'Did they even wash this thing?'
In the beginning, before easy-to-access internet filled to the brim with games, videos and stories, there really wasn't a lot to keep the mind occupied. Maybe it was the years of that constant mental stimulation rearing back it's ugly head, feeling akin to a drug addict itching for their next fix. But whatever the reason, it still didn't change that in this current time boredom was at it's premium.
Sure, reading a good book would be nice right about now. Instead, all Albert had too keep himself occupied was some old newspaper his client had been all too gracious in lending him. Too bad it was dated over a full year ago, something that would be use if he was investigating some past events but that wasn't what his current job entailed.
Even with that, the dry text should've been enough to at least tie him over until night fell if it wasn't for the rather ratty jacket trying it's best to induce a scratching session that wouldn't stop until he reached the bone with bloody and cracked fingernails. And when his skin had grown use to the sensation, the unconscious version of him would move and start the process all over again.
The jacket in question was an ugly yellow-ish brown thing several times too larger for his frame, with a ragtag appearance that made it like it was sewn together out of a thoroughly used potato sack. Long, billow sleeves that made quick work of completely obscuring his arms. More importantly, his injured right hand. A crocked line of mismatched sized and colored buttons ran along it's front, closing the twin door like fabric flaps the best way it could. Badly, but it did it's job to hide the firearm now holstered in the waist of his pants. Thin fibers poked out from all over the surface, making it akin to some sort of porcupine with inadequately sized quills.
If all that wasn't enough, the thing smelled heavy of the musk that all used clothes had no matter how many it was cleaned, which he knew it wouldn't survive anything over than a gentle wash by hand. Else, it'll turn into fine fibers getting stuck into whatever machine the poor schmuck decided to risk.
So in short, the jacket was ratty, smelly and itched to high heaven. It now made sense why Olivia had been all too pleased to pawn it on to him.
'No wonder she didn't want it back.'
Even now, he only wore it for so long just to get use to the clothing. Who knew how long he'd have to suffering wearing this coat, especially if he had to stake out some random women's apartment. But judging from how the girl had reacted to the mere idea of 'her' man cheating, it was better for everyone if her concerns were unfounded.
Sudden movement from below dispelled the internal spiral beginning to spin and with slow movements, Albert peeked through the small slit between the two wooden boards onto the street below. In that instance, the lack of maintenance truly showed it's teeth. The overhead streetlight, meant to send down beams of light for the average poor shmuck to see the pile of vomit or other debris had almost completely failed in it's one job. Instead of a bright white shaft glaring down, a dull yellow glow pitifully petered out into a small puddle of useless sanctuary from the dark.
In that dim light, no concrete details could be gleamed. His client had given him a 'very' thorough description of the target of tonight's stalking. In her own words: An extremely tall handsome man with beautifully developed muscles, a jaw chiseled enough to chip away at stone, skin the color of her favorite milk chocolate, pitch black curly hair tied up in a bun high up on his head, exposing his glittering chest and neck to the world, with a pair of heart dropping brown eyes that would make any gal with eyes weak in the knees.
If he took out all the flowery language and most likely rose-tinted details, the large figure trying to sneak out through his client's front door seemed to be his guy. With a sigh of relief, Albert carefully stood up from the ratty but comfortable armchair and began to walk towards the hole out of the side of the building they'd been gracious enough to point out, with the main door being thoroughly boarded up it was certainly appreciated.
Poking his head out from the corner, he caught sight of the figure's large frame begin to turn onto the main street. A blessing of their longer than average legs, a boon he did not share. Near jogging, he took the scant few moments to calm his breathing and push aside the extremely tempting urge to itch at his skin. Drawing in on that ethereal part of himself, picturing a cloak hanging abandoned on a coat rack. The thing 'looked' old and tattered, faded and patch-worked. Something anyone who was anyone would ignore with a second glance.
Just what he needed. To be overlooked and ignore. To have his presence be attributed as normal, beneath conscious recognition. Reaching out, he could feel Stealth drape over his shoulders. Feel it mold itself to his skin and wrap around him like a fine blanket. Leaning on the skill brought about near immediate results. He didn't fade into the darkness like a specter, nor did he instantly become as quiet as a nocturnal predator. Instead, the changes were small.
His breathing became more steady, less likely to attract attention from passerbys. His stance widened just a tad to halt that sound of baggy jeans rubbing together. His steps took on a more relaxed cadence, going from that rapid series of steps that anyone would find hair raising this late at night to someone just out for a night stroll. And an upturned collar obscuring the bottom part of his face, a cheat in this world if comics were to be believed.
All these minute alterations came together to form a rather strong image, a message sent to anyone that might spot him during this upcoming tailing. He was just a passerby, with somewhere to be but nowhere fast. Not someone worth noticing or interacting with.
And so, turning on the same corner Albert spotted his target walking briskly down the street. Their large back easy to spot even from this far away. As he followed, a series of plans bloomed into existence.
The primary skill meant to track people, animals or things was called Track. A pretty nifty tool that allowed, at-least in the tabletop version of his system, investigators to... well track anything. Whether it be by smell, tracks or any-other clues left behind from a creatures wake, like slim or something. Sure there were limits, primarily being the time between them tracking something down and how long it had been since then.
Great in tailing someone but it was just too bad that he didn't possess said skill. Leaving him a few options on how to proceed forward. He could just walk up to the man and spark up a conversation that'll distract them enough that they wouldn't even realize that they'd accidentally took him directly to their destination before it was too late. A fine plan, for a social butterfly. Which, shockingly, wasn't him.
Instead, Stealth and Spot Hidden were both going to be the key to getting through this in one piece. He'd been told multiple times by Olivia that his target wasn't the violent and 'wouldn't hurt a fly, much less touch a single hair'. But with how life had been going lately, it was better to be safe than sorry.
As he trailed behind Malcolm, he took this chance to observe the man's attire. He wore a heavy, beaten up leather jacket with baggy sweatpants that had a few holes running along the legs, exposing what looked like bright green shorts of some sort. Along with a pair of black sneakers. Those dust covered jeans and heavy duty boots caked in cement nowhere in sight.
Albert suspected the man primarily worked in construction or contracting work based on his clothes, something he'd spotted while waiting from night to fall. He'd only had to wait four hours after first getting there to finally see the star of the show come stumbling down the street with a metal, Superman themed lunchbox in hand and a rather haggard expression on his face. From the window, the investigator watched as the young man didn't even have time to get close to the door before Olivia's short stature came barreling out. Wrapping her arms around the giant's waist with what looked to a spider monkey's grip, he could do nothing but smile fondly down at the girl. A forced grin hiding physical exhaustion beyond repair, but nonetheless something to put her at-ease. A few seconds later, Dillon came out in a more relaxed manner to take the beaten up lunchbox. The trio spoke animatedly for a bit, but it was more like the two kids talked while the tired man nodded along with a grin on his lips. He'd rub his dust covered mits on their heads, much too their displeasure before they all went inside.
It was rather awkward watching people's lives like that, something that the investigator hoped he'd never get use to. But there was a lot gleamed from that short interaction. And a lot of it didn't match up with the obsessive girl's perception of things. From him looking in, Malcolm seem to act more as an older sibling and guardian to the pair. Nothing from those short moments pointed out anything romantic in the slightest.
So already, on the first day, he was already working on bad information. Not a good start.
He didn't know exactly how long the two of them walked for, but they'd already turned down multiple streets and passed by a multitude of places. Corner stores, residential building and even a club or two. But what he did know was this: he was being put through a ride.
'It was expected.'
Even in the safest of cities, it was pretty hard to realize someone was following them. Especially at night. No matter how stealthy or good someone might be, when there simply were a lot of people nearby to hide behind it made it pretty hard to go completely unnoticed. Maybe they thought their tail was just in their head, and ignored it at first. Turn a few times and see if they were just being paranoid. Then once they still felt or saw someone behind them, begin to panic while trying to appear as cool as cucumber. Turn down a few corners and go into a few shops to see they pass by. And once all else fails, it only really left two ways to proceed.
Confront the suspected stalker or run like the gates of hell was behind them.
In one moment, the large figure was casually marching down the sidewalk and in the next, an explosion of muscle caused him to move in a near blur. His leather jacket flapping in the wind as he ate up the distance with the upcoming corner like a school of piranhas. The last Albert saw was a single scrap of leather disappearing directly out of sight.
Instead of panicking, his eyes quickly caught sight of a nearby alley mouth and stealthily slipped behind an overflowing dumpster. Pressing his back against the surface, he waited on baited breathes. Pushing past the ambient nightlife, thin tendrils of awareness slithered their way out like a fine net. Ears straining for all they were worth.
'Nice try.'
He knew this trick well, having seen it done plenty of times in movies and books. Hell, even his players had pulled something similar on him to great effects. It was like he could picture it now, if he'd chase after his target in fear of losing him, they'd be standing right there with hands outstretched. Ready to grab him up with massive hands that if Malcolm's size was anything to go by, wouldn't come lose without all his answers were satisfied.
Not an ideal conclusion.
In those starch few moments of relative 'silence', he tried to sift through his memories of what exactly had tipped the laborer's attention.
'Maybe it was the bouncers?' They had looked at the pair in a pretty odd way, but that was there job in a way. Look out for anything weird and stop it from interrupting their boss's business. 'Could it had been a reflection?'
There were a few potholes filled with muddy, suspect water close enough for someone to see behind if they were circumspect enough. And that wasn't event mentioning the multitude of pitch black windows the lined the streets. But whatever the reason, it had led here. A familiar position and place. Huddled up close to some dumpster like some sort of rat.
Frankly, it was a small blessing that he didn't have enough time to go full on dumpster diving just to avoid detection. Crouching in a puddle was by far a better option.
The sound of heavy foot steps could be heard a few moments later, forcing his body to near relax further against the cold surface. There he waited as the steps grew louder and more obvious. It wasn't like they were stomping their way through the night but instead, it was the scuffing of soles that really stood out among the 'gentle' chatter. They weren't the unsteady stagger of a drunk, nor the patient and practiced mugger spotting an easy mark. This was a complete amateur, like someone who only saw real sneaking about from cartoon animals with more sass than sense.
And when a large shadow ate up that beam of light igniting the alleyway anew, it became clear on who exactly it was. If the outline of a leather jacket was anything to go by. Holding his breath and body completely still, he eyed the growing shadow. Heard those shoes unintentionally drag along the ground and even caught a few notes of breathing. Just a few feet away, the figure stopped. The outline of their head clearing turning from each which way. There they stayed, one scanning the 'clear' area while the other pressed up just out of sight with a near prayer on his lips.
Just as his lungs began to fill with fire, vision darkening around the edges, the shadow turned and exited the alley. Taking that air of anticipation with them. Albert let out a slow breathe of relief, abusing this time to take in a few rancid breathes but still didn't move from his spot. He instead simple waited, his eye on the ground just in case.
That caution was seen as warranted at that same shadow flickered past the alley mouth, going in the complete opposite direction. It seemed the man was a bit sly, setting up a trap the way he did there. Whether or not he was being this thorough with all nearby alleyways, it only further reinforced his previous decision. Simply waiting was the way to go.
There he waited. Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by. It took all of his willpower to resist the urge to come out of the alleyway to see what in the world was going on. If he lost his target tonight, it wasn't the end of the world. He could come back during the next scheduled night and be a bit more prepared.
'Maybe bring a map next time.'
If there was but a single thing that made this job infinitely harder, it had to not knowing exactly where he was. Sure he could wonder the streets until he found some familiar landmarks but doing so in the middle of Gotham night life was just asking for trouble. Whether it be some power-tripping cop filled with a sudden urge to reinforce the city's unspoken curfew for those his age, or once again a mugger eyeing him up as an easy target. But if he got really, really lost, he had a pretty nifty trump card with it's own downsides.
Two in fact.
As he crouched there in thought, the sudden appearance of that same shadow snatching up the light made him feel as though an icy hand reached up from the underworld and gripped at his heart in vice grip. His heartbeat growing louder and reverberating through his bones, to the point where he was sure it was passing through the metal surface itself. Suddenly, all that was shunted off to the side as he could hear those steps growing closer. See the shadow grow larger.
This time, the gait was normal. Casual in a way that told him his target wasn't trying to be sneaky any longer. Either because they believed their tail had been shaken off, or they knew he had nowhere else to go. If it was the later, he was going to need as much breathe in his lungs as possible. With how tall the man was, it really wouldn't take much to eat up any distance he might put between the two of them. And with how unfamiliar with this part of town he was, using back alleys became more of a risk than a boon. Less he find himself shepherded towards a dead end.
So instead, Albert stayed as still as a statue as the footsteps grew closer. And closer they, growing more clear as they went further into the alley than before.
The first shoe entered the corner of his eye and it took all his might not to just flee right then and there. His neck muscles became as rigid as stone, locking his head back against the cool metal and rough bright wall. Pulling that ethereal cloak tighter around him, he waited. And then, Malcolm was there.
And he was huge. Large in a way that couldn't be truly appreciated unless one was right up next to the guy. Being both tall and weighed down with dense muscle combined with the light cutting harsh lines across his face only made it seem like sacks of sand was being placed on Albert's legs. His core burned, legs shook and head pounded in the splint instance.
A myriad of thoughts came flooding through his mind, possible outcomes spinning a mile a minute. Some got violent, others resulted in him spilling everything without a second hesitation while others saw the large man backing away with a gun in the way.
He felt that familiar itch, the urge, desire to grip that cold iron in his hand once more. Which was met with the sensation of a brace restricting his hand's movements, a stark reminder of his own failings.
Whatever thoughts and plans weaving together began to unfurl, as instead of turning to see him crouching down there like some sort of gutter rat, the man simple continued on. Completely missing him, but despite that he didn't move a single muscle. Movement from the periphery would make anyone quickly look over to see what was happening and he really, really didn't want to almost be at the finish-line only to tumble during the last stretch.
As that large back became visible, the investigator took extra care not stare directly at the man in fear of triggering that all too human sixth sense. Like humanity still had some distant genetic memory or instinct of being prey to massive mammals, the sensation usually materialized as goosebumps forming or a sudden chill running up their spine.
Albert could only watch as his target strode further down the alley before turning in the direction completely opposite of where they were going previously. Relief filling him as he stood to his feet and began to take a few tentative steps forward.
He still had work to do, no matter if it felt like he'd shave a few years off his life.
***
The rest of the journey went by a lot smoother than before, this time taking extra care to fall back when the pair shared a window dark enough to tip his target off with a reflection. Sure, there might've been a few close calls but they were nothing like the near heart stopping incident as before.
As they continued forward, the surroundings slowly shifted. The frequency of residential buildings dropping, and the inverse happening to warehouses. Air growing colder and more damp. That and the smell of rotten eggs was becoming more unbearable as time went on, throwing him in a few rounds and it honestly wouldn't take much longer for him to toss in the towel at this point.
But atleast unlike before, he had some idea of where they were now. Through a series of turns and long stretches, they had officially exited the constantly bumping Business District and entered into the seedier Gotham Docklands. Or better known as Gotham Harbor. The place where illicit goods were smuggled into the city, where violence was just another currency. A dangerous place that didn't need explaining, there was a reason why most gangsters stayed well out of this area. A lot of them were just small fish in a smaller pond, this place was the next step up.
Albert kept his good hand near the small bit of iron that suddenly didn't feel as much of a deterrent as before. How his target could just waltz in here without a visible fear in the world, he did not know. Maybe he was well known, or knew the area.
Suddenly, Malcolm took a left turn between two medium sized warehouses leaving the investigator all alone with no one else in sight. It was like his safety blanket had been ripped away from him and it took everything in him not to just sprint forward to quickly follow behind the large man. Instead, he paused and listened.
'There it is.'
A sudden bump reverberated through the cement, it's beat reminiscent of a few clubs they'd pass on their way here. Stepping closer, he could hear the chatter of people. A lot of people in fact. Nothing clear but the mood felt energetic. And so straightening his back, he turned down the path and came face-to-face to a sight that took his breathe away.
Surrounded by six other warehouses, a large clearing was formed filled to the brim with people from all walks of life. Those who wore tattered clothes were bumping shoulders with people wearing suits that look more expensive than a year's worth of rent. Getting closer, he got a better image of what exactly was going on here.
Some were scattered around talking animatedly with one another, while most were clustered together in circles. Each cheering or jeering at whatever was happening in the middle. A sudden cry of dismay and victory caught his attention, as at a nearby cluster a well dressed man could be seen flushed red as he handed over a crumpled stack of green to a much too smug compatriot. Multiple people nearby either patted the despondent man on the back or also exchanged money jeering all the way.
'Three-four hundred dollars?!'
Passing around that amount of money without fear of it being snatched up some random thief in the crowd was rather worrying. Either there were no truly desperate people in the crowd or…
Another shout to the side forced his head to snap in that direction as he saw a rather desperate looking man being picked up by the scruff of their necks by an absolute giant of a man. Up and up, the teen's neck craned up to look. If Malcolm was huge, then this man was massive. Wearing a pair of dark navy dress pants and a white button up shirt that strained at the seems. With a bright green armband wrapped around his bicep. A single tattoo snaked around on arm, ending with a hissing snake snapping out at his wrist.
As the man struggled against the giant's grip, the crowd grew more and more animated. Some words were exchanged, unheard above the chaos before a grown man was tossed into the middle the same circle. Erupting into cheers, slight guttural cries could be heard as that circle watched on with glee.
Pushing them to the side, Albert scanned the area for his target once more. Trying to find that massive leather jacket in the crowd, an easy feat given their height. He spotted it far into the crowd, nearing the middle of all this. A few randoms hands patting the large shoulders like a prized horse. Slipping into the crowd, he took extra care to not appear as an opportunistic pickpocket. With the nearby muscle bound green-bands acting as staunch sentinels, he really didn't want to be used as the next example.
Finding a few empty sparse spots and even kicking a few shoes to get them to move out of the way, it didn't take long for him wind up in the same spot as his target.
A loose circle of patrons had already formed and it took a few more seconds to wriggle his way forward. What he saw there began to fill out a much different picture than Olivia had painted him.
There Malcolm was, shrugging off his leather jacket onto the ground to expose a sleeveless tank-top. Finally getting a close up view kind-of left the teen at a lost for words. The description he'd receive made him believe the man was the second coming of some sort of Adonis but instead, the guy was just average. A square jaw, a crooked nose from a few too many breaks and a hard face worn down by time.
Next to him, he spoke fervently with a rather shady looking man that ticked all the greasy and sleazy boxes out there. Wearing a cheap gray suit, and a few golden rings. When he opened his mouth, a few flashes of gold could be seen there as well. The way that smarmy smile was on his face along with how he moved his hands in a calming gesture, it seemed he was explaining something to the young adult.
Across from the pair another man stood, his stance performative as he posed for the growing crowd. Built like a brick-house, the man wasn't nearly as tall as the young man but he made up for it in terms of width alone. He had heavily tanned skin with a series of white scars running along his meaty arms, a smooth head that reflected the surrounding light and large grin stretched across his maw. Wearing dark red sweatpants and a loose wife-beater, the older man looked all too eager to throw down.
But they weren't the only ones of important there, with two people that the crowd seem to give a respectful distance from them. The first was like the other guard, tall and wide with that all too familiar scowl meant to keep to the throng of people in line. But instead of a green armband, a yellow was in it's place.
And besides them, a much more reasonably sized person stood with a clipboard in hand. Wearing a plan black suit, they looked down at a piece of paper with a rather bored expression on their face. A yellow armband was also present on their body.
As they all stood there, the crowd grew larger and thicker. Money was passed and jeers were exchanged.
"Why is The Wrecking Ball back in Yellow? I thought he'd already gone Red?"
"The guy got his shit kicked, that's what." A nearby women snorted, exhaling a bloom of foul smell smoke indiscriminately. "Probably thought the money wasn't worth it and came down here instead."
"He is getting old," Someone else pipped up. "Can't really blame him them, Red is brutal as hell."
"Maybe I wouldn't if he didn't make it his business to ruin all my bets. You know, he's the reason why I'm in the hole. If I get some time alone with him…"
"You'll what?" Another person barked, laughter evident in their tone. "Unless you bring a gun, he's gonna sit on your skinny ass and you won't be able to do a damn thing about. He won't even need to hit you."
Whatever comeback the person was going to say was quickly interrupted with the suited man, who seem to be some sort of administrator of sorts, raised a single hand. Instantly, the inner circle grew quiet as he spoke up for the first time.
"This is a promotion match." The man droned on, one hand pointing at Malcolm's visibly annoyed expression. "Bold-Hound here just needs to win one more bout before he's allowed into Red and to show him what that means, our local veteran, The Wrecking Ball, will act as a window."
"You both know the rules," He continued, fighting back a yawn as the two combatants faced off against each-other. "For everyone else we'll be using Yellow rules. They'll fight until submission or knock-out. Weapons aren't allowed. No eye gouging or biting, save that for Red. Everything else goes."
'Why couldn't you have just been meeting some hussies?'