See No Evil: A Hard Choice (ch. 4) (Patreon)

I've always had a mean streak in me. Got it from my dad. It never had much of a chance to rear its ugly head, but in every fight I've ever been in, my response to getting hit was to hit harder. When someone was giving me shit, my response was to get mean. I never had it in me to just grit my teeth and take it. That mean streak helped me out a lot in life, far more than it had screwed me over.

But I never thought I had that in me.

Almost numbly, I sat down in a familiar chair in Dr. Thompkins’ clinic, staring at my blood-stained hands. It wasn't from that guy that… that I beat to death. It came from Jack. From hauling him and everyone else who had been in the camp out of the sewers and to the clinic. My leg bounced impatiently, the jitters haven't yet left my body. I could still feel the vibrations going from my hands up my arms from the first swing. Then all the ones that came after.

I was only jolted out of my trance when a pair of hands reached out to cover mine. I blinked once, looking up to see Tifa looking up at me with eyes filled with concern. She was kneeling down in front of me.

Her hands felt rough on mine, martial arts callouses scratching at my own.

“Vergil?” Tifa asked, squeezing down on my hands to get my attention. I blinked once, leaning back.

"Yeah?"

"I've been trying to get your attention for a while now," Tifa informed, looking more worried. I pulled my hand from hers, noticing that I got blood on them since she had taken her gloves off. I looked away from her concerned gaze before it clicked that I had zoned out for some time if she was looking at me like that.

"Are Jack and the others-" I cut myself off, my hands curling into fists to brace myself for the bad news.

"They'll be fine. Jack has some broken bones in his arm and ribs, but Dr. Thompkins expects that he'll make a full recovery," Tifa reassured. With those words, ice-cold dread stopped squeezing my heart with a vice grip. "The same with everyone else."

A sigh of pure relief escaped me as I practically deflated in the chair I sat in. "I… that's good. That's great, I… I was pretty worried that…" I trailed off again, my lips thinning at the thought of it.

"It was close," Tifa admitted. "If we got there any later then people would have died."

"People did die," I corrected quietly. Since coming to Gotham I had killed four people. Three of them with a gun, and one of them I beat to death with a baseball bat.

"Don't blame yourself," Tifa reassured, reaching out to take my hands again. I found myself looking down at where her hands held mine, my shame-filled eyes avoiding her worried gaze. "I could have stopped you after the first swing. I didn't. I'm just as much to blame for what happened." At the very least, she wasn't telling me that it wasn't my fault.

"There was a point, you know, a couple of swings in that I… I sorta… thought to myself that I could stop. That I didn't have to cross that line. I mean… before yesterday, I've never killed anyone before, but when you do it with a gun, it's… it's different with a bat. Or a weapon," I spoke, trying to put my thoughts and feelings into words.

"I know," Tifa agreed, squeezing my hands and letting me ramble.

"I didn't have to cross that line. I know that. And… I could have stopped. I… I just didn't want to," I admitted quietly. "And… I'm glad that he's dead. I don't know who he was, or what made him so that he was so fucked in the head, but… I'm glad that he's dead. All three of them." I dared to glance up at Tifa to see her reaction, expecting judgment in her eyes. Instead, I saw empathy and understanding.

"I know," she repeated herself. "Back in the slums, there was a sense of community. Like… we were all in this awful situation, but we were all in it together. But that didn't mean everything was perfect. There wasn't much in the way of law enforcement in the slums, and while sector seven was better than most, it was still pretty bad. You would find people like those men, who just wanted to hurt other people because they could. Because they thought no one would stop them because they had the biggest gun."

Tifa fell silent for a moment, her shoulders drooping as she sighed quietly. "The Neighborhood Watch dealt with them just as much as they dealt with actual monsters. So… Vergil… I understand." She finished, squeezing my hands one last time before she used my hands to drag me to my feet. Part of me wanted to stay in the chair until we fused as one to make it impossible for me to ever stand again, but I forced myself to stand.

I glanced at the waiting room door, “Does Dr. Thompkins…?” I trailed off, wondering how much Tifa had told her. The doctor seemed to accept that I had killed in self-defense, but… beating a man to death was a whole different beast.

Tifa shook her head, “I just told her that they were dead and we didn’t have any choice. She seemed to understand when I told her that they were Jokers.” That was a relief. “Come on. Jack is awake and he was wanting to see you.” At that, I perked up, nodding as I followed Tifa out of the room. However, at the door, I lingered a second before I glanced back at the chair.

A card sat on the coffee table. A solid black card. So dark that it was unnerving to look at. I held out a hand, recalling the card and it flew to my hand. I stole a glance of the other side to see a blood-stained baseball bat.

Murder Weapon. Cursed Series.

I had absolutely no idea what that meant, but I tucked the card away into my pocket with the rest of my deck. Not counting the Cursed Card, my deck ticked back up to fifty-two cards, so the Cursed Card didn’t seem to count to the total. That probably meant something, but as Tifa and I neared a hospital room that Tifa gestured towards, I was more than a little distracted.

Swallowing thickly, I was suddenly hit with a bad case of Deja Vu that reminded me of why I hated hospitals. Ignoring it, I grabbed the handle and slid the door open. Jack sat in a hospital bed, looking thoroughly miserable. His face was swollen and one eye was blackened to the point that he couldn't see out of it, but not counting the stitches holding his face together, he looked… alive.

“Heard you fucked up the Jokers that fucked us up,” He said, going for a smile, only to stop himself with a grimace.

“I’ll leave the two of you alone,” Tifa said, offering both of us a small smile before she closed the door behind her.

“She… looks like she’s way out your league, kid,” Jack commented as I walked forward to stand by his bed.

“Yeah, well, she’s way out of your league too with a face like that,” I pointed out, earning a breathy laugh that made him sputter with pain. I took a hesitant step forward, worried that I had to call a nurse or something. But Jack waved a hand at me. The one that wasn’t in a thick cast that covered all the way up to his shoulder.

“Fair enough,” Jack agreed, settling back down into the bed with a small wince. He let out a sigh before he turned his head to look at me. “The Jokers that beat the shit out of me and the others… they dead?” He asked, his voice low.

I nodded, reaching out and resting a hand on the guard rail to the bed. “Three of them are. Were there any others?” I asked, making Jack nod as what looked like a scowl tugged at his black and blue face. Despite the pain the action might have brought him.

“There were four others. I was too busy getting my shit kicked in to pay attention to when or where they went, but if I had to guess they’re probably at the old amusement park. That’s where those freaks congregate. It’s the Joker’s home away from home,” Jack explained, making my grip tighten on the rail. So there were four others, huh?

“Don’t you even think about it,” Jack said, my expression must have betrayed me. “You stay away from the Joker and his band of fuckups. They won’t just kill you for the fun of it, but they’ll make it slow to get their rocks off.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to lie to Jack.

“It’s done. Don’t worry about it. Actually, looking at you, how’d that job go?” Jack asked, changing the subject that he thought was far lighter.

I went to a hand through my hair, only to stop myself when I realized that I still had blood on them. And I got it on the handrail. Only a little, though since most of it was drying. “Well… you know Tifa? That girl that’s out of both our leagues? She was a part of the cargo.”

Jack recoiled as if I had smacked him. It was hard to tell with his swollen and battered face, but he looked aghast. “She-” He started before he cut himself off, letting me continue.

“One of the others dropped a box and Tifa was in it. The guard shot the guy that dropped the box, and he would have shot me if I hadn’t knocked him out. I… dealt with the other two, got Tifa out of there… so now we’re kinda on the run at the moment,” I explained. It felt like the day had lasted forever, but it had only been a handful of hours.

“Shit, kid, I- I didn’t know… I mean, you hear rumors about the stuff that Penguin smuggles in, but I… I didn’t know,” Jack said, convincing me that he was completely in the dark. That was good. It wasn’t like I suspected him of somehow setting me up, but it was reassuring that he was clueless.

“Don’t worry about it. Tifa and I are taking care of it. Basically? I’m just going to convince the Penguin that we’re worth more alive than dead,” I said, making Jack frown as much as he could would a busted lip.

“And how are you going to do that?” He questioned, earning a shrug from me.

“Haven’t gotten to that part,” I admitted, earning a huff from Jack.

“Well… The Penguin likes people that get the job done and have more balls than sense. So, if you want this to go away… your best bet is to be direct and prepare yourself to do some crazy shit. Can’t say what it’ll be. Might have you rob a bank, or give up a kidney, or something crazy like that.” None of those options sounded particularly appealing, but… well… I had two kidneys. “That girl, Tifa… keep her away from Penguin. He likes his girls pretty and if he wants her, then he’ll take her. Unless she’s willing to be his mistress, keep her away from him.”

Jack’s tone was hard, and so was my gaze as I nodded. That was the plan all along.

“I will,” I told him. Then I offered a small smile to Jack, “And, who knows, when it’s all said and done, I can help rebuild the… camp…” I trailed off when Jack gave me an odd expression. “What’s wrong?”

Jack hesitated to answer for a long second before he let out a sigh that seemed to deflate him. “Kid… I’m done for. Everyone in the camp is done for,” he said, his words a verbal slap in the face as I blinked in surprise. That, no, that made absolutely no sense.

“Dr. Thompkins-” I started to explain that she told Tifa, who told me, that he would be fine.

“Dr. Thompkins,” Jack interrupted, “has her heart in the right place but there’s only so much that she could do. If it were summer or spring? We’d be fine. Deal with the casts, might earn a few bucks more begging, and we could rely on others to help us carry our weight. But… Kid, winter is hard. It’s hard when you’re healthy and whole and you’ve spent months preparing for it.”

He shook his head, gesturing to his busted up arm with another arm in a cast, “Those punks destroyed our camps. Our supplies. That’s a death sentence on the streets as it is. With these fucked up bodies of ours? We’re not going to see the end of winter.”

I… “No,” I shook my head, the certainty in his tone like a punch to the gut. “No.”

“Kid-”

“No. I’m- I’m not just going to let you die, or Tony or anyone else. Fuck that,” I decided, clenching my jaw. “I’ll talk to Dr. Thompkins or something. We’ll work something out.”

“Kid, you have your own shit to be worrying about,” Jack argued, sounding tired. “It is what it is. I had a good run of it kid, but sometimes shit just happens. You can’t do anything about it.”

“Yes, I fucking can,” I argued right back. I reached into my pocket and took out the wad of fifties, uncaring of the blood that was smeared on the crumpled bills. “I found a way of making some decent money. I can- I can do something. I’ll help you all out! I can buy food and shit, and repair the camp -- we might want to move it someplace more isolated, or something, but-”

“Kid,” Jack interrupted gently, his gaze softening. But I didn’t want to listen.

“Fuck you Jack, it’s not happening. I’m not just going to let you die because you got your ass kicked by some piece of fucking shit,” I decided forcefully. “Fuck that. It’s not fucking happening. So get the fucking idea out of your fucking head. That goes for everyone else too. I- You all helped me, so I’m paying that shit forward. And there’s not a single fucking thing on this planet that can stop me,” I swore, the words tumbling out of my mouth.

Jack looked like he wanted to argue with me. I could see it in his one good eye. That look that told me he thought I was a dumbass kid running his mouth about things I didn’t understand. Then his eye closed for a brief moment before he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s how you want it to be Kid, then that’s how it’ll be. The Doctor won’t kick us out until our bruises fade a bit, so you have until then to settle up with the Penguin," Jack said, a compromise. A fair one, a treacherous voice in my head pointed out. I didn't like it. It felt like he was making the compromise because he fully expected to be dead by the time I settled up with Penguin. It felt like that because that's exactly what he expected.

Meaning, I needed to take care of my issue with the Penguin as quickly as I could. Today, even.

"Alright," I said, nodding in acceptance. "You rest up, and I'll take care of things." Turning away from Jack, walking towards the door, feeling a heavy weight on my shoulders. The moment I put my hand on the door, Jack spoke up again.

"Kid… no matter what you did to those guys, no matter what anyone else tells you, you're a good kid." Jack told me, and I could hear that he was speaking from the heart. A memory of watching blood fly free and broken teeth bounce along the ground appeared in my mind. So vivid I could still feel the bat's weight in my hand and the feeling vibrations run up my arm after contact.

I hesitated by the door. I didn't turn around as I answered. "No. I'm not," I refuted, opening the door and stepped through it before he could argue the point. Again, I went to run my hand through my hair, to hopefully get the stray bits of hair out, but I was stopped by the blood on my hands. Not seeing Tifa anywhere, I walked to a bathroom and started washing my hands.

The blood didn't come off easily. A lot of it had dried, so it came off in flakes and pieces. I didn't look at the mirror above the sink, simply watching the murky brown water go down the drain. But, once the water became clear again, I dared to look up at my reflection.

I looked like shit. My hair was an absolute mess, my skin was an unhealthy white that brought out just how dark the bags under my eyes were. Somehow, it looked like I had lost more weight in a single day. I guess a high activity day while only having a cup of noodles and a coffee would do that. Above all else, I looked as tired as I felt.

Looking away, I shut off the sink. My mind carefully blank as I considered my options. I always assumed that there was a time limit ticking down before what happened at the docks blew up in my face. Only now, that timmer felt a lot more pressing.

Jack had said to not back down. Well… I guess I would have to do that then.

Finally, I dragged a hand through my hair, straightening it out before I left the bathroom. I glanced around, not finding Tifa anywhere. That was good. She'd probably try to talk me out of what I was about to do. Or worse, try to come with me. Letting out a breath, I walked up to the receptionist’s desk, "Could I borrow a pen?" I asked and the nurse gestured to a cup full of them without even looking up.

Grabbing one, I dug around my pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. The same slip of paper I found in my hand at the start of this mess, way back when I made my choice to go left. Turning it around, I scribbled out a short message. I nearly wrote goodbye at the end of it, but instead, I wrote see you later. Because I really hoped that I would.

Then I dug in my pocket, pulling out my deck of cards and the money. Sandwiching the three together with the folded message on the top, I looked at the receptionist. "Would you mind passing this along to Tifa Lockhart later today? She's the one-"

"With that mini skirt," the receptionist finished, finally looking at me. Her eyebrows rose when she saw the package, her gaze darting back to mine. A long moment passed before she offered a shallow nod, "Alright honey, I'll give it to her."

"Thanks. Just whenever she swings by," I said, offering a thin smile before I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked out of the clinic. For a moment, I lingered outside of the doors, looking down the street at Park Row. The street that made Batman, at the cost of his parents.

I took a step forward. Then another. And another and another until I had crossed the street and was walking down that road. The few people that walked the sidewalk with me moved out of my way, letting me walk to my destination unmolested. The buildings blurred together. So did the streets and the people that I walked by. The gun in my pants line felt like it was made of lead for how heavy it was.

"You," I heard a deep growling voice as I passed an alleyway. I didn't flinch. I simply glanced over, then up as I took in the appearance of Killer Croc, only this time in the daylight. And he was a hundred times more intimidating standing in the sun. Before he had been forced to hunch over a bit, but now that he was able to stand tall, he was probably closer to eleven feet tall than not.

And I barely blinked.

“What happened to the camp?” Waylon growled, his hands curled as if he were about to reach out and crush my skull.

“The Jokers attacked it. Jack, Tony, and a few others are pretty banged up but they will be fine,” I heard myself say, looking up at Waylon. The few people that walked by flinched back, and I’m pretty sure I heard someone calling the cops.

Waylon searched my gaze for a moment before he nodded, “Are you going to go deal with them?” He asked, his gaze dipping down to the gun pushing against my shirt. “Because don’t. I’ll have that taken care of. A guy like me kills a few people, I get sent to Belle Reve and I’ll be out before Christmas.”

So even Belle Reve was a revolving door.

“I’m not. I have to settle up with Penguin,” I told him, glancing down the road when I heard sirens in the distance. “But the camp should probably be moved. I don’t want to risk the Jokers coming back for retribution.” At that, Waylon nodded.

“I know a place,” he said before he began to slink back into the alleyway. “And a bit of advice? If you’re going to kill the Penguin, then try to look a little less murderous,” Waylon offered, turning around and walking away. I watched him go for a moment before I shook my head and continued walking. At the very least, I didn’t have to worry about the Jokers getting away scot-free.

My feet carried me to the docks, walking down a familiar path, and I felt just as out of place as I did before. Only more so now since I was expecting a bullet at any moment. Yet, as I walked down the dock that led to the Iceberg Lounge, no bullet ever came. Though, it seemed more than a few people noticed me as I approached -- a goon pressed a finger to his ear and mumbled something.

It was too late to back out now.

With no other option, I continued to walk forward, heading to the same door that I had entered earlier in the afternoon. Raising a fist, I banged on the door a few times. The sound seemed to echo as I waited for the door to open. There was a long pause, long enough that I nearly started banging on the door again.

Then the door opened. A tall well-built man stood at the doorway, a gun in his hand that was pointed at me. I looked down at the gun, my heart beating steadily in my chest as I accepted that the situation was out of my hands. Taking in a deep breath, I looked up at the man, unable to see his eyes.

“I’m here to see the Penguin about what happened at a job,” I explained, my voice even.

“Are you armed?” The guy asked, still pointing the gun at me but he hadn’t pulled the trigger. Yet.

“Yeah. It’s in my pant’s line,” I confirmed with a nod, very slowly moving my hand to pinch my shirt to lift them to reveal the weapon. The man looked down at it, his mouth opening to say something, but he cut himself off when a hand went to his ear. Or, rather, to an earpiece in his ear.

He nodded at whatever the person on the other end said before he looked at me, “The Boss will see you. He says you can keep your gun,” The guy informed, earning a small blink of surprise from me as I dropped my shirt over my gun. From the sound of it, the guy was just as confused as I was. But I was hardly in a position to argue.

The guy jerked his head, gesturing me to walk inside. I did, hearing the door close behind me and as the sound rang in my ears, a part of me accepted that the situation was completely out of my hands. All I could do was make my case and hope.

“Start walking,” The guy said, poking me in the back with the barrel of the gun. Obeying the order, I started walking down the hallway that I had seen earlier, but this time he didn’t take me inside one of the rooms. The hallway ended after what must have been the length of the Lounge before we reached a concrete staircase. “Go up, and to the left.”

Nodding, I walked up the stairs, all the while wondering if I was walking to my death. Even if I was, I walked up the steps and opened the door at the top. The door swung open to reveal a lofty looking club. At the center of it was a stage with a piano that played music softly while fancily dressed men and women sat in white booths around it. Sharply dressed waiters and waitresses walked through the isles, bridging people drinks and food.

The interior of the club itself was largely white with a faint bluish hue, which highlighted the red carpets and the curtains that were drawn over a second stage that covered one wall. An open bar covered another. Looking to my left, I saw another staircase and I started walking, taking me to the second story of the club. Once we reached the top, I saw a VIP area with private booths. The guy pressed me to walk by them, but I pointedly avoided looking at whoever was in the booths.

Judging by the sound one woman made, the guy behind me hadn’t bothered hiding the gun. Or she was gasping at the sight of me. Either way, I spotted a large double door at the end of a small staircase meant to make the door appear grander. I took in a steadying breath, preparing myself for what came next, and I opened the door.

The office was large, mostly made of white marble, with an aquarium that covered the far wall. A red carpet drew my attention to a desk, and sitting at the desk was a man that could only be the Penguin, or Oswald Cobbelpot. He was a portly man, his nose long and drooping down like a beak, while one eye was covered by a monocle. He was dressed in a fine suit, complete with white gloves that were interlaced as he waited for my arrival with a wide hungry smile that was full of too-perfect teeth.

I barely noticed the other two women standing at his sides. One woman with dark skin wearing a dark suit, and on his other side was a white woman with white hair cut short in a white suit.

“You stole from me, killed two of my guys, and then you show up here, of your own will. Gotta ask kid, what kind of idiot are you?” the Penguin asked, a chuckle in his voice as he held up a cigar for the beautiful woman in the dark suit to lite with a match. The guy poked me in the back, gesturing for me to keep walking as the doors shut behind us until I stood in front of the Penguin.

“Not an idiot. Just realistic. You would have caught me eventually, and if I made you chase me then I doubt you’d be willing to hear me out. At the very least, showing up here I got your attention,” I said, keenly aware how every word I spoke could be the difference between life and death. But I was calm. Too calm, maybe. Simply because the dice had been cast and I just had to hope they went my way.

That got a laugh from the Penguin as he blew out a cloud of smoke. It was a good start, I guess. “No name on record, no address, no nothing. You’re a ghost. You already had my curiosity, but now you have my full attention. Make your case. Why shouldn’t I just kill you and be done with it?”

“Because I’m desperate enough to do whatever it takes to settle with you,” I told him. In negotiation, you always had to negotiate from a position of strength. I knew that. But I wasn’t in the position of strength. Pretending that I was would end with me dead. So, that left honesty and an appeal to his sense of greed.

“Did you bring that girl with you?” The Penguin asked and I fought a wince and a frown. “No, of course you didn’t. Will you tell me where she is?”

“No. I won’t,” I stated with grim determination. Instead of getting angry, the Penguin’s smile grew until it seemed to consume his face.

“And those cards? I’m guessing that they’re with that girl?” He hazarded a guess, and I nodded to confirm as much. “So, you’re willing to do whatever it takes to settle with me… except give me back what you stole from me. An interesting negotiation tactic. I don’t think it’s going to end well for you if you don’t do a real good job of convincing me otherwise.”

“The girl is off the table. I’m a pretty shitty person, but I’m not a human trafficker. That’s a line I won’t cross,” I told him firmly. Jack had said not to back down, so I wouldn’t. “Anything else is fair game. You want an extra kidney? I’ve got one that I’m not using. You want a smuggler, a drug mule, or a hired gun? Then I’m your guy. Whatever you want me to do, then I’ll do it.”

The Penguin tilted his head, looking at me as he took in a deep drag of his cigar. Then he let out a small, deeply amused chuckle, “You get it.” He said after a tense silence, thumbing off the ash into an ashtray. “You get how Gotham works. Bravo!” He exclaimed, giving me a sarcastic clap, the cigar clenched in his teeth.

“You didn’t run to the cops because they couldn’t help you with me. You didn’t turn to Batman because even if he did help you, it would only be a temporary respite and I would have made your death slow for being a pain in my ass. You didn’t try to run because it would have been pointless. Instead, you came right to me and begged for mercy,” He said, continuing his slow clap. “That was your best pick of the bunch, and you actually had the balls to walk into the lion’s den.”

The Penguin stopped clapping and leaned into his black leather chair. “I like it,” he decided. And he waited just long enough for my hopes to soar before he continued. “Just not enough to let you off the hook. I can’t have you stealing from me and icing two of my guys. That’s bad for business.”

I didn’t pull my gun. My hand itched to do so, my instincts screamed at me to do exactly that, but my brain won the debate. I’d be dead before I touched my gun.

“Five million,” The Penguin said suddenly. “One million for your life, for the life of the girl, two for the two guys you killed, and a final million for the cards you stole,” he listed out, raising a finger for each million. A stone formed in my gut as I felt myself slide into incredible debt. I kept my growing anxiety off my face, knowing better than to show weakness. “I want you to work for me. You work off that five million and you’re free to go. No strings attached.”

I couldn’t show weakness. And I couldn’t show that I didn’t believe that for a second. “How would that five million be calculated?” I asked, making the Penguin smile by how I refused to let myself flinch.

“Say you do a job for ten thousand, your cut would be one thousand, but five hundred of that goes straight to me. You work here as a janitor or a waiter? Whatever I would pay you and your tips are taken off of your debt. You take initiative and do a deal on your own? Then whatever you kick up goes to your debt,” The Penguin informed, taking in a deep drag of his cigar. “Not a bad deal, wouldn’t you say?”

I considered it, and given how I walked in here accepting that I might be leaving with fewer organs, the deal actually didn’t sound so bad comparatively. Five million was an insane amount of debt. An absolutely insane amount. But I wasn’t in a position to argue that insane number lower. The fact of the matter was that I’d rather be five million in debt than dead.

This was… this way Tifa was in the clear, and I got to keep the cards. With the cards I had a source of income to pay the debt and support Jack and the others.

“It’s a deal, sir,” I agreed. I couldn’t shake the impression that I had just made a deal with the devil. And with the absolute fiendish smile that he gave me, that might not be too far from the truth.

“Excellent! It just so happens that I have a job for you right now,” the Penguin said before the woman dressed in the black suit snapped. A door to a side room opened up, revealing three men. Two of them carried a chair, who the third was sat on. And tied to with a bag over his face. “As a signing bonus, I’ll give you fifteen thousand to take that gun of yours out and shoot that man.”

I was in so far over my head. I looked at Penguin, my eyes flickering to the two women that stood by his side, before my gaze settled on the man tied to the chair. He looked roughed up, his white dress shirt stained with blood while he slumped over in the chair. The gun already felt heavy, but now it seemed to take herculean strength to grab onto, much less lift.

“So… blackmail to keep me in line?” I questioned, taking out the gun, any trace of moisture in my mouth gone. At my pointed question, the Penguin just smiled away at me. Like a cat about to eat a mouse once it was done having its fun.

“You get it, kid. You really get it,” he praised, sounding like he meant it. I swallowed thickly as I stared at the slumped over man, weighing my possibilities. I could shoot the Penguin. And the two women. I’d probably die right after, but it was a possibility. Just a bad one because I doubt the mob would be willing to leave Tifa alone if I murdered their boss.

I had choices. He just said shoot the guy. I could try being cheeky and shooting him in the leg, or something. They were all bad choices, but I did have them. It was just… if I wanted to live... if I wanted to settle up… then…

I raised my gun, lined up my shot, and pulled the trigger.

The hooded man jerked once, twice, then a third time as the three bullets slammed into his chest. He was already slumped over, but the growing red spots on his suit gave away that he was more than unconscious. He was dead. Murdered. By me.

Penguin let out a deep bellied laugh as the hood was removed from the corpse, revealing it to be the man that I had knocked out at the docks. A warning in the price of failure.

Lowering my gun, I swallowed back my bile and tried to calm my racing heart.

I was a good person?

What a fucking joke.