See No Evil: City of Dreams (ch. 35) (Patreon)

Revy held up two bills, inspecting them both with a discerning eye that flickered back and forth between the hundred-dollar bills. She made a noise of acknowledgment, before flipping the bills over to inspect the back of them. Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly, bringing one closer to her face, then doing the same for the other. Upon lowering the bills, I saw she wore a sharp smirk, "This one is fake," she spoke with complete confidence.

That smirk promptly fell as I smirked right back, taking the hundred from her, "That was the real one," I corrected. She sputtered, demanding to take another look, and I gave it back over to her. I turned to two bundles sitting in front of me on the coffee table inside Tifa's apartment -- one filled with fake hundreds and a second of real ones. Picking two bills up, I compared both of them.

They were identical. If you switched up the bundles, then I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between them. They felt the same, they looked the same, they smelled the same… they were the same for all intents and purposes. It had taken me about a week to set up a counterfeiting machine. Once I had the blend of inks, dyes, and fabrics -- it just came down to producing them. Fabrics were gathered, ink as well. Now, with three cards, I had a counterfeiting operation.

"How much can you make a day?" Revy wondered, looking between the bills, searching for a difference that wasn't there. The templates were further improved to be exact copies of the bills down to the smallest details. The holographic strips as well. The bills didn't react to counterfeiting ink either, so there was virtually no simple detection method. Even advanced methods would show that the bill was identical to a normal hundred bill.

I set the bills down, "Right now? About a quarter-million a day," I answered. It didn't sound like a lot of output, but it didn't need to be. Quarter a million a day? In four days, that was an additional million in my pocket. It was almost two million a week in pure profit with no taxes or labor cost. It wasn't enough to put us in the black again, but that was something that could be solved by ramping up production and investing in other businesses. "The biggest hold-up is supplies. They're mundane items, sure, but eventually, someone is going to start to wonder why all the green dye is gone, or who keeps buying bed sheets in large amounts."

Revy made a noise of acknowledgment, "So, we're going to have to import?" She asked, tucking both bills into her cleavage.

I nodded, grabbing some eye drops and dropping them into my eyes. The itchy dryness from a lack of sleep gave way immediately thanks to their B-Rank. Wearing contacts all the time certainly didn't help. "And I'm looking to buy out a few businesses like laundromats and dry cleaners to justify purchases of certain chemicals in bulk. We spread out our purchases, give good reasons for them, and no one will be any the wiser." I answered, tucking the eye drops away before looking to Revy.

"Heh. So, what are you planning to spend this on first?" Revy asked as I got up from the couch, cracking my neck as I sighed.

"Christmas shopping," I answered, earning a cocked eyebrow from Revy, who looked like she was expecting a psych. Only one didn't come. "Bruce Wayne gets to throw his galas for the one percent in Gotham. I'm hosting a Christmas dinner for everyone else." Revy continued to look at me, anticipating a punchline. Then she scowled deeply when it finally clicked that I was serious.

"Is this another one of your goody-two-shoes moments?" She asked with some level of indignant disgust. It was actually kinda funny -- Revy pulled the same expression that someone would wear if they just stepped in dog shit.

I offered a lopsided smirk, "Not feeling the Christmas spirit?" I asked her, straightening out my suit, before I started walking towards the door. Revy fell in step behind me -- in recent times, it felt like I never went anywhere without someone standing in my shadow. If not Revy, then it was Cass. If not her, then Tifa. "It's important that we celebrate it. For appearances. Build up that sense of community."

Revy tsk'd, "A sense of community won't mean shit when the time comes." She pointed out as we headed for the door. She was right about that much, I agreed silently. Lowtown had grown significantly -- we were closing in on thirteen thousand people. It would be more, but things had changed a bit in the past few days.

My safety measures were installed. Scanners, x-rays, tracking tech implemented in my cameras… Now, I knew everything that came in, who brought it, and where they brought it. Even better, I could follow their path every step of the way. The safety measures and the stricter searches by guards meant the inflow had slowed, but when the rumor of the bomb circulated, the only grumbling came from those that wanted to enter Lowtown.

It was difficult to guesstimate how much the population was going to hike, but I was going to guess somewhere around twenty thousand people or so. Bigger than some small towns.

"That's what the dinner is for. Help remind everyone why they came here. That we’re all one great big happy family and families don't rape, murder, or steal from one another," I continued, grabbing my coat and tossing Revy hers. She let out a small chuckle at that, clearly foreseeing that it was a pointless endeavor.

In the end, Lowtown was changing. It wasn't just filled with the desperate and needy that would die on the streets otherwise. Rumors about the place being a chop shop had acted as a filter of sorts -- only the really desperate would come here, and when they found paradise, they clung to it. Without that filter, people who smelled opportunity came. People that had choices, but chose to come to Lowtown.

That new type didn't have that same sense of everyone being in this together. And eventually, as the population continued to swell, that small fraction of the population would outnumber the desperate.

We hadn't had any murders. No one had committed rape. There were drug deals and some petty theft, but there had yet to be a major crime in Lowtown. That would change one day. No matter what. It was simply the way of things. However, I was pushing that day back as far as I could with whatever I could. If that meant blowing a quarter million on food, Christmas presents, and a pine tree?

Fine. It would be worth it.

"And Tifa wants to celebrate Christmas," Revy added.

"And Tifa wants to celebrate Christmas," I agreed. I don't even know if she knew who Jesus was, but I don't think she cared either. It was just the Christmas spirit that had possessed her -- the themes of family, gift-giving, and all that jazz. "So, we're celebrating Christmas. Hope you got everyone a gift because it's going to be awkward as hell for you if you don't bring anything." Revy groaned as we entered the elevator.

"Tell me that like a week before Christmas…" she grumbled, and I could only imagine what she was going to get. My bet was something illegal. "Are you getting me a gun?"

Yes. "That would ruin the surprise," I deflected easily. A high-powered sniper rifle, but with a high-Rank silencer. You could fire the thing by someone's ear and they wouldn't be able to tell.

"It's a gun," Revy confirmed, seemingly pleased with the choice. Wasn't like it was hard to pick out something for her. Out of everyone, she was the easiest. Anything that went bang would do.

A moment later, the elevator doors opened to reveal a full bar. Bartenders and waitresses worked at the counter, taking orders while the place was filled to occupancy and then some. I saw a fair few wide-eyed looks as we stepped out of the elevator, but I just ignored them to head downstairs. As always, I had a busy day so I didn't really have the time to stand around and entertain the people gawking at me.

Downstairs was filled to the brim as well. These people were generally unhappy, but were being filtered through one by one. The stairway down scanned everything that they brought in while the guards practically strip-searched everyone that entered. On one side of the door was a list of contraband -- drugs, guns, knives. Simple stuff. But not simple enough that people stopped trying to smuggle stuff in.

Which is how we found three separate informants for the police that were loaded up to the gills with wires and cameras. It became especially easy when every signal that left Lowtown was being monitored. It still wasn't perfect. I doubt that it could stump people like Batman or Catwoman, but that would soon be the goal.

"Hey! Hey, you can't skip!" Someone shouted, and I only realized that they were talking to me when they reached out to grab me. They didn't come close with Revy's guns appearing in her hands. She practically shoved the barrel of one up the offending guy's nose. He backpedaled, going cross-eyed as he looked down at the barrel of the gun. "I-!"

"Revy, it's fine," I dismissed the issue, earning a sigh from Revy as she lowered her gun. The guy looked at her fearfully before his eyes darted to me. In response, I pointed to yet another mural painted onto the wall.

It was a picture of me, my hands spread out wide with an angelic halo hovering above my head, and angel wings sprouting from my back. Above and below were two banners. The top said; to thee that enter, knoweth this most sacred rule. On the bottom, it continued with; Thou Shall Not Be A Dick.

I found the punk that had been plastering them everywhere, but I hadn't figured out how to come down on him like a brick shit house without coming across as an asshole.

Yet.

"Oh…" the guy muttered, opening his mouth to make an apology, but I just waved it off with a preemptive "it's fine" before continuing down. If there was an upside to the increased regulations, then it was that the staircase down was relatively empty.

"How's the side project?" I asked Revy, also preemptively cutting off any complaints that I should have let her shoot the guy.

Revy shrugged, "Still in the baby steps stage. People are pussyfooting around and are unsure if they want to commit. It's going to take a push to make them commit. Money ain't it," Revy answered with disgust. That was annoying, but I guess I couldn't expect people to break away from a good thing when they thought that they were getting their cake and eating it too.

"Mind if I throw you under the bus a bit?" I asked her, earning a dismissive shrug in response.

"Knock yourself out," Revy answered without a care.

The core of the plan remained the same, just that the details changed. Rather than a trickle of the dissatisfied joining a splinter faction and breaking off from Lowtown, it would be an exodus of those that I knew were guilty of corruption. I would cut off their privileges while maintaining a good relationship with the officers, and then a new gang throws their hat into the gang war that was raging in East End once again.

The Batfamily hadn't interfered in it so far. Their priorities laid elsewhere with the convicts that had escaped Arkham. So far, none of the Rogues had been captured, but the news was reporting evidence that the Riddler had begun his games. The police were left to manage the gang war, but between spreading their forces across Gotham to keep the peace, and manhunts, East End was left rather undefended.

The story I would go with was that I found out about the officers participating in the gang war, and kicked them out of the LG for it. Revy would catch some flack because she also participated in the raids, but… honestly, I doubt anyone expected different. People might call it unfair, and it would be. I just didn't really care because I needed a proxy gang in East End.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I saw 7th heaven. I barely recognized the place. The general layout was gone -- no longer did it have the appearance of a train platform. If it wasn't for the train tracks that were a hold over until we could patch over the metro tunnel entrance, you'd never expect that it was once an abandoned train stop. It was expanding in every direction -- 7th heaven was the heart of Lowtown and it showed.

Marble floors, directories, help desks -- this was where people claimed a home, which were being filled as fast as they were being built. It looked a bit different than normal with a Christmas touch -- red and green lights, and someone brought in a Christmas tree that was collapsing underneath the weight of the ornaments on its plastic and wire branches. Word got out that Poison Ivy made the tunnel system and it came with strict rules. So far, they had been obeyed, and I would make sure that they continued to be.

The entire layout, however, was hand-crafted to become a killbox. The desks and tables were reinforced to become bulletproof. The LG hung around in force, ready to respond to any disturbance -- all of them veterans. Soon enough, the Stairway and entrances like it would be the only way to get into Lowtown. I just had to buy buildings to make that reality possible. So, if anyone tried to attack the place, they'd have to get through the front, then a basement, then a long corridor that I was planning to recreate that laser trap from Resident Evil in.

Attacking this place would be a death wish. I would make sure of it.

I spotted Tifa standing next to a dark-haired girl around my age, doing something. My contacts zoomed in on her as a blurb of information appeared -- what had been entered into the database. The name that she gave, where she was staying, what she had on her and so on.

Miranda. No last name. Came here with nothing but the clothes on her back. She currently stayed in a tent, waiting for an apartment to be built.

Walking over, Tifa seemed to sense my approach because she looked up from the clipboard in her hands. She smiled warmly when her reddish-brown eyes met mine, "The bow tie is cute," she told me, handing the clipboard back to Miranda. I offered a thin lopsided smile in response, not sharing that opinion in the slightest.

"It's a clip-on," I told her without a hint of shame. Apparently, a suit and a tux were different, and it was poor form to wear a tie with a tux. No one could give me a solid reason why, but it wasn't a hill that I was willing to die on. After a few dozen failed attempts to tie one myself, I just combined the bow tie fabric and a clip. "You look fantastic," I told her, my eyes roaming her form-fitting dress.

A black dress that hugged her curves, leaving a long slit in the side that went up to her hip to allow her some range of movement. There was a boob window that displayed some cleavage, and her back would have been left exposed if it wasn't for the fuzzy white jacket that she wore to ward off the chill. Her hair was down, but stylized. Subtle makeup had been applied to her face, and she had on high heels made her only a few inches shorter than me.

Tifa smirked, catching me checking her out. "It's our debut to high society," Tifa answered as if that was supposed to explain everything.

"You look like a hooker," Revy offered, making Miranda blink slowly.

"An expensive one?" Tifa questioned, earning a smirk out of Revy.

"Out of his price range," Revy agreed, jabbing a thumb in my direction. I just sighed while Tifa chuckled, pleased with the… Revy's version of a compliment. Miranda looked between the three of us, her blue eyes flickering back and forth, but her expression never shifted.

The action brought Tifa's attention to her. "Vergil, this is Miranda. She's been helping me organize the dinner," Tifa introduced her, gently placing a hand on her back and nudging her forward.

"It's nice to finally meet you, sir," Miranda started, offering a polite nod while she clutched the clipboard. "I've just been helping out a bit here and there."

Tifa shook her head, "She's pretty much saved the event," Tifa corrected. "The fruits and vegetables are taken care of, but this close to Christmas, we'd have never found enough ham and turkey to feed thousands of people. Not to mention sorting through the population to find those with cooking experience." Miranda stood a bit straighter at the praise.

Huh. "In that case, it's nice to meet you," I returned, holding out a hand. Miranda took it, flashing a slight smile. "The entire event was last minute, so I was expecting a train crash. So, thank you for helping us avoid the worst of it. If it still becomes a disaster, then it's on us." Tifa sighed as I let go of Miranda's hand.

"You really do set your eyes for the stars, don't you Vergil?" She questioned, earning a cheeky smile from me as she stepped forward. Interlocking one of her arms with mine, she looked to Miranda. "Ignore everything he says. It's all going to go perfectly and it's going to be because of everyone's hard work. We'll be back around midnight or so."

I nodded, "Hold down the fort for us," I told Revy, earning a salute.

"I'll feed anyone that misbehaves to Waylon," Revy said with a dismissive wave as we started to turn away.

"Feet first," I added, earning a small smack on the arm as we headed up. I spared a glance at my hand, not spotting anything that could look like a tracker. I turned to Tifa as we made our way back to the stairs. "What was that about?" I asked her, earning a shrug from Tifa.

"You've needed someone to help you out with the company for a while now. Cass can't since she's mute, Revy is Revy, and I'm working with Sammy and the girls. Miranda stepped up to help organize the dinner," Tifa offered her reason for introducing the two of us. "She's good at what she does."

I nodded. I had meant what I said -- the entire event was incredibly last minute. The fact that we wouldn't be eating canned chicken was an honest surprise. I should look into how she managed it. Still, that wasn't the point I was making. "She's very attractive," I pointed out, much to Tifa's amusement. Attractive secretaries… could there be a more blatant recipe for disaster?

"She is. Should I be worried?" Tifa teased, knowing the answer.

"I was just pointing it out," I returned as we headed up the stairs. "And no, you shouldn't. I might be an idiot, but I'm not stupid." In response to that, I received a squeeze on the arm, telling me that had been the right answer. We made it back up the Staircase before we made our way to the front door. As soon as it opened, we were hit with a brutal chill. It wasn't as cold as it had been recently, but it was still around zero degrees outside.

Our limo was parked in front of Stairway, but so was a beat-up truck with the trunk covered in a blue tarp. I wouldn't have paid it any mind, but Jack waved us down.

I gestured for Tifa to get into the limo, which she did if only because she was very underdressed for the weather, fuzzy coat or not. I walked towards Jack, and he got out of the truck and walked towards the back. "Nice bow tie, kid," Jack said, breaking the ice and telling me that it wasn't an emergency.

"It's a clip-on," I refuted as he looked around and grabbed hold of the tarp. "What's in the truck?" I wondered, noticing that he was acting a bit off.

"A few guys were out at the dump, gathering up supplies and odds and ends to recycle while it wasn't so cold. And they found this," Jack informed, lifting the tarp ever so slightly to reveal a body in the back of the trunk. At first, I thought it was the corpse of an elderly woman because of the white hair, but that didn't seem right. Half of her face was covered with a black blindfold -- but the half of her face that wasn't covered was smooth. Her black and white dress was ripped and torn, with bloodstains on it. In her arms was some kind of machine that looked like it had been battered to hell and back.

A deep frown tugged at my lips. "A murder?" I questioned, looking at Jack. He wouldn't bring a body to my doorstep without good reason. "One of the Rogues kill her?"

Jack shook his head, "Look at the wounds, Vergil," He instructed, prompting me to take another look. Beyond the bloodstains and burnt skin was…

"Metal?" I muttered questioningly, reaching out to inspect the damage. There was dried blood around the injuries and burns, but beneath the flesh was metal. Circuitry.

It wasn't the corpse of a person. It was the corpse of a robot. An Android.

"The guys found her, thought she was a body like you did, but they noticed that she's made out of metal. They weren't sure what to do with her, so they called me up and I decided it's something you should decide on," Jack told me, while I inspected the Android. Reaching out, I lifted the blindfold to see the face of a young woman, her eyes closed. You'd think she was sleeping if the rest of her wasn't mangled from what looked like one hell of an explosion.

Huh. She didn't look like any Android that I recognized from DC comics, but that didn't really mean anything. For all I knew, she was an alien Android that just happened to look human. Nothing about her appearance jogged any memory for me, so I didn't have a clue where she could have come from.

But I got ideas looking at her. She was a severely damaged Android, but I could fix her up with my cards. I had no clue what the Android was capable of, but that really didn't matter -- I could use the body as a template to produce more. Possibly mass produce if I could replicate the materials needed. This was one hell of a golden egg to drop into my lap, enough so that it was worth looking into opening up a Sainthood Robotics division of my company. Sure, I would be ripping off some super genius, but if I took a plagiarism approach to it -- so long as I switched up enough of it, it would be my work instead of whoever put in the legwork.

"Good idea… give whoever found it a nice bonus, and triple it to not say a word about it," I told Jack, taking out two cards and sealing the Android and the machine away.

S-Rank Damaged YoRHa Android Model 2B 2E.

A-Rank Damaged YorHa Tactical Support Pod 042.

My eyes widened a fraction at the base Rank -- even with significant damage, they both were very high ranked. Incredibly so. Enough so to make me highly suspicious of the golden egg that had dropped into my lap, suspecting it to be rotten. I had never heard of YorHa before, but given that a damaged Android of theirs was equal to a seed that built miles-long tunnels beneath Gotham… I was cautious.

"Will do," Jack said, and I clapped him on the shoulder and offered a nod, my mind racing before I headed back to the limo.

Who in the hell was YorHa and would they be missing their Android? Every part of me wanted to call off going to the gala and retreat back inside to prepare for some sudden invasion by powerful Androids. But I couldn't. Not only would that be highly suspicious, the gala wasn't something I could blow off for various reasons. Chief among them was the fact that it was Bruce Wayne's gala.

Getting inside, Tifa cocked an eyebrow at me. "What's wrong?" She questioned, and I hesitated to answer for a moment.

"Nothing yet," I replied before explaining what Jack had wanted. "It's probably nothing. If the Android was found in Gotham's dump of all places, then it was something to be disposed of," I tried to rationalize, and Tifa reached out to squeeze my hand.

"It'll be fine, Vergil," Tifa quickly reassured, seeing through my attempts to calm myself down. "You found a robot in the dump. If this company wants it back, they'll try diplomacy first," she pointed out. And she was probably right about that. If they didn't want anyone to know that I had it, then kicking down my front door to start blasting wouldn't be the way to remain anonymous.

I nodded, taking in a deep breath to push away my thoughts before focusing on the challenge at hand. It wasn't like this was by far the most pressing issue.

The limo left the inner city, gunshots echoing out in the distance as we left East End and headed for Hillcrest. The tall skyscrapers were traded out for a rolling hill that let the one percent look down on Gotham, a long road that took us by mansions. Tifa was intrigued by them, but each one that we drove by was more gaudy and opulent than the last -- larger, more decorative… if there had to be a silver lining, the Christmas lights were just as over the top.

The largest of them all was Wayne Manor.

I've seen pictures of it, but it was a different beast seeing it in person. I could hear Christmas carols being blasted over the outdoor speakers long before I saw it. The mansion was unreasonably huge, especially considering that it was roughly two hundred years old. About four stories tall and half a block wide -- every inch was blinking with Christmas lights, programed messages sprawling across the surface. It would seem that Tifa wasn't the only one that had Christmas spirit.

There were paparazzi at the gates, but we were allowed through after our driver passed along our invitation. We pulled up to the front door where the limo came to a stop. I looked through the window and took in a deep breath.

"What's the game plan?" Tifa asked as a valet went to open our doors, because such an action was apparently beneath us.

"Dance a bit, try to make connections with Gotham's elite, and if the party is lame -- we eat all the good food so there won't be any leftovers for the host," I answered, adopting my house party policy. A gala was basically just a house party in the end, just with millionaires instead of drunk teenagers.

Tifa chuckled as the doors opened, letting us out. I stood before Wayne Manor and my first thought was about how much I did not want to be here. However, before I could crawl back into the limo, Tifa wrapped her arms around mine and the car drove off, leaving us behind. I swallowed a sigh, my only exit burned, so I forced a smile onto my face and started heading up the steps. I was only being dragged a little bit by Tifa. I honestly had no clue why she was so excited for this. I'm pretty sure when I went to hell for all the murders, my personal torment would look a little something like this.

Two men that were absolutely freezing their balls off pushed open the doors for us, revealing the lounge to the Wayne Manor. Inside was an older gentleman -- gray hair, but bald up top, with a thin mustache, and dressed as a butler.

"Mr. St. Jude and Ms. Lockhart, I presume?" He asked in a distinctly posh British accent. British accents ranged from the equivalent to the American Redneck drawl to the Upper Crust crisp accent, and that's what I was hearing right now. And with it, I knew exactly who I stood before.

Alfred Pennyworth.

Another man stepped forward, "Your coat, Madam?" He said, taking Tifa's coat. While he did that, I nodded.

"That's us," I confirmed. "Nice to meet you. Jason's spoken fondly of you," I offered, earning a thin smile from Alfred, but it struck me as a strictly polite one.

"As has he of you," Alfred returned. "Most of the guests have yet to arrive, so it would be little trouble if the two of you wish to meet," he offered, earning a blink from me. Firstly, that sounded like a trap from Batman, forcing us to meet when there were only a few people around. Secondly, most of the guests haven't arrived? Shit, was this entire gala a trap?

Tifa tilted her head, "I'm sorry, are we too early? I thought the invitation said eight PM?" Tifa questioned, sounding genuinely nervous.

Alfred gave her a much more genuine smile, cementing my opinion that I was the one that was on his shit list. "You are on time, Ms. Lockhart. Merely most of the guests elect to arrive thirty minutes to an hour late for fashion." He explained, earning a frown from me.

"Oh," Tifa muttered, sounding like she found that every bit as dumb as I did. "Well, so long as we aren't imposing. Oh, and you can just call me Tifa, Mr…?"

"I'm afraid that would be terribly impolite of me, Ms. Lockhart," Alfred denied the request, "I'm merely Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne family's butler."

Tifa smiled warmly, "That's not how Jason talks about you," she pointed out. And it struck me that she was good at this. Better than I was, at any rate. I had a bit of a knack for navigating troublesome conversations, but Tifa was just likeable. That much was proven when Alfred chuckled warmly, looking pleased with the news despite his attempts to hide it by leading us down a hall.

The hallway itself was lavishly decorated, first with a few paintings that were worth millions, then with Christmas lights. Which were probably also worth millions. Alfred led us to the ballroom and with each step, it started to feel like I was walking to my execution.

I was about to be in the same room as Batman for the first time.

I took in a deep breath and I felt Tifa give my arm a reassuring squeeze. I glanced over at her to see her smile at me. It was difficult to tell if I was more reassured by the action or the knowledge that I'm reasonably sure that she could beat up Batman. But, with the assurance of both, I calmed my racing heart by the time we reached the end of the hallway and Alfred opened the door for us.

Revealing a tall man on the other side, a hand reached out to the door as if he had been about to open it. He had short dark hair that was gelled into a business casual style, dark blue eyes that framed a narrow nose, a strong jawline, and he was freshly shaven -- the moment our eyes met could have lasted for an eternity for all I knew.

Then he smiled, "You must be the famous Vergil St. Jude," he greeted, sticking out a hand. "Bruce Wayne," he introduced himself.

I'm so fucked.