15 Vigilant Law Offices #15

Auhtors note:

Hey amazing readers!

I hope you're all enjoying the journey through the twists and turns of our story! I wanted to take a quick moment to chat about something sthat's necessary from any story on this site - Power Stones! 

You might be wondering, "What are powers tones and wht the hell do you want them?" Well, my friends, they're like magical tokens that can help our story shine even brighter. Here's the scoop: when you drop a Power Stone on our story, it's not just a vote—it's like a rocket boost! 

Why does this matter? Well, it's all about the weekly ranking. The more Power Stones we gather, the higher we climb in the ranks. And guess what? A higher spot means more exposure for our story. 

So, here's my humble request: if you're enjoying the ride and want to see more, consider dropping a Power Stone our way! Your support ensures that more readers discover our tale, and it paves the way for even more adventures.

Think of it as your secret superpower to help our story reach new heights! 

Thank you a million times for being the awesome readers you are. Your support means the world to me, and together, we're making this journey truly special.

Happy reading and Power Stone sprinkling!

...

Feeling a furry weight settle on my chest, I groaned, "Just... you know, maybe five more minutes." I clung to the last shreds of sleep, reluctant to face the world beyond the warm cocoon of my bed. However, my peaceful snooze was abruptly interrupted by the sensation of two tiny paws playing dentist in my mouth.

"Ouch! Seriously, you oversized furball!" I yelped, abruptly sitting up and tossing Rattigan away. To my chagrin, he executed a mid-air acrobatics routine, kicking off the wall like he was auditioning for a rodent Cirque du Soleil. I shot him an exasperated look, not in the mood for a showdown with a rat before my morning coffee.

With a weary sigh, I silenced the blaring alarm on my phone, banishing the remnants of my dream world. Despite dedicating most of my life to the corporate grind, the ungodly hour of waking up was an eternal nemesis of mine. 

You'd think I'd be one of those chipper morning people, but nope, I was more of a "give me caffeine before conversation" kind of guy despite being the first to arrive at work and the last to leave. 

Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, I retrieved my phone, and Rattigan, apparently unfazed by his recent aerial adventure, hopped back onto my shoulder. He perched there regally as if supervising the morning routine was his sovereign duty.

As I prepared for a busy day, Rattigan seemed to revel in his role as the royal wake-up wizard. If only his majesty could find a more civilized method of rousing me from slumber.

Allowing the cheeky rat to have its morning victory, I succumbed to its territorial claims on the bed. The shower, a cascading waterfall of wakefulness, rejuvenated me. 

A quick change into a freshly purchased set of clothes from yesterday completed my transformation from a sleep-deprived ghoul into a more acceptable member of society as I headed out of the apartment, bestowed upon me by the government. Or maybe it was the Justice League? Eh, who cares?

The apartment, though far from luxurious, felt like a princely abode in the grand saga of New York living – a place where a 'four-by-four rat hole' was considered the norm. The rent in New York was a tale of woe best saved for another day, after all. 

Venturing into the bustling chaos of city life, I retrieved my phone, a device that held the secrets to my meticulously planned schedule, conceived during a bout of insomnia the night before. 

"I need to rent a car to get around, but first things first..." I muttered, casting a quick eye over my list of chores, sealing it away like a hidden treasure map. "I need my morning coffee, and I need it yesterday...." 

Determined and caffeine-deprived, I set my course for what appeared to be a coffee haven across the street, Rattigan still perched atop my shoulder like some arrogant little gargoyle.

...

Taking leisurely sips from my iced coffee, I strolled towards the car rental agency when an unexpected sight on the roadside caught my attention. A sign boldly proclaimed "Gym" above the entrance of what seemed to be a training facility. There was an oddly familiar aura about the place, but my attempts to pinpoint its origin ended in a mental shrug.

Curiosity prevailed, I approached the establishment and peered through the window. 

"They're really going at it..." I mumbled to myself, observing a multitude of individuals engrossed in various forms of exercise – weightlifting, cardio, and even a few engaged in lively sparring within a boxing ring or assaulting a defenseless punching bag. 

While it appeared to be a commendable boxing gym, my knowledge of such matters was rather limited. My combat résumé peaked at thwarting wannabe bullies in my childhood by wielding a baseball bat to instill some much-needed reflection. 

It did lead to my foster family at the time giving me the boot, and I danced precariously close to juvenile detention, but it was definitely worth it. On second thoughts, "definitely" is a strong word. 

It was probably worth it. I think?

"Well, I do need to expand my combat education... maybe I'll swing by and have another look later..." I muttered to myself, and Rattigan's chittering instantly brought me out of my contemplation. 

"Alright, alright... I'm going, aren't I?" I said with a scoff as I left the boxing gym behind me, heading straight toward my original destination, the car rental agency. 

...

Ever found yourself in a situation where you could almost taste the change in the atmosphere? That's precisely what hit me as I cruised past the "Welcome to Gotham" sign at the city's edge. Despite the sun still gracing the sky, a peculiar darkness seemed to settle in the air the moment I left that sign behind. 

Now, New York wasn't exactly a pristine haven brimming with rainbows and sunshine, what with its stale city air and public shady dealings lurking on every street corner—crimes even my untrained eyes could spot from a mile away.

Yet, rolling into Gotham, or rather driving straight into the heart of Old Gotham's Financial District, felt like transitioning into an entirely different realm. Sure, I knew I was heading for a less savory part of town, but I hadn't anticipated Gotham to be so very, well, Gotham-ish. The transformation was palpable.

Navigating through the city's towering buildings with their ominous gothic decor, I found myself surrounded by neon signs casting an otherworldly glow. Pedestrians, bundled up in unnecessarily heavy attire, trudged through the streets, each wearing a scowl that could put your average New Yorker to shame. 

Even Rattigan, the ever arrogant menace to society, that he was, seemed on edge as he surveyed the surroundings with his beady little eyes, reflecting the neon lights. 

Now, you might be wondering what the hell I was doing in this less-than-inviting place. It certainly wasn't for the scenic views, I'll tell you that much. I could go into the mundane details, but since I'm closing in on my destination, I might as well let actions speak louder than words.

After parking the car, I stepped out and immediately had the urge to curse as someone nearly collided with me, continuing on their way as if nothing had happened. Exasperated, I sighed and turned my attention to the various neon signs adorning the dilapidated building before me. 

One in particular caught my eye. "Vigilant Law Offices, eh...?" I muttered with a chuckle. "Who knew such an edgy guy would have a sense of humor?" Shaking my head, I entered the building.

Stepping onto the office floor, I was pleasantly surprised to find the interior exceptionally neat. The unexpected presence of a secretary added another layer of professionalism. Well, as they say, you can't judge a book by its grime-covered, crack-house-looking cover. 

Shaking off these musings, I approached the secretary with a friendly smile."Is Mr. Valley present?" I inquired. 

She nodded, reciprocating the smile. "Mr. Valey is inside and isn't seeing anyone currently either. You picked a good time," she replied, and I couldn't help but appreciate her choice of words. 

It was almost an open invitation for a witty, inappropriate remark, but my momentary surge of maturity won out, surprising even myself. I suppose I needed to grow up sometime, huh?

The secretary paused momentarily as her eyes fell on Rattigan, and the look in her eyes made it extremely obvious that she found the cheeky rat cute-- adorable even. If only she knew what a pain in the ass he was. 

Seeing as she was taking her sweet time appreciating Rattigan's looks, I cleared my throat, and my gesture was enough to bring her back to reality. 

"I'll only need your name and contact information before I let you in to see him," the secretary said. I obliged, providing the necessary information with a polite smile before heading into Mr. Valley's office.

Stepping inside after a polite knock, I found myself in a neat, simplistically decorated office room. Behind the desk sat a blonde man, his hair slicked back, adorned in a grey business suit. 

A pair of medical glasses perched on his nose added a touch of professionalism to his appearance, making him look more business-like than even his business suit. 

The man in question, Jean-Paul Valley, also known as Azrael, glanced at me, then at Rattigan, and immediately made that face you would make when you sense that things are about to take an interesting turn.

Boy, was he spot on. 

...

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