Gotham City's a cesspool.

For all the airs the people put on about it being all glitz and glam, anybody that tried to live like a normal human being found themselves being crushed by the day. Most people that wore smiles had to be faking it, trying to maintain that image that all is well in one of America's "richest' cities.

One teen, making his way down a busy sidewalk, made for damn sure not to be one of those people. Silas Morgan, a sixteen year old boy, silently and quickly glared at the people walking past him. To them, he was probably just an angsty kid that didn't bother apologizing when he shouldered through that one business man, or that one lady in the car he'd flipped off when he clearly had the right of way to cross at that intersection. The way he saw things, though, he felt he had a better understanding of what Gotham was really like.

He'd caught a glimpse of its vicious underbelly as a child, seeing his parents murdered before his eyes. A thief held them at gunpoint while he'd taken anything of value off of them. His dad, being the dumbass that Silas would always remember him as, tried to fight back. Unfortunately for him, and his mother, the robber was quick on the trigger. A few shots later, and Silas found himself huddled down on the other side of the car, panicking while screams filled the air around him.

That was years ago, though. He'd gone through the severely underfunded foster care system, bouncing from family to family. He hated every second of it, doing whatever he could to get out of the houses they found for him. Eventually the social workers wisened up, not bothering to try and find anywhere for him to stay. Once he turned sixteen, the system let him go, and now here he was, stepping up to an unoccupied ATM at his bank. With a deep sigh, he slid his bank card into the slot, keyed in his PIN, and waited for the bad news.

News that took only seconds to show.

Silas groaned at the sight. Sure, his parents had set him up with a trust fund in case anything had happened to them, but it could only last for so long. The thousands of dollars in his bank account did nothing to alleviate the pressure he felt. Despite how the Mayor liked to try and act otherise, Gotham was a city in financial dire straits. The rampant crime waves, usually headed by criminals that caused wanton destruction throughout the city, put the city's financial infrastructure under intense strain. That meant that everything skyrocketed in price to make up for it.

Silas had done what he could to try and lift some of that burden on himself. At 16, he'd dropped out of high school in favor of keeping himself sustained. He had multiple jobs under his belt, trying to keep his trust fund going as long as it could. The hundreds he had to pay for his apartment, on top of other things, ate up what pay he could scrape together. Most months, he had only just enough to keep food in his belly and maintain his gym membership.

God, that thing. He'd joined a gym near his apartment complex, hoping to try and get himself into shape. Being in shape meant that he could get another job if he needed to, but his current work kept him so occupied that he rarely had time to go.

Silas' phone beeped in his pocket. He pulled it out, seeing the reminder that he'd set for himself. Today was one of those rare days where he could actually get a workout in, and his reminder to go filled his phone's screen. He took one last look at the ATM, hoping that, by some miracle, the number displayed on it would be bigger than the last time he looked.

Silas trudged his way back to his apartment, letting things run in his mind. He had work schedules to balance, time to make for some grocery shopping, even less time to find for workouts. As he reached the door to his home, he sighed to himself. "This shit sucks. Thanks a lot, Mom and Dad. You really helped your son out with his life, didn't you? Whatever, you two screwed me over by getting gunned down like the idiots you were."

It didn't take him long to find the stuff he needed for his gym trip. A quick change of clothes, his own towel, and his membership card were the most important things. He had the money to spare, so if he needed some kind of booster, like an energy drink or a small snack, he could pick it up at the gym, or on the way home. Before leaving his apartment, Silas took one long look at himself. His dark hair ran just below his shoulders, slightly shaggy in appearance. A person could look at it any one of two ways: It was dark enough that it stood out against his fair complexion, or the other way around. Sharp, dark brown eyes stared back at him in the mirror, almost as if his own reflection was challenging him to say something.

As he took himself in, he couldn't help but smirk a bit. Sure, he wasn't on the bigger side at all, but he still felt like his thin build could stand against Gotham's tests as well as anyone else. Besides, that's what this trip to the gym was for; just needed to bulk up a bit so people would stop thinking he was some helpless kid. Honestly, he wasn't sure if anyone looked at him like that when he went down the street, but it wouldn't have been a surprise if they did.

He flexed an arm a bit, patting at the bicep. Despite the lack of muscle, he felt his smirk grow a bit.

"Yeah, it'll be fine. Once I'm strong enough, I can start looking for better jobs. One that won't pay me like ass and treat me like less than that."

With that, he made sure to grab the last of the things he needed to take with him. He yanked the door open, ready to get his workout in.

"Faster!"

Silas growled as he fired his fists as quickly as he could. His trainer held the target mitts out in front of him, giving Silas spots to strike at. Sweat dripped off of the teen's forehead as he pushed himself, feeling his arms burning a bit. He pushed the feeling out of his mind as much as he could, trying to focus only on the sound of leather-on-leather as he followed the instructor's commands.

"Two-and-one!"

Silas acknowledged the command subconsciously. Two sharp jabs, followed by a low kick aimed at the instructor's thigh. The older man brought his leg up, meeting Silas' foot with his shin. The teen was thankful that he was wearing kick pads for this session, otherwise that would've hurt.

When Silas first joined the gym, he'd only intended to do some personal weight training and a little endurance work. He wouldn't have had anyone telling him what to do, instead just doing whatever he felt like doing. Then he'd heard that his gym was offering kickboxing lessons as part of the membership plans. At first, he'd dismissed the idea, thinking that the sport was stupid. After some careful consideration, however, he'd decided to give it a shot. After all, with how dangerous living in Gotham could be, it might've been better if he had some kind of martial arts training. At the very least, he could feel a little better about walking down the street if he learned how to kick someone in the head if he needed to.

"Mid, high, high!"

Silas followed the command with another series of strikes. This time, he swung his leg up in a round kick, leveled at this instructor's side. He then brought his leg up higher, aiming it at the head. He snapped his leg twice at the head, completing his kick combo.

The older man deftly blocked the attacks, doing so in a way that minimized the impact of the hits. The corner of his lips twitched a bit before he acted. On Silas' second kick, he wrapped an arm around the teenager's ankle, lashing out with his free hand to shove at Silas' chest. The act caught the orphan off guard, and he quickly found himself tumbling to the ground.

"Gah!" he cried out as he fell to the canvas. He looked up at his instructor, meeting the older man's eyes with a sharp glare, "What the hell? What was that about?"

"You're sloppy," the man said. Despite Silas' tone, he regarded the boy with a sense of disappointment, "You're missin' a lotta classes, kid. Otherwise, I'da drilled into ya a need to get that leg back down quick. The longer you're on one foot, the more vulnerable ya are ta gettin' taken down like that."

The trainer walked over to Silas, offering a padded hand up. "Now c'mon. We ain't done yet."

Silas growled, pushing himself to his feet. The trainer gave him a look, raising an eyebrow as he did, before backing up a bit. Silas took up his fighting stance again, his eyes reflecting the rage the felt on the inside.

"Alright then, kid," The trainer said, "Let's get back at it."

'Asshole,' Silas thought to himself as he started with another series of jabs. The pads popped harder as he put more power into his punches.

A couple of hours later, Silas managed to drag himself home. Everything under his skin burned with exhaustion. The trainer put him through the wringer with their workout, saying he was just 'making up for lost time'. He opened his apartment's door, tiredly shuffling his way in. He made it to the bedroom, flopping himself heavily on to his bed. The act caused his bed to shift ever so slightly, dragging the feet of the bed along the wooden floor just a bit. A knocking sound came from below the apartment's floor, followed by a bellowing voice.

"Quit yer shit up there! I'm tryna sleep!"

Silas groaned into his pillow, doing his best to ignore his downstairs "neighbor" letting his opinion be known.

'Gonna have to put up with this shit until I get more money. Then I can get outta this hellhole of a city.'