Cold. Shaking.
The rattling clang of steel echoed in his ears. Ren's skull throbbed as the jolt of the floor beneath him sent a sharp pain through the back of his head.
"Sir."
A voice. Distant at first, like an echo reverberating in a half-formed dream.
Who's that?
"Sir!"
Were they calling him?
Me?
"Wake up! Sir!"
A rush of cold, damp air shot up his nose, tinged with the coppery bite of blood—and something else. Something darker. Dangerous.
That scent stabbed straight through his nostrils and into his soul like a freezing blade, snapping his consciousness to the surface like a diver pulled from the depths.
Ren's eyes flew open.
A ceiling loomed above him. No—wait. Not a ceiling.
The floor swayed beneath him in a rhythmic pattern, metal clanged somewhere to his side, and outside the nearby window, storm clouds hurtled by at high speed. Rows of empty seats stretched on either side. He was lying in the aisle between them.
He was on a train.
But why the hell was he on a train?
Ren groaned and pushed himself upright, his hands pressing against the cold metal floor. Empty rows of seats surrounded him, and beside him stood a train attendant in a tidy uniform.
"Sir, are you all right?" the man asked—in English.
Why the hell is a foreign train attendant speaking English to me?
And how did I even end up on some foreign train?
No—something was off. He hadn't been on a train at all.
Ren gave his head a rough shake, trying to dispel the haze. But everything around him was painfully real. The cold air biting at his skin, the chill of the train's steel frame, the scratches and scuffs lining the interior, the low mechanical rumble of the wheels on the tracks—none of it felt like a dream.
"But... wasn't I just pulling an all-nighter writing?"
His memory jolted. He'd been working late, eyes glued to the screen, fighting off sleep until his head finally dropped onto the keyboard.
Maybe I passed out. Maybe this is all some weird dream. Or maybe... some crazy Japanese prank show has taken things way too far?
Ren muttered internally, still dazed. He slowly climbed into one of the seats. The attendant remained nearby, clearly unsettled. The silence, Ren's confused expression, the vacant stare—it was creeping him out.
Most passengers weren't scary. But this was the last stop.
And that stop... was Gotham.
Plenty of people left Gotham. Normal people? They didn't come to Gotham.
The attendant swallowed his fear and tried again, "Sir?"
Ren didn't answer. Just turned his head and stared at him with a blank, glassy look.
That was enough.
Spooked to his core, the attendant gave a nervous apology, spun on his heel, and walked off fast enough to trip over his own shadow.
Ren watched him go. Then turned to the window.
Through the slightly fogged glass, he caught his first real glimpse of the city outside. The sky was overcast, weighed down with rain clouds. Shadows draped over towering buildings, jagged spires, gothic arches, and, in the distance, rows of filthy, crumbling housing blocks. English signage littered the landscape, flickering and peeling under the weight of time and smoke.
A massive clocktower loomed in the distance.
Clocktower. Slums. English signs?
These buildings... this wasn't Tokyo.
"Where the hell am I?"
He murmured the words without realizing it.
WOOOOOOO
The train whistle shrieked overhead, the car lurched, and then began to slow.
It was pulling into the station.
Ren stared, slack-jawed, at the platform outside—something out of a noir film. Blonde-haired, pale-skinned passengers stood beneath the flickering platform lights, their expressions tired and indifferent.
The train hissed to a stop.
Clunk.
The doors slid open. One by one, passengers hoisted their luggage and filtered out into the station, a sea of coats and umbrellas pressing forward.
Ren found himself swept along in the tide, moving without thinking. He felt like a leaf in a storm—rootless, directionless, caught in the current of something far bigger than he could comprehend.
Why am I not waking up?
Why the hell won't I wake up?
He stumbled off the train, still dazed—then stopped dead in his tracks.
He looked up.
GOTHAM CITY
The words were etched in iron letters across the arch of the station's entrance.
Ren blinked.
What...?
He wanted to keep lying to himself. To pretend this was all a fever dream. But even with his limited English, he'd watched enough superhero movies to know what "Gotham City" meant.
"Goddamn it," he whispered, his voice rising with despair. "Which twisted bastard thought it'd be funny to throw me into this shithole?!"
He clutched his head, half in panic, half in grief. Was this it? Would he die in some back-alley mugging the first night he got here? Gotham wasn't just dangerous—it was a death sentence with a postal code.
This was the crime capital of the United States. A place where normal people were rarer than unicorns, and honest citizens were practically mythical.
In any other city, a pickpocket was a criminal.
In Gotham? If all you did was steal without killing, raping, or setting fires, you were basically a model citizen.
Seventy percent of the city was under the thumb of some gang or another. The rest? Global terrorist syndicates, international hitman groups, the occasional child, a few billionaires, corrupt moguls, a handful of solo supervillains, and, of course, Gotham's number-one poster boy for psychotic breakdowns.
And then there were the real suckers—the world-class unfortunates. The clueless nobodies who just happened to wander into this hellhole without realizing where they were.
Like Ren.
As for the police? Forget it. There wasn't a single clean cop in the whole precinct. Every last one of them had, at some point, either cut a deal with a gang or worked alongside a psycho in face paint.
This city was saturated in darkness.
If there was even a single spot of light left in it, it was probably Ren himself.
Ding.
> [Bootstrap System has successfully loaded.]
Welcome, User. Your task: earn money, survive, and thrive. In this city, cash is king. Until you're flat broke, you still have a fighting chance.
> Current Assets: $7
> First Mission:
Find legal employment in Gotham City. Earn your first paycheck since transmigrating.
> Newbie Perks Available for Purchase:
Basic English Proficiency
Cost: $1
(Note: How do you spell "abandon" again?)
Local Identity Documentation
Cost: $1 per ID
(Note: In Gotham, you're either strapped or stabbed. There's no third option.)
Rapid Health Regeneration
Cost: $1
(Note: Works like a charm. Next time, 99.999% off!)
Save Point Activation
Cost: $1
(Note: One million dollars per sequel. Can't afford it? Die like the rest.)
> Important: You may only earn income through legal employment. No shortcuts. No crime. Just good old-fashioned hard work.
Ren stared at the system panel in front of him, emotions swinging wildly between dread and disbelief. Eventually, they all collapsed into a single, exhausted sigh.
"…Who the hell tries to find a legal job in Gotham?"