrick was to be believed, at a massively reduced rate in comparison to the outside world. Essentially, they took care of shipping costs and made hand over fist every, single year.
A simple strategy that made the Winstanleys one of the more powerful families in the city.
'Hopefully,' He was resisting the urge to ask, showing too much interest now would assuredly ruin everything. 'This 'Sam' is who I'm looking for.'
"No way she'll agree." A man instantly shot down. "She's in-love with that man. Don't know why, he gives me the creeps."
"Maybe that's why she's stuck at hip with him. Sometimes, a girl like some mystery."
"He gives off that serial killer vibe, like he's going to kill me and tan my skin as a memento."
"No you're just exaggerating, I think you're just jealous. Sam's real pretty and I vividly remember her rejecting you when we were in Gotham Academy."
"That was five years ago!" The unnamed man scoffed. "I was ignorant back then. Now I know, no matter how pretty a face might be, some people are just ugly on the inside."
"Sam's not that." The sick dog lady defended and paused as many figure's looked over in her direction. Silent but judging. "Okay, maybe I'm not the right person to prove her innocence….Rebekah, help me out here!"
"…..She is pretty."
'Rebekah' timidly complimented, but didn't elaborate further. The sidelined request speaking louder than any words.
"See? Even Rebekah here know's Sam's rotten and she's the nicest one here!" Someone added. Vindicated. "Honestly, no matter how creepy her servants feels to me, I still feel a bit bad for him. Can you imagine all the stuff she makes him do just satisfy her desires?"
"I don't need to imagine." Cameron snorted. "None of us do, remember what happened to that art teacher back then?"
"Okay, we get it!" The same twisted women threw her arms in the air, the fight on screen now completely forgotten. And as much as Albert wanted to ignore it as well, there was a small hiccup. On screen, sped up to a near dizzying degree, he saw someone that he really shouldn't have.
The person was obviously large, easily standing heads and shoulders above the average person. With a tight wife-beater shirt that did nothing but extenuate his bulging muscles. Not developed for purely aesthetic reasons but for pure utility. Like they were use to picking up heavy objects, back breaking labor and long hours under the sun. Maybe Albert was too tired or stressed or just blind, but there was no way in hell that was who he thought it was.
Leaning closer, he almost glared a hole right through the screen as a muscle bound idiot in a black and brown face mask squared off against similarly masked assailant. Each, instead of weapons, only held up as tools of destruction were fists wrapped in gauze.
Even while sped up, even from so far away, all it took was a single blow. In which the larger fighter just simple devoured and delivered his own haymaker that sent his opponent sprawling, to know exactly who that was.
Someone who shouldn't be there to begin with, someone who'd promised to hold off from participating in the Black.
'Malcolm.' Albert ground his teeth, a vein visibly pulsating on his temple. Heart thumping and fist tightening into helpless fist. And suddenly all that anger, from the repeated snubs that night, to being slapped in the face and being forced into a job, all came boiling up the surface. It was a white thing, a ball of fire oozing malice that made his vision tinge red from around the edges. 'You fucking idiot.'
In that moment, he simply wanted to ditch this party or what they wanted to call it and find his way back to change into more comfortable clothes. He might be injured, but that wasn't going to stop him from shoving his boot so far up the giant's rear that it'll jump-start the last few brain cells the idiot had.
'If only that bastard wasn't so fucking huge…'
Sadly, no matter how much he wished to wail endlessly on the giant, it was safe to assume that they would be the flailing of a child in comparison. If anything, it would be more akin to a buzzing mosquito. And just like that annoying pest, a massive hand being swatted in his direction would be the end of him.
Otherwise….
"-nd she made him do it all in-front of his wife!" Cameron shuddered in place, face appearing pale even this incredibly dark room. Whatever end of the story Albert's mind decided to filter back in, it apparently was enough to thoroughly dose the sadistic and jolly mood of the group. Each looking more concerned than ever. "I get it though, I don't know how he was going to get himself out of that situation without just leaving the States….but anything would've been better than that."
"I was there." One of the other men in the room spoke up, his voice sounding a mile a way as he was dragged back into an unpleasant memory. "Not in the room when it happened, but I did see the aftermath…that's why I went to Venezuela for a month."
"Okay, okay!" The only ally of this 'Sam' character waved proverbial white flag under the, apparently, horrendous story. "We get it, Sam is a certified freak! One that I can only look on in envy as she descends into depravity than I will ever be able to! But, but that doesn't mean it wouldn't work. If I were in her shoes, hopefully, the one thing that I would love to is my boy toy fighting. Especially that big fella on screen right now. Just the primal action of it, them hammering a desperate struggle to survive against another only to watch them snuff the light from their opponent's eyes….And then to have the winner look at me like I'm some sort of prize to be taken to their den and rav-"
"Stop that, Guin." Her partner scolded, gratefully saving them all from that image. "You're scaring poor Rebekah here."
"…." Even in the dark, the 'poor' girl looked right about ready to turn into a puddle in her seat. Silhouette dropping their head low but it didn't stop her from contributing. "No, Guin's right. If we can come at this from Sam's point of view, it should be easy for us to convince her….and it's not like her servant will be in any actual danger. Cameron, is there anyway we can influence the matches? If so, let's give him an easy win."
"Sometimes, you're a pretty scary girl. But I can probably pull some strings, who do you have in mind?"
"My family has a few misbehaving servants that I'm sure my parents will be too eager to get rid of." Albert's slowly craned to the side at the comment, slow horror welling up in his chest as he truly understood in that moment, that he was in a room full of monsters. The girl might've acted or sounded reasonable or even remotely normal, but even that safety blanket had been torn away from him. Sadists, people who took great pleasure in either observing or inflicting the pain other's felt. Not the normal kind involving whips or gimp suits, but more on the line of sociopaths.
Maybe that wasn't the right word for them, they did feel empathy but only for those that they considered on their levels. Even now, despite there being an outsider amongst them none of the people there seemed even the slightest bit concerned. Or cautious of the secrets spilling out of their lips. It was clear the pity they felt for him was more akin to seeing an injured animal on the side of the road, already doomed to die but wishing to make it's passing as smooth as possible.
He'd been too lax and needed to vacate this den, sooner rather than later if the mention of his idiotic client had even a minuscule chance of turning into something tangible. These were not the sort of people to allow a fight to be forfeited. They would want blood and just like how they were raised, they would get it.
"Whose going to try and convince her?" A monster wearing human skin asked but not before answering their own question shortly after. "It's not going to be me. I'm not very close to Samantha, she'll think I'm trying to hit on her….and for obvious reasons, I don't want that sort of attention from her. Where even is she?"
"She should be around here somewhere." Guin answered casually. "Last I saw, she cornered that poor Hardwick and dragged him to a room with her servant. Somewhere remote, you know how she is."
'Thank you,' Albert could've have been more pleased in that moment. While it wasn't a direct room number, it drastically cut down on the spots he needed to check. Something he could actually work with, without running around like maniac. 'I wish I could say it was a pleasure to meet you guys but...I'm a terrible liar.'
Slipping silently out of his seat, the teen slowly made his way out of the room. It would be better if they never realized exactly when he left, less chance of them connecting the dots that he was here strictly for any information on this, apparently, depraved Samantha.
Just as he gripped the door knob, a voice suddenly hollered out.
"Wait!" Freezing in place, he just stood there like a deer in headlights as the room settled down to a still thing. His shoulders only slightly drooped in relief as Cameron continued. "Everyone, be quiet real quick! This one is special, she's new to the scene but hasn't suffered a single loss! That, and look at the way that spandex just sinks to her skin! And that raven hair?! Yeah, she's gotta be my favorite fighter so far. She goes by...The Huntress."
He didn't wait and with a new fire lit under his rear, the teen slunk out of the room and into the dark corridors with not even a soft click to announce his departure. Heart pounding a mile a minute as yet another hiccup further upset the delicate hourglass that was his case.