In Gotham City's ecosystem, Wayne Enterprises sat at the top of everything.
A job there meant security. Benefits. A future that didn't involve calculating your odds of getting shot before the bus arrived. It was the starting point for the American Dream in its purest form: promotions, salary reviews, a corner office, maybe even someone wealthy and attractive who found engineers interesting.
Nobody in their right mind turned down Wayne Enterprises.
Jude checked the system.
SYSTEM NOTICE Wayne Enterprises Technical Department requires: Intermediate Mechanical Engineering | Intermediate Programming | Intermediate Physics
You currently possess: zero of the above.
Accepting this position without the necessary qualifications will result in no asset points generated from work performed.
"Legal work" requires actually knowing how to do the work.
Jude looked up at Lucius.
"I'm sorry. I can't accept that."
The math was unambiguous. His total asset points had dropped significantly after purchasing Basic Car Driving ($500) and Basic Firearms ($1,500), then the wheelchair hardware and skill on top of that. He had less than five hundred points left. Buying the three intermediate technical skills required for Wayne's engineering department would take months of careful saving.
And driving and shooting weren't optional expenses in Gotham—they were survival infrastructure. Even with the wheelchair, he'd been shot at enough times to consider both investments non-negotiable. The wheelchair had been stolen anyway, which was its own argument.
Lucius didn't seem surprised.
"You're declining without asking about the position?"
"I know what I can't do," Jude said. "I don't have the technical background for that kind of work. I'd be useless to you, and we'd both know it." He paused. "As for the tea—I don't have a number in mind. Whatever's fair."
"Five thousand dollars. Cash transfer to the account on file, today." Lucius folded his hands. "A personal thank you, not a business transaction."
Five thousand dollars for a pouch of dried flowers he'd found in a system shop.
Wayne Enterprises money did indeed hit different.
The system wouldn't count it as asset points—it wasn't work compensation, just cash. But five thousand dollars in cash was five thousand dollars in cash, and Jude was not going to pretend otherwise.
"Goodbye, Mr. Jude." Lucius stood, extended his hand. "If you encounter any more information about that plant's origin, please reach out."
"I will." Jude shook it. "Thank you, Lucius."
He left Wayne Tower five thousand dollars richer and slightly off-balance, like a man who has successfully avoided something without being certain what it was.
"Alright, alright." Drake waved off whatever explanation was coming. "I don't need to know where it came from. You want a car."
"It was a legitimate transaction," Jude said. "Can you please use a normal tone? I am arguably the most law-abiding person in Gotham."
Drake wasn't listening, thinking through the practical problem. "You'll be parking in the East End. Don't buy anything new, expensive, or visually appealing. Anything that looks like it's worth stealing gets stolen. Your weekly wages cover a used wreck. That's what you want."
"So the actual cost of a car is finding somewhere to put it."
"What parking space?" Drake looked at him. "There are no safe parking spaces in the East End. Even the Falcones gave up on that racket."
"If it gets stolen—"
"A cheap used car lasts six months to a year. If someone takes it at month five, would you genuinely grieve? You'd be out two thousand dollars, which you'd make back in tips inside of a week." He shrugged. "It doesn't mind being cheap. You don't need to mind it being ugly."
They took a bus to a lot near the East End border. Chain-link fence, hand-painted sign hanging slightly crooked, rows of vehicles in declining states of dignity.
"Hey, Drake!" The owner emerged from a trailer office with the particular enthusiasm of a man who has spotted someone useful arriving. "Buying today? Or selling?"
"My friend needs a car. Something in the two thousand range. What's reliable right now?"
Jude glanced at Drake. "You know him."
"I drove when I first came to Gotham," Drake said, keeping his voice low. "Sold my car to him when the parking costs were eating me alive."
"Did he give you a fair price?"
Drake gave him a look.
"Right," Jude said. "Did you do anything about that?"
"I became his part-time salesman. Bring him customers, we split the profit fifty-fifty. Now, when someone buys through me, they get cheated less than they would otherwise."
Jude stared at him. "That's still cheating them."
"They're getting cheated by someone in the East End either way. This way they lose less." Drake spread his hands. "Welcome to Gotham, land of the marginally better option."
"I came here to buy a car."
"And here I am. You'll be cheated the minimum necessary amount."
The dealer—Johnny—led them to a grey sedan parked near the back of the lot. Four doors. Faded paint with dents that had character if you squinted at them correctly. Slightly under two thousand on the sticker, adjusted to twenty-two hundred when he saw Drake's expression.
"New acquisition. Runs fine, just the cosmetic damage. Russian manufacture—built like a tank, comfortable ride. For a friend of Drake's, twenty-two hundred."
Jude took the keys before anyone could say anything else. Climbed in. Started the engine, listened to it for a moment. Tested the acceleration across the lot, brakes at the end, steering on the way back. Checked the seats, the interior panels, the dashboard.
Tires were worn but had more life in them. Engine sounded clean. Brakes caught immediately. Nothing rattled that shouldn't rattle.
He might have actually come through, Jude thought, climbing out.
Johnny was visibly relaxing. "See? Nothing wrong—perfectly good vehicle—"
Drake reached past him and turned on the air conditioning.
Red mist rolled out of the vents.
It smelled like copper. Like the inside of a closed room that had been closed for the wrong reason.
Blood.
Johnny's mouth closed. He became very interested in his shoes.
"Johnny." Drake's voice dropped to something very flat. "What happened to this car?"
"There was... an incident," Johnny said, after a moment. "Previous owner had some unfortunate luck."
Jude understood completely.
Someone had died in this car. Recently. Probably not peacefully.
"How many times have you sold it?" Drake asked.
Johnny cleared his throat. "Five."