(Edited with Grammarly on 6/4/2026)
It turned out that trying to find out who was mentally deranged was a lot harder than it seemed. Who would've guessed? Mostly, people always tried to put on a neutral or at least professional mask when out and about in public. It was automatic, a habit that allowed them to integrate into society without being shunted or labeled as 'problem' for being too open. To the point where even smiling at some random stranger on his way to work was enough to get weird and weary glances in return. Like they knew he was up to no good.
Or maybe that was just Gothamites. Where a simple smile was never simple and always held an underlying threat.
And it made Albert's job that much harder.
How could he know who was unstable? While the first method of calling back was a pretty good filter, that didn't really help beyond getting rid of a few bad-faith actors. But like he knew it wouldn't, it didn't allow him to get a feel of the potential client's mental state just through hearing their voice alone.
And they often only really showed their real colors once they saw him for the first time. Maybe he'd done a too good a job annoying them, forcing them to recount their story multiple times, forcing them to answer all manners of seemingly random questions, forcing them to wait for him to call them back, and after jumping through all those hoops, they were met with a teen who looked as if he needed a good burger. With that in mind, it made sense why so many potential client's had blown their top the moment he introduced himself.
He was just glad he always set up these first meetings to be in such public areas, else a lot of these interactions would've gone south very fast.
From his quick recounting, about five of his meetings thus far had very nearly ended with violence. Where they'd looked right about ready to slap his head off his shoulders, but had enough where with all to avoid striking a minor in public before they'd grumble and storm away.
Despite this, not every meeting met with such an explosive end. Sometimes, they were people who just didn't really trust him due to his age. They'd taken one look at him before quickly departing or, if they were in a talkative mood, just outright telling him that he wasn't what they were looking for.
But even these two examples were the exception; a lot of the time, they just never showed up to begin with. No warning or phone call, just didn't show up at the expected time, and when he would call them an hour or so after the scheduled meeting, all manner of excuses would be launched his way. Well, it was safe to say that those people were also crossed off his list.
"Excuse me?"
Albert locked gazes with the diner's waitress, her eyes looking bleary with these dark circles around them that rivaled his own. He felt bad about bothering her, especially with that sloshing kettle of coffee.
"What?"
Okay, maybe she was a bit cranky, but it was fine. He would be, too, after all, he'd been putting her through.
"Ah, yes," He glanced down at his cleared plate, bits of crispy pastries and syrup were all that remained of his most recent conquest. He already felt uncomfortably full after the first plate, and it had taken all his self-control, and maybe a few mouthfuls of orange juice, to force down his second. Despite the idea of eating another pancake sending a concerning gurgle through him, he knew he needed to eat more. Needed to increase his daily caloric intake even more if he wanted to finally get rid of this malnourished body. But it didn't mean he had to torture himself. "Could I have a plate of scrambled eggs, sausage, and another glass of orange juice?"
"…" She nodded, well, more like nodded off in the moment of silence before starting. The black brew sloshes dangerously close to the edge. That tired gaze blinked owlishly before falling to his newly emptied plate. "Eggs, sausage, and a refill, okay...But don't puke on the floor or you'll be cleaning it up."
With that, she continued past them, her attention dragged away by another patron waving around an empty coffee mug, leaving him to his thoughts. The diner itself wasn't anything to write home about. Filled end to end with booths that always felt far too sticky whenever his bare skin touched its surface, despite watching the busboy wipe down everything with disinfectant wipes. Above the bar, a small television played replays of last night's game. Men dressed in suits arguing over a still image filled with circles and lines, highlighting certain plays and heavily criticizing every single play and how they would've reacted in turn. The norm, really.
After a few moments of trying to follow their logic, he gave up and looked elsewhere. He'd never been one to enjoy sports anyway, and only barely just understood the rules enough to play, but at that level of play? Yeah, he was completely and utterly lost.
A sigh from the booth at his back caught his attention, and with an effort of will, he resisted the urge to just turn to fully face the person in question. Instead, he gazed out through the window, not really looking out at the hustle and bustle of daily life, but more trying to use the dim reflection to silently observe them.
While he'd been stuffing his face, this person had been sitting quietly. They'd come in nervous and for the past hour, their anxiety had only grown with every passing moment. They stood up numerous times just to begin pacing, only to realize how weird it looked before scuttling off to the bathroom. Not for long, though, barely taking enough time to wash their hands before coming back to take up their vigil once more.
Honestly, at any given moment, they appeared ready to just leave. To throw in the towel, but whatever their reason was, it kept them there despite that.
'I think he's waited long enough.'
Maybe his heart was a bit too soft, but the guy didn't seem violent or anything. And he was obviously patient enough to wait forty minutes after their agreed-upon meeting. So, after downing the remains of his glass, Albert slid out of his booth before silently taking the seat across from the man.
Whether it was due to how distracted the man appeared to be, or maybe Stealth was really just that good. Or it could've been a bit of both. But whatever the reason, the window was too perfect not to take this chance to fully observe the portly man.
Again, he really didn't look all that distinctive. Lacking a lot of the flair that some of the teens' past clients had. Appearing to be in his mid-to-late thirties, he had a head of thinning black hair with a thin mustache that traveled along his upper lip and connected to an unkempt goatee. Combine that with those small, beady black eyes, and he seemed like the kind of person easily forgotten in a crowd.
Wearing a simple, blue button-up shirt that had a few misaligned buttons, a black overcoat that looked to have had better days. Covered in lint, ink, and coffee stains. On his right wrist sat a rather intricate bead bracelet. Appearing to be hand-woven and probably quite old if the fraying twine was anything to go by. But on his left hand, fourth finger to be exact, a simple gold band wrapped around one appendage. Real too, around ten karat, give or take. And from how much lighter his tanned skin was underneath the band, it was safe to say it had to have been worn constantly.
"Mr. Barton."
Albert coughed softly, trying to smile professionally at the man as he dragged him out of whatever internal cage he'd locked himself in.
"Huh?" With a start, Mr. Barton nearly jumped out of his seat. Those black eyes were growing wide, chin wobbling from the sudden movement. Waist crashing up into the desk with a heavy thump, sending what remained of his coffee spilling all across the table. Okay, an exaggeration, tis was but a simple drop. Only a few seconds where he placed his hand over his heart, along with some deep breathing, did that pale pallor finally begin to fade. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"I'm a representative of The Seeking Eye Agency, S.E.A. for short. We spoke over the phone."
"Jeremy, right? You almost gave me a heart attack there."
"No, Mr. Barton." He shook his head at the man's clumsy attempt at subterfuge. He could appreciate the effort, but his client had no real skill in deception to speak of. And reaching over, he quickly set the cup right back up before continuing. "It's Sterling, don't you remember?"
"Yeah, yeah…" Barton sagged in his seat at even that small ploy, but then he took a better look at him. Probably taking in the near skeletal frame on display. "I'm just getting old, you see...But I have to ask, how old are you?"
"If you're worried about my age affecting this case, then don't worry. I can even point you to a few references if need be." These references being Michael, Angeline, or Ivy, as all three possessed probably the most mature-sounding voices out of everyone he was close to. That in itself brought up a few more items. He would eventually require some form of proof or reputation to be spread around, as thus far, a lot of the jobs he's taken on have not seemed all too keen to expose their dirty laundry or were simply not in the city anymore. He needed one big enough case that someone would gladly brag about on his own behalf. Otherwise, his small agency would always be considered a two-bit hack.
"No, no, it's fine. Just a bit surprised is all."
"Very well," Albert nodded, reaching into his inner pocket and pulling out a small notebook to begin scribbling down a few notes. "Then let's start. Your name, please?"
"...Isaac Barton."
"Age?"
"Thirty-four, but I'm turning thirty-five within a month."
"Occupation?"
"I'm a salesman, mostly telemarketing. The company I work for primarily deals in more affordable computers. It's a rising industry, I think it's only a matter of time before every household has at least one computer in their home."
'You're more right than you know.'
"Marital Status?"
"Married...But I don't know for how much longer, though, especially if…"
"Understandable," He moved his pencil with purpose, probably with far too much oomph, but it was needed. People enjoyed being heard and actually being attentive. It tended to make them more open when some of the tougher questions were asked later on down the road. "And I thank you for being so patient and cooperative. I know this is a lot, but I will ask you to go back to your situation one last time, please don't keep anything back, and I'll see what I can do."
"I can appreciate that you're taking it seriously, but really? Again?"
Now, the man actually looked annoyed. Not that he could really be blamed. What kind of person enjoyed repeating themselves? It was just a crack in his composure, and hopefully by the end of this, it would be a fissure wide enough to show his true nature.
"I find that most people aren't really that comfortable over the phone and are just as eager as I am to quickly end it. I'm sure for you, it's a foreign concept given the nature of your job, but even you can admit to noticing this as well? A few details are glossed over, events forgotten, and calling back to add or correct the mistakes is often seen as taboo."
"…" Isaac nodded, that edge of annoyance ebbing away quickly as he saw the logic. "Yeah, you're right. Sorry, just been a rough time, you know?"
"It's no problem, just start whenever you're ready...Would you like another cup?"
"No, I drink enough of the stuff as is." Despite that, he still waved at the waitress as she was making her rounds. "But, let's start at the very beginning. I met my wife, Malaya, a while after I got my business degree. I was looking for work and stumbled across a job ad at this local arcade, which paid pretty good money, just with awful hours. And when I got there, she was the one who hired me, and for a solid two years, nothing really happened between us. She was still in college, and I was scrambling to put my life together. But one day, while we were working another god-awful double, I had decided to quit the following week anyway and decided to shoot my shot. And that's how we began dating for around four years before getting married."
"So we've been married for around six years, had some ups and downs, but we made things work. Before I got this job, I was doing primarily temp work. So I was already on an extremely inconsistent schedule, to the point where I wouldn't see her for a whole day and could do nothing more than crash on the couch the moment I got in...That...that was a rather difficult span in our relationship. Glad that's over. Malaya has always been a physically affectionate person. Could probably live off nothing but hugs and cuddles, so that period was exceptionally hard on her."
"So when I got this job about four years ago, we were both extremely relieved. And for a while, everything was fine. I was getting a steady schedule and spent as much time as I could with her...but then she wanted a child. That was almost two years ago, and let me tell you, I still don't think I'm fully ready for that. Me, a father? Can you imagine it? Maybe that's why nothing has come from it. We've been trying since then to no avail. We went to the fertility clinics trying to see if there was anything wrong with my swimmers...but when the test results came back, they were in the right levels and levels. It turns out, she can't...well, no. It's highly unlikely that she'll ever be able to get pregnant. And if she ever does, it's more likely the child wouldn't survive long. We were devastated, you know? We knew we could adopt or have a surrogacy, but for her, and maybe me too, it would be different. Things started to get more strained between us, and...and I'll admit, I did throw myself into my work just to get away from how claustrophobic I felt. I know, I know. I'm a goddamn coward! I know!"
"At the time, I tried to delude myself into thinking that it was for the best. That I was clawing my way up the company ladder just to make sure that whatever life we lived would be fruitful. That I could somehow drown that bad news in a luxurious life...But I knew differently. I started spending more time at the office, not getting home until well after dark, and usually I just take up the couch so I don't have to face her. I know-I know I fucked up, okay? I know I should've been there for her; she didn't deserve to go through that by herself…"
"That was almost two years ago, and ever since then, she's been incredibly distant from me. Well, maybe talking about it out loud, it's me who's been distant from her. It's my just deserts, I can't really complain. I haven't been acting like much of a husband, have I? I tried to fix things this year, my mom finally knocking some cold, hard sense into my head...but it's like a wall has been put up between us. And no matter what I do, it's impossible for me to climb over. Dinner or movie dates, strolling in the park, going out on vacation, or even just gifts...she's found every reason possible to reject them all. Even if it's just an evening on the couch, she can't seem to stomach being near me."
All through this conversation, Isaac's shoulders had been drooping further and further. Curling in on himself more as the story spiraled. His eyes began to moisten and redden, and it looked like it took all of his self-control not to just burst into uncontrollable tears.
"Have...have I really let our marriage get this bad? I-I do fear the worst." He sniffled suddenly and loudly, uncaring or unaware of the busboy lingering a bit too long near their table as they cleaned with a greatly exaggerated slowness. "I-don't even want to speak into existence, just in case I'm speaking it into reality...but I-I do fear she's found someone else. Fear that in my cowardice, I pushed my beloved wife into the arms of another. Just-just the thought of it fills me with this sinking and hot feeling in my stomach. Like I'm about to scream and puke at the same time!... But I hate that even if she did cheat or find someone else, I would still love her. Would still love her with everything I have...to the point where I would step back and get out of their way. I want her to be happy, want her to live a better life...even if it's not with me."
"…"
Albert continued to scribble away, taking the time when the man dropped his head in his hands to send a harsh glare at the still lingering busser. Who quickly got the message and skedaddled with their tails tucked between their legs. With them gone, he turned back to face Isaac. So far, nothing he said was all that different from their phone call. Just with a few extra details and with a lot more emotion than how he'd described the situation earlier.
From what he could tell, there was not even a hint of falsehood present in this story. And it did seem like he was completely serious with his last statement. Barton was truly a grieving husband trying to fix a cold marriage, and it pulled at the teen's heartstrings far too easily.
"Why do you suspect that she's cheating?"
He shook off that hook; there was no way he could afford to get himself attached here. After all, that was how he kept on getting burned with these cases. Also, he needed to know what signs this man had seen. After all, this Malaya could just be so deep into her own depression fueled spiral that she wasn't even fully aware of the world around her. That too would make sense. And would cause a different kind of concern that he was all too familiar with.
"I'm sorry, just...There's been nights where I got home well after midnight, and she still wasn't home." Coughing and wheezing, Isaac wiped the fresh tears with his sleeves, trying and failing to make himself look presentable. "It happened pretty rarely at first, and now it's almost a weekly thing...there were even times where she wouldn't even return until the following day."
The young PI had to resist the urge to wince at that. Things already weren't really looking good, and it was getting exceedingly hard not to immediately jump to that conclusion.
"Would she call you these days?"
"No, no, not all." He shook his head vigorously at that. "I call her...I call her plenty of times, but I haven't been on the phone with her in over a year. Most of the time, it just goes right to voicemail. Especially on those nights."
"What about her family? Could she be staying over there?"
"Malaya's family...they're something. Nice people, but not really present, but they don't live in Gotham, hell, she's not even from here either. They live over in Florida."
"...Friends?"
It was a bit of a stretch, but there were plenty of friends who would allow other friends to spend the night on the couch, especially if it's a group-
'No.'
He shook his head internally. There he went again. Trying to fill in explanations for people, this wasn't the time for that. He needed the facts, and this man across from him had some of them.
"None that I'm aware of...but it wouldn't be surprising. I haven't really been there for her, so maybe she picked up a new hobby? Like a book club?...An overnight book club? Or maybe she got a night job? Yeah, that sounds...right, I think?"
"What other signs have you seen?"
"We have a joint credit card." Here, he began to fiddle with his fingers. Shame crossing his features as if he was admitting to a crime. "And, and I looked at them some time ago...Around ten months ago, she bought a new phone, but I haven't seen it yet. And from the monthly charges, I can see it's still being used regularly. At first, I thought maybe that's why I haven't been able to reach her through the phone...But I still see her use her old phone all the time."
Albert could only silently close his eyes at that. Things were lining up too perfectly for him not to circle back to the same conclusion from before. Trying to come up with more excuses now would only feed into a harmful delusion.
"Then, I must ask this, Mr. Barton, what exactly do you want us to do about it?"
"I want to ignore it, I want to pretend like our lives are perfect the way they are, just to stay with her...But I've already been selfish enough...If she truly has another lover, then it's only right that I leave them to it...I've already hurt her enough; I don't want to keep doing so just because I'm unwilling to let go. I'll file for divorce, split everything to make sure she and her new...love have a stable life before...Before, I don't know really. I don't want any photos or anything; she doesn't deserve to be humiliated in that way. I just-I just want to know the truth...but please, please don't confront her about it. That's all I'm asking, just confirm whether she has a lover and I'll-I'll take your word for it. What do you say?"
[Case Opened: Oath-breaker
Description: An ailing husband has long since suspected that his wife has been unfaithful to him. Coming in hours after errands, acting all suspicious with every phone call, and most of all, a suspicious charge on their shared credit card. Find out the truth and finally set this matter to rest!
Requirements: Verify if this wife in question has truly forsaken her vows!
Difficulty: F
Reward: 1 IP]
[Would you like to take on this case?]
[Yes/No]
With everything he knew now, taking this case on was a certainty. Isaac appeared like a safe enough client that Albert wouldn't have to worry about this turning violent...Unless, of course, the husband walks in on the affair, then everything would truly be up in the air. Crimes of passion were a thing, and who knows if he might've blacked out before waking up with the blood of both his wife and her lover all over his forearms. But that was always going to be a major concern.
And with the system verifying that this was a real and tangible case, it only further increased the chances of him accepting.
"I should inform you first that I do require a deposit before I begin."
He couldn't help but feel a bit slimy after that. Here, this guy just poured his heart out, and now he was expected to cough up money despite that. The world of commerce was a cruel thing sometimes, but maybe it was needed. To help the teen separate himself from the situation.
"Oh yeah, of course! One moment," Isaac, flustered, pulled out a white envelope and slid it across the table. The folds appear thick and nearly bursting. "I'll pay the rest after."
"Very well, thank you. Well, Mr. Barton, it seems we have ourselves a deal." The PI smiled thinly, holding out a single gloved hand while silently accepting the new case. A hot plate piled with a mix of scrambled eggs and three sausage links rolling about, the waitress barely paying him any further attention as she filled up Isaac's coffee mug.
'Let's just hope this is all just one giant misunderstanding.'