(Edited with Grammarly on 4/9/2026)
An object, small and bright in color, zipped through the air, hurtling towards him. The room was hot and stuffy, the mats beneath his feet squeaking uncomfortably. Loud music blared from all sides, some sort of pop song from an artist he had no real interest in ever finding out more about, but no matter how ambivalent he felt towards it, he could admit the beat was doing wonders with keeping him pumped.
Flooding his body with adrenaline to cover up his sore legs, chest, and lungs, wheezing out desperately for even a scrap more of air. Helped him to ignore the errant drop of sweat sneaking into his eye from above.
If anything, that stinging sensation acted like yet another trigger to ignite one last burst of energy. And so, shunting the pain emanating from every part of his body, he fell back onto that ethereal and intimate sensation. Hands, enumerable, reaching out from the abyss to cling and caress his form. Fingers or appendages digging in deep, each pulling subtly in different ways. Some yanked on the skin of his thigh to drop low, others were pressing in on his armpits as though to encourage him to jump high in the air, while others wrenched hard on his fingers. Feeling like they were trying to yank them out of their socket, as they 'guided' him to leap to the left or right.
Frankly, it was too much. Too many options for him that it nearly froze him in indecision. The still hands resting on his neck and skull were like a breath of fresh air, a shot of cold bringing him back to the present. He began to move suddenly, and just like that, all those hands disappeared as if they never existed.'Hopping' to the left just as the projectile blitzed past, hitting the wall with a heavy thump.
But despite evading the almost neon pink beanbag, he didn't dare lower his guard. No matter how much he wanted to collapse in relief.
"Think fast!"
A far too chipper voice called out, and a moment later, those hands made themselves known once more. But this time around, he just allowed himself to fall into their rhythm. Crouching low with the yank as another projectile whizzed over his head, leaped to the left as his oversize and sweat-soaked shirt just barely avoided catching a beanbag before exploding up into the air just in time to avoid a far larger bag slamming in his previous space with a very audible plop.
Brown eyes locked with blue, then, time slowing to a near crawl as he watched a lone bright red beanbag being tossed up and down in a single hand. Its color contrasting greatly with chipped and faded multicolored fingernail. Pale lips pulling back into a teasing grin, exposing rows upon rows of pearly white teeth.
He could feel them then, each yanking and pulling in every direction. Some pushed on his lower back to curl up into a ball, or to tuck his arms in low to make himself a smaller target, some even pulled on limbs to make him form into an arch to avoid the projectile. But alas, no matter how hard they pushed or pulled, it was for naught, as the single limiting factor in this was his own body. He did not possess the core strength or flexibility to pull off something, or really anything like that.
Instead, his body only hovered there uselessly. Clenching his eyes closed, he held his breath as he awaited the impact.
Everything happened in quick succession. First, his body began to fall. Second, the whooshing of air filled his ears above the loud music. Third, a soft object barely slammed into his chest, and finally, he went tumbling down to the land on a squishy surface that very nearly devoured him whole. Falling face down, the music was suddenly muffled as the sound of Styrofoam beans being forced together and streams of air exploding out from the stitching.
Just as his body touched that oh-so comfortable surface, all that adrenaline and energy came flushing out. Leaving him as nothing more than a puddle of sweat, screaming lungs, sore muscles, and tender aches. And it took him all his self-control not to just fall asleep there, fighting off exhaustion with a hefty sword as he slowly but unsteadily forced himself into a more upright position.
"H-h-" He croaked, only now realizing exactly how parched his throat was before swallowing back spit and continuing. "H-how did I do?"
"Pretty good…" Harley nodded, coming over and plopping down beside him. A solid but warm object was shoved into his hands before she began to chug on her own water bottle. "I didn't know a skeleton could move that well, thought your twig for legs would've snapped after that jump!"
"Thanks…"
Albert couldn't even roll his eyes at her prodding, quickly undoing the cap and beginning to gulp down the lukewarm miracle with great relish. Just looking at a nearby reflection was enough to forestall any form of comeback he would be able to muster. He didn't look so bad in oversized sweatpants and jackets, but in a loose t-shirt and shorts? Yeah, his wobbly knees and elbows were easy for anyone to see.
"Don't you worry!" She slapped him heavily on the back, nearly knocking the teen back face-first into the beanbag. "Coach Harley here will whip you right into shape! Soon, you'll nearly have guns as large as mine, and the ladies won't be able to resist!"
Flexing, the blonde only further rubbed salt in his wounds. Honestly, looking back and forth at the clear difference in physique between them, he could see why people normally just took steroids to quickly close the gap. What she was talking about would take him years of healthy eating and routine exercise; maybe it would be helped along with his growth spurt, but he really wasn't holding out hope there.
He'd been measuring himself routinely since coming to this world, and sadly, his height hadn't moved even a centimeter.
"But seriously, good job today." Falling back to lie on the mats, she looked up at the dimly lit overhead lights. "I could've sworn that beanbag chair would've gotten you."
"It's all thanks to you."
[IP: 3]
While it was technically the truth, it wasn't entirely based on either of their merit. System 'doping' the last week had practically dragged him across the finish line just to keep up with the upgraded intensity. Just using one IP every few days should be fine, as he had no intention of ever shattering his mind again by being greedy or experimental again...at least for now.
[Dodge: 25%]
And he would say it was a very productive week, a solid two points in a physical skill like Dodge? Yeah, that was a win in his books.
"…" Silence soon fell over them, nothing but the sound of his heavy breathing and that incredibly loud music blaring over the speakers keeping them company. And just as the current song was winding down, the blonde spoke up once more. "Now that my favorite song is over...Damn, that girl can sing, like the voice of an angel! But really, be straight with me. How are you holding up?"
Albert wanted to sigh, with some parts from his own fatigue and others from annoyance. A minute thing, an immature thing, but he just couldn't help but feel that way. Not wholly annoyed at her, but also at 'past' him for putting himself in this position. She'd been asking him the same question at the end of every training session this week, even sometimes after their morning 'runs', so there was no reason he should've thought anything different would've happened today.
He could've lied, his mouth popped open, and that damned split tongue almost automatically spat out a reply. But with an audible click, he shut it just as suddenly. He couldn't afford to fall back on old habits like before, and who said change was easy?
"I'm better now, eating better, sleeping better, and been trying my best to communicate more. Spoke to a few more strangers the other day, nothing deep but just some casual chit-chat."
"That's good!" She side-eyed him next. "But, have you taken on any new cases? Or found anything interesting?"
"…"
His silence was more than answer enough.
"I'm not trying to pressure you or anything, just asking. But...haven't you been feeling that itch lately? Like you just put your finger in a socket or somethin?"
"...Yeah." The response was barely a whisper, a low murmur that slipped out from a slumped head. He could admit it; if mysteries were drugs, then he was a full-blown addict ready to do anything for a quarter for his next hit. It was just that every time he had convinced himself that he could maybe get back into the game, the lone MISSING PERSON flier just hanging in the middle of an emptied corkboard was enough for that desire to be dashed.
There were even times he would sit at his desk, ready to look through the growing possible client list, when his gaze would be drawn to that flier, and he would find himself looking at it for tens of minutes before shaking free from that hold and finding something else to do.
"Take some advice from your ol'friend, who's been around the block a few times…It becomes incredibly hard to reconnect with that passion you thought you lost as you age. Work and life conspire together to make you into this unfeeling drone. This time in your life, when you're still young, and the world won't expect you to put your dreams on hold, don't let that passion die out. Take time to recover, to get your mind back on straight...I'm not saying to throw yourself headfirst into anything heavy, but maybe just listen to your voicemail for once. Seriously, dude, you should. I tried calling the other day, and I couldn't even leave a message. Again, if this isn't what you want to do anymore, just tell me, and I won't ever bother you about this ever again. Pinkie promise and everything, so you know it's binding!"
"I'll think about it."
Despite everything, he didn't want to give this life up. If not just because of his financial investment into this field, but also because of the simple fact that no matter how many uncomfortable positions these cases put him in, nothing else really scratched that itch of his. Not these training sessions.
"All I ask! Now, you up for another round? Now that I see you hopping around like a rabbit, I gotta adjust a few things!"
"…" Ignoring the spike of terror stabbing directly into his heart, Albert still had the strength to reach out and gently grip her throwing wrist. Looking up at her, he tried to sound as sincere as possible, imbuing every word with his all. "Thank you, Harley. Not just for...you know, helping me out of my funk, but for everything...If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."
A flicker of emotions flashed across her eyes, those orbs taking on a more glassy appearance for a mere moment before she shook her blonde locks wildly with a teasing, shit-eating grin spreading wide into place. Reaching down, she pinched at his cheeks like an aunt would do a child.
"Like I keep saying, Al! Friends! Don't! Keep! Count! Believe me, if I need anything, I will not keep my big mouth shut! But don't think acting all mushy is going to make me go easy on you!"
***
"Hello to you too."
Albert mumbled as he opened the door a tad wider, allowing the ball of inky fur to dart into his home. Floating yellow orbs turned back at him impatiently, a low meow beckoning him forward as though he was wasting their time. Sighing, he didn't even bother flicking on the light and instead trudged deeper into the darkness. His feet carried subconsciously towards the back, taking care not to diverge into the middle of the room, to avoid stubbing his toe on an errant table or chair leg.
He practically knew this place like the back of his hand. Two steps to the side from his entrance to avoid the protruding wall edge, followed by stepping a total of ten steps and a right turn to find himself inside the only place Sundae seems to consider sacred. Reaching out to the switch, he flipped it on and came face to face with an adequately cleaned kitchen. A few loose crumbs from his breakfast lay beneath a rather ancient and suspect-looking toaster. A nearly full trash can pushed far into the corner, a sink full of a few dishes, a microwave that barely ever got anything hotter than lukewarm, and a fridge whose humming seemed to grow louder with every passing day.
From between his legs, the fur ball darted in and almost immediately started to paw at his shoes as she saw her pair of empty bowls.
A few minutes later and a few dishes later, her majesty was finally content with the offering placed before her and began digging in with gusto.
"Stay down here." It was more of a suggestion than anything else, as ever since she'd run up stairs with Harley, she would often climb up those steep stairs and join him at his desk. Of course not, without sniffing at every little thing and knocking over a few paper weights to make sure he knew she was there.
Receiving only a flick of the ear as a response, he turned on his heel and began his journey. Gripping onto the rail with a white-knuckle grip, his body felt as if he even tried standing to his full height, gravity would suddenly stop work, and all he would have to keep him from slamming headfirst into the ceiling was that desperate grip. So it was already a slow start, and combining that with the aches filling him, he had fallen to a near snail's pace.
After what felt like an hour, he finally turned right and pushed the door open. Dropping off his bag at the entrance way, the first thing he noticed was the giant corkboard pushed into the far wall. A lone piece of paper hanging in place as though to taunt him, a memorial to his first failure.
Turning away from those massive brown eyes, he glanced down at the desk before him. More at the sleek black landline sitting on the edge. A more recent addition to his office. A bit of a splurge, but he apparently wasn't hurting too badly when it came to money at the moment. Apparently, even through that fog, he'd still been conscious enough to keep up with his obligations. Almost four hundred a week doing the bare minimum seriously went a long way back in this time. Enough to get him a pretty decent business phone with an answering machine, with what he thought was a lot of space.
But from the blinking red light on its face, he'd obviously severely underestimated how dogged some people were. Slinging his jacket onto the nearby coat rack, he circled the desk and plopped down into the comfortable chair.
Sinking back, he tried to ignore the ever-persistent gaze burning a hole into the side of his face. Falling deeper into his own thoughts, he could already think of all manner of excuses he could throw out now.
'I'm tired.'
'I'm sore.'
'I'm hungry.'
'I smell so terrible right now.'
'One more night won't hurt any.'
'Would Marceline and the group mind if I crash their sleepover?'
But they all felt hollow, like he was just beating around the edge on what was truly holding him back.
Guilt over not being able to reunite Russel and Jacqueline. Fear that his skills would prove insufficient once more, and he would leave yet another family shattered into pieces. Shame at even daring to call himself a private investigator, to dare offer someone else his 'aid' when he had failed so spectacularly last time...But most prominently of all those chains lashing out at him, it was obsession. He could feel it, knocking at the barriers within his mind. Egging him to look down another expended clue, to look over yet another newspaper, to walk down the same street, to bug the same people from before. Like an ever-insistent door-to-door salesman, it always made sure he knew it was there. And ready to accept him back into that numbing embrace.
He could admit it too, if things didn't change, even if he worked himself to the bone every day, training and forcing himself headfirst into the company of his friends and loved ones, those spindly digits will get their grip right back onto him. And he would find himself in that fog once more. He would break first, he knew.
So, in one fluid movement, he almost slammed one of the gray buttons across its surface, before those eyes could even begin to work their magic. And for a moment, he froze. Feeling as if every hair on his body rose to attention, his hackles rising and body growing taut as he awaited...well, for something to happen. Anything would've been preferable to the nearly suffocating silence that crashed into existence.
"Please enter your PIN." That slightly feminine, artificial voice crackling to attention nearly made him pop a blood vessel from how hard he flinched away from the damned device. Heart almost launching full into his throat as if the Hounds of Hell were nipping at his heels. Calming with a few steadying breaths, he tapped away at the device. Every button mash followed by a dull note like that of a piano. "Welcome, Mr. Nelson. You have a total of... thirty new voice messages. Your mailbox is full; you will not be able to receive any new messages until more space has been made."
"First message," The voice on the end suddenly cut off, and a gruff and slightly slurred male voice yelled through the speakers. "Hello?! Hello?! Hello?! Gotham City Pizzeria?! I want a large pepperoni pie! And don't skip out on the olives! Really, really load that bit-"
"Message deleted." He didn't even bother hearing the rest of the call and hastily pressed the star button, and honestly, that's how the next couple of calls were. They were either 'pranksters' with far too much free time or just confused people swapping the last two digits of his phone number, trying to reach a pizza joint called Gotham City Pizzeria. The staff was nice...as long as he knew what he wanted before setting foot into the door. It wasn't until he got a few messages that he came across something sounding even remotely real. "Next message...Excuse me? Hello?"
The voice was elderly and feeble, sounding almost exactly how a grandmother would.
"Goodness me, I don't know what I'm doing, but you have to help me! I am currently being held hostage by a gang of...colored men! They won't let me leave, they force me to take these pills, eat oatmeal, which I hate, and they won't even tell me where my husband is! I've called the police so many dang times, but they're useless! Please, you have to save me! I'm at-"
She hastily whispered her address and hung up suddenly. Albert rewound the message a few more times just to make sure he got the address down correctly. Reaching into his desk, he pulled out a heavily folded sheet of paper and unwrapped it. Unfurling it to its full size, he carefully went down every printed street and every handwritten street name he could find.
"Huh." Albert let out a breath, leaning closer to the map as he looked back over everything. Even rewinding the message once more just to make sure everything was straight. "How did my fliers get outside of Gotham?"
Unless it was some obscure street or something, there didn't appear to be a name matching the address anywhere in the city. Pulling out his phone, he actually used his limited minutes to pull up a website to type in the name. A few agonizing moments that him really, really miss fast speed internet, he finally got a hit.
"Metropolis Retirement Homes?"
Frankly, that was enough for him to delete the message outright. In a city watched over by a walking god, he seriously doubted the lady was in any actual danger from her caretakers. Scared, probably, but with the Boy Scout capable of hearing a falling baby's cry from across the city, it was almost impossible for abuse to happen there.
Just as the next message began, a black blur darted in from the doorway before hopping onto the desk. Yellow eyes glanced down at the phone in curiosity, ears twitching as yet another group of teenagers shrieked loudly through the speakers. She actually did him the favor this time around, pressing a paw onto the star button just to make the obnoxious shouting end.
"Next message...Hello? Could you help me find my dog-"
"Message deleted."
Sundae didn't even have the grace to look bashful as she cruelly dashed the hopes of what seemed to be a child; in fact, she appeared far, far too pleased with herself.
"Stop that." Albert reached over and picked up the ball of trouble before placing her in his lap, much to his annoyance as she began to paw and knead at his shirt, but still curled up into a ball as he began to gently stroke her back. Hearing her begin to purr softly, he couldn't help but picture himself in an oversized swivel chair. Turing back to face a group of good doers, as he wore an eye-patch.
A man could dream, couldn't he?
On the messages went, most of them were unceremoniously deleted, while others were set aside for further viewing, writing down a few key points of each before moving on to the next one. This continued until he had three options before him, system prompts popping up to greet him as he glanced down at the bullet points.
[Case Opened: Oath-breaker
Description: An ailing husband has long since suspected that his wife has been unfaithful to him. Coming in hours after errands, acting all suspicious with every phone call, and most of all, a suspicious charge on their shared credit card. Find out the truth and finally set this matter to rest!
Requirements: Verify if this wife in question has truly forsaken her vows!
Difficulty: F
Reward: 1 IP]
[Would you like to take on this case?]
[Yes/No]
[Case Opened: Daisy Oracle
Description: A solid bet, the heart sings. Young love unfurls its wings and wishes to take flight, but she knows not if her feelings will be reciprocated. Especially when the object of her affection is already spoken for by one of the meanest girls from this part of the United States. But no matter how strong your possible client's feelings might be, she is a shy soul and doesn't possess even a single strand of courage to fight for what she desires! That's where you come in! Play telephone between these two while avoiding the Wicked Witch of the West!
Requirements: Find out if there could ever be anything between them!
Difficulty: F
Reward: 1]
[Would you like to take on this case?]
[Yes/No]
[Case Opened: Power of the Press
Description: An aspiring investigative reporter has stumbled across a scheme like none other, but has no one to turn to. This information was so sensitive that they were forced to cut themselves off from all their loved ones and seek out the aid of some no-named private eye! A complete ghost! Help them undo these knots and expose the truth to the public!
Requirements: Provide aid, protect, and unveil this groundbreaking story!
Difficulty: F
Reward: 1]
[Yes/No]
Albert had to admit, all of them sounded very, very appetizing. Just thinking about how he would go about solving every single one was almost enough to cause him to start vibrating out of his chair. But he had to be realistic here; he couldn't split himself into three...sadly. And there were some downsides to each of them.
Starting at the top, Oath-breaker sounded so incredibly messy that he might even find himself implicated in a domestic abuse case or even a murder if he didn't handle things delicately. Divorce cases involving a possible cheating partner always, always, always ended horribly. And he had no interest in involving himself in something like that...maybe not now, but he would for sure push that one off to the side for now.
Daisy Oracle felt like some early 2000s sappy romance movie waiting to happen, and he was honestly all for it. He wouldn't mind playing cupid for a bit; some good old-fashioned high-school drama sounded way, way better than anything else right now. But again, did he really want to face someone even the system called 'The Wicked Witch of the West'?
And finally, Power of the Press was the best one for him. Being able to form connections with someone else in this field, while also getting a chance to really sink his teeth into things? It was perfect...just not what he was looking for at the moment. He needed something without such high stakes, and if they couldn't turn to their own loved ones in this, then someone might be in some danger. That, and the call had come from somewhere in Blüdhaven, aka, Nightwing's future stomping ground.
But that in itself only sounds more appealing despite everything, so with no way to choose which one to focus on, he turned to the only other creature in the room.
"Which one do you think I should pick?"
He looked down at the cat, bringing her up to nose level with the bullet points. Sundae, with her light slumber thoroughly ruined by the 'pesky' human, probably didn't even fully hear his question and just saw all the work he put into that list and decided to enact a sort of tole for daring to disrupt her sleep.
Two sets of claw marks raked across the page, leaving only a single one unmarred before he quickly brought the list out of reach.
"Guess it's you."