fics I read

Haha! You were probably expecting an alarm beep – but no, it is I – DIO!

Haha! You were probably expecting an alarm beep – but no, it is I – DIO!

Haha! You were pr –

My hand stretched out from under the covers, easily hitting the stop button on the enchanted alarm clock, and stopping the Japanese declaration of a sparkly vampire from continuing to invade my dreams – what little of them I had anyway, thanks to Gamer's Mind giving me near-dreamless nights.

I ignored the cursory good morning notification about how Health and Mana had been fully restored and all status effects had been removed from sleeping in my own bed. Instead, I sat up, scratching my head slightly and stretching my arms afterwards, as I gazed back down on my naked form underneath the covers. I rose an eyebrow when it came to me that the covers where also entailing another form. I dragged them off immediately, and came to the sight of a naked brunette.

Oh yeah. It had been one of those nights.

What was her name again? My eyes glanced to her head – Kelsey, yeah, that was it.

"Hey," I whispered into her ear, as she was still sleeping. The response I got was a series of unrecognizable sounds.

"Hey," I tried again. The sounds got clearer this time.

"Hmm?"

"I'd appreciate it if you would kindly get off my bed, get your clothes, and show yourself out."

Her eyes slowly opened at that.

"Wuh?"

"You have twenty minutes before you're late to class and before people realize you didn't spend the night in your dorm room."

The eyes snapped open wider at that. "Oh – OH SHIT!"

I watched her scramble off the bed and begin to search desperately for her clothes, which, were neatly arranged in a pile to the side, and she began tossing them on as quickly as she could. Amusement colored my eyes at the entire scene.

"Shit – Shit – I'm going to be late!"

"Yes, I believe that was what I said not too long ago."

She turned her gaze to me, whilst strapping her bra in a frenzy. "How did you know I was a student at the University?"

I shrugged. "Your age, demeanor, and behavior suggested someone who was educated – however, you didn't exactly have the confidence and assurance of someone who had completed that education. Your purse and bag is filled with pens and notes – your hands had stains of ink gotten easily reminiscent to the shade of the student's choice of pen on them – and you clearly said that you didn't have a job – so I deduced, you were still in education."

She stopped pulling her skirt, to stare at me. "What are you, a detective or something?"

I grinned. "Or something."

"Ooh, observant and mysterious."

"Maybe. Or maybe I just saw your student ID card sticking out of your bag and made that entire thing up to blow your mind."

She turned to her bag, which had its contents spilled on the floor, and the ID card of 'Gotham University' clearly sticking out.

"You ass! I can't believe I almost fell for that!"

"That's because you wanted to. People like to be deceived – it's why magic tricks are so amusing to us."

I gestured my hand out, showing it was empty, before flipping it, and in an instant, an Ace of Diamonds appeared in the spaces between my index and middle fingers. I flipped my hand again, and it was gone – stored back into my inventory, not that she was aware of that bit.

She gave me a long, yet cursory glance, even as she tried to make her hair look straight and finished the touches on her outfit.

"Neat party trick."

I summoned another card once more and tossed it to her, which, to my pleasure, she was able to catch.

"Zeddicus Zul Zorander? That's your name?"

"You can call me Zed for short."

She gave me a blank look. "You're fucking with me."

"No," I said, grinning. "I was fucking with you last night, and seeing as how you're not moaning out God's name anymore, you can be rest assured, that you are not being fucked with."

I tapped the bed.

"However, that can be arranged once more, when you're interested."

She rolled her eyes, but the flush of pink on her cheek gave her away. "When?"

"My dear, you would be deceiving no one but yourself should you believe that being with me is a matter of if rather than when."

She didn't bother giving me a retort, rather, she couldn't, and instead, she returned her eyes to the card. "Private Investigator, Professional Clearance Agent, Certified Escort and Special Consultant?"

"I also do birthday parties and events. Though I feel my fees might be too exorbitant for you."

I rose from the bed, craning my neck slightly, and feeling Kelsey's gaze roam over my body, which, thanks to a particular skill, was filled with lean, dexterous muscle. "Oh, and by the way, you only have twelve minutes left now."

I watched her scamper off, the minimap indicating her icon confirmed to me that she had left the premises, before I sighed and then moved over to the bed. There it was, a single strand of brunette hair, which I picked up from a pillow and focused as a foci.

There was no need to make any drastic changes, not necessarily. However, a cursory use of Soul Conditioning made it so, that she would completely forget the location of my house and my physical appearance – but would particularly remember the wild evening that had begun with me pinning her against the outside wall of a bar and snaking my hands up her skirt.

Once that was completed, I began preparations for the day.

I moved into the bathroom, a particular skill of the Alchemy Tree branch that I learned over thirteen years ago sprung to life, Animation, and I watched as the toothbrush floating in mid-air, twirling like a surfer, before slamming down on the stomach of the toothpaste, the required substance shooting out and being caught on the bristles, before the brush made its way to my teeth and began working their literal magic.

I stared at myself in the mirror, or rather, I stared at the form of myself that was created after I had realized that Alteration could be used to manipulate photons and light in order to create an unbreakable illusionary form. The form in front of the mirror easily looked what had been my actual age before I died, twenty-one or so. However, I made it so my blonde hair grew out into a simple short ponytail, which was accompanied by a slight stubble of a beard. I had selected this age, particularly because I felt more comfortable around this range than I did any older or younger.

A mental command had the tap turn open, the water defy gravity and enter my mouth, with me giving a gargle before spitting out and completing the rinse.

Once I was done with that, I took a nice, long, comforting shower, particularly just to remove the scent of Kelsey from my own person. That girl needed a better taste in perfume than the cheap one she used.

I walked into the living room with a towel around my waist and hair, and began pointing my fingers at objects over in the kitchen, Animation springing to life.

Bread danced and jiggled, flying into the air and landing into the toaster. A pan and a spatula engaged in brief swordplay, before two eggs got in between them, cracking open and landing on the pan, before subsequently landing on the stove, which whirred to life with a burst of blue flame. A bag of coffee beans swayed into the air like a snake commanded by a swami, landing into the machine which turned, enabling a mug to roll its way into the right place.

I gestured two fingers in a 'come here' motion towards the bedroom, and out came my smoothly ironed business suit, making a façade of walking in the air with the chest and tie puffed out, before wrapping around my form. The inner white button up shirt came first, the buttons affixing themselves from the below to the top. Cufflinks flew like magnets and held the sleeves in place. The pants followed suit, and then the inner-jacket and blazer wrapped around my form, just as the black, dragon-emblazoned tie knotted itself snugly around my neck.

I sat, the blazer left unbuttoned, as a familiar 'ding' of the toaster hit my ears, and a tray zoomed overhead with a plate on it like it was Aladdin's magic carpet, catching the toast, swooping the coffee, and flipping the pan to allow the eggs land on the side of the plate, before positioning itself directly to my right side, floating, and ready to serve breakfast.

I snapped my fingers, and the remote appeared to my left hand, just as the large flat-screen TV flared to life.

"…and in other news, from Metropolis, the Man of Steel himself, foiled attempts by a group of unknown criminals who intended on sabotaging the unveiling of the new statue of Superman –"

I munched on a toast. Next.

"… creating great advancements in technology and science, the development of Star Labs' Particle Accelerator is comparable to making a miniature Einstein-Rosen Bridge with the capacity of generating energy waves in the electromagnetic spectrum that is greater than anything imaginable –"

I sipped the coffee. Next.

"… and the ongoing election continues as many are wary to vote Hamilton Hill as Mayor for a second term due to allegations which supposedly put Hill as being connected to numerous crime families of Gotham, particularly the Falcone, Maroni, Ibanescu and Moxon –"

The egg went well with the toast. Next.

"… once again showing the true love and comfort that the Wayne name is known for, billionaire Bruce Wayne makes another sizable donation to the Gotham City Police Department, and is going even further to organize a fundraising auction for numerous of the Wayne family's priceless paintings and artefacts valued in the millions –"

I sat up, a half-munched slice of toast in my mouth.

"… with the likes of billionaires ranging from Oliver Queen to Michael Holt, both contemporaries of Gotham's first son showing up for the event –"

Ah there it was. Mr. Terrific, Green Arrow, and Batman all in one place for the night, occupied. Perfect.

OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!

OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!

OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEI –

My phone levitated into my palm.

"You have reached the phone number of Zeddicus Zul Zorander – this is Zed Rander speaking, how may I help you today?"

"You son of a fucking bitch! You – you set me up! You fucking set me up!"

I removed the phone from my ear and cleaned it with a pinky.

"Ah, a disgruntled customer. So who exactly am I speaking to?"

"It's me! Eddie!"

"Ah! Eddie! Finally got those jawbreakers yet?"

"What? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Never mind. It's an inside joke." I said, "So, which Eddie is this? With how common the name is and how unimportant you are to my life, it's often easy to forget."

"You bastard! It's me! Eddie Skeevers!"

I blinked. "Oh – yeah. You're the guy from that minor crime family that started muscling in on Falcone and Maroni territory with your 'revolutionary' designs in drug smuggling. Didn't Tony Zucco bring up those plans in the first place?"

"Zucco's dead you fucking asshole!"

I blinked. "Ah, well. Unfortunate, but at least that means less competition for you."

"Are you fucking kidding me? The Falcone's want me dead, the Maroni's want me gutted, the fucking League of Assassins want me beheaded and I'm caught in-between a turf war with Penguin's Gang and Two-Face's gang! All because you asked me to smuggle a fucking crate!"

"Ah! Perfect!"

"How the fuck is this perfect?!"

"You said you wanted to create the greatest Crime Family in Gotham and rule it – so consider this your first test. If you can't get yourself out of this mess – you're not going to last very long."

"YOU FUCKING –"

BLAM!

There was the unmistakable sound of a bullet going off, at an incredibly close range too. Consequently, the phone line went dead. Well, there went one more customer.

OMAI WAE MOU SHINDEIRU! NANI?!

OMAI WAE MOU –

"Hello, you are speaking to entrepreneur and professional criminal consultant, the roguishly handsome and talented Zed Rander. What can I do for you?"

"Rander you fucking piece of shit!"

"Ah! Mickey! The Mink himself. How's my favorite Irish head of the Sullivan family doing?"

"I'm the only head of the Sullivan Family, and I'm pissed enough to send my boys down to pump lead into that skull of yours!"

I frowned. "Come on now Mickey – I held up my end of the deal didn't I? You found the crate that Skeevers was smuggling didn't you?"

"You said there'd be weapons inside of it!"

"Aren't there?"

"No! This is – what the fuck is this shit anyway - Chinese cartoon porn! What the fuck am I supposed to do with Chinese cartoon porn?"

"Ah… actually, that's Japanese hentai – I think our man Skeevers may have smuggled the wrong crate."

"And I think, the world is going to be down a consultant by the end of the evening."

"Actually, that'd be nice – but you see – I already kinda cut a deal with Akahara-san of the Yakuza. Your goons did some stuff in Chinatown that they weren't too pleased about, so… they should be probably be ambushing you right about now."

Silence.

"You didn't –"

"Omai wae mou shindeiru – paddy."

I levitated my cup around, allowing the coffee to settle over the sound of automated gunfire and distinctively Japanese yells, before, once more, the phone went dead.

OMAI WAE –

"Hello! You have reached the sexy and fabulous Zeddicus Zul Zorander – Criminal Consultant Extraordinaire – what may I do for you today?"

"Zetto Randa – you are dead man."

I grinned. "Akahara-san! How's my favourite Japanese Yakuza Boss doing?"

I idly hummed one of Fairy Tail's opening theme songs in my head, as I sat down backstage and watched the proceedings of the show from the camera and sound check crew behind.

"Mr. Dreyer – the cappuccino you asked for –"

I turned my attention to the young intern, and nodded before taking the cup from his hands. I sipped. The sensation of heat had long become accustomed to my tongue. It was strange, realizing that I could eat and eat and never actually get fat. Gamer's Body came with a ludicrously impossible metabolic rate, which was, more or less, connected directly to buffs than it was anything else.

I watched the proceedings around me, the sound crew doing their best to ensure that the program went smoothly, the bright, red 'On-Air' sign hanging ominously behind them as a reminder that they were responsible for what the entirety of Gotham would see and hear. In another life, or perhaps, even in this one, I wondered if I would ever take up this sort of job. To hang from behind the scenes and operate the program, or to take center stage as the host with a luminescent smile and an audience paid to laugh at my jokes and clap at my words.

Probably not.

"Mr. Dreyer, sir, you're on in five."

I nodded, before I swiveled around the chair I was on, and stood, my clean-cut Business Suit of the God of Industry feeling snug, comfortable and warm in the relative cold winter of Gotham. Of course, enchanting a business suit to be bullet-proof, explosion-proof, water-proof, knife-proof and also enchanting the fabrics to stop and absorb all latent incoming kinetic energy in the manner of a certain Black Panther would be considered as insane by some, but it was time well spent as far as I was concerned.

"…and we have a special guest tonight folks! He's one of Gotham's two youngest billionaires, but, he's a new player in the game, with his net worth striking a heavy ninety-seven billion dollars despite his company only existing for thirteen years!"

I stood, rolling my eyes at the audience's clearly exaggerated sounds of surprise and awe.

"Some of you here may know his company – considering how it's been building schools and universities all over Gotham, renovating old homes and creating new places to live, funding scholarships and research works, and hey – it's even got its own newspaper division and cereal!"

This world had been in desperate need of more cereal options.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, allow me to welcome, the mysterious and enigmatic founder and C.E.O. of Legend Industries, in his first ever appearance on any television program – Makarov Dreyer!"

I did not walk forward. I strode. The ground could have well been water and it wouldn't have made a difference to the amount of effort I put into being as elegant as possible. If one were to look up the dictionary definition of the word 'Gentleman', they would probably have found a picture of me in that moment.

Of course, there was a significant difference between 'Zeddicus' and 'Makarov.' Whilst both had blond hair, Zeddicus' shade of blond was platinum blond, whilst Makarov was a darker, thicker, almost golden blond. Zeddicus had soft, elegant, dare I say it, 'bishounen' features, whilst Makarov had a manlier, rugged appearance and a more heavily built shape in contrast to Zeddicus' slender-muscle. The slightly thick beard Makarov had was also a difference, and the fact that 'Makarov' had green eyes instead of blue was another distinguishing feature.

Oh, and of course, 'Makarov' was 29 years old, and not 21.

I smiled as I walked up to the host, shaking the hand of the person whose name was not worth my attention, and then comfortably taking a seat. The show, Gotham Tonight was some localized version of the numerous celebrity talk show programs that seemed to pervade television these days. Still, I had decided to acquiesce to the interview, because, as it stood, it was about time for me to make a move.

"So, Makarov – mind if I call you Macky? – Tell us –"

The questions, for the most part, were predictable.

"What is the secret to your phenomenal success?"

"Did you ever have any role models?"

"How do you spend your leisure time?"

"Is there anybody special in your life?"

My answers, in turn, were just as obvious.

"Dedication and the ability to take risky, insane decisions."

"Yes, I am my own role model."

"Relaxing, playing video games, travelling and I suppose a bit of chess at the side.

"Not at the moment, no. I'm not quite ready for the settled life."

However, there was a purpose for this, a purpose which I would make outstandingly and overwhelmingly clear, the purpose, of course, which came from the seemingly innocuous question of 'anybody special'.

"Ah, you here that ladies! That's another handsome billionaire out there who's single!"

There were cat calls from the audience. Cat calls, to which, I ignored, and waited, waited, until the question was asked.

"Speaking of billionaires – tell us Makarov, have you ever interacted with Gotham's first son – and what is your opinion of him?"

BINGO!

I took a deep breath, and immediately, I sat up.

There was a sudden silence that completely permeated the entire stage, filling the audience, and even the host himself with my sudden change in posture and demeanor. They could tell, like starving vultures failing to find a dead carcass – that something had changed, the natural order had been disturbed.

"No, I have not had the pleasure of meeting Bruce Wayne. And as it stands, I would prefer it remains that way."

You could almost hear the pin drop.

"Ah – er – wow. That was –" The host seemed flustered. "Is there any… bad blood between Legend Industries and Wayne Enterprises?"

I shook my head. "You seem to misunderstand me. Although we may be competitors, my… dislike, is not necessarily for Wayne Industries, as it is for Bruce Wayne himself."

"The first son of Gotham?" the host asked, perplexed.

"Yes, that one." I said, leaning back into the chair. "You see, this is a matter of principles. I got to where I am today, becoming Wayne Industries biggest competitor with my own sweat and blood. I started Legend Industries when I was sixteen. Thirteen years ago – I clawed my own way to the top, biting through until I became the success that I am today. Now tell me, what exactly has Bruce Wayne done?"

At the audience and host's confusion, I clarified.

"As I said, it is a matter of principles. Wayne Enterprises has existed in Gotham for the past 200 years. As it stands, Bruce Wayne did not so much as work to get his company, as he did sit down and have it handed to him on a silver platter."

The Host cleared his throat. "Well, I'm not quite sure that having your parents murdered in front of you is considered a silver platter –"

I waved my hand dismissively. "I, too, am an orphan. The difference between myself and Bruce Wayne is that I acquired my success in spite of it, and not because of it."

There was silence, and I knew that I had them.

"Speaking of the Wayne Industries and family – their presence has been in Gotham for the past two hundred years. Two hundred – and yet, what do we have to show for it? Rampart crime and poverty, political corruption, inept police forces, and on and on the list grows. You would perhaps think, that the presence of an international billion dollar corporation like Wayne Enterprises would at least, make Gotham a shining city set on a hill – but it isn't. It hasn't."

I shook my head. "In thirteen years, just thirteen years, Legend Industries has done almost as much for this city, as Wayne Enterprises in two hundred. If that doesn't make you question what motives Bruce Wayne truly has for this City – then nothing will."

XXXXXXXX

The cave was illuminated with numerous lights. It was often drafty, with cold winds rushing in through numerous crevices and openings, and the steep drop down into a small lake providing an updraft. This didn't stop the man who stood in front of the machine. If anything, the cold wind was more of a comfort to him than it was a disadvantage. The computer made numerous noises and sounds, whirring, tinkering, processing, even as the man clad in black stared, eyes unflinchingly fixed against the monitor.

"You know, I have been considering moving your bed down here – perhaps the sight of it would suggest the reminder that abstinence from sleep is not your superpower."

Another man entered, the elevator he departed from closing silently, his left hand occupying a tray filled with numerous edible treats and a cup, alongside other ingredients needed to prepare tea.

His response, was a small, noncommittal hum.

The man with the tray sighed, being much older, he moved with a grace that was tremendous for his years, and instead continued with his duties.

"I suppose I am I to take it that there is another venture which requires your immediate attention and me serving breakfast once more in this dreary cave?"

A brief, solitary nod. The man cloaked in black collected the cup of tea, before turning his attention back to the screen.

"There's a pattern."

The older man rose an eyebrow.

"A pattern?"

Another nod, before, the computer screen brought up pictures of numerous individuals, before providing a big red 'X' placed on them.

"It's been subtle, but in the past four months, there have been a series of coups in the Crime Families of Gotham."

He turned his attention to one of the most recent ones.

"The Sullivan family was completely destroyed by the Yakuza just today. Yet, two months ago, the Sullivan family was embroiled in a turf war with the Maroni's – a war which ended in a tie with both sides suffering heavy causalities."

The computers then pointed to another group.

"Before that, the Maroni's were violently going against the Moxons, and before that, the Moxons were at it with the Ibanescu. Most attacks and takeovers happen in the form of ambushes, with either the leaders or key members of a family being in a position that's disadvantageous to them, but advantageous to someone else."

He pulled off his black, pointed cowl, revealing dark hair and a face marred into a scowl.

"What's most disconcerting… is when the takeovers happen. It always coincides with a bigger, more dangerous event, an event in which I would have to focus on rather than the gang disputes… ensuring that there's no possible way I would be able to intervene."

The older man caught on. "You think… someone is… deliberately orchestrating this?"

The man in black nodded. "The Sullivan-Maroni turf war happened while I was on League business. The Maroni-Moxon turf war happened when I was on League business. The Moxon-Ibanescu scuffle as well – all of it, occurring quickly and swiftly, and wrapping itself up before I returned, with more and more Mafioso dropping dead, and with fewer crime families in Gotham."

The older man sighed. "I suppose it's too much to expect it to be a mere coincidence."

"There are no coincidences in our line of work Alfred."

Alfred, to his part, merely sighed once more. "Should I contact Master Grayson? I'm sure he would be willing to take some time away from Bludhaven –"

"No."

"Then perhaps young Master Drake would be willing to depart from the Titans for a brief period –"

"No." The word again, but slightly more clipped.

"Ah, I suppose that only leaves Miss Gordon then. She was complaining about how utterly droll her senior year has been so far –"

"Alfred –"

"Perhaps Miss Kane then? Or would you prefer Master Fox?"

"I'll handle this on my own Alfred."

"As much as I revere your work-ethic and determination Master Bruce, I am afraid omnipresence is a device we have yet to affix to your utility belt."

Bruce Wayne, as he was, shook his head. His eyes instead clocking back to the screen, and narrowing slightly. "I don't need to be everywhere. I just need to be at the right place, at the right time. As it stands, Falcone and Maroni will soon realize that they're being played, pushed and dropped like pieces on a board. Once that happens – they'll be out to find this person."

"And I suppose they're not quite going to invite him to sit and drink tea."

He nodded. "I simply need to find him before they do, and –"

"…though numerous people have called into question the words of Legend Industries' C.E.O., a shocking discovery makes itself clear that there were no hyperboles in his speech."

Both men turned their attention to the computer, particularly the aspect of it that was on the local news.

"Master Bruce… isn't that the alert you set up to discover whenever your name was mentioned controversially in the media?"

"It is."

"I've never seen it come up before."

A slow, laborious nod.

"Neither have I."

"… as many call into question the truth about Wayne Enterprises role, or rather, lack of a more profound role in the city of Gotham, darker truths begin to bubble after an interview with an anonymous employee of Wayne Enterprises was released to the public, with admissions that Bruce Wayne has been less than the perfect C.E.O., and has, on numerous occasions, been missing from his office for days, weeks or months at a time, with no justifiable explanation given…"

XXXXXX

A small part of me, remnants of the moral compass I previously possessed, felt bad for poor Bruce. I'd opened up a can of worms that would not, and could not easily be sealed or closed. Still, it was needed, and it would only be a matter of time before the dominoes began stacking and everything fell. I wonder what excuse Bruce would give to justify his month-long absences, when he was usually out of the planet with the Superfriends.

Still, the drive back to my work of residence was incredibly more upbeat than I thought. The sleek feel of my Lamborghini Huracan that could go from zero to sixty in two-point-eight seconds and had a max speed of 201mph was capable of making the trip a speed fantasy, which was only accelerated by my own feeling of euphoria.

Thirteen years was a bloody long time. Ever since that day that it all began, the day I decided on my goal, the day I chose my mission, time seemed to advance at a snail's pace, yet, paradoxically, at the same time, it blurred so fast.

Real life didn't have any annoyingly tasking time-skips, unfortunate as it was, and I lived out those thirteen years with a slow, methodological step-by-step process which included having more than one identity, being incredibly careful in generating information and false pasts for these identities, even complete with fake childhoods, faux hospital records and people with false memories.

Then, I had separated both identities.

Makarov Dreyer was the consummate business man and professional. He was sharp, blunt, cutting, and had a no-nonsense attitude backed up by a serious, 'it's all business' persona. Makarov was the part of me that acted my actual mental age of thirty-seven, and the part that was goal-driven to the completion of my ultimate goal.

Zeddicus Zul Zorander however –

The car blazed by on full throttle, and I grinned as I watched the skirt of a woman fly up and give me an excellent panty shot.

Zeddicus was more or less – the wild me. The free me. The fun-loving part of me who remembered, that there was no point in sleeping with women and killing alien god beings if I couldn't have fun doing it. Essentially, Zeddicus was me being me – the amorous, untamed, pseudo-insane philanderer, womanizer and general overall asshole.

When you had Acting as a skill which as fully maxed out, I could play both roles nigh-perfectly and lived as though I was the world's greatest method actor.

I did have a third persona/alias… but… well… that was more or less the 'me' that the Joker and Trevor Philips would pat on the back and call their greatest drinking buddy. Basically – it was the 'me' that would slit throats in a dimly lit room with candles, while having an erection at the sight of the dead woman's gargling attempts to survive.

I didn't 'use' that persona unless I really needed to.

Keeping the separate identities however, was somewhat of a chore. Different lives meant different homes, different places of work, and different active times, different social circles, different rules as to what was appropriate and what wasn't – and on and on the list went.

Thank you Gamer's Mind for helping me sort through it all.

It was originally out of amusement that I took up the occupation of a Criminal Consultant. It was more of a subtle nod to James Moriarty of my favorite depiction of the British detective Sherlock Holmes than it was anything serious. Of course, as I didn't really need money in one way or another, and ultimately the job was more or less a farce which allowed me to manipulate and set up the gangs and change the hierarchy of the Gotham Underground in one way or another. At least, whenever one of the organized Crime Families came up to me and decided that they were in need of an easily disposable informant.

Other than that, the other 'customers' I had gotten were from overzealous gold diggers trying to find out ways to best kill their spouses or parents and inherit their fortunes, or groups of amateurs and rookies with delusions of grandeur about becoming the next Falcone. Once or twice, people who wanted to 'disappear' would arrive seeking help, and it'd be child's play to use one of my contacts and whip up a fake passport, solving their problems with ease. The pay for this was actually ludicrously good, but when you were a walking Philosopher's Stone, the zeroes added to the back of a string of numbers was superfluous.

Eventually, the line between "Consultant", "Organizer" and "Informant" began to blur, as I hired and took up many of the idiots that came my way with delusions of grandeur. I ensured that the all the rich golddiggers I'd aided in one way or another remembered their debt to me and pulled strings when I told them to. The only legitimate thing I'd done was the Private Investigator bit – which, honestly, was almost too easy. I solved missing cases in less than half a day – and a cursory use of Gamer's Vision would always confirm whether the spouse was cheating or not.

Spoiler: They always were.

I pulled the car into the driveway of my office building complex, and let a slightly bemused sigh escape my lips. In hindsight, it should have been obvious that a Criminal Consultant was most certainly not needed in a world of geniuses. Nearly every superhero or supervillain was a genius in one way or another – masters of disguise, espionage, assassination, combat, etcetera.

Even the crazies like the Joker and Harley Quinn had genius-level intellect. What in the world would they need a criminal consultant for that they couldn't figure out themselves?

Hence, I hadn't actually gotten any real supervillains who needed my 'consultation' and instead, I had been sticking to the crime families – eliminating them one after another by helping position them in strategically deadly places. Kind of like I was playing Shadow of War and determining who went up and who went down – except, there was no pesky revival feature for the ones who were killed.

Still, I felt it'd have been amusing if a member of Batman's rogues gallery actually came to me for consultation. With their genius intellect – I could only imagine that they would need help on something actually challenging.

"Speaking of genius intellects… Status."

Name: Isaac Zachariah Cabrera

HP: 35,250/35,250

MP: 43,112/43,112

Level: 47

Age: 16 (Appearance: 21)

Race: Human (Homo Magi)

Occupation: Private Investigator, Consulting Criminal

Current Title: The Consultant

Current Alias: Zeddicus Zul Zorander

Aliases: Zeddicus Zul Zorander/Makarov Dreyer/Salem Spellman

Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Gotham Nightlife Association, Gotham Criminal Underground, Gotham Magical Underground

Base of Operations: Gotham City

Alignment: Neutral

Identity: Relatively Known

Citizenship: American

Education: Criminology Degree, Psychology Degree, History Degree, Business Degree, Law Degree, Biochemistry Degree, Physics Degree, Robotics Degree, Medical Degree

EXP: 1,293,043/1,350,000

Money: $97,960,000,000.00

ATTRIBUTES

Strength: 912

Vitality: 2732

Dexterity: 1093

Charisma: 1023 [TOGGLED – OFF]

Intelligence: 840 [TOGGLED –OFF]

Wisdom: 403 [TOGGLED – OFF]

Luck: 349 (+50) [TOGGLED – OFF]

Status

Buffs:

N/A

Debuffs:

N/A

Foils:

(Tragic Origin Story: +50 Luck, +50% Random Encounter Rate of the Heroes/Villains of the world)

(Magical Cost: Hubris)

Boons:

General

(Raised by Strippers: +35% Reputation Gains with Women, +60% Resistance to Seduction Tactics, +60% Boost to Dancing and Seduction Skills)

(Red Light Child: +65% Reputation Gains with Strippers, Prostitutes, Call Girls, Drug Dealers, Pimps, Bouncers, Thugs and the Criminal Underbelly)

Zorander Boons

(Criminal Mastermind: +10% Reputation Gains with Criminal Elements of the world)

(Amoral Consultant: +20% Reputation Gains with Criminals and Evil Characters)

Dreyer Boons

(Rugged Gentleman: +50% Reputation Gains with Women, +25% to all Reputation Gains)

(Billionaire, Genius, Philanthropist, Entrepreneur: +50% to all reputation gains)

Spellman Boons

(Nullified Morality Compass)

(For the Evulz)

Bio

Isaac "Zack" Cabrera, is the world's most reclusive sorcerer who possesses the goal of conquering the world of masks and capes. To do this, he has created three separate identities that will contribute in his grand master plan of slowly, but surely, overthrowing the world. Learning from his previous hubris, Zack wishes to conquer the world in a slow and calculated manner, to avoid any unexpected occurrences. Of course, there is no point in having a life's goal without having a little fun at the side, and Zack is content with spending his wealth, living frivolously, sticking his dick into anything with a pretty face and a skirt, and generally causing subtle chaos and mayhem wherever he goes in his path of conquest.

I'd long since broken the system. There were no annoying nerfs, no ridiculous reasons as to why I shouldn't have become this powerful in thirteen years, and as such, I had become as strong as I was. Of course, this power had come thankfully with the ability to toggle limiters on my ludicrously expanding stats – if not, my natural charisma would cause quite a stir in Gotham, or my luck would have caused a series of unending string of events to happen to me in one way or another, not all of which were particularly good.

I alighted from my car, beeping the button on the remote and getting the familiar sound of the door locks engaging, before I briefly waved my hand and felt a significant drop in my mana pool. Alteration worked its magic, and the Lamborghini metamorphosed into a plain black sedan with no one ever the wiser. With that complete, I patted down my suit and began the way to my office. The entire apartment complex – Illumination Plaza – was actually mine, I had bought it and owned it under a shell corporation, but, I used only one room in the complex as my office, and the rest of the rooms were either occupied by people who didn't even know that they were employed by me. There was a laundromat on the ground floor which I had installed as a brief homage to ISIS –The fictional Intelligence Agency, not the terrorist cell – then the top floors were filled with generally what you would find in this sort of office complex – accountants, brokers, loan sharks and what not.

At the center room in the second floor, was my office.

Zed Rander

Private Investigator and Professional Consultant

I made my way to the door, before stopping just as my hand reached the knob.

The Minimap clearly displayed that there were two dots in my office. Red dots.

I grinned. Damn I needed to start upgrading security in this place.

"Well hello gentlemen!"

As expected, the men were in suits, and equally as expected, glancing up to their heads confirmed to me just who these men were.

"Are you Zed – Zed Rander?"

I grinned even more. "Actually, no, my name is Richard Rahl. Zed Rander is on the next floor."

They both paused, stopping to stare at me, and I sighed.

"You know – it's kind of annoying when no one ever gets your references. I mean, really, what passes for entertainment in this place? You have Shakespeare, Chaucer and Marlowe, Yeats, Wordsworth and Elliot, and hell, even Lewis and Tolkien – but nothing else?"

The two men turned to look at each other, before turning back to me in what was clearly confusion. "The Boss would like to have a word with you –"

"Of course he would. Considering how paranoid that old fuck is." I sighed. "But I guess you don't get to run the largest crime family in Gotham City without being a little twitchy."

Two guns were now pointed in my face.

"The boss would like to have a word with you… now."

I rubbed my nose and sighed.

"Please – don't do that. Don't point a gun at me in my own office. Killing you isn't worth the experience points, and I'd like to assume that you have families who may or may not miss you."

"Enough. We're taking you along with us to see the boss and it'd be best if you just –"

One of the men moved forward to grab me, and I rose one hand in objection.

"Don't touch me unless you want to die. No, really. Don't."

He snorted.

To be fair, I did warn him. I mean, honestly, it wasn't my fault that the idiot still attempted to grab me. Hence, I could not be held responsible in the slightest, when he dropped to the floor, motionless. I sighed, patting my suit, whilst turning my gaze to the second man who was present, and who was now clearly shaken as he pointed his gun in my direction.

"What – what the fuck – WHAT THE FUCK – what did you just fucking do?!"

I shrugged. "Intent-based, Soul Vanquishing Suit. You have to have a wisdom score that's at least one-fifth of mine to resist. Unfortunately for your friend here – he seemed to be lacking in that aspect."

I snapped my finger, a brief mental command of Alteration and gone was the body, and in its place, was a beautiful potted plant. I ignored the shaking man, before carrying the potted plant and putting it on the allocated space for it behind the window, along with about fourteen more which were there.

"Huh, I'm kind of running out of space."

I turned to the only other man in the room with the gun.

"Where would you like?"

He stared at me, shaking. "W-w-w-what?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm asking you where you would prefer your corpse, reincarnated as a potted plant, to be placed, in my office."

Silence.

"T-t-t-he w-w-w-indow?"

I nodded.

"Good choice."

I shot my hand out.

"Soul Drain."

A few minutes later, when there was a shiny new plant enjoying rays from the afternoon sun on my window, I sat in my chair, before slowly humming the Game of Thrones opening theme in my head, with a cellphone I had taken from the body of the second mook now in my hands.

"Is it done? Where is the Consultant?"

"Ah! Carmine "The Roman" Falcone! If it isn't my favorite head of the Falcone family! How nice to finally have a one-on-one chat with you."

There was silence.

"The Consultant."

I swiveled on my chair. "Oh, is that what I'm being called now? Catchy."

"What did you do to my men?"

"You mean the gifts you set me? I've set them up. Thanks for that by the way, they really add a certain ambiance to a room."

"You have no idea as to who you're dealing with here boy –"

"You know," I brought my voice to a dangerously lower tone. "I was about to tell you the exact same thing."

I stood.

"You see, Carmine ol' pal, had you simply gone on your way without bothering me, I would have merely left you alone for the time being. You see, there are flies and worms on this planet who I judge as more important to me than you are – in the grand scale of things, you're like a sardine at the bottom of the sea who believes himself to be Poseidon."

"You dare –"

"And I am going to show you, Carmine. I am going to educate you, slowly, painfully, until you realize your folly, until you realize the price of your own arrogance and ignorance. Until you beg for mercy, until you plead and cry – and until you comprehend, that you're not a god amongst men –"

I chuckled.

"You're an amoeba."

I crushed the phone in my hands, before patting away the remains.

Sighing, I stood up, with the realization that a lot of people were going to die this night, and a few women were going to be raped. Also, it was about time Nezumi – my zombie butler rat came back from his training session in my Hell-themed instant dungeon. He'd been grinding there for almost six years now.

I turned my attention to the potted plant on my window, before humming. It really did add to the décor.

"Yeah, I'm gonna call you Phillip."

And with that, thus began my first act as a true megalomaniacal supervillain –

Watering Phillip the Potted Plant.

Illumination Plaza

Zack Rander's Office

3:41PM

What did it mean to be human?

Why was it that humans seemed to place importance on themselves above all things? Religious reasons? Societal reasons? Or was it a feature of evolution and survival that made this necessary?

Phillip lay in my hand, the elegant flower pot almost brimming a lovely shade of emerald-green as I idly tossed it up and down. Anyone who saw it would fail to recognize that this flowerpot was all that remained of a person who had been living, breathing, and a person who was human. A creature that had contained sentience, possessed thoughts, desires, dreams – all of which were meaningless now that said consciousness had ceased, the soul had been absorbed into mine, and the body had been metamorphosed into a plant, to give back to the world, so to speak.

Still, in the past thirteen years, while I wasn't binging on nostalgia from my world, constantly turning everything into a reference and making more and more memorabilia that I could to remind myself, to serve as the proof that the world I came from had been real, I had taken the time to map out my questionably egotistical plans for the universe.

The humans in this world, were, a blend of impeccable genius and laughable optimists. To start with my original question, I realized, that if you shot a person, then you were considered bad - wrong, evil. The reason for this morality was that you wouldn't want to do to anyone what you wouldn't like done to you. It was simple, unless of course one wanted to dab into the religious aspects of the origins for morality to which I was dubiously suspicious of.

Humans don't hurt other humans, because humans wouldn't want to be hurt in turn.

It was simple. Except, in this world, that was where problems began to emerge. As it was, I couldn't even be considered human, and this was just based on genetic make-up, which would put me as a Homo-Magi – a species that was to humans as the Pterodactyls are to the present day avian.

An unfair comparison, some would argue, but the results spoke for themselves. With the power of magic I had, I might as well be a god amongst the common populace. This then brought about the serious question – if, technically, I was not truly Human (ala Homo Sapiens) then why exactly, should the 'Human' laws technically still apply to me? Why, did the half-demons and the aliens on this planet subsume themselves to following 'human' laws when they, themselves, were not?

This also brought an interesting fact, which, I noted, even as I gently placed Phillip back on my table.

Technically – aliens, demons, and gods, and other mythical or otherworldly creatures were not human, and thus, they did not have one thing – Human Rights.

The laws in this world were almost similar to that of the normal world where I came from. There were no addendums put in the constitutions that I could see, which covered aliens and supernatural beings. There were, instead, numerous loopholes which would technically allow me to enslave, rape and murder all aliens and supernatural beings I wanted, without ever having to face a single trial – because – they were not human.

If I were to shoot a nameless blob of conscious matter straight in the face, no one would bat an eyelash or even try to charge me for murder – because, it wasn't a human that was killed, but an alien creature, and its sentience is irrelevant.

If I were to find a vaguely sock-shaped alien with consciousness, tear it open a new one and use it to masturbate fervently, I'd probably get a few weird or disgusted looks, but no one would consider it as 'actual' sexual assault. It was just a weird looking alien thing – that's it.

Now, imagine if I were to find Supergirl, pin her to the street, stripped her, and fucked her senseless – you could easily imagine the backlash that would occur from the Justice Friends and the universal worldwide outrage.

Ah – but she isn't human either! So what's the difference? Why would people care more about her assault, than that of a sock-shaped alien? Would they consider it wrong because she was sentient, and thus, capable of feeling the pain and ignominy – but so was the blob! But no one would give a shit about the blob or a sock-shaped alien.

It was because, she looked human. Merely because she appeared human. That appearance would cause people to forget the fact that she wasn't human. It was the same thing with Superman, with Wonder Woman – if they had appeared, looking like the creatures out of Stranger Things rather than the supermodel visages they currently had, then the world would have been far less receiving of their welcome. They would have been considered grotesque abominations which needed to be removed from the public sight.

It was the same reason, I knew, that Miss Martian and Martian Manhunter used their green-skinned appearances rather than their true Martian forms. It was hard to think of a something that looked so inhuman as anything human with thoughts and feelings, and thus, it was harder to relate or even empathize with it. You could empathize with an animal, but only to a certain degree or extent, after which, it's merely an animal, and as such, you can feel perfectly vindicated doing to it things you would not do to a being of your own species.

You wouldn't neuter another human being nor would you even consider 'putting down' a human being, if they had suddenly lost a limb, or, in extreme cases where they were in a vegetative state.

Where was I going with all of this?

I had come to realize, that as a Homo Magi, I was on top of the food chain. I was on a higher evolutionary state than the common Homo Sapiens, and essentially, I was, or I could become, their natural predator.

Not in the cannibalistic sense of course – humans didn't make good meat. However, I meant it in the Darwinist, 'survival-of-the-fittest' type sense. You wouldn't fault a wolf for killing a rabbit, nor would you fault a buffalo for killing a wolf, or a pack of lions for killing a buffalo. It was the way things worked. It was nature's order for the weaker beings to hide and cower in the presence of the strong – their so called 'sentience' didn't matter. All animals were capable of feeling pain to some degree or the other, all were capable of emotion and desire. If sentient dragons were to roam the land, would they choose not to feed on humans, because humans also possessed a degree of sentience? When some humans themselves were known to feed on dogs, cats and horses, dolphins and other creatures possessing that same sentience?

The answer was no.

Hence, as a higher being – I had chosen to discard most moral issues, in light of the universal fact that I was a greater being. A 'next step' on the evolutionary ladder. The literal top of the food chain.

The Lion does not concern itself with the opinions of the sheep.

I closed my eyes, and then slowly nodded.

"There. Done. Megalomaniacal/Egotistic Villain Life Philosophy Complete."

I took glance at my wristwatch. "Took me an hour to complete. I'd have preferred going for a nihilistic approach – but I think the Joker has that one covered… or should I mix Cosmic Nihilism with Societal-Darwinism? I don't think there's a villain out there with that philosophy."

I hummed. Perhaps, that would work as a good idea. Though, I'd have to work on developing my cosmic nihilistic perspective – not that there was much work needed to be done on that. The Universe I'm in is the result of the collective imagination of a group of men and artists with a fetish for skin-tight latex and bountifully breasted women. Essentially, nothing I do matters, will matter, or will truly make a difference in the long run. Which, I supposed, was one of the reasons I went out of my way to give my own meaning to everything I did or experienced. And, it was the defining reason why I wanted to conquer the world – because even if nothing mattered at the end, I would know, and I would have experienced, and I would have lived, in a world, where I had interacted, fought, defeated and conquered Superheroes.

Simply because I could.

"Alright, what's next on my villainy checklist?"

I traced my hand over a piece of paper I brought out from my Inventory.

"Masterminding from the shadows, check. Badass Evil Villain threats, check. Developing an evil villain Life Philosophy, check and check. Attaining a devoutly loyal Second-in-Command – Oh, haven't gotten around to that one yet."

I wondered how the treatment from the Hell-Themed Instant Dungeon had treated my zombie rat minion so far? Perhaps he'd make a good lieutenant?

I cracked my bones and thrusted my hand open.

"Instant Dungeon – Open."

And then, there was a bloody heavy rush of hot air.

~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition

Africa

Forests of Osun

"Why do they have to be so many mosquitoes?"

Although by day, she masqueraded as a quirky, talented magical act, at night, and, usually, numerous other times, Zatanna Zatara was one of the world's leading magical experts. Her name was often mentioned side by side with the likes of John Constantine and Blue Devil, when the Justice League faced enemies of the magical variety that they could not defeat with normal rudimentary means.

One of such instances, was now.

The magician came to a stop in front of what seemed to be a red, decorated shrine kept in place, with human skulls surrounding an item that could only be described as a 'calabash'. Except, there was a pedestal, a pedestal on which an object was supposed to placed, a grave and deadly object, which was now clearly missing from its spot.

"Justice League to Zatanna – this is Vixen, do you copy Zatanna?"

The magician immediately pushed on her speaker.

"This is Zatanna. I hear you Vixen."

"Well? Did you find it?"

"No. The Amulet of Eshu is gone. Faust must have gotten to it before I did."

"That amulet –"

"I know, I know, it grants the wielder the power of the trickster God Eshu and the abilities to summon and control lesser demons –" She said irritably, "I won't let it stay in Faust's hands."

"I'll keep an eye out for any sightings of Faust or gangly demons showing up."

She nodded, slightly, before her eyes went wide as she cartwheeled out of the way to evade a spear which struck and went through the tree that had been behind her seconds ago.

"I've got to go – something tells me that the locals aren't too happy about having their artefact sto –"

She felt it.

It was as though the gravity of the world had suddenly been taken and compressed, forced upon her shoulders with an indescribable weight. As though all of the world's fears and nightmares had coalesced into a single point on the planet, and a creature from the darkest, deepest recesses of hell had been summoned to the world.

The overwhelming magical pressure brought her to her knees, and she grasped her chest with both hands to try and force her lungs to continue to inhale air, even as the feeling of evilevilevilevilevilevil continued to sing around in the air.

Vilemonstrouschaoticabomination –

Then all at once, it stopped.

Air could return to her lungs.

She found herself capable of breathing again, and realized, idly, that she was shaking, shivering even.

Around her, the locals had all collapsed on the floor, praying; praying to their gods for protection.

"-tanna, -atanna, Zatanna! Do you copy? Zatanna!"

Slowly, she forced her still shuddering hand to reach for the receiver.

"I-I-I copy. I'm… here."

"What happened? You just went off for almost thirty minutes and I could hear screaming –"

Thirty minutes? She – she had been screaming?

"Something… something powerful… ancient… something incredibly, incredibly dangerous…"

She shuddered at the feeling of wrongness that came back to her.

"I think – I think an Eldritch Demon was summoned to earth. Anyone closely connected to magic in the world would have felt its presence – would have been affected by its presence –"

"An Eldritch Demon?"

"An ancient demonic being with the powers of a god, born from chaos and darkness – they're one of the strongest types of Demons – like – like…"

She shuddered, feeling incredibly cold and exposed. "I need to contact John, Blue Devil, Dr. Fate – we need to find this thing, and we need to either seal it or destroy it – before it completely destroys us."

An Eldritch Demon here, in the world?

She could not imagine the fates of the poor, unfortunate human beings that would get in its way, and the complete and utter chaos and destruction it would bring.

Oh, what poor soul out there, was currently undergoing the torture of such an inherently evil being?

Gotham City

Illumination Plaza

Zed Rander's Office

"Would you lower your damned magical signature before every rookie magician and his unborn child comes down to Gotham?!"

The creature, standing, easily reaching seven-foot-tall, with the head of a rat, the horns of a goat, the tail of a devil, the claws of what could be a tiger, turned to stare at me in seeming confusion.

"Who dares summon the King of Hell?"

I stared at him. Blankly.

"You – Mortal – tell me – how is it that I have found myself in the human world after eons of –"

"Soul Slavery."

I allowed the magic to immediately take control over his form, letting out a small yawn as I did so.

"You – you dare –"

"Soul Conditioning." I said, ignoring the look of indignation on his face. "Reset: Default Butler Archetype – Nezumi. Set Character: Laid Back and Easygoing. Occasional Deadpan Snarker. Slightly Sarcastic. Set Appearance: Nezumi – Juuni Taisen. Set Loyalty Parameter: Infinite and Unbreakable."

I watched as the changes slowly began to occur.

"You – You – You will pay for this ignominy! I am the King of Hell! I have conquered and devoured countless demons! I – I – I –"

Gone was the giant beast, and in its place, was someone who could easily pass for twenty, with white hair, dressed in an elegant suit and a button-up tie. The man, blinked, once, and then twice.

"I… was I saying something, just now, Master Zack?"

"Oh, just how you were going to clean the toilet bowls with your tongue."

Nezumi blinked. "I… did?"

"Yes, but I told you that it would be unhygienic. You can just use the toilet brush instead. No need to be so zealous."

He nodded, slowly. "Of course, Master Zack. Forgive me, I sometimes get carried away in your service."

I rose an eyebrow as I watched him depart. Mhmm… maybe he wouldn't be too good as a lieutenant after all? I didn't want a sycophant as my second in command after all. Should I look into recruiting one of the numerous villains or villaineses instead? Probably after I'd broken them in of course.

Or, wait, wouldn't breaking them turn them into sycophants as well?

Damn. The whole being a villain thing was actually slightly more complicated than I thought it would be.

Still, what had caught my attention about Nezumi was the power levels he had been emitting, which, seemed way too much for just six years in an Instant Dungeon. A cursory activation of Gamer's Vision was needed.

Name: Nezumi

Level: 666

HP: EX

MP: EX

Age: Ancient

Race: Undead/Demon/Rat Hybrid

Occupation: Butler

Title: Hell's Connoisseur

Current Alias: N/A

Aliases: N/A

Affiliations: Cabrera Family, Zack Cabrera

Base of Operations: Gotham City

Alignment: Indisputably Loyal to Zack Cabrera

Identity: Unknown

Citizenship: N/A

Education: N/A

Bio

Nezumi is an Eldritch Demon Butler in the service of Zack Cabrera that started off as a normal undead rat. First by cannibalizing on members of his own species, Nezumi evolved further into a fearsome Zombie Minion, but it was only until being sent into an exact replica of hell courtesy of Zack's Instant Dungeon, that Nezumi evolved into a demon by cannibalizing on the demonic enemies present in Hell. However, as a day in hell equals a single second on earth, by the first day, Nezumi had already spent 236 years in the Hell instant dungeon. By the end of the six years, Nezumi had spent 500 Millennia in Hell, feeding endlessly on the repetitive spawn and varieties of demonic creatures that existed, amassing a legion of skills and powers and gaining sentience which, along with the extreme passage of time, led him to forget about his creator Zack.

Note: Characters with stats or levels of the designation 'EX' refer to individuals, who, due to certain circumstances or special conditions, cannot be classified into any particular level or cannot be assigned a numerical digit which accurately defines their abilities.

"Oh."

Although I could remember watching the Constantine Movie at one time, and even reading the comics, it had completely skipped my mind about the whole 1 day in hell is equal to 1 second on earth thing. Considering my dungeons were mimicked dimensions, it only made sense that the same logic would apply to it.

Still, it was good that I had Nezumi around. I wouldn't really consider him as a 'second-in-command' just yet, but more of a minion for now.

"So… what else is on the list – ah yes," I grabbed the paper, before looking at the item on it "Obligatory closure of tragic backstory, and introduction to the world as a villain."

I folded the paper in half, allowing it to dissipate into my inventory.

"Nezumi."

In a blur of flame, he appeared before me, wearing rubber gloves and still having a toilet brush in hand.

"Yes Master Zack?"

"By this evening – 'Zed Rander' will most likely be the most wanted person in Gotham," I said dryly, "So, I want you, within the span of now and midnight, to find a suitable, isolated spot in Gotham City, and use your powers however you like, to turn it into a supervillain hideout that would make Superman's Fortress of Solitude look like a retarded kid's sand castle in comparison."

He bowed. "Of course, Master Zack. Would you prefer this hideout to be above, or underground?"

"Underground."

"Of course, Master Zack. Would you prefer it to be cloaked from normal means of detection, and connected to a separate pocket dimension only accessible to you?"

I rose my eyebrow. "You can do that?"

There was a ferocious grin on his face. "For you, Master Zack, I can do – anything."

I think I may need to revise Nezumi's role. He'd definitely make a kick-ass lieutenant.

"Might I inquire about what exactly would be making you a wanted man tonight Master Zack?"

Oh, and he was curious too!

"Oh, I'll just be sending a message to Carmine Falcone – you know. Taking my time in slowly orchestrating his eventual death and gaining 'revenge' against him for killing my mother and all that."

"Master Zack, do you… despise, Carmine Falcone?"

I frowned. Did I? Shouldn't I? He did kill my mother after all – and he orchestrated events which led to my mother's horrible life – but, if not for those events, I wouldn't even exist today.

"I… can't say."

Nezumi nodded, slowly. From the corner of my eye, I saw him bring out a notepad and a pen.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking notes, Master Zack."

I rose an eyebrow even further. "Why?"

"To understand," he said simply.

"To understand what? Me?"

"No, Master Zack." He said, shaking his head. "To understand… everything."

Had I cared more to ponder on those words, they would have given me some pause. Alas, I didn't. And so, they didn't. And I shrugged it off as the newest eccentricities of my companion.

My mind was instead focused on testing the waters of my villainy – and of course, doing it with textbook, idiosyncratic precision.

REVENGE QUEST – Blood Is Thicker

Accepted.

~~~~~~~~~~~~ DC – Remastered Edition

Chicago

7th November

4:45 PM

There was one unique fact about Chicago, which separated it from numerous other cities in the world.

Chicago did not have a resident superhero.

There were numerous people who patrolled the streets and skies from time to time, ranging from Supergirl to the Elongated Man, but there weren't any major players in the city. There were fewer metahumans and super-powered psychotics around with grand or ludicrous plans to blow up the city or kill everyone with laughing gas.

This was one of the few reasons that the Viti family reigned as the supreme crime organization in the city. Carla Viti, the family's matriarch and main founder, was the daughter of Vincent Falcone, and the sister of Carmine "The Roman" Falcone. She had come from a city of psychopaths and darkness, a city that had something in the water capable of producing specimens which would leave the entire entourage of hell baffled and feeling incompetent in their ability to create suffering and chaos.

Carla Viti née Falcone felt that this suited her just fine. She did not need any ridiculous fool clad in a bat costume suddenly arriving and disrupting her business. She did not want, nor fancy the concept of having to deal with any of the world's masked crusaders. She especially did not want her daughter, Lucia, or her son, Johnny, to be involved in any of that.

Of course, her brother, the fool he was, probably hired those… 'costume freaks' in his city to maintain his empire. She shook her head distastefully at the idea. The lion did not hire a hyena to help operate its pride. She knew, that one day or another, his choice in using those freaks would end up being the end for her brother. The masks were bad for business in every single way possible, and it would be best to avoid them.

Still, Carla frowned as she made her way towards one of the family's locally owned restaurants. It was unusual, and far too sudden that her son Johnny had called for an emergency meeting. As far as she knew, everything had been moving smoothly so far – their business was almost completely unimpeded, and they had already eliminated nearly every other organized crime family in Chicago. They practically owned the city, yet, Johnny had called to tell her that there was something which had come up, something which could potentially end their reign over the city.

"Ah, Madam Viti – "

"Spare me the bullshit pleasantries and show me where my son is."

"O-Of course – ma'am –"

She snorted at the host's cowed expression, which might have been the result of her having come with six of her best men, all in black suits and glasses, and they certainly were not shy about brandishing their guns.

"Mama?"

She turned her attention to side, a voice catching her attention. "Lucia?"

Her daughter, Lucia, young and beautiful, a reminiscent of Carla's own more youthful days, stood to the side, with two guards of her own.

"Johnny called you here as well?"

She nodded, and Carla's frown grew. What could be so serious that would require both of them here at the same time?

The restaurant was completely cleared out, all the chairs and tables were empty, and –

She stopped.

"Where's the staff?"

No one was here. No waiters. No cleaners. Nothing. She turned her attention back to the host –

He was gone.

Her daughter caught on quick, and her men as well became shifty.

"Something's wrong."

The slow, heavy, sound of a man clapping his hands together easily echoed across the room, the sound seemingly coming from everywhere and from nowhere at the same time. The sound increased in tempo, in crescendo, and she watched as her men rose their guns, entering into a defensive formation around herself and her daughter, each of them trying to find where the sound of the clapping was coming from.

"Hello ladies. Forgive me for my lack of enthusiasm, but, as much as I would have liked to put effort into my introduction, it won't matter in the long run."

A man rippled into existence, right before their very eyes. As though light itself reflected around his very form, he appeared, with platinum-blond hair, sparkling blue eyes, possessing a slender form in an elegant suit that looked custom made and incredibly high quality.

"Who are you?" Carla snarled, "What the hell have you done with my Johnny?"

The man, his form slouched in a somewhat lazy gait merely yawned. "My name is Zack Rander – professional criminal consultant, jack of all trades and eventual greatest villain of the universe. Pleasure to meet you." He took a long, exaggerated bow. "I killed your son because males are easily disposable, and I'm here to make you a deal in which you may or may not survive – depending on what you choose."

"Kill him!" She growled.

Silence.

"I said kill –"

"And who exactly are you talking to?"

"My men of cou –"

Gone. They were gone. She could have sworn, without a shadow of a doubt, that she had come to the restaurant with at least eight men, and that her daughter had also come with two. She could also have sworn, that these men were in front of her less than a second ago, in a defensive position. Now, all she saw, were flakes of what looked to be light, or, pixels, disintegrating into nothingness.

As such, she found herself there, with her daughter, alone, with the strange blond-haired man who was merely giving them an incredibly amused smile. It was a smile that was chilling, a smile which spoke of the fact that he knew something that they did not, a smile, which sent shivers running down her spine, made her hair stand on edge, and sent a lump to her throat that she could not swallow.

It had been a long time since she felt fear.

On instinct, she reached for her purse, for the gun she always kept in it, and she brought it out in one swift move, pointing it in the direction of the man –

He groaned.

"A gun? Really? You might as well try to fight Cthulhu with a spork."

There was a blur.

One second, he had been across from her, and the very next, he stood in front of her, his head pressed against the barrel of the gun, and his hand, clapped against hers like a vice-grip.

"I would recommend shooting me in the head – right here, directly in between the eye-brows, and now that it's at such a close range, there's no chance of you missing."

Carla found herself shaking, shivering, even, from the sight of the insane man in front of her, a man who clearly had no regard for his life. She couldn't pry her hand away from his grip, no matter how hard she tried, and he instead looked up at her with a perked eyebrow.

"I didn't take you for the scared type. It's just a pull of a muscle, the single flex of a finger, and then – that's it – I'm gone. Surely you know how it works?"

Of course she did, she had fired the gun more times than she could care to count. Yet, even as her eyes slightly diverted to the side, to catch her daughter's equally frightened and unsure look, she had no explanation as to why she could not fire the weapon.

"You've killed dozens of people in this City haven't you? Your little organization shakes down money from hard working folks, grabs confused and desperate boys from the streets, turn them into cannon fodder to enrich your pockets, and barely bats an eye when they die – because, well, I guess it just means they weren't good enough to survive the business."

He was still staring at her, but now, his eyes seemed to have grown incredibly dull, almost bored and sleepy.

"Had I been a vigilante, I would have said this killing you would be justice – but I'm not, and good and evil are such arbitrary terms that I couldn't care less if you'd been carving pregnant women open."

He crushed her hand.

She immediately let out a large scream, a curse, as blood spurt forward from the stump that was now her wrist – with the entirety of her right hand completely gone, and her gun now crumbling into dust.

"Mama!"

"Lucia – no! Don't come any –"

Her daughter had lunged forward, lunged forward, her own pocket pistol in hand –

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

There was silence, for a few seconds, as the blond man's head snapped back, and hung in place.

"Shat whash a chloshe one."

He leaned his head back forward, grinning, as three, smoking bullets lay, caught in-between a sparkling layer of white teeth.

He spat the bullets out, before craning his neck, a series of sickening cracks echoing from it.

"Good attempt. But, unfortunately, not good enough."

Lucia managed to step backwards, uncertainty filling up her face, before, she rose her gun up one more time –

"Tell me,"

She resisted the urge to scream, as the voice had come directly behind her, and a hand had placed itself on her shoulder, and she realized, belatedly, that she could not move.

The blonde man smiled.

"Do you know what the definition of insanity?"

Seeing as she was paralyzed, with fear, the smile wiped off his face. He merely let out a simple sigh, before shaking his head and turning to Carla, who was bleeding from the stump that was now in place of her hand.

"Here's the deal: There are three options. Option 1: You willingly agree to become my eternal brainwashed slaves and servants, have your personalities altered, your body experimented on and changed, and generally, well, you stop being 'you.'."

He yawned again.

"Option two – you refuse option one, and you are tortured and defiled for an unknown period of time by and unknown period of assailants, until you are eventually killed."

The two women were shaking, yet, they couldn't stop themselves from continuing to listen to the incredibly dangerous man in front of them.

"Option three – one of you picks up that gun, and shoots the other person straight in the forehead with it, winning a chance to go home scot-free, and put this terrifying experience behind you."

The silence was thick.

"So, your options are eternal subservience, rape and death, or killing your own family. What's it going to be?"

So far, the 'bored' approached seemed to be working just as well, if not even more terrifyingly well than my previous 'happy and upbeat' approach. Perhaps, it worked even better, because, it gave the impression that they were so far beneath me, and this entire event was so trivial that it wasn't even worthy of my full time, attention or alertness. In contrast, going with the happy approach would have made them think I was just an insane person – which wasn't what I wanted.

Regardless, I didn't exactly know what to say, nor was I even somewhat slightly surprised when, after giving them the instructions, Lucia Viti lunged forward towards the gun on the floor, her mother's gun, and shakily, but steadily, rose it up against Carla.

To say that the elderly woman was shocked would have been the statement of the century.

"Lucia – you – you –"

"I-I'm sorry Mama – but, this is how it is –"

BLAM!

To my credit, I barely flinched at the sound of the gun going off – and let me tell you, these things are loud as hell in person, far louder than Hollywood movies made them out to be. Of course, that aside, I watched as Carmine's sister slumped to the ground, a bullet now lodged firmly in her skull.

To be honest, she was going to die anyway from blood loss from her hand if it hadn't received the proper medical attention. Killing her with a bullet was just accelerating the process.

"S-So… I did it right? You – you're going to let me go – right?"

I blinked.

"I said you'd win the chance to go home scot free and I'll keep that."

I turned to my watch.

"You have ten seconds to get home before that chance is over."

Gotham City

Falcone Estate

The sound of heavy grunts followed by the wild neighs of horses filled the air.

"Oh please God no! Please! Please! OH GOD! OH GOD!"

"Make sure you look into the camera Lucia – oh, and smile – spread those legs a little bit wider – I think Bojack might appreciate it if you did."

"P-please – stop – why – why are you – doing this?! Why?!"

"Other than you being part of a mafia family? Well – this is a treat to all the good folks of the world – and of course, a message – to the one and only – Carmine-fucking-Falcone."

There was a loud scream followed by a heavy neigh.

"So, Falcone ol' buddy, ol'pal – Hide yo wives, Hide yo kids, and hide yo-self – 'cause The Consultant is coming for ya."

The television screen went blank. The room was deadly silent. No one moved. No one spoke. Only the fan of the study whirring and slicing through the air above dared make noise.

"How many?"

The question cut through the silence like a razor blade through paper.

The men in the room stared at each other, confusion apparent on their faces, before one finally spoke up. "Sir?"

"I'm asking – how many people have seen this video?" the silence grew. "Well? How many people in the world have seen my niece get fucked to death by a horse?"

One of the men, the braver, or stupider amongst them, spoke. "Sir… the video was uploaded… to numerous porn sites across the world – XVideos, Pornhub –"

"How. Many?"

The same man, belaying stupidity swallowed. "As of this evening alone, sir… seventeen million – and counting. The video – it – it's gone viral – Uptight Mob Gal Get Loosened by Wild Stallion Cocks for the First and Last Time – people in the Philippines are already making it into a meme –"

BLAM!

No one flinched or moved, as the man who had been speaking suddenly had his brains splattered across the wall.

"This – this is unacceptable." Carmine spoke, his voice a deadly calm. "It seems that we may have an upstart vigilante who isn't afraid to get his hands dirty – and he's made a very, very deadly mistake."

The gathered men said nothing, partly due to the stench of shit and blood slowly encompassing the room, and partly due to the smoking, double-barreled Shotgun still in the hands of the Falcone family boss.

"Let it out now – I want a bounty placed on his head. On this… Zed Rander. The bounty is doubled if he's brought in alive."

One of the men, the one in charge of financial activities and contacts in the underworld, came forward, nodding.

"How much should it be sir?"

The amount was given.

The man couldn't stop his breath from hitching in his throat. "Sir –are you sur–"

He suddenly found a still warm shotgun barrel placed on his throat.

"Did I stutter?"

Wisely, the man shook his head. "N-N-No sir – y-you did not."

The barrel was removed from the throat, and Falcone tossed the weapon into the hands of someone else.

"He attacked my family – raped my sister. Anything less would be an insult." He put his hands behind his back.

"I'll be in my room; do not disturb me unless you've caught the Consultant. In the meanwhile, double the security around my wife and contact my idiot children. And get someone to clean up the fool – his blood is ruining my carpet."

Gotham City

Batcave

#OHMYGOD HAS ANY 1 SEEN DIS LINK?!

#VitiRape Wait… did THE Lucia Viti just get fucked to death a horse?

#I'veneverbeenintobestialitybut I don't know what's worse – that I watched the whole thing – or that I jerked off to it.

#VoteBojack That horse deserves to be our mayor! It's done more to fight crime than Hamilton Hill!

#TheConsultant Consultant my nigga, you da real MVP!

#WhoistheConsultant? Is this guy a new hero? Is he a villain? He doesn't even wear a mask! He's kinda dreamy though.

#TheConsultantVsFalcone Who's ready for the greatest grudge match of the fucking century?!

"It's worse than I expected."

A man said, his eyes glued unto the screen as the torrent of hashtags and other news and tweets about what was easily becoming a country-wide controversy. The news stations had not yet covered it, particularly because of the graphic and obscene nature of the act. Then, there was also the fact that the case had been swept under the rug by the Chicago City Police. None of them were interested in finding the bodies of the Viti women, and they were content to turn their faces aside to the brutal nature of the crime.

As far as they were concerned, the villains had gotten their just deserts, and were not deserving of sympathy.

Except, Batman did not particular care about being sympathetic to them either, but he didn't want them to suffer and be tortured. Criminals or not, they had been people. Yet, everyone seemed to forget that.

"So it seems Master Bruce." He said, glibly, before raising his arms to point out two suits. "Would you prefer the Black Tuxedo, or the White?"

Bruce frowned. "You can't be serious Alfred."

"Oh, yes, pardon me Master Bruce. Black is clearly the obvious choice."

"Alfred – there's a new villain out on the loose who kidnapped and tortured a woman – I don't have time to attend this ball –"

"It's a fundraiser, Master Bruce," Alfred corrected sharply, "A fundraiser for the police department, in which many of your family paintings would be sold or auctioned off, for the benefit of Commissioner Gordon and his men."

"Alfred –"

"If you'll forgive me Master Bruce, but your name has already come up in the media, just this afternoon, and it deeply grates me to have people questioning your honor and motives. But, as they cannot understand nor will they ever know the true reasons, I have no choice but to merely let them continue." He said, almost sternly. "However, I see no reason to give them extra ammunition to continue this war against your family name, and you failing to attend an event to which you organized, would be doing exactly that."

"What did you say?" Bruce snapped up, his eyes narrowing.

Alfred rose an eyebrow. "I said your name has already come up –"

"Just this afternoon." Bruce said, rapidly turning his attention back to the Batcomputer.

Alfred, as well, frowned. "You do not believe it to be a coincid–" he stopped. "Of course. There aren't any."

Bruce Wayne's name being smeared now, at the same time this mysterious puppeteer pulling the strings of the Crime Families had decided to make a major move into the world? Had decided to stop hiding in the shadows and had committed perhaps, one of the most vulgar and unbelievable crimes seen in Gotham till date –

There was no way it could all be a coincidence.

The two events were related. Bruce was certain of it.

The only question, was how?

"Forgive me Master Bruce, but, I do not think that is the most pressing concern at the issue."

Bruce frowned. "Alfred, the fundraiser can wai –"

"I am afraid I am not referring to the fundraiser either Master Bruce – I am referring – to that."

The masked man turned his attention to the screen, with a notable alert on it. An alert, which, he had only gotten due to pawning it off numerous members of his rogues gallery, which was often sent to those in the business of 'collecting'.

"This… this…"

"Will bring hell, to Gotham."

Meanwhile...

News in the Underworld travelled fast. Bounties, however, traveled faster.

Starling City

A man sat on a bed in a motel, slowly cleaning the barrel of his gun. The weapon, a sniper rifle, sheened, just as a small, black phone buzzed.

The man took a look at the phone, before placing it down. He rose his rifle into the air, spinning it, and looking through the scope, the picture of someone with blonde hair and blue eyes already envisioned at the other end.

San Francisco

The sound of swords clashing, grunts of exertion, and the silhouettes of agile movement came to a stop with the sound of a buzz from a phone.

A man with an eyepatch covered on one eye moved over to the device, before his eyes narrowed at it.

"We have a new target."

Central City

"I thought you said we don't do Gotham. That we're never doing Gotham."

"For this amount of cash, offered on some bloke's head? I think we can make an exception."

Nanda Parbat

"It is unusual for Falcone to be this generous."

A group of men and women clad in black, knelt, bowing before another man with a long beard. In their front, knelt a woman with black hair and an elaborate, cat-themed mask.

"Nevertheless – such generosity, is not wise to squander. You may proceed on this task."

Gotham City

Underworld

"KGBeast, the Terror Twins, Tally Man, and every single fucker in Gotham is out there to trying to get that reward!" A man, his face cloaked completely in what appeared to make it seem like a black skull, spoke.

"Now, imagine, boys, what we would do with that cash? Imagine forcing ol'Falcone to cough it all up? We're not taking any chances gentlemen – its winner takes it all!"

Gotham City

Burnley Districts

She had been planning on a simple night out. Just go out, scope out the fundraiser that Bruce Wayne was holding and try to see if she could so brusquely borrow anything or two that caught her fancy. It was supposed to be a relatively simply thing.

Now, she knew that the city was going be the closest thing to a warzone, and that the fundraiser was probably not the safest place to be.

Still, she allowed her lovely feline companion to jump into her arms, as she stroked it's back, wondering, just who on earth was The Consultant, and just what exactly, such an innocent looking young man could have done to make Falcone so pissed.

It was a shame she was primarily a thief and not an assassin or bounty hunter.

Lord knows she would have killed for that Five Hundred Million dollars.