"A week in a Wayne property," she mused, "It's the smartest choice we have now, but it's not a perfect shield. The staff here are discreet, but in Gotham, information is a currency. By tomorrow morning, every fixer from the Narrows to Diamond District will know exactly which suite the Midtown rich young man is sleeping in."
She walked over to the sideboard, pouring herself a glass of water.
"But you're right about the city's attention span," she continued, glancing at him. "Gotham is a monster that eats its own news. A masked freak or a mob hit will happen by Tuesday, and we'll be old news. My concern isn't the public, but the people who don't forget. The ones who saw how you moved. They won't care about the rich kid narrative the news is pushing. They saw a trained professional."
John turned to face her fully as she continued.
"I'll handle the extension and the don't disturb protocols. But if we're going to be laying low for seven days, we need to make sure Dog stays quiet, too. A bloody hound in a five-star hotel is a story people love to tell at bars."
She paused, looking at the TV one last time before turning it off with a sharp click of the remote. "I'll get it done. Just... try avoid being provoked again until the heat dies down."
John had underestimated the sheer, frantic scale of Gotham's chaos. As night fell, the city seemed to really wake up. In the distance, the muffled pop of gunfire and the low rumble of explosions echoed clearly through the skyscraper .
By the next morning, the news cycle had already moved on. A massive chemical spill in the Narrows and a coordinated heist at the federal reserve had pushed John's "Midtown Meltdown" to the back pages. To the general public, he was yesterday's mystery.
But John and Cherry didn't break cover. They knew better. While the civilians had forgotten, the players, the street bosses, the information brokers, and the vigilantes never did. They were out there, lurking in the digital and literal shadows, waiting to see if this new "rich kid" was a one-hit wonder or a threat to their bottom line.
John used the forced isolation to his advantage. He had Cherry procure a stack of foundational books on computer science and advanced tech for beginners. Along with biology, he realized that technology was needed for survival in this world.
"I'm not looking to become a hacker overnight," John told Cherry as he flipped through a manual on encrypted networks. "But I'm planning to get in contact with some tech-savvy guys soon. I need to speak their language."
He spent his days alternating between the cold theory of hardware and the brutal reality of biology, preparing for the moment he would finally have to step out of the Wayne-protected area and back into the line of fire.
The days blurred into a cycle of study until the fourth afternoon. John's IBM, which usually remained a silent, static shadow unless commanded, suddenly stirred. Without a word from its master, the dark, bandaged figure drifted toward the window, its hollow gaze fixed on the jagged skyline of Gotham.
The movement snapped John's focus away from the tech manual he had been buried in. He closed the book with a soft thud, watching the ghost's silhouette against the city lights. Normally, he would have reasserted control immediately, pulling the strings of his double like a puppeteer, but curiosity stayed his hand. He sat back and observed.
The IBM stood at the glass for a long time, seemingly mesmerized by the chaotic pulse of the city below. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, it turned back toward John.
The two stared at each other, the host and it's ghost. The IBM began to glide closer, its movements fluid yet unsettling. John felt his muscles coil, a primal instinct of tension rising in his chest at the sight of the autonomous entity approaching him.
The IBM stopped. It seemed to sense the tension from John's apprehension. It tilted its head, a silent inquisitive gesture and shifted its gaze from John to the scattered books on the table. It had no eyes, no mouth, and no true face, yet the intent was unmistakable. It was curious.
An independent IBM is more than just a tool; it is a mirror, often manifesting the dormant traits and suppressed drives of its host. Looking at the ghost, John realized he was looking at a raw extension of his ownself.
Understanding this, the tension in John's shoulders bled away. He reached for one of the beginner tech manuals, a thick volume on hardware architecture and held it out.
"You want to learn too?" John murmured.
The Ajin reached out, its dark, grainy fingers brushing against the cover as it took the book.
The Ajin tilted its head to the side, its form flickering slightly like static. Then, a voice emerged, a distorted grating sound that felt less like vocal cords and more like grinding sand.
"Read?"
The tone was hesitant, a questioning echo. John nodded slowly. "Yes. Read."
The Ajin took the book, its movements becoming more purposeful as it walked over to a sofa and sat down. There was a moment of visible hesitation, a stutter in its ethereal limbs, before it finally peeled open the cover and stared at the first page.
John watched it with a mix of fascination and caution. He knew his IBM was currently in a state of partial independence. It was evolving, beginning to form a basic logic and the ability to mimic human speech, yet the tether remained. He probed the mental link between them, it was still thick and vibrant. He could feel the ghost's curiosity as if it were his own, but he also knew that with a single sharp thought, he could snap the leash and pull the entity back into total submission.
The remaining days of their isolation passed in a strange, quiet rhythm one man and his shadow, both buried in the sea of knowledge.
When the week finally ended, the heavy air of the hotel suite was replaced by the familiar, acrid scent of Gotham's smog. John stepped out of the lobby, his posture straight and his gaze a bit absent.
Waiting at the curb was the black sedan. Cherry had been busy, the car looked nearly new, the shattered glass replaced and the dented panels hammered out and buffed. She stood by the driver's door, her professional mask back in place, though there was a new glint of respect in her eyes as she watched John approach the vehicle.
Dog jumped into the seat first, with John following close behind and pulling the door shut. Above them, unseen by the mundane eyes of the city, the IBM took to the sky of its own volition, as silent sentinel trailing the car from the clouds.
"Where are we headed?" John asked, his tone laced with genuine curiosity. By now, he knew Cherry would have reached out to the League to finalize the arrangements for a permanent base of operations.
"There is a mansion not too far from here, tucked away on the outskirts," Cherry replied, her hands steady on the wheel as she navigated away from the hotel's gilded entrance. "It's a property held by the League. Secure, private, and out of the public eye."
Check out and support the patreon.
patreon.com/Emmaony