Capítulo 3: Chapter #3
"I appreciate the opportunity you're giving me, and I want to repay it with results. If I can ask for something… I want a personal workshop on the outskirts of Gotham. A place where I could develop my skills, create something that would serve your interests. Tools, space… that's all I need to be even more effective."
Penguin looked at him intently, his small eyes gleaming with curiosity. He remained silent for a long moment, fiddling with the ring on his thick finger, as if weighing Neron's words in his mind.
"A workshop, you say… Hmm, practical and… intriguing," his voice was a low rumble, full of approval. "Very intriguing. I like the way you think, boy. You know how to make an impression, but I feel like you're hiding something. Still…"
Neron nodded, his face remaining stone-cold, though inwardly, he felt a wave of relief.
"A double-edged sword," he thought, recalling Penguin's earlier words. "If I've impressed him, perhaps more doors will open in the future. But I need to be cautious. Every step in this game is both a risk and an opportunity. And there's a chance my next mission will be far more difficult."
Penguin leaned back in his chair, the same calculated smile still on his lips.
"Very well, boy. You'll get your workshop. But remember—everything you do will be part of my game. And I always play to win."
"That's enough for me," Neron thought, nodding.
Real estate—this is Penguin's unchallenged domain in Gotham. Thanks to his masterful balance between legal and illegal enterprises and his operations in the shadows, he has managed to gain control over an impressive number of buildings and properties throughout the city.
That's why Neron's request for property as a reward was unusual—not because it was difficult to obtain but because of the specific consequences tied to it. While Penguin could easily offer such assets, especially if he saw potential profit, granting them came with certain risks.
If, for instance, one of Penguin's subordinates received a restaurant as a reward for completing a major task, and its operations turned out to be unprofitable, the situation could take a very unfavorable turn. Moreover, if there were any danger of the restaurant being linked back to Penguin, the fate of that employee could become as uncertain as that of the café owner Neron had once mentioned.
Similar risks apply to residential buildings, laboratories, or workshops. In such cases, Penguin is responsible for equipping them, which opens the door to extensive surveillance opportunities. Bugs, listening devices, hidden cameras—the range of spying tools is almost limitless. Being under constant observation by one's employer is often the price one pays for enjoying his "generosity."
Neron was fully aware of this. However, at this stage of his journey, he didn't see it as a significant problem.
In his mind, a plan was taking root—a long-term, ambitious plan, still awaiting execution. It involved mastering skills and techniques that could significantly boost his potential. Each step in this direction brought him closer to his goal, to the person he wanted to become—a being who transcends the boundaries of his own power and capabilities.
"An AMP would be perfect," the thought crossed Neron's mind as he walked back to his quarters alone.
The theory he was considering suggested that once he mastered the skills necessary to create such a device, he could intentionally cause a simulated malfunction during its construction. A staged error could lead to an explosion that would destroy all electronics in the workshop. Of course, such a move would result in serious losses—most likely, the entire equipment would be utterly damaged.
Neron calculated that if his skills reached the level of advancement he envisioned, he would be able to do more than just repair damaged devices. By executing this maneuver when his position within Penguin's ranks reached a sufficiently high level, he aimed to not only enhance his reputation in Penguin's eyes but also across all of Gotham.
Using this newfound status and authority, he intended to leverage Penguin's favor to gain greater independence—both in terms of actions and access to resources. In this way, he planned to transcend the role of a mere subordinate, becoming someone trusted and granted freedom of operation.
For Neron, this was a risky but promising move—an ideal way to break free from imposed limitations.
Neron lay on his bed, staring at his status. His thoughts revolved around plans for the coming days. For now, he was bound by a protocol imposed by Penguin—a strict order not to leave the hideout until Reed brought news that the threats from the police, the Justice League, or Batman himself had been neutralized. Becoming a target of any of these forces would mean a swift and inevitable end.
Faced with this enforced inactivity, Neron decided to use the time to ponder which skill he should develop. Various ideas swirled in his mind—chiefly, his plan to create advanced technology: armor, weapons, and other inventions. It was this very idea that had prompted him to ask Penguin for a workshop. In a world as dangerous as Gotham, lacking power often meant death, sudden and shockingly easy.
Neron was acutely aware of his current vulnerability—a single well-aimed bullet would be enough to end his life. Without magic, innate supernatural abilities, or any kind of deceptive advantage, he had to rely on technology to compensate for these shortcomings. Although he had a few potential ideas for acquiring supernatural powers, he knew that first, he needed tools and strength to reach the sources of those abilities.
Now, he faced a critical question: did the development of his skills result in actual strengthening, or did the system merely record his progress? In other words, would possessing a skill that boosted strength automatically lead to a significant increase in that attribute upon leveling up? Or was the system simply a simplified tool for illustrating his current level?
These doubts, though theoretical, were crucial. Understanding how the system worked could be the key to better planning and accelerating his path to his goals. After all, to conquer the world, one must first learn the rules by which it operates.
With this in mind, he considered a skill simple enough to allow for quick advancement and provide answers to his pressing questions.
After several minutes of reflection, Neron came up with an idea. He decided to attempt developing a skill that, theoretically, should help him in the future while also being straightforward to level up.
As a first step, Neron decided to practice balance. He stood on one leg until the pain and sheer exhaustion knocked him down.
Next, he tried jumping off the bed and landing on both feet without falling or assuming an unstable posture upon landing.
This was followed by numerous exercises designed to test his balance.
These exercises were difficult for the current Nero to perform, but that was exactly what he wanted. It was very easy to observe progress and growth in these exercises, and once he gained the skill and advanced it, it would be quite easy for him to determine whether the skill strengthened him in any way.
Such training lasted about an hour, but apart from a sore backside from falling during failed attempts, he hadn't gained anything yet. It was only when he fell for the umpteenth time, and his body slowly started losing the will to fight, that a simple thought reached Nero's mind. Since the conditions for gaining XP in the case of Gangster Tactics were complex, involving many factors for earning experience,
The same could be true for acquiring skills, because what he had been doing so far was nothing more than repeating the same actions and attempting to maintain balance. So, instead of falling on his backside again, he decided to search the Internet for guides on the mentioned exercises, proper hand placement, weight distribution, and many other details. Now Nero approached the topic more ambitiously, paying attention to the smallest details.
And although he initially ended up crashing to the floor again, after another hour, he heard the long-awaited system notification.
[Obtained Skill :[Body Virtuosity](1/10)(00/1000)](The ability to maintain balance, perform precise jumps and dodges. Increases the ability to move in difficult terrain, allows for better body control during dynamic movements and avoiding attacks.]
Level 1 - Novice
-Basic ability to maintain balance during simple movements and short jumps.
-+5% to body stability while running and in difficult terrain.
-Ability to perform simple dodges in response to attacks.
???
Neron decided to move on to a more precise study of the XP acquisition process for a specific skill, "Body Virtuosity." It was the perfect opportunity to better understand how the system evaluates his efforts and what is actually rewarded.
He started with simple exercises. He stood on his head, supported by a wall, then tried to maintain balance on one leg while jumping. He performed everything intuitively, without using any techniques or forms he had previously read about online. The exercises seemed trivial, but he wanted to see how the system would respond to their basic execution.
Progress? There was some, but it was very modest. Only 03/1000 XP after an hour of intense effort. Seeing such results, Neron felt a slight sense of disappointment. He had hoped the effort would yield more tangible results, especially since these exercises, though simple, required a great deal of focus and commitment from him.
Tired and dissatisfied with the results, he decided to take a regenerative break. However, he was certain that the key to accelerating his progress would depend on more complex and precise movements, or on using methods that required better technique and a deeper understanding of balance. This was something he planned to test after eating.
So, after a quick shower and putting on the least dirty clothes, his mind full of thoughts, Neron headed toward the cafeteria.
The corridors in the Penguin's headquarters were surprisingly tidy, at least in this part of the building where the cafeteria was located. On his way to where he could get something to eat, Neron couldn't help but notice that the atmosphere here was different from what one might expect from a place where some of Gotham's most dangerous thugs gathered. Although he had hundreds of memories of this place, now as the completely new Neron, seeing it with his own eyes, he felt fascinated by the climate of the organization.
The cafeteria itself looked more like a modern café. Soft lights gave the interior a pleasant ambiance, and abstract patterns and landscapes adorned the walls. Mainly ironic depictions of penguins and arctic landscapes, but they perfectly fit the cozy atmosphere of the cafeteria.
Dark wood tables were neatly arranged, each with a vase containing a single flower. In the corner stood a small counter, behind which a young cook worked, dressed in a neat apron. She wore a forced smile, but it was clear she was more tense than friendly.
Neron glanced around, observing others. A few people were sitting at tables, talking quietly or staring at their phones. Despite being in the Penguin's headquarters, the atmosphere was surprisingly calm. It seemed like Penguin wanted to provide his people with some level of comfort, even if their activities were far from legal.
He approached the counter, where the cook was standing. Her eyes trembled as soon as she looked at him. She must have recognized him, as she immediately lowered her gaze, trying to maintain a professional expression.
She was young, maybe in her early twenties. She had light hair tied in a ponytail and pale skin. But in her gaze, there was something more than just ordinary reserve – it was something between dislike and fear. Neron was familiar with such looks. People didn't like his appearance, but it wasn't him personally who triggered such emotions, but rather what they had heard about him. Rumors spread quickly in the Penguin's headquarters, and his reputation as one of the most ruthless people at the lowest levels had effectively built an aura of fear around him.
"The only thing that separates me from the Neron of this world is the fact that he had the courage to act. To join an organization like Penguin's mafia instead of staying in his safe cage."
He smiled bitterly, thinking about those times. The life he led before was comfortable, but also suffocating. Safe, yet empty. A daily routine he stuck to out of fear of change, like an invisible chain. "A safe life" – that's what he used to call it.
Now, being in the headquarters of one of Gotham's most powerful gangsters, he saw how absurd those principles he once held were. That "safe" way of living turned out to be nothing more than an illusion.
However, he wondered about one key moment – the moment when his counterpart in this world decided differently. Where was that boundary, the one that changed him into a man willing to join Penguin? What did that decision look like?
"Aside from the small differences, we had the same past..." – Neron thought, tapping his finger on the table. This reflection made him laugh, though it was more of a bitter laugh than a joyful one.
"One difference. He decided to take a risk, and I… I stayed in stagnation."
That was the key. The choice. The DC Neron made a decision that tore him from that world and brought him here. Maybe he was marked by darkness, maybe he acted outside the boundaries of morality, but at least he was living. He was someone, instead of vegetating in a false sense of security.
Neron felt a slight disgust when he realized how that girl looked at him. "Typical," he thought. "She doesn't know me, she doesn't know anything beyond what others have said about me, and she already treats me like some kind of monster. Maybe if I looked like a movie star, my reputation would attract her. Hehe... Bitch." He didn't even try to hide his contempt – after all, why bother? Her opinion meant nothing to him.
"What can I get you?" the cook asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.
"Do you have a special today?" Neron asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.
The cook looked at him with clear resistance, as if simply answering his questions made her uncomfortable.
"We have roasted chicken with vegetables or potato casserole," she replied, trying to make her voice sound professional.
Neron raised an eyebrow, analyzing her response.
"I'll take the chicken," he said shortly, though he felt like pressing a gun to her temple just for that unpleasant glance.
The girl nodded and turned to prepare the order. Meanwhile, Neron silently stared into space, ignoring how the cook glanced at him sideways, thinking he wouldn't notice. One ironic thought crossed his mind: "Yeah, because I'm the problem here, not the fact that you work for Penguin. Feeding people who would happily gut you and your family."
After taking his tray with food, Neron sat at an empty table and slowly savored the meal.
"Maybe she's a bitch. But at least she knows how to cook."
The food was really good, the right amount of spices perfectly enhanced the chicken's flavor. The meal was so good that thoughts of murdering the mentioned woman shifted to thoughts of merely tolerating her existence.
Nero's thoughts revolved around potential skills he could work on in the near future. After all, in this headquarters, the cafeteria is not the only place accessible to those holding the same position as Nero within Penguin's ranks.
One of the most practical places, and ironically the least frequented, is the shooting range. This place doesn't even have a limit on ammunition for a single worker. One can shoot all day long, perfecting their skills, and no one will say a word about it. And even if they do, when the news reaches Penguin's ears, the leader will simply know that investing in this particular employee is worth his effort.
Another useful room that even fewer people visit is the library. From Nero's memories, he deduced that this place is more of an odd venue for entertaining with prostitutes than a place for studying. People in these ranks are not the types to choose study over fun. However, for Nero, the extensive library could prove to be crucial.
Neron calmly finished his meal, taking his time, even though vague thoughts churned inside him. Still, he tried to block out the pervasive stares in the cafeteria, which seemed to almost burn him. This place was always an intriguing contrast for him – on one hand, the warm, almost homely interior of the café with pleasant lighting and soft background music; on the other, the tension that hung in the air because every person present here, regardless of their apparent civility, was actually a ruthless criminal.
He had barely set his fork down when, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a figure heading towards him. Instead of immediately looking up, he let the newcomer reveal himself.
"Hex, right?" a voice said, low, slightly raspy, but with incredible precision.
Neron slowly lifted his gaze, deliberately, like a predator assessing an intruder in his territory.
The man who sat across from him wore a worn-out lab coat, stained with chemicals, its creases indicating long hours of work. He was thin, almost emaciated, but his eyes... those eyes held something more. A deep, almost burned-out gaze, full of obsession and some disturbing joy, as if at any moment he could start talking about something so absurd and terrifying that the average person would flee in panic.
"Jonathan Crane," the newcomer introduced himself with a polite smile, which was more of a mask than a genuine expression of emotion.
The name shook Neron for a second, though he remained outwardly unfazed. "Jonathan Crane. The Scarecrow. Psychologist, toxin genius, architect of nightmares. Sitting across from me as if we were about to have coffee together. Heh... That's even funny."
"Nice to meet you... Jonathan," Neron finally replied, deliberately using the name to gauge the reaction.
Crane tilted his head slightly, as if that one word intrigued him.
"It's interesting to see how well you're doing," he began calmly, almost amicably. "The Penguin has quite an investment sense in you. The workshop is a very... thoughtful reward."
"You call that a thoughtful choice?" Neron replied slowly, carefully choosing his words, observing every movement and gesture of Crane's.
Jonathan leaned back in his chair, his fingers forming a triangle, as if appraising Neron.
"Yes, thoughtful. The Penguin doesn't hand out such resources without reason. But you... you're something of an experiment for him."
Neron furrowed his brow slightly, though inside, a familiar, painful surge of anger stirred.
"An experiment?"
Crane smiled wider, his teeth gleaming in the light of the cozy lamp above their table.
"Of course. After all, how long you manage to maintain his trust will be an interesting test of your... let's say, usefulness."
Crane's words were like soft hammer blows to steel – indirect, but strong enough to stir certain doubts. Neron watched him closely, trying to read something more from that grotesque smile.
"Usefulness. That's a word I might hear from someone else, but not from you, Crane. You don't judge people by their loyalty, do you? You see them as pieces in a puzzle, ones you can move, break, or rebuild. So why me?" – This was a slightly theatrical thought. However, based on memories and knowledge of comics, Neron was unsettled by the tone of the villain named Scarecrow.
Neron sighed theatrically and leaned back in his chair.
"And what do you see, Crane? Who am I in your eyes?"
Jonathan squinted slightly, as if the question intrigued him.
"A fascinating experiment," he finally answered. "One that might have potential, if he's smart enough to survive in this... jungle."
Crane suddenly leaned forward, his hands resting on the table, and his voice took on an almost intimate tone.
"And speaking of experiments... have you ever thought about toxins? About their subtle, beautiful potential?"
Neron raised an eyebrow, a slight smile curling on his lips.
"Toxic potential? Sounds... fascinating."
Crane reached into the pocket of his lab coat and pulled out a small vial filled with a transparent liquid. He held it up to the light, watching as the liquid gently vibrated in the glass.
"Imagine... the water supply. Everyone in the city is forced to face their worst nightmares. Panic, chaos, and then... silence."
The atmosphere around their table shifted almost imperceptibly, as if the air had suddenly thickened. Neron and Crane leaned in closer, speaking in a silence that was as unsettling as their words. Their voices, low and hypnotic, vibrated in the space, drawing the attention of the other cafeteria guests. Some glanced furtively, others pretended to be absorbed in their meals, but all of them sensed something disturbing – what was happening at that table was not a typical conversation about business or the weather.
Crane rotated the vial of toxin between his fingers, his long, bony fingers looking like the claws of death.
"And what about a circus?" he suggested, his voice imbued with a strange, theatrical enthusiasm. "Imagine clowns who, instead of making children laugh, awaken their deepest fears. All those innocent little ones, forced to flee through a maze of terror, where every step leads to another nightmare."
Neron smiled widely, his eyes gleaming like the edge of a knife.
"That's interesting... But I'd take it a step further. Imagine a hospital. A maternity ward, where every new mother, instead of feeling joy, suddenly sees her newborn child as something... monstrous. Awakening in them an instinctual fear that robs them of their love for their own offspring. That would be chaos on a family level."
A few men sitting at a nearby table suddenly stopped eating. Their gazes, still hidden behind a veil of indifference, betrayed a distinct sense of discomfort. One of them, a burly thug in a leather jacket, turned his eyes away, as though trying to erase from his memory what he had just heard.
Crane tilted his head, and a look of approval mixed with something that could be called pride appeared on his face.
"Masterful. But what do you think of something more public? Let's say... a school? Hundreds of kids, locked in their classrooms, each forced to experience the same nightmare: an exam that never ends, where every mistake leads to something worse than death. Fear in its purest form."
Neron nodded as if he had just heard a perfect symphony.
"A school, you say... What about public transportation? Buses, subways, trains—crowded with people who suddenly start seeing each other as monsters. One big chaos. People throwing themselves at each other in desperation to escape what they see. And when everything quiets down, there are only bodies... and the fear that lingers in the air."
Crane grinned widely, revealing a row of uneven teeth that seemed more suited to a ghastly mascot than a human.
"Brilliant, Hex. But you see, I always think of something more... personal. How about a wedding? Imagine, during the vows, the groom suddenly sees his bride as a terrifying monster, and she sees him as the embodiment of her deepest fears. The guests, the witnesses, everyone would go wild."
Neron chuckled softly, his voice reminiscent of a beast lurking in the shadows.
"Subtle and elegant, Crane. But if we're talking about such events... What about... a funeral? Everyone present at the ceremony suddenly sees the deceased rise from the coffin, but not as the beloved they lost, but as a ghostly, deformed version of their nightmare. Everyone would flee in panic, leaving the dead one alone once more."
At one of the tables, someone couldn't hold back and nearly dropped their glass. Several people glanced at each other, exchanging quiet remarks. "What are they coming up with over there?" "These are just jokes, right? Right?"
But Neron and Crane paid no attention. Their conversation was gaining momentum, as if they were both musicians who had just found the perfect rhythm.
"And what about museums?" Crane picked up again, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "People suddenly see the exhibits as living nightmares. Imagine the Mona Lisa, which starts smiling with the teeth of a predator, or statues that step down from their pedestals and chase the visitors."
"What about the zoo?" Neron replied, his face still adorned with a wide, almost manic grin. "People come to see the peaceful lions or elephants, and suddenly they see cages full of creatures that stir their deepest fears. For each person, it would be something different, making the experience unique."
Their laughter, quiet and dark, once again echoed across the cafeteria. Those who had been trying to eat quickly lost their appetite. One of the waiters, probably a new hire, approached the cook, exchanging a knowing glance.
"Who are these people?" the girl whispered, trying awkwardly to hide her fear.
"People?" the waiter replied, looking at Neron and Crane's table. "They're everything but people. They're Monsters!!"
Meanwhile, at the table, the two madmen continued developing their plans, becoming more detached from reality with each passing moment. There was no room for doubt in their eyes—what they were talking about was art to them. The art of creating fear.
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