(Edited with Grammarly on 7/8/2026)
"W-what the hell was that?!"
Albert could hear himself say again in the silent room, filled with nothing but the sound of his heavy and ragged breathing. Despite everything, it felt so loud. His heartbeat pumped loudly in his ears, like the drums of revelations. As if the clouds were about ready to peel back and reveal trumpets, signaling the end of all things.
He knew, logically, that he was being dramatic. Knew he shouldn't be scrambling away from the scarf like he was, but there he was. Inching away from it like he expected it to gain legs and lunge at him. Instead, he forced himself upright on unsteady legs before stumbling over to the kitchen. He used the walls as a much-needed guide as he reached over and grabbed the largest pot he could find. One with twin handles on its side that lay flush against the rim.
Shuffling back on, his mind zeroed back in on the lone object lying in the middle of the room. Its presence was looming and enchanting, as if it were admitting a sort of siren call or a lover whispering sweet nothings in his ears.
One more reading wouldn't hurt… would it?
He quickly shook off the thought, violently shaking off the desire the best way he knew how. Copper filled his mouth right then, the taste and sharp pain cutting through the haze like a hot knife through butter. And taking advantage of that moment, his foot moved in large loping steps. Nearly a leap in some ways, before he dropped it atop the cursed thing and sat on it to make extra sure it wasn't going anywhere. Otherwise, it might wind up in his hands.
With that silent but ever-enchanting allure finally dealt with, he mentally checked himself over.
[HP: 20/20]
[MP: 5/10]
[SAN: 24/47]
Everything looked in order, other than his slowly ticking away SAN, but it was a bit hard to tell if that reading had anything to do with it or not. It didn't feel like it was connected, but how could he honestly tell? He didn't feel unstable, despite what those values were telling him. Maybe they were just some hyperbolic number, something the system just slapped into existence to provide some form of pressure against him?
Diving deeper, past those mere numbers, he tried to thoroughly inspect himself. Physically, nothing fell off. He was tired, exhausted really, and hungry enough to eat a cow. His dominant hand ached a bit, along with his shoulder. Probably signs that he should ease up on the exercises or wear his sling and brace more. But other than that, there wasn't anything of note.
Maybe he would have a better time of it in the morning, once he had a good night's sleep and a hefty breakfast to end all breakfasts. But that could wait, as whatever sleep his body had been clawing at him had turned into a mere fantasy. He felt as if, even if he were to lie in bed for over an hour, no matter how exhausted his body was, slumber would evade him.
That reading wasn't normal; it clung to his mind. But it wasn't the technical truth either. As most of the objects he'd read did have some rather strong emotions tied to them, this was probably the first time… no, second time that he felt such a powerful sensation. Just without the sudden influx of memories snatching away his awareness.
These echoes felt...no, taste was probably a better word for it. Tasted more pungent. Like he'd crushed an entire peppercorn on his tongue. Starting from a high point, filled with so much foreign love that it caused his body to fill with a strange and envy-inducing warmth, descending down into such familiar darker emotions before skyrocketing to the stratosphere with a pleasure or euphoria so great it tried its damnedest to consume his all. Overshadowing everything else, drowning out the memory as nothing more than an empty and dull appetizer for the main dish.
It was an intoxicating sensation. So much so that he could even feel that hollowness deep within himself, as if it had carved a bloody spot for itself in just that short amount of time. The wound was yawning out a cry, sad and pathetic, yearning for that feeling for just one more time.
Shaking his head vigorously, he threw off the feeling.
'I need to get rid of it.'
He suspected this was what taking the strong and heavy drugs felt like, and if what he knew about how withdrawals could be was correct, he wanted no part in that. And honestly, how could he explain his would-be addiction? It was more likely that he'd be slapped with some sort of mental disorder and pumped so full of drugs that the whole world would turn into a dull gray color.
But whatever the case, it did somewhat change matters. As of course, that feeling couldn't have been natural. It had to have been aided with drugs and/or alcohol. And with the stream of emotions before then, a somewhat disheartening image had begun to form.
From the scarf, he could tell that this 'affair' hadn't started willingly. There seems to have been some form of coercion at the very least. Turning this tale of a cheating spouse to a much darker case of sex trafficking...and if Mrs. Bryant's fears were in any way found, that it was indeed Isaac perpetuating all this...Well, he didn't really know how he would feel.
Angry, blindingly so. That much was clear, but what then? What if all along he was just tied into some plot to get someone's rocks off?
'No.'
Albert could tell he was spiraling, could feel himself diving deeper into that well of possibilities and only coming up long after the sun had risen. It didn't matter how many theories he put together, didn't matter how many possible paths he mentally trodden down. Isaac didn't feel like that type of person, but someone like that must have a lot of practice hiding that part of themselves from the general population. How else could they prey on others?
But it also felt wrong to slap that kind of label on the man when he hadn't done anything to deserve such a title. So for now, it was better not to just assume the worst. There were a few ways to figure out the truth; it would just take flipping the investigation on his client for a while.
At least a day to see if there's any strangeness on that side.
'Isaac said he worked a lot, right?'
If he were going to work, that would be a good place to start. But if he was going down that route, walking around in his current face was a no-go. He would need multiple disguises just to make sure the man didn't catch on. Maybe spend a few days giving out some breadcrumbs to keep him content and just really drag this case out until the whole picture is plain to see.
Honestly, some part of him just wanted to go to the police with all this, but could he say? That he suspected that someone was being trafficked in that hotel? At most, the cops would be obliged to do a check-up on the place and maybe ask a few questions before going on about their day. He needed evidence...Correction: he needed mundane evidence as there wasn't a court in the world that would simply take the word of some guy claiming to be able to sense the memories and emotions rubbed off by an object's previous owners.
It would be like trying to use Marceline as a witness to a murder trial.
Maybe specific Sparks would be treated with the same level of veracity as expert testimony in the more magical circles, but not here.
A sudden yawn broke through his stewing session, that bone-deep weariness finally making itself known again. As if it had been pushed away by that sudden spike of almost divine euphoria, before slowly slithering its way back.
'First, let me catch a few hours of sleep.'
***
Albert sipped slightly at the piping hot cup of coffee; its sheer bitterness shooting a spike of alertness through his body. The warmth seeping through the thin styrofoam cup, acting like a soothing balm against the cold striking in from all sides.
His eyes, every so often, drifted off to the window beside him as the morning traffic began to rack up in intensity. With the ever-present beeping and that rumbling all mixing together to make him feel genuinely happy to live so far away from the main street. He had no idea how everyone else could deal with constantly being woken up by the occasional road rage, but maybe they'd gone deaf to it all. Their mind just filtered it out before it ever had the chance to really register.
Taking another sip, he turned back to the interior. Focusing more on the small television hanging high in the corner, some highlights of a college basketball game played as older men commentated and pointed out specific plays that were pivotal to the game's end result. The volume had been set down low to barely something above a murmur, allowing the subtitles and their moving lips to do the heavy lifting.
This particular hole in the wall wasn't anything all that grand, barely large enough to fit a few booths and for a waitress to hustle to and fro with a clearly fed-up expression on her weathered face. Their pancakes were watery and thin, eggs so dry that it felt like he'd shoveled breadcrumbs in his mouth, and coffee so thick and bitter that it could wake the dead. All in all, it was a pretty terrible place. In no way worth the ten bucks he spent for everything, but he couldn't really expect to stumble across a gem at every single hole-in-the-wall diner.
Normally, he would've taken a few bites before paying his bill and leaving this place far behind him. But it did have one upside. I gave him a pretty clear view of the entrance to Isaac's neighborhood, in the exact same direction he'd seen the man depart.
After all, he did need a starting point to begin tracking down his client. The city was pretty massive, all things considered, so anything to help cut down the search would help greatly.
At that thought, just as the minute hand ticked over, a familiar vehicle trundled down the street. That same red buggy slowly made its way closer, stopping at the stop sign with its blinkers on. As though begging or pleading for some goodhearted schmuck to let it out. But Gotham wouldn't be Gotham without things being difficult.
He could see the buggy inch forward at the near-constant flow of cars, as though trying to force entry into the stream, but it didn't seem that these drivers were all too eager to add yet another person to the endless line. And honestly, from his perspective, it kind of looked as if they were actually hoping that their car would be the one getting hit. From the way they would speed up just fast enough to eat up the space between them and the previous occupant to stop this newcomer, while also dropping in speed dramatically despite there being room ahead. And when they saw that their car wouldn't be the lucky one that day, their speed would increase suddenly to allow the next driver to try their luck.
The trapped car honked and honked, revving its engine, inching forward to try to force its way forward, but everyone knew the threat had no real teeth. A bluff through and through. And proving that fact, the buggy honked one final time as though in defeat and backed up far enough away. Their headlights grew bright as they prepared to wait.
'East, maybe?'
From the direction their blinkers were going, it was probably safe to say his destination was somewhere west of their current location. Unless, of course, Isaac made it his business to take the most meandering way to work.
Taking this lull, Albert inspected his own appearance the best he could through the cloudy window. What face glared back at him wasn't his own. Appearing to be in his late twenties, with deep eye bags, leading up to a forehead holding some rather heavy lines and a bushy brow perpetually scrunched like he was more used to frowning. Slap that together with some putty padding around his cheeks to give him a more round-ish face and some shading around his nose to at least make it a bit harder to notice how much it protruded out.
All in all, he thought this particular mask was pretty darn good. None of the putty felt like it'd fall off, nor did the edges seem to pull at its seal when he turned his head to and fro. And combine that with the artificial padding around his stomach to give him a hefty paunch, and it should be incredibly difficult for anyone to really recognize him. Unless, of course, Harley somehow spotted him, then the game was done before it even had a chance to start.
But for someone that he'd only actually met once? Yeah, it should be more than enough.
Glancing one last time at the rather sad plate, Albert stood. Dropping a twenty next to the check before making his way outside. Pushing the door open with a gentle chime, it was like a herald of bad times. At that very moment, a fist of cold air slammed into his 'face'. Blinking back the swell of tears, the scent of car exhaust only making it that much harder to gasp out a few more breaths. Ducking his neck down, he adjusted the black cap to cover well below his eyebrow bows, just in the hopes of eking out a few more drops of warmth.
Beyond the dower weather, the sound of early morning traffic was nearly deafening. With the rumbling of old engines, the excess honking, and even the flashing of floodlights from those few who felt a sick, vindictive urge to spread their own misery around. Suddenly, that breakfast platter and rundown dinner felt a lot more hospital than he once thought. Maybe he was being too picky, too spoiled, in fact, and perhaps there was enough time for him to slide back into his booth to wait out his prey.
But there was a problem with that. More like two. One, the growing stream of humanity stuffed nearly shoulder to shoulder that had given that swinging door some space, and in conjunction with him, space to avoid being hit, was steadily disappearing. Eaten up by shuffling adults who looked like they were marching off to their doom.
Secondly, just a mere glance through one of the dinner's many windows, he could already see the tired waitress pocket that twenty and already stacking his half-eaten...okay 'barely picked' at plate along with a few others. If she noticed him looking through the window with such longing eyes like children in Christmas movies, she didn't show it.
With those two factors, he could do nothing but sigh in resignation before blending into the crowd. Sliding between gaps and elbowing past a few more zombie-like citizens, he got to the point where he had at least one body separating him from view of the passing traffic.
Keeping his back hunched, a slight limp was added as time went on. Like his shoes were a size too large or he'd been perpetually standing on his feet for ten hours at a time for work. Disguise wrapped itself even tighter around him, mixing together with Stealth to make him almost entirely indistinguishable amongst the crowd.
All the while, that red buggy in the corner of his eye grew smaller and smaller as he made steady distance with his target. Which, at some point, had finally forced itself into the melee and was now stuck in a constant stop-go cycle.
Up ahead, the stream began to break off into its own slightly smaller creeks. But the most notable of them were slowly growing into a small pond. There at the crosswalk, a steadily increasing number of people were sticking close to the edge like frogs on rocks. With every added person, it only further congested the already stuffy sidewalk, the hostility in the air ramping up. It never took a lot to rile people up, just slightly inconvenience them and sit back. Someone wouldn't be able to take it anymore and lash out.
And with someone else finally taking the lead, more would follow in their wake.
Stopping near the crosswalk, he ignored the way people bumped past him. Ignored the growing number of dirty looks being sent his way. Paying no heed to the mumbled curses as he added to the congested blockage.
He could do nothing but wait, silently urging the light to stay green for as long as possible. He'd already known how awfully slow this particular light was, having spent enough time in the diner just watching cars trickle on by. There was no rush on his side. Traffic would be terrible for a good hour or so, so there was no way he could lose his target.
'Speak of the devil…'
Albert tracked the red buggy as it stuttered forward. Dropping to an absolute crawl, it allowed him to get an up-close look at Isaac. The man didn't really look all that frazzled; maybe he'd grown used to how things went around here. Wearing a somewhat familiar button-up, he didn't even look up as a pair of eyes just burrowed their way into the side of his head. Not even when those same eyes followed him as he finally trundled on by.
'Why even try?' The teen shook his head internally at that; this was the second time he felt like he'd severely overprepared for something. This mask had taken a few hours to make, and it was probably the best of the batch, but here it was not doing even a lick of difference. 'I bet he wouldn't even notice if I were sitting in the back of his car.'
Shucking off those disparaging thoughts, he followed the crowd just as the light turned red and the familiar green walking figure turned green.
After all, it wouldn't be fair to be walking around expecting everyone to be just as paranoid as he was.
***
'Finally.'
Albert let out a sigh of relief as he watched that same red buggy turn the corner into a parking lot of a reasonably sized office building. Around five stories in height, with heavily tinted windows reflecting the rising orange sun. A simple chain-link fence lined its perimeter, rising high into the sky as if the twin cement pillars framing the main entrance weren't present. Picking up his pace, he quickly ate up the distance just in time to see Isaac slam open his door and scramble to the front with his overcoat in one hand and a small suitcase in the other.
From this far away, he could see people just standing near the entrance. Each of them was smoking with their backs pressed up against the wall, a relaxed air about them as they silently conversed amongst each other. The two wore simple button shirts with a mix of dark navy and black suit jackets. Both of them waved sluggishly to their coworker barreling their way, before paying him no more mind as he stumbled past. Pushing the double door open, the portly man disappeared inside.
The two men paused, each exhaling a large plume of smoke before one of them said something and caused the other to break out into hearty chuckles.
Dropping back to something more casual, the teen passed by the entrance, taking the time to really scope out the place. There didn't really seem to be anything that positively screamed out sinister or ill intent. A mix of cars was parked somewhat sparsely, and all of them appeared to be rather normal. There were no high-end sports cars, no luxury, and not even any made within the last five years.
'Maybe those two are guards?'
But no, even that line of reasoning was quickly shot out the window. Neither of the two men appeared like the sort. They didn't possess that intense air most guards liked to cultivate, nor did they have the kinds of bodies etched from stone and conflict. Hell, he didn't even spot a single tattoo between the two of them. And glancing down at their waistbands didn't amount to anything either.
Unless they were extremely good at concealing their iron, neither of them was armed with anything but their wallets and maybe a pack of cigarettes.
Normal people- considering how well put together this part of town was, it really shouldn't have surprised him as much as it did.
Passing the fence on by, he even circled around the block just to see if there was anything of interest, but other than a dumpster and a familiar exit sign, there didn't seem to be anything.
But when he came back around, the duo had turned into a single smoker pulling out yet another stick.
'That's one way to go about it.'
Albert could've sat back and stalked the place for hours, and he did plan on doing exactly that, but he really didn't see a genuine issue with just walking up to the guy. He had his disguise on; he was armed with both his pistol and a knife, so in an outright physical conflict, the scales were massively in his favor.
"Good morning!"
He waved at the man, raising his voice loud enough not to startle him too badly. A failure was the way that the unlit stick slipped from his hands and tumbled to the ground under a deluge of curses.
"…" The man's lips turned up in a snarl as he bent down and tried to pick through the pile of butts on the ground. Pushing past a few still orange ends, he finally snatched it up. Looking at it from side to side, he blew on it as though that would do anything to get rid of the germs, probably just covering the thing at this point. But really, were germs all that much of a concern when he was slowly turning his own lungs into charcoal? Lighting up the end and sucking deeply, he only responded well after the distance between them was cut to near nothing. "Morning...I don't got no smokes to bum."
"Nah, I'm not bothering you about that." The teen smiled disarmingly, leaning back on one foot to provide them both a bit more space. "Besides, what kind of man would I be to ask to bum anything off a stranger?"
"A normal one." The man looked him over one time, probably taking note of the lacking height and visible paunch. A snide flash entered his eye as he stood a bit taller to try and loom. "What the hell do you want?"
"Well," Albert 'meekly' glanced off to the side, taking this chance to peer through the glass door only to see a pretty normal reception desk with a bored-looking secretary with their face almost entirely blocked by their computer monitor. "I'm new to Gotham and looking for work...I have some experience in doing some odd jobs and telemarketing, and I was wondering if you guys were hiring?"
A technical truth: they didn't need to know he gained all of that telemarketing experience in a world and life away.
"…" The man looked at him hard, squinting his eyes as though to try and glean some lie. Before he sighed loudly, turning his full attention back to the small cancer stick. "Look, man, I just work here. I clock in, work my time, clock out, and get the hell out of here. If you want an application, you'll need to talk to Melinda in there for one. I'm the wrong guy to ask."
"I'd rather get your opinion first before I put my name down."
"I'm just trying to smoke her-"
"I'll make it worth your while." Albert stepped closer, crossing the man to stand beside him and stay well outside the view of the receptionist. And before the man could even begin protesting, a crisp twenty was already being forced into his hand. Smiling, the teen dropped his voice low. "What do you say? Do we have a deal?"
"…." The smoker glanced at the bit of green in his palm, a flash of emotions crossing his features. Confusion, trepidation before finally landing on greed. His lips pulled back wide, exposing yellowed teeth and dark gums for all the world to see. "You should've said so earlier; keep em coming! I got time to spare."