Part 19: A Little Help From My Friends (Arc 1: Save Yourself)
[X] Name: James Milton
Jack looked at you and raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched across his face. "James Milton? That's the alias you want me to use for your interview and for the future? Sounds more like some old guy in a tweed jacket than a source with dirt on Maroni."
"It's not silly; it's poetic," you shot back, a hint of defensiveness creeping into your tone. "James, for the brother of Jesus, someone who stood firm in his beliefs even when the odds were stacked against him. And Milton, for John Milton, one of the greatest poets in history... at least of modern epic poetry."
Jack snorted. "Modern epic poetry? Milton's been dead for centuries. Don't kids your age read comics or play video games?"
Before you could retort, Icarus's voice floated into your mind, calm and contemplative. "Homer is the greatest poet of all time. Your modern poets are mere shadows of his brilliance. Even I heard his muse."
"The mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven." You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at Icarus' response, speaking aloud for Jack's benefit by quoting Paradice Lost. "Oh, well, to each their own. But not everyone's into video games and comic books that tell adventure stories, you know. Some of us prefer a little nuance."
Jack smirked, crossing his arms. "Sure, nuance. From the guy who's quoting Milton in the middle of Gotham. Do you, uh, casually read Paradise Lost for fun, or is that just part of the 'escape this hellhole' plan by dragging Maroni down into the light?"
"Why can't it be both?" you asked, matching his smirk with a raised eyebrow. "This is Gotham. Education's the only ticket out of here for most people, especially for an orphan like me. Books are a lifeline, Jack. You should try one sometimes, it might illuminate you."
Jack barked a laugh, shaking his head. "Touché, Milton. Or James Milton, or whatever. Fine, I'll use it. But if anyone asks, I'm telling them you picked it because you're a hopeless nerd, not because of some deep poetic reason."
You gave him a sly smile. "Deal. But when this all blows up, and they're quoting Milton in the headlines, don't say I didn't warn you."
Jack chuckled, muttering under his breath as he scribbled the name down. "Only in Gotham could a kid with a vendetta against the mob 'James Milton' sound like a revolutionary."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[]Zatanna and the Magical Mystery Tour: You want to know more about Magic... perhaps she can assist you in that endeavor.
You looked at Zatanna, trying to hide your nervousness, and took a steadying breath. "So… let me know when you're ready to begin." you said, sitting patiently as she moved to the front of the room. A pair of large chalkboards stood behind her, covered in intricate diagrams and runes you couldn't even begin to decipher.
Zatanna adjusted her hat, clapping her hands together with an air of determination. "Alright," she said. "Before we dive into this, I need to ask you a simple question: where do you think your powers come from?"
You hesitated, feeling the weight of the question. "Uh… I mean…" You fumbled for words, unsure how to articulate what even you barely understood.
That's when you felt them, Icarus and Pixie. Their presence swirled in your mind, buzzing with energy. Before you could stop them, the words tumbled out of your mouth, unbidden:
"A mystical ocean beyond reality. Where all human consciousness converges into one magnanimous whole. The Sea of Souls where all mankind resides."
You blinked, stunned by what you'd just said, and immediately noticed Zatanna staring at you, her wand now pointed squarely in your direction. Her eyes narrowed, her expression a mix of caution and curiosity.
"Um… sorry?" you ventured.
Zatanna's lips pressed into a thin line. "What the heck was that?" she said, her voice sharp. "You're not supposed to know something like that, let alone say it. That kind of knowledge isn't something people just… guess. And yet, you're brimming with raw power that seems to be grown more since we first met on a first glance…" She trailed off, looking momentarily lost in thought.
Then, shaking herself out of it, she sighed and waved her wand through the air, tracing glowing shapes that lingered like stars. "Okay. Clearly, we've got a lot to unpack. But for now, let's keep it simple. Magic, as it exists in the universe, is… well, complicated. And by 'complicated,' I mean 'almost impossible to explain without your head exploding.' So I'm going to break it down for you in a way even a non-magician can understand."
You tilted your head. "I'm… not sure if I should feel insulted by that. As am I considered a magician or sorcerer?"
"Trust me, this is for your own good, as for the title part… honesty I don't know, so we're going to go with weird." Zatanna said with a smirk, flicking her wand again. Images appeared in the air, a swirling vortex, a tree, and a glowing thread stretching into infinity.
"Magic, at its core, is like a river," she began. "It flows through everything, people, objects, places. Some rivers are big and obvious, like the Mississippi, while others are tiny streams you wouldn't even notice unless you were looking for them. Your powers? They're like someone built a dam in the middle of one of those rivers, and now it's gushing out in ways it probably shouldn't."
You nodded slowly, trying to follow her analogy. "So… my powers are a broken dam?"
"Close enough," Zatanna replied. "But here's the kicker: magic doesn't just happen. It has rules. Structure. Even chaos magic, as wild as it seems, is playing by some kind of cosmic rulebook. You, however…" She gestured at you with her wand, the glowing thread snapping to highlight your figure. "...are apparently tapping into the deepest, weirdest parts of the ocean those rivers come from. Which, by the way, isn't normal."
Icarus fluttered his wings behind you, making you flinch. "So… I'm abnormal?" you asked cautiously.
"Let's go with 'unique,'" Zatanna said, a wry smile tugging at her lips. "But the point is, if you're going to survive using magic, or whatever this is, you need to understand the basics. Otherwise, you're going to blow yourself up. Or worse."
You gulped, glancing nervously at the glowing diagrams. "And how exactly do I avoid that?"
Zatanna twirled her wand, the glowing images morphing into a glowing book, a shield, and a blazing fire. "Lesson one: control. You're not going to be some magical prodigy overnight, but if you listen and follow my lead, we might just keep you in one piece."
She tilted her head and gave you a teasing grin. "That is… if you don't let Icarus or Pixie blurt out any more cryptic truths about the universe."
"Noted," you muttered, trying to hide your embarrassment as you sat up straighter.
"Good. Now, let's start with how not to blow up a room by accident…"
Reward: You have been given a crash course in magic.
Rank 1 in Zatanna's social link.
Arcana unknown.
You may want to speak to Margeret about what magic you can learn in the Velvet Room.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
[]An Expose: Jack Ryder wants a news story, so you will get him one.
The following is a transcript of an interview between Jack Ryder (JR) and James Milton (JM), discussing the crimes of Salvatore Maroni and the troubling conditions of Gotham's Public Orphanage. Broadcasted like on WHAM Studio's Website.
JR: Good evening, Gotham. In our previous interview, we delved into the escalating criminal activities of the Maroni crime family and their devastating impact on the children of Gotham—particularly those left orphaned by the city's relentless cycle of violence and tragedy. Tonight, we continue this critical conversation. Thank you for joining us, Mr. Milton.
JM: Thank you, Jack.
JR: Let's start with this: in your investigation, what led you to notice these changes in Gotham's orphanage system? How did we get to the point where such corruption could infiltrate a place meant to protect our most vulnerable?
JM: Well, Jack, the unfortunate truth is that anything designed to protect people can also be corrupted and used against them. That's the nature of unchecked power in Gotham. But let me backtrack a bit. My investigation began when I came across a name in the Gotham Gazette—a name I recognized. It was a former friend of mine, someone I had known for years. Not closely, but well enough to know her character.
JR: This was someone connected to the orphanage or Maroni's operations?
JM: No, not directly. Her name came up because she had... passed away. According to the reports, she died of a drug overdose during a gang-related conflict, supposedly fueled by narcotics trafficking.
JR: A tragic but, sadly, not uncommon story in Gotham.
JM: True. But something about it didn't sit right with me. This friend of mine—she was fiercely anti-drug. She never touched the stuff, not once, and she avoided people who did. She was the kind of person who would rather help someone get clean than fall into that life herself. The idea that she died in a drug-fueled gang war? It didn't add up.
JR: That's quite an assertion, James. What did you find when you dug deeper?
JM: The inconsistencies began piling up. The autopsy report mentioned she had a history of mental illness, something I'd never known about.
JR: So you believe there was foul play?
JM: Absolutely. The thing was, nothing about her was bad, until she was adopted by parents… who happened to be connected to the Maroni crime family… and once she was there, six months later she was dead.
JR: Are you suggesting that Maroni's influence extends into Gotham's public institutions, like the orphanage? And for what reason?
JM: Without a doubt. The orphanage, Jack, isn't just a place for the children of Gotham, it's a resource. People are powerful, in any way, and if you can start them young, well, you can see things. A pool of potential recruits for the underworld, or worse. When the people running these places are more interested in lining their pockets than protecting kids, it creates a breeding ground for crime.
JR: That's a damning accusation, James.
JM: It's not just an accusation. I've seen the records, Missing funds, falsified reports, and children who simply vanish from the system… and these are just the ones who disappear, rather than just… get adopted like my friend and are spiraled out of control. And when you start asking the wrong questions, death is usually the only end.
JR: And yet, here you are, speaking out. Aren't you afraid of retaliation?
JM: Not anymore…. someone has to speak for those kids. Someone has to call out the rot in this city, no matter the cost.
JR: Gotham, you've heard it here tonight. The Maroni crime family's shadow stretches farther than we thought, into places meant to protect our children. Thank you, James, for your courage and for shedding light on this darkness.
JM: Thank you, Jack.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Jack stared at the screen, his eyes widening as the numbers climbed higher and higher. The viewership counter ticked past 10 million, a staggering figure for any broadcast, let alone one airing during a weeknight slot.
"This is it," Jack muttered to himself, equal parts exhilarated and apprehensive. His expose hadn't just gone live—it had gone viral. Millions of people across the country were watching, listening, and reacting in real-time. "The Power of the fucking Internet baby! Who's going to call me a no-name reporter now!"
Reward:
Millions across the country saw it, sparking outrage and raising awareness about the corruption in Gotham. However, Maroni has publicly dismissed the claims as "fake news," aiming to discredit both you and the story, as you were under an alias and speaking anoymiously. While you've succeeded in bringing attention to the issue, you don't know how much more you can do.
------------------------------
[] Examine Crime Scenes: With Bullock's guidance—or on your own—revisit old cases to see what others missed. Fresh perspectives often uncover new leads.
[] Follow Detective Bullock: He wants you like gum on shoe, so you are staying down.
Harvey was leaning against his car, watching the scene unfold with his usual weary expression, as you hovered nearby, stealing glances at the lifeless form sprawled on the pavement. The flickering streetlights above cast long shadows, emphasizing the grim reality of the situation.
"What's the matter, kid?" Harvey asked gruffly, noticing your troubled demeanor.
"Just wondering if you need any help," you replied cautiously, your hands shoved deep into your pockets.
Harvey let out a bark of laughter, though it lacked any real humor. "You're not a cop, kid. Leave the heavy lifting to us. Go home, and let me finish my shift in peace."
You sighed, the dismissal hitting harder than you expected. Pixie, ever attuned to your emotions, emerged from your chest in a shimmering burst of light. She fluttered around your head, her tiny face etched with concern.
"Are you worried?" she asked, her voice soft and melodic.
"I am," you admitted, glancing at the cadaver. "I just… I want to help him. And her."
Pixie tilted her head, her wings shimmering like starlight. "Then let me help you."
Before you could protest, a rush of energy welled up inside you, radiating from Pixie's presence. It wasn't just a feeling, it was a connection, a tether to something beyond. You inhaled sharply as the world around you seemed to shift, the edges of reality bending like ripples on water.
And then, you saw her.
The victim, a young woman in her late 20s or early 30s, dressed in a casual outfit now stained with blood, stood up. Or rather, her spirit did, stepping out of her lifeless body with a dazed and confused expression. You then saw she was looking for something. Her purse, which contained all of her belongings, was out on the street. Scattered, broken, and forgotten.
"Hello?" she called out, her voice trembling, her eyes darting around as if searching for something familiar.
You nearly screamed, your heart racing, but managed to steady yourself. "Hi," you said, forcing your voice to remain calm. "My name's Adam. I'm here to help. Can you… can you tell me your name?"
She blinked, her translucent form flickering slightly. "Ashley. Ashley Williams," she said, her voice quivering. Her gaze fell on her own body, lying still on the ground, and her expression crumpled. "Is that… is that me?"
You nodded solemnly. "Yes. That's you. I'm sorry, Ashley… you're dead."
Her spectral form wavered as she processed the words. "Why? Why am I still here?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "And how can you even see me?"
"Magic," you said with a faint, almost apologetic smile. "It's… complicated. But I'm here for one reason: to find out who did this to you and bring them to justice."
Ashley's form steadied, and she looked at you with wide, searching eyes. "Justice? Can that even happen?"
"It can," you assured her. "But I need your help. Do you remember anything? Can you give me a description of who-"
"I know who did this to me," she interrupted, her voice suddenly steadier, colder. "It was my boyfriend. We were out for drinks. He insisted. I thought it was a normal night, but…" She paused, her spectral hands clutching at her chest. "We both weren't feeling well. He said he'd take me home, but… I think he planned this."
Your stomach churned as her words sank in. "Ashley," you said gently, "do you remember his name? Anything else that might help?"
Ashley nodded slowly, her translucent form flickering as she spoke. "Eddie… Edward Trench. He's charming, but… there was always something off about him. I think he drugged me. I don't know why… I thought he loved me."
Her voice cracked, and for a moment, she looked more alive than dead—a woman trapped in the raw pain of betrayal and heartbreak that seemed to transcend even death itself.
"I'll find him, Ashley," you promised, your voice firm and unwavering. "I'll make sure he doesn't hurt anyone else. But first, I need to convince that man over there," You pointed toward Harvey, who stood near his car, his gruff demeanor as solid as ever. "that I've got something real. That I can help."
Ashley's ghostly face twisted in skepticism. "That pig?" she scoffed, crossing her arms.
You frowned, your tone sharpening. "He's my friend. And he's one of the few good ones left in this city."
Before you could say more, Harvey's voice rang out behind you, cutting through the tension. "Kid, who the hell are you talking to?"
Startled, you turned to see Harvey glaring at you, his cigar stub bouncing as he spoke. To him, it must have looked like you were talking to thin air.
"Just… thinking out loud," you said quickly, trying to sound casual. Turning back to Ashley's spirit, you saw her giving you a faint, bittersweet smile, her form starting to dissolve.
"Help me," she whispered, her voice barely audible now. "I have a note in my wallet. It says where and who I was meeting."
And with that, she vanished, leaving you alone with her final plea and the weight of the task ahead.
Pixie's soft voice broke the silence. "Do you need me to-"
"No," you interrupted, holding up a hand. "Not anymore. Let's help her rest in peace."
Taking a deep breath, you straightened and walked over to the crime scene where Harvey stood, barking orders at a few uniformed officers.
"We don't have an ID or anything solid on the vic," Harvey muttered to the officers. "Keep the gawkers back and-" He stopped mid-sentence as he noticed you approaching. His scowl deepened. "Kid, I said-"
"Her name is Ashley Williams," you interrupted calmly.
Harvey's eyes narrowed, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "How the hell do you know that?"
"You taught me to pay attention," you replied smoothly, gesturing toward the ground. "Look at the contents scattered there. Her wallet's on the pavement, and her ID card is sticking out of it."
Harvey frowned but crouched down, his sharp eyes scanning the scene. Sure enough, the open wallet lay just a few feet from the body, its contents spilled out. Something clicked in your mind, Ashley's spirit must have nudged it open.
You stepped closer, your hand raised to push back the yellow police tape, but a nearby officer moved to stop you.
"Hold on! Civilians-"
"He's with me," Harvey snapped, cutting the officer off with a wave of his hand.
You nodded in thanks, stepping under the tape and kneeling near the wallet. Donning a pair of gloves, you carefully retrieved it, keeping an eye on Harvey's skeptical glare. Inside, you found a handwritten note folded neatly, its edges worn. Covered in blood.
"'Remember: Meet with Eddie T. tonight, at the Hot Whigs Bar'" you read aloud, your voice steady as you handed the note to Harvey.
Harvey's eyes darted between the note and you, his suspicion softening into reluctant acceptance. "You've got guts, kid," he muttered. "Let's see if you've got anything else to back this up." He then sighed. "Go home… I'll make sure that he gets caught."
You nodded then went back to the Orphanage.
------------------------------------
The next morning, Detective Harvey Bullock made headlines across Gotham. Edward Trench, the elusive serial murderer, was finally in custody. The arrest sent ripples through the city, five women over the past six months had fallen victim to his heinous acts. Each death initially ruled as accidents or unrelated incidents, shared a chilling thread: poisoning, staged vehicle accidents, or victims pushed in front of an oncoming subway train.
Edward Trench's arrest revealed a predator who thrived in the shadows, manipulating the chaos of Gotham to cover his crimes. Forensic evidence found at his apartment, along with damning eyewitness accounts from survivors who narrowly escaped, painted a grim picture of a man who had no remorse for the lives he'd taken.
The case was airtight. Trench would likely spend the rest of his life rotting in prison, if he didn't face the death penalty first. Gotham's justice system, often overwhelmed by corruption and bureaucracy, was finally delivering a small yet significant victory for the city's weary citizens.
And For Harvey… he walked a little taller. As if… maybe listening to you, and teaching you, was paying off.
Reward: Gotham was a little safer, thanks to the work you and Harvey had done together.
And Harvey? Well, for a man who often seemed weighed down by the grime of Gotham, he appeared to stand a little taller today. Maybe this case had given him something rare in his line of work.
Hope.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[]Fighting the Shadows Of Gotham: You are going to wander the streets of Gotham, and fight the Shadows that prowl it.
-[]Bring John with you: You want to bring him with you.
John gave you a long, exasperated look, his hand resting on his hip as he gestured at your outfit. "Seriously, just look at yourself. Fedora? Trench coat? You look like you walked out of a bargain bin for wannabe detectives."
You straightened your hat indignantly. "I think I look like a cool, hard-boiled detective, thank you very much."
John groaned, dragging his hand down his face. "No, you look like a kid playing dress-up. That jacket's swallowing you whole, and I'm pretty sure that hat's being held together with duct tape and wishful thinking."
Crossing your arms, you shot back, "Oh, and you're the height of fashion? You're wearing denim and some raggedy mask that looks like you cut it out of an old t-shirt."
John smirked, adjusting his mask. "First off, this mask is functional—it keeps the shadow things from seeing my face when Horseman and I start tearing them apart. Second, it also stops anyone else from seeing me. You know, for when we're sneaking onto someone's property. Ever think about that, Detective Fedora?"
"Nobody ever sees the personas," you replied, rolling your eyes. "They are ghosts out there."
"And what if we're caught?" John countered, stepping closer. "What happens when some guard dogs sniff us out, or a camera catches us, and suddenly we're on the news for trespassing? What if we end up snooping on Maroni's properties—or worse, some rich socialite's mansion? You think your little hat and jacket combo is going to explain that to the cops?"
You faltered, fidgeting with the brim of your hat. "Well, I mean... we'd just..."
"Exactly," John interrupted, shaking his head. "We'd be in deep trouble. So maybe ditch the trench coat and hat, Sherlock, and focus on being less obvious."
You sighed, muttering under your breath, "Still think I look cool."
John heard and chuckled as he started walking. "Keep telling yourself that, detective. Maybe one day someone else will believe it."
"No I'm not changing it." YOu proclaimed.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Walking through the city with a friend felt... surreal. You weren't used to this. The streets of Gotham usually felt suffocating, each shadow a threat, each corner a potential ambush. But tonight was different. Tonight, you weren't alone.
Even so, something gnawed at the edge of your senses. Then you saw it—a hulking, writhing mass of shadow and darkness lurking in the alleyway. It pulsed like a living wound, tendrils of ooze dripping and reforming endlessly. The sight made your stomach twist.
"That's a Shadow?" John asked, his voice tinged with both awe and disgust. He pulled his mask into place, his demeanor shifting into something sharper, more focused. "That's disgusting. Seriously. What even is that thing?"
You didn't have an answer. The oppressive aura it radiated was unlike anything you'd faced before. This wasn't like the smaller shadows you'd dealt with; this one felt... alive, almost intelligent. A predator sizing you up.
John didn't seem fazed, though. He rolled his shoulders, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, let's do this. Call it!"
"What?" You blinked, your focus snapping back to him. "Me? Why me?"
He gestured at the shadow. "Yeah, you. You're the one who keeps saying you know what you're doing with this magic stuff. So call it, whatever you do to summon the big guns."
"I don't just 'call it,'" you said, feeling a little defensive. "It's not that simple. It's about intent, focus, and-"
"Adam, we're about to get eaten by a blob of evil tar," John interrupted, pointing emphatically at the creature. "Now's not the time for a lecture. Just. Call. It!"
You took a breath. "Fine!"
What do you do?:
[]Elemental strikes: Summon Icarus and strike it with wind and fire!
[]A Physical Momentum: You and John are together, and he is a little bigger. So lets fight them with your bare hands.
[]Persona!: Summon Icarus and force him… to get Horseman out here to fight along side him.
[]One man's Trash: You are seeing a lot of junk around… lets use it!
[]Write in.
AN: Enjoy.
