48 Hours Remaining
Derek McCoy blinked his eyes open, the world around him blurry and shifting as his mind struggled to make sense of where he was. The faint smell of garbage and the damp, bitter air of the alley stung his nostrils. He groaned, raising a hand to rub his face, trying to clear the fog that clung to his senses. His head throbbed with a dull ache, and his body felt… wrong, like he had just woken up from a long, restless sleep. He couldn't remember how he got here, how he even ended up in an alley of all places.
Wait alley?
Panic surged in his chest as he sat up quickly, his hand bracing against the cold, grimy concrete. He glanced around, still groggy, the fog of disorientation clouding his thoughts. The alley was narrow, the ground wet with an almost constant sheen of grime, and the walls of the buildings were high, almost suffocating. Gothic architecture stretched upwards, with sharp edges, dark windows, and jagged metal accents that made the city look more like a hellish labyrinth than any place he had ever seen. The neon signs sputtered to life, casting strange shadows on the pavement, as distant sounds of sirens and shouting filtered through the air.
"What the hell?" Derek muttered, his voice hoarse, his words full of disbelief.
He staggered to his feet, blinking several times to clear the haze. His head was still spinning, but now there was a sense of urgency. This place felt wrong, like an entire world he didn't belong in. The last thing he remembered before waking up in this alley was a night in Vegas, even those memories were not clear as he only remembered bachelor party for a friend and then here.
But the more he looked around, the more the nagging doubt at the back of his mind grew. This didn't feel like the streets of his world. This didn't feel like a city he'd ever seen before. He would have remembered if he came across a place this unique.
He stumbled forward, turning down the alley and stepping onto the sidewalk, where the flickering neon lights illuminated graffiti-laced walls and the darkened streets. People walked by, not paying him any attention—strange faces hidden beneath the hoods of jackets, their expressions guarded, as though they knew what it meant to live in this city.
His eyes darted to a nearby newspaper kiosk. A bright, garish headline stood out from the rest of the cluttered headlines:
"Wayne Enterprises: Gotham's Leading Innovators or Corporate Overlords?"
Derek's breath caught in his throat as the realization hit him full force. The Wayne Enterprises—Bruce Wayne. The pieces started to snap together in a sickening rush. He was in the DC Universe, and not just any part of it. Gotham City.
"Fuck, Why is this happening to me?"
He blinked rapidly, trying to wrap his mind around the truth. This couldn't be happening. He had read about this city, its heroes and villains. But now, it was real. And he, Derek McCoy, was trapped in it.
The fear clawed at him again, stronger this time. Gotham. A place ruled by masked vigilantes, crime syndicates, and gods that walked among men. He liked the stability of his previous life. It was mundane, it was enjoyable. He was not like those otakus who wished for truck kun to send them to fictional universes. He was perfectly content with the lot he got in his life.
" Then, Why the fuck am I sent here. I never asked for this shit."
He froze a sharp, almost physical pain shot through his skull, like someone had just jammed a needle into his brain. He gripped his head with both hands, his knees buckling as the pain intensified. His vision blurred for a moment before the information came crashing in.
It wasn't a memory or a flashback. It was more like an info pack more than anything else.
The pain subsided, and when it did, he felt… different. He got an info pack regarding his golden finger, its core mechanics how it functions.
At least he has a survival chance here.
He lifted his head, and before his eyes, a translucent screen materialized in the air, floating just before him. It was so real, so undeniable, that for a moment, he didn't know if he should be terrified or amazed.
Template System
Name: Derek McCoy
Age: 20
Template: None
The words hung there in the air, glowing faintly in the low light of the alley. He felt his stomach churn. This was impossible, but he couldn't deny it. The very fact that his mind was capable of processing what he saw told him this was real. And in that instant, it became clear that his life had just changed forever.
And there was no going back.
But before he could even begin to comprehend it, the weight of his situation pressed down on him. He wasn't supposed to be here. He wasn't supposed to be in Gotham, and definitely not in the middle of a world he had only ever imagined.
Suddenly, the city didn't seem so quiet anymore. He came back from his introspection and existential crisis. It could wait.
There was something in the air of this city, and no he was not talking about pollution which it was full of but something else. Maybe he came from a universe that was completely mundane, so he noticed it. But he could feel something dark, something waiting in this city. No wonder they call this city cursed.
Derek clenched his fists, trying to stay as calm as possible. He needed to figure out his next steps.
The distant wail of a siren sliced through the air. There was no time to waste. Derek McCoy had no idea what the next few days would bring, but one thing was certain—he has to find a foothold here, It meant finding a way to navigate the madness and understanding the forces that controlled this broken city.
It was only a matter of time before the world around him would descend into chaos. And, from what he knew of Gotham, chaos was a permanent resident in this city.
—-
Derek ducked into the shadows of a fire escape as a patrol car rolled past the street. Its lights weren't on. No sirens.
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, hands pressed to the freezing metal bars. "I'm fucked. But if I'm fucked anyway, I might as well fuck back."
The city around him pulsed like a living thing. Not in that poetic, Instagram-caption way, but in the way of a dying animal, twitching, hungry, and cornered. Gotham didn't sleep. It lurked.
He moved fast and low, cutting across intersections only when the traffic lights were in his favor—not to avoid cars, but to use their movement as cover. He was learning already: don't look lost. Don't stand still. Don't make eye contact. Especially not in Crime Alley. He didn't need the sign to know where he was. The atmosphere here told him enough. He had plenty of such experience from his previous life. And now they were coming in handy.
He spotted a rundown convenience store wedged between two closed pawn shops. The flickering sign read Big Belly Express, but there was nothing cheerful about it. Dingy windows. Graffiti across the ATM. The only customer was a half-sleeping drunk slumped against the side, mumbling to himself.
Inside, the clerk wasn't even behind the register. He was in the back, arguing loudly in a language Derek didn't recognize. That was his window.
He walked in casual. Grabbed a hot dog from the warmer—it looked like it had been there for a long time—and a water bottle. He didn't care. Hunger didn't ask for flavor. As he turned down an aisle, he spotted them: a rack of prepaid burner phones, stupidly within arm's reach near the counter.
His fingers moved before his fear could stop them. Phone in the jacket pocket. Hot dog in hand. He walked like he belonged. The oldest trick in the book—act like you're not stealing, and nobody will stop you.
The bell above the door jingled.
He was outside.
No one shouted after him. No bullets. No alarms. The clerk never even looked up.
He took a sharp right into an alley, crouched behind a dumpster, and ate like a man starved. Because he was. The hot dog tasted like a normal hot dog he had from a stand.
Water next. Two gulps. Then three. Then gone.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve and pulled the phone out. Plastic still on the screen. He peeled it back and clicked the power button. It buzzed to life, slow and cheap.
No signal. No SIM.
He didn't care. The phone had a camera. A voice recorder. And with Wi-Fi, maybe even access to some basic maps. It was enough for now. And in Gotham, it made the difference between dying in the gutter and making it to morning.
He sat with his back to the wall, the cold seeping through his jeans, and stared up at the skyline. It wasn't just tall. It was jagged. Polluted. Grey.
"Wayne Enterprises," he said out loud, just to hear himself speak. "Gotham. DC Universe."
The words still didn't feel real.
He stood again. One stolen meal richer. One burner phone heavier. But still alone. Still hunted by fate or whatever cosmic joke had dumped him here.
From a few blocks away, there was a sound. Screams. Gunshots. A thud like something heavy hitting metal. Then silence.
Derek didn't move. Just listened.
Then came the sirens, late as always.
This city was a pressure cooker. And he was trapped inside.
He needed shelter. Information. A plan.
He needed to live long enough to figure out why the hell he was here.
And maybe, if he got lucky, live out a power fantasy, now that he is here.
After all multiverse is a thing in this place, and who is to say that a chocolate planet full of beautiful women does not exist in this reality.
----
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