Alfred downtown

Alfred recounted a story from his past.

Sal Maroni had once considered Alfred a thorn in his side.

To be precise, Alfred had never considered Sal a rival. It was Sal who constantly betrayed a profound sense of inferiority and jealousy whenever they spoke.

"His schemes were child's play to me, and his attempts to frame me fell apart at the slightest touch. Once I left the gang, he lost his chance to surpass me or bring me to heel. So he went after the woman I loved."

"Vanessa Hans, the glittering star of Gotham Theater. I went to see her perform every weekend, and had someone sneak a bouquet of dew-speckled tulips into her dressing room."

"I fell in love with her the moment I saw her. Hopelessly in love. But my blood-soaked life in the mob meant I didn't deserve true love."

"Later, Thomas Wayne gave me a chance to leave the gang, but by then it was too late. Vanessa had become Sal's woman. Behind my back, Sal had learned everything and begun courting her with a mad passion."

"I tried to make myself hate Sal. I even imagined he'd used underhanded means to force her to be his... but honestly, that bastard really knew how to charm women."

Alfred downed his fourth drink.

"When Vanessa became pregnant, he heartlessly abandoned her, seemingly just to prove that everything I yearned for was worthless trash. I'm certain he was watching from somewhere when I heard the news, waiting to see what I'd do."

"He expected me to go back to Vanessa. That would make his revenge almost perfect. And I did, in fact. But when she saw the tattoo of 'The Roman' on my wrist, she broke down and pushed me away."

William glanced at Alfred's wrist. There was no tattoo, only an enormous scar.

"I always choose the wrong answer at the crucial moments in my life. That was only the first time..."

"Then... what was the second?"

William didn't really want to press him, but he could hear Alfred growing agitated.

If alcohol couldn't help a man release his pent-up emotions, it was no different from a glass of horse piss mixed with gasoline.

"The opera fifteen years ago. I should have been in the audience with Thomas and his family, but Vanessa hadn't appeared. I went backstage to ask about her and found her collapsed on the floor, clutching a bottle of sleeping pills."

"I took her to the hospital, leaving my employer and his family behind..."

"The Crime Alley shooting?"

Alfred rubbed the corners of his eyes without a word.

William took the bottle from the bartender and poured the old man another drink.

The story really needed only one more sentence to finish, but William had already guessed the ending. He didn't need to hear it.

Following the bartender's directions, he helped Alfred upstairs.

The old man's room was sparse: a wooden table, a bed, and a punching bag hanging from the ceiling.

He settled the dazed Alfred onto the bed.

"Your face looks so much like hers. There's an ocean hidden in your eyes..."

Alfred raised a hand and gently touched William between the brows.

"Last time, I couldn't win custody of you... this time... don't leave again."

"You've had too much to drink."

William took off Alfred's boots and tucked him in.

But after he opened the door and left, Alfred quietly opened his eyes in the darkness.

Walking home, William felt conflicted.

If he hadn't been a soul inhabiting this body, perhaps he would have hated Alfred. Perhaps he would have pointed right in that emotional coward's face and cursed him out.

But as it stood, he'd merely heard a sad story.

Going with Alfred was certainly the better choice, but being Maroni's son offered him far greater advantages.

Maroni's favorability toward him had been gradually increasing. He had a good chance of inheriting Maroni's wealthy criminal empire, and after his failed investment in Batman, that had become his best hope of turning his fortunes around.

He'd had enough of that shabby little temporary apartment on Bowery Street.

As he approached his building, William spotted someone standing at the intersection from a distance.

He immediately lowered his center of gravity and crept closer, gripping his gun.

The figure seemed to be a girl, carrying a shopping bag.

"Casey?" William called tentatively.

"Twins aren't actually that hard to tell apart."

William deliberately opened his panel to check. Casey's coordinates were moving, so this had to be her younger sister, Kate.

He hadn't really had much contact with the younger sister, but he'd fallen for her at first sight at Falcone Manor. Still, she always gave him a vague sense of distance. William was no novice at romance; girls like her were usually hard to win over.

He had only one beacon left in his backpack. There was no way he would waste a cheat tool like that on picking up girls.

"This is for you."

The girl beckoned him over, holding the shopping bag in both hands and extending it toward William.

William opened it and looked inside. There was some food, with a stiff card about the size of a tablet resting on top.

"That's an invitation. I'm performing at the grand theater in three days."

"You're inviting me?"

"Why else would it be called an invitation?" Kate blinked impassively. "Of course, if you don't have time, you don't have to come. Goodbye."

She waved and left, leaving her faint fragrance on the breeze.

William fanned himself with the invitation, unable to work out why she'd brought him one.

"We've barely even interacted, have we?"

Back in his rented apartment, William held the card and found it increasingly suspicious.

The last time he'd seen Kate, she'd also taken the initiative to offer him a bottle of sparkling water.

"Could she be interested in me?"

Muttering, William walked over to the mirror, ran a hand over his buzz cut, and rubbed his chin.

This face certainly qualified as handsome. His birth mother had been a famous opera singer, after all.

"Heh. Shallow woman."

At Falcone's reception, William had been the only person to give Kate's performance a thumbs-up. But he'd long since forgotten that little detail, instinctively categorizing her as a frivolous woman who only cared about looks.

"It wouldn't hurt to see where things go. This place does feel a little empty with just me in it."

William admitted that the apartment had felt a little cramped with Stuart around, but now that he was gone, it felt strangely unfamiliar.

Just a few days earlier, he'd bought a Nintendo Entertainment System, planning to play a few rounds of Street Fighter II with Stuart when he had time. Now the machine sat beside the old television, still in its box, with no reason to unpack it anymore.

"Who did you just say you wanted to see where things go with?"

William had barely stepped out of the bathroom when that familiar sarcastic drawl reached his ears. He looked up and saw Deathstroke sitting on the cabinet by the window, his silhouette cut black against the moonlight.

He jumped in fright.

"Are you a ghost?! What are you doing here?"

"Sleeping."

Deathstroke pulled off his mask, drew his twin blades, and laid them one atop the other beside the bedding on the floor.

"Seriously? You're a top-tier mercenary and you don't even have a place to live?"

Deathstroke looked up and stared at William for a full ten seconds. Though William couldn't make out his expression, he was certain the man was cursing him viciously in his head.

"You idiot. You don't have an ounce of common sense!"

All right, not just in his head-the words William heard matched those in the speech bubble exactly.

"I haven't changed my mattress in a whole year. You expect me to sleep surrounded by dust and mites?"