Marcus wandered aimlessly through Gotham's streets.
Strangely enough, after twenty minutes of roaming, he hadn't encountered a single robber. He even started wondering if he'd somehow ended up in a fake Gotham.
"Hey, buddy."
Just as that thought crossed his mind, a man stopped him on the street. The man wore sunglasses, a mask, and a hooded sweatshirt.
Holy crap, finally one. Marcus thought to himself.
Whether he could scrape together his first pot of gold tonight depended on this moment. Begging might not count as honest labor, but at least it could get him some food and save system money.
The next second, the man pulled a handgun from his waistband and aimed it straight at Marcus. His voice was fierce and sharp.
"Cut the crap. Take everything out."
The voice was loud enough that a few passersby glanced over then immediately quickened their pace and vanished down the street.
Staring at the black barrel of the gun, the words Marcus had planned to say got stuck in his throat. Damn it. Gotham criminals really start at handgun level. At least pull out a knife so I can keep some courage to talk!
Marcus avoided looking directly at the gun and instinctively glanced at the top right corner of his vision. Rapid Health Regeneration and Save Point were right there ready to activate at any moment.
Most importantly, there were still about ten minutes of safe time left. That steadied his nerves a bit.
Seeing Marcus hesitate, the man shouted louder, almost hysterical.
"I said take everything out!"
The gun shoved forward, nearly touching Marcus's head. Marcus stepped back instinctively, froze, and slowly reached into his jacket pocket then pulled out two inside out, completely empty pockets.
Cleaner than his face. Though, to be fair, Marcus suspected he'd been in Gotham long enough for stubble to start growing.
"Are you f***ing kidding me?!"
Marcus could feel the robber's anger rapidly boiling over. Despite his fear, survival instinct pushed him to explain.
"I don't have money what do you want me to do? You think I want to be broke?"
"Who are you calling broke?!"
Seriously? PTSD over that word? Marcus cursed silently. Strangely enough, he felt calmer. He reached into his pants pocket.
"Look. Same here."
The man followed his movement. Because the sunglasses made it hard to see at night, he lifted them with one hand.
"I'm watching you. Don't try anything."
Marcus pulled out two more inside out, empty pockets. The man's voice cracked.
"You have to be hiding something! Take off your clothes let me search you!"
Marcus didn't resist at all. He immediately removed his jacket and raised his hands. If you can find even a single cent, I'll call you the God of Wealth on the spot.
The man searched him thoroughly. Completely empty. He collapsed onto the ground in despair, ignoring Marcus entirely.
A moment later, he buried his head in his hands and started crying.
Marcus put his jacket back on and sat beside him.
"It's okay. Everyone has bad luck sometimes. If you really don't want to leave empty handed, I can give you my jacket."
"Who the hell wants your jacket?!"
The man smashed Marcus's arm with the gun, sending pain shooting through it. He raised the gun again.
"You broke bastard what do you know?! You won't even survive tonight!"
"I know you're a rookie. First time doing this." Marcus spoke calmly. "I've been walking these streets for a long time. Every robber can tell I'm dirt poor pockets cleaner than my face. You couldn't."
The man's gun hand trembled. Tears turned into flushed anger.
"You rob at night wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hoodie but no gloves. You didn't turn off the safety. That gun might not even be real. After controlling me, you didn't drag me into an alley. You shouted too loudly way too much attention. You kept pushing the barrel too close, and when I reached into my pocket, you completely lost awareness of your gun hand."
"You gave too many chances for someone to disarm you."
"Motherf—"
"Your emotions are unstable. You didn't search thoroughly. A thief doesn't leave empty handed you could've taken my clothes, but you didn't. After failing, you should've left immediately but instead, you sat down and cried."
"Shut the hell up!"
The man swung the gun again. Marcus dodged this time.
"I know you're desperate. But hear me out. People don't randomly go out robbing others for no reason. Something happened to you. What if I can help?"
The man didn't respond. He lowered the gun, wiped his tears, and removed his sunglasses. Marcus saw bloodshot eyes, deep dark circles, and a mind on the verge of collapse.
"Gotham already has enough lunatics," Marcus said quietly. "It doesn't need one more. You came out to rob people you need money. You used a fake gun that means you still have moral lines and some education. Those dark circles mean this problem has been eating at you for a long time. And the amount you need isn't small."
"You can't rob a bank that's gang and supervillain territory. Looking for luck on the street is still gambling. Trying your luck with me is the same. If you talk, maybe I can help."
The man stopped walking. After a long silence, he spoke hoarsely.
"Why would you help me?"
"I don't help people for free." Marcus replied. "I just arrived in Gotham. I don't know the city. I need a reasonably reliable job. And I have nowhere to sleep tonight."
"If I can't help you, we part ways you go home, I sleep on the street. If I can help you, we work together. I stay at your place temporarily, help you solve your problem. You help me find a job. Reliable or not doesn't matter. As long as no one dies."
After a long hesitation, the man finally turned back and slowly sat down beside Marcus.
"You're not from Gotham. I'll trust you once."
Drake removed his sunglasses and stared blankly at Gotham's pitch black night sky.
"Besides… I don't really have any other options."