Chapter 1
People are going to die again.
It's that time of year in Gotham. The winters are harsh and cruel in the city, the concrete and asphalt, steel and glass, cold to the touch, leeching the heat right out of any unfortunate passerby, rushing to work because of the delay in the form of frozen sidewalks and inches of snow covering any easy passage to and from the businesses. The homeless have it the hardest. The smart ones have been stockpiling since August, when such things as blankets (and the occasional portable heater when there's a working plug outside,) are in less demand and burnable trash is easier to find, in order to survive the incoming frigid onslaught. But it's midway through December, and not everyone is so lucky.
Near the urban slums of Park Row, "affectionately" nicknamed "Crime Alley", stands an abandoned fire station, red and white paint peeling away, and brick walls almost crumbling to the touch. Inside this dilapidated building, a boy sleeps in a sleeping bag on the ground, dreaming of better, happier, and most importantly, warmer days. About 13 or so years of age, golden blonde hair, slightly darkened from the street dirt, tall for his age, although a bit gangly. With the first rays of sunlight streaming through a patched window, the boy's bright blue eyes slowly blink awake. For a few seconds, he stares at the cracked ceiling, silently cursing the sun for the crime of existing, before thoroughly apologizing in light of the slight warmth starting to permeate the room. It wasn't a very luxurious place, by any means, it was the fire station's old break room, cleaner than it was when he found it, but still dirtier than the usual house; not that the boy minded, of course, as anything is better than a bench or something similar out in the cold. The cupboards were filled with assorted knickknacks (including a batarang!) some food cans, and most importantly, his books. His most valuable possession is his little library of salvaged books, procured from wherever he could over the years; trash cans, park benches, landfills… and unwatched magazine stands.
The boy's name is Kira King, something he named himself, since he didn't have one before his orphanage was destroyed. Something about Firefly, he couldn't remember. Kira is a bright child, not only because of winning the genetic lottery for intellect, but because of a very specific fact. He has memories of another lifetime. Of course, this does not make him any older in his mind, as would implanting a library of information in a child's mind not age him as well. The "Other", as Kira calls him, was as common as one can be, a law student, fresh bachelor's degree in hand, and also a huge nerd. But none of those really matter, as the most important thing is that this Other was from another world, where Gotham was a mere fantasy, or nightmare depending on how you look at it. Where Superman was an icon in movies, Wonder Woman was detailed in comics, and where Batman himself was a revered character in all sorts of media, an idol of justice. It took a while to be able to sort through all of the memories, to familiarize himself with the world not just through his own eyes, but through the memories of the Other's history. That was how he named himself, because of his resemblance to the Other's favorite anime villain, Yoshikage Kira, a psychopath for sure, but also powerful and creative with his ability to turn everything he touches into a bomb.
Kira slowly gets up from his bedroll, and stretches out with a groan. After putting on his worn shoes and rolling up his bedroll, can't have the spiders get to it, he thinks, he brushes his teeth with an old toothbrush, and a water bottle with whatever small amounts of toothpaste he has left. He can't afford getting cavities with no way to treat them. After his morning routine and a breakfast of half a can of peaches from last night, he heads out. The rest of the building is even more rundown than the break room, evidenced by a hole in the wall near the front door of the station. Kira leaves through the fire escape at the back to avoid being seen, so others can't tell he lives there. It's difficult to have your own place in Gotham, and this was already his third hideout, since the other two were found and ransacked. Being so close to the height of winter, he would die if his place was found. With only a shirt, shoes, two thin jackets, and some cargo pants, quietly leaves through the fire escape, into a side alley, and out into the streets.
In the distance, the Bowery's clocktower stretches to the sky, signaling the time. 7:46, more than enough time to get there. He starts walking to his school, keeping his head on a swivel, but not too obviously. You see, the Gotham County Junior High somehow doesn't know of his housing situation, and doesn't care, as long as he keeps attending, and with the newest truancy law, courtesy of Bruce Wayne, being there is better than to risk being found out by skipping. In sight, but out of mind. After a half hour walk to school, he goes around the back, and opens a hidden vent to retrieve his backpack, as walking around his neighborhood with a backpack is just asking to be robbed. Kira closed the vent again, and headed in through the front entrance. The halls are still quite empty, as it's still a bit early to go to class. Kira walks through the gray and beige halls to the nearest bathroom and looks at his hair in the mirror. The weekend sure isn't kind to my hair. It looks like the universe hates blondes. He quickly washed his hair in the sink, splashing his face as well, as he usually does every weekday, and dried it out with a towel from his backpack. But at least there's perks to having short hair. He styles his hair back with his fingers and gives one last check in the mirror. Good enough to avoid suspicion, good enough for me. He packed up and left the bathroom and headed for the cafeteria.
The cafeteria wasn't much. Just rows and rows of long tables in a high ceiling room, with the lunch line to one side and the entrance to the other. It looked oddly reminiscent of a prison eatery. The groups of children already populated their socially designated spots on the rows, with many of them eating the free breakfast given to children of less fortunate families, again, courtesy of the Crown Prince of Gotham. Kira envíed them somewhat, because he couldn't apply for it without an investigation into his home life. Before Kira could leave to the courtyard through the doors to the right of the entrance, someone called out.
"Think fast, chucklenuts!"
He started turning around. "What the h-"
SMACK*
What looks to be a packaged honey bun hit him in the face, sliding off painfully slow, and falls onto the ground with a quiet *plop*. He stares at the newcomer in silence with a blank expression as she laughs uproariously. "BWAHAHAHAHA! That's definitely going into the album!" She quickly snapped a picture of Kira's face with a suspiciously honeybun-shaped red mark on it, staring at her unamused.
"I'm glad you're having fun, Minerva." He picked the surprisingly still whole honey bun off of the ground and stuffed it in his pocket. "I'm keeping this, by the way."
The newly identified Minerva waves him off flippantly. "Bah, I've got my own food anyways." She takes a stick of string cheese from her messenger bag on her side and started to nibble on it.
"Where do you even get all of this food? They don't sell anything here." He asks her. She somehow always had some food on her, stashing it in the weirdest of places.
"You already know this, Kingsley, I've the greatest power of all!" She striked a flamboyant pose and side-eyed him. "Money."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"Come on! Say something!" She cried out miserably, grasping him by the shoulders and shaking him.
"Your humor disgusts me."
Minerva Mauzer was a small one, the top of her head barely reaching Kira's chin. Her short black hair was thrown to the side, she had a small nose and striking cold gray eyes. She'd been his friend for the entirety of middle school now, and was constantly pestering him to hang out. Her family was rather well off, and they often joked about it, but she didn't like to throw it around except for the joking. Her parents decided to move here from Boston for business reasons when she was younger, and they've been friends ever since.
KRA-KOOOM*
Minerva stopped shaking him and they both looked outside of the windows by the door. It has begun to rain. Heavy, cold sleet and rain fell upon the barren streets of Gotham. Both friends quieted down and just stared outside. Minerva took a glance at Kira. He looked at the barrage of icy water outside as if it was a death sentence, his skin paled and he raged at whatever gods brought this punishment to the city. It was going so well! He internally yelled, it hasn't rained or snowed in weeks, and now this! Such a storm outside was the worst kind of news to anyone living without a home in Gotham. The shelters were full, others shutting down or refusing to house any more of the homeless population. He clenched his hands tightly. While this time of year was a joyous occasion to many a family, Kira understood better. It was a season-long fight for survival. "...People are going to die again." He said with a quiet voice, a slight tremble lacing it.
His friend looked ahead with pain-stricken eyes. She'd never get used to hearing him that way. Kira was never the type to show his emotions publicly, so seeing him be that affected by… anything, really, was unsettling to see. She quietly grasped his arm. "...I know." She silently leads him away from the window and to one of the far tables, away from the cause of his melancholy. They both sit down at the edge seats on the two sides of the table and ate quietly. A few more moments passed before she decided to say something.
"Y'know… this is the last week of school before winter break." She started. At his wince, she quickly continued. "What I mean is… my parents wanted invite you over for Christmas Eve, and maybe have a sleepover 'till Christmas. We'd love to have you with us." By the time she finished, she was almost whispering, now less sure about her "genius idea" to not have him alone at Christmas. She had an idea of what his home life was, she couldn't not have, with them having been friends for so long. "What do you think…?"
He stayed silent for a while, not being able to stomach looking her in the eye. "...I'm sorry."
"...I understand. It's okay."
It's not. I'm so sorry. But just can't do this when all that the people in the same situation as me get for Christmas is to starve and freeze to death. It makes me sick to the core. I don't get to just escape.
He shuts his eyes tight as the first bell rings.
"C'mon, let's get to class, alright? We can talk later." She stands up and, with one last wistful look, heads back into the halls, now full of students walking to their respective rooms.
Kira stays sitting for a few more moments, staring at nothing, before following. One more week, then no more distractions. He promises himself. But he knew he wasn't that lucky.
Author's Note: Hello FFN! This is my first time publishing any of my writing, anywhere! Please give honest reviews, if you'd like, and if you'd like to see more, then consider following the story, so that I know that people actually read this stuff! Peer pressure is a great motivator! (I'm kidding, but that would actually motivate me a lot to write more.)
By the way, I wrote and published this all on a phone, so I'm praying that the Formatting Gods take pity on me, but please tell me if anything looks wacky. I'll probably have another chapter in a few days. (Maybe I should find a Beta Reader?) Anyways, thanks for reading!