He watched the beat-up Ford, belching black smoke, turn the corner and let out a slight sigh of relief.
Just then, a heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder, startling him so badly he jumped a foot in the air.
Turning around, he saw a dark-skinned guy standing there, grinning cheekily at him.
"Holy crap… Why are you only showing up now?"
Darnell Wilson, an African-American rookie officer the department had assigned as his partner. Only twenty years old, he seemed to have been shoved into the police force by a gang.
Just like in traditional Hollywood blockbusters, there always had to be a black guy to take the fall or die at a critical moment. And this one could sing, dance, play basketball, rap, and most importantly, didn't do drugs.
With a partner like this, what more could you ask for? For Gotham to become a place of simple, honest folk?
"Otherwise, man? For just over a thousand bucks a month, why come early?" Wilson flashed the watch on his wrist. "Still twenty minutes till shift start." He craned his neck to look at the corpse inside the crime scene tape.
The poor guy was still lying there naked, covered only by a cheap body bag.
"What the hell is this?"
"Gotham's local specialty. Nothing strange about it." Jay pulled his thermos from the car, slowly unscrewed it, and took a sip.
The steam from the tea rose, warming his stiff skin a little, but as the cold wind blew, it felt even colder.
He wiped his face and walked towards the coroner's van with flashing blue lights that had just pulled up nearby.
A medium-built, bearded man with a fierce demeanor jumped down.
"We're from the East Precinct station…"
"I'm the medical examiner from headquarters. You two! Which one of you saw that lunatic Nigma? Did he touch the body over there?"
Damn.
Jay sneered inwardly. You've got no authority over us, what the hell are you being so high and mighty about?
"He finished the scene investigation and left ages ago. Why would he touch the body?" Jay called out over his shoulder. "Wilson, did you see a headquarters forensic tech playing with the corpse?"
"Of course not. Haven't seen him since I got here. He must have left already," Wilson said, muffled, as he pulled a hamburger from his coat and started shoveling it into his mouth. "Mr. Medical Examiner, do you like having an audience when you play with corpses?"
Golan glared at them furiously, but the two patrol officers stared back with looks of utter indifference.
After a few seconds, probably not wanting to be laughed at by the body transport guys in the van, the medical examiner finally gave up the standoff, turned, ducked under the tape, put on gloves, and got to work.
"Hey, what's going on?" Wilson quietly moved closer to Jay, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Is this guy looking for trouble? I've got your back, bro."
"Don't ask." Jay replied expressionlessly. "We clock out after we see him finish up."
…
Jay didn't care that Golan, after the body was loaded, angrily declared he would file a complaint with the district precinct.His mind was preoccupied with the name Nigma.
Even though Jay wasn't deeply familiar with American comics, he knew about the supervillain Riddler.
When gaming forums were flooded with posts saying "Riddler, get out of Gotham!", he had actually looked up what it meant.
But he never expected to now be an old acquaintance of his.
…Not that they were particularly close.
But what timeline was this exactly? It seemed Nigma hadn't yet donned the green suit and become a villain?
He rubbed his stiff face and fingers, ducked into the car, and shut out the cold wind. It felt much warmer instantly. He grabbed the old newspaper from earlier and found the front-page article.
"…Mr. Bruce Wayne, the young heir to Wayne Enterprises, has not attended a board meeting in person for several years, conducting meetings only via video conference. Opinions on this matter vary within the company and among the public…"
Jay turned the newspaper over several times. No Dark Knight, no urban legends, no black silhouette perched high on a gargoyle overlooking the masses.
No Batman. Instead, there were quite a few reports about the great philanthropist Falcone in the entertainment and society sections.
Probably Bruce Wayne hadn't made his debut as an idol yet. Gotham was likely still in the hands of the Roman, which also meant those world-shattering major events and supervillains hadn't appeared yet.
Maybe that was good news?
But what was he supposed to do? Being a cop in Gotham had a mortality rate that was anything but ordinary.
The reason he managed to get into the police force, besides the compensation scheme, was also because the list of GCPD officers killed or disabled in the line of duty had been terrifyingly long recently, causing the recruitment standards to drop again and again.
He rubbed his temples and subconsciously looked again at his useless cheat ability.
The moment his consciousness sank into the darkness, above the four lifeless cards, a tiny but exceptionally bright point of light appeared without warning, glowing softly like a firefly on a summer night.
His heart leaped, almost jumping out of his throat.
Jay immediately held his breath and carefully tried to touch the light point with his mind.
As soon as the thought formed, the light point seemed to connect with his intention, sliding left and right above the four dim cards under his mental guidance!
"Holy shit, the cheat's alive! I can survive now!" Jay clenched his fist excitedly, his knuckles turning white.
He focused his will, driving the light point to press precisely on the card with the stick figure background.
A faint electric crackle seemed to sound in his mind.
The selected card shuddered violently. The dark shell covering it emitted a series of fine cracking sounds, spiderweb-like fractures instantly spreading across the entire surface.
As the shell disintegrated and dissipated, the entire card was renewed, emitting a faint metallic glow.
The selection light point, as if its mission was accomplished, vanished without a trace the moment the card lit up.
"Eh? Eh? Wasn't I just clicking to take a look? Why can't I undo it? Damn it…"
Crap, did I choose wrong…
Jay stared dumbfounded for a moment, then sighed and quickly grabbed his thermos to take a sip.
What's done is done. Have a sip of hot tea to calm the nerves first.
He enlarged the card with his mind. Several lines of text appeared on it.
Higher-Dimensional Construct: Your existence is shaped by a higher dimension. The will of this world has no effect on you. All conceptual, causal, soul-based, reality-warping, and memory-altering skills are ineffective against you.
Coordinate Anchor: You are observed by a higher-dimensional gaze. While you exist, this world cannot be assimilated or rebooted.
Beginning and End of All Things: You are the variable, and also the constant. Worldlines fluctuate randomly around you.
V1.0 Trial Version!
Tch… Seems I really chose wrong. This system looks completely unprofessional… Wait, why is mine a trial version?!
He tried clicking the card again. The card suddenly flipped over, revealing its back.
It was a complex star chart, seemingly shrouded in thick fog, its outlines completely unclear.
The other three inactive cards showed no response no matter how hard he concentrated on poking them mentally.
So that light point wasn't a mouse cursor; it was a skill point, and the non-refundable kind… But how to get more, and why he got one suddenly, he had no clue.
Just as he was irritably running his hands through his hair, Wilson opened the passenger door and got in.
"You're off your game today. Is it because of that big flood in your hometown this summer? God, I saw it on the news. It was horrific. But it wasn't your fault. You donated, didn't you?" He poured half a cup of tea from Jay's thermos into his own paper cup. "For our friendship, I can donate a hundred too. You front it for me, I'll pay you back next month."
"Uh… that was ages ago, why are you thinking about that now? Besides, I donated basic supplies. Donating money wouldn't have reached the victims anyway."
Jay's mouth twitched. He turned the key, starting the car. It lurched forward a few steps and stopped in a patch of sunlight breaking through the gloomy clouds.
He stared blankly at the small spot of light cast on the dashboard. "I just didn't like the way that medical examiner talked."
"Don't mind that idiot. His complaint won't go anywhere." Wilson slurped his tea noisily. "Speaking of which, I thought only 'Murica was like this. F**k, during the Kansas hurricane last time, those damn foundations couldn't stop grinning. Someone will hang them from a lamppost one day."
"Huh? You're a communist?"Jay joked.
The crackle of static from the car radio interrupted his rambling: "…Zzz… Officer Li… Please respond."
Jay lazily reached for the handset. "Received, go ahead."
"…Zzz… 331 15th Street. Someone reported a domestic dispute or possible domestic violence," the dispatcher sighed. "You'd better go check it out."
"According to protocol, shouldn't you contact the nearest available unit?" Jay frowned. "Why assign it directly to me? I'm not some spandex-clad pizza delivery boy."
"But last week you… zzz… handled that domestic… zzz… was satisfied. You should start a domestic violence response team, ha." The dispatcher let out a light laugh. "Stop complaining. Maybe there's a hot housewife waiting for you to rescue her."
"Yeah, right. I bet the place only has a 500-pound Tiger tank waiting." Jay hung up the handset and turned to his partner with a sigh. "We've got a call. Buckle up, let's go."