The years melted away as I matured once more, this time on the lawless avenues of Bludhaven, Gotham's sister metropolis. By age twelve, I had long accepted my situation - reborn into a universe I previously believed existed solely in graphic novels and films…….. again.

I wake before daybreak, as was my habit, and did my daily tasks around the orphanage. Mopping floors, scouring bathrooms, assisting with breakfast for the younger children. It wasn't glamorous work, but it kept me busy.

Once I completed my responsibilities, I ventured out to earn additional money. I had several regular odd jobs in the vicinity - walking dogs for the elderly couple down the street, assisting the grocer in unloading his delivery truck, and even performing minor mechanical repairs on the dilapidated vehicles that seemed to always occupy the used car lot down the street.

It wasn't a lot, but it accumulated. I was saving every cent, waiting for the right moment to venture out independently. Bludhaven was a challenging city, but I was built different. I had already endured being reincarnated into a war-torn future and battling killer robots. In comparison, how threatening could a few thugs and criminals be?

Nevertheless, I realized I had to be intelligent about it. I maintained a low profile, focused on my own affairs, not asking questions and tried not to attract attention. In a city like Bludhaven, the more attention you brought to yourself the more likely you're gonna be mugged or worse….

On some days, it nearly seemed ordinary, as if this had always been my existence. But then I would glimpse a newspaper headline about the Batman or witness the Justice League thwarting yet another extraterrestrial invasion, and it would all come flooding back. I was residing in a realm of superheroes and supervillains, a domain I had only ever saw through a TV screen.

I was uncertain about what the future held for me or why I had been granted this second (third?) opportunity at life. But I was determined to make the most of it.

As I finished assisting the elderly couple in moving their belongings into their new residence, I couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that had been gradually building throughout the day. The woman had been nothing but kind and appreciative, but there was something about her husband that just didn't sit right with me. His gaze lingered a bit too long, and his smiles never quite reached his eyes.

"Thank you so much for all your help today, young man," the woman gushed as we set down the final boxes in the living room. "We couldn't have done it without you."

I forced a smile, wiping the sweat from my brow. "It's no problem at all, ma'am. I'm happy to help."

The husband emerged from the kitchen, his eyes fixed on me in a way that made my skin crawl. "It's gotten quite late," he remarked, glancing out the window at the darkened sky.

"Why don't you stay the night? We have a spare room upstairs."

I felt my stomach twist at the thought of spending even one more minute in this house with him. "That's very kind of you sir, but I really should be getting back," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I have an early start tomorrow."

The man's face hardened for a moment, but he quickly covered it with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Of course, of course. We wouldn't want to keep you from your responsibilities."

I nodded, eager to make my escape. "Thank you again for the opportunity," I said, moving towards the door. "I hope you both settle in well."

As I stepped out into the cool night air, I couldn't help but glance back at the house. The woman waved from the window, but the man was nowhere to be seen. I quickened my pace, putting as much distance between myself and that house as possible.

As I strolled home after assisting the elderly couple with moving to their new home, I couldn't help but feel a sense of disquiet. The sun had long since disappeared, and the streets of Bludhaven were shrouded in darkness.

"I should've kept track of time better! I swore it was still light out when I put up those curtains."

Accelerating my pace; better stop the introspection until I'm safely at home. My worn sneakers pounded against the pavement. Abruptly, I heard footsteps behind me. I peeked over my shoulder, and my heart sank. A group of five men in clown masks were rapidly approaching, their eyes glinting with malevolence.

I broke into a sprint, my lungs searing as I dashed down the alley. But it was futile. I was in a child's body and They were swifter, more powerful, and too numerous. Eventually One of the thugs tackled me to the ground, and I felt a barrage of kicks and punches raining down on my body.

I attempted to fight back, swinging my fists wildly, but it was like striking a brick wall. They laughed as they beat me, their blows intensifying and becoming more vicious with each passing moment.

Just when I thought it was all over, a dark figure descended from the rooftops above. It moved like a shadow, attacking with lightning speed and brutal efficiency. Within seconds, the thugs lay unconscious on the ground.

I gazed up, my vision blurred from the pain, and saw him standing there - Nightwing. His blue symbol contrasted with our dark surroundings, his gaze concealed by the black domino mask on his face.

He extended a gloved hand and helped me to my feet. "Are you alright?" His voice was lighthearted, as if he hadn't just taken out at least five men in a matter of seconds.

I nodded, wincing at the pain in my ribs. "Y-yeah. Thanks to you."

He gave me a curt nod. "Go home, kid. And stay off the streets at night. This may not be Gotham, but Bludhaven's a dangerous place."

With that, he fired his grappling gun and soared off into the night, leaving me standing there in awe. I knew I should have been terrified, shaken by the brutal attack. But all I could feel was a sense of excitement. I had just been saved by Batman's former sidekick. I then felt it. That same spark that led me to becoming a Helldiver.

I surveyed the thugs that Nightwing had incapacitated.

As I gazed at the unconscious thugs, the familiar sensation rose up inside me once more. It was the same rush of adrenaline and sense of purpose that had propelled me to become a Helldiver in my previous life. I knew right then and there that I couldn't just return to my normal routine, not after experiencing the thrill of being rescued by Nightwing.

It wasn't that I wanted to make a difference, to do something meaningful with this second (third?) chance I'd been given. I was a soldier in my last life, so I had already experienced that feeling of making a change.

I knew it wasn't right - selfish, unrealistic. I was just a kid (physically), with no special powers or fancy gadgets. But I had something else, something that had kept me alive through all the battles and hardships of my past life: a relentless determination, a hunger for adventure, and over 20 years of military experience I had let go to waste.

"Time to brush up on the basics," I said, before wincing as I took a tentative step forward. Pain lanced through my injured leg, a stark reminder of the thugs beating. "But first, I need to let this heal up properly. Guess I got to bother the matron about a hospital visit. At least I got Medicaid this time around."

One week later

Ring

"Hey what are you looking fo-jesus Christ kid what happened to you?"

"Just a little disagreement with gravity," I quip, limping into the cramped office. "You should see the other guys."

Joe, The guy I fix cars for, raises an eyebrow. He's seen me banged up before, but never quite like this. "Other guys? Christ, kid, tell me you didn't get mixed up with the Torrio brothers again."

The Torrio brothers are the biggest bullies at my school. They ran the place at least when it came to the students. At least that's what it used to be like before I showed up.

One day they fucked around and had to find out. Pricks the both of them

I shake my head, easing myself down into the chair across from his desk. Every movement sends a fresh jolt of pain through my battered body. "Nah, nothing like that. Just a run-in with some of Bludhaven's finest upstanding citizens."

Joe sighs, leaning back in his chair. The ancient springs creak in protest. "Ethan, you can't keep putting yourself in these situations. One of these days, your luck's gonna run out."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," I reply, thinking back to the figure who had swooped in to save me. "Let's just say I had a guardian angel watching out for me."

Joe snorts. "In this city? More like a guardian devil."

I can't help but grin at that. If only he knew. "Either way, I'm still here. And I'm ready to get back to work."

"Not happening, kid," Joe declares, scrutinizing my various scrapes and bruises. "Employing you here is already skirting the boundaries of child labor laws as it is. But with the shape you're currently in? They'd probably toss me in the slammer and melt down the key."

I open my mouth to protest, but the look on Joe's face stops me. I know that expression. It's the same one he wore when he caught me sleeping in the back of one of the cars my first week on the job. A mixture of pity and concern, with just a hint of exasperation.

"Fine," I relent, pushing myself up from the chair with a grimace. "But I'm still expecting my full pay for the week."

Joe waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, yeah. Just get outta here before you bleed all over my floor."

I limp towards the door, pausing with my hand on the knob. "Hey Joe? Thanks. For… you know. Giving a damn."

He grunts, already turning back to his paperwork. "Don't make me regret it, kid."

I hum the tune of "I'd rather be with you." as I navigate the familiar streets of Bludhaven, a package tucked securely under my arm. The contents are still a mystery to me, but given the sketchy nature of this particular client, I have my suspicions. Drugs, most likely. But in a city like this, it's best not to ask too many questions.

I arrive at the designated drop-off point, a nondescript alleyway that reeks of garbage and stale urine. My client is already there, leaning against the graffiti-covered wall with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You're late," he growls, flicking the cigarette butt to the ground.

I shrug, handing over the package. "Had Trouble getting here. My ribs are aching and I can barely walk without a slight limp give me a break.."

He glances at me winced then snatch the package, examining it briefly before tucking it into his jacket. "Damn my bad, Looks like someone did a number on you, kid."

I touch my still-tender ribs, wincing slightly. "Nothing I can't handle. Listen, I need a favor."

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "A favor? What makes you think I'm in the business of doing favors?"

I meet his gaze steadily. "Because I've been running your packages for months now, no questions asked. I think I've earned a little goodwill."

He considers this for a moment, then nods. "Alright, kid. What do you need?"

I take a deep breath. "I need to buy A crossbow."

His eyes widen in surprise. "A crossbow? What the hell do you need a crossbow for?"

I think back to that night in the alley, The feeling of dullness leaving me. The rush of adrenaline as Nightwing swooped in to save the day. "Let's just say I'm looking to invest in some protection."

He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to my surprise, he laughs. "You've got balls, kid. I'll give you that." He reaches into his jacket, pulling out a slip of paper. "Here's an address. Guy there owes me a favor. Tell him Frankie sent you."

I take the paper, nodding my thanks. "I appreciate it."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Yeah, well, don't make me regret it. And kid? Don't ask to many questions got it?"

I nod and went on my way.

"Why am I not surprised." I said while starring at the location Lewis sent me to.

I stare up at the dilapidated house, its paint peeling and shingles missing from the roof. The windows are boarded up, but I can see faint slivers of light peeking through the cracks. The porch is littered with old beer cans and cigarette butts, and the railing looks like it's one strong breeze away from collapsing entirely.

The overgrown grass in the front yard is dotted with weeds and discarded needles. A rusted chain-link fence surrounds the property, a feeble attempt at security. The gate hangs off its hinges, creaking ominously in the slight breeze.

I glance around, taking in the expensive cars parked haphazardly across the street. Their tires shining, the windows tinted. Graffiti covers nearly every available surface, a chaotic mess of colors and illegible tags.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what lies ahead. I've been to places like this before. It may be another life, a different world. But the general rules should still be same.

I step over a discarded needle, making my way up the crumbling concrete steps. The door is ajar, hanging off its hinges. I can hear music thumping from inside, the 808 drums almost shattering the windows.

I raise my hand to knock, then think better of it. Places like this, you don't announce your presence. You slip in, do your business, and get out.

I push the door open, wincing as it scrapes against the floor. The music hits me like a physical blow, the bass vibrating in my chest. The air is thick with the stench of sweat and chemicals, a haze of smoke hanging low over everything.

One breath was all it took to send me into a coughing fit.

Cough cough

"Goddamn. What type of shit are you guys smoking!!"

I blink rapidly, my eyes watering from the acrid smoke. As my vision adjusts to the dim lighting, I take in my surroundings. The room is crowded with people, some lounging on stained couches, others huddled in corners, their faces hidden by shadows. The walls are covered in peeling wallpaper, the floor littered with discarded fast food wrappers and empty beer bottles.

I make my way through the throng of bodies, ignoring the curious glances and whispered comments. I keep my head down, my hands shoved deep in my pockets.

I spot a man in the corner, his arms covered in tattoos, a gold chain glinting around his neck. He's surrounded by a group of tough-looking individuals, their eyes hard and their expressions guarded. I take a deep breath and approach him.

"I'm looking for someone," I say, my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart. "Frankie sent me."

The man looks me up and down, his gaze lingering on my bruised face. "Frankie, huh? Must be one of his "pack mules". Fine I'll humor you, what did he want?"

I hand him the paper Frankie gave me. He read the contents then chuckled. "One of his best workers huh?"

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant. "Just trying to make a living, same as anyone else."

The man smirks, leaning back in his chair. "And what exactly is it that you need?"

"I need a crossbow."

The man's brows arch and a laugh escapes his lips. "A crossbow? Hell, wouldn't you prefer something a bit more up-to-date? Concealing that shit is gonna be a real hassle."

I shake my head. "It has to be a crossbow sir."

The man shrugs, a glint of amusement in his eye. "Alright, kid. If that's what you want." He gestures to one of his companions, who disappears into a back room. "But I gotta ask, what's a little thing like you planning to do with a crossbow?"

I meet his gaze, unflinching. "Handle some business."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "Fair enough. Just don't go getting yourself into any more trouble than you can handle."

The other man returns, carrying a sleek black case. He sets it on the table in front of me, flipping the latches and opening the lid. Inside, nestled in foam padding, is a gleaming crossbow. It's compact, with a matte black finish and a sturdy looking stock.

I reach out, running my fingers over the smooth metal. It's lighter than I expected, but feels solid in my hands. I test the draw, feeling the resistance of the string. It's perfect.

"How much?" I ask, looking up at the man.

He names a price that makes my eyes widen. It's more than I've made in the last three months combined. But I can't back down now.

I reach into my pocket, pulling out a wad of crumpled bills. It's every cent I've managed to save, from odd jobs and skipped meals. I count it out on the table, acutely aware of the man's eyes on me.

When I'm finished, he nods, satisfied. "Pleasure doing business with you, kid." He slides the case towards me. "And remember, you didn't get this from me."

I nod, snapping the case shut and tucking it under my arm.

"Thanks."

I turn to leave, weaving my way back through the crowd. The music seems louder now, the smoke thicker. I can feel eyes on my back, curious and calculating. But I don't look back.

As I step out into the cool night air, I feel a sense of exhilaration wash over me. I've taken the first step. I have the weapon. Now all I need is to repolish my shooting skills.

It took 2 months to fully recover and Over those 2 months I threw myself into training with a newfound intensity. Every spare moment was spent practicing martial arts moves I remembered from boot camp, target practice with my crossbow, honing my skills in parkour, urban climbing, and studying everything I could find about criminology and detective work.

It was grueling, often painful work, but I relished every moment of it. The burning in my muscles, the scrapes and bruises from falls and missteps - they were all reminders that I was alive, that all this would be worthwhile thrill.

At night, I would lie awake in my bed, my mind racing with plans and possibilities. I knew I couldn't just rush out onto the streets unprepared. I needed a strategy, a way to make the most impact with the limited resources I had.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, I pulled on my makeshift costume - a simple black hoodie, cargo pants, and a Halloween mask I'd modified with a pair of old goggles. It wasn't much, but it would have to suffice for now.

I slung the crossbow I purchased over my shoulder and secured the makeshift grappling hook and rope to my belt. My heart was pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and excitement as I slipped out of the orphanage window and into the night.

The streets of Bludhaven were eerily quiet as I navigated the labyrinth of alleyways and fire escapes. I stayed in the shadows, utilizing my recently polished skills in parkour and urban climbing to avoid the main roads.

As I approached the rougher part of town known as old residents road, the sounds of trouble reached my ears. Shouts and the unmistakable crash of shattering glass echoed through the narrow streets.

I quickened my pace, my hands trembling slightly as I readied my crossbow. This was it - my first night out as Bludhaven's newest vigilante. This rush, this familiar feeling. It felt so good.

Turning the corner, I saw a group of thugs smashing the windows of a small convenience store, grabbing whatever they could get their hands on. The elderly shopkeeper was cowering behind the counter, too terrified to move.

Without hesitation, I took aim and fired a bola shot from my crossbow, the weighted ropes wrapping around the legs of the biggest thug and sending him crashing to the ground. The others whirled around, their eyes wide with surprise.

"Alright, punks," I said, trying to deepen my voice. "Party's over. Time to go home."

They stared at me for a moment, their expressions quickly shifting from shock to amusement. One of them, a wiry guy with a shaved head, let out a harsh laugh.

"You gotta be kiddin' me," he sneered. "What're you supposed to be, some kinda Green Arrow copycat?"

I felt a flicker of irritation, but I pushed it aside. I could beat him black and blue later.

"Something like that," I said, raising the crossbow again. "Last chance to walk away."

The thugs exchanged glances, then reached into their coats and pulled out an assortment of knives, chains, and other makeshift weapons. My heart skipped a beat, but I held my ground.

With a guttural roar, they charged at me.

I sprang into action, my hand moving on instinct honed from years of training in my past life. I fired off a bola shot, tangling up the legs of the nearest thug, then dove to the side as a chain whipped through the air where my head had been a moment before.

Springing back to my feet with agility, I swiftly reloaded my crossbow, pulling back the string and slotting in another bolt. Taking aim at the next closest thug, I squeezed the trigger, sending the blunt projectile flying through the air until it connected with his kneecap with a sickening crunch. The man howled in pain, his leg buckling beneath him.

I knew I had to maintain my distance - in this small child's body, even with all my combat training and experience, I stood little chance against a full-grown man if they managed to grapple me or leverage their size and strength. No, my best bet was to keep them at range, using my speed and precision to my advantage. It was time to play the distance game and whittle them down one by one.

One by one, they fell, until only the wiry leader was left standing. He circled me warily, a wicked-looking knife clutched tightly in his fist. The blade glinted menacingly under the dim streetlights as he sized me up, trying to find an opening. But I kept my guard up, matching his movements step for step, never letting him get too close. We were locked in a deadly dance, each waiting for the other to make a mistake that could prove fatal.

"You're gonna pay for this, you little punk," he snarled, his eyes filled with a seething, unrelenting hatred that seemed to burn with the intensity of a thousand suns.

I didn't bother with a witty retort or clever comeback. Instead, I feinted left, then spun gracefully to the right, my foot connecting with his ankle in a bone-crunching kick that reverberated through the night air. The knife clattered to the ground, skittering across the pavement, and before he could react, I followed up with a flurry of punches that sent him reeling, his head snapping back with each powerful blow.

He stumbled back, his face a twisted mask of pain and shock, his eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, I thought he might surrender, realizing the futility of his actions. But then, with a howl of rage that seemed to emanate from the depths of his very soul, he charged at me, his arms windmilling in a wild, desperate attack, fueled by a primal, animalistic fury.

I sidestepped his clumsy assault with the agility of a cat, and in one fluid motion, swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the pavement in an undignified heap. Before he could rise, I planted my foot firmly on his chest, pinning him in place, and aimed my crossbow directly at his face, the gleaming tip of the bolt mere inches from his wide, fear-filled eyes.

"Stay down," I growled, my voice low and menacing.

He stared up at me, his eyes wide with fear. Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender.

I turned to the shopkeeper, who was peeking out from behind the counter with a mixture of awe and gratitude on his face.

"Call the police," I said, tossing him a phone from one of the thugs' pockets. "I'll make sure these guys don't go anywhere."

As the sound of sirens filled the air, I zip-tied the thugs' hands and feet, then melted back into the shadows. My heart was pounding with exhilaration, my body thrumming with the rush of battle.

I knew I still had a long way to go but this seemed like a good enough beginning of Bludhaven's newest Vigilante for fun.