[Moth Gang Combatant, Common Template, Gang Member. HP=60..80, MP=20..30. Strength 6..8, Agility 7..9, Spirit 4..6, Charisma 4..8.]
[Unit Traits: None]
[Moth Gang Gunman, Common Template, Gang Member. HP=100..120, MP=80..100. Strength 10..12, Agility 10..12, Spirit 6..10, Charisma 7..9.]
[Unit Traits: Gunman]
These were the detailed enemy profiles marked on the mission items. This was the first time Chris had seen specific stat blocks for enemies since entering the Selection Space.
Judging by the range of values in the panels, it was clear these described the general groups rather than individual members. It seemed the Moth Gang had some rigid standards when it came to recruiting enforcers.
The combatants were clearly the lowest level of cannon fodder, likely no better than the duo Chris had handled in the alley earlier. The gunmen, however, had stats that were mostly above average, serving as the core frontline units in gang conflicts.
Above them, there were undoubtedly more advanced and powerful gang members.
But. Why were the Spirit stats for these combatants so low?
Chris was genuinely puzzled.
However, the answer could be easily found in the reality of their surroundings. Cigarette leaves, cheap synthetic drugs, and discarded syringes.
Gotham, a city modeled as a conglomeration of New York, Chicago, and Los Angeles, could never be rid of such things, even if it was ostensibly the most livable city in the world.
Whether these combatants started using these substances before or after joining the gang, and regardless of their reasons, constant use would eventually rot both their minds and bodies.
When their brains and bodies were completely broken, they would be ruthlessly discarded by the Moth Gang, with someone new instantly filling the void.
Gotham never lacked for living expendables willing to risk their lives for a handful of dollars.
Chris's start in this mission had been exceptionally smooth. As long as he didn't aim for a higher completion rating, his bounty mission was practically half finished.
However, just as he'd entered the trial nearly naked last time, he found himself needing to strip once again.
His bloodstained suit and slacks were unusable, and even the white shirt beneath had been stained. He had to piece together a relatively clean outfit from the pile of lackey corpses scattered across the floor.
After returning to the real world, his previous pair of strawberry print boxers had already been tossed into the washing machine. He made it a point to change his undergarments daily. Today, he was wearing a pair printed with a Super Mushroom, positioned right in the center.
Standing amidst the corpses he had personally mutilated while baring it all to change clothes. One had to wonder if Chris's mental state was truly that resilient, or if he simply never viewed these bodies as human to begin with.
Once he had transformed from an Asian gentleman into a composite Moth Gang grunt, a strange sound from the doorway caught his attention.
It was a sound he remembered from his childhood, the specific mechanical whir of a cheap remote controlled car racing down a hallway. A mix of a small motor, spinning wheels, and the light clatter of plastic hitting a wall.
Soon, a soft thud echoed from the bottom of the bar's door, followed by the sound of a drill grinding against the wood.
A moment later, a swift shadow squeezed through the smoking hole and into the silent bar.
Chris, still perched on the counter sipping his milk, narrowed his eyes. The visitor was indeed a mechanical construct resembling a remote controlled car, though significantly larger, even bigger than a biological guard dog.
In an instant, Chris's mind translated the object into its original pixel art aesthetic.
A blue car body with two alternating drills mounted on its back. This was technically a minor enemy unit that opposed Batman.
[Small Blue Car: Common Template, Mechanical Unit. HP=40, MP=0. Strength 4, Agility 8, Spirit 0, Charisma 3.]
[Unit Traits: Vibration Acceleration]
These units were deployed as street patrols by the Moth Gang. They possessed excellent scouting capabilities, but as gang units, would they really be patrolling for their own kind?
Quite the opposite.
Their primary targets were common citizens brave enough to resist the gangs, the police officers who risked their lives for a paycheck, and the wealthiest man in Gotham who haunted the streets at night, showing no mercy to supervillains and petty thugs alike.
Strangely, the blue car seemed completely oblivious to the fresh corpses littering the floor. It let its wheels roll through the blood and occasionally bumped into a body before turning around, behaving more like a lost puppy than a patrol drone.
Chris, still holding his half empty glass of milk with two fingers, watched it with a steady gaze and a slow nod.
It appeared the small blue car hadn't escaped the limitations of its original programming.
Structurally, it might have been superior to modern mechanical dogs, featuring advanced black tech AI. But for detection, it relied entirely on ground vibrations.
Regardless of friend or foe, the car only registered units on the same plane. It relied on floor vibrations and its downward facing cameras to identify targets. Only after a positive scan would it engage combat mode.
Having avoided detection by staying on the high counter, Chris finished his milk and jumped down. The sudden vibration caused the blue car to screech to a halt and spin around, its sensors locking onto the source.
It scanned a strange entity.
An Asian face wearing the slacks of a combatant and the jacket of a gunman.
The car's AI, capable only of processing pre programmed parameters, froze in place.
For a gang with high turnover like the Moth Gang, it was impossible to input the facial data of every low level grunt into the system. To distinguish between members and commoners, they relied on uniforms. The car was programmed to recognize the specific patterns of its own gang's clothing, not individual faces.
Chris's composite outfit had created a logic loop it couldn't resolve.
But since the car wasn't moving, it was Chris's turn to act.
He simply assumed the car would drop the data he needed for his mission.
The Star Spangled Shield, identical in color to the American flag, appeared once more in Chris's hand. But just as he prepared to hurl it and slice the car in two, the bar's lights flickered and died.
The entire establishment was plunged into darkness as the power was cut.
Then, the battered bar door was kicked open from the outside.
Against the light from the underground stairwell, a silhouette was cast onto the floor.
A massive, pitch black silhouette of a bat.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]