Adam groggily opened his eyes, his vision still blurry. In front of him stood an old, grimy bathroom, clearly having seen better days. The cracked mirror, rusted pipes, and peeling tiles made the entire space feel like a crime scene. He blinked in confusion, clutching a worn, pirated Batman comic in one hand.
"Uh... where the hell am I?" he muttered, frowning deeply. Just two minutes ago, he'd been suffering from a bad stomachache and had rushed into the office restroom, comic in hand to pass the time. But now? The bustling tech startup office he worked at had vanished, replaced by this decrepit, unfamiliar nightmare of a lavatory.
"Don't tell me… the company went bankrupt?" Adam asked aloud, stunned. "If that's true, who's gonna pay off the thirty-two months I've racked up on my credit card? Am I screwed?"
Before he could fully panic, the door suddenly burst open with a crash, and a towering Black police officer charged in like a battering ram. He was built like a linebacker, muscular and intense, with a presence that screamed authority—or maybe chaos.
"Yo—what the hell?!" Adam stammered, pointing a trembling finger at the officer. Startled, he instinctively shielded himself. The man might have been wearing a badge, but Adam couldn't help the primal instinct to protect his body.
But then, surprisingly, the cop's face contorted with worry. He grabbed Adam by the shoulders and hissed, "Damn, Adam, are you high again? You snuck out while the boss was in the middle of a lecture! If he finds out you're slacking, I swear I'll toss you in Arkham myself!"
Adam froze. What?
Before he could say a word, the cop dragged him out of the bathroom like a sack of flour. "How many times have I told you," the cop continued ranting, "stop sneaking into the evidence locker and smoking that powder! That crap is trash. It's what the anti-narcotics squad grabs for cheap commissions—who knows what garbage those street gangs mix into it? The good stuff's already long gone."
Adam staggered beside him, trying to keep up, confusion etched across his face.
"And get this," the cop added, voice rising. "Last night, some freak in black tights went on a rampage—took down twelve of Falcone's boys and left them tied up like Christmas turkeys outside the precinct. You think the boss isn't gonna be pissed?"
A freak in black tights?
Adam's heart dropped. His mind began whirring as he looked around for the first time. The architecture was unmistakably Western—worn stone walls, faded portraits of old white men, the kind of bureaucratic decor you'd expect from a government building. Lightning flashed outside the window, illuminating gargoyle statues perched on gothic rooftops. Rain poured down in sheets, and thunder cracked like the world was being torn open.
This wasn't his world.
"…Did I just…transmigrate?" Adam's thoughts reeled. He'd read about it in novels—ordinary people suddenly thrust into fantastical worlds. Those lucky bastards always ended up as young masters, geniuses, or secret heirs to fortunes.
But what about him?
Wait, what had the officer said just now? Black tights? Falcone?
Adam's gaze darted to the comic still clutched in his hand, then back at the officer. He grabbed the man's sleeve, eyes wide. "Wait! That guy you mentioned—does he wear his underwear over his pants?!"
The cop raised an eyebrow, confused. He dug into his pocket, pulled out a few wrinkled documents, flipped through them, then looked back at Adam and laughed. "Hah! When did you start reading case files, man? Now that you say it… yeah, that mask does kinda look like boxers on his head. Damn, your intel's sharp. You pick up a new snitch or something? Respect!"
Adam wasn't laughing. He grabbed the man again, voice trembling. "Don't joke—just answer me. Is this city… called Gotham?"
There was a pause.
The officer looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "Yo, you serious right now? Look outside—stormy skies, old-ass buildings, and psychos in capes. This ain't Miami, brother. Welcome to Gotham City! Man, I knew taking you to Heart City to flirt with those girls was a bad idea…"
But Adam wasn't listening anymore. His stomach dropped. His comic book fantasies had become a reality—only it wasn't a dream. It was Gotham. The Gotham.
A city where the night never truly ends. Gothic towers loom like tombstones, shadows crawl like predators, and every alley hides some new nightmare. The most dangerous city in America. A playground for criminals. And worst of all… home to the Dark Knight himself.
His blood turned cold. How the hell had he ended up here?
Before he could unravel the mystery, the officer, clearly out of patience, gritted his teeth and dragged Adam down the hallway. "Move it! You're already in deep with the boss—don't make it worse."
The door to the police chief's office slammed open.
Adam was instantly hit by a wave of surreal contrast. From the hallway's peeling wallpaper and flickering lights, he stepped into an office that looked like it belonged in a luxury hotel. Polished mahogany furniture, a top-tier air conditioner humming quietly, plush leather seating, and the faint, expensive scent of cologne in the air.
Behind a massive desk sat a sharply dressed man in a sleek black suit. He looked more like a CEO than a cop—except for the vein bulging at his temple and the fury twisting his face.
"You bunch of idiots!" he roared. "You let reporters into my precinct?! Over thirty of them! How the hell do you expect me to clean this mess up? What's next—headlines reading: 'Gotham Police Chief Loeb Outsourced Law Enforcement to a Masked Nutjob'?"
Adam stiffened.
Loeb.
The name rang a bell. He'd read it before. Chief Loeb—corrupt, arrogant, and deeply entwined with Gotham's criminal underworld. Ironically, Loeb had once maintained Gotham's twisted form of order—so long as the gangs kept things quiet. Then came the "righteous era" under Commissioner Gordon… and the city descended into madness.
Adam smirked bitterly. At least Loeb kept the chaos contained. With Gordon, you got lunatics in clown makeup, citywide hostage situations, and families dying in the crossfire.
As Loeb continued screaming, Adam leaned against the wall, arms crossed, the absurdity of his situation sinking in.
He'd somehow survived a stomachache, a toilet, and a dimension shift… only to land in the most dangerous city in comic book history.
Lucky him.
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