White. White and infinite, stretching into nothing. Silent yet screaming. Kane blinked and the world pressed against him—tentacles twisting in impossible patterns, eyes where eyes shouldn't exist, shapes bending around him like reality was melting. And that suit—mocking, perfect, impossibly stylish. His chest constricted. He hated it. Wanted it. Wanted to destroy it. Wanted to wear it.
"Nice suit," he muttered, voice trembling.
The being froze. Tentacles twitched, scratching the edges of his mind with sounds that shredded reason. Blood trickled from his ear. Teeth clenched. Something inside him threatened to fracture.
Snap.
"Oops! Forgot to switch to English! Didn't mean to scramble your mind!"
Kane staggered. "Wait… what—what is this?"
"Nothing major," said the ROB, twisting like a cosmic conductor. "You died. Totally. And I, a ROB, decided you're going to the DC universe. Powers, drawbacks… full chaotic package. Don't freak. I wouldn't want that. Also… you're handsome now. Generously… endowed. Enjoy."
Kane's stomach flipped. Handsome? Endowed? Powers? DC universe? Words collided like hammer strikes. He wanted to scream. Wanted to vanish.
"Alright," continued the ROB, snapping tentacles like drumsticks, "I'm giving you Legion's powers. All of them. Drawbacks too. Don't worry—they won't activate until you arrive in the DC universe. You'll feel normal… for now. Once you land? Boom. Chaos incarnate. Have fun."
Kane pressed his palms to his face. "I'm gonna regret everything already."
"Ah, don't be dramatic. Mostly fine. Now go. DC universe awaits. Try not to die immediately."
The world shifted. White warped into color, air buzzing with energy. Kane's body adjusted, senses sharpening as Gotham solidified around him. Rain-slick streets stretched endlessly, neon reflections bleeding into puddles that seemed to watch him, sirens screaming in the distance, shadows twisting with teeth-like intent. Gotham didn't care. It never did.
Kane stumbled forward, heart hammering, legs trembling. Every alley whispered, every puddle reflected eyes that weren't his. Every sound pressed into his skull. Voices. Not names or identities yet, just fragments of thought, argument, obsession, panic, all vying for dominance inside him. Run. Hide. Survive. Don't move. Kill. Stop. Everything is alive.
A burned-out storefront crunched underfoot. Murals of heroes and villains glared at him, frozen in triumph or failure. His chest tightened, mind spinning. Rats scattered from a dumpster. Kane jumped. "Oh, brilliant. Living nightmare city plus rabid rodents. Perfect combo."
Tall buildings loomed, shadows like skeletal fingers. Neon flickered above: DEADEND BAR. Kane wanted to enter. Didn't want to. Didn't want anything. The city offered no answers. Only weight, dread, panic. Every step echoed like a warning.
A scream cut through the night, sharp, human, desperate. Kane froze. Instinct tugged. Something stirred under his skin—not yet fully awake, but alive, coiling with power he didn't yet understand. Two thugs had a woman. Pinned, knives glinting, laughing.
Stop! Stop! Finish him! We could burn everything! Voices collided inside him, arguing, fighting for control.
"Okay… let's not die, shall we?" Kane muttered, dripping sarcasm.
The first thug turned at the sound of Kane's footsteps. Kane's body moved before he could think. Sparks flared. The thug slammed into a dumpster with a wet crunch. The knife clattered to the ground.
Yes! Kill it! Stop! Stop! Stop! Everything must break!
The second thug charged. Shadows erupted from the ground, wrapping around him, crushing, snapping. Sparks licked walls. Concrete splintered. Rain hissed. Kane's hands trembled. He wanted to stop, to pull back, to do anything, but the power under his skin surged independently. By the time he could regain control, all three thugs lay broken, some beyond saving. Kane fell to his knees, rain washing blood from his hair, breath ragged. I killed them. I… I killed them. Neon reflected twisted forms in puddles. Gotham didn't care. Kane laughed, wet, bitter, unhinged.
Hours passed. Kane wandered alleys and streets. Powers flared unpredictably—streetlights exploded when he passed, shadows stretched unnaturally along walls, rats screamed and scattered at unnatural speeds. Every flare left him terrified, exhilarated, unhinged.
Then the drugs. Bags in a dumpster, pills spilling like candy under neon. Kane hesitated.
They'll ruin everything. Don't touch them.
One won't hurt.
Don't!
Yes. Relief. Control. Please.
He took one. Then another. Rain blurred into color. Shadows softened. Panic dulled. Chemical calm spread like syrup through his veins. First real calm in hours. Hollow, temporary, terrifying. Powers still pulsed, impatient, coiling. He needed more.
By midnight, Kane's walk became erratic. Powers surged with every step. Sparks shot from manholes, shadows surged across brick walls. Buildings groaned. A warehouse loomed. Inside, a gang counted cash, drinking, and smoking. Kane's body reacted before he thought. Shadows erupted, wrapping like snakes. Sparks seared metal beams. Concrete cracked. Screams echoed. Limbs moved independently, smashing, throwing, striking. By the time he collapsed against a wall, the gang members were dead. Blood slicked the floor. Rainwater mixed with beer and blood. I… I can't control it. Not ever.
He stumbled outside. Neon mocked him. Chemical calm fading, addiction coiled in his veins. Another alley. Another mugging. Shadows surged. Sparks danced. Glass shattered. Two more dead.
He laughed, wet, bitter, unhinged. Rain mixed with blood, sweat, and tears. Gotham didn't care. The voices didn't care. Kane barely recognized himself. Fragments whispered: We survived. And this… is only the beginning.
The nights bled together. Kane prowled, addicted, powers flaring violently, shadows coiling and sparks dancing across the city. Encounters with criminals escalated. He became faster, more unpredictable, a storm tearing through alleys, warehouses, and streets. Gotham's whispers began: The shadow demon. The storm. The chaos walking. Cameras caught fleeting glimpses—neon sparks, distorted shadows, bodies falling. Kane didn't care. He only cared about the next surge, the next pill.
On one rooftop, he glimpsed Batman—silent, observing, calculating. Fragments argued: Attack. Learn. Hide. Survive. Kane stepped back into the darkness, letting the city swallow him, trembling, high, broken, powers surging unpredictably.
By the ninth night, he was a storm incarnate. Sparks leapt from puddles, shadows lashed at nothing and everything. Neon fractured his image in the wet asphalt. Every alley, every building, every stray car became a canvas for his chaos.
In a back alley, he found another stash—pills spilling like jewels under a flickering streetlight. His hands shook violently. Body trembling. Mind screaming in unison: One won't hurt. One won't hurt. One won't hurt. He swallowed three. Then five. Then ten. Sparks flared as shadows lashed uncontrollably. Powers surged in chaotic bursts, tearing at the air, walls, and his body.
Fragments screamed: More! Kill! Feel! Stop! Control is an illusion! Pain and pleasure collided in his veins. Chemical calm tangled with raw chaos, creating a hurricane inside him.
The world tilted. Vision blurred. Sparks erupted with every heartbeat. Shadows struck violently, hitting nothing and everything. Kane fell fully to his knees, rain washing fire, blood, and sweat from his face. His body convulsed, chemical calm turned poison, pills amplifying chaos. Limbs flailed independently. Sparks danced, shadows coiled, glass shattered.
He screamed—or maybe the fragments screamed through him—before darkness finally took him.
Rain poured over the alley, mixing with fire, glass, and blood. Neon flickered across the wet asphalt. Kane lay still, broken, overdosed, his powers momentarily quiet but impatient beneath the surface. Gotham was silent, save for its distant hum. Somewhere, in the shadows, sparks fizzled, shadows twitched one last time before stilling.
A single voice whispered: Don't worry, child, I'll take care of us.