The slowing train ground over the rails, throwing up sparks. Its shrill screech pierced the concrete slabs.
The room shook, fine dust swirling in the moonlight.
Wei Lian had slept terribly. His head ached, his mouth was dry, and even the mattress beneath him seemed possessed, like a brat in the seat behind him on a train, kicking his spine nonstop.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he reached toward the bedside table.
The spot where his water glass should have been was empty. His fingertips picked up a layer of dust.
He reached a little farther and finally touched something.
It felt cold and hard.
It felt less like a water glass and more like a revolver.
A gun?
Wei Lian's eyes flew open. He surveyed the room by moonlight.
The little room measured barely a dozen square meters. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet, and curtains like burial shrouds drifted in the draft. Through the holes in the tattered fabric, he could see a blade-thin crescent moon hiding behind dark clouds, with black buildings standing silent below.
In stark contrast to that distant stillness, trains roared overhead, one following another. The entire room shuddered and groaned, as though the noise would tear it apart, flesh and all, at any moment.
Wei Lian covered his ears and endured it until the noise faded.
His gaze returned to the bedside table. There really was a revolver there, resting on a crumpled newspaper.
"Sal Maroni granted parole"
That was the main headline. A secondary section carried news of the death of Freddie, Queen's lead singer.
Wei Lian slowly crouched on the floor and clutched his head, forcing himself awake with a series of quick, deep breaths.
Winter, 1991. Gotham. Maroni... Put those words together, and the conclusion was obvious.
He pinched his thigh hard, then slapped himself twice, trying to escape this absurd dream through pain.
That proved to be an incredibly stupid idea.
Of course, transmigration wasn't the only strange thing. He could read an English newspaper without difficulty, and both his eye level and his build had changed.
He bent down and nervously glanced beneath the bed, then searched the place inside and out.
Fortunately, there were no bodies wrapped in plastic, nor any bundles of drugs or guns.
That was good news. At least the body's previous owner hadn't been some villain destined to face Batman's reckoning.
The problem now was that this guy's pockets were far too empty. His old wallet had peeling leather, and the nickel lying in its inner compartment was a penniless man's last shred of defiance.
He opened the wallet, closed it, then stubbornly opened it again, his mouth drooping as he rolled his eyes.
There was no money, but the wallet did contain a few things that could establish his identity.
A shield-shaped brass police badge was tucked into the side of the wallet. An owl with its head turned in a watchful stare was engraved on its face, with the four capital letters GCPD below representing the Gotham police department.
Wei Lian pulled the police ID from behind the badge and walked into the bathroom.
The guy in the mirror had gauze wrapped around his head, scruffy facial hair, and sunken eyes, but he was clearly the same person as in the photograph.
At last, he knew who he was.
William Hans, a rookie with the Gotham police.
Perhaps it was a coincidence, but the rookie's name sounded similar to his own. Judging by his impoverished living conditions, the guy hadn't yet gotten mixed up with the gangs.
Suddenly, a line of red text floated into view, as though someone were rhythmically tapping out words on a typewriter.
[The "City of Passion" system has been activated. I am your AI assistant, Little A.]
William wasn't surprised. Surely being transported to Gotham warranted some compensation. But the system's name sounded suspiciously like a risqué dating sim.
Or, more bluntly, a porn game.
The red text continued to appear.
[Welcome to the virtual open-world city of Novice. I will now guide you through the beginner mission. Please follow the arrow out of the room.]
What virtual city? Wasn't this Gotham?
Did I get the wrong system?
His suspicion was immediately confirmed. A dotted arrow extended from his feet toward the bathroom's mottled wall.
[Don't worry about a thing. Walk toward this door.]
As though sensing William's hesitation, the system thoughtfully offered encouragement.
[Please follow the guide. There is absolutely no danger ahead.]
When William turned away, the system produced another notification.
The red prompts kept popping up like frozen computer windows, quickly filling William's vision.
William swore. Apparently, if he wanted to stop the harassment, he would have to go through that wall.
He looked around, his gaze settling on a pile of renovation supplies beside the bathtub.
Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a busy figure's shadow across the mottled wall.
Blood seeped into gaps between the floorboards, bubbling as it went. Sneakers stepped through the bloodstains, followed by a naked male corpse with its eyes open.
The man used every ounce of strength to haul the corpse into the bathtub, then leaned against the wall, panting. A little later, he shakily fished a crumpled cigarette from his pocket.
"This is all your fault... If you'd just listened and given me all the money... it wouldn't have come to this... Damn it! Damn it!!!"
As he smoked, he banged the back of his head against the wall, his shoulders shaking with sobs one moment, his eyes covered as he giggled mindlessly the next.
Thud!
The dull knock interrupted the man's emotional spiral.
He opened his eyes and pressed his ear against the wall.
The noise came from next door, as though someone were smashing the wall with a hammer, each blow harder and more furious than the last...
Crash!
Suddenly, masonry burst apart. The lights flickered as the bathroom wall came crashing down.
Beyond the breach, William dropped the sledgehammer and coughed twice in the billowing dust.
He didn't understand why there was a hammer in the bathroom, but why wouldn't he use a tool delivered right into his hands?
As for disturbing the neighbors' sleep, he didn't have time to worry about that.
[Wow, you worked up the courage to knock on your neighbor's door! Try saying hello to Miss Vinnish! Here is some detailed information about Miss Vinnish.] [She is twenty-three, lives alone, and works as a decorative carving artist at a Western restaurant. She enjoys classical music and opera. Romance difficulty: one star.]
Despite that description, the attached image showed a young white man wearing a backward baseball cap, his head held high, his expression vicious, and his neck covered in tattoos.
William closed the prompt, but where the image had vanished, a man wearing the same expression was glaring at him.
"Hello..."
Before William could explain, the man raised a dagger and charged.
[Miss Vinnish is demonstrating her exquisite knife skills.]
The system prompt appeared at precisely the wrong moment. Before William could close the dialogue box, he was pinned against the wall.
He braced one hand against the man's wrist and tore down the shower curtain with the other.
"Calm down, Miss Vinnish. I can explain..."
"What the hell are you babbling about, you bastard?!"
[The distance between you and Miss Vinnish is rapidly shrinking. This is the perfect opportunity for a kiss.]
The prompt was like a piece of black comedy. William laughed and slackened his grip, giving the man an opening to shove him into the bathtub.
The dagger's tip was less than an inch from his eye.
William also felt the corpse beneath him-fresh blood clung to its gray stubble, and a bloody hole had been smashed into its forehead.
He had only just arrived in Gotham, and a corpse and a murderer had been waiting one wall away.
Gotham really was a hellhole brimming with talent.
Snapping back to his senses, William stopped holding back. He punched the man in the eye socket, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head against the edge of the bathtub, then followed up with a hard punch to the cheekbone.
[You and Miss Vinnish are really hitting it off!] [Wow, Miss Vinnish is blushing!] [Wonderful, you and Miss Vinnish are locked in a tight embrace!]
Accompanied by the system's wildly irrelevant commentary, William fought back.
The body's original owner had been a cop, after all. Once William committed himself, he quickly regained the upper hand, thrusting with both knees to throw the man off him.
The man scrambled up and tried to fight back, but William seized his arm and sent him over his shoulder.
[Miss Vinnish has lost the ability to resist your passionate advances. This is an excellent opportunity to win her heart.]
"Shut up!"
Finally putting some distance between them, William drew the revolver, aimed at the man's knee, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
As the shot rang out, the man dropped to his knees, clutching the injured one and letting out an agonized scream.
[Miss Vinnish has fallen at your feet, overcome by your personal charm. You're amazing! Beginner tutorial mission complete. You have received 10 Marking Beacons, now deposited in your private inventory.]
William finally had a free hand to close the dense clutter of system prompts obscuring his vision. While he was at it, he kicked the dagger out of the man's hand.
He edged out of the bathroom and called the police from the living room.
"There's a murderer. I've subdued him... The address? ...An apartment beneath the elevated railway. I can see three really tall buildings in the distance... I don't know whether one of them is Wayne Tower..."
As he stumbled through his description of the address, William happened to look up and spotted a photograph on a cabinet.
It appeared to be a father and son, one old and one young, standing affectionately with their arms around each other's shoulders.
The older one lay lifeless in the bathtub. William had just shattered the younger one's knee, and he was still rolling around and struggling in the bathroom.
Fifteen minutes later, police lights illuminated the old apartment building on Bowery Street.
"Move aside, please. Don't crowd the murder scene... Pick, bring the police tape over!"
James Gordon dispersed the residents gathered to watch and squeezed into the crime scene with his partner, Bullock, and three officers.
Responding to a call at three in the morning was routine for him, especially when it came from the eastern Lower City, that filthy district the locals called the "Nightmare."
More than a dozen blocks away, he had already ordered the officers to switch on the lights and turn the sirens up as loud as they would go.
It disturbed the residents, but at least it made any thugs who heard them rein themselves in.
Stop their deals, pack away their goods, and hide the "big guns" in their hands.
Perhaps Gotham's evil could never be eradicated. All the police could do was reach a certain unspoken understanding with the criminals-smuggling, drug trafficking, extortion, robbery, even killing could be forgiven, as long as they didn't walk straight into the line of fire.
Before you continue