The man in the trench coat stood there for three full minutes.
Not because he needed to confirm the death. The bathtub was saturated with blood, the water level risen several centimeters from the added volume. The target had definitively transitioned from "person" to "corpse" somewhere around the second shot. That part was done.
What troubled him was the pumpkin.
He held it in both hands, turning it slowly, examining the carved face with something approaching genuine aesthetic concern. The expression on it was—what was the word? Agonized. The eyes were uneven gouges that resembled dead fish. The mouth was a ragged grin with scratch marks at the corners that looked disturbingly organic. The whole thing evoked a unique atmosphere—classical tragedy rendered through impressionist technique with a surrealist finish, if you squinted. Or it was just spectacularly ugly. Both could be true.
In one word: unbearable.
He stared at it.
Why had he bought this on the street? If he left it at the scene, the first thing the police noticed might not be the body in the bathtub.
He'd purchased it nearby, public street, vendor with a pumpkin head who hadn't spoken much or asked questions. No trail. No risk. But this thing was so conspicuous.
Why hadn't he walked two blocks to the convenience store and bought a normal jack-o'-lantern? Slightly farther, yes, but at least it wouldn't look like evidence of someone having a breakdown mid-murder.
Wouldn't this undermine the image he was trying to project? Wouldn't everyone assume the killer was just an idiot instead of someone methodical?
He sighed.
Couldn't exactly leave now to buy a replacement.
He set the pumpkin on the bathroom floor beside the body. Next to it: the pistol, serial number filed off. And the pacifier, shattered from the first shot.
Fine. It would have to work.
Jude walked through dim alleys, processing the evening's events with mixed feelings.
He'd put the pumpkin head away. The experience had given him sudden insight into why superheroes and supervillains always wore masks. It looked like you were hiding your face. Actually, you were taking off the face—the one society required you to wear in public. With his own face hidden, he'd felt a sudden, dangerous freedom. I could do anything. He'd genuinely considered taking candy from children—held back only because bullying kids was tasteless even by Gotham standards, and also because he'd tried that brand before and it wasn't very good.
The pumpkin head was too recognizable anyway. Not ideal for the second job.
He bought a black robe from the system shop, added a white ghost mask. Dozens of similar costumes moved through the Halloween crowds. He disappeared into them without effort.
Following the system's navigation through Burnley's industrial blocks, he eventually reached the warehouse district. The interface confirmed: Second Job Location Reached.
The warehouse door was locked. Not a problem—Jude spent $100 asset points and the system map revealed an unconventional entry route along the building's exterior.
Which required climbing skills he did not currently possess.
Basic Climbing Proficiency — $1,000
He looked at the price, then at his balance. The recent shifts at the Red Dragon had pushed his total high enough to afford it. Barely. A month ago this would have been impossible.
"Let's see what's inside first," he muttered.
He circled the building, removed the white mask—too visible—and let the black robe do its work. In darkness, it was nearly perfect camouflage. Nobody on the street noticed the figure scaling the warehouse wall.
The climbing skill worked. His technique was unpolished but functional—narrow grips, tight spaces where his build became an advantage rather than a liability. He moved quietly enough.
Thud.
He hit the floor harder than intended, rolled to absorb it. His back protested, his legs announced several complaints, but nothing felt broken. The sound worried him more—too loud in the empty space.
He held his breath.
Silence. No footsteps. No guards rushing in.
Nobody's good. Nobody's perfect.
His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. Starlight filtered through high windows, barely enough to render shapes. In the center of the warehouse: something massive. A black hill.
"What the hell?" His eyes widened. "Why is it so big? What kind of job is this—Heart Arsonist?"
His phone was ancient, no flashlight function. He used the dim screen glow to search for light switches, moving carefully through the dark, half-convinced something would jump out at him or he'd trip over unseen debris and crack his skull.
Finally, in a corner: the main power switch.
"Let's see what we're dealing with."
He flipped it.
The overhead lights came on at full industrial brightness. His dark-adjusted vision went white. He squinted hard against the glare, cursing quietly.
When his vision cleared, he saw the hill clearly.
The system notification appeared.
SYSTEM UPDATE: Halloween Heart Arsonist
Task: Burn all counterfeit currency in warehouse
Progress Reward: $2,000 per 20% destroyed
Total Reward: $20,000 (100% completion)
"Oh my god!" He shouted at nobody. "Heart Arsonist means literally setting a fire?! Why is Harvey Dent doing this kind of work?! Was he already this unhinged before the transformation?!"
Three consecutive outbursts barely managed the shock.
The scene exceeded his frame of reference by several orders of magnitude.
Green hundred-dollar bills. Stacked in neat bundles. Densely packed, tightly fitted together, forming a small mountain in the center of the warehouse. Loose bills scattered across the floor around the base. Picking up a handful would equal his daily wage at the Red Dragon.
More money in one room than he'd seen in his entire life.
All of it—supposedly—counterfeit.
"This much fake money and Batman doesn't care?" He stared at the task prompt, at the reward, at the mountain itself.
Twenty thousand dollars in asset points.
For burning counterfeit currency.
For Harvey Dent.
Before Harvey became Two-Face.
Meaning Gotham's White Knight was asking him to commit arson.
"Well," Jude said to the mountain, "at least it's not real money."