False Reflections: Issue #5

Thank you to my Patrons: SaffireSpirit13, Zach, TheButtGod, EvilTurtle321, Zerak, Jacob Raymond, Starfall20, 9milli9, Boris Davidovic, 8ightbit, Bishop7053, Sgt. Rock, Mysterious89, Helios, Shirou0emiya, and Grim343.

And a special thank you to Joe, you absolute madman.

Three hits landed in quick succession on the punching bag, followed by a low kick, before backing up and taking a breath.

There was something viscerally satisfying about exercising, I’d discovered. Something about the mix between pushing your body, feeling the slow and steady march of improvement across weeks and weeks of dedication… it spoke to me in a way beyond my Facade.

After all, even as the wimpy, nerdy high-school genius I was still capable of hitting as hard as the Douche or even the Businessman.

But Ryu was different. While I could very well use all the muscle built under his guise naturally, as the Mask didn’t give absurd muscle growth or the like so it was all still my body, Ryu had something the others did not.

Ryu was known to be strong, fast, and enduring. The sheer awareness of this fact made it so a hidden reserve of strength only he could access flowed naturally through my body, my punches hitting harder than they would as anyone else.

The other Masks weren’t weak, Ryu was just built to be strong.

My breath regained quickly, and three kicks were snapped out rapidly- low, mid, and high- before a high-speed jab went straight for the kidneys of the man-

I quickly stepped away, shaking my head as the image of the man I had strangled suddenly popped into the forefront of my mind. My hand pulsed in pain from the excessive jab, as the rest of the people in the gym simultaneously looked my way from the bang that had come from the strike.

I smiled and waved them off apologetically, and those who knew me shook their heads at my usual shenanigans, while the new people went back to the equipment. I rolled my neck, one of Ryu’s nervous ticks, and tried not to chuckle at the fact my pain tolerance had bumped up a bit due to not acting as if the strike had hurt.

Even now it still hurts like a bitch, but I’d take what I could get.

Considering the vast majority of non-meta criminals seemed to be built out of brick at worst, it’s no surprise Gotham has an abundance of gyms with varieties of exercise equipment for every muscle the average minion/gangster needs.

Usually gyms and other places with large gatherings of people are assumed to be fronts for criminal activities or the like, and sometimes that’s true. But if every gym were a cover, how could freelance thugs, bodyguards, and bouncers maintain their best asset?

No, if you know where to look, you can definitely find a gym that has no criminal activities allowed on the premises. That means no deals, no trades, no meet ups, not even an antagonistic look when two members of feuding mobs go for the last available set of dumbbells.

In these walls, there was only self-improvement and mutual respect.

And apparently, through a series of events I was not made aware of, I became its mascot.

“Ryu!” A loud voice boomed to the side, and I paused my restarted reps against the bag to turn over to one of the people I’ve known the longest at this gym. “How’s it going, kid? School going all right?”

Hugh, despite his name, looked like a well-built fifty something instead of the sixty-something I knew he was. His body was still built out of steel, his head was full if completely white, and he still laughed like he was trying to drown out the gym noises in the background.

“Ah, yeah Hugh, grades are still okay.” I told him, going over to my water bottle and taking a quick sip as I walked away from the bag- only the most evil assholes imaginable take up a work-out spot when they’re not using them- closer to the old man.

“Then what’s wrong?” He asked, and I almost knew word for word what he was about to say. “You can tell a man’s mood by the way they swing their fist, and you definitely weren’t swinging like you were ‘okay’.” He commented with a raised white eyebrow, and I shrugged with a helpless smile.

“Eh, I was in a store that got robbed. I’m fine, it’s just when I practice…”

“You see someone you hate for making you feel weak.” He said solemnly, nodding to himself. And… I wasn’t sure that’s what it was. While I definitely disliked him for compromising my safety and that of Cassie, I had fought back and essentially defeated him.

No, looking over my feelings again, I knew exactly why I was seeing him.

“Kinda, but I also just wanna hit him as hard as I can for being a jackass.” It was a simple answer based on simple feelings. I didn’t like the guy for threatening to kill me and trying to rape someone I… was a dick to for my own benefit. So I wanted to beat the shit out of him for it, even if I had strangled him half to death.

Hugh laughed out loud, a booming thing louder than my hit to the punching bag. “Ah, reminiscing of asswhoopings that never were? Hell, back in the day I’d be throwing a right fit if someone ran from a brawl with me, so I know what you feel.”

I scoffed. Considering the old man still benches over 150 pounds on the regular as a ‘warm-up’, a fit probably means he was throwing cars and parting the clouds with his screams of frustration. “Guess that’s close enough, but other than that I’ve been doing okay. Had to study real hard for the end of year tests coming up.”

Hugh tilted his head over to the punching bag, and I walked over to it and held it in place while he laid a haymaker on the bag, with enough force to send anyone bracing the bag flying. I merely skid backwards, creating a disquieting sound as my shoes squeaked against the ground. I quickly repositioned my footing as he laid out another strike that’d rock me back if I wasn’t Ryu at the moment.

“Aye? So you think you’ll do well on them?”

Behind the bag he had just laid a kick into, I smirked where no one could see me. “Well, I might miss a question or two.”

I had to take every final three separate times. Once with all the other students, who unsubtly snickered and mocked me before, during, and after testing. A second time after being dragged to the principal’s office and accused of cheating, where I was forced to test right then and there under the watchful eye of him and the butler he pretended was an actual custodian.

The third came out when, shockingly, I had been called into another testing grounds and subsequently informed that due to an error in the system made by the numerous entries for my test scores I would have to take another test to replace the lost scores.

The third one was at least two years ahead of the tests they had originally gave me, with content that most college students wouldn’t be able to memorize, much less with the zero warning I received about every exam save the first one. It was by far the most difficult, challenging test of my cognitive and calculative abilities I’d ever encountered.

I finished in under twenty minutes, and by that time the tip I’d sent to Wayne Enterprises about Gotham Academy fucking around with my scores took effect, and the investigation I’d asked them to hold off on began in earnest.

It was quickly discovered that I had gotten every question right on all three exams, despite having minimal or non-existent time to prepare for any of the tests. And apparently Gotham Academy was more than prepared to fudge my scores and proclaim me as insufficient for their standards and kick me right back into the dirt.

Or Gotham High, I don’t think they saw a difference between them. Unfortunately for them, the most trustworthy billionaire in Gotham (which was a statement that meant almost nothing) had my back, and summarily exposed both my scores and the actions of the school board to the police.

Well, he didn’t say that he did it, but it was very much implied that Bruce Wayne(‘s Company) had a personal interest in the school his son and the children of his socialite colleagues went to was above board and not at all shady.

So, with three test scores, a journal stating all the actions taken against me with timestamps and names, and a wire hidden underneath my clothing from the very first time I set foot in Gotham Academy and recording every bit of classist snobbery I’ve encountered…

Well, the ‘offenders’ of this scandal were quickly found, exposed, and disposed of by the police to never step foot in either high society or a school again. Gotham Academy made many official statements thanking Bruce Wayne and myself for holding the institution accountable and ‘rooting out the bad apples before they spoil the bunch’ in a complete butchering of the phrase’s meaning.

As if the whole place wasn’t already filled with spiteful assholes from the sheer fact its in Gotham.

Still, it was done, and just as I predicted- with all the shit going on in Gotham every news outlet was fucking desperate to report anything at all that wasn’t about the newest mass-release of criminals that’s become a glorified school holiday at this point. So they all piled onto the story, and began sending it out almost constantly.

So, at this moment in time, I was experiencing fifteen minutes of fame. If a bit more literally than I expected.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to a new face that feels like we’ve known him for fifteen years at this point.” I heard a click as a sign turned on, and the live audience began laughing in sync to the point it was obviously prompted. “You know him, you love him- except if you’re a butler- give it up for Gotham City’s very own Rrreeeeeeeeeen!”

I rapidly decided to favor the Businessman over the Prodigy, and tapped my foot against the wooden stage floor before walking out. I ignored the way the portly, bearded host held onto my name like it was a high note- I knew I didn’t have a last name, and he needed to let that information hang in the air. Despite the fact that everyone was now aware of who I was, and where exactly I came from.

I nodded firmly, giving a sharp smile and waving to the audience and the cameras recording me as I walked from offstage and into one of the comfortable looking chairs where I would be interrogated in front of a live studio audience.

Sitting in a controlled yet natural manner, knowing several people will be judging me off of this alone- in fact this more than anything is going to be important for my Mask. After all, while I have been getting substantial gains from Gotham in general that lead to an explosion of cognitive and deductive ability, this was different.

This wasn’t a local news station whose influence never crossed the city limits, this was a talk show- a show that someone like Commissioner Gordon and Bruce Wayne would bother appearing in, essentially a golden medal of honesty and integrity as far as Gotham is concerned.

So this is where the stuff that leaks out into the nearby cities, and even further beyond, originates from.

According to non-Gothamites, who largely don’t support Gotham-originated businesses due to the substantial amount of them that turn out to be fronts for crimes. Which was more than fair, we wouldn’t support them either if we had a choice.

So this was my first step into the world stage, and I was going to treat is as such.

“Thank you for coming onto our show, Ren- or should I call you Mister?”

First fucking curveball, God I wish I had enough influence that they’d give me a script to go off of instead of just, ‘Here are the basic questions we’ll ask, go nuts kid’. 

Thankfully, I was the greatest actor alive, and the Mask I wore wouldn’t bother acting as anything other than professional usually. But this was television, and business sense would be best appreciated while doing business. So I appealed to the ‘dramatic’ bits of the Businessman, and gave the host a witty smile.

“Only if I can call you Rodney, Mister Heffley. Besides, Mister was my father’s name.” Cue laugh track with the host, and let them laugh at the world’s most original and ‘tasteful’ orphan joke… now. “And thank you for inviting me to your lovely show, Rodney.” Businessman loves showing off things he’s proud of, so I continue on. “Really, I didn’t think my actions would lead me here; I’ve watched your shows for a long time.”

Technically the truth, if you count half-heard clips from electronic store displays and people who watch videos in public without earphones. But half-truths were the least of my worries, considering the fact that I’m about eighty percent sure the upper-crust of Gotham generally and specifically dislike me now.

Exposing the corruption of the youth isn’t as praiseworthy when the ideas that were spread flow straight from the tap, never mind the ‘uppity orphan’ schtick they’re throwing around, so I’m probably not getting any personal thanks anytime soon.

Especially because the school is still up and running, because no one wants a bunch of rich brats running around while every superpowered maniac is running around unchecked.

Right now, what I need more than anything is professionalism and composure. Because all publicity is good publicity when it’s free and you aren’t a criminal, and the farther my name spreads the more opportunities I will gain when I unveil that the TouchLight is my invention, and that I’m not a Wayne exclusive.

The host laughed, a subtle twitch in his cheek revealing that he very much did not like me calling him Rodney, but the tide of the conversation had moved on. “Haha! Always happy to have a fan on the show. Now if I were boring, this is where I’d start explaining what’s happened, but I’m not. So, Ren, can we hear from the horse’s mouth how exactly everything went down?”

Ah, this petty motherfucker is already going off script? Because the boring explanation is exactly how this was supposed to go down. I’d be absolutely pissed if this wasn’t handing me a blank check for the Businessman.

I tapped my foot on the ground and straightened my back, looking pointedly at the host. “That is an amazing idea.” I spoke, but ensured my eyes translated exactly how pissed I was with being blindsided like this.

After all, it’s best to inform future employers and associates that I don’t take kindly to back stabbings, and the smart ones will notice exactly this.

While I personally didn’t particularly care about the story behind everything, this Mask was a showman, so I performed.

“Originally I was extremely excited to enter Gotham Academy, and on a free-ride scholarship no less. I knew it was a prestigious and advanced school, and I relished the opportunity.” Alright, I couldn’t stop the dry heaving anymore, so I stopped jerking off the upper crust. “But I was very nervous, and immediately thought the worst of the situation. There’s a lot of people who’ll do a lot to get their hands on a handsome man like me.”

Pro-tip: Comedy is equal parts audacity and surprise. It’s not funny if it’s a meaningless statement, and it’s not as funny if you expect it. Of course, there’s exceptions to every rule, but a seemingly stone faced teenage genius calling himself so hot they can’t help themselves in front of a live audience to an unknowable amount of people ends up shocking genuine laughter from the crowd.

I let a smirk ghost across my face for a moment, before continuing before the host can even open his mouth to try and retake control of the conversation. “So imagine my disappointment when my worries, while not exactly true, ended up being closer to reality than fiction.” I sighed, shaking my head pointedly in stern betrayal, while I was inwardly lamenting what I was about to say. Or rather, what I wasn’t going to.

“The man, who I will not be naming,” Showing mercy to people who wrong you is admirable in the kind, but pitiful in the eyes of the strong. Though, the people who matter will know that news stations hadn’t even pretended to respect his privacy, so I was essentially going to be praised for not stabbing Julius Caesar. “Made it very clear through words and tone, that I was not welcome and he would do everything in his power to ensure I would be tossed right out before the school year even ended.”

I didn’t have the influence or automaty to suggest the butler’s actions are merely a symptom rather than the root cause, especially when those same news outlets were ensuring that very claim was being spread far and wide. After all, people will believe the first source they hear for no logical reason.

So, I turned to the camera, and let the world look into my eyes and see the fabricated soul within.

“I will not sit here and whine about every wrong done to me, but I will make it very clear that all of it was bad and an active sabotage of my education at the very least. I act not just for my sake, but the sake of every unfortunate kid who gets a life changing opportunity only for another to kick them into the dirt for not being born the right way.” How can I describe how difficult it is for someone to act like a stoic man who is controlling his anger to get the point across without making his emotions seem stilted or otherwise manufactured.

The host nods, and before he can make another pointed comment to undermine my flow live on air- which is such a rookie mistake I’m ashamed for anyone it could ever happen to- I turn over to him and let out a pointed breath.

“Ah, thank you for that Rodney, I really needed to get that off my chest.” An almost imperceptible smile formed on my face, one only a fool would mistake as being out of the kindness and appreciation of my heart. 

“This is all pretty relaxing! Maybe I should start a talk show myself, eh?” As the crowd, once more, laughed without even a bit of prompting… I saw true fear on the host’s face.

Ah, worth it.

With a new-found appreciation for my poison resistance, I looked dully at the man before me from where I hung above a vat of unspecified acid.

“Without the hand of wisdom, I am doomed to failure unless I am nurtured and tended. What am I?” A man dressed in a green and purple suit littered with question marks, and holding a question-mark shaped cane, asked me.

A successor.

...I fucking hate Gotham.