In Gotham City, Wayne Enterprises was the top of the food chain.
Landing a job there meant security. Benefits. A future that didn't involve getting shot at during your commute.
The perfect starting point for the American Dream: promotions, raises, corner office, maybe even marrying someone wealthy and attractive.
Nobody in their right mind turned down Wayne Enterprises.
Jude checked the system.
"Feels like this moment could change everything," he muttered.
SYSTEM ALERT: "Wayne Enterprises Technical Department requires: Intermediate Mechanical Engineering, Intermediate Programming, Intermediate Physics. You possess none of these qualifications. Accepting employment without proper skills will result in ZERO asset point generation from work performed."
Jude looked back at Lucius.
"I'm sorry. I can't accept that."
The math was brutal. Jude had less than 500 asset points total. He'd spent most of his savings on the wheelchair modifications, Advanced Wheelchair Driving, Basic Car Driving ($500), and Basic Firearms Proficiency ($1,500).
Two thousand points gone.
To buy all the skills needed for Wayne's tech department would take months of saving.
But in Gotham, driving and shooting weren't optional. They were survival skills. Even with his super-fast wheelchair, he'd been chased and shot at multiple times. And in the end, the wheelchair got stolen anyway.
Lucius didn't seem surprised by the refusal.
"You're turning down the job without even asking about it?"
"I know my limitations." Jude sighed. "I don't have the technical skills for that kind of work. I'd be useless to you. Better to keep waiting tables." He paused. "As for compensation for the tea, I don't know what to ask for. Can you just pay me cash?"
"Of course. Five thousand dollars, as a personal thank you. I'll transfer it to your account today."
Five thousand dollars for some flower petals.
Wayne Enterprises money hits different.
Unfortunately, it wasn't work compensation, so the system wouldn't count it as asset points. Just regular cash.
"Goodbye, Mr. Jude." Lucius stood, extended his hand again. "If you discover any more information about that plant, please contact me."
"Definitely." Jude shook his hand. "Thanks, Lucius."
He left Wayne Tower in a daze, five thousand dollars richer but somehow feeling like he'd just dodged a bullet.
Or maybe walked away from an opportunity.
Hard to say in Gotham.
"Okay, okay." Drake waved his hand dismissively. "I don't care how you got that much money. But you want to buy a car, right?"
"It was a legitimate transaction," Jude corrected. "Can you please not use that tone? Makes it sound sketchy. I'm arguably the most law-abiding person in Gotham. Model citizen."
Drake ignored him, thinking aloud. "You're parking in the East End. Don't buy anything new, expensive, or nice-looking. Your weekly wages could buy a cheap used wreck. Anything better is just asking to get stolen."
"So the real cost of a car is the parking space?"
Drake looked at him. "What parking space? There are no safe parking spaces in the East End. Even the Falcones couldn't run that business."
"What if my car gets stolen?"
"A beat-up used car lasts at least a year. Even if it's stolen after six months, would you really care?"
"It still cost two thousand dollars."
"You're getting a car that moves for two thousand dollars. If you crash it, that's your driving skills. If it breaks down, that's Gotham." Drake shrugged. "It doesn't mind being cheap, so why should you mind it being shabby?"
They walked to a lot in the East End. Chain-link fence, hand-painted sign, rows of vehicles in various states of decay.
"Hey, Drake!" The lot owner emerged from a trailer office, grinning. "Looking to buy?"
"My friend needs a car. Something over two thousand. Anything reliable?"
Jude raised an eyebrow. "You know this guy?"
"I drove when I first came to Gotham." Drake kept his voice low. "Sold my car to him when I couldn't afford parking."
"Does he have a conscience?"
Drake looked at him strangely. "Conscience? In the East End? From a used car dealer?"
"So you got ripped off?"
"Obviously. Then I took measures to cut my losses."
"You fought him?"
"No. I became his part-time salesman. Bring customers, split the profit fifty-fifty. Now when people come here, they get ripped off slightly less because of me."
Jude stared. "You're a terrible person."
"They're getting ripped off by someone in the East End anyway. At least through me, they save a little money."
"I came here to buy a car."
Drake smiled. "And lucky you, I'm here. He'll cheat you less."
"'Less' still means cheating me."
"Welcome to Gotham."
The dealer led them to a sedan. Four doors, faded paint, visible dents.
"New acquisition. Runs fine, just some cosmetic damage. Comfortable ride. Russian-made, built like a tank." He grinned at Drake. "For you, twenty-two hundred."
Before Jude could respond, Drake asked: "What's the problem?"
The dealer's smile faltered. "Problem? What are you talking about? Given our friendship, would I sell your friend a lemon? Let him test it! If he finds anything wrong, I'll swap it out!"
Jude took the keys, climbed in. Started the engine. Tested the acceleration, brakes, steering. Checked the interior.
Tires were worn but functional. Engine sounded solid. Brakes worked. Seats were intact.
Huh. Maybe Drake actually came through.
The dealer watched him, visibly relaxing. "See? Nothing wrong—"
Drake reached over and turned on the air conditioning.
Red mist blew from the vents.
It smelled like copper. Like blood.
The dealer's mouth snapped shut.
"Johnny." Drake's tone went flat. "Tell me the truth. What's wrong with this car?"
"Ah... well..." Johnny cleared his throat. "Small accident. Previous owner had some... bad luck."
Jude understood immediately.
Someone had died in this car.
Probably violently.
"How many times have you sold this one?" Drake asked.
Johnny shifted uncomfortably. "Fifth time."