Gotham.
Rain trickled down the cracked rooftops, tracing black streaks through the grime of the city. The streets shimmered beneath flickering streetlights, their glow distorted by puddles gathering in uneven pavement cracks. In that perpetual drizzle, Adrian walked alone beneath a dark umbrella, his reflection bending and breaking in the water at his feet.
The soft rhythm of rainfall was interrupted only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional siren. Gotham's air carried the usual scent of damp concrete and smoke — a city that seemed to never quite dry, no matter how many times it rained.
Adrian slowed when he spotted a group of children huddled under the awning of a boarded-up store. Their small forms were wrapped in a sheet of torn plastic, their clothes soaked, faces pale and thin. Gotham was merciless to the young and homeless, yet the children still whispered to each other with wide-eyed excitement.
They were talking about Batman.
The brown-haired boy spoke first, his tone animated. "I swear, I saw him last night at the pier! It was pouring like this, and some thug came at me with a knife. I thought I was dead — then Batman showed up outta nowhere!"
The other two children leaned closer as the boy went on, eyes bright. "He was like a shadow, moving faster than I could blink. Every time that thug tried to hit him, he'd disappear and show up somewhere else. Like smoke."
The boy's voice trembled with awe. "Then the guy threw a bomb, and everything went white. When I came to, Batman was gone. Poof. Just like that."
The red-haired girl beside him snorted. "He's not a shadow. I saw him too, but he had wings — big ones! Like a real bat."
Her voice carried through the rain, almost defiant. "I was on Rogers Street when this crook with a jetpack came crashing down from the sky. He grabbed some lady and tried to run. Then Batman swooped in! They fought in the air, throwing punches while blood splattered everywhere. It was awesome!"
She paused dramatically. "But that jetpack guy shot at him and fell into the river. Batman flew off after. You can't tell me he's not part bat."
The third child — the smallest of the group — shook his head. "You're both wrong. Batman's not a bat or a shadow. He's a robot."
The others groaned, but the little boy crossed his arms stubbornly. "I saw him at Wayne Tower. Some crook blew open a door and started robbing people, yelling for everyone to hand over their cash. Then a helicopter showed up, and this robot dropped down — I'm telling you, it was Batman!"
The boy lowered his voice, trying to sound gruff. "'Put down the gun!' he said — just like a machine! Bullets bounced off him, and then this flame shot out of his arm and melted the robber's weapon."
He looked at them triumphantly. "See? Batman's a robot."
Their bickering filled the quiet street — stories of fear and fascination blending with the sound of falling rain.
Adrian listened as he approached, his expression unreadable. Gotham loved its myths, and Batman was the city's greatest one. Personally, Adrian found the obsession almost amusing — a creature of the night who frightened criminals, but couldn't stop the rot eating this city alive.
"Hey, sir!" the brown-haired boy called out as Adrian passed.
Adrian stopped, tilting his umbrella slightly so his sharp blue eyes met the boy's hopeful face.
"Do you need a Gotham City map?" the boy asked quickly, pulling a crumpled map from his coat. "Only fifty cents. It'll help you find your way."
Adrian studied him with faint curiosity. "Why do you assume I'm not from here?"
The boy pointed to Adrian's face. "Because you're not wearing a mask, sir. Locals always wear one when it rains — the air near the factories stinks."
Adrian gave a small nod. "Good observation." He handed the boy a dollar. "Keep it. I don't need the map — just tell me how to get to the Iceberg Lounge."
The boy's eyes widened slightly at the name but answered anyway. "Two streets down, then turn left. You can't miss it."
Then, as if wanting to be helpful, he added, "I also made a list — uh, kind of a traveler's guide for Gotham — if you want to know what to avoid."
Adrian raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Let's hear it."
The boy straightened, his tone serious. "Don't go out at night if you're broke. Don't badmouth Bruce Wayne online. And never, ever go near Arkham Asylum."
The red-haired girl chimed in, "And don't eat at the Iceberg Lounge."
"Holly!" the boy hissed, glaring at her. "This guy's going there!"
He turned back to Adrian nervously. "Sorry, sir! She didn't mean it."
Adrian smirked, amused by the boy's panic. "Relax. She's right — the Iceberg Lounge isn't exactly known for its hospitality. But," he said, lowering his voice, "I have business there."
He turned to leave, pausing only to add, "And if something happens, call the GCPD. Though I doubt they'll show up in time."
He walked away through the drizzle, the children watching silently.
Then, as he reached the mouth of the alley, several figures stepped into view — rough men with soaked jackets and the kind of eyes that never smiled.
"Hey, pretty boy," the leader sneered, flipping a knife in his hand. "You picked the wrong block. This is our street. Now, hand over your cash and maybe you'll still make dinner."
Adrian tilted his head, calm and almost bored. "Honestly, I don't know your rules here. Maybe explain them to me, and I promise I'll follow them."
The men exchanged looks, then burst into laughter. "You hear this guy?" one of them jeered. "You trying to be funny, rich boy?"
The leader lunged forward, stabbing at Adrian's chest.
But Adrian's hand shot out, lightning-fast. He caught the knife mid-thrust and, with his other hand, seized the man by the throat. The sound of rain drowned out the man's strangled gasp as Adrian effortlessly lifted him off the ground.
"You really should've walked away," Adrian said, his tone low — almost casual. His grip tightened, and the thug's body went limp before Adrian tossed him aside like a rag doll.
The others froze. The casual cruelty in Adrian's expression was enough to make them hesitate.
The children….. they had never witnessed someone so brutally efficient — a man who could casually wave a hand and send another crashing against a wall as if he weighed nothing.
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