Sin City

He stood atop a skyscraper, the sleepless city below ablaze with lights. Neon blooms glimmered through the night, staining red the thick steam pouring from manhole covers along the roads.

It was an early spring night. Smog hung over every corner of the bustling metropolis, and the slightly biting wind carried the stench of industrial exhaust and wastewater.

Before his eyes lay a world of glittering lights and debauchery, built from wealth, prestige, and power.

Yet farther away, in places beyond the reach of sight—perhaps in dim alleyways piled with trash cans, perhaps in sewers sheltering the homeless, perhaps beneath overpasses where gangs gathered.

Discarded guns and corpses, eerie laughter and screams in the darkness, blackened, dried bloodstains—they constantly told anyone who came here that beneath this city's glamorous exterior lay boundless sin and madness. Anyone who underestimated it would be mercilessly swallowed whole.

Where was this? Perhaps anyone who quietly listened to the citizens' descriptions could guess.

The residents of this city liked to use the names of familiar villains to describe it.

Some said it was like Killer Croc, because it always swallowed people whole in the darkness, leaving not even bone fragments behind. Maybe there would only be a splash or a bubble, but no one would care.

Some said it was like Two-Face, because of its merciless choices. Whether justice and evil or order and chaos, they spun madly at every moment. Fate was like a coin, tossed again and again, falling again and again, leaving people powerless.

Some said it was like Scarecrow, because no matter what beautiful dream someone had been having, it could suddenly turn into a nightmare. It would dig out their deepest fears until they went mad, driven insane, drooling as they wandered the streets and alleys.

Some said it was like Joker, because this city was simply insane! Ha ha, ha, hahahahaha!

Of course, there was a good chance that the next moment, this citizen would suddenly lash out and drive a pencil or fork into an outsider's eyeball, then widen their innocent eyes, crane their neck, and curiously ask the twitching corpse.

"Why so serious?"

As a visitor from another world, he did not need to ask any resident. All he had to do was look up at the bright beam of light in the night, leaving a bat-shaped patch against the clouds, and he knew where he was.

"Gotham."

He murmured the word.

The next moment, a sudden downpour swallowed his figure.

Gray rainwater with a faint acidic smell obscured everything he had seen and heard, concealing all sins. All he could hear was the rush of rain, all he could feel was a chill rising from within.

But that chill did not come from the rain. He was fully armed, his head and body covered by finely crafted metal armor.

A full-coverage mask helmet covered his head, while fine chainmail wrapped his entire body below the neck. His chest, shoulders, and limbs were further protected by another layer of armor-like guards. All of it told him that, at this very moment, he was no longer an ordinary person.

He had once been an ordinary person, living a simple life not worth mentioning.

He was supposedly a nighttime warehouse manager, though he was really just a security guard. He was not tall and burly, not the sort of man who looked intimidating at a glance. But he was young, and he had some youthful courage in him.

"What happened? Why did I come here? I don't remember."

He raised a hand, intending to press it to his forehead, but the thick tactical glove completely cut off any sensation of the helmet's touch or temperature.

Indeed, as a young man, he had seen things like transmigration in all sorts of fictional works.

In novels, he had seen people transmigrate after their computers exploded, after choking to death while eating, after being hit by a car while saving someone crossing the street, or after falling into a toilet while using the bathroom. But why had it happened to him?

He gazed into the distance through the curtain of rain, trying his best to pull his attention away from Batman's symbol. He merely stared blankly at the storm clouds on the horizon, struggling to remember.

The neon lights atop countless skyscrapers blurred in the rain and mist, making everything seem unreal.

He only remembered getting off work and going home, then dealing with a phone call from a middle school classmate inviting him to a wedding.

Then... he had played on his computer for a while? His battered old laptop made a sound like a tractor whenever he pressed the power button.

Yes, he liked those fantasy worlds. They always let him briefly forget the monotonous life of reality.

There had been no explosion in his memories, no strange lights or sounds. He had merely lost focus for an instant, and then he was here, standing on the rooftop of Gotham's tallest building, Wayne Tower, inexplicably taking in the night wind.

He had stood dumbly in this damned place for five minutes. After gradually accepting the truth, he fell into confusion.

As for who he was, he had known the moment he realized he had transmigrated into the DC Universe. Night shifts were boring, so he had read plenty of novels before later becoming obsessed with American comics.

After all, even a lowly security guard like him had heard the young people at work talk about how "Avengers: Age of Ultron is good," or "Guardians of the Galaxy is fun," while female coworkers said things like, "Captain America and Winter Soldier are the ultimate pairing, Iron Man is the other woman."

At first, he had not understood any of it.

In order to have common topics with his coworkers and get along with them, he first caught up on the movies on his crappy computer. He thought they were pretty good. Hollywood blockbusters really were exciting.

Afterward, he mooched off the workplace Wi-Fi during work hours to catch up on some comics. Although he had initially been a Little White who could not tell Marvel from DC, after reading enough, he had even memorized the names and abilities of hundreds of heroes and villains, as well as the major stories they had taken part in.

Although he had only read comics with Chinese Translation, that was enough for him to chat nonsense with his coworkers.

At that moment, his helmet only provided vision through the left side. He lowered his head and looked at the small puddle forming beneath his feet. Amid the rippling circles, he could clearly see what he looked like now.

A metal helmet split evenly between black and yellow, shaped like a hockey mask. Two long, thin cloth straps fluttered behind his head in the wind and rain like Rambo's headband. The mask's left eye was a red diamond-shaped lens, while the right half was completely black, without even a single gap.

He had become Deathstroke.

His real name was Slade Joseph Wilson, one of the DC Universe's greatest mercenaries and assassins, a Master Strategist and Tactician, a Combat Master, and a Weaponer.

Originally, he had been an enhanced operative for the U.S. military. His brain was developed to ninety percent, only slightly inferior to the female lead of Lucy. He also possessed physical capabilities beyond the limits of humanity, along with a Healing Factor that could mend most wounds.

Later, because his superior had betrayed his friend and caused that friend to be captured by the enemy, Deathstroke had rescued his comrade and fought his way out of the encirclement. But he inevitably fell out with the military and became a Mercenary, using his superhuman abilities to do dirty work and earn a living.

The key was that he had inherited everything Deathstroke possessed—except his memories, of course. At the very least, he had learned bodily memories like English, driving, and using firearms for free.

Like an outsider, he watched his own wavering reflection in the water from a third-person perspective. Everything he knew about Deathstroke now came from the comics.

At first, when he discovered that he had become someone with Super Strength, he had actually been quite happy.

Becoming Deathstroke was great. With preparation and a plan, he feared no one. Even against DC's favored son, Batman, he had more than a fifty percent chance of winning.

As a villain, he could utterly crush Robin and the Teen Titans. In the recently redeemed New 52 comics, he had gone toe-to-toe with Wonder Woman in close combat, and without kryptonite, he had even escaped Superman unharmed.

Yet after his initial excitement faded, he began to feel immense pressure.

Why?

Because Deathstroke was a Mercenary who did anything for money. Therefore, no matter which world this was, he had offended nearly all the Superheroes and Super Villains in the DC Universe. He helped Penguin deal with Two-Face, helped Two-Face deal with Black Mask, helped Black Mask deal with Penguin, and from time to time accepted jobs against all kinds of Superheroes.

To Deathstroke, there was no difference between Superheroes and Super Villains. There were only employers and targets. They were all people.

It did not matter who gave him the job, as long as there was money to be made.

"This is troublesome."

Before transmigrating, his name had been Su Ming. The older workers at his workplace all called him Xiao Ming. Whenever people called him that, he always felt as though he had made all kinds of mistakes—like not washing his hands before meals, not watching the traffic lights while crossing the street, or being late to class. Anyway, whenever someone made a mistake in elementary school textbooks, it was always him.

"First, I need to determine which Parallel Universe of DC this is, then figure out the Timeline and where the story has reached." He sighed and wanted a cigarette, but the mask got in the way. "There are many worlds in the DC Universe with Gotham and Batman. If this is the Movie Universe, the upper limit of power is not that high. In the recently released Justice League movie, Steppenwolf got beaten around like a rag doll. But if this is a comic universe, no matter which one, the danger increases drastically."

"Earth-0, the main world of the New 52 comics; Earth-3, where all heroes and villains have their identities reversed; Earth-10, ruled by the NAZI; Earth-38, the original world of DC comics."

Su Ming wiped his mask. The rainwater gathered around his feet like a stream. There were no other clothes beneath his armor, and he felt cold now, as though his entire body were soaking in water.

But he had never felt his mind so clear before. Settings from comic worlds that he had only glanced at once could now be recalled in their entirety. Was this because of Deathstroke's Super Brain? But memories should have been carried by his soul, right?

This body was now filled with an explosive sense of power, something he had never experienced before. It seemed that his soul had possessed this body—Deathstroke's original body.

The problem was that although Deathstroke had a Healing Factor, it was not particularly strong. It could not regrow severed limbs, so his right eye was permanently blind.

When his rapid regeneration took effect, it also consumed a great deal of stamina and could even cause him to lose his sanity.

Deathstroke was already over fifty. His son and daughter had both become Superheroes and wanted to kill him at any time. He also had an immortal old father, a Super Villain with telekinesis, who wanted to kill him too.

Fortunately, he was strong enough that they could not kill him.

"A young man in his twenties became someone over fifty. After finally getting a family, his relationships with them are all terrible."

Su Ming shook his head helplessly. Deathstroke was powerful and intelligent, but he was clearly lacking in emotional intelligence.

"Come to think of it, why did he come here earlier? Did he accept some mission? He's fully armed, so he must have been planning something."

Su Ming gave up thinking further. Although his current body was enhanced, old habits still made him want to find somewhere to shelter from the rain. It was not only because the early spring rain was freezing, but also because Gotham's industrial pollution was too severe. The rain had a disgusting sour stench unlike anything he had ever smelled.

Leaving the edge of the building, he turned and prepared to depart. Though he had a parachute pack on his back, he would take the stairs. He had never used a paraglider before; it would be ridiculous if he fell to his death.

World-famous mercenary jumps to his death in Gotham last night, suspected to be related to an emotional entanglement with Batman.

Su Ming could already imagine it. If he fell to his death, tomorrow's front page of the Gotham Gazette would definitely read exactly that. He did not want to die. Even if he had transmigrated into a dangerous world, he still did not want to die.

Besides, he was a thoroughly straight man. While he did not discriminate against Joker and Batman flaunting their affection every day, he absolutely did not want to get involved.

Please add this new book to your collection. The American comics world is complicated, and its Timelines are chaotic, so the author can only do his best to keep the story flowing smoothly. Many parts will therefore be adjusted. The author's understanding of American comics is only one perspective, and there will inevitably be mistakes. Please point them out promptly and be understanding.