I sighed as I exited the liquor store, trying to light up a cigarette and failing as the lighter produced no flame because of the rain.
"Fucking great..."
I couldn't help but curse as I threw away the lighter.
I shook my head and made my way towards my car, only to stop a distance away, my eyes twitching at the sight of an officer leaving a ticket on my windshield.
"For fuck's sake, I've only been there for a couple of minutes," I exclaimed as I stamped my way towards the officer, who merely gave me a dismissive look and moved on, saying nothing.
"One of those days..." I muttered as I watched the officer walk away.
I walked to my car, took the ticket, and grudgingly stuffed it into my pocket without bothering to give it a look. Then I opened the door and sat down in the driver's seat, taking out my spare lighter.
However, in my haste to alleviate my nicotine addiction, I didn't close the door, and a sedan suddenly sped over a water puddle, splashing murky water all over me.
"FUCK!" I exclaimed at the top of my lungs as I got off the car. "Could this fucking day get any worse?!" I vented, unmindful of the bypassers and the strange looks they sent me as if I were mentally challenged.
As if waiting for those exact words, a loud whistling sound came from above, so I looked up, and what do you know?
I froze, the wet cigarette falling off my wide opened mouth matched by my eyes.
"Oh.."
An orange hue shone over my face, accompanied by searing heat, as I stood rooted in place, torn between laughing and crying at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation.
"My..."
My mind went into overdrive as survival instinct took over me, but it wouldn't change anything. It couldn't change anything.
"God..."
I got the answer to the question, I should have never asked. The day could and would get worse, and the answer in the form of a fucking flaming meteorite out of all things, speeding right towards my car, and by extension me.
With no realistic path to survival, I could do nothing but bitterly smile as my life flashed before me.
My childhood, my ever awkward adolescence, working my ass off to put food on the table as your typical corporate drone. It all flashed before me for what felt like an eternity, but it ended far too quickly if you ask me.
'Out of all the ways I thought I'd die... a fucking meteorite was never on the list...'
And that was the last thought in my mind as I embraced my death, both literally and figuratively, as I spread my arms apart as if to beckon for the flaming sphere of demise and destruction to get over with quickly.
If I'm going to die anyway, I might as well do it in style.
...
"What the..."
I opened my eyes, but my vision was blurry, and I felt utterly disoriented. My entire body ached, and the first thought going through my mind was that whatever after-life this is, it sucked.
My nose scrunched in disgust as a foul odor slithered into my nostrils. My hands unconsciously reached to inspect the softness below me to compensate for my blurry vision, and the wet slimy sensation only made my expression all the more disgusted.
My first instinct was to rub the blurriness out of my eyes, but I refrained as I rubbed my fingers together and remembered the disgusting slimy substance on my hands. Blurry vision beats no vision at all, thank you very much.
I grunted in a show of effort as I shakily stood up to gather my bearing. I almost fell right back into what I only assumed was a heap of trash. I flailed my arms and luckily managed to hold something to lean on and stop myself from falling.
My vision slowly returned, and the first thing I noticed were the bruises all over my hand. I slowly inspected the area, confirming I was in what could be the filthiest, dingiest, and smelliest dark ally in the world. And I was apparently taking a nap on top of a pile of trash bags for whatever reason.
I bitterly chuckled, wondering what the hell was going on. One moment I was staring at a meteor at almost point-blank range, and the next, I was here.
'Did I have too many drinks and started seeing hallucinations or something...?'
I mused as I looked around. But I didn't have to wonder too long as a skull-splitting headache came over me, flooding my brain with foreign memories.
Gods. Demons. Heroes. Villains. Aliens. Mad scientists. Magicians. I was in a fictional world with all of that and then some. And to make things worse, I was in the most crime-infested, low-life crawling hellhole of a city in the said fictional world.
So to put things into perspective, I had the worst day ever. A meteor fell on my head. I died. And now I'm in Gotham City inside some variation of DC comics or the other.
'Well, shit...'
I didn't even need to sort through the new memories; they imprinted into my brain as if they were always there.
My breath hitched as realization dawned on me, brought about by the terrible pain all over my body. I wasn't hallucinating, and I wasn't dreaming either.
And worst of all, I didn't know much about DC other than some surface knowledge.
I was just about ready to lose my shit and start panicking when a transparent window suddenly appeared in the corner of my vision.
[Bonding complete]
I slowly blinked and shook my head, but the window remained in its place even as I closed my eyes.
[Scanning host's vitals... extensive damage detected; internal bleeding, multiple fractured bones, damaged organs, and severe bruising]
'Holy shit, holy shit, holyshitholyshitholyshit.'
I had already figured out what was happening, but the rational part inside me denied it. It couldn't admit it, wouldn't accept it.
[Initiating emergency procedures to repair the damage...]
I winced as an itchy sensation overcame my body, and I looked down to see the bruises on my hands fade away, the dizziness and pain fading along with them as the itch intensified.
[Host restored to optimal condition... performing a secondary scan]
I sighed in relief as the itch disappeared, leaving me feeling light and refreshed as I stretched my limbs.
[Scan complete]
Name: Grayson Whitlock
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Class: None
...
Stats:
Body: 10
Mind: 10
Spirit: Locked
...
Skills: None
...
Perks:
[Dormant Metahuman: you have the Metagene, the source for all Metahumans' powers. However, it lies dormant for now]
...
Inventory: Locked
...
Quests: None
...
Reading through my stats proved to be nothing but a momentary distraction from the hellhole I found myself in, especially considering what was waiting at the only refuge I had available.
The former owner of this body, Grayson Whitlock, was an unfortunate soul, to put it mildly. The poor bastard died on top of a heap of garbage bags in a dingy alley, for god's sake, beaten to death at that. What more do I need to say?
The system once more comes to the rescue before I can start panicking again.
[New quest initiated! Find Shelter]
Find Shelter:
The streets of Gotham City are treacherous, especially at night, what with thugs, masked psychopaths, and other assorted shades of crazies roaming about the city's dark underbelly as soon as the sun sets.
Objective: find a relatively safe place to spend the night.
Rewards: starter class.
Note: failure may cause death and or disfiguration.
'Peachy.' I couldn't help but muse, my eyes twitching in annoyance at the wording of the quest. Still, I really needed to get out of here. Gotham's East End was the breeding ground for the city's worst specimens, and I had already died once today, and I was not in the mood for seconds.
And so, determined not to be the first person to die twice on the same day, I took a deep breath and exited the alley, hoping that whatever awaited at the end of the proverbial tunnel would be better, despite knowing better.
And it was to no one's surprise that what I saw was only slightly less disappointing than the dark alley itself.
The streets were laden with thick grime, the smell of garbage permeating the air as pedestrians roamed the streets, doing their best to avoid making eye contact with anything that moved in their haste to go back to the comfort and the relative safety of their homes.
I couldn't help but stop for a minute to take the sights, the unique architecture, and the dark theme coloring the cityscape. It looked colorless, bleak, and dreary.
I stood there, trying to burn the image into my mind, unmindful of passersby as they gave me a wide berth, likely assuming I was about to turn psycho or due to my garbage-slime-covered back. Whatever the case, I didn't care and only moved once I convinced myself that this was now my reality, my world.
I would make it my own, one way or the other.
...
I took a deep breath, mentally preparing myself as I stood in front of a grime-covered door of an apartment located in an equally filthy, dilapidated complex.
The entire thing basically screamed shady, drug/prostitution nest. Even from here, I could see multiple drug dealers catering to their customers and street girls in tight skirts roaming the street as I looked over my shoulder. And something tells me that a number of these girls won't come back.
The trip here wasn't pleasant either. Every breath I took filled my lungs with thick smog, every step I took on my way here splashed an unholy mixture of grime and dirt slimy substances.
Gotham city sucks. But it's all I have right now, and I'll make the best of it, or so I consoled myself in a lame attempt to ease the anxiousness and confusion gnawing at the back of my mind.
But I couldn't linger in the hallway balcony for too long, knowing I won't be safe for much longer in the open even here.
Exhaling the breath I was unconsciously holding, I inserted the key and opened the door, only to close it as a beer bottle came flying at me.
I grit my teeth as I heard the bottle hit the door, shattering and spilling its contents on the floor, followed by a thud, then another, and another.
I only opened the door a minute after the last thud, and no object came flying at me this time. It was a closed fist instead.
"Why did you come back, you good-for-nothing punk?!"
I grit my teeth, holding my nose with a pained expression as I listened to those words and observed the man who spoke them in an outraged tone.
Wearing nothing but a pair of stained boxers and a white undershirt that barely contained his bulging gut, the man, Logan Whitlock, stood 6.2 feet tall as he stared me down with condemning eyes.
Despite being out of shape, layers upon layers covering his body, the man packed quite the punch, a testament, a proof to what he once was, to muscle mass that once was.
"I'm talking to you useless piece of shit!"
Logan raged upon noticing my lack of reply, his expression twisting in fury as he leveled his fist back, preparing to punch me again. His twisted face, along with his imposing height and size, gave quite the intimidating image.
But I wasn't intimidated. I was seething with rage instead.
The former owner of this body, Gray, was an unfortunate soul. The years of abuse and suffering at the hands of his father, along with a severe case of malnourishment, had chipped away at his courage, leaving him nothing more than a spineless coward, unable and unwilling to stand up for himself.
He could not, would not stand up to this man. That's why he left his father's home.
Driven by despair, the poor teenager turned to begging to feed himself, but his pleas fell on deaf ears as the residents of Gotham City were many things, cynical and resilient they were. But charitable, they were not.
'It's a miracle the poor kid survived as much as he did...'
I mused while listening to Logan's continuous flood of verbal abuse, his fists still threateningly leveled at shoulder level as a bitter smile tugged on my lips, an expression he perceived as a challenge.
"You think this is a joke?! You think this is funny, you no-good waste of air?!"
Logan exclaimed, his rage reaching a critical point as he launched his fist at my face once more.
The former Gray's first instinct would have been to freeze and brace himself, to take the beating like the well-behaved punching bag his father raised to be. But I was not him.
When pushed, I push back.
The quest prompt and transparent window at the edge of my vision only worked to fuel my resolve as I raised dodged the slow punch by moving to the side.
"Try that again, and I will fuck you up."
The words naturally came out of my mouth as I slapped Logan's hand away as it missed my face.
Despite knowing how to fight, had the system not brought this body back to optimal condition, I would have made a fool of myself as the former Gray was severely malnourished and choke-full of diseases.
"What did you say to me, you punk! Who do you think you're talking to?!"
Though briefly surprised by my reaction to his abuse, he quickly recovered and shot me a death glare while reaching towards my collar with his other hand.
I didn't reply. I didn't need to, as a simple kick in the nuts was enough to make him shut up and bring him to his knees.
"Are you fucking deaf?"
I calmly spoke, my tone cold as I slowly emphasized every word while staring down at Logan with an equally icy expression until he looked me in the eye and froze.
There was surprise in his expression, confusion, bewilderment, and above all else, fear as he gave me his full attention after taking in my bloodied face and clothes.
"I will be staying here until I gather enough money to leave. You will stay out of my way, and I will stay out of yours until then. Do I make myself clear, Logan?"
I questioned, my expression scrunching in disgust as I uttered the last word, and it was Logan's turn to be speechless as he hurriedly nodded his head repeatedly.
I gritted my teeth, my fist forming into a fist as I contemplated breaking his face with a punch at how quickly his attitude changed once he realized he wasn't the same soft target he'd bullied and abused for years.
I took a deep breath to calm myself as I let off his hand and walked away towards Gray's- no, my room.
'Logan Whitlock was an abusive piece of shit and possibly the worst parent, but that wasn't always the case... there was once a time when he was a decent father...'
I reasoned to myself as I made my way to my room, inspecting the completed quest prompt in the corner of my vision.
...
I sighed in relief as I wiped my hair with a towel, standing in front of the mirror in my room after taking a cold shower. This shitty complex had no hot water, and I didn't feel like heating water on the stove to avoid conflict with Logan, so I made do, and the cold water worked wonders to calm me down.
I stared into the mirror, and an unfamiliar face stared back. Short, messy black hair, black eyes, and an average face that only those familiar it with would remember.
My body was lean with no definition of muscle, but I wouldn't complain, considering how malnourished this body used to be before the system fixed it.
The former Gray was so skinny he could probably use floss as a noose to hang himself. And I kid you not when I say that was a real possibility with how miserable the poor bastard was.
'System show me quest prompts and any unread notifications...'
I sighed again, shaking my head as I walked to my bed and plopped down on the bed.
[quest complete: stand up for yourself]
Stand up For yourself (complete):
What has two legs, two arms, and an abusive father? You, dum-dum.
Now stop reading and do something about it before he breaks your face!
Objective: put a stop to your father's abuse.
Rewards: Unlocked inventory
[Receive reward now? Yes/No]
...
A retort was at the tip of my tongue, but I chose to ignore the quest's wording for my own mental health's sake.
'Receive reward...' I nodded and immediately heard a satisfying ding as a new window appeared.
[Rewards received. Inventory unlocked]
I brought up the system interface, and sure enough, the inventory tab had the word none next to it instead of locked.
'How do I use the inventory?' I idly questioned as I reached for a quarter in my pocket.
[You need to be holding the object you wish to store and think about putting it inside your inventory]
'Sounds easy enough...' I nodded as I obliged, raising an eyebrow as the quarter disappeared, prompting me to open my inventory tab again.
Inventory: [Quarter Dollar Coin: it's just a quarter, what description did you expect to find?]
'What's with this passive-aggressive system?!'
My eyes twitched in annoyance, but I knew better than to question it right now.
'Do I just think about taking out the item to retrieve it from the inventory?'
[Correct]
I hummed, nodding as I thought of retrieving the quarter, and it quickly appeared in my open palm.
'Well... looks like I found my party trick...'
I leisurely smiled as I tossed the coin in my hand and placed it back into my inventory.
'What else is there, system?'
[quest complete! Find Shelter]
Find Shelter (complete):
The streets of Gotham City are treacherous, especially at night, what with thugs, masked psychopaths, and other assorted shades of crazies roaming about the city's dark underbelly as soon as the sun sets.
Objective: find a relatively safe place to spend the night.
Rewards: starter class.
[Would you like to choose your starter class now? Yes/No]
'What are the available starter classes, system?'
I asked as I agreed to choose my starting class, and a new window appeared.
[Available starter classes: (Fighter) (Acrobat) (Thief) (Gunman) (Duelist)]
...
[Fighter (Max Level 10)]
[The class comes with three stat points, three stat points for every level, and the Brawling skill]
[Brawling: call it fighting, martial arts, fisticuffs, or flailing your arms around wildly, this skill covers the art of using your hands and other assorted body parts to hurt your fellow man (or critter) and avoiding such punishment yourself]
...
[Acrobat (Max Level 10)]
[The class comes with three stat points, plus three stat points for every level, and the Acrobatic skill]
[Acrobatics: the favored skill of cheerleaders and circus performers, the ability to perform tumbles, somersaults, and other such maneuvers; You can use it to dodge attacks, climb obstacles, and achieve similar feats of agility. Acrobatics can replace Crime when trying to move silently (use the higher of the two skills when attempting to sneak around)]
...
[Thief (Max Level 10)]
[The class comes with three stat points, plus three stat points for every level, and the Crime skill]
[Crime: breaking and entering, pickpocket, lock-picking, skulking around, lifting evidence—if it's illegal, this skill covers it, with two exceptions, computer hacking uses the Computers skill, and conning people the Influence skill. You don't have to be a criminal to have this skill; cops, private investigators, and other honest but street-wise folks have it as well]
...
[Gunman (Max Level 10)]
[The class comes with three stat points, plus three stat points for every level, and the Gun Mastery skill]
[Gun Mastery: This skill covers your basic things that go "bang" — shotguns, pistols, and the like]
...
[Duelist (Max Level 10)]
[The class comes with three stat points, plus three stat points for every level, and the Medieval Weapons Mastery skill]
[Medieval Weapons Mastery: When a fist is not enough, it's time to bring out some old-fashioned sharp metal whatsits and start a-hacking and a-slashing. This skill is used for all archaic weapons, from swords and quarterstaffs to crossbows and throwing axes]
...
'Are those all the classes available to me? And how come they all have only one skill?'
I frowned at the lack of options and the lack of accompanying benefits.
[Those are all the classes currently available. They only come with one skill because they are starter classes designed to provide a reasonable means of survival and growth until the host familiarizes himself with the world]
'Then when will I get more classes?'
I asked, getting straight to the point. These classes looked like a beginner tutorial or an initiation of sorts, which is fine, but I needed the power to survive in this world, and I needed it quickly.
It goes without saying, the skills and classes available to me right now weren't nearly enough to rival any of the ridiculously overpowered individuals in this world.
[The host will be able to choose new, better, and more specialized classes once he unlocks the option to adopt a suitable archetype]
[The starter classes are a means to sustain the host until he is familiar with the challenges he will face and his needs to enable the host to choose the perfect archetype]
'That's... surprisingly thoughtful...'
Though I hated to admit it and wanted to argue, there was a sense in the system's reasoning. Oh well, then I'll have to wing it and make do, for now, I guess.
'When will I get to choose an archetype? And what will the archetypes available for me be?'
I asked, unable to hold my curiosity.
[The host will have the option to adopt an archetype once the host raises at least three of the starter classes to the maximum level]
[Other information about archetypes is restricted until you unlock the option to adopt one of your own]
So, in other words, an archetype is something like a theme or an original model that all future available classes, or so I concluded after some thought. But I suppose I wouldn't know for sure.
'Just gonna have to wait and see then...'
I nodded, sighing as I turned to the available classes tab. It was finally time to choose my starter class.
By process of elimination, Duelist and Gunman were already a no-go, as I didn't have access to any weapon, modern or otherwise. And I didn't have the money to acquire any either.
That left me with Fighter, Acrobat, and Thief.
I wasn't an expert martial artist, but I had some kick-boxing classes and knew how to throw a punch when push comes to shove.
'I wonder if my past life experience will translate into the skill...?'
I mused, feeling tempted to pick the Fighter class just so I could test my theory, but I pushed down the urge.
Gotham City is a dangerous place. Kicking and punching and any form of direct confrontation with anyone worth their salt will only lead me to an early grave as I am right now, which only left the Acrobat and Theif classes.
The Acrobat class will give me a means of dodging danger and avoiding conflict, which I imagine I'll be doing a lot until I grow strong enough, but it wouldn't do much else.
The Thief class would give me the tools to earn a steady, if dishonest, source of income to get out of this shit hole while avoiding conflict altogether direct or otherwise as long as I play my cards correctly.
And if I play it smartly and mix it with my inventory, I'll never be caught, not red-handed at least, since there won't be any evidence. I'll still have to be careful of people who wouldn't care much for evidence and put a bullet in my head just for good measure. But I'll have nothing to fear from Gotham City police at least.
'Thief it is then.'
There was no perfect starter class as far as I could see. But I needed money more than anything else right now.
Although the Fighter would give me a way to get money by beating up thugs and stealing their money, it would only lead me to an early grave if I bit more than I could chew, voluntarily or otherwise. And I had a feeling that a certain caped crusader would have something to say about such activities.
On the other hand, Acrobat will enable me to swiftly and stealthily navigate the city through parkour. It will also make it easy to access secured buildings. But it wouldn't help in any other way unless I planned to make money by becoming a street performer.
[You have gained a new class: Thief]
[You have gained the skill: Crime]
[3+ stat points!]
Name: Grayson Whitlock
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Age: 17
Class: Thief (level 1)
...
Stats:
Body: 10
Mind: 10
Spirit: Locked
Stat Points: 3
...
Skills:
[Crime: breaking and entering, pickpocket, lock-picking, skulking around, lifting evidence—if it's illegal, this skill covers it, with two exceptions, computer hacking uses the Computers skill, and conning people the Influence skill. You don't have to be a criminal to have this skill; cops, private investigators, and other honest but street-wise folks have it as well]
...
Perks:
[Dormant Metahuman: you have the Metagene, the source for all Metahumans' powers. However, it lies dormant for now]
...
Inventory: [Quarter Dollar Coin]
...
Quests: None
...
I froze as information flooded my brain; how to pick a lock, pickpocket someone, and other assorted illegal wisdom, all imprinted in my mind as I closed my eyes and held my head.
It took several seconds for the information to settle in my brain and the headache to fade away, and I sighed in relief as I opened my eyes, turning to inspect my new character screen.
'New class, check. Stat points, check. New skill, check.'
I nodded in satisfaction at my newly gained knowledge and skills.
'System, what do the Body and Mind represent? And why is the spirit stat locked?'
[The body attribute represents the host's physical prowess. It includes, but is not limited to; the host's stamina, toughness, strength, agility, and speed (average humans have a body score of 10, while competitive athletes have a body score of anywhere between 13-15 depending on their respective fields)]
[The mind attribute represents the host's mental prowess. It includes but is not limited to; the host's wit, intelligence, acumen processing ability (Average humans have a mind score of 10 while geniuses have a mind score of anywhere between (15-20)]
[The spirit attribute is locked with no available information until the host adopts an archetype]
'So I only need to spec my three stat points into the body attribute to gain a competitive athlete's physique...?'
As tempting as the notion may be, I pushed it down yet again in favor of getting more information before hastily investing my stat points.
'Can I increase my stats with training, system? And how do I increase the mind attribute if that's the case?'
[The host can only increase stats to the maximum human limit through regular training (increasing your attributes beyond that point is also possible, but it requires special equipment and training methods)]
[The host can increase your mind attribute by partaking in activities that will stimulate your brain]
'I might as well hang on to my attribute points until I know how efficient regular training will be then..'
And now for the final question before calling it a day.
'How do I raise my class level?'
[The host can raise his class by increasing the levels of skills (every two levels in a single skill equals one class level)]
[The host can increase the level of skill by practicing it or gaining a mentor to further educate the host in said skill]
'I can definitely work with that...:
I mused as I threw myself into the bed, relaxing my body as the fatigue of the day, both physical and mental caught up to me.
...
I am motivated by praise and interactions! So if you like my stories and you'd like me to keep writing, then make sure to share your thoughts about the story with me via comments or reviews.
Want more chapters? Then consider subscribing to my Pat reon. You can read ahead for as little as $1 and it helps me a lot!
- (pat /wicked132)
You can also always come and say hi on my discord server
- (discord..gg/sEtqmRs5y7- or hit me up at - Wicked132#5511 - and I'll add you myself)