"Mercy sharpens a blade more than hatred ever could."
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The city had barely recovered from the night the sky tore open, yet whispers traveled faster than the wind.
Civilians
A young boy peered from a rooftop, clutching a tattered teddy bear. "Mom… do you think he's real?"
His mother, hands gripping the railing, shook her head. "I don't know, sweetie… but people say… he walks through bullets like they're nothing. Even the cops don't stop him."
Across alleys and rooftops, word spread. King's presence wasn't just feared — it inspired awe. People began to believe there could be someone untouchable, someone who wouldn't exploit Gotham but would exist for it.
Criminals
In the Narrows, Black Mask's men huddled together. Pockets of bullets, vials of poison, even home-brewed firebombs lay discarded.
"He's not human." One whispered. "I watched him. The acid bounced off. The bullets… nothing."
Another spat on the ground nervously. "The freak's got a heartbeat that shakes the streets. You heard that? The King Engine people call it. It's like… the city itself trembles when he breathes."
"Forget stealing, forget killing. We just hide." Muttered a third. The others nodded, fear gnawing at their courage. Even organized crime began moving in the shadows, avoiding encounters with the Immovable Man.
Law Enforcement
Commissioner Gordon stared at the rotating newsfeeds in the GCPD operations room. "Cameras all over the city show him. No ID. No record. He doesn't even seem to touch anyone violently."
A young detective muttered, "He stopped the Joker's crew… Harley was just… following him like he led her somewhere. And no one else could stop him."
Gordon rubbed his face. "We've dealt with metahumans, freaks and monsters. But this… this is different. He's not an enemy, not exactly an ally. And Gotham's already talking like he's a myth."
The Streets Respond
Word-of-mouth spread faster than any official channels. Stories of King grew:
He lifted collapsing rubble to save a trapped mother.
He walked through a hail of bullets aimed at him during a gang shootout — unharmed.
He confronted a gang war and ended it without firing a shot, forcing criminals to fear themselves.
By the end of the week, King's presence became legend. Posters of him — crude drawings, graffiti, even spray-painted murals — appeared on walls and alleys, often accompanied by the words:
"The Immovable Man Walks Among Us."
Even Gotham's underworld began whispering in fear, not just of his strength, but of his choice. He acted not out of vengeance or heroism, but simply because he existed.
The City Breathes
Somewhere above the city, on a rooftop overlooking the chaos and quiet alike, King stood silently, rain running off his scarred face. Gotham stretched below him, teeming with life, crime, and human frailty.
The King Engine thrummed quietly, like a heartbeat echoing across rooftops. He did not need to fight. He merely was. And that was enough.
Even Batman, watching from the shadows, could not deny it. The city had noticed. The world, soon enough, would have to.
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