**Chapter 1: Awakening in Gotham** 3,806 word count
Ethan Cross woke with a start, the cold, hard ground pressing against his back. The stench of rot, oil, and something distinctly Gotham filled his lungs. He bolted upright, his head pounding as if he'd just taken a brick to the skull. His last memory? A normal night—food, games, bed. And then... nothing. Now he was here, in an alley that looked ripped straight from a comic book panel.
Except it wasn't fiction.
Rain drizzled down from the overcast sky, soaking through his thin clothes. That was when he noticed something off. His body—stronger, denser, more powerful. His veins thrummed with an unfamiliar energy. And then, as he clenched his fists, a rush of knowledge hit him.
His ability.
He reached for the trash around him instinctively. A broken pocket knife. A bent steel pipe. The moment his fingers touched both—a pulse of energy surged through him.
The objects melded together in a dull flash, twisting and reforming into a crude but deadly-looking spear with a jagged, serrated edge. His breath hitched.
"No way..."
Before he could process the insanity of what just happened, distant footsteps echoed from the alley's entrance. Voices—gruff, dangerous.
"Told ya I saw some punk crash out here. Bet he's got something valuable."
Gotham thugs. Because of course it had to be Gotham.
Ethan gripped his newly created weapon, his enhanced muscles tensing. If this was real, then he had two choices: fight or run.
He chose to fight.
The first thug barely had time to react before Ethan launched himself forward, his new strength turning his movements into a blur. His spear found its mark, striking the man in the gut. The impact sent him sprawling backward, clutching his abdomen with a strangled grunt of pain.
The second goon reached for a gun—too slow.
Ethan's body reacted like a well-trained warrior, his muscles coiling and releasing with unnatural speed. He pivoted, bringing his spear up in a brutal arc that cracked against the thug's wrist. The gun clattered to the ground, and with a swift, practiced motion, Ethan followed up with a strike to the side of the man's head. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he collapsed, unconscious before he hit the pavement.
The realization came too late for the last thug. Ethan twisted his spear and drove it into the man's shoulder, pinning him to the alley wall. The guy screamed, thrashing, and Ethan yanked his weapon free.
The gang scattered. He had won.
But instead of relief, Ethan felt something else.
Hunger.
Not for food, but for the next fusion. He needed to test more. To push further. His instincts screamed at him to experiment—to create.
And in Gotham, there was plenty of material.
Hours passed as he moved through the darkened streets, testing his ability on various objects he found discarded in alleyways. He fused scraps of metal into crude but deadly weapons, reinforced his shoes with steel plating, and even combined a shattered watch with a broken phone, creating a strange but functional device that displayed the time, weather, and some form of a tracking system.
His power was more than just merging items—it was crafting. And with it, he could survive.
By the time he had set up a hideout in an abandoned subway station, he had already begun piecing together an arsenal. Low-level thugs, info brokers, even whispers of the Penguin's men were already looking for him.
Then came the first real test.
A figure in black dropped down from the shadows of a rooftop. A cape billowed in the wind. Eyes, like twin white voids, locked onto Ethan.
Batman.
Ethan swallowed hard, his grip tightening around a newly fused gauntlet—a mix of a brass knuckle and a shock baton.
This was either the best thing to happen to him… or the worst.
To be continued…