Arthur kept his head down as he walked. Every time a car drove past, he pulled the hood of his new sweatshirt tighter. He wasn't used to the weight of the air on his skin.
The city felt different now. In the show, New York was just a background for fight scenes. Now, he could smell the hot dogs from the street carts.
He could hear the distant rumble of the subway beneath his feet. It was all so vivid. It was almost too much for his senses.
He eventually found a neighborhood that looked like it had seen better days. The streetlights flickered with a tired hum.
A neon sign buzzed above a narrow doorway. It read 'The Sunset Lodge' in cracked, flickering glass.
He walked inside. The lobby was tiny and smelled like lemon bleach and stale tobacco. A man sat behind a thick pane of plexiglass. He was reading a tabloid and didn't even look up when Arthur approached.
"I need a room for the night," Arthur said.
His voice was a bit shaky. He hated talking to strangers. Even with the power to crush a car, his social anxiety felt like a physical weight in his chest.
The man flipped a page. "Sixty bucks. No visitors. No loud music. Check out is at ten."
"Do you need ID?" Arthur asked, holding his breath.
The man finally looked up. He took in Arthur's hooded figure and the cheap blue mask peeking out from the pocket. He didn't seem to care. He had probably seen much weirder things in this city.
"Cash up front and I don't care if you're the Easter Bunny. Just don't bleed on the sheets."
Arthur counted out sixty dollars from the crumpled bills he took from the muggers. He pushed the money through the slot. The man slid a heavy brass key back to him.
"Room 2B. Upstairs."
Arthur took the key and hurried away. He felt like he had just finished a boss fight. His palms were sweaty. It was pathetic, really. He could survive a punch from a Viltrumite, but a bored motel clerk made him want to bolt.
The room was small. The wallpaper was peeling at the corners. The bed had a thin, scratchy quilt that looked like it hadn't been washed since the nineties.
He locked the door and finally pulled off the heavy black hoodie. He sat on the edge of the bed and let out a long breath.
"System," he whispered.
The blue screen flickered to life. It felt like a familiar friend now.
[God Tier System: Status Window]
[Host: Arthur Sterling]
[Race: Viltrumite (Incomplete)]
[Level: 1]
[Stats:]
[Strength: 16]
[Dexterity: 9]
[Constitution: 3]
[Intelligence: 3]
[Wisdom: 3]
[Superpowers:]
[Flight (Basic)]
[Super Strength (Basic)]
[Inventory: 1 Random Skill Crate]
'Right. The crate!'
He remembered getting it after he first explored the area. He hadn't had a chance to look at it during the fight in the alley. He focused his mind on the item in the window.
"Open the Random Skill Crate!"
The blue screen glowed brighter. A small animation of a wooden chest appeared. It shook for a moment before bursting into particles of light. A new notification popped up, accompanied by a soft, melodic chime.
[Ding! You have opened a Random Skill Crate.]
[New Superpower Unlocked: Kinetic Redirection (Minor)]
[Kinetic Redirection (Minor): Your body can now absorb a small portion of the physical force from incoming attacks and vent it through your next strike. This increases your durability against blunt force and boosts your counter-attacks.]
Arthur stared at the description. He felt a strange tingle under his skin. It was like a faint static shock running through his veins.
'That's actually huge. If someone punches me, I can just hit them back twice as hard? It's like a built-in countermove!'
He stood up and gave the air a quick experimental punch. He didn't feel any different yet, but he knew the power was there. It wasn't flashy like laser eyes, but it was practical.
In a world where people could fly through buildings, he needed every bit of defense he could get.
He turned on the small, bulky television sitting on the dresser. He needed to see if the world was reacting to him yet. He flipped through the channels until he hit a local news station.
A reporter stood in front of the very alleyway he had been in an hour ago. Yellow police tape blocked off the entrance.
"Tragedy struck this evening in Lower Manhattan," the reporter said. Her face was grim.
"Three men were found dead in what police are calling an act of extreme vigilante violence. While the victims were known associates of local gangs, the brutality of their deaths has sent shockwaves through the community."
Arthur's heart sank. He watched as the camera panned to a man sitting on the back of an ambulance. It was the old man. The one Arthur had saved.
The old man was shaking. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. A reporter held a microphone to his face.
"Sir, can you tell us what happened? Did a hero save you?"
The old man looked into the camera. His eyes were filled with pure horror.
"It wasn't a hero," the old man stammered. "It was a monster. He didn't even talk to them. He just... he broke them. I saw his eyes behind that mask. He didn't care. He killed them like they were bugs. He's dangerous. Please, if you see that man in the white suit, stay away from him."
Arthur stared at the screen. He felt a sharp pang in his chest. He had literally saved that man's life. If he hadn't stepped in, the old man would be dead.
"I saved you, you ungrateful fucker," Arthur muttered.
He felt a flash of anger, but it was quickly replaced by a cold realization.
'The GDA is definitely going to be looking for me now.'
He thought about Cecil Stedman. The man with the scarred face and the teleporting office.
Cecil was the smartest guy in the world when it came to tracking down supers. If Arthur started making a name for himself as a "killer hero," Cecil would drop a nuke on his head or send a Reaniman to kidnap him.
'I can't build a reputation yet. Not like this.'
He sat back on the bed, leaning his head against the wall. He needed money. He needed a real place to live and a way to buy food that didn't involve mugging muggers.
But he wasn't strong enough to handle the government yet. He wasn't even strong enough to fly properly.
He closed his eyes and thought about Mark Grayson. And Nolan.
He had watched every episode. He had read the comics. He was a massive fan of them. He wanted to meet Mark. He wanted to tell him that he wasn't alone.
He wanted to be the friend Mark needed when everything eventually went to hell.
'I have to get stronger first. I have to level up until I can stand next to Omni-Man without flinching.'
He looked at the system screen one last time before closing it. He had a long way to go.
He pulled the scratchy quilt over himself and tried to sleep. The sound of sirens in the distance.