Floating behind the counter, half an hour before I was to open the store, I honed in on the daily news of three separate cities. The three cities to my cafe had an entrance.
"This just in: the Hell's Kitchen's Midnight Killer has returned. Four bodies were found in an alleyway behind Papa Jesus's Pizzaria on Numan's street and were identified to be members of the Triad. Eyewitnesses on the scene identified the attacker to be the Midnight Killer along with an unknown companion."
"Kyle really has a hate boner for the Gangs in Hell's Kitchen," I commented, noting Kyle's new nickname, and watched the footage nearby people recorded, showing Kyle gun down several men while an Eyebot floated not far behind him.
Obviously, several videos quickly appeared on social media platforms, questioning what the Eyebot was, who created it, and what its purpose was. Kyle's Eyebot would undoubtedly get the attention of some organizations. Hopefully, he wouldn't do something stupid and get caught, though if he was smart, he could always offer his services to some of the organizations, though he'd likely lose a lot of his freedom in the process. He certainly has the technical skills to be accepted in many institutions as well, though it was clear he had some vendetta against the criminals of Hell's Kitchen, so it was highly unlikely that he would willingly leave the crime-filled district until he fulfilled his vendetta.
Moving on, I focused on Gotham's news.
"We are at an all-time record low for Homeless. Dozens, if not hundreds, of the homeless have been disappearing from the streets of Gotham and reappearing hours or days later; here's Ashley Cunningham with one of them now," She motioned over to a nearby screen, which showed another newswoman standing next to a man with an unkempt beard and unkempt clothes.
"Thank you, Trish; I am here with Ian, a man who has been living on the streets of Gotham for over a decade. Tell me, Ian, do you know what's going on? Do you know why people are disappearing from the streets at night and reappearing hours later?" The blond woman asked the vagrant, moving the mic closer to their face.
"Uh...you outa ask the boss," The man deflected.
"Boss?" The reporter asked.
Suddenly, a loud bang echoed from the surroundings as a nearby sewer gate was ripped open by a clawed reptilian hand.
"He's talking about me," A rough and menacing voice growled out as a figure rose from the sewers.
"Killer...Croc," The reporter stuttered in fear.
"Sorry for frightening you. Hey Ian, how's your section? Are the heaters doing okay? Is the terminal still working? How are you guys doing on food? Blankets?" Waylon, Killer Croc himself questioned, a small smile on his face as he looked at the homeless with a friendly smile.
"We're doing fine, Waylon, though Mindy says she still feels cold at night, even with the heaters," Ian fondly replied.
"I'll get her a heater blanket," Waylon informed the man, "I'll get it to her before it gets dark."
Focusing on the reporter, Waylon spoke, "Apologies. I am aware my form...frightens others, as well as my past history, but I can guarantee your safety; I will not touch a hair on your head, nor will any harm come to you while within my presence," Waylon spoke, showing a surprisingly eloquent and gentlemanly interior underneath his scales.
"W-Wha-" The reporter started only to interrupt, "What and why, I presume? Many may not know, but I grew into this. I was quite human when I was but a boy. Now? I am only a monster because society deemed fit to make me one. I may not be proud of the things I did in my past, but I am a changed man. Just ask those who sleep in the streets and beg for change so they won't starve, or are you asking about what Ian and I spoke of?"
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"Wait...you weren't always like this?" A different voice asked from behind the camera.
"Like a monster? Correct. I was born with a rare genetic disorder that has slowly turned me into what you see before your eyes. From my own personal research, everyone else who was born with my condition did not make it past a year in age, making me one of the few or likely the only living human on Earth who has lived as long as I have with this condition," Waylon answered.
'Is he smarter? He certainly seems more...intelligent since he first came to my store,' I thought to myself, confused as I listened to the news.
The more I thought about it, the quicker I came to a realization.
'Well...hot damn. I think he managed to recreate Mentats, a sort of drug that enhances the intelligence of those who consume it. It makes sense, seeing as he was noticeably dumber not that long ago. The question is, would he have to worry about the drawbacks of taking the drug due to his...physique?"
'Curious...I wonder what else Waylon will create if he ends up making Mentats of all things. Will he manage to create Stimpaks? Radaway? Psycho? Jet? In Fallout, there are plenty of drugs and medicines that would be a godsend for this Earth, as some were potent painkillers, addiction fixers, and so much more that would change the lives of many on Earth.'
Meanwhile, on Metropolis News, a male news reporter was reviewing footage of an unidentified hero seen flying with Superman over the city; that figure was feminine in shape, which could only be a few notable figures from my memory.
Only one such figure fit the criteria for who it could be, especially with Superman's absence, that strange meteor, and the fact that he hasn't returned to try and arrest me yet.
Of course, it could only be Kara Zor-El, Superman's cousin. However, it was possible to be some other female heroine, though unlikely in my opinion, given how few there were who could fly and would make Superman stop harassing criminals for a week.
Getting lost in thought, I was suddenly interrupted by the loud sound of knocking as someone pounded on the glass sliding doors.
Looking over, I was certainly surprised to see a bloodied and beaten Frank leaning against the glass door in Hell's Kitchen, smearing blood all over it.
"God damn it, Frank," I sighed, floating down from the air, landing softly on my feet.
Stepping around the counter, I calmly walked over to the sliding door and opened it with a mental push.
Once the door slid open, Frank fell to the floor, but with a simple swipe of my hand, purple energy coalesced around his body and forced him into a standing position.
"Wow, look at you; someone certainly did a number to you. Where's the Assaultron?" I asked, examining the extensive injuries on him.
"...Scrapped. Was...jumped by some military-looking guys," Frank forced out, clearly in pain.
"I see, well. I guess that's to be suspected. They still have it?" I asked.
"...Y...Yes," Frank answered.
"Well...that's bad. Well, come on, hard to talk to you when you're in this state," I told the veteran, making him float up into the air as I turned around and began walking over to the counter, his body floating behind me.
"Cash or Karma?" I asked, gesturing towards the Stimpaks on display.
Getting only a ragged breath in reply, I cheerfully added, "Karma it is. Let's make that a Super Stimpak while we're at it," I floated over the counter, confirming the purchase.
Seeing the confirm in purchase, I checked the man's Karma balance.
[18,983]
'He certainly has used up quite a bit of his Karma on medicine and alcohol,' I noted.
Grabbing a Super-Stimpak, I calmly floated back over the counter and, with no hesitation, jabbed it into his arm and pumped the syringe's contents into his body.
Tossing the used syringe into the trash, I let the man go, letting him fall to his feet, where he stumbled to a nearby chair.
I watched with fascination as the smaller injuries began to heal at a visible pace while the larger injuries seemed to be having more trouble.
"Do let me know if you want to buy another," I told him, floating back behind the counter only to hear a loud 'Bang' slam into the sliding doors.
Turning around, I was met by men in black suits with small sidearms raised at the door.
"Are they stupid? Who sees something like me and shoots first? Well, I guess I would, but still, it's very rude of them."
Without a care in the world, I cast a simple spell, and behind the two men, a small portal opened, releasing multiple dog-like Eldritch Abominations that tore the three men apart before disappearing back through the portal.
Shaking my head, I looked over at Frank, "No worries, no harm will come to customers in my store, after hours or not," I informed the man with a shrug, going back to watching the news.