The next morning, Samuel sat on his bed, pen in hand, and began jotting down notes about the events of the previous night and the potential consequences he might face. He had rescued a person. While this wasn't an uncommon occurrence for him, given his history of aiding in evacuations during villainous attacks on the city, it usually didn't draw much attention. Samuel had saved countless lives, skillfully evading detection each time. No one had raised any objections, and he personally believed that such acts of moral duty were incumbent upon a healthy, young individual like himself, particularly when the vulnerable were at risk. It was his code.
However, this time felt different. He had assisted a vigilante. Although he acknowledged that certain members of the Justice League were officially sanctioned by the UN and operated within the bounds of the law, he harbored a deep-seated aversion to the concept of heroes. Nevertheless, regardless of his personal feelings, aiding a vigilante posed a significant problem.
Ordinarily, when civilians helped each other, the major crime syndicates and notorious criminals tended to turn a blind eye. After all, it wasn't typically advantageous for them to harm those who were uninvolved. But aiding a figure like Batman altered the equation. Samuel was aware of a precedent: a doctor in Gotham who had once lent her assistance to a vigilante and ended up becoming a frequent target of his adversaries. Tragically, she had met a grisly demise at their hands.
Samuel chuckled softly, a nervous edge creeping into his laughter. The last thing he desired was to suffer the same gruesome fate as the unfortunate doctor. Reflecting on the events of the previous night, particularly the fact that two of the gang members had escaped the scene alive, he couldn't shake the feeling that whoever had ordered the abduction of Barbara must now be aware of his involvement.
The realization sent a shiver down his spine. Samuel knew all too well the ruthlessness of those who operated in the shadows, and the thought of drawing their attention filled him with a sense of dread. He needed to tread carefully, lest he become entangled in a web of danger from which there was no escape.
Samuel hurried to his parents' room, his heart pounding with urgency. The phone resting next to their seats appeared untouched for quite some time, covered in a thin layer of dust. As he dialed the number for Gotham Academy, he couldn't help but notice the pristine condition of the bed, meticulously made up despite its apparent lack of recent use.
"Hello," he began, his voice steady but tinged with a hint of anxiety. "Yes, this is Samuel Schulze, a 10th-grade student at Gotham Academy. I'm afraid I need to inform you that I'll be absent from school... for a week."
"...Yes, it's due to... some criminal matters. I feel I need some time alone to sort things out. Thank you for understanding." Samuel's voice trembled slightly as he explained, hoping it sounded convincing enough. Fortunately, being one of those students whose name was familiar to all the teachers, his absence wouldn't raise too many eyebrows, especially in a city like Gotham where such occurrences were not uncommon.
After replacing the receiver, Samuel returned to his room and settled down to work on his homework, recognizing that the last thing he should do in his current predicament was to wander the streets aimlessly. While it was daytime and the streets might appear safer, he couldn't discount the possibility that whoever had sent the gang after him could be monitoring his every move.
"But they might try to break into my house. And that's worse," he mused, acutely aware of the numerous threats looming over him.
Rifling through the drawers where he kept his emergency supplies, Samuel located his taser gun, a reliable if somewhat limited means of self-defense. Lamentably, he didn't possess a proper firearm, lacking the necessary license and resources to acquire one. He vaguely recalled his father owning a pistol at one point, but its whereabouts remained a mystery.
The reassuring weight of the taser in his hand offered a modicum of comfort, though Samuel couldn't shake the feeling of vulnerability that lingered. His gaze then fell upon the screen displaying his current status, reminding him of the unconventional arsenal at his disposal.
Level:10
Current moves
Normal|Pound 35/35
Normal|Tearful Look 20/20
Normal|Rage 10/10
Normal|Bide 10/10
Normal|Recover 5/5
Ability: Incomplete Transmission
Due to an incomplete transmission for an unknown reason, this person can learn only, but all status moves. Can learn more than four moves.
"The points..." he murmured, noticing that they had returned to normal despite being depleted during his recent encounter. Puzzled yet intrigued by this phenomenon, he speculated that a restful night's sleep might have triggered their replenishment.
Samuel scrutinized the list of moves displayed on the screen, his mind replaying the harrowing events of the previous night. Tearful Look had proven to be a crucial asset, weakening his assailants and allowing him to withstand their onslaught with greater resilience. The image of bats ensnared in barbed wire flashed in his memory, a testament to the effectiveness of the move in dampening the attackers' ferocity. He understood that Tearful Look not only inflicted emotional distress but also lowered the opponents' Attack and Special Attack, though the latter remained a somewhat nebulous concept to him.
The next move he recalled utilizing was Bide, a technique that had unleashed a devastating surge of energy upon his adversary. He vividly remembered channeling his resolve, enduring the onslaught of blows until the perfect moment to unleash his counterattack. The sheer force of the unleashed energy had been enough to incapacitate his opponent in an instant, a testament to the move's potency under the right circumstances.
Reflecting on these experiences, Samuel realized that Bide was a move predicated on patience and strategic timing. By absorbing damage and storing energy, he could unleash a devastating retaliatory strike when the moment was ripe. It was a high-risk, high-reward maneuver, requiring careful calculation and a willingness to endure adversity in anticipation of a decisive counterattack.
Samuel reflected on the final move he had utilized during the encounter: Recover. It had proved to be a literal lifesaver, replenishing his body and restoring him from the brink of physical harm. The sensation of energy coursing through his veins, knitting together his wounds and revitalizing his weary muscles, was nothing short of miraculous.
However, he was cognizant of its limitations. While Recover provided a significant boost to his vitality, it was not without constraints. Its efficacy was limited to restoring roughly half of his hit points, and he could only utilize it a finite number of times before exhausting its resources.
Despite these limitations, Samuel recognized the invaluable role that Recover played in his survival toolkit. In moments of dire need, when every ounce of strength mattered, the ability to rejuvenate his body and continue fighting was a priceless asset. He vowed to use it judiciously, reserving it for moments of utmost necessity, where its restorative powers could turn the tide of battle in his favor.
He had achieved the next level of his abilities by defeating adversaries, a process that he couldn't help but find morally troubling. While he understood the necessity of honing his skills to survive in the perilous world he inhabited, the notion of resorting to violence to achieve personal growth clashed with his deeply held principles. Samuel abhorred the idea of assault in any form, except in cases of self-defense, viewing it as a violation of both moral integrity and legal code.
He harbored no desire to lure others into attacking him simply to trigger a defensive response, recognizing the inherent immorality and illegality of such actions. Instead, he longed for nothing more than to retreat to the safety of his home, where he could dwell in solitude and peace, free from the specter of violence that loomed outside his door.
Fast forward to that night, Samuel sat alone at the kitchen table, munching on brotchen with cheese, lost in thought. Suddenly, a sharp knock at the door jolted him from his reverie. Heart pounding, he cautiously approached the door and peered through the peephole, only to be greeted by a chilling sight: a group of men wearing creepy clown masks stood outside.
Samuel quickly returned to his room. They had guns. These people, they were holding guns. Not even his 'tearful look' and his 'bide' could save him now. Even if they get weaker, the guns will still remain powerful enough to pierce him like soft butter. And Samuel was sure he wouldn't be able to take a single shot from those weapons, so there was no chance for 'bide'.
"Clowns? Could it be Joker's goons?" Samuel muttered to himself, his heart sinking at the thought. The Joker, one of Gotham's most notorious crime lords, struck fear into the hearts of all who crossed his path. Unlike other criminals driven by greed, the Joker's sole purpose seemed to be chaos and mayhem, his twisted sense of humor fueling his destructive spree.
Without hesitation, Samuel reached for the phone, only to find it dead. Grateful for the charged battery on his smartphone, he dialed the police, his fingers trembling with urgency.
"Hello? There are armed men outside my house, and they seem hostile," Samuel blurted out, his voice strained with fear. "I need immediate help!"
Before he could finish relaying his plea for assistance, the sound of gunfire erupted, the gang's bullets tearing through the door with terrifying ease. Panic surged through Samuel as he realized he had to flee.
"Catch him!" a voice bellowed, sending a chill down Samuel's spine.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Samuel bolted for his room, his mind racing with fear and desperation. He knew his only chance of escape lay through the window overlooking the bustling city street below. Grabbing his trusty taser and securing the door behind him, he flung open the window, preparing to make a daring leap to safety.
But as he poised himself to jump, a cacophony of destruction echoed from within his home. The gang was not only after him but also ransacking his sanctuary, leaving devastation in their wake. Samuel's heart sank as he realized the depth of the intrusion, his world crumbling around him as his cherished belongings were torn apart before his eyes.
a fit of despair, Samuel made a fateful decision. With a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, he resolved to confront the intruders head-on, armed with nothing but his trusty taser. Every fiber of his being screamed against it, but the thought of losing his home, his sanctuary, was unbearable. This wasn't just about possessions; it was about the memories, the sense of security his parents had entrusted him with. Without his home, he couldn't imagine ever finding peace again.
With trembling hands and a resolve born of desperation, Samuel steeled himself for the battle ahead. As he descended the stairs into the heart of the chaos, a sense of foreboding gripped him. He knew the odds were stacked against him, but he couldn't stand idly by while his world crumbled around him.
In a desperate bid to defend his home, Samuel charged headlong into the fray, his heart pounding with adrenaline-fueled determination. But his efforts proved futile against the overwhelming force of the goons. With his taser malfunctioning and lacking the brute strength to overpower them, he found himself swiftly overpowered and subdued.
"Stop!" Samuel shouted, his voice laced with desperation as he struggled against his captors. "Don't steal from me! Don't destroy my home!" But his pleas fell on deaf ears, met only with mocking laughter from the goons.
For the goons, this job was an enjoyable one, especially since this was ordered by the joker himself. Most of his jobs were tricky, but this time they could just rob a wealthy house with a brittle boy in it. They still didn't know why Joker ordered this, or what to do with the kid, but they decided to have some fun.
Bound and helpless, Samuel could do nothing as the merciless onslaught began. Blow after brutal blow rained down upon him, each strike driving him further into the depths of despair. His vision blurred with pain, his body wracked with agony, yet still, he refused to yield.
With a defiant roar, Samuel summoned the last vestiges of his strength, channeling his fury into a savage burst of energy. But his 'Rage' was no match for the sheer brutality of his assailants. They only laughed, their amusement fueling their relentless assault.
Each blow brought him closer to the brink of oblivion, his body battered and broken, his spirit on the verge of collapse. And yet, amidst the chaos and the pain, a glimmer of hope flickered to life.
Unseen by his tormentors, a screen materialized before Samuel, its words a silent testament to his unwavering resolve.
- Samuel's attack rose!
- Samuel's attack rose!
- Samuel's attack rose!
- Samuel's attack rose!
- Samuel's attack rose!
- Samuel's attack rose!
- Samuel's attack won't go any higher!
With each blow he endured, with each ounce of pain he suffered, Samuel's resolve grew stronger. His 'Rage' grew stronger.
"Haha! Look at this thing! He's still glaring at us!"
The goons' laughter echoed through the room, a cruel cacophony of mocking amusement that filled Samuel with a seething rage. But their mirth was short-lived as Samuel's bindings suddenly snapped, freeing him from his constraints.
As the rope fell away, Samuel's body underwent a miraculous transformation. With each passing moment, his wounds began to heal, his broken bones realigning themselves with sickening crunches, and his torn flesh knitting back together in a grotesque fashion. The goons watched in horror and disbelief, their faces contorted with a mixture of revulsion and terror.
"He's...he's healing!" one of the goons stammered, his voice trembling with fear. "I've never seen anything like it!"
But their astonishment quickly turned to panic as Samuel's recovery continued unabated. With a grotesque display of regenerative prowess, he restored himself to full strength, his body pulsating with newfound vitality.
Realizing the danger they were in, the goons scrambled to retrieve their weapons, their hands trembling with fear and uncertainty. "It's a meta-human!" one of them shouted, his voice laced with terror. "Load your guns, you idiots!"
But before they could react, Samuel unleashed a devastating 'Pound' attack, his fist crashing into their midst with bone-shattering force. The goons cried out in agony as they were sent flying, their bodies crumpling to the ground in a heap.
And as darkness closed in around them, their consciousness slipping away, the last thing they saw was Samuel's determined expression as he delivered the final blow, putting an end to their violent rampage.
