This DCverse is Maddening

This wasn't how Albert had expected his life to be going, especially not after coming to a universe that followed the rules of a comic book. With it's extremely attractive heroes, villains and other fantastical creatures. Where spandex was the name of the game and fists were the primary way of solving problems. He had spent many of nights, in his old life, fantasizing about fighting along side heroes like Superman and even possibly romancing the bad-ass icon known as Wonder Woman.

Having grown up on the cartoons and devouring the comics as an adult, he had thought up plenty of scenarios that assuredly a hero like him would be in. He would be tall and broad, with muscles galore across every inch of his body. A jaw so square and chisel that it could cut metal.

A pristinely bright costume that both dazzled and struck dread into the hearts of his foes and fans, with an ever changing emblem struck across his broad chest. And maybe even a cape that flapped in some unseen breeze.

'Look at me now.' He would've grumbled, if not for the fear of possibly tasting the results of his most recent hair brain scheme. 'Where's my bodybuilder physique? Or my ability to fly? Or even more important, where's my harem of superpowered women?'

...His fantasies had grown a bit more...depraved as he aged, peaking specifically during his times in puberty.

So with all this said, after all those years of fantasizing he was no grand hero. Nor was he a dashing villain that could flip the world's natural order.

Albert was just a teenager, someone just barely on the cusp of adulthood, who thought his plans were all too genius despite not taking a variety of factors into consideration. Hence in point, his watering eyes and a makeshift nose clip made of his own fingers.

'Never again..' He chanted internally, the sensation of plastic bags besides him filled to the brim with the neighboring Thai restaurant's, that smelled oh so appetizing before coming up with this godawful plan, leftovers. That in itself wasn't all too bad. After-all, who would complain about smelling such delightful goodness. No, the problem came from the fact that the garbage truck only came around once every week. Barely at that.

Mix that with the bags practically overflowing with cigarette buds and ash, it made the large dumpster, that he had deemed the 'best' spot for his given purposes, almost completely unbearable. From the way the combined rancid odor was as inconsiderate as a boxer sparing without gloves against a total newbie just for the sheer ego boost it would bring, to how the overly filled bags squished with every muscle twitch and to the self-assurety that something was definitely soaking his socks.

'Let's not think of that again.'

Even now, despite how his feet had that familiar tingling feeling that signified them being asleep he didn't dare move them in fear of truly knowing the fate of his socks. Just thinking of that fate was nearly enough to force that ball of bile to slip out and add to the proof of Gotham's failings.

A single gloved hand propped the large plastic lid up just enough to look through on shaky limbs, locking his bones in place to ease the surrounding muscle from their screams of agony. His gaze remained locked on the mouth of the alley, with only a single flickering light fighting against the soupy darkness.

A series of footsteps almost caused him to free in place, the sound jarring in all ways as hours of relative silence, besides the sound of his own uneven breathing/gagging, was washed away with the simplest of ease. It wasn't until that rather portly shadow made itself known did he shake himself out of his stupor and quietly close to rather heavy lid close. A guiding hand, with the texture of rigid scales, clawed at his body. Prodding at him to do more.

Stealth was sometimes a cruel mistress, to hide from another was never a clean job. It didn't care for how uncomfortable it made someone, how injured the hiding place might be nor did it care for the niceties of society. If it meant submerging itself in a pile of dung in order to keep hidden, then there simply wouldn't be any hesitation.

Even now, as the steps grew closer and closer, unwillingness seized Albert in it's clutches. Countering those prodding claws that scraped at him just out of sight.

'Good thing I left my trench coat back home…'

With that final thought, he filled his lungs with that oh-so disgusting air and wriggled slowly in place. Slipping past the small gaps and submerging himself fully into the near bursting pile of garbage bags, the plastic feeling both warm and slightly damp to his skin. Only then did those claws cease their prodding, that guide content with his actions.

There he waited, tendrils of muffled sound entering his ears as the heavy footsteps walked towards him. Following them in his mind's eye, he was sure that if Stealth was anyway sentient, that it would be feeling a spike of vindication as the dumpster lid opened and a sudden weight fell over him with an audible thump.

"Damn." He could hear that same weasel-like voice gag audibly, followed by a series of quick footsteps skitter away. What the man said next, Albert couldn't even force himself to care. He had much more important things to worry about.

'Those are definitely noodles I feel.'

If before he wanted to get out of this dumpster, then now it was an urgent need. And with the footsteps fading off far in the distance, that need would soon be fulfilled one way or another. After waiting another agonizing half an hour and sketching those tendrils as far as possible, the teen began his escape. Wriggling upwards, he 'swam' through the filth until finally his head popped up above the small sea. Forcing the lid open with an uncaring amount of strength that didn't at all add to his stealth, Albert filled his lungs with that 'fresh' night air.

For once, he didn't mind the slight tinge of smog. Anything was truly better than that hell he put himself through. Gripping the edge of the metal dumpster, he tipped himself over and out onto rough cement ground, ignoring the audible squish that followed his actions.

"These are a goner." He didn't even need to look down to know that no matter how many times he washed his current attire, it would never be the same. Whether the scent of garbage would've saturated deep into the material or the memory itself tinging his own perception. One way or another, he would not be wearing this outfit ever again.

No matter how comfy the black cotton hoodie once felt, nor how those baggy sweatpants nearly made him not go out tonight and just 'do it later'. They would burn that night.

But until then…

"Let's see what you left for me…"

Turning back to his prison, it didn't take long for him to find the black plastic bag his quarry left behind. Unlike that hellish restaurant, it wasn't nearly as near bursting. Nor did it smell of anything but the sickle scent of ash and maybe a few left over meals. Honestly an improvement in his mind.

Sticking his hand back in that prison, Albert emptied his mind. A series of reasoning nearing on the edge of chanting exploded out from him, he threw aside the need for bathing. The slight gurgled his stomach let out and even how his eyes were leaking a few bit of disgust tinged tears.

'I don't have the Locksmith skill or any other skill that I could use to break in without leaving a relatively noticeable trace.'

'I've seen that backdoor, I NEED the key.'

He might seem like a mad man if someone saw him, arm deep in an overflowed dumpster, silently murmuring while looking off somewhere beyond sight or reason. But there was a method to his madness, a single talent that had saved his bacon plenty of times in the past. By just spending a few of his oh-so valuable LCK, he would find exactly what he needed in that situation. There was probably some 'reasonable' explanation to the process, but it could be narrowed down to a singular force.

'Luck. Providence. Fortune. Probability.' Albert thought, mind slightly losing focus as the source of the talent came to mind. 'Could be some form of reality warping based on my own desires and need… Maybe that crown prince will have the answers.'

But those questions of his would have to wait until a much later dater, for now…

[LCK: 35/45]

Like a switch being flipped, he could feel those invisible grains, once swirling around him in a pattern completely indistinguishable from chaotic crashing, surge like a giant claw towards the trashcan. That thin film growing much, much thinner in that moment, leaving him with a rather naked sensation. Like he was the first human that had partaken upon that forbidden apple. It felt like eyes were watching him, hungerly from every shadow in the alley, like whatever malevolent force in the sky near salivated at his apparent vulnerability.

Sweat dripped down his forehead, adding to the small puddle with a burst of warmth, heart began beating erratically and even his breathing became more erratic. He didn't know how, but it was like there was a ticking timer on whatever remnant protection his Providence left on him before whatever misfortune this sinister city had in place came crashing down.

Occult crouched hunched on his shoulder, dripping those insidious insights deep in his ear. Doing nothing to cushion the metaphysical weight it forced onto him.

'Hurry up!'

He silently urged the surging grains, not daring to speak in fear of breaking the temporary peace. After-all, predators always liked to line up the perfect shot. Their muscles bulging, eyes alight with vicious glee, claws digging deep furrows into the ground, tail still. That heavy, dark breath bathed the back his neck, a rotten scent easily overcame the smell of garbage. This was more pungent. Aged bones, long spoiled blood, putrid flesh and the sound of licking chops.

A beam of hope, in the form of a cold metal, overtook his momentary form of dread and without hesitation, he yanked the object into the air as though the mundane could ward off whatever creature was stalking him. Like a wave, those grains retracted back up his arm and crashed against him. There, they continued to dance in weird and often strange ways. They roiled and curled, shifted and bobbed, soaring and descending. Whatever it did, he didn't care in the slightest. All he gave a damn about was the sensation of armor clicking back into place and that attention slinking off his perception. Those insidious whispers halting just as quickly as the skill nestled back in place, where it went he had no idea nor the inkling to truly know.

"Fucking Gotham…" If he thought spitting would accomplish anything, then there would already be a ready glob of phlegm on the ground to truly drive his curse home. But no, that would only leave something behind that could possibly implicate him. And plus besides, while knowing the city was cursed in some way by being infinitely more powerful than him, that didn't mean it was the only one where the blame lied. "Occult."

It was safe to say that Albert had been abusing Resourceful ever since coming to this new world of his, and never in all that time had 'that' happened. Only now, once Occult got the chance to stretch it's legs did it happen. Or maybe he should place the blame at the Order of Seven? Maybe that is just how Gotham normally feels and whatever obscurity illusion those Magi cast, shields even general populace from being able to sense the city's malevolence? Or maybe it was a mixture of the two.

'Not now.'

Again, he shook himself out of his stupor and finally looked at the object that caused it all. Clutched in his hand, a single key laid innocently. There was truly nothing special about the key, just a metallic key with a slight silver sheen. Just dropping this thing in a drawer filled with keys would caused it get lost forever, that's how undistinguished it was. Maybe that was by design. Looking a bit closer, he noticed something slightly off.

There near smooth hexagonal head, the bow, a series of holes were carved out of the metal. Something like wasn't strange in itself, being primarily used to keep them on key-rings. But on one of the holes, the metal looked to have been broken askew. There were a series of plausible answers to how this might've happened.

Maybe the key is old, the material cheap or Rueben just didn't see the need to get a new key made in all his years of owning that shop. Whatever explanation was fine.

But there was a problem.

'I'm on a clock now.' A scowl broke across his face and quickly, he made his way to the back. Crossing the corner, he came across a long alley that seem to stretch out for miles in both directions. A few overhead lights flickered with the last bits of their life, leaving the strip in a somewhat eerie illumination. It didn't take long for him to come across a heavy looking metal door with bits of graffiti splattered across it's surface.

'People really do not like this guy.'

A series of...rather imaginative and graphic words were sprawled across the metal sheet, and even some rather tasteful drawings to go along with them. Ignoring those, Albert quickly slid the key with and turned the lock until an audible click was heard. With an effort of will, he cracked the door open and finally slipped into the pitch darkness that caused him to freeze in place.

Gnawing maws opened agape, as though to greet him back from his dream. Those writhing tentacles reaching out towards him, like some sort of mocking approximation of a hug. Clenching his eyes tightly closed, shaky hands fiddled and fumbled in his pocket before a small rectangular object found itself clutched tightly in hand. A sudden beam of light caused the memories to scuttle away like rats, their hisses of annoyance sounding distant but yet so close.

Slumping against the wall, Albert tried to breathe. To steady his racing heart in hopes that it would no longer feel as though it was ready to run out of chest and away into the distance. Counting down, his breathing slowed to something much more manageable. And after wiping the sweat off his forehead, he finally began to feel a bit better.

His limbs felt a bit shaky but it would have to do. There was no telling when Rueben would come looking in a panic.

"Speaking of which…" Turning, the teen softly turned the lock back in place. There had been plenty of times his own players had just forgotten to lock up behind them and often paid the price with some combat encounter that was entirely avoidable. And plus besides, not only would it make Rueben not think someone's in his shop but also provide him with a slight bit of warning before someone else came in. After all, that lock was pretty loud. "Now, what do you have hidden here?"

With that, Albert surveyed the backroom exposed by a faded beam of light. The room wasn't anything special, having only a lockers off to the side and few opened boxes that revealed general and cleaning supplies. Like paper towels, some sort of disinfection spray and toilet paper. Off to one side, a board laid cluttered nailed to the wall. Getting closer, he realized it was some sort of work schedule with a multitude of names and time stamps. Most arranging from around nine in the morning to five-to six at night. Only Rueben's name appeared at much earlier and/or later times, like six in the morning to almost midnight on most days. Snapping a picture of the schedule, he moved on to the next interesting thing in this room.

Besides the board, there were a series of postage notes slapped in place.

'Could someone cover my shift Tuesday?'

'Please clean up after yourself in the bathroom, I'm sick of being the forced to clean it up.'

'I won't be available Saturday evening, could someone switch me their morning shift?'

'Make sure to check authenticity of all gold and silver! There's been a scam running around lately!'

'I pay to keep the utilities on, not so you can charge your phones! The next charger I see, is getting cut!'

'I can cover anyone after like four this week, just give me a heads-up first.'

The notes in general were each written in a different hand, some mechanic and sloppy while others had this refined swirl to them that boggled the mind. And from his count of employees, most of them used this board at a time. But it was easy to tell which of these notes were Reuben's. They all had this slight condescending edge to them, like he could hear the man's voice as he read the note. Just as he was prepared to leave the rest of the notes unread, a slight tugging sensation nudged his eyes over a single note.

'DO NOT, and I repeat, Do NOT sell that watch! I'm going to make sure all of you read atleast twice! I will fire ANYONE who doesn't follow MY orders on this one!'

'Now isn't that interesting…'

Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Albert latched onto that hook. Snapping a picture of that note, his eyes roamed over the other notes he had stupidly skipped over. Blame it on the ticking clock.

'Could someone cover my shift after Thursday? I'm taking a vacation for like two weeks.'

'Rebecca will cover, she's new and needs the experience.'

'Rebecca?' Looking back over the schedule, Albert couldn't find the name anywhere. And given how meticulous the schedule was set up, being up to three whole weeks in the future, there were only two reasons why that was case. 'Either she's on vacation, which doesn't make much sense especially if she's new or she got fired.'

And if his guesses were right, he could already tell how this situation ended. Reading further through the notes, there wasn't a single mention of this elusive Rebecca character after that day. But looking further, there was something else of worth.

Honestly, he would've kicked himself and hung the jacket if he had actually skipped over this absolute goldmine before him.

'If Bethany comes by today, don't tell her anything! Just send her to my office! I'll talk to her.'

'Bingo.'

The story already began to form in Albert's head. First, one of the employees went on vacation and the boss, Rueben, had the new girl, Rebecca take over their shift. But during that period, for some reason or another she didn't read the post board and sold Bethany's watch. Hence her being fired and the other employees probably received a gag order from their boss, explaining why they seem to brush the woman off. But that was where everything stopped making sense.

'If the watch was sold, then why was he still taking her money? He could just be a slime ball, but I think this would be a touch too far. If any of this were to come to light, no matter how corrupt the GCPD might be they would have no choice but investigate. Less this shop gets burned to the ground by the incredibly hostile neighbors. Not only that, Reuben would be completely ruined. Not only would no one trust him again to temporarily pawn off an item, but he would be known as a thief. A rat of the highest order that not even the vilest of criminals would want to deal if they came to fence their wares.

There had to be something more, there were far too many loose ends and unknowns. And Albert had the compunction to believe that more of his questions would be answered just by stepping further into that sap like darkness that his feeble light just barely nudged away.