Chapter 2 : The Dead Man's Name
Gray light filtered through broken windows when I opened my eyes.
My body had stiffened overnight, joints locking in the cold despite the heating vent's warmth. I uncurled from the fetal position I'd adopted sometime during the night and immediately regretted it. My ribs announced their presence with enthusiasm. My face felt like someone had used it as a punching bag—which, apparently, someone had.
The system interface flickered to life as I moved.
[STATUS UPDATE:]
[Time: January 4, 2014 — 6:23 AM]
[Location: The Narrows, Gotham City]
[Host Condition: Injured, Dehydrated, Hungry]
I'd missed that detail in the chaos of last night. The year 2014, in Gotham City. Which meant—what? Batman had been active for years. The Joker was established. The crime families had risen and fallen and risen again.
"And I'm level one. Starting from nothing."
I pushed myself to my feet. The world swayed but didn't tip. Progress. The blanket I wrapped around my shoulders like a cape, ignoring how absurd I probably looked. Warmth mattered more than dignity.
The Narrows in daylight wasn't any prettier than at night. Buildings leaned against each other like drunks at a bar, their facades cracked and stained. Graffiti covered every surface. Trash accumulated in corners that hadn't seen a city worker in years.
I needed shelter. Real shelter, not a heating vent.
Three blocks in, I found it. An abandoned tenement building, five stories of sagging architecture and broken promises. The front door hung off its hinges. Inside, a lobby that might have been grand once now served as a garbage dump. Voices echoed from the first floor—other squatters, probably. Homeless. Addicts. People with nowhere else to go.
I climbed to the third floor.
The stairs groaned under my weight. The second floor held evidence of recent habitation—mattresses, needles, the smell of human waste. I kept climbing. The third floor was emptier. Most of the apartment doors were gone, scavenged for who knew what purpose. I picked a corner unit with only one entrance and a window that faced an alley rather than the street.
The room was bare except for a mattress so moldy I could smell it from the doorway. I dragged debris from the hallway—broken furniture, chunks of drywall, a rusted radiator—and barricaded the entrance. It wouldn't stop anyone determined, but it would make noise if someone tried to enter.
"Home sweet home."
I sat on the floor, back against the wall, and finally opened the system interface properly.
[GOTHAM UNDERWORLD SYSTEM v2.0]
[CORE FUNCTIONS:]
[TERRITORY CONTROL]
Claim zones through intimidation, economic control, or force. Higher territory levels provide passive Resource generation and Network bonuses.
[CRIMINAL NETWORK]
Recruit subordinates. Assign them to operations. Build hierarchy. Each rank provides different benefits and risks.
[FEAR INDEX]
Measures your reputation through action. Higher Fear Index unlocks intimidation options and reduces resistance. Built through violence, displays of power, and successful criminal operations.
[STATS:]
Authority — Leadership ability, subordinate loyalty
Intimidation — Physical threat presence
Cunning — Planning, deception, manipulation
Resources — Monetary and material wealth
Network — Number and quality of connections
Infamy — Public recognition (double-edged)
[MEMORY SEAL NOTICE:]
Host original identity sealed. Villain knowledge base retained. Hero civilian identities blocked to prevent interference with organic narrative development. This seal is permanent and cannot be bypassed.
I read the last part twice. The system had deliberately blocked my knowledge of hero identities. It wanted me to "discover" them naturally, like some kind of twisted game master running a campaign.
"Organic narrative development. Because my transmigration into a dead thug's body wasn't narrative enough."
I tested the knowledge again. Joker—Arkham, insane, kills without reason. Penguin—Oswald Cobblepot, Iceberg Lounge, arms deals and information brokering. Poison Ivy—plants, pheromones, eco-terrorism. The villains came easily.
Batman—mask, cape, no kill rule, gadgets, and—nothing. No name. No face. Just the symbol.
The seal was real.
I searched my pockets next. The body I wore—Danny Malone's body—had been carrying more than I'd noticed last night.
A wallet, cheap leather, containing a library card. Danny Malone, 24 years old, The Narrows Branch Library. And hidden behind the card, three crumpled dollars and forty-seven cents.
A cell phone. A flip phone, ancient by the standards I remembered. Dead battery. Useless until I found a charger.
A crumpled note, shoved deep in the jacket's inside pocket.
Warehouse 7, midnight, don't be late. -R
I stared at the note. Danny Malone had been going to meet someone. Someone called R. At a warehouse. And between that meeting and now, someone had beaten him to death in an alley.
[SYSTEM ANALYSIS:]
[Danny Malone: Low-level runner for Falcone remnants. Courier and delivery. No combat training. Criminal record: Minor theft, possession. Last known employer: "R" — Identity unknown]
The system knew things about this body's history. Falcone remnants—what was left of the crime family after Batman and the new wave of supervillains had torn through Gotham's traditional organized crime. Danny had been bottom-tier. The kind of person who got sent on jobs too dangerous or too worthless for anyone important.
"And someone decided he was expendable. Someone named R."
My stomach cramped. Hunger, sharp and insistent. I hadn't eaten since—before. Before the transmigration. Whenever and wherever that had been.
I checked the jacket pockets again, more desperately this time. Lint. A receipt from a bodega. And—
A sandwich. Wrapped in wax paper, shoved into an inner pocket, clearly forgotten. I unwrapped it. Ham and cheese, maybe. The bread had gone hard. Something that might have been mold dotted one corner.
I ate it anyway.
It tasted like cardboard and shame. My stomach accepted it grudgingly, too empty to be picky about quality.
[HUMAN NEEDS NOTICE:]
[Hunger: Partially Addressed]
[Thirst: Critical]
[Rest: Required]
Water. I needed water. But my ribs screamed every time I moved, and the idea of climbing down three flights of stairs to find a working tap felt like torture.
Tomorrow. I'd find water tomorrow.
I lay back against the wall and closed my eyes. The mattress was too disgusting to use, but the floor was cold and the blanket was thin, so I compromised by curling up in the corner where two walls met and the wind couldn't reach.
The system pinged.
[TUTORIAL QUEST REMINDER: ESTABLISH DOMINANCE]
[Intimidate 3 individuals to establish presence]
[Reward: 50 Fear Index, Intimidation +5]
[ADDITIONAL QUEST DETECTED: SURVIVAL BASICS]
[Secure shelter: COMPLETE]
[Secure food: PARTIAL]
[Secure water: INCOMPLETE]
[Reward: 10 Resources upon completion]
I dismissed both notifications. The system could wait. My broken body couldn't.
I thought about the note. Warehouse 7. R. Danny Malone had been killed for a reason. Someone wanted him dead badly enough to have thugs stomp his chest until his ribs cracked.
"And now I'm in his body. With his face. His enemies."
If those thugs found out Danny had survived—that I had survived—they'd come back to finish the job.
I needed to get stronger. Smarter. I needed resources and connections and the ability to hurt people who wanted to hurt me.
I needed to stop being Danny Malone and start being someone else.
Someone dangerous.
My eyes closed. Sleep came faster than expected, dragging me down into darkness where the system couldn't follow and the pain couldn't reach.
The last thing I saw was the floating text in my vision, patient and waiting.
[QUEST: ESTABLISH DOMINANCE — PENDING]
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'd start. Tonight, I'd heal.
The building creaked around me. Gotham breathed outside the broken windows. And Danny Malone's body slept while someone new learned to wear it.