Risk It All: The Hands We're Dealt (ch. 2) (Patreon)

My head felt like it was full of cotton when I woke up. I drifted for a long time between the realm of sleep and awareness, that twilight time when a minute was just as likely to feel like a second as it would an hour. My mind refused to form any thoughts, not wanting to disrupt that balance that would drag me into awareness. But, I had to end eventually, if only to check my alarm to make sure that I didn't sleep the entire day away.

It was then I became aware that there was something was in my throat. I reflexively tried to swallow it, only to gag a bit because whatever it was, it was huge. My eyes cracked open, the light sending daggers directly into my brain. Everything was blurry, leaving me unable to make out any detail, which just made my heart start pounding at my ribs. I tried to move, a hand groping at my face to drag whatever was in my throat out. I heard a beeping sound, then the sound of feet clattering… and words, but they were jumbled together. I…

Something happened because my eyes began to drop closed despite my best efforts to keep them open.

…

My second attempt at waking up was no less confusing than the first, but it was slower. My eyes cracked open, each one feeling like a lead weight, and I opened my eyes to darkness. My throat was clear, so whatever had been down it was gone, replaced instead by something inside of my nostrils. Without the panic of choking on something foreign and bright light hurting my eyes, I was able to take in my surroundings. I didn't recognize the ceiling I was under. And the bed I was in wasn't mine.

The machines around me, and the tubes sticking in and out of me clued me in that I was at the hospital. The question was…

A hand with an IV in it drifted up to my head where I found bandages. I had been shot in the head, hadn't I? I was scared to start poking at the wound, scared I'd poke my brain and forget math or something. I wasn't sure how brain injuries worked. I just knew that the brain was a sensitive organ and getting shot in it typically had ramifications even if you lived.

Twice. I got shot in the head twice. And I was alive. Holy shit, maybe I didn't have completely rotten luck after all?

A sigh escaped me as I rested against the pillows that propped me up, my mind turning back over my last memory. Black Mask pointing the gun at me… I just went down. I hadn't even known why until I touched my face. Then he kicked me over…

"Wrong place, wrong time, huh?" I spoke, the words coming out as a croak. Speaking of time and place, where exactly was I? How long had I been here?

I went to get up, but my body felt so incredibly weak. Just pushing myself forward a few inches was enough to make my muscles scream in effort. Enough so that I quickly gave up. Another sigh escaped me as I rested in the bed, considering my options.

What do I do now?

And, as if to answer, I saw that I apparently hadn't dodged any brain damage because something winked into existence before my very eyes. A small screen appeared in front of my face.

Would you like to accept your free roll?

What did that even mean, I wondered. I checked for strings and found none. My hands could go through the screen, more or less confirming that the small blue box was indeed a hallucination born of taking two bullets to the brain. Though, I did feel some kind of feedback as my hand pressed through the surface. I could even move it, so maybe it was less hallucinations and more lucid dreaming?

There were two buttons on the screen. A simple yes or no.

Might as well, I guess. I pressed Yes and a second later, the screen vanished and was promptly replaced with a slot machine. An actual slot machine. Half of it seemed cut off because the screen was about twenty inches and the button was at hand level, making it easy to reach out to press the button if I wished. The screen itself was made up of three colors -- black, white, and purple. There were far more blacks than the other colors. Four black squares for every white and four white squares for every purple, with the latter, only having a single square in the center of the grid pattern.

Okay. What was going on?

You are entitled to a free roll. Please press the button to roll.

Okay. Not helpful.

Tutorial: a free roll is a roll available for free.

Still not helpful.

Tutorial: Each square represents a possibility. The black squares are the lowest tier of all the rewards. White is the next available tier and purple is the highest tier that is currently available to you.

Additionally, you can bet prestige points on a tier. Betting on the correct color grants the user 1.5x their bet, while betting on the correct color and square will grant a 2x return.

Betting can also influence the rank of a reward if the bet is significant enough, up to the limitation of rank 4. There is a special rank 5 for every tier, but can only be achieved through Risking It All and predicting the correct square.

Okay. That was more helpful, but it completely missed the point of the question about what in the actual hell was going on. If this was a hallucination or a lucid dream, you'd think I'd have some vague idea of what in the hell was going on. Or was the reason I didn't caused by the brain damage? But what did it mean by reward? Tier? Ranks? What exactly did it mean by prestige points? How much did I have?

Prestige: 5

I glanced at the other window that appeared, answering my question. I felt more questions bubble up, but the hallucination seemed reluctant to explain anything but mechanics. I was just going to have to piece it together myself rather than get spoonfed the answer. Turning my attention to the slot machine itself, I saw that there were twenty-one squares in total, sixteen of which were black, four were white, and one purple.

Landing on black was a 76% chance, 19% for white, and 4% to land on the purple. I had no clue what the prestige I had was worth, but given that ranking up a reward was done in fourths, I was of the impression that what I had was pretty much nothing at all. The game itself… it was a timing-based game. The ticker would highlight a square, moving from the top left to the bottom right before starting over again.

“Is there a timer?” I asked and received an answer from what I was dubbing the Help Window.

For the first free roll, there is not.

Interesting. That implied that there would be others. Regardless, without a timer, I had this in the bag. “How do I place a bet?” I croaked and received an answer. I just had to poke the square I wanted to bet on and type in the amount to bet. Given that I only had five prestige points, I dumped all of them on the purple square that was dead center on the screen. Without further ado, I tapped the button to begin the game.

The ticker ran left to right, cycling through the levels of squares. I watched it, my hand moving as if I were about to press the button. I noticed that the ticker sped up at the purple square, passing over it a little faster, before moving on. I let the ticker complete a cycle, then another one, then another one, and another one. Each time I mimed pressing the button, smoothing out the motion as I perfected my timing.

On the tenth cycle, my hand slapped down on the button the exact second it landed on the purple square. The little machine lit up with flashing lights that hurt my eyes while I heard a triumphant tune play that reminded me of Legend of Zelda. The biggest thing about timing games was learning the delay between the ticker approaching the sweet spot and your hand actually pressing the button.

Congratulations! You have doubled your Prestige Points! You now have 10! Your reward is…

Thou Shall Not Kill

T3R5

It is now impossible for you to kill your enemies. They will always survive whatever injuries that you inflict on them, so long as the brain remains intact. So there’s no need to ever pull your punches! They can’t die, even if they really want to!

“Heh,” I chuckled to myself, feeling tired all of a sudden. The slot machine winked out of existence, leaving behind no evidence that it had ever been there in the first place. My eyelids grew heavy once again, and I conceded to my body’s demands for rest.

“What a weird dream,” I muttered sleepily before returning to the realm of unconsciousness.

…

The third time I woke up, I wasn’t alone. My eyes opened, a low groan escaping me as I turned my head to the side to avoid the light stabbing daggers into my brain. I heard a gasp come from next to me, prompting me to look the other way with squinted eyes. A shadow made it easier to see and my heart just about broke in two.

“Mom,” I croaked, hearing a gut-wrenching sob escape her. She grabbed hold of my hand, squeezing it tightly. She said something that was a blend of English and Chinese, but I couldn’t make out any of it because her voice was so thick with emotion. Her shoulders shook as she held my hand so tightly her knuckles were white.

She didn't look like herself. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, her skin was pale and her blue eyes were bloodshot, though that could just be from the crying. She continued to speak in her odd blend of English and Chinese, forcing me to swallow a lump in my throat.

"Sorry," I told her, feeling like I should apologize. I knew how tight our financial situation was. We couldn't afford a trip to the hospital, much less whatever was done to save my life. In response to that, mom just sobbed harder. I squeezed her hand back, wanting to say something else, but I wasn't quite sure what. The sound of a sliding door caught my attention, and I looked over to see my dad standing there.

He hovered by the door, looking at me in a way that he hadn't ever before. His dark brown eyes roamed me, looking at me like I might suddenly vanish at any moment. He was dressed up in a suit, which was unlike him, and his black hair was gelled back. It seemed that he had gained a few lines on his face, and that terrified me. How long had I been out of it?

"Dad?" I tried, and that broke the spell cast on him. Almost numbly, my dad walked over to my bedside, a hand hovering around me as if he were afraid to touch me. After a second, he placed a hand on my shoulder and for the first time in my life, I saw tears in his eyes.

"You really gave us a scare there, Ren," my Dad said, his voice thick.

Guilt gnawed at my heart. I swallowed thickly, wetting my dry throat and swallowing the lump in my throat. "How long…?" I asked while my Mom tried to get a hold of her emotions. My dad sighed, seemingly reluctant to answer.

It became clear why.

"You've been in a coma for about six months, Ren," Dad answered, his tone gentle but the words were still a punch to the gut. Six months. Half a year. Just… gone.

I let that soak in for a moment. "I'm going to have to repeat a year at high school, huh?" I muttered, my brain latching onto the thought. I wasn't sure why. I hated school. Though, my dad thought that was funny, his lips twitching up into a smile that quickly fell as he squeezed my shoulder.

"Yeah, you will," he confirmed, "but that's not important. You're awake."

My mom nodded, still clutching my hand. "I didn't think you were ever going to wake up," she told me, tears running down her cheeks. "The doctors said…" she couldn't even bring herself to finish as she visibly fought off another round of tears.

I looked away, becoming increasingly aware of the bandages on my head. A question was on my lips, but I couldn't bring myself to ask it. It would ruin the tender moment for my parents. Not that it really mattered, because a knock came from the door making us all look over to see a man dressed in a lab coat, dark pants, and a dress shirt with a black tie. There was a friendly smile on his face, if somewhat regretful.

"Mr. Song," he greeted, looking at me. "It's good to see that you've returned to the land of the living. I really do hate to interrupt, but there are procedures that we have to follow," he said, directing the apology to my family. My dad offered a curt nod but my mom held my hand that much tighter.

"Can we stay?" She asked, her tone almost begging, and it twisted my guts into knots.

The doctor shook his head, "I'm afraid not, Mrs. Song. But it should only take an hour or so. A check-up of sorts to see where your son currently stands and where we need to go from here to judge what he needs to recover." He answered, but my mom had a death grip on my hand.

I offered a hesitant smile, "I'll be fine, Mom. I promise I won't sleep in another six months before you get back," I told her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze in return. She let out a laugh that sounded like a sob, but my dad went around the bed to gently remove my mom from my side. She was reluctant, but she got up all the same. Both of them looked over their shoulders to see me offer a confident smile and a wave. As soon as they were gone, I dropped both to turn my attention to the doctor.

"I'm Dr. Rennals, and I've been your physician for the past six months," Dr. Rennals said, grabbing a clipboard that hung off the end of my bed frame.

"Nice to meet you… so… how bad was it?" I questioned, my hands curling into fists.

He met my eyes for a moment before he offered a small nod. "As far as getting shot in the head goes? You were fairly lucky. The entry and exit wounds were small, going straight through without taking much with them. The damage to your brain was localized to your left hemisphere -- it's the side that controls cognitive function, communication, and logical thought process. So, to see you awake, speaking and aware? Those are very promising signs." He explained while I mulled over that.

My memory flashed back to Black Mask standing over me with a gun. "How'd I survive?" I asked, to myself just as much as the doctor.

"I was told that you were found outside of an office in Chinatown with several other bodies. You were thought dead until the police that investigated the scene found that you were still breathing. They will want to speak to you-"

I shook my head, "No point. I didn't see anything," I told the doctor, my tone flat. It was… infuriating, but there wasn't anything to be done. If it was some random gangster that put two in my head? I'd snitch in a heartbeat. But it was Black Mask that shot me. Going after him meant putting my parents in danger, and I simply wasn't going to do it. "I don't know who shot me or why."

The doctor seemed to catch the hint, "... Okay. Memory loss is a common side effect of head trauma. Though, speaking of side effects, we should begin those tests. To start -- how do you feel? Any discomfort? Hazy thoughts? Numbness?" He began, his tone becoming authoritative as he began the tests. At first, he was just making probing questions about how I was currently feeling.

My response was that beyond feeling thirsty, and weak, I was fine. Both of which were caused by sitting in a bed for six months. After the initial batch was done, the tests became more detailed. Testing my memory, my ability to do math, to repeat words. He tested my ability to differentiate between colors, or animals, and people's faces. Some of the tests were simply weird, but it was because I had been shot in the left side of my head.

The brain was a sensitive organ and brain damage could manifest itself in odd ways. So far, I had apparently managed to avoid the worst of it. I wasn't a vegetable. I could speak, read and reason just as easily as I had before. The lack of cognitive loss prompted further tests that lasted much longer than the initial hour promised. Hours ticked until it was well past afternoon.

However, my scans all came back normal.

For all intents and purposes, the only lingering side effect that was found was two scars on my forehead that I had yet to see. Dr. Rennals was dumbfounded, but was equally as happy for me as my parents were when he delivered the news.

Still, I was placed under watch just in case something was missed. And I couldn't leave the hospital so easily on account of my muscle mass evaporating over six months of laying around. I would be stuck in the hospital for another month, at least. I'd be stuck doing physical therapy for longer.

The road to recovery was going to be a long one. A year, in all likelihood.

And it was also going to be a long day, I thought, spotting a police officer arrive as I got a physical done to plan out what I would need for physical therapy. A dark-skinned woman with black hair and eyes -- I could tell that she was a cop from the silver badge that hung from her belt. A heavy-set man walked behind her -- white, dark hair and blue eyes. They caught my gaze as I leaned against some sort of machine, pedals in my hands that I had to turn until I started to feel tired under the watch of my doctor, physical therapist, and parents.

My parents followed my gaze, their expressions cold but that didn't deter the police. Despite being in plain view, the woman knocked on the glass door, asking permission to enter. At least she was being polite.

Dr. Rennals looked to me and my lips thinned. He did say that the cops would come to me, but I thought that they would at least wait longer than a day after I woke up. However, I nodded. The sooner I got all of this over with, the better. The policewoman offered a friendly smile as Dr. Rennals opened the door, but I didn't return it or stop pedaling with my hands, my biceps burning with the simple action despite only starting.

"Hello, I'm Detective Rene and this is my partner Harvey Bullock. We were hoping to ask you some questions about the night that you were shot if you're up to answering them." Rene introduced herself, and I saw that she was the good cop. My eyes flickered to Harvey to find him eyeing the other people in the room before his gaze settled on me.

I continued pedaling, "I am, but there's nothing I can say. I didn't see, hear or know anything." I told them bluntly, and I only realized I was slightly out of breath when I spoke. The cycle was on the lowest setting and I had only been doing it for a few minutes. "Sorry."

The detectives were undeterred, "You were found placed directly in front of the Snake-Flower Triad along with four other prominent members," Rene continued, ignoring the looks she got from my parents. "Can you explain why that is, Mr. Song?"

I took in a deep breath, and not just to buy myself a moment to get my story straight. "No. I can't. But I can't have connections to the Chinese Triad."

"How so?" Harvey questioned, sounding doubtful. It was my dad that answered.

"My son is half Chinese," he pointed out, his tone hard. "There are some Chinese gangs and triads that have relaxed standards for joining, but the Snake-Flower Triad is not one of them. My son couldn't join them even if he wanted to." The information didn't seem to surprise either detective.

"And he wouldn't. My son is an upstanding young man," Mom seconded. I winced ever so slightly, but said nothing.

"Your son was found with two bullets to the head, in a pile of bodies dumped on the Triad's front door before a gang war started," Harvey returned, proving that he was the bad cop of the pair. "Your son isn't being accused of anything, but we would like an answer as to why that was the case." A gang war? Between the Triad and Black Mask?

I paused cycling, my chest rising and falling steadily as my heart pounded in my chest. My arms burned with effort, glad for the moment of respite. I had never been muscley, but that was a pathetic showing. Even still, my physical therapist offered a kind smile and jotted down my results.

"I would too," I answered bluntly.

Rene looked to me, "Are you saying that you didn't know the men you were found with." I spotted the trap and stepped around it.

"I don't know who I was found with, so I can't say," I returned. In response, Rene pulled out her phone and showed me the screen -- I saw familiar faces. The final photo was Mr. Lei. "I've seen some of them before," I admitted. "But I didn't know they were with the Triad."

Dad let out a low noise of frustration, "You say that my son isn't being accused, then why is he being interrogated?" He questioned, glaring at the two police officers. "He just woke up from a coma, for Christ's sake. Have you no shame?"

Rene's lips thinned, "We would like to place the man who shot your son behind bars, Mr. Song. We're here to help. We just need a complete picture of what happened that led to your son being shot twice in the head."

I shifted but my dad didn't budge. "And you have already interrogated me and my wife to learn that we have no such connections."

"Despite being able to afford a six-month stay on an accountant's salary," Harvey remarked. My dad went red in the face -- it was the angriest I had ever seen him before. My dad was… mostly laid back, but fairly stern. I've never seen him get actually angry before. Much less looking like he was a second away from starting to swing at the much larger detective.

"My brother has offered his aid. As you know," Dad bit the words out and I looked to him, confusion twisting my face.

That… made absolutely no sense.

My dad said he was an only child. I didn't have any uncles or cousins. So, how was my non-existent uncle paying for this?

"We do," Rene agreed, offering a nod. So… they investigated how this was being paid for and found it was true? So… I had an uncle? A rich one? Why had no one told me?

But this wasn't the time to answer that question. "I can't help you," I told Rene, my voice firm. As firm as I could make it while being winded. "I didn't see anything,” I repeated, leaning back into the seat as I tried to control my breathing. It was clear that wasn’t what she wanted to hear and this wasn’t how she wanted this to go. I had no clue what kind of person she was, but she seemed nice enough.

It was just that everyone knew that Jim Gordon was the only non corrupt cop in Gotham.

“Can’t help you,” I finished, earning a sigh from Rene, but Harvey gave me a calculated look.

“Do you know anything about the twenty thousand in casino chips in your pocket?” Harvey asked, and I could only pray that I managed to keep the sudden jolt of fear off of my chest. That… that could be a problem with my story, I reflected. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my parents look confused, the information was withheld from them, it would seem. Until now.

I shook my head, “I have no clue,” I lied. I had completely forgotten about the chips when the game began with Lei and the others. Did Black Mask seriously not take them to cover his tracks? Well, he also hadn’t killed me despite shooting me in the head twice, so maybe I shouldn’t be so surprised. Those chips… not only did I lose twenty thousand dollars, but those chips were unique.

“So, your story is that Black Mask shot you in the head twice, then put twenty thousand in chips from an illegal casino in your pocket, before dumping your body in front of the Triad?” Harvey pressed, not buying my story and trying to put on pressure. Trying to make me slip up.

“I have no idea,” I returned, my tone curt. “I don’t know who shot me. I don’t know why I was dumped with those bodies. And I don’t know anything about casino chips. I don’t know. That’s my final answer, so if you don’t mind, I’d like it if you left.” This was bad. This was really bad, wasn’t it? Was I going to survive getting two in the head, only to go to prison for gambling illegally? What kind of time would I be looking at? A year? Five? Ten? For the rest of my life?

Because if they could track those chips to the casino, then I was screwed.

Harvey opened his mouth, but Rene held up a hand that made him stop. She offered a nod, “Very well. If it’s alright with you, I can leave my card in case anything comes to mind.” She said, taking out a card and handing it to me. I took it, looking down to see her name and number printed in plain text. “I hope you have a swift recovery, Mr. Song. You’re lucky to be alive,” she added, before the two detectives headed towards the door.

Lucky, huh?

I could feel the eyes of my parents on me as I crumbled up the business card, questions in their eyes that I knew I would have to answer eventually. Just not now.

…

Daily Quests are now available!

Quest: Complete physical therapy routine.

Reward: 1 prestige point.

“Uhhh…” I started as I was lowered into a wheelchair by my physical therapist and my doctor. My parents left earlier -- my dad had to work, and my mom was getting something to eat. I read over the text, eyeing the window with a vague sense of familiarity, that had appeared right after my physical therapist had passed me a slip of paper that outlined my daily routine. “I think I’m hallucinating,” I voiced, much to the alarm of Dr. Rennals. The moment I was seated in my wheelchair, he was in front of me, leaning through the window of text, a small light in hand to check my pupils.

“Can you describe what you’re seeing?” He asked, shining the light directly in my eye. “Your pupils aren’t dilated,” he remarked, and I guess that meant something.

“I’m seeing a little window in front of me,” I admitted. “It’s telling me to do my daily physical therapy,” I added, earning a perplexed look from both doctors.

Dr. Rennals lowered his light, seeming to mull that over. “Does it say anything else? Is it doing anything?” He asked me, trying to gauge my hallucination. I shook my head, before I began to wonder how to make the thing disappear, only for the screen to wink out of existence. I blinked, looking at the empty space where it was, and saw Dr. Rennals looking at me worriedly.

“It’s gone,” I answered. The doctor leaned back, frowning in thought.

“I know this might be a pain, but I think we should take another MRI if you’re suddenly seeing hallucinations. It’s been a long day for you, Ren, but for your sake, it needs to be a little longer.” He said, earning a hesitant nod from me. With that, he grabbed my wheelchair and led me to my next battery of tests.

They went through them all again, comparing the results. I had bloodwork done as well, but some tests would simply take time for the results to process. Everything was put on high priority, so I would see the results in the morning.

But, because of the tests, I was only wheeled back into my hospital room late at night. Mom was passed out on the couch, dead asleep. From what I heard, she had stayed up late for the past week since my initial wake up, during which I had to be sedated, so I was glad she was finally getting some rest. I was put into bed by two nurses, before I gave a thumbs up to show that everything was all good.

The moment they left, I frowned deeply at the empty space before me. The room was dark, instilling me with a sense of Deja Vu. Reaching out with a hand, I mimed pressing the button. That had just been a dream, right? It didn't make sense for it to be anything but a dream… or was it just a more advanced hallucination? There was only one way to find out -- now, how had summoned up my prestige-?

You have 10 prestige points.

By thinking about it, apparently. The window appeared before my eyes and my frown deepened. I wasn't well versed in head trauma and the results thereof, but I didn't think it was normal to be able to summon up hallucinations at will, or to be able to exert control of them. Probably. There were also people that had strokes and became piano masters. The brain was a fickle beast. Still, it was odd. Odd enough that I began to wonder what if it really wasn't a hallucination.

"What are prestige points?" I muttered quietly to myself, hoping for a tutorial. Whatever this was, it was responsive to my thoughts, because another window appeared.

Tutorial: Prestige points are the numerical representation of fame associated with you. The more famous you are, the more you can acquire. In turn, the more Prestige Points you have, the more options are available.

You currently have rank: No Name.

Hurtful, but accurate. Enough so that I wondered where the initial five points came from. I wasn't popular at school, I didn't have a huge circle of friends… if I had to guess, it was surviving two bullets to the head. Even if no one knows I existed normally, kids at school would hear about that.

Which made the next question obvious.

The next rank is Minor Character. Unlocked at 100 Prestige Points accrued in total.

This rank grants access to the Market function.

So, I was a tenth of the way to becoming a Minor Character. Neat. I had questions about the market -- mainly how in the hell it worked. Would I get the number to some black market stall? Would things just appear from thin air? Or was I really hallucinating? I honestly had no clue at this point. This felt a little too… concise to be a hallucination, but I'm sure that's what every crazy person who saw things thought.

Okay. Okay. So, what could I do with the rank No Name?

Rank No Name is allowed to invest PP into stats. For every ten points invested, the user can increase a stat point by one.

Stats, huh? In response to that, a larger window appeared before me.

Ren Song

Rank: No Name

Prestige: 10

Strength: 2

Perception: 33

Endurance: 1

Charisma: 4

Intelligence: 35

Agility: 1

Luck: 2

My stats were kinda terrible, weren't they? Though, I shouldn't expect anything else on account that I've been in a coma for about six months. My Intelligence and Perception stats were my highest, which seemed fitting. I wasn't some Sherlock Holmes Super Genius, or anything, but I liked to think I was fairly smart and I had to be perceptive to gamble like I did. My Luck stat was kinda annoying, though. I knew I always had rotten luck, but seeing a measly two really was just rubbing salt into the wound.

Wrong place, wrong time.

My hands curled into fists as Black Mask's words rang in my head like a bell.

I shoved my thoughts to the side to inspect the stats. Each stat did what the label said -- Strength to make me stronger, Intelligence to make me smarter, and so on. What I did learn was that 25 was the average for most people. So, I was well below average in all physical stats, and slightly above average in Perception and Intelligence. Charisma stood out, but it also fit -- charisma was more than just speaking power. It was looks, confidence, and influence. None of which I had -- I wasn't particularly likable before, and six months of bed rest had taken care of the physical aspects of Charisma.

There were also ways to increase my stats beyond investing points into them -- lifting stuff could earn me strength, pushing past being tired could earn me more endurance, and so on. It was simple and logical -- do the thing to improve the stat. Made sense.

A memory tugged at my attention. "Skills?" I muttered quietly, trying to recall what I had seen on one of the screens.

Skills

Thou Shall Not Kill

T3R5

It is now impossible for you to kill your enemies. They will always survive whatever injuries that you inflict on them, so long as the brain remains intact. So there’s no need to ever pull your punches! They can’t die, even if they really want to!

Rank Up: 25,000

Sell: 10,000

How in the hell would that work? So, if I shot someone a bunch of times in the chest, they wouldn't die? And to what extent did it mean that I couldn't kill them? If I break every bone in a person's body, and they go to the hospital, would they die the moment they were placed on the operating table? It didn't make any sense at all. And how could I further upgrade it to make it more impossible to kill people?

It might be my only skill at the moment, but I was eyeing the sell button. Ten thousand points? Selling it would net me a hundred stats points, which would be enough to bring most of my stats to around average. I could be back on my feet today without a year of physical therapy. The only issue was that I didn't have access to the market to sell it, meaning that I had to earn a total of one hundred prestige first. So, it was a catch twenty-two -- I couldn't earn prestige because I was confined to my hospital bed. Outside of the daily quest, but even it seemed odd.

It was a single point a day, but if prestige was a measurement of how famous I was, then how did doing daily therapy make me more famous? The only thing that I could think of is that it was a retroactive reward -- I survived getting shot twice in the head, and I had no noticeable side effects. I'm betting that my case file will be studied to learn more about the brain. If I became healthy and went back to living my life normally, then I would become more famous in the medical industry as a miracle case.

The points were breadcrumbs, quite possibly points that I would earn in the future to lead me down the desired path.

This all seemed more and more like a delusion. Reality bending to prevent people from dying, rewards for completing my physical therapy… it seemed like my brain was conjuring up hallucinations to push me to recover faster.

There was one way to test the theory.

I eyed my arms -- any muscle mass on them was completely gone. I always had noodle arms, but now there wasn't much on them except for skin and bone. Then I invested the ten points that I had into strength, increasing it by a single point. As soon as I confirmed the action, my body went taunt -- every muscle clenched, alarming me, but before my very eyes, I saw my bicep grow ever so slightly. I wouldn't have noticed it before if it wasn't for just how skinny my arms were, but my bicep had definitely grown a fraction.

A disbelieving laugh escaped me, "This is real." I muttered to myself, too stunned to keep my voice down entirely. My ability was real. It wasn't a hallucination. I had just grown stronger, bringing my Strength up to 3.

My moment of marveling ended when I heard my mom shift from where she slept. Pushing herself up she blinked a few times. I looked over, meeting her gaze as I dismissed the windows. "Ren," Mom started, getting up, her voice hoarse both from sleep and emotion.

"Mom," I returned, melting into her embrace when she wrapped her arms around me.

"You really scared us, Ren," she told me, and guilt twisted at my heart, her voice muffled by her face being hurried in the crook of my neck. "When we got the call…"

"I'm sorry, Mom," I told her, giving her a squeeze. I meant it all the way down to my soul.

"And you just wouldn't wake up. Me and your father burned through all of our leave time, because I… I wanted to be here when you woke up. I was so sure that you would, then months ticked by, and I'm… I'm so sorry for not being here," Mom muttered, sounding like she was about to start crying again.

"I'm sorry for being here in the first place," I told her, wanting to just tell her that none of it was her fault in a way to make her believe it. But she wouldn't. Between my mom and dad, my Mom was the one that I was closest with by far. My Dad was always just… busy.

Mom gently pulled away, "Ren, what happened? Can you tell me? Please?" She asked me, tears in her eyes. A lie weighed heavily on my tongue, but I couldn't bring myself to say it. Not now. Not after everything that had happened.

I swallowed thickly. "I… I… I don't have a part-time job," I started, earning a nod from Mom.

"We know," she answered. I guess that she called the place that I said that I worked at. No surprise there, I guess.

"I did work there for a bit, but… one of my coworkers invited me over for a poker game. And I won big. Sorta. It was only a hundred dollars, but… it was just easy money. And I was really good at it." I began, my voice laced with shame, and it became incredibly tough to meet her eyes. "And then I started to get invited to other games, like a poker match here and there. Then I got a fake ID to enter actual casinos, and I was making more money than ever…"

A sigh escaped me, "Then I got invited to an illegal casino. And that's the one that I got shot at." I admitted as Mom's face was a kind of stony that I had never seen before. "I had a really good hand at Blackjack -- that's the twenty thousand that the police found on me. Then I got invited into the backroom for VIPs that has a hundred thousand buy in… Mr. Lei was the one that sponsored me so I could play. I never met any of them before that, and I only realized that they were Snake-Flower Triad after I sat down with them." Mom made a noise as her hand went to mine, squeezing down almost painfully.

"We played a few hands, then that's when Black Mask came in." Now her squeezing my hand was simply painful. "I told him that I wasn't with the Triad, but he didn't care. I was just another Chinese person to him, and he shot me. I went down… then the last thing I remember was him telling me 'wrong place, wrong time' before shooting me again."

Mom was silent for a dreadfully long minute, wrapping her head around it all. My lying, who shot me… I had no clue what she would say. I was afraid to learn. "Ren, why did you need so much money?" She asked, and of all the things she could have, that caught me off guard.

I shrugged, "I… Mom, we're broke." I answered her -- Mom worked as a maid and dad was an accountant. "I… at first, I was buying dumb stuff like candy and clothes. Then when I started making a lot more… I started to think… like… ten more games of making that much, and I can buy a car. Or, I could buy us a house. Outside of Gotham. I could pay for my college. I could make enough so you and dad didn't have to work. I don't really have a solid reason why, I just… I wanted us to be rich, I guess." I told her, and I felt her arms wrap around me again to give me a warm hug.

She didn't say anything, she simply hugged me and I could only hope that it meant all was forgiven.

But I knew that it wouldn't be so simple.

The police were going to investigate me, and they would try something. Something like threatening me with jail time unless I testified that Black Mask had shot me, or something. I didn't really know what they could do, but I knew that conversation wasn't over. And on the other hand, Black Mask would learn that I had woken up and I doubted that he'd be willing to hear me out when I said that I wouldn't say anything.

Above all else, I was stuck in this bed. Too weak to move, much less protect myself.

My mind drifted back to that moment, looking up at Black Mask. His words rang in my head like a bell -- Wrong place, wrong time. For that reason, without all the luck in the world… I would have been killed.

That, I promised to myself, wouldn't happen again.