The night in Gotham was as thick as ink. In the employee dormitory on the 47th floor of Wayne Tower, Lee Harris suddenly opened his eyes.
His heart pounded violently, and cold sweat soaked his cheap cotton T-shirt. He sat up, his gaze sweeping across the single dormitory, less than twenty square meters—the Wayne Enterprises logo on the wall, the employee handbook on the table, and the Bat-Signal cutting through the night sky outside the window.
"Damn."
He had really transmigrated.
Memories of this body flooded his mind—an international student from the East, a master's in Computer Science, who had joined the Wayne Enterprises tech department three months ago through campus recruitment, a low-level code monkey. The original owner had died from overwork, paving the way for him.
Lee Harris stood up and walked to the window. The night view of Gotham City spread before him, and beneath the neon lights lay the true face of this city of sin. The sound of a police siren wailed in the distance; another lunatic must be causing trouble.
"Shadow Monarch System activating…"
A cold, mechanical voice echoed in his mind. Lee Harris's pupils contracted, but his expression remained unchanged. He calmly drew the curtains and sat back on the bed.
"Host confirmed. Initial ability: Shadow Control Lv1. Eliminate living beings to absorb their souls and strengthen yourself. Warning: System exposure will lead to self-destruction."
Lee Harris closed his eyes, feeling the strange power within him. He raised his right hand, and a wisp of black shadow seeped from his palm, writhing like a living thing.
*Click.*
The sound of a lock being picked.
Lee Harris instantly retracted the shadow, his gaze coldly fixed on the door. A tall, thin Black man pushed it open, holding a butterfly knife, his face marked by the madness of drug withdrawal.
"Hand over the money, punk."
Gotham's slums weren't far from Wayne Tower, and such home invasions were a daily occurrence. Security? They couldn't care less about low-level employees' lives.
Lee Harris slowly stood up: "I'll count to three."
"You goddamn…"
"One."
The man charged, the blade glinting coldly in the dim light.
"Two."
Lee Harris sidestepped, his right hand snapping out to grip the man's throat. The strength surprised even him—though the original owner was frail, the system's enhancement had already pushed his physical fitness beyond that of an ordinary person.
"Die!"
*Crack.*
The crisp sound of bone breaking cut through the silent room. The man's eyes widened, the butterfly knife clattered to the ground, and his body slumped lifelessly.
Lee Harris released his grip, staring at the corpse. By the moral standards of his past life, he should have felt fear or guilt, but now, only cold calmness filled him.
This was Gotham.
Survival of the fittest.
A wisp of grey mist, barely visible, rose from the corpse and flowed into Lee Harris's body. A warm power coursed through him; he could feel his muscles growing firmer, his reaction speed sharpening.
"Soul absorption complete. Physical fitness increased by 5%. Acquired skill: Street Fighting Lv1."
Lee Harris flexed his wrist, and fragments of fighting techniques surfaced in his mind—low-level street moves, but better than nothing.
He bent down, picked up the butterfly knife, wiped his fingerprints off with the corpse's clothes, and placed the hilt back in the dead man's hand. Then he opened the window; cold wind rushed in, dispersing the smell of blood.
"Another addict fell from a height," Lee Harris muttered. "Gotham sees news like this every day."
He dragged the corpse to the window. From the 47th floor, a fall meant certain death.
Just as he was about to push it out, the sound of high heels echoed in the corridor.
Lee Harris paused. At this hour, no one should be in the employee dormitory area. He quickly shoved the corpse under the bed, straightened his clothes, and sprayed some air freshener.
A knock at the door.
"Come in." Lee Harris sat at the computer, pretending to code.
The door opened.
A red-haired woman stood in the doorway, about twenty-five or twenty-six, tall with perfect curves. She wore a tailored professional suit, but Lee Harris noticed her stance—her weight slightly shifted backward, ready to spring into action, a sign of professional training.
"Excuse me, I'm Barbara Gordon from Human Resources." The woman flashed a professional smile. "We're conducting employee background checks, and I have a few questions for you."
Barbara Gordon.
Batgirl.
Commissioner Gordon's daughter.
Lee Harris adjusted his expression in 0.1 seconds, offering a shy smile: "Working so late, you must be tired. Please, have a seat."
He knew why she was here. Background checks at Wayne Enterprises were routine, but not at this hour, and certainly not in person. Unless… she was investigating something.
Barbara stepped into the room, her emerald eyes subtly scanning every corner. Her nose twitched slightly—even with air freshener, a trained person could detect a hint of something off.
"I apologize," she said, sitting down and elegantly crossing her legs. "I know it's late, but Gotham's been restless lately, and Mr. Bruce has requested heightened security."
"I understand." Lee Harris pushed up his non-existent glasses, perfectly playing the socially anxious programmer. "What do you need me to provide?"
Barbara opened her tablet: "Your resume says you graduated from MIT three months ago?"
"Yes."
"Excellent academic performance." Her finger slid across the screen. "But your social record is nearly blank. No clubs, no close friends."
"I'm more introverted," Lee Harris said, lowering his head. "And I had to work to support myself through school, so I spent most of my time on that."
"I see." Barbara nodded thoughtfully, then abruptly shifted gears: "By the way, someone reported an unusual sound on this floor. Did you hear anything?"
Under the bed.
The corpse was under the bed.
The blood was congealing, but still seeping out slowly.
Lee Harris's peripheral vision caught a small dark red puddle spreading from under the bed, soon to be visible to Barbara.
"Might be noise from next door." He stood, nervously rubbing his hands, subtly blocking her view. "Excuse me, I'm going to pour some water. Would you like anything to drink?"
"No, thank you."
As he turned, his foot lightly knocked over the trash can by the table. Papers scattered across the floor, perfectly covering the bloodstain.
"I'm sorry!" He knelt to clean it up, flustered.
"Let me help." Barbara bent down as well.
Their hands brushed. Her fingers were cold, and Lee Harris felt the calluses beneath her soft skin—marks of years of training.
"Thank you." He pulled back his hand, his earlobes reddening.
An act.
But perfectly executed.
A flicker of amusement passed through Barbara's eyes. She stood, brushing off her skirt: "It's getting late. We'll discuss the remaining questions another day."
"Alright."
She walked to the door, then turned back: "Lee, you know? You're the most interesting programmer I've ever met."
"Really?" Lee Harris scratched his head.
"Most tech geeks are either overconfident or so anxious they can't speak clearly." She leaned against the doorframe, her posture relaxed yet dangerous. "But you're different. Your nervousness feels real, yet… just right. It's like…"
She paused.
"It's like you're acting."