Cold… Wet…. Something rattling.
Jude's head throbbed in rhythm with whatever was shaking beneath him. His thoughts felt sluggish, wrapped in cotton. Through the fog, a voice kept calling.
"Sir! Sir, are you alright?"
English. Why was someone speaking English?
He forced his eyes open. Unfamiliar ceiling—no, not a ceiling. Metal panels. Rows of seats. Windows blurred with rain and motion. The rhythmic clatter of wheels on tracks.
A train. He was on a train.
When did I get on a train?
The cold air hit his nostrils like a slap—damp, metallic, carrying something else. Copper? Blood? Whatever it was set off alarm bells in his lizard brain, the kind of warning that bypassed thought and went straight to survival instinct.
The jolt of it cleared his head like breaking the surface of dark water.
Jude pushed himself up from the floor, his palms stinging against cold metal. The train car swayed. Dark clouds raced past the windows. A conductor stood over him, concern etched on his face, but also something else. Nervousness. Maybe fear.
"Sir, are you alright?"
American accent. Definitely American.
What the hell?
Jude stared at the man, trying to make sense of anything. The last thing he remembered was his apartment. His laptop. The cursor blinking on an unfinished sentence. He'd been writing, fighting sleep, and then—
Then nothing.
"I'm..." Jude started, but the words died. What was he supposed to say? I think I fell asleep at my keyboard and woke up in someone else's reality?
The conductor's smile was strained now. "We're almost at the terminal, sir. Just one more stop."
The way he said "terminal" sounded ominous. Like the word carried extra weight.
Jude pulled himself into a seat. The vinyl was cracked, patched with duct tape. Everything in the train car looked worn—scratched windows, graffiti scraped off but still visible, the kind of damage that spoke of long neglect. Through the rain-streaked glass, he caught glimpses of the city ahead.
Gothic spires piercing grey sky. A massive clock tower. High-rises that looked like art deco fever dreams. And below, spreading like a stain, blocks of low buildings—cramped, dirty, desperate.
His eyes caught a sign as the train slowed.
English letters. He couldn't read all of it, but one word stood out. One word he'd seen in movies, comics, video games. One word that made his stomach drop.
GOTHAM
"No."
The word escaped before he could stop it.
"No, no, no, no—"
The conductor had already retreated to the far end of the car. The few other passengers gave Jude a wide berth as they gathered their belongings. He barely noticed. His eyes were locked on that sign.
Gotham City. Statistically the most dangerous city in America. Possibly the world. The kind of place where "normal crime" meant armed robbery and first-degree murder, and anything less was considered a good day.
The train shuddered to a halt.
Doors hissed open. Passengers shuffled toward the exit, most moving with the practiced wariness of people used to danger. Jude stood on numb legs and let himself be swept along with the crowd, a piece of driftwood in a current he couldn't fight.
The platform was dimly lit, puddles reflecting flickering fluorescent lights. The air smelled like rain, exhaust, and something sour he couldn't identify. Didn't want to.
Above the platform, a sign spelled out the station name in English letters.
Even with his limited English, the word "Gotham" was unmistakable.
Jude covered his face with his hands.
Of all the places to wake up. All the cities in the world, all the realities he could have transmigrated to—he got Gotham.
The city where seventy percent of the population worked for organized crime. Where the other thirty percent were either victims, supervillains, or that one guy in a bat costume. Where the police were so corrupt that honest cops were statistical anomalies.
This was a place where walking down the wrong alley didn't just get you mugged—it got you used as a prop in some psychopath's elaborate murder-theater.
I'm going to die, Jude thought distantly. First night here, I'm absolutely going to die.
Then, like someone flipping a switch, words appeared in his vision.
SYSTEM INITIALIZED: Starting from Scratch
Congratulations! You've transmigrated to Gotham City, statistically the worst place in the DC Universe to start over.
Please work hard to earn money through legal employment and become rich through honest labor. Remember: money makes the world go round! You will have unlimited opportunities... as long as you remain completely broke.
Current Assets: $7
Current Mission: Find legal employment in Gotham City and earn your first paycheck
Novice Shop - Special Starter Bundle:
Available for Purchase:
Basic English Proficiency - $1 Note: How DO you spell "abandon"? Asking for a friend.
Local Identity Documents - $1 Note: The bosses in Gotham are VERY busy shooting people and stealing things. They definitely don't have time for paperwork!
Fast Life Recovery - $1 Note: Works great! Come back for the 99999% loyalty discount next time!
Save Point (20 uses) - $1 Note: Salary paid in installments. Can't afford it next time!
REMINDER: Assets can only be earned through LEGAL employment. Please work diligently and get rich through legitimate means.
Jude stared at the glowing text only he could see.
A system. He had a system. The kind of golden finger that transmigrators dreamed about.
A system that required legal work.
In Gotham.
The absurdity of it hit him like a physical blow. He started laughing—a slightly unhinged sound that made a passing businessman clutch his briefcase tighter and walk faster.
"Legal work," Jude muttered, still laughing. "In Gotham. LEGAL work."
He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to find whatever cosmic entity was responsible for this and file a formal complaint.
Instead, he took a shaky breath and looked around the platform. Rain was starting to fall again, pattering against the concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed and then cut off abruptly.
Probably nothing good.
Jude checked his pockets, hoping against hope that this was all some terrible mistake. Maybe he'd find his wallet, his phone, his apartment keys—
Empty.
Above him, the Gotham skyline loomed like a mouthful of broken teeth. Rain fell. Somewhere close, glass shattered. Someone shouted. The sound cut off.
Jude stood on the platform, soaking wet, in a city that would eat him alive, with seven dollars and a system that demanded he find honest work in the most dishonest place on Earth.
He laughed again, the sound swallowed by rain and distant sirens.
"What kind of lunatic," he said to the uncaring sky, "would even think of finding a legal job in Gotham?"