"That was probably the summer when I was seven. I went mountain climbing with my parents. I was fearless back then loved walking along dangerous cliffs. My sense of balance was great, so narrow paths never bothered me."
"That time, we reached the mountainside. It was drizzling, but like always, I stepped onto a suspended natural stone bridge. I still remember the rolling peaks, rain flowing along the ridges, converging into countless tiny streams. They leapt through the mountains like playful spirits, finally merging into the river below, making a gentle"
"Stop. Stop right there." Drake raised a hand, frowning. "We're not Sherlock Holmes. You don't need to narrate like Watson to hook readers. Get to the point."
"But it's nice storytelling," Camilla said gently, smiling as she patted Drake's arm. "Mr. Reed is actually quite good at it."
"Long story short I fell off the mountain and into a cave." Marcus immediately simplified his story. "There was a Santa Claus in the cave, roasting reindeer. He told me that if I told this story to one person, it would cure all their illnesses. Then he rode off on the remaining eight reindeer."
"…" Camilla couldn't smile anymore. "Marcus… I'm Christian."
"Oh sorry," Marcus shrugged. "At least now we know Santa really exists."
"…Huh?" Drake instinctively turned toward Camilla. Then his pupils shrank violently.
Marcus crossed his legs and hummed to himself, feeling inexplicably light hearted. 🎵 'The old tree by the door sprouts new buds, the dead wood in the yard blooms again~' 🎵
Strands of hair began growing from Camilla's bare scalp like willow branches budding in early spring. Within seconds, a waterfall of golden hair cascaded down to her waist. Her shriveled body filled out, returning to a graceful feminine form. Her pale, slack skin quickly became rosy and firm once more.
Watching his wife who had been tormented by illness for years transform back into a beautiful woman within seconds, tears welled up in Drake's eyes. So beautiful. Just like the first time he'd seen her.
Camilla stared at her smooth, pale hands, instinctively stroking the golden hair draped over her shoulder, then leaned into Drake's arms, silently crying. 🎵 'Half a lifetime's worth of words…' 🎵
Marcus continued humming softly, a tune neither of them recognized. Drake held his frozen wife tightly, unable to say a single word. He had endured with her for so long endured until her hair fell out, her body withered, her face dulled.
She had endured with him just as long until he lost his job, sold his house, drained every last cent. They had both nearly collapsed. She had almost given up. He was grateful he hadn't.
There goes my first Rapid Health Regeneration, Marcus thought. Drake better find me a decent job.
The Next Day
"How long have you and your wife been in Gotham?" Marcus asked.
"About a year. Why?"
"You waited for Victor for a whole year?"
"Eight months, to be precise. Eight months later, Dr. Fries disappeared in that accident. I tried contacting his former partners, but they died too quickly. So lately I've been looking for leads on Mr. Freeze."
"Good thing you didn't find any." Marcus shrugged. "Since you've been here a year, you must've built some connections."
Drake immediately caught his meaning. "I'll do my best to help you find work suitable for outsiders relatively safe ones. But remember this: there is no truly clean job in Gotham."
"If you want to survive here, morals have to go."
"That's… a bit difficult," Marcus sighed. "With my physique, arson and murder are unrealistic. With my intelligence and skills, theft or fraud would get me caught on the spot."
"I don't want to use this face to become a gangster sugar baby, and my flop writing career won't make money here either"
"Alright, alright, stop." Drake waved him off. After the first two points, half the options were gone. After the last two, only three remained.
"Let me confirm something," Drake said carefully. "Besides writing, do you have any other skills?"
"Driving. Counting." Marcus tilted his head. "That's it."
"Cleaning? Cooking?"
Marcus smiled politely. "A little. Enough to keep me alive."
"…" They stared at each other. In this awkward silence, Drake asked: "Do you have money?"
"If I had money, why would I be looking for work?"
"…Then maybe you should go back to that cave and look for Santa again?"
Marcus coughed awkwardly. "Just something relatively safe is fine."
Drake thought hard, then snapped his fingers. "Waiting tables?"
"No problem!" Seeing Marcus agree instantly, Drake let out a breath of relief.
"Gotham's different from other cities. Every industry is controlled or protected by gangs. Some are outright run by them."
"I've built one connection over the past year. I might get you a foothold job in a restaurant but understand this: no matter what you do, you'll be connected to gangs."
"As long as they don't make me hack people with knives and no one hacks me while I'm working I'm good."
Drake snapped his fingers lightly and pulled out his phone. "Then we're set."
Ring Ring Ring
"Hello?" After two full minutes, the call finally connected. A rough male voice answered. "Drake. What do you want?"
Bang! Marcus clearly heard a gunshot from the other end.