Ren wandered aimlessly through Gotham's streets, expecting danger around every corner. And yet, twenty minutes had passed—nothing.
Not a mugger, not a thief, not even a shady look.
He was starting to wonder if he'd ended up in the wrong Gotham.
"Hey. Yo, man."
Right on cue.
A guy stepped out in front of him—hood up, hoodie pulled tight, dark sunglasses on despite it being nighttime, and a surgical mask covering most of his face.
Finally. Ren tensed, both hopeful and wary. This might just be his shot at earning his first dollar in Gotham.
Okay, sure, begging technically wasn't a "job," and it definitely wasn't legal employment, but if it meant saving some system cash and getting a hot meal? He wasn't going to be picky.
Then the guy reached into his waistband—and pulled out a gun.
He shoved it straight at Ren's face.
"Shut the hell up and hand over everything you've got!"
His voice was sharp, frantic—bordering on unstable. Loud enough that a few passersby turned to glance.
Then, just as quickly, they picked up their pace and disappeared.
Ren stared at the barrel of the gun, words suddenly frozen in his throat.
This... escalated fast.
He'd been expecting maybe a knife. Something small-time. A stick-up, not an armed robbery. A guy with a machete, sure, you could still talk to that. But this?
A gun at point-blank range?
Yeah, no. Words were gone.
He couldn't even meet the guy's eyes. Instead, his gaze darted instinctively toward the upper-right corner of his vision—where the system interface hovered.
Rapid Health Regeneration and Save Point—both active. Good.
He had about ten minutes left of "safe time," meaning no actual harm would come to him before the timer ran out.
Still, that didn't make staring down a gun barrel any less terrifying.
The man yelled again, this time almost screeching. "I said give me everything you've got!"
The gun jabbed forward, nearly pressing into Ren's forehead.
He stumbled back, then froze, slowly reaching into his coat pocket with a shaking hand.
And pulled out two completely empty, inside-out pockets.
Dry as desert bones.
The only thing emptier than those pockets was Ren's bank account.
Hell, he even had more stubble on his face now than cash in his hands—and he'd only been in Gotham for half an hour.
"You screwin' with me?!"
The guy's voice cracked from frustration. Ren could practically feel his patience slipping.
"Look," Ren said quickly, nerves tight but survival instinct kicking in, "you think I want to be broke? I'm not doing this for fun."
"Who the hell are you calling broke?!"
What the—PTSD? Over the word broke?
Even I don't react that hard, Ren thought grimly. But that slight flare of absurdity helped him calm down just a little.
He raised both hands and gestured toward his pants. "Check the pockets if you want. I got nothing in there, either."
The man squinted, clearly having trouble seeing through his own sunglasses. With a growl, he lifted one hand to adjust them. "I'm watching you. No funny business."
Ren slowly turned out his pants pockets—two more empty flaps.
The would-be mugger looked like he might cry.
"You're messing with me! I know you're hiding something! Take off your damn coat—I'll check myself!"
Ren didn't argue. He shrugged off his jacket and raised his arms.
Be my guest, he thought. If you find even a coin, I'll call you Boss.
The man patted him down for a full minute—shirt, pants, socks. Nothing. Just skin and threadbare fabric.
Eventually, he collapsed onto the sidewalk, numb, arms dangling between his knees.
Then he did something Ren didn't expect.
He started crying.
Ren blinked.
Slowly, he put his coat back on and sat beside him, the way you would next to a guy who'd just lost everything in the world.
"Hey," he said quietly. "It's alright. Everyone hits rock bottom sometimes. If you're really that desperate, you can have my coat."
"Who the hell wants your damn coat?!"
The guy's voice cracked again as he flung his gun at Ren—not firing it, just threw it. It smacked Ren on the arm with a dull thud.
"Ow," Ren muttered, rubbing his bicep.
The man pointed the gun again, though his hands were visibly trembling now.
"You don't get it, man! You're dead! You're not making it through the night!"
Ren didn't flinch. "I know this is your first time."
That froze the guy.
"I've been wandering these streets for a while now," Ren continued calmly, "and every other mugger could see I'm flat broke just from a glance. But you? You didn't. That's how I know you're new."
The man hesitated, gun still raised—but no longer steady.
"You're out here with a hoodie and a mask, sure. But you forgot gloves. Your gun's safety's still on. Hell, it might not even be a real gun. You didn't drag me into an alley or make me drop to the ground. You yelled too loud, drew too much attention. And when I reached for my pocket, you weren't watching your own weapon. If I'd wanted to grab it, I could've."
"Shut up—!"
"You're not stable. Your emotions are out of control. You didn't even finish the robbery. You left my clothes, my shoes, everything. And instead of running when it didn't work out… you sat down. And started crying."
The guy surged forward, furious. "I said shut the hell up—!"
Ren ducked just in time to avoid another swipe from the gun.
"I get it," Ren said gently, still crouched. "You're desperate. Nobody robs people randomly unless something's seriously wrong. So what happened?"
"Why do you care?" the man snapped.
"I don't—for free."
The mugger blinked.
"I'm new in town," Ren continued, "I don't know anyone, and I need a job. Also, I've got nowhere to sleep tonight. So here's the deal: if I can't help you, we go our separate ways—you go cry at home, I freeze on the street. But if I can help you… you let me crash at your place, and you help me land some kind of job. Doesn't even have to be legal. Just... preferably non-lethal."
The man stood in silence.
Then, slowly, he turned around.
After a long pause, he walked back and slumped down beside Ren again, sunglasses removed.
His eyes were bloodshot. Black circles sat under his lids like bruises. He looked exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally.
"You're not from Gotham," he said, voice hoarse. "I'll trust you once."
He stared blankly at the night sky, at the towering black silhouette of Gotham's skyline.
"Not like I've got any better options anyway."