Gacha God: The Sleuth (ch. 12) (Patreon)

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Oathbreaker

“Holy shit, is that a Green Lantern Ring?” I muttered, my eyes were instantly drawn to it. I didn’t usually want one item in particular when it came to rolls, and it was a rarer event that I actually recognized something on the list. Some items were rather obvious in what they did -- like the Truth Raygun, which I’m guessing made whoever was shot with it tell the truth. Interesting and useful. Less so than a Lantern ring, though.

There was one way that I could increase my odds, but I wasn’t sure if it was worth it. A year ago, it would have been a simple thing, back when I had more items than I knew what to do with. It was different now. I only had a handful -- The Ring of Nine Dragons, the Eye of CthulhuChathulu, Air Treks, Golden Scarab, and Divine Water. All of them were useful, and I wasn’t really willing to part with one at the moment.

Meaning that I had to do it the old fashion way. I reached into the screen to take out the D20. I blew on the holographic dice, hoping to get a little luck from it before I tossed it at my far wall to get a good bounce going. I leaned out of my hammock, barely seeing the dice in the low light. As a result, I wasn’t exactly sure what it landed on when the dice came to a stop, but even with a vague outline, I knew it wasn’t a Green Lantern Ring. Sadly.

It was too large to be a ring several times over. Still a little disappointed, I rolled out of bed to approach the sheath. My room had seen some cleaning up -- no more broken glass on the floor or used heroin needles. I even had a curtain hanging over the door to give me some privacy.

13 Totem Pole

A unique ARM that is both a Guardian and Weapon class. Capable of summoning up to 13 totem poles wherever the user wishes. In addition, it can be used as a staff.

Not as cool as a Lantern Ring, I decided, holding up a chain of 13 totems. Each face was different than the others, probably representing something, but I had no idea what. Could look into it. Sometimes the uses of my items weren’t immediately evident, or they had hidden facets that were only revealed with context. Holding the 13 Totem Pole, I gave it a mental command to shift into a staff.

It responded instantly. The looseness of the chain faded while it lengthened, becoming a six-foot-long quarterstaff that was marked with the faces of the 13 totems. Standing up, I gave the staff a few curious spins, filling my room with the sound of rushing wind as it rapidly spun to my sides, then behind me, then above me, before coming to a stop. Neat. Now, what did it mean-

The thought came to an abrupt end a moment before I heard the sounds of crashing coming from directly underneath me. The sound was difficult to describe, the closest thing was a sledgehammer busting through concrete, just a thousand times more intense. A split second later, the ground directly underneath me began to buck upwards because whatever smashed through the floors below me wasn't stopping.

Reflexively, I threw myself to the side just as something tore through the floor like it was wet tissue paper. Grabbing hold of my hammock, using it as an anchor, I turned around to see what in the hell happened. There were sounds of chaos around me -- people screaming in panic from below, people shouting from outside because they heard the noise. What I didn't expect to see when I turned around was a glow-up version of one of the thirteen faces of the totem pole. The tip of it protruded through the ceiling, and given that I was on the fourth floor of the building…

The totem was about fifteen feet wide in a circle, and it stood about fifty feet in the air. The surface was identical to the ones on the chain when I held it up for inspection. Okay. I could work with this. Felt a little overt, admittedly, but it was a great crowd control weapon. Good for establishing cover in a pinch. Now, how do I make it go away?"

By wanting it to go away, it seemed, because the totem pole began to lower itself, tearing back out of the building. The entire building began to sag inward and I hastily went for my Time-Turner when I realized that the building was starting to collapse in itself. It was only dumb luck that I was still mostly in the same position, so a past me wasn't created because despite it being in the middle of the night, I hadn't been able to go to sleep.

"You always fuckin' do this shit! You fucking ALWAYS. DO. THIS. SHIT!" I heard the couple going at it, resuming their usual screaming match that I already heard. Their arguments really did blend together. The guy was a serial cheater with a drug habit. The girl was also a serial cheater with a drug habit, but she also had a gambling addiction. And, for some fucked up reason, they were both shocked that they never had any money.

"Here we fucking go. What the fuck is it now, Sharen? What did I do this time?! I paid the fuckin bills, bitch, would you get out of my fucking ass?!" For the most part, I turned their argument out as I held up the 13 Totem Pole. I needed to learn a bit more about it to see how I could use it.

I summoned the totem pole to rise up from the ground, but this time I focused on where I wanted it. And what size. My floor busted open as a much skinnier totem pole erupted from the ground. However, based on the lack of screaming, it hadn't torn through the building this time. My gaze went to the ceiling, and another totem pole erupted from it. Then I looked to the wall, and another one did. This time, I looked out the window to see that the base of the totem pole could be seen on the brick.

"A little weird," I decided, making one punch through the brick and when I poked my head in, I saw that there wasn't a base in the drywall. Meaning that the totem poles couldn't be summoned on any flat surface. Narrowing my eyes a bit, I tried making the totem pole smaller. Another one appeared through the brick, busting through it, but those one used the drywall as a base and it was fairly thin. "So, the base determines how large I can make them."

The ground did best given how large that one had been, but that had been the foundation for the building. How well would sand work? Or dirt? What else could the totems do?

Spin, apparently. Each head on the totem could spinend independently of the others, something that could be useful given that the heads weren't smooth. Some had protrusions that could be used to hit someone if they were close enough. The heads were detachable too so that I could fire off with a thought. The length was broken up into segments -- I'm not sure how tall I could make it, but the smallest I could was about half an inch, roughly the size of the chain in its base state. However, I had to make a complete head. Couldn't do a head and a half.

In all, it was an interesting item. I'm not certain that it was good as of yet, but it certainly was interesting. For now, though, I think it was time for me to get some sleep. To that end, I stuck my head out of the window, and screamed, "Shut the fuck up! I'm trying to sleep!"

"Fuck you man!"

"Fuck you!" I shot right back, grabbing the gun in case they got mouthy again. After a solid week of me shooting at them whenever they kept making noise, they got the hint and I set the gun to the side and closed my eyes, ready for whatever tomorrow brought me.

…

"Isn't this an apartment building?" I asked, wanting to make sure that Ned had gotten the address right. I was speaking into my phone, looking up at a building in Yorkville. It was a decent part of the city. Run down, a fair number of homeless people and addicts, but it wasn't like Hell's Kitchen that people completely gave up on it. It was something of a stopgap between Spanish Harlem and the nicer parts of the city.

"I'm pretty sure she's operating out of there illegally, so she's sketchy. And possibly an alcoholic," Peter responded in a low tone. They had school and for some reason, couldn't bring themselves to skip. Ned had found the agency and decided it was a winner because it was a pretty straightforward mix of five and one-star ratings. All the five stars praised her for her work while all the one stars were about her personality and unprofessionalism. So, she was good at her job, but she was a total asshole. I could work with that. I even respected it.

"Make sense to me," I decided, heading inside of the building. I wore casual clothing -- a pair of faded blue jeans, a pair of converse high-top shoes, and a black long sleeve with a DnD pun on it. It perfectly matched the growing aesthetic that was being foisted upon me -- the two rings, and now the pocket chain. Maybe not the look that I would have preferred, but it was a look that I would rock nonetheless all the while, a manila envelope was clutched in my hands.

The interior of the building left a good bit to be desired. The elevator felt like I was going to fall with how janky it was while the hallway itself gave off the air of neglect. However, upon reaching the correct floor, down the hallway I saw an office door marked with Alias Investigations on a glass panel. Heading over to it, long before I reached the door, I heard some guy ranting and raving inside the office.

"You ruined my marriage! I… I should have never come to you! I was better off not knowing! How am I going to explain this to my kids?" The guy shouted, audibly upset with a sob in his voice. I saw his shadow pacing in front of the glass paneling. Sounded like he got what he wanted but only realized he didn't want it after he got it. Buyer's remorse, I suppose.

"I don't know -- 'Kids, your mother is a literal whore and we're getting a divorce. No, it's not because of you. It's because your mother won't stop taking dick for money," I heard a woman shoot back, sounding utterly devoid of any empathy and completely exhausted with dealing with the guy.

"Y-you bitch!" The man shouted, heartbreak in his tone.

"Want me to snag some DNA samples to see if they really are your kids?" The woman continued, nonplussed at the insult. The man stammered as if he never even considered the possibility, "Too bad. Get another private detective to do it because I can't deal with your whining. I got you the evidence. Now pay me what you owe, or I'll take it out of your ass."

The man cursed at her, there was a sound of slamming, another curse, and squeaky floorboards marked his path to the door. When he flung it open with unnecessary force, I saw that it was a rather… homely man -- on the short side, pudgy, a receding hairline that he should let go of, and his skin was an angry red. He seemed surprised to see me standing on thein the other side of the door, "I'd try my luck with someone else," he snarled at me, glaring over his shoulder before he stomped down the hallway. I watched him go for a moment before glancing in to see the owner of Alias Investigations flicking her client off every step of the way and making sure he saw her when he got in the elevator.

"What can I do for you, kidpunk? Shouldn't you be in school?" The woman asked, her gaze flickering over me. I sized her up in the same way. She was in her mid-twenties to early thirties, pretty with pale skin and black hair. Despite the warm weather, she wore a black leather jacket, and a striped shirt underneath, while the rest of her was blocked by her desk that sat in what should be a living room.

"I'm a dropout," I answered, technically speaking the truth as I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. "And I'm looking to see if you'll take a job," I continued, seeing her file that away before I confidently crossed the room. Her eyes went to the manilla folder, her eyes narrowing in suspicion when I set it on the desk before I took a seat.

"You should have stayed in school," She returned, leaning back in her office chair and very pointedly reached into her desk to grab a bottle of whiskey. She didn't close the drawer again when she was done in favor of uncapping the bottle and pouring herself a very generous six fingers worth of whiskey and drinking it down like it was water. "Got a problem?" She demanded, her tone sharp and her eyes hard.

I gave an indifferent shrug, "If the gods wanted us to be sober, then drugs and alcohol wouldn't exist, now would they?" I returned, making her frown. "Sebastian Galahad Stillwater."

"Jessica Jones," Jessica returned, "When you make up a name, try to sound less pretentious."

That got a smile out of me, "It's my given name. Dad is prettywas very pretentious, though." I agreed, none too bothered about the remark.

Jessica frowned ever so slightly, cocking her head for a moment and I made a show of looking around the place. It was a decent enough looking apartment. I kinda trashed mine last night. It even had a bathroom and a separate bedroom. And a kitchen. She was really living like a Queen. I did notice that there were a suspicious lack of decorations on the walls, which were painted a drab white.

"I make it a point to never get involved in teenage drama, so if your girlfriend is cheating on you, then figure it out yourself," Jessica remarked, and I could see why she got so many one-star reviews.

"Not what I'm here for. What I want is to pay you to teach me and my friends what you know about investigating stuff. Like how to follow people, gathering evidence, following leads, and so on," I corrected, making her jaw drop ever so slightly as she openly looked at me like I was the stupidest man on the planet. So, naturally, I gave her a great big smile in response.

"I also make a point to never train stalkers," Jessica flatly denied.

"We're not- huh. Well, I guess technically, we will be. But it's stalking for Justice," I responded, my tone flippant. "The three of us will each pay your rate separately," I offered, and, despite herself, I did see her interest.

Her lips pressed together, "Justice?" She pressed.

"Since you're a sketchy PI, do you have some no-questions-asked type deal?" I asked her and now Jessica was glaring at me.

"Sketchy?" She echoed, sounding vaguely offended. "I'm not sketchy. You're the one that's sketchy with a very fake sounding name, asking me to teach you how to be a PI for "Justice", and now you're asking about no questions being asked," Jessica returned, even doing the air quotes around the word Justice.

That was fair. "Well, do you?" I asked her, acknowledging that she had a point.

"Double my rate," she answered like it proved nothing. According to the website, she charged a hundred bucks an hour. Doubling that would be two hundred an hour, and we would be learning for… call it a month. Maybe two for up to twelve hours a day. For me alone, that would be about a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Between me, Ned, and Peter, that total would be nearly half a million dollars.

Chump change.

"Sure," I agreed easily, catching her off guard. "Let's call it a lesson plan over two months," I decided, grabbing the envelope and taking out a very fat stack of hundreds. Counting them all out handed over two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. "I prefer round numbers, so two hundred and fifty now and another two fifty upon compleetition . Ssound good?"

Jessica Jones was staring at the pile of money with a deeply suspicious gaze, "Where did you get this money?"

"I stole it. But I thought I was paying for no questions asked?" I remarked, cocking an eyebrow. I could see her mind churning it over before she looked me dead in the eyes.

"You aren't paying me at all. Not unless you're going to tell me exactly what you intend to use the skills for?" She demanded, an edge in her tone that promised violence. I cocked my head ever so slightly at that, caught a bit surprised by the demand. I wasn't expecting it, but it was hardly unwelcome.

I keep running into the most interesting people. I love New York City.

"Me and my friends are going to stake out and gather info on every criminal organization in New York. Oh, and I might be robbing some banks at some point," I told her, not at all bothered by the demand. I didn't care about money, but I understood other people did. They had bills and stuff to be worried about. I think most people would have taken the money and wouldn't have asked a single question even if it became clear I was planning to set fire to an orphanage or something.

It was very obvious that wasn't the answer she expected. "You aren't fucking with me," she realized, sounding genuinely shocked by it.

I opened my mouth-

"I don't fuck minors," she interjected without missing a beat.

I closed my mouth, "Aw."

Jessica dragged a hand down her face, looking at me, then the money, then the bottle of whiskey. She helped herself to about… eight fingers worth of whiskey and downed it like a shot before she fixed her gaze on me. "Fine," she decided, reaching out and scooping the cash over to her side of the desk. "But, if you and your little friends are going to learn, then you better pay attention. And if you dumbasses get caught scoping out a gang, and you fuckin die, it won't be because I didn't teach you what you needed to know. Got that?"

Awe. I think she cared.

"Sure, sounds fun. And, to knock two birds out with one stone, I know who I want to investigate first -- you ever heard of a guy called Armaund Tully?" I asked Jessica, making her quirk an eyebrow up.

"Should I have?" She questioned, giving a dismissive shrug.

"He's a total asshole that, at the very least, I’m going to fuck up. If I can get a whole lot of irrefutable evidence that’ll ruin his life after I fuck him up, all the better,” I told her and I could practically see Jessica regretting taking the money with how she blinked slowly and looked at the whisky again. She sure could drink. She had like half a bottle since I sat down.

Jessica took in a slow breath and let out a small sigh, “What did he do to you?” She asked me, thinking that it was personal.

“Hm? Nothing. I’ve never even met the guy,” I told her, not sure what prompted the question. Jessica gave me the flattest stare that had ever been directed at me and, I had to say, that was an actual feat. It started in stages but within a few seconds, she was staring at me like she had no idea how I even functioned. “A lady I met in a building -- I replaced her door -- kept talking trash about him and how he’s making her life difficult.”

“Whose this lady?” Jessica pressed, her hands inching towards the whiskey.

“I dunno. Never got her name.”

“You know what, kid? I’m going to expand the no questions policy in your case. Even if I ever ask you a question for some god-forsaken reason? I don’t want you to answer,” Jessica decided with a shake of her head, already thoroughly exasperated by me.

I was right. This was going to be fun.

…

"You should probably stay away from that Sebastian guy," Michelle remarked to Peter, startling him to the point he just about drowned in chocolate milk. Ned looked over at her and offered a small wave, but that was about it. The two of them usually sat alone -- they had since the start of the school year and that hadn't changed.

Peter wasn't sure why, but he thought that it would for some reason. That everyone else at school would sense that he and Ned were fundamentally different now -- they helped stop an alien invasion, and now they helped take down the Russian Mafia. Well, helped might be a bit of a strong word, but they were there when it happened!

"What?" Peter blurted, the words registering as he looked at Michelle, his brow creasing. "Why would we do that?"

"Yeah, Sebastian's totally awesome," Ned agreed. He stood up to Flash like it was nothing. That was probably less impressive than dealing with aliens, a god, or Russians, but it had more impact for Peter. Flash… he was just… the worst. He was always making fun of him and Ned, calling him Penis Parker and stuff, and it only got worse when Peter accidentally put Flash on the bench for the decathlon.

It wasn't like he didn't want to stand up to Flash. He did. A lot of times, but when he did, it seemed to make things worse. Everyone else told him to just ignore Flash, but that was always hard. Flash was pretty hard to ignore, but Peter did his best. He weathered the verbal bullying and stuff and ignored how much it hurt. Peter knew it was pointless to try to be liked by everyone, but he really would settle for not being the butt of the totem pole in the high school hierarchy.

"He's probably a supervillain," Michelle voiced, and Peter made a face at that. Sebastian? A supervillain? Yeah, right.

"He's kinda lawless, but I wouldn't call him a supervillain. That word is reserved for, like, Red Skull. Or Loki," Ned argued, earning a supporting nod from Peter. "Nazis and people who try to invade Earth with a alien army."

"Totally," Peter agreed.

Michelle gave them both a full stare, "There are degrees of villainyvillinany. Ted Bundy would be a supervillain if he had superpowers," she pointed out, making Peter press his lips together in a thin line, thinking over the point.

"Okay, that's probably true. So… just having superpowers makes a supervillain? I don't know. That doesn't feel right. Super villainy should be reserved because of what you do instead of having powers," Peter voiced, earning a nod from Ned.

"Yeah -- if you kill a bajillion people, powers or not, you should be called a supervillain," Ned backed him up with a point of his own. "That's what super villains do. Getting left out of the category because you don't have a super ability is wrong."

"It's practically discrimination," Peter continued and Peter could see Michelle's annoyance growing with every word that they spoke. Meaning that he and Ned were totally right, and she was annoyed because she couldn't refute their irrefutable points.

She took in a breath, waited for about ten seconds, then let it out. "Fine. You should stay away from Sebastian because he's probably a villain," Michelle tried again, and Peter made the same face for a moment before he tilted his head.

He shared a glance with Ned, who made the same scrutinizing expression that he wore. "I dunno," Ned spoke up, "I still think it's a bit much. Maybe… anti-hero? Like the guys who break the rules for the greater good because red tape is stupid. Wait, would that make all heroes anti-heroes, because I'm pretty sure Tony Stark breaks the law a whole bunch."

"I think Tony Stark is more of a redemption story-" Peter started, only to be interrupted by Michelle, who wouldn't let them discuss the nuances of heroes.

"That journal that we found on the roof with the rest of his stuff? It had a bunch of information about the invasion of New York," Michelle interjected. "Stuff you can only know if you're part of the planning process -- like where the giant crawfish things would go, or how the invasion would progress, and how to close the wormhole. I didn't get to read much of it, but there was a lot in there. So, Sebastain might have been in league with Loki the entire time," Michelle lowered her voice into a conspiratcorial whisper.

Peter thought about it, "No way." He decided after a brief moment.

"If he was, then Sebastian would be a double agent or something," Ned agreed. "He beat up Loki, remember? And stopped the invasion."

"Do you still have the journal?" Peter asked, wanting to see evidence of accusations if they were going to start getting tossed around. Michelle shook her head, seemingly annoyed that they didn't instantly believe her.

"No. You saw him take it back," she pointed out and… yeah, he remembered something about a journal. In his defense, he was far more preoccupied with the aliens flying over New York and celebrating their defeat. "But it was full of evidence that he at least knew what was going to happen before it did. Do you really think it's a coincidence that he ran into you? The only person that could make that serum?" Michelle pointed out to him, making Peter frown.

Sebastian had three doses of the serum. He hasn't really thought much of it since Sebastian had offered to give him one and Peter had envisioned a future where was less… himself. You know, scrawny, nerdy, and a total loser. But now that he thought about it, it did seem weird that he had three doses when Peter only made one and Sebastian had taken it. And, actually, when he thought about it, wasn't it kind of weird that there had been everything that he needed to make the serum in the first place?

Some of those chemicals were expensive. Some of them you'd need a license to handle. There's no way they should be found in a high school lab of all places. Meaning… that someone had put them there in advance.

"The Russians were pretty weird," Ned spoke up, looking at Peter. "When I called him about hacking into the Russian mainframe, he said he had no idea where to start. Then he beats them all up like three hours later." That was weird.

Then the answer slammed into Peter like a sack of bricks, "Dude… " he breathed, his mind racing as Peter connected the dots. "I think Michelle is right -- he was working for someone. But I think he was working for Shield," Peter stressed. It made too much sense for it to not be the case.

It explained how he knew in advance -- what Michelle saw written was probably predictions written by one of Mr. Stark’s AIs. The reason they were written on paper was simple -- paper couldn't be hacked. It also explained how Sebastian dealt with the Russians -- he asked Shield about them, and they delivered with complete Intel because Shield probably knew, like, everything.

"Then why was he at our school instead of, I don't know… stopping the alien bad guy?" Michelle pressed, determined to poke holes in the story, but she seemed thoughtful.

"Because he's a secret agent. You know, like a deniable asset. Like in the movies," Ned breathed. That made sense. "He's a Secret Avenger…!" That was so cool! And it made so much sense! Secret agencies didn't care about the law. They subverted it all the time, but because the government said it was okay, then they didn't get busted by it. So, instead of being in the public team, Sebastian was an independent asset that people wouldn't know about. They wouldn't attribute his actions to Shield, even though that's totally who he was working for, because why would they? As far as anyone would know, Audacity was just some guy.

It was probably a well-kept secret in Shield as well. Double agents were a thing. Shield probably had a bunch inside because it only made sense that spy agencies spied on each other. That's just what they did. So, Shield would have to make it look like they had no idea who Sebastian was. It was for people like them -- outsiders looking in who weren't supposed to know that he was a secret agent.

Likewise, Sebastian couldn't easily go to Shield because that would blow his cover. So, he looked to Peter and Ned to be his support.

"Peter, do you know what this means?" Ned asked quietly and Peter nodded. Shield had their eyes on them even before the invasion. They knew who they were…

"We're practically secret agents," Peter voiced, sharing a high five with Ned. So, pretty much everything they did was technically legal since they were helping Sebastian. They would have to be careful because of stuff like getting burned or something, though. He would need to watch more spy movies to know what to expect.

"You're both idiots," Michelle voiced, offering a shrug.

"You just want in on the action," Peter shot back, grinning ear to ear. To that, she narrowed her eyes.

Michelle cocked her head for a moment before she shrugged, "Maybe." She replied, her tone mysterious.

Peter opened his mouth to respond but he felt the back of his ear flicked. Wincing in pain, a hand going up to it, his stomach clenched when he saw it was Flash behind him, sneering down at him.

"This is a heads up, Penis Parker," Flash stated, his tone scathing. "But you're dead. Your boyfriend isn't here to protect you anymore," Flash said, flipping Peter the bird before he walked off. Peter watched him go for a moment before he shrugged.

"You okay?" Ned asked and Peter found that he was.

He was a secret agent so secret that not even most of Shield knew about him. Getting worried about Flash suddenly felt so lame. Maybe there was some truth in what Sebastian said.

"Yeah, I'm good. So Michelle, are you excited for the field trip? I thought they were going to cancel it because of the invasion… I can't wait to visit Oscorp."