Eccentric Cardsharper

by King's Snake

The city of Gotham, the epitome and hotbed of crime, is full of different people. Some follow others, while others try to lead. There is also another group of those who are driven by circumstances to lead others or break established social rules. However, who exactly is the mysterious gambler? The embodiment and quintessence of Gotham's problems, or perhaps another victim?

AN: Hello dear readers, I welcome you - probably - to my next one-shot story. Regardless, I sincerely hope you have a lot of fun.

However, let's start by stating the simple fact that I simply hate, detest, and am privately allergic to superhero stories of any kind. It was like it was in my DNA and I couldn't do anything about it.

After all, there's nothing like new experiences, so I decided to do something I hadn't tried before, and honestly, until I felt inspired, I never imagined I'd ever try it.

However, getting to the point, here is a fragment of a story about a young man who falls in love and derives pleasure from only one aspect of his everyday life. A teenager, focused on only one thing after the loss of loved ones, what drives his daily life and gives him the strength to continue living until one fateful day when his fate will be sealed.

To tell you the truth, what prompted me to write this was the plot of the first - literally the first, not a remake - Mafia from Illusion Softworks. A plot in which the main character was basically thrown into the criminal underworld by fate. It's similar here, but not the same, definitely not the same.

I won't say more and I leave you to see for yourself what kind of person I've deigned to introduce to you this time.

I hope you enjoy this prologue and perhaps the only chapter. At the same time, I encourage you to leave a comment.

That's all I have to say to you, dear readers, and I wish you a good day or night. -King's Snake

---

"Jurgen Blackheart!" The teacher's loud but still calm voice rang out in the classroom, full of well-equipped laboratory tables.

The voice of the old man, who has the displeasure of teaching chemistry to all those teenagers gathered in front of him, was not angry, but seemed to reflect more of a disappointment with the youth who could do so much these days, more than he could in his youth, but despite most of them were never going to realize their full potential.

One of these teenagers was a sixteen-year-old Latino in appearance, with neck-length, naturally wavy black hair. He was neither muscular nor slim, but somewhere in between and truly quite tall. He had strong and prominent cheekbones and dark emerald eyes, but there were very, very, very dark shadows under them. The complement and quintessence of who he was was a bored, clearly misty and seemingly absent expression on his face.

As usual, sleep-deprived and immersed in the land of his own thoughts. The man, approaching eighty but still intellectually gifted, thought with disappointment. Jurgen could achieve so much if he only focused on what was important. I just wonder what this young man actually does at night?

The aging man was brought out of his thoughts by the words of a young man who turned his attention to him. As always, his words were full of natural grace and elegance befitting a British man from the upper echelons of society. As if he had ever belonged to the upper classes and not lived all his life in the slums of Gotham. Truly, I can only guess what is going on in this young man's head. On the other hand, it's better than having to use a curse word in half of all the words he says.

"Please forgive me, Mr. Haber, it won't happen again." Jurgen said smoothly, and his lack of sleep seemed to disappear for a few moments, replaced by fleeting energy.

If only it were more than just empty promises with no real action. If only, then I would be more than happy. Haber thought with a hint of bitterness that another great mind would be wasted in the cesspool that was Gotham City, which only seemed to absorb so many minds with great potential. "Never mind, please pay more attention, especially today, because as you probably remember, Mr. Blackheart, we will be carrying out a long-announced research project. Chemistry is not theoretical physics, where a group of fat idiots wander around without any major consequences among many numbers and equations, hoping that this particular formula will be correct."

"Yes, of course Mr. Haber, I remember that." Jurgen replied calmly and without a trace of the fear that, apart from him, in contact with the seemingly ruthless chemistry teacher, only another student, who even now sat next to him, could show.

"Excellent, and now..." His gaze wandered towards an extremely intelligent, athletic teenager with red hair who was sitting next to one of the lower-ranking students at this high school. "Mrs. Gordon, what did I tell you about Chemistry at the very beginning of your classes with me?"

The called student stood up as a gesture of respect towards the teacher. "Chemistry is, at least in the opinion of those who do not understand its essence, the science of matter. In essence, however, it is the science of change. We change and transform the matter we work on or with which we simply have contact, almost all the time."

"Very good, Mrs. Gordon, as if I had said it myself, although in the future please put it more in your own words. When you come to write your doctoral thesis, because I see no other option, it will be necessary to put the discussed issue in your own words, unless it involves quoting."

The student nodded, then took a seat and, nudging the Latino in the ribs, began to whisper into his ear. I have no doubt that, as usual, she is scolding what she considers an unruly peer, certainly not a friend. On the other hand, did Jurgen ever have any friends?

Without further thought and returning to the topic of the lesson, Haber continued, looking at his students, straight into their eyes, into their windows of the soul, as a chemistry teacher used to perceive this part of the human body. "Change accompanies us all, and not only in chemistry. We change as people, sometimes from day to day, sometimes this change comes only after years and under the influence of wisdom acquired as a result of our own, catastrophic mistakes. Still, it's up to us... at least to some extent, which direction this change will take. It will be the same in a moment when you start making this change. So turn your textbooks to page 126, you must first read the instructions carefully again and follow the instructions. As usual, he expects nothing less than to convey the essence of the experiment."

"Yes sir!" The students responded in a way that definitely suited Haber.

In this educational institution, he was quite widely regarded as a very demanding old-school teacher who was never afraid of the parents' anger directed at him because of their children's poor chemistry grades. A bunch of idiots who make their 'beloved little treasures' handicapped and unable to deal with their own emotions or adversities. I swear, the degeneration of our culture, values and any self-requirements on the part of the individual has been going on for a long time and this is just another of the many symptoms of this disastrous state of affairs.

Dr. Haber walked around the classroom, looking at the more or less successful attempts of numerous teenagers to follow the instructions from a handbook he himself wrote for secondary schools. He checked whether they had made any mistakes that could potentially threaten their lives, which, given the certain unpredictability of what they were working with, could happen, especially if a pair of students were particularly unsuccessful.

I'm demanding? Haber shook his head, remembering his last and not very pleasant parent-teacher interview. All I want is for these children to learn to think as independently as possible and as much as the complicated reality allows. So that they learn about the consequences of their choices, smaller or larger, and even if made under the influence of many external factors. But am I asking too much from people?

After a short while, he approached the table where Barbara Gordon and Jurgen Blackheart were working. If Haber were honest with each other, they were quite effective and seemed to complement each other very well, despite the fact that Jurgen was clearly always lethargic and Barbara was the driving force behind the pair.

Two opposites that seem to attract. Haber thought with a certain irony that echoed in his thoughts. The daughter of the respected commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department, a conscientious and ambitious woman, and on the other hand, the son of drunks and drug addicts from the city's slums, literally devoid of ambition or a higher goal in life, at least as it seems. She is athletic, he is average. She,always trying and paying attention to every word of the teachers, while he is lethargic but at least polite. I swear, this world is just absurd. A young man with a wonderful mind, without his parents who died a few months ago and without whom he is much better off, at least I think. I also think he knows it, but for some reason he doesn't take the chance. Lack of ambition? Maybe, goodness knows, how many of my friends who had so much potential didn't even finish high school.

"Mrs. Gordon" Haber he told her as quietly, almost in a whisper, as possible. I don't think I'll let this similar story repeat itself again. Others may criticize me for intruding on other people's lives, but far too many of my colleagues have no interest in young people with great potential, and may all of them go to hell!

"Yes, Mr. Haber?" The red-haired teenager asked her chemistry teacher, seeing his slight hesitation.

Dr. Haber just blinked before he stopped thinking so hard. "Please stay for a while after class, I want to talk to you for a moment if it's okay."

She just smiled in response. "It's not, sir."

Haber, however, did not answer and only briefly noticed that Jurgen showed no, even the slightest, interest in the teacher's conversation with his colleague. I wonder what he's actually thinking about?

The classes lasted several dozen minutes and Dr. Haber had to witness a number of successes as well as spectacular failures, the largest of which resulted in several students being sent to the school infirmary.

Some of Haber's failures could be forgiven, but some of them were so spectacular and made on such trivial things that he wanted to tear out all his hair first, and then those who failed due to their sheer stupidity.

Eventually, however, classes ended and Room 65, located on the second floor of the building, slowly began to empty of students, some of whom were happy about their success, while others were dejected. Only one soul left the room with no particular expression on its face other than simple indifference, and it was not difficult to guess, even with closed eyes, the identity of this one soul.

Barbara Gordon at the same time approached the desk, placed on a large platform so as to tower over the class, behind which Dr. Haber was already sitting comfortably.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Barbara asked him right away, looking straight into his eyes.

"Yes and I have a few questions for you, Mrs. Gordon." Haber replied, pursing his lips into a thin line for a few moments, considering how to approach the topic he wanted to discuss with the student, and then decided to get straight to the point. "Well, usually it's the students who say they shouldn't get involved, but in this case it's the other way around."

Barbara became concerned for a brief moment. "Do I have any problems, Mr. Haber?"

The old man just shook his head in denial in response. "It's about your partner in experiments and research projects, Jurgen."

"Oh?" The red-haired student was clearly more than surprised, but after a moment she controlled her confusion in a way that could be considered practiced. "This is a bit surprising, but may I know the reason, the exact reason, for your interest in him?"

Haber knocked on his desk a few times, then decided to continue being authentic and honest with the student. "To be completely honest, I'm worried about his future. I have seen many people like him, many friends of mine with great potential who failed to achieve anything great."

The student was clearly surprised, which led her to ask a question. "Forgive me this… impertinence, but is it because he has no greater ambitions?"

"Yes." Haber admitted this, then folded his hands. "I know perfectly well that you can't force someone to be happy, but since I started teaching and seeing a lot of wasted talent from this perspective, it's just impossible for me not to come to the conclusion that the world could be a much better place."

Haber took a deep breath, then stood up and moved towards the window that showed the sun that would soon begin to sink below the horizon. It was April 30, a Friday, and night would fall in a few hours.

"Besides, I just feel sorry for the boy, to be honest." Haber admitted honestly. "I grew up in the slums of Gotham, at a time when the city was in a much better condition, but still on the margins of society. Only my determination inherited from my father and mother helped me get to where I am, and my parents always encouraged me to gradually reach higher. I can't imagine what it's like to grow up in a pathological family that doesn't care about you."

"Sir." The student shifted a little uncomfortably before continuing. "I hate to say it, but the story about growing up poor may not be true."

"What?" Haber turned, looking at her with slight surprise and disbelief, but not having the slightest reason to distrust her. "How can it be untrue, after all it is officially in the papers that his parents, Mortyr and Juana Blackheart, died of a drug overdose?"

The red-haired student continued speaking calmly and without stress. "Jurgen told us all different versions of their stories. Some of his friends say that he himself told them how he caused an accident at home and his parents died in front of him, while he was supposed to enjoy the view. Others say that he was the son of wealthy people who were attacked and robbed, and that he later had to hide in the slums of Gotham, where he lost most of what was left of his fortune. According to some, he fights in street fights to earn a living, and according to others, he is a shop assistant. There are many versions, often completely contradictory, and it is difficult to say what is true and what is false.

What does this mean, what is this young man actually playing when he tells all these stories. Haber moved nervously, but did not break contact with one of the best students in school. "No one has ever discovered the truth?"

The student just shook her head in denial. "Most of the class, even many others, are simply afraid of him. Some think he is a high-functioning psychopath, others think he is a sociopath, while a few think he is charming and extremely pleasant to talk to."

"What do you think, Miss Gordon?" Haber asked her, though he hesitated for a moment before hearing the answer.

"I don't know." The student replied simply. "Whenever we work together, he never interrupts me, never makes it difficult and just follows my orders."

So that's it, intelligent but focused on trivial matters. Haber thought before taking his seat behind the desk and speaking once more. "I also know this type of extremely intelligent people who prefer to waste their own potential only on petty games."

"Do you want me to try to talk to him and try to talk him out of something, sir?"

"Exactly, Miss Gordon." Haber nodded. "I have seen too many young and promising people choose to squander their intellect to allow such waste to continue. I would appreciate your help and that's all I wanted to talk about, you can go Mrs. Gordon and I'll see you next week."

This was the end of the conversation between the two.

XXX

Jurgen Blackheart left the university building he attended with a small but easy to see smile on his face. After chemistry classes, the only thing left to do was physical education, and given the easy access to the university gym, he could train in relative peace.

When he walked out, wearing his favorite beige double-breasted trench coat with a turtleneck underneath, he couldn't help but keep that little smile on his face, and combined with his sunglasses, it sent different messages to different people.

Those who feared him, and often hated him, stayed out of his way for fear of what was currently in his head and what he might actually be planning. That part thought he was a psychopath who should have been in Arkham Asylum a long time ago.

Get out and stay out of my line of sight, you dickheads. He thought as he looked at this group with brief contempt and only one of the younger students, he gave a cruel and piercing smirk that made the poor soul freeze for a few moments. If you can't even look at me, you'll grow up to be some really pathetic individuals, I guess. People like you will not survive even a moment when confronted with the brutal reality, or the brutality of the poorer parts of any city, especially this one.

Looking at the part that waved at him and smiled back, he nodded at them in a gesture of apparent friendship, but his attitude towards them was actually even worse than the previous group.

A bunch of stupid naifs who believe that what they see and what I tell them is at least a half-truth or the honest truth. Half of them would buy a rotten piece of horse from me like a ham and say thank you, morons. Jurgen thought, despising absolutely everyone in this school, though only a few were completely indifferent to him. Sometimes I wonder why God - or whoever runs this circus - punished me with such a bunch of idiots as my college friends. Can they really be anything like my friends from middle school? Well, maybe it's because the intelligent people I met came from lower social backgrounds, were in a worse situation than me and cannot afford such a luxury as school and continuing their education. Well, at least I was, and am, more resourceful than most people, than the least human sort.

Regardless of the people he met along the way and his absolute contempt for them, Jurgen fondly remembered his friends from high school, when his parents were still alive and he could afford to live in a decent area of the city. Until their deaths, when it became necessary for him to move to a cheap apartment, although not in the worst part of the city.

Jurgen walked confidently as he crossed the yard, and there was a certain melodiousness to his movements, mainly due to his interest in music and his desire to always move to some elegant rhythm. He had many reasons to be happy, because school and the artificial, dead life without life were over for him. Only now, on a dark night, his true and favorite life with all its charms. The life of a gambler, which he liked to the core, perhaps too much.

"Jurgen!" Behind him, he heard what he thought was a charming and girlish, almost feminine voice.

The summoned young man stopped in his tracks, his smile giving way to a seemingly cold expression. However, it was actually a shock, perfectly masked by the sunglasses. He turned back, not knowing how to behave properly, when a certain red-haired beauty was running towards him, whose body - above all - was the object of desire of more than one or two of the young man's male friends.

What the hell does she want? All I had to do was get on the train, then get home and start this wonderful night! He thought, absolutely irritated that someone would dare interrupt his daily ritual, at least on the weekdays, and a grimace appeared on his lips.

"What happened, Barbara?" He told her as coldly as he could, and it sounded more like a warning than a friendly question.

Jurgen had to admit that she didn't flinch or run away like most of their schoolmates did when they heard him sound upset or annoyed.

"I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if you don't mind." She said as soon as she got within a few steps, while looking straight into his eyes and drawing the attention of everyone around them.

Although surprised, he didn't show anything, just decided to put on his characteristic smile, but his tone was cold. "So speak quickly, I have a train soon and I want to go home as soon as possible, Barbara."

The girl considered the questions for a moment before asking the first one. "I just wanted to know where you actually live?"

"Why do you need to know?" He asked, the smirk disappearing from his face at the same time, replaced by something approaching contempt. "If you don't know, you can ask one of our colleagues, I have never withheld information on this matter and have always answered anyone who has ever asked."

Both he and she knew it was a lie, something Jurgen himself could read in her eyes, but she couldn't do the same with him, because of the glasses and the cold expression on her face.

Barbara took a few more steps before asking the question, more quietly than before. "Why are you so cold and don't tell anyone the truth?"

After these words, a false smile crept onto his lips once again. "Truth is a relative concept, depending primarily on perspective. I thought an intelligent girl like you could understand it without any problem."

One of the smartest girls in a school full of idiots and future failures whose only destiny is to serve those smarter and stronger. He thought with a malicious smile, taught by his own life experiences. However, life has many interesting lotteries for each of us, so we will see how the fate of each of us will unfold in the more or less distant future.

"Today, during our classes, I gathered myself to think." Barbara just looked at him for a moment before continuing. "Why don't you try your best at school, since you're one of the brightest students and people I know, even though you often act like an idiot or generally try to do more than follow orders."

Jurgen just laughed loudly, attracting more attention, but his tone didn't change. "You may not be that bright if you expected me to ever talk to you about this, Barbara. Maybe everyone at school knows the truth about me, or maybe only a fraction of it, or nothing at all, here you have what I would call canonical selectivity, everything depends only on you."

Barbara clearly wanted to engage in deeper interaction and conversation, but Jurgen just waved her off dismissively before turning around and heading his way. "Don't bother, I'm not interested in you and I'm not going to take you on a date just because you want it so bad!"

He heard a collective sigh, but none of it mattered much to him, quite the contrary. All that mattered to him was that he embarrassed his classmate, which was quite a nice feeling and a little revenge on her for prying into her business.

"You are a man with a heart colder than even both poles put together!" One of his classmates screamed as if he was being controlled by his own reflexes and clearly wasn't thinking about it.

Most of them only see that I rejected a beautiful girl whose body is desired by the majority of the male population of this high school. Jurgen thought with a malicious smile on his face. Womens are absolutely waste of time, as is dating them when I could instead be doing everything in my power to get out of my current situation or move up in society. On the other hand, isn't sex and marriage one of those ways?

What good could a relationship with the daughter of one of Gotham City's most honest police officers do for him? Nothing but a possible bullet in the back at the hands of those who are grateful to Captain Gordon for his incorruptibility and commitment to fighting crime in the city. Crime, which was basically the main reason why the city was well known in the United States of America.

Jurgen started half-jogging towards the train, which he ended up being a few seconds late for, but due to a robbery, the departure was ultimately delayed for a few minutes.

The young man was happy about this, so he sat down comfortably on one of the few free seats, next to a woman with dark circles under her eyes and smoking something homemade. The entire compartment was worn out, clumsily decorated with sprays by young people, and the gray only added to the depressing atmosphere of the whole, gray and gloomy people.

Jurgen, however, had all of them in deep respect, because at the moment he was most focused on one of his favorite objects and at the same time a souvenir of his parents. An elegant deck of cards with black and gold embossed on the back of each. Several cards were skillfully moved by him between his fingers at the same time, proof of his undoubted skill.

The deck was a gift from his parents for his tenth birthday and was dictated by the fact that he had always been very interested in playing with cards and was good at it. Besides, his two interests were music and architecture, but these two were not that important to him personally.

Regardless, this short trip was a quiet, relatively uneventful one for him. There was a fight on the train, but Jurgen didn't pay attention to it, except for a fleeting glance at the moment when a pale and clearly drugged fifty-year-old was punching an old woman with his fists, hoping to steal money that would undoubtedly be spent on another dose of drugs. Meanwhile, the witnesses did not react and why would they? Such things happened very often in this God-forsaken place.

I have no right to any form of superiority over this man, at least as I think. The young man thought as he shuffled the deck of cards in his right hand, although he could have just as easily done it in his left. In a similar situation, if I were severely addicted and desperately looking for money to pay for my addiction, I would undoubtedly not hesitate to act in the same way.

He then stopped bothering with the unsightly scene, and instead focused on the beautiful buildings of this city, which always reminded him of a strangely successful hybrid of Gothic and modern. After all, a fake is still a fake, and a pretty poor one at that.

In the background, a news edition was played over the compartment speakers, hosted by a new and extremely energetic reporter, Vicki Vale. The news was more than interesting and caught Jurgen's attention.

It seems that a self-proclaimed lawman who puts himself above the law, and in a tacky costume that poorly imitates a bat, went crazy again last night and busted a weapons smuggling operation. Mr. Sionis will not be pleased. Jurgen summarized everything and studied it with such great attention that he almost forgot to get off the train. Meanwhile, Barbara's father received a lot of praise for the success, and he and the rest of the policemen who took part in the clean-up operation once again criticized the bat for its arbitrary actions. Well, the irony is that a man who puts himself above the law is more friendly to them than the corrupt Commissioner Loeb and the rest of the public institutions. Even the new and widely respected prosecutor, Harvey Dent, is of little help in the face of this city's corruption.

When Jurgen left the train at the actual station bordering the East End, one of the city's seediest and worst neighborhoods, he couldn't help but smile ironically. I wonder what my next meeting with Mr. Sionis will be like tomorrow. I haven't seen him in days, and I have quite a bit of gambling money to give to him.

Jurgen finally entered the correct staircase in the tenement house, which was at the corner of the intersection of two streets. After a short climb up, he finally reached the corridor that led directly to the apartment he was renting. I was lucky last year that Mr. Sionis didn't decide to shoot me after he lost several hundred thousand dollars to me in a poker game, and he even allowed me to keep some of the money after paying tribute and committing to pay more for every game I won. For someone known as Black Mask, he was very gracious.

Before he could get inside, a bald, overweight man in a plaid shirt and jeans emerged from the next door. The owner of the tenement house, Jeremy.

"Hello Jurgen, good to see you back from school." He greeted the young man.

"In fact, I'm back and it's been another boring day, Jeremy." Jurgen replied, waving his hand and stopping for a moment. "But I hope the night will be fruitful and give me some entertainment."

"Do you still play poker and other types of gambling, kid?" Jeremy asked, then gave him a disapproving look, although it had the air of a father disappointed in his son, even if the two weren't related. "I swear, one day you will get what you deserve, and then there will be no concessions. My brother also played, he played a lot, but unlike you he was not so lucky, as a result of which he got into debt, then hanged himself in his apartment and left his family in debt, his wife and three children.

"Unfortunate." Jurgen agreed and then went to the apartment. "Thank you for the welcome and the informative conversation, but I must prepare for a night of debauchery and gambling, from which I intend to make as much as possible."

"Hang in there kid." Jeremy waved him goodbye. "But remember what I have said and do not disregard it, for none of us knows the day or the hour."

When Jeremy put it like that, Jurgen's mood darkened. As usual, he mentions his superstitions. A simple peasant believed in witchcraft until his ass dried up. I swear, in this respect he is worse than the priest who taught me in primary school, who turned out to like children too much.

Jurgen almost shuddered at this memory, because he remembered perfectly how his involuntary sexual initiation took place and he did not wish the same fate on anyone. However, he quickly managed to get over the shock, went inside and quickly took a shower, having first put water on for tea.

When he came out and dressed in black pants and a shirt of the same color, he treated his palate to a sweetened sugar and a warm drink, while continuing to listen to the radio.

This was Jurgen Blackheart, a teenager who, only thanks to his own resourcefulness, avoided the decline in his social status to the bottom and possibly homelessness, which almost occurred after the death of his parents.

While drinking tea, he wondered where exactly he should go. They only allowed minors into standard casinos, so he had to go to less safe places, but where he was able to pay the rent and save some money for the future and uncertain times. However, anyone familiar with the dangerous reality of Gotham City was well aware that times were already uncertain.

This time, in the news he listened to, there were ubiquitous speculations about the war between gangs, bikers and the Irish, which was quite important to Jurgen. Many of his friends from high school, when his parents were still alive, had family members, friends or were motorcyclists themselves. For reasons unknown, and despite his elegant lifestyle and aversion to motorcycles as a means of transportation, he still had some inclination towards this type of environment.

He also noticed the drawing board with one of his dreams on it. Plans for a large casino that could accommodate up to 10,000 people at a time. The project, tentatively named by him, 'Blackheart Gotham Grand Casino'. Gambling's unexpressed love for games of this type did not exclude his second love, architecture.

Regardless, he waited until it was 8:30 p.m. on his watch and the sky was already dark, which, combined with the general hopelessness and danger in the city, gave it an even more somber aesthetic. Only Detroit can compete with Goth in this respect.

Jurgen put on a midnight black leather jacket with a collar and scarlet patterns, which made him look at least like an eccentric, but that wasn't all. He also wore a blood-crimson tie with black patterns, tied loosely at the neck to match the unbuttoned top zipper of his black shirt. The last two elements of his outfit were yellow glasses and a black bowler hat. All this made it look simply weird and freaky, which, however, fit the city itself and its aesthetics.

His financial situation may not have been ideal, but it was stable enough that he could afford extravagant clothes made to order. Besides, I may even starve sometimes, but what matters is appearances and style, which make me who I am.

"When it becomes night, the real life of this city begins." He said before closing the door behind him, double checking the lock and heading downstairs. "In this city there is a thief upon a thief and another thief driving away. Should I move to Metropolis in the future once I have enough money to build my own casino? There is very little crime there, thanks to Superman. Perhaps this is where a second and new life awaits me?

He hummed quietly and considered his future for a few more moments until he finally went outside, where his old friends were waiting for him.

"Olaf!" Jurgen raised his hands up and then moved to hug a blond-haired and well-muscled for his age teenager, slightly shorter than him.

"Jurgen, or should I say gambler!?" Olaf returned the hug, then added. "Quite apt, considering your talent with cards, so many people think you're a fraud and are just waiting to catch you in the act."

"They can try, they won't find anything." Jurgen replied, ignoring as always the potential danger of his talent for taking people's money and quite often leaving them in debt. "I'm simply invincible, and now…!"

He then turned to his remaining friends and said hello to them, all of them aged 16, 17 or 18, with their own motorcycles, dressed in leather and carrying various types of melee weapons. "Axel, Casper, Emil, Filip, Harald, Isak, Jessica and you Ilza! Great to see you all, now let's get on our bikes and head out into the dark night!"

"Have you chosen a place for this night, Jurgen?" Olaf asked him as he sat in the driver's seat of his Harley and the elegantly dressed teenager sat on the scrap that was left for him, grabbing his friend by the neck to stay awake while riding.

"I was thinking about it and I came to the conclusion that we haven't been to Selina's for too long, so let's pay her a surprise visit!" Jurgen then pointed his finger ahead at the crowded street, with no particular purpose in mind. "Friends, we're going straight to the Tin Roof Club!"

"Got it, bro!" All nine of them screamed in unison, and the bikes were put into motion.

Everyone traveled without helmets, considering it as something not for them, for people from a lower class. They maneuvered quite skillfully in the crowded streets, squeezing through and not paying much attention to traffic lights. Sometimes it happened that they ripped a mirror out of one car or another, but it didn't matter much to them.

They all arrived between the streets near their destination at around 8:46 p.m., as Jurgen himself confirmed on his watch, then he gracefully jumped off the bike and his companions rushed right behind him, as if he was their leader, which Olaf actually was.

When an emaciated drug addict tried to attack Jurgen, one of the nine immediately used his makeshift morgenstern made from old factory parts to hit the attacker several times, making his probability of survival very slim, but none of them had to worry about it.

"No one touches my man, dickhead!" Ilse, who had landed the blow, shouted and spat at the fallen man.

No one tried to stop or capture her. There was an unwritten rule in Gotham that criminals got a cut and no one could touch them, especially those associated with bigwigs of the underworld. If you take into account that Jurgen was paying tribute to Black Mask, he could easily hide behind it and no one could do anything to him, unless it was someone really fierce. Another case would be a situation in which one of ten friends would kill or beat up one of the broadly understood elites ruling the city.

Aksel suddenly opened the door to the inside of the club, which was still closed, but it didn't matter much to them. All ten of them went there as if they were at home, with Jurgen in the lead, and no one disturbed them, at least for a while.

"Well, well, I haven't seen you here for a long time, boys and girls." Selina Kyle, a beauty with black hair, walked up to them. "You can't read, the club is only open from 9 p.m.?"

"If I remember correctly, you never minded." Jurgen reminded her. "Besides, we have to get the best VIP seats. I don't think I need to remind you who won this place?"

"Touche, Jurgen." Selina smiled and took out a whole case of cold beer from behind the counter. "Come upstairs, boys and girls, just play nice."

I can't promise that, ma'am. Jurgen smiled maliciously, and then he and his companions went upstairs, where more or less important people from the criminal world usually sat.

The ten spent the first 20 minutes, until the club opened and the customers entered, talking about the latest events in their lives. The most interesting part, however, concerned Jessica, whose mother died of a heart attack after struggling with a long-term illness for which there was no money.

"It's a pity, but enough about that, the night is still young and we have a lot to do." Jurgen told them. "And above all, I have many wallets to thin, it's time for a big tax collection. Seriously, they shouldn't call me a gambler, but a janitor, because I always win everything that's at stake!"

"Yes, yes, just don't overdo it like last time." Selina approached them with another case of beer, to which they all responded enthusiastically. "I swear the grumpy and self-proclaimed gentleman of crime Mr. Oswald Cobblepot still has in your mind the loss of those tens of thousands of dollars and his new Maybach."

"Maybe grumpy about how everyone has won money but can't do anything." Jurgen took a long sip of good beer, which did good for his palate. "As long as Mr. Sionis takes care of me and collects tribute from me, no one will touch me!"

"You know how they say, pride comes before a fall." Selina warned him before going back downstairs to serve other customers.

I swear I don't know a stronger woman than her. Jurgen thought, glad to have such a wonderful friend. Even Barbara, compared to her, is a weak, delicate and worthless pussy who probably wouldn't know what to do in her miserable life without her own daddy.

Soon, the night began in earnest and Jurgen played many games, primarily poker, of which he was a self-proclaimed master. I swear, when I turn 18, I'm going on vacation to Las Vegas and making as much money as I can. Mr. Sionis can even take his share, and I will be much richer, perhaps even richer enough to build my own casino.

In the first 2 hours, Jurgen racked up around $3,000, which was a respectable amount, in winnings against smaller individuals from organizations such as the Sicilian Mafia and the Italian Mafia. No big names, no one from the Falcone or Maroni families, but there were a few mid-level newcomers from Rupert Thorne.

However, things got a lot more interesting when two of the newest underworld players joined the game. Two mercenaries who appeared around the same time as the Man-Bat mystery. Killer Croc and Killer Moth. The first was a freelancer who made a name for himself and intimidated Jurgen a bit at first, while the second almost made him laugh with his idiotic costume, but he still had a group of well-armed men.

"They say you're one of the best card players, right?" Croc asked him as the trio sat at one table playing poker with almost $20,000 in the pot.

Moth was also curious and made no move until Jurgen gave his answer.

"I'm not one of the best, my alligator friend." Jurgen replied, but seeing Croc's annoyance at being addressed this way, he decided not to do it like that again. "I am the best, as anyone who has ever played with me can attest!"

Jurgen spread his arms wide and his loud way of saying this attracted the attention of literally everyone around him. Many gangsters and Mafia members nodded, often with reluctance, because many of them had lost many dollars to him, the amounts amounting to not tens of thousands, but hundreds of thousands. Needless to say, many resented him for this, but as long as he paid tribute to Black Mask, he was effectively untouchable.

"But whatever you do, my friends, I don't care." Jurgen had no problems or difficulties in making friends with criminals and mercenaries, on the contrary, he felt at ease among them and so did they.

"I'm working for Mr. Thorne to protect his arms smuggling into the city." Croc almost hissed, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, or in this particular case, the moon. "The bat is making a lot of noise."

Jurgen then looked at Moth, who, after a moment's hesitation, said. "Mr. Falcone wanted him to cover diamond smuggling operations into the city. A very large number of diamonds, straight from Russia."

"I'm happy about it, but now…" Jurgen laid down his cards, thus showing his straight flush. "Your turn."

Crock showed four of a kind with a menacing growl, but in Moth's case it was even worse, Flush. They both lost, which made their opponent smile and take home the dollars they won.

"Come, my sweet treasures, you will feel better and warmer with me." Jurgen stated with loud and obvious smugness.

Croc meanwhile slams his fist threateningly on the table, almost spilling the drinks from their glasses. "I can't believe I was beaten by some teenager who probably doesn't even have a beard yet on his balls!"

His statement immediately alerted Jurgen's friends, each of them took out a melee weapon and prepared to fight, which only heated up the atmosphere in the club.

"Careful Croc." Killer Moth growled loudly at him. "Don't you dare start a fight in one of the best nightclubs and don't even think about biting the boy's hand off, I like him."

"Exactly, alligator!" Selina screamed, quickly approaching the table the trio sat at, no doubt after hearing their screams. "There's a reason I have a lot of customers in my bar, and I don't want that to change."

The situation calmed down after a while, but Jurgen and his friends decided to leave the club with the entire winnings, part of which the young man gave them as a thank you for their support.

They dropped him off a few blocks from his apartment because he wanted to walk for a while and thought it would be a good idea to go to bed earlier. Jurgen thanked them for their company and then went on his way

It was approaching midnight in the crime city, and yet Jurgen decided to walk among the dark streets. As it quickly turned out, this was a serious mistake.

At one point, when the teenager was walking down a dark street as if he owned the entire city, he was hit in the head with a baseball bat and fell to the ground, clutching his head. It didn't help much, because a moment later the remaining attackers attacked him, kicking and hitting him with sticks.

A group of people around his age ran out from behind garbage bins or other secluded places and attacked him.

His ribs were undoubtedly broken after just a few moments, leaving him lying awkwardly and gasping for air quickly. He counted a total of 5 attackers, 4 muscular young adults, and the leader of them was an athletic woman with swarthy skin, wearing a woman's trench coat, who was Latina in appearance, just like Jurgen.

"There you are, you fucking rat!" The girl spat on his face and then kicked him with all her strength straight in the stomach. "Mr. Sionis sends his regards, traitor!"

What why!? Jurgen's eyes widened when he heard these words, and despite numerous bruises, a broken leg, at least one cracked rib, a concussion, a bleeding nose, and blood pooled in his mouth, he still managed to speak.

"Alejandra!" The young man recognized this voice as his ex-girlfriend from high school, with whom his relationship ended after an incident with a certain priest, which made Jurgen lose his desire for intimate contact with the other sex. "What does all this mean!? Why did Mr. Sionis send you and why did you attack me!"

He was panicked, but he didn't try to hide it. His complacency, carefreeness and charisma crumbled when faced with a threat to his life for which he was not at all prepared.

His fear only made the girl laugh, who looked at him with obvious superiority, just like her companions.

"Now are you going to pretend you don't know anything, that you weren't the one who told the bat about the gun smuggling operation last night?" She asked him, but didn't give him time to explain because she kicked him 3 more times with all her might, making him cough again intensely. "Black Mask knew you had been trying to break free from his control ever since you started paying tribute. He and I concluded that you were a mole who sold information to Batman, that clown in the crappy suit. Additionally, and despite your insignificant position in the underworld, you know a lot because you spend almost every night in places where a lot of people talk."

After these words, she took a revolver from her pocket and without a word, she shot Jurgen's right knee, which made the teenager scream, and then she hit his left eye, and he finally accidentally knocked his glasses off his face, revealing his fear in its full glory. "On top of that, because of you, my father was arrested and is awaiting trial, all because of you!"

"Wait, Alejandra!" Jurgen almost squealed, completely terrified and in pain, acting only on adrenaline and not any rational thought processes, so he pushed himself up immensely, supporting himself with his hands. "I had nothing to do with it! You have to believe me, I'm begging you, because of what happened between us, let me...!"

"Silence, rat!" Alejandra kicked him in the eye, which had already popped out, causing Jurgen unimaginable pain that sent him crashing into the concrete wall behind him. "You still dare to mention that you basically thought I was just a whore who could be dumped at any convenient moment!"

"Alejandra, it's not like that!" Jurgen screamed, completely terrified, and eventually began to cry, both from the pain and the ever-growing fear. "It wasn't me, you poor whores, I'm not a mole!"

In response, he received a kick to his face, which already looked like a picture of misery and despair, which only deepened the condition.

"You probably don't remember me, do you?" Asked the one of Alejandra's companions who had dealt the final blow.

"You think I remember every twat I've ever met in my damn life!?" The sharp tongue brought another kick to his face.

"Of course not, who would remember someone like that below you, trash." The attacker stated sarcastically. "Because of you, my father lost all our savings, and I was with him when it happened. He begged you to let him keep at least some of the money that was for my sister's treatment, but you showed no mercy."

"Well, no one told him to take the risk, obviously you're not smarter than him!" Jurgen stated sarcastically, which resulted in him getting hit in the mouth with a revolver and losing a tooth. "Fuck, that's not my last word!"

With great difficulty, he suddenly jumped up and using one of the cards from his favorite deck, he managed to cut Alejandra's cheek, who clearly did not expect it, but after a moment he was violently pushed back against the wall, falling down with great pain in both knees.

His last and desperate effort brought him practically nothing but pain. However, he would have one benefit from it after his death. At least your blood is on the card now, you whore! Not much, but more than enough to identify you by your genetic material!

"We all have a past with you and I will be more than happy to repay our mutual debt!" Alejandra screamed and didn't give him a chance to beg for mercy, which she clearly didn't deserve. "Die, you dirty pig!"

The first shot hit him straight in the heart, the second in the left part of the chest, the third in the left side, and the fourth in the second and still functional eye.

Jurgen fell on his stomach with a roar of pain, and then those who wanted to kill him tried to run away, but at the same moment midnight struck and the world seemed to stop.

Jurgen suddenly stopped hearing any sounds, but due to his blindness, he could not see what was responsible for it. Even the sounds of intensely released smoke from nearby chimneys stopped reaching his ears.

"It's definitely too quiet!" He said and to his surprise he found that all the pain seemed to no longer bother him.

My eyes! No longer feeling the pain in his eye sockets and not understanding the reason, he opened his eyelids and to his surprise he could see, so he began to look around intensely, not understanding anything at all. What happened, why I still alive!?

He didn't understand anything about what had just happened, especially since while examining his body and touching where the bullet wounds should have been, all he found were holes in his collared leather jacket, along with bloody stains.

But looking beyond everything else, Jurgen literally froze in pure confusion.

Are these some hallucinations of mine moments before my death? He asked himself, but found no answer to this question.

Looking further and beyond what was in his immediate surroundings, Jurgen froze and didn't understand anything anymore.

Any escaping gases seemed to stop in place, in a state of suspension, as did the five who tried to kill him.

Each of them frozen in time, is this some kind of joke? Jurgen did not and was unable to find the answer to this question.

After a short while, he pinched his skin and felt the same pain as always. "It's definitely too real to be fake. Definitely!"

"You're right, boy." A voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, strong and full of something Jurgen could identify as simply inhuman.

Jurgen didn't know how to define it in his own words. He just couldn't do it. Especially since after hearing this inhuman voice coming from everywhere, he began to feel a strange presence. He couldn't say who, or rather what it was, but he quickly realized that he was definitely not dealing with something human at the moment.

Taking a deep breath and finally gathering his courage, Jurgen finally decided to speak without the tremble in his voice. "Are you a metahuman or something like that?"

This was the only reasonable answer for Jurgen, considering what had happened and his sudden healing. He had heard about this new species, or rather subspecies of humans, endowed with supernatural powers. How could he not? Metahumans have been a well-documented part of the planet's population since around World War I, but it wasn't until World War I that they were more thoroughly studied and exploited. However, due to their rarity and even greater difficulty in identification, few were used by the Allies or Axis and even fewer were carefully documented.

But then, Jurgen felt a pain he had never been able to imagine before. His eyes seemed to be torn out every second, his fingers as well, not to mention other parts of his body. He had the impression, and the sensations seemed to confirm this, that his skin was being torn off alive or melted by some extremely strong and toxic acid. These tortures were unimaginable to him.

"You may ask questions, pathetic human, only after I give you permission, and don't you ever again dare compare me to someone as weak and inferior as your kind!" The voice, tyrannical and intolerant of dissent, spoke to him once again. "Did you understand that, you pathetic creature?"

"Yes, sir." Jurgen knew that anything more would only bring down more of the wrath of this creature that clearly had some intention towards him.

"Very well, now I advise you to listen because I have no intention of repeating this twice and I will only make you this offer once." The being said, and at the same time Jurgen finally felt relief from the pain. "Normally I don't have access to this dimension, this world, but tonight the connection between both worlds is a bit heavier, weaker than normal. Although I cannot step inside, I can interfere with this reality if there is a good reason to do so."

So I'm the reason? Jurgen has always thought extremely highly of himself and this situation was no exception to that rule. Well, that's quite interesting, but who exactly is he?

"In this case, I saw, or rather felt, that someone's life was prematurely coming to an end." The voice of this creature became almost seductive, as if promising to make all his dreams come true. "The life of an incredibly talented person who is as human as possible. A talented gambler, gambler and dreamer who is ready to do anything to achieve his goal."

It was then that the blood pooling around Jurgen began to turn a brilliant green before transforming into a chaotic flame that seemed to have no particular shape or form. Literally.

Everything, however, until the flames began to pupate. Jurgen couldn't find a more appropriate description, but the fact remained that soon, among the chaotic and bright green, even emerald flames, a shadow as black as a raven appeared. Humanoid shadow, with long horns.

Is it a demon? Jurgen wanted to laugh, wanted to burst with laughter like a balloon. Now it must definitely be a figment, an artificial creation of my sick mind!

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to enjoy his madness and loss of contact with reality like some madman. He wanted to give in to his imagination, but he couldn't do it. He couldn't bring himself to do it. Even his subconscious tried to tell him that this was not madness or pre-death hallucinations, but hard reality.

"I am making you an offer of a second chance, to live the life you want and which will bring you exactly what you have always wanted. Power, money and universal respect, all this can be yours, Jurgen." The demon used his name, which sent involuntary shivers down the teenager's spine. "All you need to do is agree to one commitment, one condition that you will have to fulfill sooner or later. Additionally, you will receive a small bonus as my gratitude for making an intelligent decision. You are interested in?"

Jurgen suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Do I have any reasonable choice in my situation?"

The demon laughed evilly. "According to some concepts I have heard from members of your kind, there is always a choice and the decision is only up to you as an individual."

"What choice do I have between life and the fulfillment of my desires, and death, which is the final end in this world?" Jurgen asked him in response, his tone making it clear it was a rhetorical question. "I accept and you have my word that when the time comes, I will honor my commitment. However, I would like to know the identity of the person who offered me this offer, this… contract."

The creature laughed in response, and the shadow surrounding it dispersed like clouds, revealing a red-skinned devil archetype, with as many as 6 eyes glowing with flame, and long black hair.

"I'm Trigon, Jurgen." The muscular and rather scantily clad humanoid bared his teeth. "To you he may be known as Satan, Lucifer, the Devil or simply Evil."

Jurgen swallowed nervously, then bowed from the waist to the powerful demon. "Jurgen Blackheart, at your service, my lord."

"Good, at least you know your place and won't try to go against our agreement. Honesty and sincerity are not the strengths of your species." Trigon then raised both hands, aiming directly at the teenager. "You better not move, now I will push a small part of my powers into you, which will give you a unique ability, or several. It manifests differently in different cases, as I have seen many times, and can be more or less flexible in its use. Regardless, it will be related to what is most valuable to you and what you value most at that moment."

Jurgen heeded his savior's instructions and didn't move as two swirling jets of essence reached him. The teenager didn't feel any pain or any particular feelings about it, at least until understanding came to him. It was not specific and described knowledge, but pure feelings.

"The suspension period will end the moment you decide to interfere more with reality." Trigon stated before adding. "See you in the future and I advise you to remember our agreement. Because those who decided not to do it usually ended up really badly."

Jurgen didn't even have time to answer, because in just one moment, the flames and the demon's projection disappeared into nothingness, so that not even the slightest trace remained.

Looking around, Jurgen didn't see his blood anywhere, which pleased him. Perfect, my genetic material is nowhere to be found, so I can act freely.

However, his happy thoughts were interrupted when he noticed five attackers who were trying to kill him. You lousy parasites, now we'll see who deserves to die and who deserves to live!

Jurgen involuntarily awakened in himself what could best be described as a bloody killer instinct, an instinct for revenge and retribution for all the kindnesses that his torturers and would-be murderers had given him. Although he usually preferred to avoid fighting, defeating his opponent with cunning and wit, and was also afraid of getting injured, his newfound self-confidence was a factor that could only lead to one solution.

My cards! He clenched his right hand and before he opened it, a card materialized between his index and middle fingers, aesthetically the same as the deck given to him by his parents. It seems that this humble gift from Lord Trigon is for cards, which creates many opportunities for cheating, and moreover...

Jurgen pulled his hand back, then confidently thrust it forward, releasing the card that touched Alejandra's back. This action may have seemed idiotic or even devoid of logic, but the card flew at a dizzying speed and penetrated the young girl's body without much difficulty.

At that moment everything was set in motion once again, the five attackers continued to run and the escaping gases once again began to behave as nature intended. Everything until Alejandra fell to the ground and, to the surprise of her companions, a pool of blood immediately began to form under her body.

In all the confusion, none of them noticed that the card, after penetrating their companion's chest, had embedded itself in the brick wall in front of them to a depth of almost its entire width. Nobody noticed that after a while it crumbled into dust and no trace remained.

"What the fuck is going on!" The tallest, most muscular of them with black skin shouted, his voice stereotypically dull.

"He's still alive!" The slightly shorter, but still quite well-built, teenage Asian boy screamed as soon as he noticed Jurgen, who was standing straight despite being shot.

"Die, but let's have some fun first, I need to finally test the limits of my new skills!" Jurgen shouted, and this time he materialized 4 cards in his right hand.

"He still has eyes!" Another of the 4 conscious ones screamed and ran over to check Alejandra's pulse, but was not thrilled with the results. "Fuck, she's dying, her heart has been pierced!"

The first card was thrown at the one next to the body. This time, however, the flying object was thrown with much greater force and literally split the air. Finally, the card penetrated its target without difficulty.

Nothing happened for a few moments, which confused everyone, at least until the teenager's head began to become covered in blood, clearly perfectly cut in half, and the top half soon fell off.

"Monster!" The largest of them screamed, but his time had come too.

Jurgen threw the card, but with such force and at such an angle that his chest was sliced across from his left shoulder to his right side, and if that wasn't enough, everything above it separated violently from the rest. Ultimately, the teenager, dismembered in this way, ended his life with a loud scream.

The other two howled in terror and happened to stand behind each other.

"Stay away from us, you crazy freak!" He shouted first, but his words fell on deaf ears.

"Are you afraid when you face something that is more powerful than you, you pathetic piece of human garbage!?" Jurgen shouted and without warning threw another card.

It tore through the chest of the first of the remaining two to such an extent that it literally ripped out much of his insides, before the card hit the next one in his left hand, leaving only a bleeding stump.

While the first one was dead a few moments after being impaled, the second one started screaming as if he were a sheep moments before the slaughter.

"Stop it, you monster!" He screamed before falling to the ground, screaming and crying. "I beg you, show mercy! I have a younger sister who won't be able to cope in this inhuman city without me!

Jurgen laughed, his lust for revenge and blood, awakened by his near-death experience, not yet quenched. "But I will show you mercy."

He then approached him and cut his throat with the last card. "The same mercy you showed me when I begged for it!"

The last of the living attackers tried to say something, but it was more of a hoarse moan and, spitting blood from his mouth, he ended his miserable life.

Jurgen stood proudly for a few moments, putting on his partially damaged glasses. He gloated over the murder of those who tried to kill him and thought little else about it.

He always either ran away from these types of situations, gave someone else a solution by force, or solved it using his wits. Brute force and facing one's problems head-on was never something he practiced or felt comfortable with. Now, however, he was more than aroused and if he could, he would enjoy killing them.

Luckily for him, the seriousness of his actions soon dawned on him, causing him to freeze where he stood, transfixed.

What the fuck have I done!? He asked himself mentally as his upper limbs went completely numb. I just killed people!

Jurgen reacted almost instinctively, looking around desperately for anything that was left of him. He found nothing, although he could have left quite a lot of genetic material, the potential discovery of which would not prove anything

I have to go! He wasn't forming any long trains of thought at this point. Instead, his thoughts seemed to be subordinated to his instincts, which worked very well.

Jurgen started running between the dark side streets of the city, more or less consciously choosing the longest route home. He couldn't let anyone get there before, so it would make the most sense to avoid getting there too quickly.

He ran through the streets, occasionally running into crowded streets and skillfully avoiding cars that were moving slowly enough for him to do so. On the way, he passed various people, but mostly those he classified as low middle class, or poorer layers of society, or most often homeless, often drunks, drug addicts, single mothers with children who were hungry.

This was the other side of Gotham, coming to life with all its might. The media, newspapers and even politicians rarely mentioned this side of society, dirty, neglected, battered by fate and life. People on the margins, forgotten by an attractive and unreal life. Their misery was but a shadow that, as always, accompanied the light, always and everywhere.

Jurgen felt like he was going to vomit because he saw these images every night while walking, riding as a passenger on a friend's motorcycle, or watching taxis out the window. But never with such great intensity and frequency as now. Practically every second, his eyes met a staggering drunkard or drug addict of any gender, who often resembled a living corpse, with pale skin and circles under the eyes, who often threw himself intensely in all directions or punched himself in the face.

After several dozen minutes, he finally reached his destination.

He opened the door with a loud bang as he reached the tenement house he lived in. Without meeting anyone on the way, he reached his apartment, ran in without catching his breath and after closing the door, being in his own comfort zone, he fell to the ground and tears flowed from his eyes.

"What have I done?" He asked himself, deprived of any sense of time or space and as if mentally locked in his own, private space.

How could I kill these people? He didn't dare say the question out loud, he still couldn't believe that it was more than just a figment of his imagination.

Jurgen pinched his skin and realized with a slight pain that it was not a figment of his imagination, but a hard reality. My decisions… My decisions influence and shape this reality, but how could I…

He didn't know how to rationalize the murder and fell into a state of multiple moans, very close to cacophony. How can I live with blood on my hands!

Murder was never something he ever wanted to do. Yes, cheating or even lying to avoid problems using your own wits. But he never considered taking anyone's life. He never even imagined that he would ever be capable of such a crime.

But then, when his mind and intelligence began to fail, there was room for the products of the subconscious.

"They deserved it, they wanted someone as wonderful as you dead!" There was a scream in the teenager's apartment.

"Who said that!?" Jurgen almost immediately rose from his place by the door, where he had been sitting miserably and remorsefully.

Then, a figure appeared amidst the shadows of his dark apartment. All black, from head to toe, yet clearly standing out in this place.

"They wanted to kill you, it will reduce you to a state that in this world means the final end." Dark spoke, his tone dripping with something akin to pure, almost sadistic pleasure. "If it weren't for this benefactor, your dream would have ended much sooner, before it could even come true! These inferior creatures wanted to take from you what should be yours, a powerful gambling empire that gives people exactly what they need!"

"Don't listen to him, nothing is definitively given to you or anyone else, not even the right to life." A new figure appeared in the darkness, this time all gray, light gray and radiating color with even the slightest movement of the folds. "Nothing is destined for you and there is no such thing as fate. No one will give you anything except what you make for yourself, and if you remain weak and indecisive, the world will swallow you up."

"On that last part, I have to agree with Grey." Dark replied. "You've seen all these movies and how much your future could be destroyed now that Black Mask finds out what you did to the people he sent."

"But what should I do?" Jurgen asked them, waiting for the answer he already knew would be one that came straight from his subconscious.

"Until now, you were just a gambler and a reckless thrill-seeker, nothing more." Gray replied. "You've already raised enough money to stop but still…"

"But then Black Mask found out that he had fleeced one of his lieutenants of all his money and gave me an ultimatum." Jurgen mumbled. "Tribute or die painfully, and considering his reputation…."

"This is the past!" Dark shouted hard and loud, causing Jurgen to flinch. "Sionis I want your head now and nothing will stop him from getting it unless…."

Jurgen swallowed loudly and began to sweat, his hands twitching nervously, then he turned to Gray, seeking confirmation of the thoughts that had formed within his consciousness in a split second.

"You can run, but it won't do you any good, because Sionis is powerful enough to hunt you down in any city in this country, and perhaps even chase you around the world, or at least a large part of it." Gray stated matter-of-factly. "However, there is another option. You can stay and fight until you win or you die."

"Fight Black Mask and his organization?" Jurgen asked, completely shocked. "I'm not crazy yet! Even with this…power, I have no chance of winning if I am surrounded by Sionis's army of thugs!"

"It won't matter much if you have an army of your own harvest, henchmen." Gray rationalized the thought to him. "If you start dictating the terms, no one will be able to destroy you and you will be able to start building something that may lead you to your dream."

Jurgen felt the remorse slowly leaving him and for the first time in dozens of minutes, he felt focused like never before. Standing up, he walked briskly to the drawing board and began reviewing the casino plans, which included details such as cable routing, lighting color, water lines, location of security rooms, cameras, and other details.

"All this can become more than just an idea." Jurgen stated, trying to convince himself, but then the feelings that had been pushed away for a moment came back, very strong. "But if he does this, if he tries to build my own criminal organization, it will mean having to kill countless people, I am not a murderer!"

"Now you're here!" Dark shouted in his ear, but it didn't cause any pain in the teenager's ears. "You killed these five in cold blood, in revenge for their attempt to end your life!"

"To some extent, their desire to kill you was understandable." Gray added, rubbing his chin with his hand. "Ultimately, each of them suffered some harm at your hands or decisions. You should know, knowing it firsthand, how strong the desire for revenge is. But that doesn't change the fact that you have a choice, to hide like a rat around the world and hope that no one can get you, or that you will be powerful enough to defeat any assassins sent..."

"Or you will finally end up being a pathetic pushover and an ordinary clown who really means nothing!" Dark exclaimed before laughing wildly. "Just think, you will start with a small group, but you can become a player on the scale of the entire state, or even the whole world, international player and boss of the great syndicate!"

It worked and it affected Jurgen's ego and he smiled wildly. Yes, now it's a bit more clear! I can do something like that with my new powers, but I have to be careful, on the other hand...

"You worry about whether you have enough skills to do it." Gray said all his comments aloud. "Let me put it this way: you have seen and overheard many criminals, many of them just trying to get started in this segment of life. What was the element that accompanies those who were unable to either achieve anything or reach a higher level of activity?"

"Arrogance and stupidity." Jurgen recalled it easily. "They tried to do something spectacular, very difficult, at the very beginning. They tried to bite off more than they could, but it ended in spectacular failure, and not least at the hands of a certain oversized bat."

"So you know what you shouldn't do." Gray said, and his face, devoid of lips or eyes, seemed to show something close to a smile. "Knowing what to avoid is often much more valuable than what you should do. You know this, thanks to your painful beginnings in gambling."

Jurgen nodded, then felt a surge of confidence he hadn't felt in a long time. Sketches of plans began to form in his head, sometimes plans within plans, but above all, the general direction of the activity. First, access to funds, obtaining dollars and illegal activities, then money laundering and finally, large gambling ventures.

Jurgen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which made his heart feel lighter. It's all doable and within my capabilities!

The teenager opened his eyes and a smile spread across his lips, reaching from his left to his right ear. Even the subsequent questions in his mind did not discourage him, but instead only gave him strength and, as it were, inspiration. The problems he might face only seemed to encourage him to pursue a path he would never have considered otherwise.

"First the people, my friends should be enough, and maybe even their families, but how do I arm them all?" He thought with a smile, then briefly bared his teeth. "I have some funds that I have accumulated over the months and soon, the good Mr. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot will be organizing a sale of old weapons from the first half of the 20th century, straight from US Army warehouses! Good old Thompson submachine guns in various versions, heavy machine guns or shotguns, there is plenty to choose from as long as there is enough ammunition for it!"

Dark and Gray were long gone, for his mind, consciousness and unconsciousness had returned to a state of near balance, more or less. However, how to raise more money without attacking too high-profile or spectacular targets? Even banks or shops are not easy targets! However, on the other hand, Gotham has smaller towns or villages around it, so it would be easier, but these actions would have to be carefully planned by me.

Jurgen walked to the window, looking out at the street and then looking up at the red night sky over the city that was so characteristic of Gotham.

"And Black Mask?" He asked himself, rhetorically. "I will thank him for everything he has done to me as soon as I am powerful enough. For this attempted murder and having to pay him tribute, something worthy of his brutality awaits him."

Lightning flashed in the distance, followed by the sound of thunder, and an intense light illuminated Jurgen's eyes. "Yes, small attacks first and maybe work for stronger players. Only at the right moment, my own territory and a piece of the pie that is Gotham City."

Jurgen then started laughing and summoned a single playing card in his right hand. "I would also need an alias, something distinctive and memorable, like the logo of a good brand."

Jurgen observed advertisements for various products from time to time and could say beyond any doubt that a catchy name and a good theme are the basis of all success. In fact, he would never have been a good gambler if it weren't for his almost supernatural ability to keenly observe both his surroundings and what was in front of his eyes.

"Cardsharper." Jurgen stated and his smile only widened. "Yes, I definitely like Cardsharper. Cardsharper and his gang, the Sons and Daughters of Lost Heaven."

But then, there was a knock on his door and he froze with fear and stress, but he quickly managed to control his raging emotions when a muffled voice rang out. "Jurgen, I heard screaming, is everything okay!?"

I have to act quickly to look credible. Jurgen wasted no time, quickly stripping off his outfit and stripping down to his pants, with his chest exposed and absolutely normal. As he approached the door, he tried to look sleepy and tired, which he confirmed with a brief glance in the mirror.

"Jeremy, is that you!?" Jurgen muttered loudly, then opened the door.

"Who did you think?" The old man asked, holding a shotgun in his hands and wearing a gray robe. "I heard screaming and was afraid something might have happened."

"Luckily it's nothing, just a bad dream." Jurgen rubbed his eyes to add some credibility to the image. "As you can see, I'm fine. Anyway, I felt like drinking some tea to calm down, would you join me?"

Jeremy laughed as he lowered his hand with the palm he was holding down. "I'd love to, but not today, I have to go to work tomorrow. Still, it's good to know that you decided to go to bed earlier today, you young people should take care of your bodies and save them for your old age!"

"I'll keep that in mind, Jeremy." Jurgen chuckled in response and that was the end of their interaction.

After saying goodbye and closing the door, the teenager hurried as quickly as possible to the living room of his premises, and then from one of the cabinets he took out a small, metal, cuboid-shaped device with a simple operating console and a disk drive. His parents' last will was written there and there was something to remember.

Jurgen, like many times after the death of his mother and father, wanted to listen to their last recording, so he placed the device on the table and took the seat opposite. A few moments later and after entering the appropriate combination, a hologram projection appeared, showing a woman and a man who were clearly in their late forties. Both of them, in modern armor that perfectly suited their profession as mercenaries.

"Dearest son." His mother started, a woman with swarthy skin and the same eyes as Jurgen. "Your father and I leave you this message in anticipation of what may happen. Today we are leaving for Africa, we have received a lucrative contract from one of the local warlords and the offer is too good for us to refuse."

"We leave you a message because the fate and humor of life is unpredictable and often unfortunately distasteful, I know this all too well." His father continued, speaking with a slightly pained expression. "We don't tell you this to scare you, but to leave you something, just in case, that could be your last and good memory of us. Above all, we ask you to survive and serve no one."

"Your father is right." His mother nodded firmly, her expression matching it perfectly. "We took up working as mercenaries many years ago to be able to achieve something in life and at the same time provide you with a decent living, so we leave you the passwords to our Swiss Bank accounts, I hope that in the worst case scenario they will enable you to achieve something."

"But we also have a favor to ask you, my dear boy." His father sighed. "I am begging you, as your father, I only ask you for one thing, if these are my last words, survive and thrive. Biology teaches us many times that those organisms unable to adapt are doomed to death. So don't stop. I know you are a child with a wonderful mind, capable of great things, who can achieve more than me and your mother combined."

"And that's why I want to ask you something, my beloved son." His mother looked like she was trying to suppress her tears and sadness. "Don't serve anyone like we did for the second half of our lives. Don't let yourself become a common dog for others, just waiting to be called at someone's beck and call. Live your life the way you want, and don't let morality or law stand in your way of being happy."

"Dearest son, I am afraid we will never be able to fully express our love for you, so we say it simply."

"We love you and goodbye." His father and mother said at the same time, and then the recording ended.

A moment later, codes for 3 different bank accounts were displayed.

All empty when I checked. Jurgen thought, remembering the enormous disappointment he felt after seeing completely empty bank accounts for the first time. Almost everything you left me turned out to be stolen. I don't know who exactly, maybe I'll find out only during this trip. Nevertheless, I had nothing at the beginning and had to start almost from scratch.

I had to learn the hard way how to navigate Gotham's criminal underworld, because it was the only source of money that could give me enough to afford a decent standard of living. No one will give me anything in this world, so I can fight, rob and plunder, or die like some inferior life form.

More thunder and flashes illuminated his eyes, as if something had woken up that had been dormant so far, or perhaps not yet awoken. "This city can be mine, first a small gambling den, and in a few years large casinos and completely legal activities. With me, my friends can also climb higher."

He activated the footage of his parents again, then paused the recording for a brief moment. A wave of nostalgia flooded his mind and heart. "What would it be like if you were still alive?"

Jurgen shook his head, ending his thoughts on the subject before they could even begin. The realization that considering the future and what could have been would do him no good at this point came to him quite easily.

He looked at the image of the most important people in his life, at least once the most important, and for whom his feelings still burned. It was then, looking not for the first and probably not the last time at the message from them, that Jurgen made decisions and made declarations.

"I swear by your memory that I will not be a servant and a pushover like you were, mercenaries." Jurgen placed his hand on his still exposed chest and began to whisper the oath. "I swear this day is the day of rebirth. The day I will try to start my journey, in this new life, and no matter what happens, no matter how many people I have to sacrifice or how many lives I have to take, this city and its underworld will finally be mine."

These were the words of his oath, and then he decided to go to sleep. Regardless, he will have a lot of work to do over the next 2 days and possibly the entire next week. First, gathering the full team of partners and then the first actions. At night or during the day, depending on what makes the most sense at the time.

However, he was unaware that in the place where he was reborn, there was someone who would stand in his way many times in the coming years.

XXX

The scanning and search of the murder site was going quite well, at least until Bruce Wayne hit the metaphorical wall.

How could they have been killed or partially dismembered? Bruce, or rather Batman, because he assumed this identity to fight crime, did not know the answer to this question.

He had arrived only 7 minutes ago and immediately began scanning the area, which was a lot of time given his technology. The police were also investigating the scene, so Batman had to stay out of their sight. Even though many of them were willing to trust him, it was still not enough in the face of hostility and distrust from their superiors.

"Alfred, do you see what I see?" Bruce asked a question directed at the faithful butler who had been in his life for as long as he could remember.

"Yes, and to be completely honest, I can't believe what I'm seeing." Faithful family servant Wayne replied, his tone laced very clearly with a sigh. "First of all, I cannot say exactly what kind of force and precision could be used to cause such injuries. But it had to be at a really high level."

"You don't have to tell me, it can be determined with the naked eye." Bruce replied, his voice deep and polished for the role of Batman. "However, additional questions arise from the shell casings found, without bullets and weapons. Nothing here makes sense."

"Master Bruce, there is no doubt that this is something we have never seen before, even among the crimes committed in this city."

"In other words, one big unknown that leads us in no particular direction." Bruce admitted, but reluctantly. "We won't learn anything more here."

Batman used his launcher to get back to a nearby rooftop before driving several blocks away from the crime scene.

His black cape, perfectly matching his equally dark outfit with its yellow bat and mask symbol, flapped in the strong wind that evening.

"Can you at least point out what phones were present?" Batman asked.

After a few moments, the answer came. "At a time close to the estimated time of the murder, none, within half an hour forward and backward, dozens. However, establishing the exact identity of these people will not be easy."

"Especially since the murderer might not have had a phone with him." Batman summed it all up in one sentence. "If it's someone who's going to do it more than once, they're going to expose themselves sooner or later."

"Until then though…"

"More people may die, I know that Alfred, but I have no other choice in the matter." Batman ended this arc with these words. No matter what obstacles come my way, I will manage to make this city, at least a little bit better.

Batman looked up at the sky that night, it was almost his second year in business, although he had started out much more modestly and with much more makeshift equipment.

After a few moments, he moved on when he received news about a crime, this time it was a bank robbery committed by people of one of the Mafia families.