Bane the nice guy

"Stuart, when do you think we should turn around? Will he snap our necks the second we do?"

A breath washed over the back of his neck. With someone's gaze fixed on him, William couldn't quite make up his mind.

"What are you talking about? And you lot, why aren't you training? What are you crowding around our guests for?"

A deep male voice sounded behind him, but it wasn't the roar he'd expected. The tone was steady, even a little... gentle?

William turned his head.

An enormous man came into view.

He had to be the tallest person William had ever seen in Gotham. He stood over seven feet tall, perhaps seven-two or even seven-three. Neither Stuart nor William was short, but they looked like children in front of him.

His height accounted for only a small part of his imposing presence. What truly defied belief were his muscles.

They bulged as though about to burst, and his extremely low body fat made every muscle fiber stand out clearly beneath his skin.

It was Bane!

William couldn't think of any other villain in Gotham who could possess a body like this muscular tank.

But where were his Venom tank and mask?

Not only were those signature features missing, but the man was actually carrying an oversized Walmart shopping bag.

The combination of such an everyday sight and that inhuman body gave William an overwhelming sense of unreality.

While William stood briefly bewildered, the man pulled a bottle of water from the shopping bag.

"Want a drink?"

The standard-sized bottle of mineral water looked like a fifty-milliliter bottle of cough syrup in his hand.

William hesitantly accepted it, and the man handed Stuart another.

"It's a little noisy here. Whatever brings you two here, let's discuss it in my room."

The man gestured for them to follow and walked ahead to lead the way. William took the opportunity to drag the beacon onto him.

It really was Bane.

When the man's name appeared in the information panel, William's palms began to sweat with nerves. If Bane turned hostile, Batman, without his memories or equipment, might not actually be a match for him.

I'd better see what he's thinking, just to be safe.

William looked at the thought bubble displaying Bane's inner thoughts.

To his surprise, it was completely blank.

Was the system malfunctioning, or was Bane simply not thinking?

Fortunately, the affection bar was still visible. Bane's affection toward William stood at two stars.

That was already very high for a stranger, just half a heart below Gordon's when William had first marked him. By comparison, Zsasz's initial rating had been only half a heart.

There shouldn't be any danger. If worse comes to worst, I still have Stuart.

Reassured, the two followed the big man into the back of the factory building.

A generator was started, and an incandescent bulb lit up the room inside.

The room was unexpectedly tidy, with tatami mats covering the floor.

A piece of calligraphy hung in the center of the wall. Bold, forceful brushstrokes formed the character for "Zen" on rice paper.

William briefly explained why they had come: to find Deadshot, Floyd.

"You're saying you happened to discover that someone wanted you murdered, and the hired killer is Floyd?" Bane seemed troubled. He turned his head slightly aside, rubbing his hands together uneasily.

He had known Floyd for years and was well aware of his old friend's exceptional gift for shooting.

He had once tried to persuade him to give up the deadly life of a mercenary, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

Bane knew all too well what people thought of those from No Man's Land. The moment they set foot off the island, they faced endless misunderstandings and contempt. Without official identification, they couldn't even find work washing dishes.

If they didn't kill people, life would kill them.

He knew Floyd had no choice, but after a brief hesitation, he still decided to take William to see him.

"Follow me."

Bane was so preoccupied with unease that he forgot to avoid the scorching incandescent bulb as he stood.

Sizzle!

A wisp of smoke rose from the back of his head the instant it touched the bulb.

Floyd was lying on his bed, leafing through information on his target. The absurdly long silver rifle lay beside him.

"William Hans, what the hell did you do to piss someone off so badly that they'd pay a hundred thousand dollars for your head?"

Floyd muttered to himself and casually tossed the documents aside.

If his status as a resident of No Man's Land hadn't held him back, a mercenary of his caliber should have commanded much higher pay. It was no exaggeration to say there could have been another zero on the end of his fee.

To keep him trapped in his work as a hitman, greedy middlemen teamed up with employers to drive his rates as low as possible.

After three years in the business and more than a dozen kills, Floyd still hadn't climbed above the poverty line.

This hundred-thousand-dollar job meant an entire year's income to him.

He would not allow himself to make a mistake.

Just as he committed his target's face to memory, a knock sounded at the drafty sheet-metal door.

"I'll get it!"

The speaker was his daughter. When Floyd had just reached adulthood, he had fallen in love with a dancer three years his senior. The girl was the fruit of their brief romance.

Catching sight of the little figure crossing the living room, Floyd smiled.

"It's Uncle Bane and two older boys I don't know."

"Okay, sweetheart. I'll be right there."

Floyd climbed out of bed, remembering to run his hands through his hair a couple of times in front of the mirror.

"What brings you here? Let me warn you now, I'm not making you..."

Floyd's smile froze when his gaze landed on William's face.

What the hell!

"Bane... you sold me out."

"As long as I'm here, you won't be in any danger."

Bane gave his dear friend his assurance.

Floyd's expression shifted uncertainly as he pulled his daughter, who had been circling Stuart, behind him.

"Lika, go draw in your room."

After locking the bedroom door, Floyd sprawled on the sofa he had salvaged from a garbage heap.

He gathered up the powder on the table, rolled it into a cigarette, and took a deep drag.

"What's left to talk about now? I'm the hitman, you're the target. Either kill me right now or go home and wait to die."

He crossed his legs, toying with a revolver in his right hand.

But his left hand, which held the cigarette, was shaking badly.

With his target turning up on his doorstep, Floyd had not only lost his advantage of distance, but his true identity had also been completely exposed. Bane was the only person he could rely on now.

William said nothing. He appeared to be staring into space, but in fact, he was reading the system quest that had just popped up.

[High-difficulty side quest detected: Help Cinderella "Floyd" resolve his predicament. Reward: one Marking Beacon. Optional reward: one use of "Save access" or 50 Shop coins.]

The system had previously mentioned that winning over three people would unlock the Shop, and Floyd happened to be the third person after Zsasz and Casey.

Never mind choosing a reward; the quest itself would be difficult enough to complete.

What does it mean, resolve his predicament? Aren't I his biggest predicament? Am I supposed to stick my head in front of his gun and let him shoot me? That's completely insane!

William's protests earned him a response from the AI assistant laced with bureaucratic platitudes.

In short, the system couldn't be wrong, and the user was asked to overcome all obstacles.

Left with no choice, William forced a smile and patiently inquired in the genial tone of a poverty relief office director.

"Comrade Floyd, have you been having any difficulties in your daily life lately? Feel free to tell me. I'll do everything I can to help you."

Floyd rolled his eyes and forced a contemptuous chuckle from his throat.

"I've had enough of you!!!"

William slammed the table and exploded.