100YoP Chapter Three "Die trying or live running." (Patreon)

I was so busy punching an I-Beam into oblivion that I barely heard  Billy's impressed whistle as he entered the abandoned warehouse.

"Damn," my friend said. "That spider did you a world of good, huh?"

I gave it one last haymaker, which finally cut it in half, and started  tearing the webs I'd wrapped around my fists as I walked over. "Oh, you  don't even know, man. Butchie and I have been testing out my new powers.  Wanna guess what the biggest weight I've lifted is?"

"What?" Billy indulged me.

"Two. Point. Five. Tons." I said, giddy like a schoolboy, "I shit you not, I think I can lift even more, but Butcher won't let me."

"Because you almost crushed yourself under that engine,  shit-for-brains!" Butcher shouted from where he sat on an empty crate,  reading a paper.

I waved him off as I kept telling Billy all my new cool shit. "Not just  that, I'm more agile, more balanced, and my reflexes are amazing. Not to  mention the wall-crawling, or my Spidey Sense."

"Your spidey sense," Billy raised an eyebrow, and when I nodded  with total seriousness, he rolled his eyes and indulged me again.  "Alright, I'll bite, what's your-"

I barely had a millisecond to feel the big [DANGER] sign my brain gave me before I leaned slightly back, letting a bullet from Butcher's gun fly where my head just was.

"Whoa!" Billy already had his gun out and pointed at Butcher. "What the fuck, Butcher?!"

"Calm down, I asked him to do it," I said. "Spidey Sense is like this  extra feeling, kinda like a buzzing at the back of my mind that tells me  when I'm in danger. Butcher's been helping me practice my reflexes."

"Honestly, at this point I'm just shooting him 'cause it's therapeutic,"  Butchie chimed in, shooting me again when I flipped him off. "Like I'm  finally being rewarded after years of putting up with his bullshit."

"And that's just the basic shit," I continued, while Billy warily put  his gun away. "Turns out, according to the instructions that came with  the purchase, I was an 'especially compatible match' with the spider  juice, whatever that means."

"What, you got more tricks?"

"Three more. Check it," I pointed at a glass bottle set up on top of a  crate, a little above where Butcher was sitting. "See that bottle?"

"Yeah?"

I threw out a web, expelled for a little fold of skin on my wrist, and a  greying web shot out and ensnared it. I pulled at the web, bringing the  bottle flying, and caught it mid-air before it could hit Billy's face.  "I got webs, bitch! Spidey Sense helps me shoot without having to aim as  much, so I can probably snatch guns from other people like that."

"... Cool. That's not gross at all," Billy said, poking at it. "Is that what you had wrapped around your fists?"

... this motherfucker was trying to be all cool about my powers! Oh, he was gonna admit they were cool if it killed him.

"Yeah, it's super tough," I said. "I tested, it can even hold my weight. That's the least, though."

"What's next, acid vomit?" he asked. Then, more seriously, "It's not acid vomit, right?"

"Not as far as I know. Nah, I've been practicing this one, look."

I put my arms DBZ style, fists forward and elbows at my sides, then I  closed my eyes, hung my head and focused. Focused, focused, focused...

"You look like you're gonna shit yourself," Billy said.

I opened my eyes to glare at him, "Man, shut the fuck up for five minutes, a'ight? I'm focusing."

He raised his hands defensively, "Sorry, sorry."

"Interrupting-ass motherfucker..." I grumbled, closing my eyes again and hanging my head.

I knew it took effect when Billy went, "Whoa! Sam, holy shit, where'd you go?"

My sight was odd while camouflaged, colours blurred and shifted,  becoming brighter or duller. Still, it wasn't enough to get lost, and it  let me walk soundlessly around Billy. My invisibility turned off as I  flicked his ear from behind.

"Gah! Jesus, fuck, don't do that!" Billy shouted at me, before a grin  grew on his face. "That's tight, though. It's not teleporting, is it?"

"Invisibility," I said. "And no, I can't turn you, and if I couldn't I wouldn't use it to help you do anything creepy."

"I didn't even say anything!"

"But you were thinking it?"

"Heh, yeah." I rolled my eyes while Billy moved on, "So, what's the other trick?"

Oh, still playing it cool? That's fine, I knew he liked the flashier powers, and I had something pretty damn flashy.

I smirked, went over to the I-Beam I'd punched in half, put a hand  against it and pictured what I wanted to happen. Soon as I did, blue  lines lit up under my skin like wires and the beam went flying back,  launched by pure lightning.

I turned back to Billy with a smirk, and founding him staring at the charred spot on the I-Beam with a slack jaw.

"I call it my Venom Sting," I told him. "Think I'm gonna keep it as an ace up my sleeve."

Billy turned to stare at me, and his open mouth turned into a grin as  laughs bubbled up, and he started laughing and ran up to me. "Holy shit.  Sam, holy shit!"

"I know!" I said.

"You've got fucking powers!" he said.

"I've fucking got fucking powers!" I laughed.

"Yo, please tell me that spider's still around," Billy said. "Forget  what I said about powers not being worth it, I want them fucking  lightning fingers."

"Tough luck, white boy," Butchie said. "Whatever it had was too much for its tiny-ass body. By the time we got to Gotham it had melted."

"Was probably meant to be sold to some shitwits with more money than  sense, get them to upgrade some guys and then leave them with only a few  empowered soldiers to make a mess," I said, giving him an apologetic  shrug. "Sorry."

"Aw, man," Billy pouted. "I never get the cool shit."

"Yeah, just the biggest organization of henchmen united under your  name," I said. Still I patted his shoulder and tried not to seem too euphoric.

I probably failed, but in my defense it was incredible.

One thing is to live your life in a fantastical world. Another is to be fantastical. It was like all the little miseries of having a body had  vanished. The dull aches from sleeping in a weird position, the blur  from eyes I hadn't even noticed were going bad, little pains I'd gotten  so used to I stopped noticing them, all gone since I woke up. Every  morning I woke up feeling at 1,000%. I felt like the colours were more  vibrant, like the power of my Venom Sting was dancing under my skin just  waiting for the moment it needed to be used.

And my Spidey Sense? Man, it was like I'd had blinders on my whole life!  I could feel the air being pushed around as people moved, I could sense  the tiniest tremors of the earth whenever a person took a step, and  noises were so clear and loud but not overpoweringly so. I felt like I  was pure power wrapped in a human package. I felt like I could go  toe-to-toe with a typhoon and beat the typhoon's ass. I'd gotten high a  reasonable amount of times, and saying I felt high would be an insult to  what it felt like to finally, finally be special.

To be a marvel in this awesome world.

And that was dangerous. I mean, I was going to be thievin' in motherfuckin' Gotham.  If I got too cocky I was gonna find myself with a Bat-styled bootprint  on my ass while making toilet wine for Butcher in Blackgate. Whatever  the fuck toilet wine is.

I had to stay humble.

Or, since I wasn't exactly a humble motherfucker before I gained the  ability to punch holes into steel, I asked Butcher to call me out on my  shit if I started to get too big for my web-print underpants.

"Okay, whatever, my best friend is a meta, okay," Billy took a deep  breath, let it out, and looked at me. "So, today's your last day  henching. You ready?"

I smiled at him. "Born ready, motherfucker."

{[X]}​

"Drink up, boys!" I shouted. "First round's on me!"

Cheers filled Butcher's Shop, as everyone from the Goonion that Billy  could convince to join us showed up to my goodbye party. Live music from  a local group that did R&B and some funk, drinks poured often and  plentifully, loud conversations, complaints, cheers, a small fistfight  or three. It was the typical enviroment of a bar full of clocked-out  henchmen, and it was all step two of my master plan.

There were a few people from outside the Goonion there, drinking and  eventually joining in the celebration. Some guys were holding some kind  of trivia night, and whenever a question that had anything to do with  villains or heroes popped up, the guys would shout answers. I joined in,  of course, but mainly I did it because I could hear one guy complain  every time the others answered before he could. I couldn't see him, but  if he was gonna act a bitch at my retirement party he could get treated  like one.

The music was loud as Butcher was going from one end of the bar to the  other filling glasses, telling stories of his days when he was a full  player in the game and threatening bodily harm on anyone that didn't use  a coaster. I could barely keep a conversation with Billy as he sat  right next to me. He had whiskey, I had beer. Metabolism meant that  unless I took something strong quick I processed it too fast for any  effect, but I acted buzzed so it wouldn't be suspicious.

Didn't take much effort. Feeling that much joy in the room was its own  kind of intoxication. All the people stopping by to clap me on the back  and tell me it wasn't gonna be the same without me and hearing some of  the folks that worked with me for longer telling stories about shit I'd  done over the years, it had a real sense of community. Of being joined  with the folks around me through virtue of all of us having had the same  shitty job.

Parker, an old timer that had been in the game for decades when I  started, was telling one of the younger recruits that I didn't know that  well (some upper-class teen dipshit that fell from the same tree as  Mike) a story of the time some of Joker's gang went up against us when  we were doing some shit for Penguin.

"Nah, nah, you're not hearing me," Parker said. "This fool right here is  ice. Fucking. Cold. This clown I'm telling you about was big, he  must have had no fucking nuts and a baby dick, 'cause he was  compensating with muscles the size of Sam's torso and a shotgun the size  of my dick."

"So not a very big gun," the teen replies, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up and listen," Parker said. "The clown comes up to us while we're  unloading pallets, swinging the shotgun around, and starts talking  about how we can all either give up easily or get killed. So we've all  stopped, and we're looking at each other 'cause we didn't know what the  fuck to do. Except for Sammy there."

They look at me, and I tilt my beer bottle at them. The teen looks skeptical, but listens as Parker continues the story.

"Sammy just kept carrying pallets, stacking them against the wall, and  he's the only one still doing that shit, so the clown notices. He yells  at Sammy, our boy there keeps working, and now the clown is starting to  look stupid. Well, more stupid. So he comes up to Sam as he's grabbing a  new pallet, and yanks on his arm, and Sam tells him... yo, Sam, what'd  you say, man?"

I smiled. It was one of my greatest hits, I remembered perfectly. "I  told him that I wasn't going to doing stop my job just because some  slackjawed, limp fuckwit in garish makeup with no dick, no brain and no  taste in bosses came in swinging a neon sign of his failures in the  bedroom, and I told him that if he ever touched me again I was going to  make him swallow his teeth."

"You said all that?" the teen asked. "I don't buy it."

"What, you can't believe I said something funny?" I asked.

"Man, I was hauling shit with you for three months and I didn't even know your name until today, you're so fucking quiet."

I nodded. That was fair.

"Nah, Sam comes through in bursts," Parker said. "You gotta get to know him."

"Right," the teen said. "So what happened next."

"Well, the clown goes to kill him, obviously," Parker continued. "And I  know my boy here don't carry a gun unless he gotta, 'cause he almost  went to jail for that shit before. So I'm sitting there, and I swear I'm  seeing the clown move in slow motion. I'm sitting there, and I think to  myself 'fuck Sam's about to get capped'. The barrel is almost to  Sammy's head, and this crazy shit just grabs it, aims it away from his  body, and pushes back so the butt of it slams into his fucking nose!"

"No way," the teen says.

"I swear on my life," Parker said. "It was like something out of a  fucking Bruce Lee movie. Billy told me later that Sam practices martial  arts and shit, and it made a lot more sense."

"I grabbed a tube and pushed back," I said. "I'm not exactly Jackie Chan here, Parker."

"Yeah? But no one else did it."

I shrugged. "People look at guns and they get afraid because in their  head guns are lethal. You just gotta realize that a gun is as deadly as  the guy holding it, and the clown didn't look too smart. I figured he  wasn't gonna react on time to shoot me if I suddenly moved it, and I was  right."

"Yeah, calm down, Crouching Tiger." He waved me off, choosing to keep  talking to the teen. "Seriously though, Sam don't flinch. That's why I  told you that if you ever needed something from the boss, you talk to  him first. Boy's got pure ice on his veins."

The teen gave me another skeptical look, then back at Parker, "So how much is he paying you to suck his dick?"

"Not enough," I said, "He's really working the shaft."

"Man, fuck y'all."

We laughed, and as the band wound down from their last song I decided it  was time to enact step two. I nodded at Billy, and he nodded back  before standing on his stool. He wobbled a bit, regained his balance,  and stood on the bar (to Butcher's loud disapproval) with his hands  raised. "Everyone! Everyone, shut the fuck up, please!"

The noise wound down, and Billy lowered his arms. "Right, well, first of  all, I'd like to thank everyone in this dicksuck convention-" "Fuck  you!" "-for coming to say goodbye to my boy here."

He pointed at me, and I felt how everyone gave me a look before turning  back to Billy as he kept talking, "Now, Sam's given ten years of his  life to the game. Started young, and he did his job. Did it better than  most, even. We all know that if there was a job that needed doing, you  sent Sam to do it.

"Never threw a fight, never snitched, never went to jail, and he never  took a cut for himself." He smiled down at me, "A real, motherfuckin'  pro, that's what we have here."

Someone in the background shouted, "Get a room!"

I flipped the bird over my shoulder while Billy pointed at whoever  screamed that and said, "I'm gonna remember your face, fucker!"

Billy took a deep breath, "Now, where was I? Oh, yeah. And while we're  all sad to see him go-" "I'm not!" "-I want everyone to rest assured  he's moving on to bigger and better things-" "Yeah, sucking dick for  change in the streets of Gotham!" "-and we all wish him the best." "I  don't! That greedy motherfucker owes me money!"

Oh shit, was that Jimmy? Fuck, I did owe him twenty, didn't I?

... ah, fuck 'im.​

I passed Billy his glass of whiskey and he raised it up. "To Sam! And may he have luck in his career!"

I stood up then, and climbed onto the bar next to Billy to wrap an arm  around his shoulders and raised my beer bottle, "And to Two Face, who  paid for that first round and was a better boss than most!"

"Get off my fucking bar!" Butcher yelled at us, but it was drowned out  by the cheers and people saluting the man that granted them their sweet,  sweet booze. And they'd remember how fondly I spoke of my old boss, and  if I knew my henchman psychology, that meant they'd dismiss the  possibility of me being the one that robbed him out of hand.

It wasn't going to cover my identity forever, but it was one more layer  of protection, and every layer was another second as a free man.

Billy and I climbed down, and we barely had time to sit before someone rushed up to me. "You! You fucker, I know you!"

He was a tall, well-built guy. He had a few inches on me and long blonde  hair that he tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing cargo pants,  Jordans and an oversized white shirt.

I recognized him immediately, and in what I still consider my greatest  show of self-control, plastered on a smile that didn't reach my eyes as I  greeted him. "Ah, Mr. Brown! I didn't know you were-"

"Are you trying to fuck my wife?!" He spat.

(I saw Billy's eyebrows rise as he looked between us, a small smile already on his face.)

"... beg pardon?" I asked.

"Do you think I'm stupid? I've seen that shit you keep giving her, handing her tupperwares and ice cream and shit. And I know it was you that let her in last night!" That last part was said almost  victoriously, like it was some great mystery he figured out, before he  went on to breach my personal space and put a finger on my chest. "I  swear to God, if you're trying any shit with Crystal I will cut your  fucking dick off!"

Since he was so close, he didn't know the way I moved my hand to stop  the guys behind him from reaching for the many sticks and pipes hidden  under the furniture all around Butcher's House. I took a miniscule step  back, so that my back was against the bar, and asked him, "Do you know  my name?"

The non-sequitor seemed to confuse him. "W-What?"

"My name," I repeated. "He said it earlier. Did you hear?"

When I said 'he' I tilted my head at Billy, making Brown look at Billy.  My friend gave him a little wave and a 'hi', and his smile grew more  amused as Arthur turned back at me with a furious expression. "I don't  give a shit what your name is!"

"Well, if you don't know it, I should fix that." I put a hand forward  for a handshake. "Hi. My name is Samuel Andrés Reyes, but my friends  call me Sam, or Sammy. And I am terribly sorry about the confusion, sir, but I think you have the wrong idea about me."

"Are you saying I'm stupid?" Arthur said, getting nose-to-nose with me  again. I never understood why people thought that made them scary, it  just made me notice how greasy his nose was.

"Not at all, I'm just saying you're working off faulty information," I  said. "While your wife is a wonderful woman, I'm afraid that even if I  ignored the age difference she simply isn't my type. She's married, for  one, and I've got too much respect for you and for the sanctity of holy  matrimony to come between you two."

Still can't believe I said that shit with a straight face. I saw Butcher  out the corner of my eye, shoulders shakin' while he covered his mouth  and looked away.

I mean, I ain't never fuck around with no married people, but I ain't exactly the respectful or religious type.

Arthur looked at me, and seemed to believe I was intimidated as he backed off a little. "Is that so?"

"It is so." I said. Then I made a thoughtful expression, crossed  my arms, and said, "Your daughter, on the other hand, I'd be happy to  let ride me like a rollercoaster. Make her call me daddy, if you know what I'm sayin'."

There were some strangled laughs in the background and some shushing in  the background, but I just focused on Arthur as his eyes widened.

Eventually, he gave me a little smile that I responded to with my own. He said, "You're a funny guy, aren't you?"

Before I could answer, he faked a punch that stopped milimeters away  from my face. It was probably meant to intimidate, which is why he  seemed so surprised when I kept staring at him. Unblinking, smiling,  making full eye contact.

"... and with nerves of steel, too," he said, trying to salvage the  failed scare tactic. He made to lift the bottom of his shirt as he kept  talking, "But being too stupid to be scared isn't going to-"

"Okay," I interrupted. "Before you show off that Desert Eagle .50 that  you seem to think is hidden under that stupid wigger t-shirt, I really  think you should pay attention to your surroundings."

Arthur stopped, blinked guilelessly at everything I said and, in what seemed an automatic act, looked around.

I kept talking as he moved his head to and from.

"As you may have now noticed, the band ain't playin'. People ain't  talkin'. And everyone's watching us." He turned back to me, and noticed I  wasn't smiling any more. "That's because they've been here before. And they know my name."

To his credit, he immediately made for his gun, but I was quicker. In  the space between his left hand raising his shirt and his right making  for the weapon, my own right hand got there first and in one movement  pulled the Desert Eagle out and put it inside his mouth.

He stood there paralyzed, shirt raised and one hand frozen halfway to  his pants while I held the gun there. After a moment, I started walking  forward, making him choke a little and forcing him to walk backwards,  eyes wide and starting to fill from tears born of gag reflex and fear.  People parted on our way and kept surrounding us as I walked Arthur up  to a wall, then forced him to kneel by pushing on his throat with the  barrel.

I kept my finger out of the trigger the whole time, but once he was in  position I very slowly turned the gun sideways and made sure he saw how I  put the finger on the trigger.

No one made a noise. No one said a word. The only exception was Arthur,  as he choked on his own gun, the barrel of it probably still warm with  his own body heat. He choked and made tiny sobs as he stared up at me.

And the whole time, I just considered him.

I'd offered Crystal a way out once, though I never clarified what it'd  consist of, and she told me she could handle it on her own. I knew she'd  be mad at me if I killed Arthur, probably even scared of me. And I  liked Crystal, she was a good neighbor. Friendly, polite, looked after  my shit on Church Sundays...

On the other hand: fuck this guy.

And really, the way things fell, I'd be almost wasting a chance here!  Bar full of tough motherfuckers that would back me against the police, if any cops even decided to investigate a murder in a Crime Alley bar? And given that he stepped to me and tried to pull a gun on my ass first, I would argue that it was suicide.

There's a lotta ways to commit suicide in Gotham, and starting shit in a  room full of off-clock henchmen was the one that guaranteed that your  corpse would be left in an amusing position for the cops to find.

My eyes narrowed as the idea appeared more appealing the more I considered it. Five pounds of pressure. I can do a lot more than five pounds now, and with just five pounds I'll never have to see another fucking bruise on her face.

... but that would be because I'd never see her again. And I'd be exactly what Stephanie thought I was.

"Hrm," I said, and pretended not to notice the wet stain on the front of Arthur's pants. "Fine."

There was a small click and he closed his eyes and whimpered,  then opened them again when he realized I'd just removed the magazine  when it thumped against the floor. I pulled the gun out of his mouth,  popped out the round in the chamber and grabbed it mid-air.

I let the gun fall next to the magazine, and started rolling the bullet  on my thumb as I stared at Arthur's kneeling figure, wondering if it was  worth it to spare his life.

Finally, I flicked it at him and spoke, "Pick up your shit and leave."

He hurriedly did so, grabbing everything and dropping them a few times.  He was halfway through the door when I spoke again, "Arthur?"

He turned around.

"Be good."

He managed to glare mutinously before running out, but he still ran and was thus marked a bitch.

As he gained distance, conversation slowly resumed as if nothing  happened, and I walked back to the bar. A few people clapped me on the  back on the way there, and I saw Parker smiling smugly at the teenager  on the other side of the bar as the boy gaped at me.

"You really fucking around with his wife?" Butcher asked me as soon as I sat down.

"Are you serious?" I asked him. He just raised his eyebrows, expecting an answer. I sighed, "No,  Butcher. I am not, as it happens, fucking that man's wife or even  interested in doing so. It just happens that he's a shithead and I help  her out now and then."

Butcher nodded, and then gave me an unexpected and proud smile as he mussed up my hair, "Attaboy. Proud of you."

He walked off, and we both pretended that my cheeks weren't red or that I didn't have a pleased smile on.

Billy didn't extend the same courtesy, giving me a goofy fucking smile  as he leaned his elbow on the bar and his face on his hand.

"Fuck you looking at?" I asked him.

"Just glad to see recent events haven't changed you," he said.

I rolled my eyes.
​

{[X]}​

"Good fuckin' morning!" I declared as I entered Butcher's House at  eleven in the morning the next day. Sunlight gently streamed through the  few windows, and Butcher was wiping down the bar. He gave me a  particularly resentful look as he finished wiping out two footprints,  but nodded in greeting anyways. "Need any help cleaning up?"

"After the job, if you're up for it," he said. But then he looked up and  gave me a little smirk. "Go check in my office and knock when you're  done, tho. Got you a present."

Realizing immediately what he meant, I strained not to break the floor  with my full strength as I rushed into his office and immediately tore  at the cardboard box sitting on his desk.

I can still remember clearly the moment I reached in, raised my hands  and stared at the black leather jacket with a red spider on it.

Just like I'd specified, my costume was based on the Last Stand costume,  done in Miles' colours and with some small alterations. The jacket was  almost the exact same but with the black and red swapped around and a  hood added, since hoods always look good in supersuits. Under the  jacket, though, I had a kevlar vest wrapped around my chest, a revolver  strapped to my left side and a machete on my right side, both hidden by  the jacket, which I wore open.

(To help with branding, the spider was painted on the kevlar vest and on the back.)

The mask was what got the most changes. I'd asked for it to have two  halves, possibly inspired by a certain gothicc battle goddess I'd  recently met (who had actually tried winking back at me when she passed  through my apartment to get the list of names (in her Batgirl outfit),  even if I suspect it was mostly just to try it).

The top half, which covered my whole head except the area around my nose  and mouth, was just plain black fabric, with white eyes with red fabric  around them.

The lower half was actually a gas mask that, while of dubious quality,  was another thing between me and any number of gas-based bullshit that  the people of this city loved to sling. Also, the end of the two filters  had spiderwebs painted on them, so that was tight.

I knocked on the door, and when Butcher came in I tilted my head sideways to ask what he thought.

"... fuck me, that's unnerving," Butchie said. Then he smiled. "Ready to knock some heads?"

My voice was a bit altered by the gas mask, but my message was simple and clear.

"Fuck. Yes."

Obviously, I had to take off most of my supersuit to leave the building,  which kinda undercut the moment, but it was its own kinda awesome to  ride the back of Butcher's car with my mask on my hands, coat folded  over my lap with my weapons between my feet and the kevlar hidden by a  closed hoodie.

Wouldn't do to get pulled over by some fool police and fuck up the whole plan with that.

The morning was still fresh, and as expected of a city made up mostly of  night owls, there was practically nobody out on them streets. There was  a crowd, the city was still the 'never sleeps' type, but there was  still a sort of calm and quiet tiredness that pulled down at everything.  The sun was shining, for once, and Butchie's music filled the backseat as much as the smoke from my cigarette and the warm golden light did.

The car stopped at a red light, and I leaned my head back to close my eyes.

A car stopped next to us, and I tilted my head a bit to see two little  white kids staring at me, hands cupped around their eyes to better see  through the glass. Blonde, blue eyed, and quite literally snot nosed.

I chuckled a little and waved. They waved back.

The light turned green, Butcher drove forward, the kids' car took a turn, and they went away.

I looked up again and closed my eyes. If I focused on my Spidey Sense, I  could feel the vibrations from every pebble the car drove over and it's  frame slightly shaking as it cut through the air. I could feel  Butcher's heartbeat, and his fingers tapping on the wheel to the tune  coming from the audio system. The speakers strained slighly every time a  certain note was hit, the paper of my cigarette charred almost quietly  while the smoke rose and formed pictures.

I crossed my eyes to look at my smoke, then uncrossed to see past it at  the back of Butchie's head as I felt him open his mouth a few times,  deciding on what to say.

He eventually decided on, "How you feelin', boy?"

"... nervous."

"Happens. Don't think you've ever flown solo."

"If this works perfectly, it won't happen again."

"Tall order."

"True."

"... wasn't much younger than you first time I did a job on my own. Just  remember to look over your shoulder and you'll be fine."

"I've got a whole ass sixth sense for that, but okay. I'll keep it in mind."

"Don't be a smartass."

"Sorry."

"..."

"..."

"... I have your back. You know, right? No matter what."

"I know, man. I love you too."

"Don't make this weird."

I chuckled, and the rest of the ride was silent.

Eventually, he stopped a block away from the place. I geared up, bumped  Butcher's fist goodbye, and walked out with an empty duffle bag slung  over my shoulder.

I turned on my camouflage as I went into an alley, and I became  invisible while I cut through alleys and stepped between buildings. Soon  enough, I was coming up behind Two Face's place.

It was a three story building, plus basement and attic. Completely torn  to shit, with rot and mildew visible from the outside and most if not  all windows boarded up. Four rooms per floor, and all of them had at  least one stash of something inside, be they drugs, guns, money,  blackmail or whatever. I'd helped hide some of them, and I knew each  stash was guarded by two guys each.

Twenty-four guards total, in theory, plus the varying amount of guards  at the door and maybe whatever extra help might have been brought on in  the hours since I left, so twenty-five at least and possibly more.

And thanks to my actions, each and every one of them should be  completely hungover. The closest thing there to a clear head was Dent.

Which left me alone with the real difficult choice: How was I gonna be playing this?

On the one hand, going full Batman and just taking advantage of my  stealth to silently take them down room by room would be easier. Less  messy. On the other, I was here tryin' to build a reputation. And if I  did it my way I'd just get waved off as a new bat or something.

Reputation was muscle behind my name. And my name was what would keep my people safe.

... okay. Might as well walk in through the front door, then.

I walked around until I was across the street from the building, noting  the two guards standing on both sides. Joey, if memory served. And from  the looks of it, he was paying for that cup tipping contest he'd started  last night.

I took a deep breath, got ready, and turned off my camouflage while I crossed the street, whistling a cheery little tune. It wasn't until I was about to step on the sidewalk that Joey noticed me.

He was standing on the left of the door and he had a glock, which it didn't take long for him to aim it at me.

"Man, I don't know who the fuck you are but I'm not in the mood for-"  that's as far as he got before I webbed the gun out of his hand, walked  over, and grabbed him by the throat, slamming him back against a wall.

"That's funny," I said. "I had a pretty fucking bad  night too. So how about you improve on my mood by telling me exactly how  many people are combat-ready in there, and maybe I don't snap you like a fucking twig?"

He looked at me, and his bluster quickly went away real quick when he realized I probably could carry out that threat.

"T-ten guys, that's all we can fit," and he still lied to my face! The balls on this guy! Goonion guys are tough, lemme tell you. "Two Face's in the top floor."

"Weapons?"

"Pistols. Knives. Pipes and sticks, I guess? Two Face's got that big old machine gun he likes."

"I'm familiar," I said, remembering getting gun lubricant  for his old school Chicago Typewriter. I dropped Joey and webbed both  his hands and legs to the floor as soon as his ass hit the floor. "Those'll dissolve in an hour. Sit tight 'till then."

"Like I've got a choice, jackass." he muttered as I took a few steps back from the door.

I took my revenge when I kicked the door open and screamed out, "Hello! I'm a big bad villain and I'm here to take your shit!"

Immediately ahead of me, wincing at my volume and nursing what looked  like a glass of two raw eggs and a shot of tabasco, was a thickset guy  with bushy heard. He looked absolutely done with my shit even as he put  down the glass and made to pull a gun.

He didn't get there in time, I stuck a web to his chest and knocked him  down with one punch, then stuck him two the floor with two web shots.

"Okay, that's two," I muttered, then shot a web at a guy  trying to come up behind me and swung him into a wall, before webbing  him to the floor too. "Make that three."

I looked up, and saw that there were a lot of guys peeking down the stairs, staring at me.

"Ah hell," I said, dropping my empty duffle bag and backing off to avoid being shot at. "This is gonna be a bitch to get through, ain't it?"

I didn't have time to appreciate how right I was before I had to jump  back to avoid a shot, then rushed towards the right hallway where two  were already out and a third was coming through. I stuck a web on one  guy to pull him to me as I moved, grabbed him by the shirt, slammed him  into the other guy and then threw 'em both at the third before webbing  'em together. "That's six."

Turning around, two guys holding pipes came at me and actually showed  the barest understanding of tactical fighting when one went around me  and the other rushed from the front. I ducked under front guy's swing,  elbowed the guy behind me in the stomach and then threw a punch at the  dick of the guy in front. I reached back to throw the guy behind over my  shoulder, punched the guy in front in the face, webbed him to the wall,  stomped down on the face of the guy I tossed and then webbed him by the  shoulders to the floor. "That's eight."

I walked out of the hallway and headed to the other one, not even  stopping my walk to throw a girl with a knife through the half-rotten  stairs when she tried to rush me. "Nine."

Another guy went at me with a pipe. I kicked him in the dick, webbed his  legs together and kneed him in the face, leaving him slimped back with a  bloody nose. "Ten."

I ducked to dodge a bullet from one guy taking cover on a doorway. I  waited until he was about to fire again web the gun away, then spun it  and theow it at his face. Then I stuck it there with a webline, drag him  out of cover and punched him back inside the room. "Eleven."

Three people screamed together, and I had to jump to go over the three  trying to tackle me from behind. I stuck webliness to the back of the  ones on the left and right with one hand each, dragged them back and  stuck them to the floor with webs. The one in the middle turned around  just in time for me to punch him into the floor I'd throw then other guy  in. "Fourteen."

After a second making sure no one else was on this level, I went up the stairs. "Second floor."

And immediately had to throw a guy that tried to rush me with a pipe  down the stairs, webbing his face to the ass of the girl that tried to  stab me. "Fifteen."

Walking up, I saw there was a guy just coming out of his room, aiming a  shotgun at me. In a rush, I tore the door of the room between his and  the stairs open the wrong way, blocking the buckshot. The door, already  partly fucked up by me, broke under fire and some got through, leaving  me with some small cuts on the side of my head. While I'm still  flinching, this big fucking guy came out the room I tore the door out  of.

Walter, the big guy, was roughly about twice my size and his pecs were  the size of my head. Before I could move he grabbed me by the arms and  started squeezing down on me.

I'd known Walter for years. I knew that he could tear open a watermelon  with his hands and had, in fact, once killed a man by giving him a very  enthusiastic 'hug'. He also liked pottery and had a small modelling  career going on because people are more than what they are at work, but  the point is that he was a very, very strong man.

But I was stronger than I looked now, and I smiled under my mask at the  look of shock he got when I started forcing his hands apart enough that I  could drop to the floor tap him with a venom sting (in the stomach  because Walt was always nice to me and I didn't want to fuck with his  modelling), sending him smashing into the guy with the shotgun.

I took a second to lean on a wall, a little dazed from almost getting a  shotgun facelift, but shook my head like a dog and moved on. "S-Seventeen."

I heard a stampede of mooks, so I, being thoroughly done with  everybody's shit, finished tearing off the door from its hinges and  tossed it at the three mooks carrying tommyguns that came down the  stairs, sending them rolling down back to the first floor. "Twenty."

"Don't worry man, I've got this!" the teen from last night said as he ran out of a room holding a fucking grenade what the hell?! The crazy shit just pulled the pin (to the loud disapproval of the  person in the room with him) and tossed it at me in a limpwrist move  that would have left it halfway.

Before it could even fall, I grabbed it off the air with a web and threw  it through a boarded-up window as hard as I could. The explosion shook  the building a little, and I turned to look at the teen.

"Just kick his ass!" someone shouted from inside the room he'd left.

I obliged, bringing him closer with a web and punching him into the floor. "Twenty-one, you stupid fuck."

Parker came out swinging a bat, but my legs were longer than his arms so  I just kicked him in the stomach, dodged his vomit, took the bat from  him, and swung it. And then swung again to be sure, because Parker was a  tough costumer. "Twenty-two."

"That seemed excessive," someone said from behind me, and I turned  around to find an Elite Mook. Black guy, thin with a pencil moustache  and wearing a purple suit and black gloves.

For those not in the know, Elite Mooks are henchmen that have chosen to  specialize in one thing, like gunslinging or knife fighting. They tend  to last longer in fights against capes, and if you asked me, I'd tell  you that they're a bunch of stuck-up assholes.

Oh, they think they're so much better than the average henchman.  Most didn't even want to help form the Goonion because Billy wouldn't  promise to always give them prefferential treatment, and the ones that  did were just the ones sure they'd get it eventually because 'it was  their due'.

I readied my bat with excitement. Elite Mooks always made the funniest  faces when they got their shit rocked, I never got tired of it.

He scoffed at my weapon, reached behind his back and pulled out two  golden knives. I looked at them, nodded, and dropped my bat before  reaching my left hand inside my jacket, making a show of slowly pulling  out my long machete.

As soon as I was sure his eyes were firmly on it, I quickly threw the  machete to the side. His eyes automatically followed it, and thus missed  the way my other hand reached under the other side of my jacket and  pulled out my revolver, though he didn't miss the way I shot him twice  in the leg.

While he screamed, I reholstered my gun and knife, picked up the bat, and walked over to hit him across the jaw. "Twenty-three."

Seeing the level was now empty, I went up the stairs. "Third floor."

... and immediately had to throw someone down the stairs. Again. I sighed, "Twenty-fuckin'-four. What is it with you guys and trying to knife me in the stairs?"

Once upstairs, a new guy came at me with a fireaxe, bringing an exiting  sense of novelty as I ducked under a horizontal swing and turned my body  to hit the back of his knees with the bat. Once he fell on his knees, I  stood up to smack the front of his face with the bat, then webbed him  to the floor. "Twenty-five."

I turned around, saw a guy running down the stairs away from me. New  guy, clearly hadn't learned the value of loyalty yet. On principle, I  tossed the bat at the back of his head and let him roll down the stairs.  "Twenty-six."

The low buzzing of my Spidey Sense started on the back of my head, and I heard the whirring a machine starting.

On a hunch, I jumped and clung to the ceiling just before a hail of  bullets at about waist-height started ripping through the entire floor.

Hope the guys stayed down, I thought. And I guess that'd be Dent. Probably shouldn't have assumed Joey meant his tommygun.

Focusing hard for a moment, my camouflage turned on, and I saw Dent  walked out. Or rather, if the foam spilling from the wounded half of his  mouth and the way only the black sleeve of his shirt was rolled back,  Two Face walked out.

"I don't know who the fuck you think you are, but you're punching  way above your weight class!" he roared. "I'm gonna peel your fucking  dick like a banana for what you did to my men!"

Aw, Two Face cares too, I thought, as I slowly pushed out two webs attatched to the roof and silently came down behind him. That's nice.

And then I kicked him really hard in the back of his head and knocked him out.

... what? Like it's hard to take down Two Face? The trouble with him is  unpredictability, brutality and a sharp mind that no amount of insanity  managed to dull. Coming to his place and rocking his shit was as close  to an ideal countermeasure to him as you could get.

The other option is to take all his coins while he sleeps and leave him in his room, unable to choose between shirts.

In any case, once he was tied up in webs I went back down to the bottom  floor--walking on a wall to avoid the mass of slumped, bruised bodies  that had accumulated at the foot of the stairs over the course of the  fight--to grab my dufflebag. I started going room by room, finding the  stashes and taking at least half from each one.

I found stacks of cash, boxes of jewelry, bags of all kinds of product,  hard booze, compromising photos of public servants dealing, crates of  guns, crates of ammo, porno mags (because I guess when you go old school  mob you go all the way) and a lot of bags full of identical silver coins, all of them with two faces and one side crossed. And I really do mean a lot. A fuck ton of them.

It ocurred to me that either Two Face did them all like that by his  self, or I got very lucky dodging the 'scratch a shit-ton of coins' job  while I was with him.

I only took part of everything. Mostly I took cash, but the top of my  bag had three pistols, some vials, a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch,  some shady pics of folks in suits and uniforms, a few boxes of ammo for  said three pistols and a porno mag charmingly titled 'Big Booty Bitches of Boston', but I swear that last one was for the articles.

Also I got a copy of 'Jugs'. That one was just for jerking off.

What I didn't take, I carried out to the building lobby and put in a big  pile. Then, once it was done and I put on my hood for dramatic effect, I  dragged Two Face so that he could be right in front of it and woke him  up. And immediately webbed his mouth shut because he started to scream  at me.

"Yeah, look, this really ain't 'bout you, man," I told him. "But  I'm looking to send a message, and I need you to listen. You see that  pile of all your valuables behind me? The one I broke bottles of booze  all over?"

He looked, and his eyes widened with horror when I pulled out a zippo  lighter. He started shaking and trying to scream at me through the  webbing, but I'd stuck him to a wall.

"Now, you might be asking yourself what my message is," I  said, casually opening and closing the lighter as I walked to the pile.  Once I was a few feet from it, I left it open and spun the wheel,  lighting it up. "It's very simple, but there's a chance you might  get it wrong. So you pay attention, and I don't stick your head on the  pile and turn you into One Face. Sound good?"

He tried to scream louder.

"Good. Glad we understand each other." I threw the lighter  over my shoulder and let him see it light up behind me. He started  shaking against the restraints so hard I thought he'd dislocate  something, but I ignored it to keep talking. "You ain't gonna be  the only one I hit, so here's the word, old man. You run up to them  other capes you fuck with, and you tell them Spider's coming. And tell  them I burnt yo' shit too, because this ain't about me having yo shit.  It's about you losing it."

I looked at him, the fire warming my back. "The future is now. Tell 'em that, old man."

{[X]}​

Camouflage wouldn't turn on if I carried too much shit on me, which  would have been nice to figure out later, but I signaled Butchie to pick  me up somewhere else when I was on my way out and no one stopped us as I  left the dufflebag, mask and weapons on the back seat and sat out front  with him.

"What happened to your face?" he asked.

"Blocked buckshot with door," I said, looking in the sun visor's mirror  to check the damage and dab at it with some napikins he kept in the  glove compartment. "Door was thinner than I expected, and I kinda fucked  it up before usin' it."

"Damn," he said. "Other than that?"

I looked at him, and a grin pulled at my face. I nodded at the bag, "Check it."

He leaned back to open it, and gasped. "Holy shit!"

"I know, it's a lot of-"

"Big Booty Bitches of Boston!" He cried joyfully, coming back to his  seat with the magazine and ignoring the literal thousands of dollars  riding in the back seat. "Man, where the fuck did Dent find this? They  stopped printing this shit years ago!"

I stared at the man that taught me everything I know about the game as  he joyfully went through the pages, forgetting for a moment the blood  all over my face.

"Butcher," I said, "You are one simple motherfucker."

He ignored me in favour of the centerfold, but eventually remembered he was my getaway driver and put away the magazine.

After a while, he said, "Saw you also had some pictures of folks in suits. I'm guessing that's blackmail?"

"Yup."

"You getting mixed in politic shit now?"

"Nah," I said. "Figured I'd just drop 'em off for the police. Maybe  stick it on the BatSignal and turn it on. Probably not shit you'd  recognize on a court, but Batman ain't no court."

"The fuck are you helping Batman for?"

"For one, 'cause fuck 'em politicians," I said, to which Butcher nodded.  "For another, 'cause I'm thinking Batgirl is mad fine and I wanna prove  I'm a bad boy with a good heart."

Butcher looked at me, shook his head and turned to the road. "Sam, you are one simple motherfucker."

I ignored him in favour of thinking about her thighs.

{[X]}​

When I got back to my building that night, face patched up and riding  the joy of my first succesful job, the sound of arguing had returned to  my apartment's floor.

I lived in one of the Crime Alley high-rises, furthest apartment from  the stairs we all used, and that meant I had a long walk during which to  listen to Arthur screaming, and Crystal sobbing as she screamed back. She's crying. Must've hit her again.

I don't really remember the walk, I just remember recognizing the  screams as I came up the stairs, then suddenly I'm standing there in  front of my door with my keys in my hand and one thing repeating, over  and over inside my head: He's probably taking out what I just did to him yesterday on her.

Hell, for all I knew he'd been doing it since he woke up that morning.

... well shit, I mean, I wanted to help! But Crystal said not to!  If she wanted to deal with the problem herself, then she could do it on  her own damn self. And it's not like I was her goddamn dad or  anything.​

Didn't I tell Butcher that my silence getting innocents hurt wasn't any better than my word doing it?

While I grit my teeth and stared at the door, just standing there like a  fucking moron, I heard Stephanie's voice join the shouting match and  Arthur scream louder, then a meaty thwack and a small body hitting the  floor as Crystal screamed louder.

I took a deep breath. "Alright. Fuck this."

I spun the keys into my palm, put them on my pocket as I crossed the  distance betwen our doors, and knocked on the door thrice with the side  of my fist. All voices stopped, and Crystal very quickly muffled her  sobbing. My decision was solidified.

Heavy footsteps approached the door, and the door opened as much as it could with the deadbolt on.

Arthur peeked through the gap, and his eye barely had time to widen at  seeing me before I slammed my hand on the door, ripping the chain off of  the door hinge and making Arthur fall on his ass with a broken nose  when the door swung open.

I walked into the room, glaring at Arthur as he looked up, "Is there a part of 'be good' that confuses you, motherfucker?"

Before he could answer, I reached down, grabbed him by the front of his  shirt, and threw him onto the hallway. I looked at Crystal and said,  "Start packing his shit."

I made for the door, stopped before I crossed the threshold to look at  her, said "Please" and then I actually crossed it and closd the door  behind me.

Arthur was already on his feet, and he was pulling out his gun. Rolling  my eyes, I waited until he had it out and was aiming at me before  grabbing his wrist, pointing it up and squeezing until he dropped,  crying in pain.

"Yo, Arthur," I said. "What's my name, dog?"

He tried to punch me with his free hand, but I dodged by barely leaning  back and, with my free hand, grabbed him by the throat and tossed him  away from me.

He fell with a gasp, clutching his wrist, and I approached at a calm pace.

"For the record, I knew who you were. Cluemaster, right? The  Riddler knock-off?" He looked up at me with shock and anger, just in  time for me to kick him in the chest and send him rolling a bit further  away from me. Closer to the stairs. "Don't be so shocked, man. Before  tonight I was a henchman. Today was my last day, actually. But I knew  some people that worked for you, and boy did they have nothing good to say 'bout you."

He tried to get up again, but I gave him another kick, sending him even  closer. "Egotistical, small-minded, and god help you if you knew  whatever useless piece-of-shit trivia he'd read on his fact-of-the-day  calendar that morning and was bragging to everyone about knowing. That's  the only things anyone had to say about you."​

He stood up and rushed at me with a roar and his arms spread wide, going  for a tackle. As he approached, I punched downwards, immediately  sending him to the floor. I leaned down, lifted him by the back of the  shirt, grabbed his hair one-handed and slammed his face into the nearest  wall.

"What's my name, Arthur?" I asked him.

"Fugg ew!" he groaned, face mushed against the wall.

I shrugged, then scraped his face along the wall until we reached a  door, at which point I lifted it, and slammed it back again once we were  past it. And so on again and again until we got to the stairs, where I  threw him at the floor of the point between levels.

One thing to say about Gotham architecture? Even on the cheap-ass  high-rises the walls were mostly concrete. Not thick enough to stop all  noise, but thick enough to take a motherfucker being slammed into them.

I talked as I walked down the stairs and Arthur curled up and groaned, "Now, I have never worked for you, thank goodness. But I have worked with and for some real bad people. I'm talkin' some real sadists here, guys that collect the  nails of their victims while they're still alive types of shit."

I squatted next to him and put smiled at Arthur, "And yet, I don't think any of them disgusted me as much as you do."

I think this time he noticed it didn't reach my eyes.

I stood up and brushed myself off. "So! One more time: What's. My. Fucking. Name?"

"I-It's Sam!" he cried. "Your name is Sam!"

I kicked him in the chest, throwing him against the wall and making him cough.

"My name," I corrected, "Is Samuel Andrés Reyes. Friends and  family, of which you are neither, can call me Sam. You, motherfucker,  will refer to me as 'sir' or 'Mister Reyes' until your life is over, and  you will refer to me when I give you permision to do so. Am I  understood?"

He coughed a bit, but rushed to answer, "Y-yes!"

I kicked him again, this time digging my foot into the soft spot under his ribs. "'Yes' what, bitch?!"

It took him a long while to stop coughing, gasping for air when he could get it, but eventually he croaked, "Yes, sir."

"Good," I walked over to the stairs, sat down, and looked at him. "Now, listen, Artie. I'm sure you've deluded yourself into thinking you're some sort of badass, but  I'mma need you in the real world with me for a moment, 'cause we need to  talk business. Can you do that for me, Arthur?"

He glared, but I glared back and he looked away before he nodded.

"Great! I'm going to lay this down simply so you can understand it. I  don't like domestic abusers. Matter of the fact, I don't consider you  human, as much as a vermin parasyte that leeches off of my neighbor. The  only reason you're still alive is that a long time ago, Crystal asked  me to spare your fucking life and I obliged. For as long as we've been  neighbors, I've left late every morning because I knew that if I  saw you I was gonna beat the shit out of you." I gestured around at the  situation. "You could call this Exhibit A, I suppose."

I licked my lips and leaned forward, "But now my patience and mercy has  ran out, so I'm going to lay down the rules you'll follow for the rest  of your life:

"If I see you on the street, I'mma slap the shit out of you. Just on principle.

"If you step foot on my block, or any place that can be called mine, I'll break your legs.

"And if you so much as look at Crystal and/or Stephanie Brown in  any context but a divorce hearing or your death bed, so that they might  spit on you while you can still feel it, I will put you in the  motherfuckin' ground."

I stood up, kneeled right next to him, grabbed him by the chin, and forced him to look me in the eye.

"What's my name, Brown?"

"S-Samuel Reyes, sir."

"Good. Remember it. Because if you try any fuckshit, it's gonna be my name that finds you. It's gonna be my word that brings you to me. And its gonna be my hands around your throat.

"Have I made myself clear?"

He nodded, tears streaming from his face.

I leaned up real close and pointed at my ear.

"Y-Yes... sir."

I stared at him for a moment, then leaned back away clapped my hands  (making him flinch) and smiled, "Good! See, all our problems could have  been solved if we'd just talked from the beginning. Now come on, your  abusive ass is moving out of my building."

I walked up the stairs, knowing he'd follow, and immediately had the  legs cut out from under me when I saw Crystal standing there, holding  two suitcases and staring at me.

Y'know that feeling that's not exactly deja vu? That feeling that while it's not the exact same situation, it's basically the same shit in a different toilet?

The only thing running through my mind when I got to my hallway was that  her face was the exact same that I got the first time I had to pull a  gun on someone. Wide eyes, mouth just a bit open and pinched, and a look  of shock. Like the little kid wasn't supposed to pull the trigger to  protect the stash. Like the neighbor wasn't supposed to act like a thug.

I kept my face flat, nodded at her, and forward walked until I was just  out of arms reach of her. I looked back, waited for Arthur to be at the  same distance from me, and stopped him right there with a gesture.  Straight line between them, and me a bit to the side of it. I extended a  hand at Crystal, she put a suitcase in it, I passed it to the other  hand and gave it to Arthur, who took it numbly.

The process was repeated, and Arthur turned to leave.

"Wait," said Crystal.

Fuck, fuck, no, please, no, you're so much better than this. I thought. Please.

Arthur turned and looked hopeful for all of a second, then Crystal tore  the wedding band off of her finger and threw it at his feet. Arthur and I  stared at it, and Crystal just glared at him.

"Okay," she said. "Now you can leave."

I don't know how I ever thought she'd do otherwise. My chest felt tight  with affection and pride. A single laugh escaped me and I smiled at her.  She didn't return it, choosing to stare down Arthur.

Arthur Brown, for his part, started to breathe heavily. His grip on the  suitcase tightened until his knuckles were white, there was a bit of  spit falling out of the corner of his mouth, and as the moment extended  his breaths got quicker and shallower. He was looking between me and  Crystal like he was gauging how long it would take to cross the distance  and hit her one last time, or maybe he thought I'd allow him enough  time to kill her.

I put a stop to that real quick when I took a single step forward, coming between them, and crossed my arms.

"Die trying or live running, man. One way or the other, I got shit to do early tomorrow."

He looked at me, over my shoulder at Crystal, and gave a last indignant  little growl before he put both suitcases on one hand, grabbed the ring  and stormed off. He was looking over his shoulder at us, though, so I  made sure he saw me brush off my shoulder.

He ran faster. Punk bitch.

With that done, I turned and found Crystal looking at me.

She didn't look surprised anymore.

Just sad.

I cleared my throat, tried to say something, and failed to come up with anything other than, "Sorry."

"For what?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Dunno. Jus' sorry."

"Sam..." she sighed, taking off her glasses and rubbing at her eyes. She  put them back on, looked at me, and with a sad little smile said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry you had to get involved."

"I wanted to, tho."

"Yeah, but you shouldn't have had to," she said. "I asked you not to  help because... because it felt like admitting defeat. Like I couldn't  get me out of my own stupid mess on my own. And it got Stephanie hurt,  but I still couldn't just deal with it."

"... we're all slaves to ourselves," I muttered.

"Hm," Crystal looked down, took a deep breath, and looked at me. "I  think you shouldn't drop off anything at my doorstep anymore. And I  don't think I can watch your apartment anymore."

I swallowed with a dry mouth and pretended the inside of my ribcage didn't hurt. "... okay."

I looked at her door, slightly open with Stephanie peeking through the  opening and the deadbolt hanging on with bits of doorframe still  attatched. I took my wallet, pulled five hundred dollar bills, and  offered them. "Last one, then. For your troubles."

Then I looked at the door again, took out the same amount and said, "... and this for the door."

Crystal looked at it, then at me, "... where did this money come from?"

"From some pretty bad people," I confessed. "But if it's any consolation, they weren't happy to see it go."

She sighed, then she too looked at the door (Steph had hidden) and she eventually nodded and took the money. "Fine. Last one."

I nodded, looking away, and eventually found the words to say, "This  probably means a lot less coming from me now, but... I'm proud of you,  Ms. Brown."

She smiled at me. "Thank you, Samuel. For everything."

"... just being neighborly, ma'am."