29 Lazy Writing #29

Sprawled on my bed, eyes glued to the dwindling point balance on my screen – a measly 120 points stared back at me. A heavy sigh escaped my lips. And no, I wasn't brooding about my meeting with Kord. 

In fact, the encounter with the Blue Beetle had wrapped up with a positive spin, and with no particular agenda in mind, I had sauntered back to my apartment.

The terms we agreed upon were as straightforward as could be. Kord would front the resources, including transportation and whatnot, for our tech cache mission. 

In return, I'd spill the beans on the location and accompany him to take down any defenses with my newly acquired power. The lucrative outcome? A cool 10 million dollars, half the tech bounty, and dibs on the first pick from the cache items. 

It all sounded grand on paper, but my focus was fixed on a specific piece typically associated with Apokoliptan tech – the real prize in my eyes. 

Heck, I would have even been willing to let Kord have everything besides that specific item since I didn't have the ability to utilize so much tech or the channels to turn them into money, but I needed to keep my cards close to my chest. 

As for the item I had in mind, it's a bit f obvious, isn't it? But that's enough of that. 

Now, you might be wondering why I was lying on my bed, sporting a gloomy expression despite the successful meeting. Well, apart from the mind-numbing boredom that accompanies post-mission lulls, there was an itch to try something, something my current point balance wasn't quite up to snuff for.

Although I didn't dissect it at the time, that tutorial wasn't just a Metropolis crisis escape plan and a way to introduce me to this chaotic world – it turned out to be a proper guide on optimizing my system usage. A tutorial within a tutorial, who would've thought? 

So, while my initial assessment lacked the depth, the essence was clear. What intrigued me was the prospect of triggering another quest, much like the Livewire escapade. 

The game plan? Buy a piece of intel from the system, gather the necessary arsenal of items and powers, act on the intel, and finally, reel in a hefty return on my investment and maybe get a character to do my bidding.

 It sounded like the golden ticket, but alas, my current point stash wasn't helping.

Dreaming big on a shoestring budget, I yearned to afford even a modest piece of intel, let alone the additional gadgets and powers required for the task. Ah, the struggles of being monetarily challenged are cruel indeed. 

Contemplating my next move, I pondered a leisurely stroll through the chaotic streets of Gotham. An intriguing idea, considering the menagerie of eccentric characters ripe for point-harvesting encounters, which is exactly what I needed. 

Sure, it wasn't my go-to choice, considering my last escapade and the ever-watchful gaze of the Caped Crusader. Yet, with Metropolis undergoing maintenance and the Superfamily on high alert, the chances of bumping into a villain were lower than a snail's limbo dance.

Star City, a definite no-go zone, teemed with bat-crazy villains flaunting a flair for casually defying the laws of physics. Even with a stockpile of lives, facing off with the wrong guy – especially one prone to donning yellow tights and rewriting timelines for tragic fun – promised a one-way ticket to the afterlife drama.

So, Gotham, it was. But, before diving into the enigmatic chaos of the city, a nap was in order. Because, you know, even the most daring exploits start with a well-rested hero.

...

Standing in front of a quaint shop's front, a steaming cup in my hand, and Rattigan perched nonchalantly on my shoulder, I casually glanced at the television in the shop's window display broadcasting the news.

The news lady, with her practiced solemnity, narrated a strange case. A group of wanted men had inexplicably surrendered themselves at the police station, engaging in bizarre behavior. 

The footage cut to one of the men in his cell, huddled in a fetal position, muttering nonsensical gibberish. 

The newscaster returned, explaining that despite the man's disturbed state, investigators managed to extract a few coherent sentences. According to the criminal, he had encountered a peculiar young man in an alleyway.

As the story unfolded on the screen, I cocked an eyebrow in mild amusement. "That guy does look familiar..." 

The news lady told the criminal's recounting how the young man effortlessly dispatched one of his thug companions and, when confronted, simply told them to "piss off. 

That's when things took a turn for the surreal – demons, more terrifying than a horror flick, emerged from the young man's shadow, sending the criminals into a fright-induced stupor.

"With recent events and the attack on Metropolis, we can't help but ponder..." the news lady began in a professional tone. "Is this merely nonsense spoken by a deranged criminal or something more... Is it the emergence of a new hero, or perhaps a..." She continued, but I didn't bother to catch the rest.

Casually, I let my thoughts spill out. "That's craaazy..." I muttered as I strolled away while sipping my coffee as if the entire situation had nothing to do with me.

'Still... Didn't think the Dreadbane Pendant would pack such a punch...' I mused, clutching the necklace concealed under my clothes. 'Gotta be more cautious with it moving forward...'

Aside from that little distraction, you might be wondering where I was and what I was doing, and the answer is in no way complicated or profound.

Wandering through the dimly lit streets of Gotham, I sported my best impression of a clueless tourist – a face that screamed "I have no idea where I am." Yet, despite my efforts, my search for any signs of intrigue or danger proved disappointingly fruitless. 

Several hours had passed since the sun dipped below the horizon, and the city's reputation for chaos and unpredictability seemed to be taking a night off.

My Gotham adventure began on the north side, navigating through Old Gotham with the expectation of some high-octane encounter. I half-anticipated a missile hurling my way, or at least a menacing figure on the rooftops. 

Alas, Gotham's notorious surprises were taking their sweet time.

After a good hour of aimless meandering in the darkness, I decided to shift my exploration to East End, renowned as the breeding ground for Gotham's worst. 

However, once again, my expectations fell flat. No dangerous encounters, no supervillains lurking in the shadows – just a disappointingly quiet night in Gotham.

"What rotten luck..." I muttered, my fingers idly scratching my head in contemplation. The gothic architecture and perpetual scowls around me were beginning to wear thin. "Oh well, I guess I'll just have to come back tom--" I paused, my sentence hanging mid-air, as the unmistakable symphony of something colossal colliding with something even more substantial echoed in the distance. 

"How convenient... if this were a comic book story, I'd call lazy writing..." I said with a grin, immediately changing my direction toward the source of the commotion.

Following the distant echoes led me to a scene straight out of a monster movie. There, in the heart of Gotham's night, a colossal figure wreaked havoc, flipping cars with casual disdain. 

The figure, as wide as it was tall, boasted grey, rotten-looking skin, draped in tattered rags with a noose ominously hanging around its neck. Solomon Grundy was on a chaotic spree, turning the city streets into his own personal playground.

The blank chanting of his infamous nursery rhyme every destructive move, as if chaos was his birthright privilege and duty. 

"Born on a Monday, christened on a Tuesday..." Solomon Grundy's gravelly voice echoed through the chaos as he nonchalantly hoisted a black sedan into the air. "Married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday..." The undead behemoth continued his grisly nursery rhyme, casually tossing the car in the direction of an elderly woman desperately attempting to flee. 

For a moment, my eyes widened, ready to activate my Storm Walker Shoes to intervene. However, before I could make a move, a figure in dark leather swooped in.

Catwoman, Gotham's feline vigilante, swiftly intervened, her whip cracking through the air. In a deft move, she wrapped the elderly woman in its leather coils and, with a decisive yank, whisked her away from the impending danger. 

A smirk crept across my face as I watched the scene unfold. "So Catwoman is in her vigilante phase already... Bruce Wayne, you horn dog..." I muttered, amused by the unexpected rescue.

...

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