(A/N: Hello everyone! First, thank you guys for reading! I also have a very, very important announcement! I have commissioned some new cover art of DCM done by Gianni Allana and I will have her socials in both the description and down below, along with a close up view of the new art! I extend a massive thanks to her and the awesome work she did!
Instagram: @_gigiall_)
Standing before that same room oozing a slight scent of heavy smoke, methanol and sweat. Acrid like poor decisions and regret. Even from outside, boisterous laughter could be heard. The slamming of plastic chips clattering against an oaken surface, at least someone was having fun on this awful night.
That fact only further curdled Albert's stomach, a mix of annoyance and fatigue came together to create a rather foul mood. A near 'invisible' sneer fought to keep itself above the impassive mask that had slid into place since expunging everything. His eye caught his reflection's, and it only further soured his already darkening thoughts.
Adriannus was right, he did look horrendous. And that was even after splashing his face with water to rid it of the trails of snot and tears once covering him completely. But it seemed, even after some time it wasn't enough to hide the evidence.
His eyelids were puffy, matching the red hue that took up the corners of his dead eyes. Skin only now beginning to recover from it's deathly pallor and a nose that looked like it could lead Santa through a stormy night.
In simplest terms, it looked as though he'd just gotten done with a long and nasty crying session. A fact for a lot of these people, it was only because of one thing. And because of that, even though he tried his best to slip through unoccupied rooms and duck down hallways, it was only a matter of time before someone stumbled across him.
There was a limit to Stealth after all. It wasn't invisibility.
And it only took one look for his state to spread amongst the entire event. Pitying and disgusted looks followed him no matter where he went, acting like low flames only further stoking his irritation. Luckily, no one saw fit to poke the bear. Maybe it was his scowl, or maybe they thought he'd suffered enough or feared he was like some rabid animal just waiting for someone bite.
Whatever the reason, he was 'happy'. More than glad to stomp his way back to this room but not without a little bit of insurance.
'I will not yell.' A mantra, a chant to hold back the fury threatening to break through his makeshift dam. 'I will not shout, I will not cuss. And I will not attack out of sheer spite.'
Without giving himself another moment to hesitate, he knocked. Maybe a bit harder than he needed to if the buzzing sensation from his knuckles were anything to go by.
The room silenced for a moment before the door opened and a lone eye glared down him at from on high. That same voice, that was like if a swine was given the intelligence to speak wrung out with a far too arrogance.
"Password."
Despite not being able to see the guard's expression, he could tell the man was grinning widely. This was a person who reveled in lording over people even with the smallest bits of power he was granted, a 'small' and petty man that, if not for his wealthy parents, wouldn't achieve anything in life. Maybe he would be a gym teacher that got a sick thrill out of making fun of overweight students, or like that pawnshop clerk.
Maybe the smart would be to preform the same song and dance his guide, Harold, once did but again, he was tired. Sick and tired of dealing with these people and simply wanted to go home.
"Here's your boss's deposit." Instead of playing around or trying to be polite, Albert simply held out the five twenty dollar bills that his 'client' had slid his way. The guy might've been insufferable but that didn't mean it would be enough for the teen to dash away with his money. This was what deposits were for.
The lone eye glanced down at the outstretched bills, squinting visibly at the clear lack of respect. Before they narrowed, hostility growing as the seconds ticked on.
"Passwor-"
"Let him in." Patrick's familiar voice broke through the stand off but despite that, the guard didn't look all too eager to let him in. In fact, it actually appeared that he was ready to disobey a command from his 'boss' and just deal with the consequences of doing so.
But it seemed, their boss had a tighter leash of control than expected. The door opened wide, revealing the large frame of the guard. Another burger in hand, small splatters of grease evident on his jacket. Not moving far enough of the way to not touch the man, Albert didn't bother being polite. Petty sure, but that was just the mood he was in.
'Shoving' past the wall of lard, he looked on at the joyous table. The previously nervous looking attendees all had smiles spread across their faces, a bit of rosiness to their cheeks as they stared down at cards they all probably thought was the winning hand. The pool of chips had grown substantially larger, even some real cash thrown onto the table. Twenty, fifty and hundred dollar bills were formed into loose paper balls.
Just the sheer amount of wealth on display was beginning to make him second guess his 'morals'. There was no way they would his measly hundred bucks.
At the head of the table, still sitting there like some sort of king or ruler, was that same tanned blonde that nearly caused his end. Literal and metaphorical.
"Ah," Patrick looked up, a mock surprised expression visible. "Look at who we have here. The famous private investigator, Mr. Nelson. I sure hope you have good news?"
'You set me up.'
Were the words he wanted to say. This man had nearly caused him to be public enemy number one amongst the entire upper echelons of Gotham and from what Adriannus had told him, this Moore wouldn't have even been able to protect himself from the consequence of gather compromising photos of an heiress.
Much less some random kid from the streets.
"I have your deposit here." It simply wouldn't do to be accusatory, that would only escalate things. Holding out his outstretched hand, he allowed the bills to go floating down to the table. It was a pitiful amount in comparison to the absurd levels of wealth on display, but that wasn't his problem. That money probably wasn't even theirs' to begin with, allowances granted to them by overly dotting parents. If anything, they should feel somewhat ashamed as all of them looked to be in their mid-to-late twenties and still suckling on the teet.
'At least I earn my own money.'
"Oh?" The blonde barely glanced down, clear disinterest across his features. "You failed then? Not a very good snoop, are you?"
[Case Failed: Green hatter!]
It was a blow and he involuntarily froze in place as he awaited whatever punishment the system might have in store for him. But even after a few moments of vigilance, the damned thing was silent. No penalties, not piercing pain through his skull and there wasn't even a demeaning line of text designed solely to shatter his ego. In that moment, he didn't know if the silence was any better than actually receiving a punishment. Whatever the case, his work there was done.
The investigator barely held back a sneer that threatened to split his face in twain as he saw the visible looks of relief spread amongst Moore's cronies. And simply began to turn to leave the room. Being mocked further wasn't in his definition of the word 'fun'.
"Hold up Nelson." But it seemed his ex-client wasn't one to let things go so easily. And if the large guard struggling to his feet was anything to go by, the man wasn't exactly asking. Turning back, a tired gaze bore into the skull of a boy who thought himself king. "You must understand, I told you what would happen if you failed. And my dad always taught me to be a man of my word."
If anything, that in itself only further stoked that pulsating fury in his gut. Like a ball of molten lead, it spun and sputtered. Letting out small sparks, threatening to ignite the kindling of his inner self ablaze.
He would grant the elites some credit, as most of them had the nerve to look uncomfortable. Sure, it was hidden behind nasty grins but there slight shuffling in their seat was a clear give away to anyone who paid attention. Patrick might be delusional but he was not blind.
"But," In the game of politics, sometimes one needed to appease their supporters. Even if it meant back-pedaling. "My father also taught me not to be so...inflexible. So, I'm willing to give you a chance. Take a seat."
Without further ado, one of his lackey's stood up from his seat and stood quietly behind someone else. Leaning heavily on the back of their chair in a way that spoke loudly of their apparent ease with one another. After taking one more glance, the teen took the proffered seat.
None of them were cruel people...okay, maybe it was better to say they could be cruel but not with their victim right in their face. Give them a degree of distance like a screen, a balcony or just a phone call and they would have no problems, figuratively, plucking his limbs apart like an insect.
But give that victim a face, a voice and a story, and their more human side came to the surface. They weren't like the room full of human shaped monsters that got a sexual kick out of the suffering of others. Just gamblers, the lot of them. Beginners at that. People who'd just recently gotten a lick of the forbidden fruit.
Still possessing a modicum of empathy, how long that'll last with Moore holding the reigns was unclear. But for now, while they still had a conscious, the man couldn't do as he pleased.
Albert took the proffered seat, almost feeling the disappointment emanating from the piglike guard.
"Glad you're so agreeable." Patrick nodded. Hands flicking to quickly shuffle a deck of cards, the sound of sliding paper filled the room. From sudden cuts, to cards flying out of one hand to another. Before coming together into a neatly stack pile. It was an impressive sight. A purposeful showing to ease the unnerved group. "Here's my proposal. For failing your task, we'll simply play a game to decide your fate. Win, and all is forgiven. Fail and...well, whatever happens. So, pick your poison. Poker? Blackjack? Or if you're feeling a bit childish, Go-fish? Or Old Maid?"
"I won't be playing any card games with you. Like you, someone once gave me some sound advice. If I ever saw someone handle cards like you did, walk away from the table as fast as possible." What kind of fool did he take him for? Anyone who does those crazy card tricks was for sure cheating in everything they did. It would be literal child's play for them to manipulate the deck in anyway they needed.
"Oh?" For a split second, his eyes flickered over to the faces of his cronies. Their cheeks were slightly rosy, the shared bottle of scotch nearly empty clear on the table proof of their inebriation. Else, they would for sure be up in arms at the cheat acting as the primary dealer. "I will let that slide, for I am sure emotions are running hot. If you won't play a card game with me, then that doesn't leave us with too many options…. Wait! I know, Lucas, get that wooden box out here."
The same man, Lucas, who'd given up his seat before almost stumbled towards a different part of room where a simple table was stationed. On it, a lone wooden box laid in position.
'What are you planning?' Even now, everything this man was doing was theatrical. He probably knew his display of card tricks would scar off anyone from the lower end of Gotham's population, they could smell a card cheat a mile away. And once the wooden box was placed in front him, only more questions came to mind.
Especially once they unfolded it reveal an eight-by-eight grid of white and black squares, with a rows of matching pieces slotted into the side.
'Why chess?'
"I'm a rather huge fan of the game." Patrick began, placing the deck of cards down and lifting an iced glass of amber liquor up to his lips. "It's a game of skill, a true war game spread amongst the populace. I would say I'm pretty adept at it. That's what you get when you hang around old men who survived hard lives."
"Sure, I'll play you."
It was just chess after all, most of the game was about being able to read the opponent and with the understanding he possessed, he would have a second edge against the blonde.
"No, not me." Shaking his head wryly, he instead pointed at one of his cronies. A familiar face with small, pig like eyes that looked up from their meager winnings. A confused expression on full display. "But Harold here. You'll play against him."
Harold, the teen's guide at one point, stood up uneasily to his feet. Obviously well aware of the eyes borrowing into his side as he took up a newly empty seat to gain better access to the board.
"Fine." Again, none of this really mattered. If anything, it only made Albert's victory even more of a certainty. His opponent was nowhere near as sharp as their boss. Not even close. Ten moves max, that was his prediction. "White or black?"
"Uh..white?" Harold glanced at his boss once, as though to ask for permission and only chose when he received a single tap on the table.
"Go ahead."
He waved the man on forward, coaxing him to take the first move. Silence fell in the room as each pairs of eyes drilled into the side of the guide's skull. A visible bead of sweat rolled down his perspiring forehead, fingers hovering over each individual ivory piece as he tried to divine the perfect first move to take.
A pudgy index froze in before a single pawn, it's presence acting as a gate to one of the most powerful pieces in the game. With a small, nervous grin, he exposed his queen in a two square leap. A pawn sent out to stand alone in the mid-ground.
Albert, without a second of hesitation, slid a pawn forward two squares. Opening the floodgates to his rook and knight. It's lone figure sneaking along the edges.
Harold, now sporting a triumphant grin, picked up his queen and nearly slammed right up against his pawn. The clear glint of pride and confidence slowly filling him as things began to turn in his favor.
The investigator wanted to sigh in that moment, he was no expert or professional at this ancient game. Sure, there were plenty of strategies that used an early queen to set the pace of the game but it was commonly still a pretty bad idea to put out the most powerful piece this soon. As instead of the automatic win button most people assumed the piece to be, it would become a target.
From the back, his knight leaped over the heads of the peasants. It's illusory lanced poised like a snake ready to strike.
His opponent, blind to his own perceived power. Drawn solely to the allure of first blood, slid his queen across the field horizontally. Her murderous intent locked solely onto the pitiful lamb left for her slaughter.
With feigned ignorance, a gloved hand ordered another pawn, this one acting as a vanguard to the untouched knight to move forward a single square. And without even waiting for his fingers to fully leave the piece's surface, Harold already had his queen charge like a rampaging bull to completely decimate the pawn and capture it for himself.
The man wore a proud and maybe even a slightly arrogant expression as he snatched the piece up like it was a prized trophy. And like many rulers, they celebrated far too soon.
The sound of galloping hooves, a sheen of metal flashing through the sky as a lance pierced her side. Leaving the prized piece for the taking.
In that moment, the look of utter disbelief flashed across his puffy face. As though he couldn't believe the strongest piece in the game got taken out so suddenly.
"Wai-"
Alas, they weren't kids playing. There was no such thing as 'takesy backsies'. Honestly, Albert even began to feel some semblance of guilt boiling up to the surface just from the facial expressions alone.
"You know," Patrick decided then was the perfect time to add in his two-cents. Egomaniacs do love to monologue after all. "My father once told me that you could read someone based solely on how they play chess. Even from just what color they chose. Proactive or reactive. It's really interesting just to watch but...I think we need some more...stimulation. Don't you all agree?"
"Yeah!"
"I would rather go back to playing blackjack."
"Checkers is better than this. Just rainbow hop back and forth for the win."
"You can't hop backwards in checkers."
"Yeah you can! I do it all the time to win!"
"Play with someone not hired by you the-."
"I," The blonde quickly cut in before the drunken rambling could continue. "Say we add some spice to this...Put your wallets away, I have something better. Let's say this: Harold, if you win all your debt to me will be forgiven and I'll also pay any debts you have to anyone at this table."
The previously shocked man instantly perked up when he heard that promise, a spark of hope alighting in those eyes as he looked at his boss like one would do to a saint.
"But, if you lose…. I won't stop Barney here from beating you black and blue."
And just like that, that hope soon died in his eyes. Replaced now fully by fear as he looked at the large guard in the corner glaring down at them in sheer glee. A wide, nasty grin spread across 'Barney's' jowls. A meaty fist the size of a head slammed into an equally sized palm, unleashing a low thumping noise through-out the room.
"And Nelson," Turning to the opposite side of the table, that blonde grinned widely. "If you win, not only will your failure be forgiven but I'll also provide a voucher for Moore Constructions. With it, you'll be able to request a single renovation for free. I will pay for materials, labor and the cost of your temporary housing."
Despite himself, a slight flutter in his heart escaped.
'The insulation is pretty awful.'
His room was often quite drafty, requiring him to use multiple layers of blankets and pajamas to achieve even a semblance of warm. And with how frigid the floors also got, whenever he left his bed it was generally impossible to get back to sleep. That near ice shocking away his sleep with a sudden jab to his ribs.
It was a nice offer, a tempting offer...too tempting. Too tailor made to his needs and desires to be genuine. He just needed to wait for the other shoe to drop. His eyes flickered over to the lumbering mountain of flesh in the corner, coldness entering his heart.
"Normally, I would say Barney would beat you black and blue as well, but…" The blonde looked all too smug in that moment, like he could actually read the teen like a book. "I feel like that if I were to order that, he would have to kill you. My father taught me how to single out the vengeful types. And you, seem like the kind of guy to not let go of a grudge easily."
'You bet.'
Even now, the wannabe crime lord was already in his sights. Anything more would just add fuel to that fire, a future light to shine brightly on all those hidden skeletons.
"Instead, I'll just keep your punishment the same. Lose and I'll put in a request for your neck of the woods to get flattened like a pancake. Sounds fair?"
"…" In comparison to the other deal, it was a lot better. The threat of violence being lifted from the equation kind of made him feel stupid as the flat edge, metal face pressed itself flush against his chest. Something he'd been able to slip from under the nose of an inebriated couple. It wasn't a blade like the switchblade he often kept on his person, but a paring knife. More designed for cutting fruit than anything else. But alas, human skin was not immune to any sort sharp object. "That sounds amenable."
"...Same."
Not like Harold had much of a choice, especially if he truly owed a substantial debt to risk being beaten. And from the annoyed glances being sent in the larger man's direction, it probably was true.
"Good, then I believe it was Harold's turn." Patrick leaned back, a glass in hand as turned back to the investigator. "I hope you don't mind holding a conversation with me, you don't seem like you need your full attention for this game."
"What do you want to talk about?"
With the added pressure from his possible beating, it was clear that he would be scrambling for any advantage he could edge out. Even if it was a bit back handed.
"About your failure."
"What's there to talk about?" Albert shrugged, moving his bishop to completely devour the left over space. Working in tandem with his knight and pawn to slowly but surely begin whittling away at his increasingly frantic opponent. "I couldn't find her in time. Story's done."
"I think not. Even if you hadn't found her in time you still could've spent the rest of the party...my apologies 'soiree' trying to snap a picture of her and her lover together. Sure, it would've been considered a failure but I wouldn't have minded."
"When you 'gave' me this job," It was more forced upon him but everyone knew that. "You left out a lot of information. I went in blind and almost ran head first into a hornet's nest. Maybe you meant for me to fail from the beginning."
"Oh?" The man took a sip, paying only half his attention to absolute slaughter before him. "Ah, that's the good stuff...but what make's you say that? Besides, isn't it your job to unravel mysteries?"
"It is my job to unravel mysteries, as you say." A glove hand snatched up yet another piece, a flailing bishop that tried to bite and spit in the eye of the rook that had gotten the better of it. "But it's also the job of the client to make sure I know any prevalent details. Possible dangers for one."
"You met Yandel, scary bastard isn't he?"
"By mere chance, but he is one possible hazard." A neutral answer, as he knew all too well who exactly was in the room with him. Both of them would be considered fools if they believed this conversation wasn't going to get leaked. It was simply better if only one of them was seen insulting the favored servant. "I'm more speaking of the social retaliation of catching an heiress in a scandal. If what I've been able to gather is true, I would've become enemy number one at this event. And my life in Gotham would be over."
'If not my life itself.'
"Are you accusing me of putting you in a lose-lose situation?"
"No." That came out a bit more biting than he intended, but he didn't regret it in the slightest. It wasn't like he was ever going to accept a job from this guy ever again. "Not an accusation, but a fact."
"If that's the case, then why did you come back? You could've just walked away with my deposit and no one would've ever blinked an eye. It's only a hundred after all, not even enough to buy in our poker games."
"I'm not a thief. The deposit is there to act as insurance for the client. If I can't achieve what they wanted, then they would get their money back...but after this, I might be changing that policy."
"You're right, you're no thief...you're a bit too goody-goody to be one."
"…."
"You know." Patrick continued in the face of his silence. A small, mocking grin in place as he stared down the chess board. "It must be exhausting to hear me say this, but my dad taught me a lot of things. Taught me out to single out the vengeful types, thieves, fraudsters and just the scum of the Earth. But most importantly, he taught me how to deal with people like you."
"You're a 'good' guy Albert. From that alone, I think you did find Samantha but you had second thoughts about capturing her in an intimate moment. Probably felt wrong to you. And combine that with the fact that I wasn't too kind to you, it was easy for you to give up."
"You see, I know what I am. I'm a 'bad' guy. And in stories, good guys beat bad guys. A tale as old as humanity itself. But if that's the case, then why are people like me in power while people like you aren't? Simple."
"Good guys are easy to read. Easy to steer to a certain outcome and no matter how smart or observant they might be, they'll still voluntarily march down that path. Why, you might ask? Simple, for as long as people like me use 'innocent' people like Harold here, you have no choice but to dance to my whims."
"Harold is going to get beaten black and blue, wracked with pain and humiliation all the while being pressed under the shame of debt. He won't be able to go to his parents to help him out, he's already on thin ice with them as is. It'll only further crush his spirits, making him more compliant." He spoke as if the object of the his monologue wasn't in the room with him, nor did he seem to care when the guide's head snapped up in his direction with a betrayed expression. "Maybe I'll use that debt to crush him, to force him to do things he normally wouldn't. Don't be mistaken, it's not like us. He's a coward through and through, just knowing violence is no longer just a threat will make him way more willing. He'll steal for me, some useless trinkets his parents wouldn't even mind missing but then things would escalate. Paintings, cars, houses, trust funds...hell, if he had a sister I could probably get him to sell her to me."
The husky man's eyes burned, both in tears and anger but he didn't dare raise them in the direction of his boss. And instead, he forced his gaze to the table to avoid the obvious unease filling the room. Maybe if he did look up, he would've seen the drunk but uncomfortable looks the elites were giving one another.
"All hypothetical, of course." Patrick laughed heartedly, heavy and deep from the bottom of his diaphragm. A false action, designed only to put his sheep at ease. "There's no way I would do that to Harold, we're friends. A mere joke! But that doesn't change anything for you, does it?"
'That wasn't a joke.'
If anything, that was probably the most truthful the blonde had been that night. It wasn't a mere a threat, it was a promise and that exactly scene could be easily seen.
"Good guys are predictable in that way. To you, Harold is innocent. And there's no way, you would allow an innocent to come to harm? Would you?"
"We're done here." Albert stood upright to his feet, fighting with all his might to keep a neutral expression in place. A single gloved hand tipping over the lone king, the crown clattering against the battlefield. That ball of spinning lead, now an inferno of cold wrath. Simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over and consume the whole building. "Congratulation Harold, you win."
And without a second glance at the smug bastard, the teen turned on his heel before stomping away. Maybe this was karma, he'd thought he was some grand manipulator when he'd pulled that stunt with Barbara. Thought he'd been so much more cunning or resourceful but this world loved to remind him of his place.
But now look at him, willingly dancing to the tune of an egomaniac. All because he was unable to sit back and do nothing in a situation where he actually could help...No that wasn't it, maybe. He didn't know. He was tired, annoyed and simply wanted this night to end. Anything that could be stitched together to form a better picture could be handled by future-him.
'Because, once again, screw that guy.'
Cheering could be heard at his back, cronies congratulating their brethren. And over it all, one last parting sentence leaked into his ears.
"For as long as bad guys like me have innocent people like Harold as shields, good guys like you are helpless. That's real life for you, Albert Nelson."
(A/N: This mini-arc is almost done! Next chapter we'll be closing out on the Soiree and continuing on! This chapter was a bit hard to write, I know I've been equated to Spiderman author levels when it comes to making my MC suffer but man...this one was rough. I tried to make Patrick and him foils of one another here, like what he could become if he just became ruthless ass-hat. Not a real fun character to write in the long run. But anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter and I will see you guys next week! Thank you for reading!)