1.
The first house that is on my list is located at 10 Boone Avenue, belonging to a man that goes by the name of Jeremy Fox. I went to that house yesterday night.
We spent yesterday morning and afternoon training with Alfred. He was teaching us how to perform a Hexagonal Hex. It requires a lot of concentration, hand-eye coordination, and skill with the hands. Luckily for me, my strength in neo-karate lies in hand moves, so, while I didn't understand the move immediately, I latched onto it pretty quickly. Borris, of course, understood it quicker.
Before we trained, we had another meditation session. Nothing has changed about these sessions since I last wrote of them. I'm still able to meditate quite well, although the images do intrude at times, but my dreams are still haunted by necklaces, Freebullets, Dognappers, and corpses, as well as that unknowable laughter.
After our training session of neo-karate, Alfred went up to me and said, "So, Master. I hear you'll be going on your first burglary mission tonight."
"Yep," I said, drinking water to alleviate my thirst from the exercise.
"Very good. Now Master," Alfred said, "Do you have any previous... experience in house burglary?"
"Of course not!"
"So this is going to be your first house burglary. I see. Now, second question, Master Wayne. Do you have any notion of getting caught by the police tonight?"
"No..."
"Well, if you don't have experience in house burglary, then it's very likely that that will happen. These aren't the old days, where you could just burgle a house without much previous experience, as long as you were intelligent enough and as long as the owners weren't too cautious. Nowadays, there are cameras, alarms, body-heat detectors, and afterwards there are forensic investigations. One requires more skill to be a successful burglar."
"Right. And where is all this going? Are you trying to dissuade me? Because that's not going to work, Alfred. Borris has already tried."
"I'm not trying to dissuade you, Master! I'm trying to help you. You see, I have had previous experience in burglary."
"Really? The real thing?"
"Yes, Master. And I was quite good at it too. They called me Cat-Man. I managed to steal quite a fair number of priceless items, most famously the Ferriota Diamond."
"That was you? Holy crap!"
"Yes, indeed. The only reason I was ever caught was because one of my team members betrayed us. I was sentenced to jail for 25 years, and afterwards, I vowed to myself to never burgle any more. Using the knowledge of neo-karate I had learned from a friend of mine, Bob Dyle, during my burgling years, I became a neo-karate teacher. I continued practising neo-karate in my spare time, and soon, I was among the best in the world."
"Why did you start burgling?"
"I had no choice, Master Wayne. I was fired from my job, and I was close to getting evicted from my house too. I couldn't find another job, and I had to take care of my daughter as well. My wife had divorced me a few years previously, and I hadn't heard from her since, so she couldn't help out. Then, the Thief of Fenly heard of me and met me one day to offer me to become a part of his team. I had no choice, Master Wayne! I agreed, and became a criminal."
"I understand, Alfred," I said, "I know what it's like to have no choice."
Alfred nodded.
"So what I'm suggesting is that I help you and Borris out on your burglary missions."
"You'd do that? After all those years in jail? You'd return to burglary?"
"Yes."
"Why, Alfred?"
"Because I see you, Master Wayne, and I can't help but be reminded of my young self. I see a desperate man in you, and I don't want you to end up like I did. I don't want you to spend 25 years in jail, all because you tried to get justice for your parents. And you will end up in jail if you don't have an expert with you, Master Wayne. Perhaps you'll get away tonight, and maybe the next night, but you have over a thousand houses to burgle. That's over a thousand nights. On one of those nights, you will almost certainly be caught if you don't know what you're doing. I do know what I'm doing, and I promise you that I will try my absolute best to keep you out of prison."
"Alright, then. Welcome to the team."
"Thank you very much, Master Wayne."
So Alfred was now on our team. Borris quickly went out and bought him a ski mask and a black costume. We spent the rest of the day playing frisbee, bathing in my sauna, and watching some movies on my 8-K screen.
Night descended. With it came the crescent moon, our only source of natural light. The stars were covered by clouds. The Tank-Lamborghini rolled quietly across Gotham City, like a predator in the night, stalking its prey. Its headlights were like eyes, its GPS system like a brain. Its hide, camouflaged as black to fit in with the night, was sleek and smooth, perfect for a predator of its size. It crept around Gotham, looking for Boone Avenue. The prey was located at number 10.
The prey was helpless to resist against the power of the Tank-Lamborghini. It could not hide from the sophisticated GPS system. The Tank-Lamborghini's heat-detector soon confirmed that the prey was indeed at the place. It could not escape now.
Borris, Alfred and I, having confirmed that our prey was indeed at the place, parked the car a street away from our target. Silently, we put on our costumes. Ski mask? On. Elastic and, if needed, heat-producing or cooling jumpsuit? On. We were ready.
We crept out of the car, closing the doors as quietly as possible. I felt like a ninja. Stealthy. Silent. Determined. Our footsteps made little noise on the ground due to our Stealth-100 shoes. Seriously, where does Borris get all of this stuff?
The night was a cop, watching down at us from all sides. Just like one can hide from cops by pretending to be one, we were the night. Crickets chirped from grassy areas. Owls hooted from the treetops. The wind gently blew on our costumes. Cars could be heard far off in the distance. The street we were on, however, was silent with the silence that night brings. The only noises we heard were natural. We passed the houses, and the windows seemed like they were looking down upon us, daring us to break in. The streetlights illuminated the parts of the street we avoided, lest they break our disguise. We were the night.
Like the night, we crept through the minutes of midnight. Where the cars were, we weren't. Where the streetlights were, we weren't. Yet we crept on and on, towards our goal. We approached it. Soon, we were on Boone Avenue. We passed the numbers, their only use to identify who lived in a house and who didn't. We didn't belong on Boone Avenue. We didn't live there and we weren't visiting a resident. Yet we were still there, and the street seemed hostile because of it. The windows and the doors seemed to have faces in them that were scowling at us. The trees appeared to be ghouls in the night, screaming at us for desecrating their graves. Yet we still moved on through the night.
At last, we arrived at the house. Copying Alfred, doing exactly what he did, we entered the backyard. Alfred disabled the cameras, alarms, and general electricity for us. We were in.
Like raccoons rummaging through bins, we rummaged through the house. It was two storeys high. We searched the first storey, going through the kitchen, the living room, the dining room. What we found was promising. This man clearly lived alone, and he was clearly involved in suspicious activity of some sort. This was indicated by the photos we found. We took nothing. We were only burgling by name.
Our torches became our eyes. Our Stealth-100 shoes became our feet. The house was a deadly trap in which we could get caught at any moment. Had Alfred not been there, we most likely would've been caught. We didn't set off any alarms. The cameras were off. We left as little forensic data as possible.
We moved on to the second storey. There, we found the suspect. Lying in bed, at blissful sleep, unaware that three strangers were browsing through his house. He had nothing to worry about if he was innocent. If, however, he had killed my parents, he would face the sword of my justice. I opened the wardrobe.
I saw a green robe.
"It's just a green robe, Bruce," said Borris, "Anyone could own a green robe."
I saw a mask with a dove above a tree on it.
My breaths grew heavier and louder. My eyes widened in rage. This... this was the man I'd been looking for for eight months.
"I suppose we're only going to burgle one house after all," I said.
"Hold on, Bruce," whispered Borris, "Let's not jump into conclusions here. This feels a little suspicious to me. It seems a bit too lucky that we got the murderer on first try."
"A bit lucky!?" I hissed, "A little suspicious!? Borris, you saw the costume! You saw the mask! Tell me, have you ever seen anyone else wear them? Have you!?"
"Well, no..."
"Exactly! This... this monster murdered my parents!"
"Calm down, Bruce. Let's not be too hasty."
"What are you saying, Borris? Why wouldn't we be too hasty? Are you saying that this piece of shit didn't murder my parents? Is that what you're saying?"
"No, no..."
"Then shut up and let me have my vengeance!"
"Hey!" said a new voice, "What are you doing in my house!?"
I turned around. Anger danced in my eyes.
"You fucking piece of SHIT!" I screamed, and leapt towards the man.
I could see fear in his eyes. This encouraged me even further. I pulled out my gun. Ironically, it was a Freebullet.
"No!" screamed the man, "Please! Save my life! Please don't kill me! Please!"
I grabbed the man by the collar of his pyjamas, dragged him out of his bed, and slammed him to the floor. He wailed like a pathetic baby. The man who murdered my parents was scared to die.
"Bruce..." said Borris.
I ignored him, instead slamming my foot onto the man's stomach. He wailed again in pain.
"Cry, you fucker, cry!" I said, "Cry for your sins against my parents!"
"I didn't... I didn't do anything!" gasped the man.
"STOP LYING!" I screamed, and punched him in the face.
I used a Genfer Punch, meaning he lost some teeth from it. Blood spurted out of his mouth and ran down his chin.
"Bet you regret killing my parents, huh? Bet you regret it now, huh, you slimy worm!?" I spat.
"I didn't..." wheezed the man, "I didn't kill your parents! I didn't kill anybody!"
I stepped on his stomach again. He let out another wheeze.
"That's for lying again! Now, tell me... Did you or did you not kill my parents?"
"No! I didn't!"
I stepped on his stomach a third time. This time I packed a lot of force into it. The man let out the loudest scream of pain yet.
"Did you kill them!?" I screamed, "Did you kill them!?"
"Yes!" screamed the man, "Yes, I did!"
"That's what I thought," I said, and then shot him in the face.
Blood, red as Alfred's car, ran down his face in gushes. Some got onto my clothing. I wiped it away in disgust and spat on my parents' murderer's corpse.
"Rest in hell, dipshit," I said, and walked off.
Borris followed me, his face a mask of shock. Alfred was sullen. My anger slowly boiled away as we walked down the stairs, and I was left with one thought in my mind.
"Holy shit," I said, "I just killed a man."
My eyes widened, my heart-rate increased. I began to cry.
"I just killed a man, Borris!" I cried.
"Oh, Bruce," said Borris, and wrapped his arms around me.
I sobbed away in his arms. I sobbed for my parents. I sobbed for the man I had just become.