[A Gamer in Gotham]—❈—15:: In Which Plans Are Revised

I look at Keisha.

“Guess we're going to dinner,” she says.

—❈—

“I don't like this,” Annie says for what is likely the thousandth time.

Okay, that's not true, a thousand is an exaggeration, it's actually been more like a hundred.

“Yeah, we know, Annie. You've said. Repeatedly,” Keisha grouses without interrupting the application of her mascara.

“Well, I'm saying it again,” the blonde retorts. “I don't like this.”

Keisha rolls her eyes. “Only because we're making you stay behind,” she points out.

Annie scowls. “No,” she argues, “it's because this plan makes no sense. Is there even a plan? I mean, you're going to wine and dine with a couple of psycho killers and then what?”

“Why are you asking me?” Keisha says, finally pausing in her makeup. “It's not my plan, it's his.” A mascara brush points at me where I perch at the door to the bedroom. “Hell, I'm only going cause I'm supposed to be his girlfriend.”

Annie's gaze locks on me.

“I don't really have a plan per se,” I say carefully. “It's like I told you, I'm more of a make it up as I go along kinda guy.”

Annie looks at me like I'm crazy. “So, you're going into the house of criminals with a body count in the hundreds, and what, you're just going to sit and wait until the voice of the lord whispers to you what to do?”

I look at Annie. Really look at her. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilated, muscles tense. She's terrified.

I walk forward and hug her gently.

She tenses further for a moment, but as I begin to rub her back, she relaxes into me.

“It's okay,” I say, holding her. “Carter and Susie are only dangerous because no one suspects them; they sneak into places and set them on fire. In a straight up fight even I will whoop their asses, and Keisha can take ten of me on her off day.”

That gets a weak laugh from Annie, and I decide to count it as a win.

She lets out a soft sigh after a moment. “I'm sorry,” she says, “I'm just… worried.”

“I know,” I say. “It's okay to be. But we'll be fine. And by morning, I'll make sure that Kero and Gasoline, or whatever the hell they call themselves, will never hurt anyone ever again.”

Annie pulls back from my arms to search my face for what I mean by those words.

She finds it.

“You're not going to kill them, are you?” she asks, her disappointment obvious.

“No,” I say carefully, bracing myself for if we need to do this again.

I'd hoped yesterday that her desire for blood would fade with time and some distance, and it had seemed to, but, who knows? Maybe it hadn't as much as I'd thought.

Or maybe this whole situation is dredging up all those emotions again.

Annie takes a deep breath, then nods. “Okay,” she says. “You're right anyway, killing them isn't the best idea.”

No, it isn't. And not even because the law tends to frown on it. Fuck the law.

Murder is a slippery slope.

Just yesterday Annie killed a man. Today, she wants to kill Carter and Susie. Who will it be tomorrow? Her landlord? Her asshole boss, Dick (who, I'm only now remembering I still have a quest to punch in the face)?

At what point will she push past the tipping point? At what point will she become the kind of person who sees murder as an acceptable solution to every dispute?

Now, I'll admit that there are people who have the mental fortitude, or strength of character, or whatever the hell you want to call it, to indulge in that much killing without ever going too far. But I don't know if Annie is one such person, and I know for a fact that I'm not; and I know this because I don't feel the slightest bit bothered by the role I played in Keith's death.

See, most people would be, despite him being an asshole rapist. I'm not. Keith might as well have been a cockroach I saw someone crush underfoot for all the effect his grisly death had on me.

If I start trying to murder away my problems, I don't think I'll ever stop. And with The System on my side, that's just a supervillain story waiting to happen.

I don't wanna be a supervillain. Supervillains suck. No one likes them. Not really. And I like being liked. People are nice to you when you're liked.

“Whether we're killing anybody or not, it's almost 6:30,” Keisha says rising, makeup done. “We need to get going.”

Alert!

Quest [Bring Down The Hammer of Justice] Received!

Carter and Susie Whitfield have had an incredibly successful career as criminals. That ends today.

One way or another, make them pay for their deeds.

Rewards: $10,000. EXP 10,000. ?

Accept: Y || N

Yes. We do.

—❈—

Keisha and I step out of the Uber in front of a nice house entranced deep in the heart of suburbia.

It is as stereotypical a suburban house as a house can be, complete with the perfectly manicured lawn and white picket fence.

Keisha observes the neighbourhood suspiciously, her gaze lingering on a white woman in the lawn across the street who's watching us intently.

I poke her in her side.

“You're being shady,” I say when she looks at me, then I wave at the watching woman.

She hesitates for a moment, then, looking embarrassed, she waves back.

I lead Keisha to the door of the house, and ring the doorbell.

Carter opens the door.

We shake hands, share heys, and I pass him the bottle of wine that we brought as he leads us inside to meet Susie.

The Whitfields have a beautiful home, and make no mistake, it is a home; an abode of warm colours and comfortable furniture, its walls lined with photographs that give a peek into a life of love and happiness.

God, this is fucked up. At least have the decency to live in a Dracula castle or something. An evil lair in the heart of a volcano maybe. Whatever it is, the environment should reflect their occupation.

Having a warm, welcoming home like this is just… wrong.

The meal was ready before we came, so we move to the dinner table without further ado.

We make small talk as Susie and Carter set the table, plate after plate of mouthwatering dishes being brought out from the kitchen.

Damn, somebody went all out. I don't even know what some of these foods are.

I [Observe] one of the plates of food, and the information I get makes me blink.

I sigh.

You know, once or twice I've considered maybe using [Observe] less. I mean, with how much information it gives me, sometimes it's practically like riffling through someone's diary or something.

But then, how am I supposed to bring myself to break the habit, when shit like this keeps happening?

Carter and Susie finish setting the meal, then we all sit down to eat.

“Try the stew, dear,” Susie says to me. “Trust me, it's to die for.”

I snort. I can't help it. “Puns?” I ask. “Really? Shame on you, Susie. Anyway, when did you know? How did you know?”

Susie blinks, staring from me to her husband in confusion.

Beside me, Keisha stills.

“Know what, dear,” Susie says. “I'm afraid I don't quite under—”

“Stop,” I cut in. “Just stop. The stew's poisoned. And unless poisoning your dinner guests is a weird fetish you two have, then you definitely know we're not here because we want to be friends. So, again—” and, for the first time ever, I activate [Intimidate] “—when did you know? And how did you know?”

I only use the skill for a split second, but it's enough for a cold sweat to break out on the foreheads of the older couple.

They stare at me in a new light now.

Carter swallows. “We've known since yesterday,” he says.

I blink. “Seriously? It was my acting, wasn't it?” I ask. “Because Keisha was Oscar level perfect.”

“It wasn't your acting,” Carter says.

“Then what?” I ask, really confused now.

The couple looks at each other, then back at us.

They look uncomfortable.

“It's because we're black, isn't it?” Keisha asks I'm resigned realization.

“A young, black couple going out of their way to befriend an older, white couple? It does stand out a little,” Susie says looking apologetic.

My brain crashes and reboots.

“Wait. What? You immediately assumed we were out to get you, because we're black?”

“What? No, it's not like that, it’s just… most people who look like you tend to be distrustful of people who look like us,” Carter says defensively.

“Of course, it's usually for good reasons,” Susie adds. “But you can't deny that it is strange for a couple like yourselves to want to hang out with us.”

“After our meeting yesterday, we tried to look you up online, but there was nothing,” Carter says.

“So we contacted an expert,” Susie continues. “They found nothing either. Not until late afternoon, when they found out your name had come up in police chatter earlier in the day.”

“Something about you helping a cop find his kidnapped daughter,” Carter throws in.

“Huh.” I lean back, taking a moment to let it all sink in. “So, basically, what you're saying is, if Keisha and I had been white, you would have fallen for our ruse?”

The couple shrugs awkwardly.

“Damn. Seriously? I mean, I knew this country had a serious race problem, but this bad? You know, I think what we need to do is, we all need to sit down, on both sides, and have a deep, open conversation about—”

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Keisha asks me.

I blink, remembering where I currently am, and why we're here.

“Right. Guess I'll fix multiple centuries of racial issues another day,” I say.

“Good luck,” Keisha deadpans, then asks; “What now?”

I sigh. “Now, I call your sister before she runs mad with worry.”

“Probably too late for that one,” Keisha says.

She's wrong, Annie is only half mad with worry when I FaceTime, and I take a minute bringing her up to speed on the situation.

“What now?” she asks me when I'm done.

In lieu of answering, I turn to the Whitfields. “Where's your computer?” I ask. “And you know what I mean. So, please don't fuck with me.”

The couple stare at each other, an entire conversation passing with a glance.

“In the study,” Carter says.

“That's where we're going then. Get up. Lead the way.”

They rise, walking forward, and then Carter lunges for Keisha.

She puts him down. Hard. A foot pressed to his throat to really drive the message home.

Susie shrieks, a hand covering her mouth in horror.

“I will crush your windpipe like a paper straw,” Keisha says coldly. “Do not fuck with me.”

Down, fear boner. Down.

“Please,” Susie cries, tears streaming down her face. “Please, don't hurt him. Please.”

I look at the woman, so incredibly pissed off at seeing her tears. “No,” I say. “No, you don't get to beg. Not after everything you've done. So, shut the fuck up. And you—” I look to Carter choking under Keisha's heel “—behave.

“Understood?”

Susie nods.

Keisha waits three more seconds, then she releases Carter, and Susie rushes to her coughing husband.

Whatever resistance they possess sufficiently snuffed, at least in the short term, Keisha and I follow them to the study, where we find the aforementioned computer.

An [Observe] confirms to me that this is The Whitfields’ work computer, as well as give me the code.

I get to work.

Five minutes later, I have more evidence than I know what to do with; bank transactions that mark payment for their services, the website on the dark web that they use to advertise their services, correspondence between them and their clients, and pictures, like we saw them taking yesterday. So many pictures.

“My God,” Annie says, watching through the phone.

“What now?” Keisha asks.

“Now, I think we know an honest cop who owes me a favour,” I say.

—❈—

~9-1-1, what's your emergency?

~Not an emergency, but I would like to speak to Detective Anthony Chavez, please. Tell him it's Eugene Berger calling.

—❈—

Alert!

Quest [Bring Down The Hammer of Justice] Completed!

Rewards: $10,000. EXP 10,000. ?

Alert!

You have levelled up x4!

—❈——❈——❈—

Eugene Berger’s Status Screen

Level 27 (1600/2700)

HP: 420 (regen: 8/min)

Money: ~ $54,000

Stat Points: 20

STRENGTH: 15 (+)

DEXTERITY: 25 (+)

VITALITY: 08 (+)

CONSTITUTION: 42(+)

CHARM: 45 (+)

SKILLS: [Gamer’s Body], [Observe], [Quest Generator], [PG mode], [Outfit Customization], [Sexy Defender], [Intimidate], [Cutlery-kinesis], [Skillbook Creation]