"You know I hate wearing suits."
"And you know I despise sending you out looking like some sort of ill-mannered hoodlum." The butler was short and ruthless with his words, matching the teen's snippy attitude with a degree of pettiness only befitting someone who'd been though this conversation one too many times. Pure white gloved hands snapped out as fast as lightning as they flipped through the 'small' closet filled to the brim with 'proper' civil attire, pulling a pair of navy pants religiously ironed he turned and held them up to the slouching boy. Measuring them with those dispassionate blue eyes, light crow's feet became more visible as he squinted before turning back. "These will need to be tailored for now, but you'll need to be fitted for a new wardrobe. It seems you're hitting your growth spurt."
His pronouncement was met with a groan only a teen could produce without wanting to curl up into a iddy-biddy ball. It was great to hear that he would soon be graduating from the occasional head nooggie from his red headed crush but just thinking of the future hours long session of clothing salesmen trying their best to force as many designer and that season's most 'popular' selection as possible was enough for him to look for a quick exit. Slouching, the dark haired youth eyes darted to the closed door a few times and to the back of the fragile looking old man.
Alfred was getting pretty up there in age, if he were to just sneak away now when he had the chance…
"Move from that spot," Pennyworth's tone was as sharp as a whip crack and the teen froze before he could even take a single step further from the cushioned bench. "And I'll be sure to stack on more etiquette lessons to your schooling."
A threat worse than death. Their weekly lessons were already torture on the teen. Why would he need to why which spoon was used? Or how to properly walk a lady down the ballroom floor. Or how to speak in a way that only the upper echelons of society spoke in? Most of which was just dancing around topics and reading beneath the surface. A real waste of time that all them used to chuckle or giggle behind a glass of wine and sneer.
"…" The teen bit his lip in thought at that, there had to be some way to himself out of this. Spending the evening with people that saw him as Bruce's charity case didn't sound appealing in the slightest. Maybe honesty would do him some good? "I just don't want to go…. Those people-my classmates don't even try to hide their disdain for me. I don't really mind the ones that ignore my existence, or even those that toss out snide remarks...it's the ones that fake trying to be my friend just at a chance at forming a connection with the 'illustrious Bruce Wayne'. Can't you see things from my perspective, Alfred?"
"One part of that was a lie." The butler snorted once and turned to face Dick with yet another pitch black pair of pants that looked exactly like all the others in hand. Taking a few seconds to look back and forth, he shook his head in disgust and forced them back on the hanger. "I distinctly remember you getting in plenty of fights back in the day. I'm sure there aren't many now who dare to say much to your face."
"But I can see things from your perspective. More than you know." Alfred paused in his search, head turned to look off into the distance as a memory played vividly behind his eyes. "No matter what position in society you're in, there is a price to be paid. I speak of those who aren't as well off as us, but for you...you're in a particular position. If Bruce doesn't produce any heirs, which is likely to tell you the truth, then you're the most likely candidate to inherit everything. Heirs will always be put through the most. The most training, the most stress and the most amount of scrutiny because it'll all prepare them for when they can't afford to crack under the pressure."
It was suddenly like something cold and cruel had gripped his heart in that moment. He knew all this. Knew that in the worse case scenario, that everything that was Bruce's would become his. That in itself was nerve wracking beyond belief, but what was unsaid was even more so. The mantle of Batman would too be passed down to him and like chains, it'll forever bind him to Gotham with no chance of escape. His heart quickened at that particular prelude to things to come. And it took all his willpower not to just flee from the room then, but sadly he knew Alfred way to well to know the man wasn't bluffing.
"Your classmate's parents knows this and wish to use them to form some sort of positive connection with the very man that might own Gotham one day. But don't be confused, their doing this with every single person of interest at your school. You should want to form these sort of bonds, they won't start off as friendships per-say but it'll make things easier for you in the future. And parties like these are good ways to form those same connections. If you don't attend a few, it's fine but miss too many and you'll make your life harder than it needs to be."
"Bruce spent over seven years away from home and it caused him no ends of trouble…..But I'll let you in on a little secret, he was-no is like you in that regard. I still remember him sitting in that same chair as a child, pouting the same as you are now. Even now, the only reason why he even goes to the occasional get together it's just to keep himself in the loop of the socialites of Gotham. He is the CEO of Wayne Corporations and the company does require him to make the rounds to keep everything running smoothly. There was this one time when he first doing...his nightly activities and missed Miss Vreeland's yearly charity galas….Let's just say she made her displeasure well known."
"But…" Alfred looked back on final time at the slumping youth before turning back to the wardrobe filled to the brim with clothes expensive enough to bankrupt any smaller companies. "I don't think you'll be able to go this time. I'll inform Master Bruce that you need a completely new wardrobe, so you'll unfortunately need to miss this upcoming soiree. It wouldn't do to have them believe the Waynes have fallen back on hard times."
"Really?!" Dick shot up to his feet, that previous dower air about him being blasted away like fog under a heavy updraft. "You mean it? You can't take it back now!"
"Please." The butler cast a faux-disdainful glance at the closet's entrance, really playing up the snob that all butlers needed to have down to a science. "I never take back what I say, it is unbecoming. You can leave now and continue on with your day. But be ready this week to go shopping...no, something custom would be better. I'll have them do a home visit to take your measurements and give a few suggestions. I will expect you to be fully cooperative."
"…." It was rather strange. To have both relief along with anxiety to be welling up deep in his chest like shaken bottle of soda. He could argue here, but he'd learned long ago to pick his battles carefully. For now, he wouldn't have to go to this upcoming social event nor really any other events until after his wardrobe was up to the standard of the gentleman. It was already a win, trying to push for more would only hurt him here. And so, the teen released just enough to tension for a small grin to cross his face. "Thanks Alfred. I owe you one."
"Of course, Master Dick. Now, run along. I have some calls to make."
The ward didn't need to be told twice and even before the words entered the air, he was already gone. Leaving the old man to tidy up the room, who only shook his head and began to unhook all the clothes in the closet. Folding them up into neat piles, a few minutes passed as he lost himself in the familiar motions. A sudden voice broke the tranquil air after nearly the entire closet was packed away.
"You spoil him too much."
"I do." Alfred agreed readily, not jumping or really reacting to the 'magical' display. Maybe it was interesting or unnerving to have a six-foot tall man appear out of nowhere, but after the third time it became mundane to even the most skittish of people. "But I also remember doing the same for you."
"…" It was a bit hard to refute that, especially this being the exact same room the pair had sat in all those years ago. Their positions mirrored beyond time. "He was given plenty of time and opportunities. And he squandered it. This time it's fine, but that won't always be the case. Especially with what's coming."
"Oh?"
The old man quirked a single fine brow and ceased his current actions. Despite Bruce's blank mask that had become the norm since coming home all those years ago, there were still signs of worry that only someone who served two generations of the Waynes could detect. It was the eyes. Those chilling blue eyes turned from what was like a frozen lake to a slow and pondering glacier.
Instead of outright saying anything, the man slowly closed the door behind him with a barely perceptible click. Holding his hand up to forestall any further questions, he spoke out to the room.
"Batcomputer, pass-code Nine-One-Nine-Three-Nine."
Suddenly, the bench folded in on itself and descended into the floor with a hiss of steam. A light blue light emitted from the square opening before a singular monitor rose from the shifted wooden planks. Alighting with a symbol of a bat flapping in tight circles, a mechanical voice spoke up.
"Welcome Master Bruce, BATCOM Version eight point three dash two-two-three online."
"I am flattered, Master Bruce." Alfred eyed the screen with some levels of distrust and a trace amounts of exasperation. "But could you do something about it's voice? It sounds a bit too much like me."
"Maybe." A small quirk of the lips, equivalent to a full bellied laugh for the dower man. But in the next moment it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. "Batcomputer, do a thorough scan of this room and adjourning rooms."
"No known observation devices have been detected."
"Then I'll speak frankly, the position of commissioner has been vacant ever since Leob stepped down and it's coming down the vine that it'll soon be filled by someone we know."
"James Gordon?"
The choice made sense, a lot of it actually. The man had always been trusted by the general populace due to his work ethic and fairness. That and the fact that he seemed to be completely immune to the luxury that stained a lot of the police force in corruption. And with the man clearing up the most recent debacle that was the Arkham Prison Break, it was clear why the city wanted the man. Either as a scapegoat to absorb some of the heat or maybe just as a mascot because of how popular he was.
"It's nothing official yet, but it's almost certain that he'll be made the commissioner within the month."
"And when that happens, Miss Gordon will be the object of everyone's attention." The girl was pretty, friendly, smart and was just about to be considered one of the most influential people in the city. The poor thing would immediately be set upon by no ends of advances from people that would only ever wish to use her for their own gain. Sometimes, most of the time, he truly hated Gotham.
"I'm sure Barbara can handle herself but it would be better if she has a public acquaintance in the form of Dick."
"Then that means, I will need to call in my personal tailor."
There were few things that really filled his body with passion, acting as cupid being one of them. Dick would thank him later, especially when he walked into a social event in a suit that would make any of those snot nose brats green with envy.
***
"I usually worked in the docks, so when he pointed me in this direction I didn't really think much of it. I thought it was just going to be moving some less than legal shit around, you know nothing too strange. But instead, I came across...that. There were people cheering around fighters as they beat each other bloody. You know that sleazy looking guy I was talking to?"
'Kinda hard to miss him.' Was what Albert wanted to say but instead decided to be a bit more diplomatic, the man must've already known how slimy the guy seemed and probably more if the events of tonight was anything to go by. "Yeah."
"Well," Malcolm started, shifting in place as he slide his shirt back on. Or at-least tried to. No matter how faded those bruises looked, it didn't change the fact that all they'd done was try to hide them. They must've stung with like nobody's business. "His name is Bautista. He sniffed me from the crowd and began to spin his pitch. Apparently, he was a sort of agent that acted as an intermediary between fighters and the Circuit. And that his brother, the guy who sent me in that direction, had told him about some of my troubles and him being the 'kind and generous' soul he was couldn't wait to help me out."
Yep, he knew exactly how sleazy his 'agent' was. Maybe he got dealt a few too many bad hands under the reigns of this Bautista, if he got screwed multiple times it wasn't exactly clear why he stayed under the management of such a man. Going in solo must've been better than going up against people like the Wrecking Ball.
"I could smell a pile of shit a mile away and it was clear that I had been set up. Maybe he really was the guy's brother but I think I was handed off in hopes some sort of debt was forgiven or reduced. Or maybe there's some referral reward. At that point, things were slow so I didn't really have a choice. I was offered a couple hundred bucks for my first fight, and it was up against some drugged up crackhead."
The investigator kept his features schooled into a neutral but open expression, silently urging him to continue on. He didn't need some stranger telling him his decision was idiotic beyond belief, it was in the past and judging from how he absentmindedly rubbed at his knuckles the story wasn't anywhere close to done.
"I was a lot larger than he was, by a couple of magnitudes more. And he should've went down in one blow but whatever drug he was on at the time kept him up beyond what was reasonable. It took a lot more than it should have to get him to throw in the towel and by that point he had already given me quite the beating. I got my money and was determined never to go back. I tried going back to what was I doing but then some bills came up. An unexpected busted pipe and the landlord was being an absolute bastard about it. Wouldn't do jackshit and just told me that if I wanted to fix it, call the repairman myself. There was no way I could afford it with how sparse work was. And so, against my better judgment, I went back."
"At that point, a few weeks had passed and when I appeared again Bautista was there with that sleazy grin plastered on that ugly mug of his with a fight already in mind. I was offered the same price as before but this time, he told me if I came in a few times a week that he could make sure I get a larger cut. Even told me that if I needed some advance that it was possible, but I would need to work it off in the Circuit."
There it was, the hook. Draw in people desperate for money with the allure of a loan before reeling them in like fishes to participate in fights they normally wouldn't do. And with the 'advance' looming over their heads, they would have no choice but to throw themselves fully into this machine.
"I needed money but not that and he already gave me feel uneasy so I didn't take him up on his offer. Instead, I spent the next few weeks fighting multiple times per week. And it wasn't long that I was earning more doing this than moving boxes….it made me realize that just like this Circuit wanted to use me, I could use it as well. With the money, I got Dill and Liv some much needed check-ups, better food, clothes and even a better place to stay for not too much more. Their life was improving and all it took was a few bruises on my end. A fair trade."
"I learned a lot during those first few weeks, especially how the Circuit was ran. It's separated into three separate tiers. Green, which all fighters start out in. It's the safest tier to be in as it's usually to first blood. But it also pays the least. Winning ten matches in Green would allow a fighter to progress to the next tier, Yellow. This tier had less restrictions than Green, as most fighters were fought until submission. But with danger, comes a larger pay raise...Winning three Yellow fights in a row grants someone the right to 'test' into the next tier. Usually, it's a normal fight where the representatives of the Circuit measured your worth. Red pays the most but also has none of the previous rules, except for one. No killing. No amount of money is worth killing someone, but other than that everything else goes. Given how violent Red fights can get, they aren't held anywhere near here...All of them are invite only."
"It's dangerous….but just think of how much further I could improve Dill's and Liv's lives! I could get them some proper education and maybe even college! They could have a much better life than what I can provide! They're smart and I know they can make it big out there. Liv with her fashion designs and Dill with her mechanical skills! If all it takes to make that possible is for me to get a little hurt here or there, then it's more than worth it!"
There was a lot to unpack there. A whole lot of unsolved trauma that made Malcolm see his own life and well-being as worthless, ignorance to how his two charges would react to him endangering himself like that. It was all almost too much, too clear to Psychology practically seeing the tragedy ready to unfold that a small detail almost completely flew under the radar. Filing it away for later scrutiny, the teen piped up with a simple question.
"How do you think they'll react when they find out?"
And it was really 'when' and not 'if'. Albert didn't believe that conversion would go very well, especially if their family photos were anything to go by. If anything, instead of an improved life it might even open a chasm between them that'll take decades to heal. But he wasn't cruel enough to do something like that.
"I don't know." The man slumped slightly, eyes downcast to the ground. It showed his character in that moment as instead of taking this moment to threaten the investigator, he instead fell inwards. Seeming to actually think the question over.
It only made this entire situation even more tragic. A gentle giant drawn into violence to improve the lives of his loved ones.
"I would hope they would understand?" Malcolm answered after a few moments, but he didn't sound all too convinced. Like he was trying to make himself believe what he said was true. "Besides, they're young. Young enough that I'll probably be nothing but a passing memory. I'm sure they'll go far and I hope they don't ever look back."
'Yeah, that wasn't happening.'
They both knew it. Even Albert, a complete stranger having only interacted with this small family once knew the words being spewed were absolute lies. The man's self worth was just so deep in the red that it would take years of therapy. Something neither of them had the time for. Just like in his old life.
"So just to emphasize," Albert began, edging away from the rather depressing topic. "You're not going out to meet up with...women?"
"No, I am not going out to meet up with hussies as Liv likes to call them." A small smile bloomed on the man's face, probably more than happy to move on from that conversation. "I don't have the time. I work ten-to-twelve hours at my day job and with my fights, I barely get enough sleep to function. But even if I had the time… I wouldn't go around sneakin like I had something to hide. If I ever meet someone and believe they can be trusted, then I'll introduce them to Dill and Liv. There safety comes first. What kind of brother would I be if I introduced every single women I was involved with? This city turns people into weirdos. Look at the guy dressed up as a bat for instance. That man is Gotham grown."
"That's all I needed to know."
"You're not going to tell Liv or Dill, right?"
The man looked a bit uneasy as he asked this, still not standing to his full height in a way to corral secrecy. Even before that, there was no way some investigator was going to get himself involved in that ticking time bomb.
"I should, but I won't." He shrugged, standing to his feet. "You will, eventually. I was only paid to make sure no floozies were after you. And from what I saw tonight, they were none around hanging off your shoulder."
"Thanks man." Malcolm slumped further in relief, nearly folding himself in half. "I can't really thank you enough. I know I'll have to tell them eventually...but I want it to be after I have enough to send them to college or some other higher education. Otherwise, I know they'll make me stop."
"No problem."
It was hard, so very, very hard not to involve himself with this bit of family drama. But involving himself further was completely counter intuitive to his previous promise to himself, less he feel himself become too invested.
"I owe you one," The man sighed. Head hung low as he slide his jacket back on. How long that make-up would last, only the divine could know. But it didn't seem it would be useful after tonight, especially if he began sweating. "Hey, quick question. Just a thought really...there's a lot of money being pumped into the Circuit. I heard you're even paid when you lose, it's less but still enough to keep people coming back. Even with betting, there's no way it can generate enough to pay every single fighter. Green tier alone would bankrupt some of the more successful gangs around here. But Yellow get's paid way more than that and Red even more so. If they're involved in the drug trade or something like that, then why even spend money on the Circuit? They could just sell drugs or manage loans and keep back way more money for themselves...I kinda want to know whose pulling the strings. Not to confront them or anything..but it's just a thought."
[Case Opened: The Circuit.
Case Description: In falling the target of your recent case, Malcolm, you seem to have stumbled across an underground fighting ring! Of which, seems to have a rather suspicious amounts of funds being poured into it's continued existence! Illegal businesses are at the end of the day, still businesses! Profit is their game and this Circuit certainly can't be fulfilling that! Unearth the truth and unmask the man behind the curtain!
Requirements: Find out who is behind the Circuit and their goals!
Difficulty: F+
Reward: 2 IP]
[Would you like to take on this case?]
[Yes/No]
Letting out a silent sigh, Albert held out his palm out to the befuddled man. It seemed he would need to give Madame Clements her answer a lot sooner than he wanted too.
"One dollar deposit."