Have you ever been hit by a flashbang before? Not in a video game behind a screen, but in real life?
No?
Yeah, me neither.
But the blinding light flooding my vision right now feels close enough.
I groan, squinting as my eyes slowly adjust. The world comes back in pieces—dark alley, damp ground, and a smell so bad it almost makes me gag.
"…Where the fuck am I?" I mutter, pushing myself up.
I take a proper look around. Run-down alley, trash everywhere, the air thick with piss and something worse. Then I look down at myself—and immediately frown.
"…This is disgusting."
A white tee that's barely white anymore, stained with dirt, mud, and things I don't even want to guess. Gray pants in just as bad condition. Timberlands that look like they've been dragged through hell.
I stand up slowly, a headache creeping in—and then it spikes.
Hard.
"…Shit—"
Memories hit me all at once.
Not mine.
Eighteen years of someone else's life cram into my head without warning. Naoya Zenin.
Orphan. Kicked out the second he turned eighteen. Surviving off pickpocketing. Took a shortcut through this alley.
Got cornered.
Got stabbed.
Died.
"…Wow," I exhale, steadying myself as the pain fades. "That's… rough."
My eyes drop to my chest. The shirt is torn right over the heart, stained red—but the wound itself is gone. Completely healed.
I catch fragments of his last moments. Panic. Pain. And then something else. Instinct. He activated… something.
And then froze himself.
"…Right," I mutter, the realization settling in. "Naoya Zenin. That's me now."
I look at my hands, flexing them slightly.
Cursed energy.
I can feel it.
I draw in a breath and try to pull on it—and nothing happens at first. I pause, thinking. Then my eyes drift back down to my clothes.
…
"…Nah, this is actually pissing me off."
I tug at my shirt with visible irritation.
"What is this? I look like I crawled out of a dumpster."
There it is.
The annoyance builds fast—and with it, something else.
A faint blue glow flickers around me, then strengthens, wrapping around my body like a low hum.
"There we go," I murmur, watching it carefully.
So it really does run on negative emotions.
I steady myself, letting the energy settle instead of flaring out.
Gotham. I already know I'm in Gotham—Naoya's memories made that clear. Which means I'm in a city where being weak gets you killed.
Good thing that's not my problem anymore.
Projection Sorcery.
Twenty-four frames of movement in one second. I visualize it, my body follows it. Simple in theory.
I crouch slightly, focusing. Pull a bit of that irritation back—honestly, thinking about how I look right now is more than enough.
Then I visualize.
Twenty-four frames.
Out of the alley. Sharp left. Onto the sidewalk.
The moment I commit, my body moves.
Fast.
Too fast.
Everything else slows just enough for me to keep up, like my perception adjusts on its own. By the time the frames end, I'm already stopping.
I glance back.
"…That's at least 40 meters."
In one second.
A small grin tugs at my lips. "Not bad."
( A/N) He will get much much faster as he gets better with projection sorcery!)
Then I feel the drain.
"And that's not great."
My cursed energy dips more than it probably should've. The reserves don't feel small—I'm just burning through them inefficiently.
"Yeah… I'll need to fix that," I mutter.
I look around. The neighborhood's just as bad out here—dim lights, empty streets, buildings that look like they're falling apart.
"Gotham," I sigh.
I shove my hands into my pockets and pause when I feel something. I pull it out.
Fifty bucks.
"…Pickpocketing," I note. "At least he had some sense."
I glance back toward the alley. The guys who killed me? They can wait. I'll deal with that later.
Right now, I need the basics.
Money. A place to stay. And a shower—badly.
—
After a long walk, I find a motel that looks barely functional. Two cars outside, sign hanging on by a screw.
"Forty dollars a night…" I read quietly. "Good enough."
I head inside. The man at the front desk looks me over, clearly unimpressed.
"You lost, pretty boy?" he asks.
I notice his hand inching under the desk. Probably expecting trouble.
I set forty dollars on the counter. "Room for a day."
He pauses, then checks the money carefully before nodding. "Room 10. And clean yourself up, son. I'll bring you some spare clothes."
"…Appreciate it," I say, taking the key.
I head to the room and immediately make for the bathroom. I've been holding it, and at this point I'm not even pretending otherwise.
After that, I take a long shower. Longer than necessary, probably, but I'm not stepping out until I don't feel like I belong in that alley anymore.
I go through both bars of soap without hesitation.
When I finally step out, I check the mirror.
"…Huh."
Cleaned up, this body looks good. Better than expected. Sharp features, solid build.
"…And you still ended up dying in an alley," I mutter, shaking my head. 'Seriously you could've been a gigolo'
A knock pulls me from my thoughts. I open the door—no one there, just folded clothes. I grab them and change. Camo pants, gray tank. Not ideal, but it works.
I sit on the bed and turn on the TV.
"…Batman was spotted earlier tonight following another incident involving the Joker—"
"Of course he was," I mutter under my breath.
Gotham. Batman. Joker.
Same mess, different perspective.
I lean back, staring at the ceiling as everything settles.
I've got cursed energy. A broken technique. And I'm in one of the most chaotic cities imaginable.
"…Could be worse," I say quietly.
I think for a moment, then nod to myself.
"Step one: get money. Step two: get an apartment. Step three…"
I pause, a faint smile forming.
"Figure out how far I want to take this."
Because playing it safe?
That doesn't sound very interesting.
I close my eyes, already planning.
First thing's first.
Money.
-
Believe it or not. Finding out how to make money in gotham is simple. All I did was find flyers bodly advertising an underground fighting ring for meta humans.
It's safe to assume its so advertised around these parts because all of gothams major villains are running amok. Keeping batman attention away from small things like this.
Grabbing one of the flyers. I scratch my head and bite into the honeybun I spend 3 of my last 10 dollars on.
"I need a disguise".