At lunch, Hong Fei invited freckled George Johnson to join him. They quickly polished off a meal at a fast-food joint. By now, Hong Fei had confirmed his suspicions about the guy: George desperately wanted to be a police officer. Not just stuck doing clerical work at the station all day, but out in the field, wearing a uniform, going on missions—like Hong Fei himself.
Ever since their second encounter, Hong Fei had noticed the way George's eyes lit up whenever he caught sight of the uniform. Throughout their entire interaction, George kept stealing glances, his envy and admiration practically radiating off him. If it weren't obvious he was staring at the clothes, Hong Fei might've snapped his neck for it.
But George's dream seemed like a pipe dream. His shortcomings were glaring. The guy was painfully thin and weak—a strong breeze might knock him over. He wasn't even as strong as women his age or height. Among the clerical staff at the station, he was the weakest, hands down. Hong Fei even thought he looked skinnier than Steve before the super serum.
They didn't know each other well yet, and Hong Fei hadn't seen that same tenacity or unshakable belief in George that Steve had possessed. On the walk back, Hong Fei decided to cut to the chase.
"You're very thin," he said bluntly.
George froze, a flicker of sorrow crossing his eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on the road, forcing a carefree smile.
"Yeah, I've always been like this since I was a kid."
"Have you tried to get stronger?"
Hong Fei pressed.
"I have," George replied. "I've tried everything—working out, fitness, dieting. Ended up in the hospital because of it."
"Oh?"
"As you can see, none of it worked. My body just won't let me get stronger. The doctor said if I kept pushing it, I might drop dead at home or on the street someday. It's a disease."
His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of complaint or distress. He'd clearly made peace with it. Hong Fei nodded, and the conversation ended there.
George's status at the station was rock bottom. Sure, his computer skills might've been decent, but that wasn't enough to earn him any real respect from the higher-ups. Most people treated him like he was invisible. Even when he smiled or tried to be friendly, others barely acknowledged him. Yet George didn't seem bothered by it. He acted like he was invisible too. What a cold world.
For a moment, Hong Fei entertained the thought of George snapping after being bullied by his colleagues—turning into a psycho killer, throwing the station into chaos, or wiping everyone out. It wasn't impossible. As Hong Fei glanced at George, he caught him stealing yet another look at his uniform.
George quickly turned his head away, his face flushing with embarrassment. What a mess, Hong Fei thought, shaking his head inwardly.
They strolled back to the station. As they passed through the gate, a voice called out from the side.
"George, you're back. Hurry, the Captain wants to see you."
It was the policewoman Hong Fei had just seen escorting Constantine. She waved at George, arched an eyebrow at Hong Fei, then quickly looked away.
George's face lit up at the summons. He nodded to Hong Fei and hurried off toward the policewoman. Hong Fei watched them go, then followed his memory toward the equipment room. The guy in charge of handing out gear was Old Martin, a grizzled cop missing his left leg.
Seeing Hong Fei push the door open, the old guy, who was lying halfway on a chair in a metal compartment, lifted his eyelids and muttered, "Come in and sit. You haven't been assigned to a specific division team yet, so I can't give you other equipment for now."
Most of the spots on Hong Fei's duty belt were empty; currently, there was only a walkie-talkie and a flashlight.
He nodded and took a seat on the bench by the wall, waiting quietly as his mind raced to flesh out a new persona. His public identity was already confirmed: Officer Hong. A 24-year-old male with a graduate degree—not necessarily a genius, but far from stupid. His parents were dead, his friends nearly all gone, leaving him to navigate the world almost entirely alone.
Such a background might be rare elsewhere, but in Gotham City, even Batman wouldn't find it unusual. The life trajectory had been meticulously arranged, yet Hong Fei still instructed Arthur to constantly patch any potential loopholes that might raise suspicion. This identity portrayed a young man who had left Gotham City in anger, disillusioned by its grim reality.
With a sharp mind, relentless study habits, and a positive attitude, he had joined the police force after graduation, hoping to gain enough experience in the outside world before returning to Gotham City to cleanse its darkness and restore order. It was an inspiring narrative.
Growing up in an orphanage and losing many friends in a car accident had left him with a lonely heart beneath his sunny exterior. This background explained why he often resorted to borderline methods when dealing with criminals—methods like violence. And violence was essential. DC couldn't function without it, just as the 3D section couldn't exist without Tifa.
If Hong Fei tried to achieve his goals purely through intellect and planning, he'd have to contend with a slew of psychologically twisted yet brilliant villains, not to mention Batman—a man who was both incredibly intelligent and deeply paranoid. That level of mental gymnastics was too exhausting; Hong Fei had no desire to go bald, nor did he believe he was necessarily smarter than them.
As a police officer, violence could flirt with the edge but couldn't cross it entirely. Otherwise, it would give others ammunition to target him, potentially ruining his carefully constructed identity. To break those boundaries, he needed someone else—a major criminal, a formidable villain, someone truly evil.
Narcissistic? Crazy? Perverted? Paranoid? Any of those traits would work. The key was power—the ability to cast aside the shackles of order and rules, using the simplest, most direct methods to shatter the status quo.
Two identities, two benefits, each offering distinct analytical perspectives. First: Police, White, responsible for solving problems, focused on doing good deeds and improving physical fitness. Villain, Black, responsible for eliminating those who create problems, focused on doing bad deeds and increasing physical energy.
Walking the line between black and white allowed him to see all facets of the world, helping him confront his heart and power directly. It was like unlocking Odin's seal head-on. Continuing to perform good or bad deeds would gradually unlock the seal from the side.
Second: Villain, Black, responsible for creating problems for Officer Hong while simultaneously gathering underworld forces, expanding from New York to surrounding areas, and gradually infiltrating Gotham City, Metropolis, Central City, and Star City.
Police, White, responsible for solving the problems created by Villain Hong while quickly building a reputation, gaining public support, and climbing the official ranks. The former created a resume for the latter's rise; the latter provided operational assistance for the former. The two identities complemented each other, progressed together, and achieved mutual success. In summary: a win-win. One person winning twice was still a win-win.
Early momentum was everything. Once the seal started lifting—even just ten percent—Master Hong could take flight immediately. With the Dragon Dimension unlocked, he could launch Gotham City skyward if needed. Unlike typical villains who left clues or taunted Batman beforehand, Hong Fei operated differently.
He'd enter Gotham, retrieve the nuke, exit the city, then detonate it. Simple. Clean. Batman wouldn't even know him—how could the Dark Knight possibly anticipate some random newcomer arriving empty-handed only to drop a nuclear surprise?
"Are you from Gotham?" The question snapped Hong Fei from his thoughts. He glanced up at Old Martin, who'd propped himself up with a wry smile.
"Yeah."
"Then you're smarter than you look."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Old Martin chuckled darkly, tapping his casted leg.
"Choosing not to be a Gotham cop? Smartest decision you never made."
Hong Fei studied the old man.
"You worked there?"
"Damn right. Went from beat cop to detective."
Martin tilted his head back with a prideful smirk.
"Was way better looking than you too."
Hong Fei gave him another once-over. That's just rude. The man had maybe ten hairs left on his speckled scalp, wrinkles deep enough to plant crops in, and a bulbous nose permanently flushed red. His neck disappeared into what could only be described as a triple-chin fortress.
"Still remember it clear as yesterday," Martin continued, eyes glazing over. "Had my sergeant's promotion letter waiting on my desk. Got the call while wrapping up a drug bust."
His neck craned upward before flopping back against the chair.
"Felt like I was on top of the world. Newly married, kid on the way, career taking off. Had to force myself to stay professional during the op."
He rubbed his knee absently.
"Everything went smooth at first. Breached their defenses easy. Sure, they spotted us coming, but they were cornered rats by then. Then..."
Martin's voice hitched unexpectedly. Hong Fei's eyebrows lifted.
"You know about superheroes?"
Martin changed subjects abruptly.
"Superman."
"Yeah, yeah, big blue boyscout. Not who I meant. The one in Gotham."
"Batman?"
"Bingo!"
Martin slammed the armrest hard enough to make the metal ring.
"That's the bastard! See, back in my day, we didn't have to worry about some flying rodent crashing our ops. Cops just watched for perps, partners, and maybe stray civilians—who'd run from gunfire anyway."
Hong Fei thought: Here we go.
"We had those dealers pinned in an old factory," Martin continued, hands shaping the memory. "Every exit covered. They had firepower, but so did we—made damn sure of that. Even if they sprouted wings, they weren't escaping."
His laugh came out hollow.
"Then guess what? Right as they're about to surrender, some winged freak actually drops through the damn ceiling."
The old cop's chuckle sounded like wind through a graveyard.
"Dives straight into the firefight with gear that made our arsenal look like water pistols. The guy could punch through a concrete wall with one shot. One swing of his fist and a load-bearing column crumpled like cardboard. We all froze in shock. That's when I noticed something was wrong—I yelled for my team to pull back. Too late. The whole factory came down on us. Three of my partners and me... we didn't make it out clean."
"They got lucky. Buried under rubble, but only minor injuries. Me? My leg snapped like a twig. Woke up to find it gone completely. Later heard it got pulverized into hamburger meat. And just like that, my promotion went up in smoke. Worse—since the mission went sideways under my watch, guess who took the fall?"
His voice flattened by the end, like he was reading a grocery list about someone else's life. Hong Fei's eyes narrowed.
"Was that Batman's first appearance?"
Old Martin shook his head. He yanked open a drawer and slammed a black metal object on the table.
"Don't know if it was his first time, but I'd never seen hide nor hair of any Batman before that day. Never seen one of these either."
He tapped the Batarang with a nicotine-stained finger. Hong Fei studied the weapon with clinical interest.
"You catching my drift, kid?"
Hong Fei had pieced it together, but shook his head anyway. Old Martin heaved himself up on his good leg, the prosthetic clicking against the floorboards.
"Keeping the peace? Catching bad guys? That's police work. Anyone else sticking their nose in? Unacceptable. Causes more problems than it solves."
His voice turned razor sharp.
"You wanna play hero? Fine. But start making messes while showing off? Then you're no better than the scum we lock up!"
He smacked the Batarang down so hard the table shook, veins standing out on his forehead.
"I know they're stronger than us. Especially freaks like Superman."
Spittle flew as his voice rose.
"Think they're protecting the world? Their very existence spits in the face of law and order! Forget intentions—people like that? A normal world wouldn't tolerate them!"
Hong Fei couldn't argue that last point. Then again, this world stopped being normal a long time ago.
"I don't question their motives. But I'll die fighting their vigilante bullshit. Problem is..."
His shoulders slumped.
"World's changed. People eat that superhero crap up now. Even cops."
He fixed Hong Fei with a bloodshot stare.
"What about you?"
"No obsession here. No strong feelings either."
Hong Fei meant it. If anything, he found villains more interesting.
"Good. Remember you're a cop. Next time you're on a scene and some cape shows up..."
"Should I shoot on sight?"
"Christ, no! Holster your weapon and get the hell out of Dodge. Where those costumed freaks go? Disaster follows like dogshit on your shoe."
Hong Fei almost smiled. Pretty narrow view, old timer. Sometimes disaster comes first, then the heroes show up to mop it. Not that he'd say that out loud—having been a "hero" himself once, he knew how that sounded.
Their eyes locked. Every ounce of pain and conflict Martin had buried for decades surfaced at once—the look of a man who'd beaten his conscience into submission because changing anything was impossible, but walking away even more so.
Something twisted in Hong Fei's chest. Ordinary people and supers might as well be different species.
The information ordinary people can access is limited; their blind spots breed narrow perspectives, but those perspectives represent everything they've fought to understand. If he'd stayed normal, would his worldview really be any broader? Or was this "big picture" thinking just another excuse to dodge responsibility?
Hong Fei paused, surprised by his own thoughts. Before, he wouldn't have considered such things. He'd never have taken the time to speak with someone like Old Martin, nor would the old man have shared these insights with him. The room fell silent. Finally, Hong Fei broke the quiet.
"Do you hate him?"
"I don't hate him," Old Martin replied, his tone steady. "Just like I don't hate the criminals I arrest."
The door creaked open, and Joe's head popped in. His face lit up at the sight of Hong Fei, eyes bright with genuine delight.
"Knew I'd find you here. Come on, your assignment's been sorted!"
Hong Fei rose to his feet. Old Martin called out, "Joe, where'd they place him?"
"Sergeant Neil took a real shine to him," Joe said, grinning. "Came to me personally to ask about Hong, afraid someone else might snatch him up."
Old Martin chuckled, running a hand through his thinning hair as he glanced at Hong Fei.
"Kid, you've got luck on your side." Hong Fei offered a modest smile.
"Thank you."
Old Martin turned back to the equipment locker.
"Go on. I'll get your gear ready. Don't forget to come back for it later."
As they left the equipment room, Joe's excitement was palpable.
"Hong, Old Martin's right—you are lucky. Sergeant Neil's the best officer in the district. His team's case clearance rate is through the roof. Rumor has it he turned down a promotion years ago because he loves being on the front lines."
Hong Fei nodded, thinking to himself. Either the sergeant was a mystery enthusiast, or he had another motive entirely. Joe leaned in, lowering his voice.
"Hong, let me tell you something—he really values you. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn't let anyone else take you either."
"Why's that?" Hong Fei asked.
"Because you're educated!"
Joe blurted, then quickly lowered his voice again.
"You know most people here only have a high school diploma? A college degree practically guarantees a promotion, and master's degrees are even rarer. Young folks like you usually don't bother with police work—and if they do, they aim for better departments. So, what were you thinking?"
Hong Fei smiled. "For justice."
Joe blinked, his expression shifting to something approaching reverence. He actually bought it? Hong Fei stifled a laugh inwardly. Had the 'Deceive Time and Crowd' skill card truly fused with him?
Soon, they arrived outside an office. Joe stepped forward and knocked. A deep voice called from within, "Come in."
Joe turned to Hong Fei, grinning.
"Good luck!"
He pushed the door open and stepped aside, letting Hong Fei enter.
Behind a square desk sat a portly middle-aged man, engrossed in a mirror. He stroked his yellow mustache with satisfaction, then tweaked his matching eyebrows, his grin widening as the flesh beneath his uniform jiggled. Forget the muscle-bound cops from movies—most of the officers Hong Fei had seen in the precinct were stout and fleshy.
Hong Fei approached the desk. Sergeant Neil set the mirror down, his smile unwavering.
"Hong?"
"That's me."
"Why become a police officer?" Neil asked, leaning forward slightly. A test of convictions, or a probe into his motives? Hong Fei didn't hesitate.
"To gain experience."
Neil hummed thoughtfully, tapping the resume on his desk.
"You're from Gotham. You have a high level of education but gave up many existing job offers to apply to be a Police Officer, choosing a basic department. I bet you have some ideas about the situation in Gotham, don't you, orphan of Gotham?"
Hong Fei kept his expression neutral.
"The current state of Gotham is different from any other city."
"Correct," Neil said, his grin widening.
"Gotham isn't New York. What works in Queens might not even fly in Manhattan. But you're smart enough to see that, and I'm impressed." Sergeant Neil's smile stretched wide across his round face, though it carried an odd, unsettling charm.
Hong Fei stayed silent, and Neil went on.
"My team needs someone sharp in psychology. Someone who can handle the loudmouths with brains instead of brawn. That's where your education comes in. From now on, you're one of mine."
"Yes, Officer."
A team with a high closure rate and a boss more interested in solving cases than climbing the ladder? It sounded like a good fit.
"Since you're not gunning for a promotion, leave that nonsense to me."
Neil's grin deepened.
"But you're still on probation. You'll start with patrol duty. I'm pairing you up with someone who'll evaluate your performance daily. If you don't cut it, you're out. Simple as that. Of course, given your background, I won't just dump you. I'll make sure you land somewhere decent."
"Thank you."
Neil picked up the phone.
"Send her in."
A knock sounded moments later, and the white officer Hong Fei had met twice before stepped in. Their eyes met. Hong Fei offered a polite nod and a faint smile. The woman's eyebrows flicked upward.
"Hong… uh, Fei. Cora, you can just call him Hong. He's your new partner."
Cora stood with her hands clasped behind her back, chin tilted defiantly.
"Officer, I refuse!"
Neil's lips curled, as if he'd seen this coming. His tone was resigned but firm.
"Cora, this isn't a request. It's an order."
Her brow furrowed instantly. She locked eyes with Neil.
"Officer, I want to investigate cases."
"Cases will always be there. You can investigate while on patrol."
"I haven't patrolled in three years."
"Then it's time to relearn."
"But—"
"Hmm?"
Cora bit her lip, finally relenting under Neil's steady gaze.
"Yes, Officer!"
Neil's smile bloomed.
"Take him to get his gear, then get to work."
Cora spun on her heel and marched out. Hong Fei followed, his eyes lingering on her slender waist and confident stride. She seemed like someone who valued substance over appearance—otherwise, why would she favor a middle-aged man like Neil?
The way they spoke, the glances they exchanged, it all hinted at something more between them. If Neil had married young, his daughter might've been Cora's age.
Back in the equipment room, Old Martin had already laid out Hong Fei's gear: a Glock pistol, two 9mm magazines, a Taser, a collapsible baton, handcuffs, and pepper spray. Hong Fei signed off and began attaching each piece to his duty belt. Cora glanced over.
"Knife, water bottle, first-aid kit, cut-resistant gloves."
Old Martin frowned.
"No one bothers with that stuff."
Cora shrugged.
"Better to have it and not need it."
Old Martin looked at Hong Fei, who nodded. Moments later, the four additional items were added, leaving his belt fully loaded.
He adjusted it, feeling the weight.
"It'll be heavy," Cora said coolly. "But every piece could save your life."
Hong Fei glanced at her belt, noticeably lighter.
"After you've been on the job for four years, you'll know what you can live without. Like me."
With that, she turned and left. Hong Fei thanked Old Martin before catching up. Together, they navigated the precinct, completing paperwork and procedures. Finally, Cora snatched a brand-new car key from logistics after a heated argument over the duty roster.
"To hell with them, trying to pawn off some old junk on me. Pfft!"
Cora spat the words with venom. Was she the kind of foul-mouthed idiot Sergeant Neil had warned Hong Fei about? She tossed the car keys at him with a flick of her wrist.
"Wait for me in the parking lot."
Hong Fei found the patrol car without much trouble—a sleek, brand-new Ford, its black finish gleaming under the fluorescent lights, white lettering crisp against the dark. He slid into the driver's seat and cranked the radio, letting the static hum fill the silence.
He lowered his head and tapped on his phone, finally stopping on a webpage. The headline glared back at him: Superman Battles Alien Visitors, Gotham Severely Damaged. The timestamp read one month ago.