A slowing train thundered over the rails, sparks flying as the shrill screech pierced through concrete.
The entire room trembled. Fine dust drifted in the moonlight, rising and falling like mist.
William's sleep had been restless. His head throbbed, his mouth was dry, and the mattress beneath him seemed possessed—like an unruly child kicking wildly in the back seat of a train, jabbing at his spine.
Rubbing his bleary eyes, he reached toward the bedside table.
The spot where a glass of water should have been was empty. His fingertips brushed against a layer of dust.
He reached farther.
This time, he touched something.
Cold and hard. Definitely not a glass.
More like… a revolver.
A gun?
William's eyes snapped open. Using the moonlight, he examined the room.
A cramped space of barely ten square meters. The wooden floorboards creaked underfoot. Tattered curtains fluttered like burial shrouds, the wind pushing them aside through torn holes. Outside, a blade-thin crescent moon hid behind dark clouds, while blackened buildings stood in eerie silence.
Yet that distant quiet contrasted sharply with the roaring train overhead. One train passed, then another. The entire room groaned and shook, as if the noise itself might tear the structure apart at any moment.
William covered his ears, waiting for the noise to fade.
His gaze returned to the bedside.
There really was a revolver sitting there, resting atop a wrinkled newspaper.
"Sal Maroni Granted Parole"
That was the main headline.
A smaller article below reported the death of Freddie Mercury, lead singer of Queen.
William slowly crouched down, clutching his head, forcing himself to breathe deeply and steadily.
Winter, 1991. Gotham. Maroni…
Putting those pieces together, the conclusion was obvious.
Slap!
He pinched his thigh hard, then slapped himself twice, trying to wake from what felt like an absurd dream.
It didn't work.
What the hell is this?
Strange things didn't stop at transmigration. He somehow changed, literally, and even his height and physique had changed.
Strangely enough, everything felt perfectly normal to him.
He bent down nervously and peeked under the bed, then searched the entire room thoroughly.
Fortunately, there were no plastic-wrapped corpses.
No bundles of drugs.
No illegal firearms.
That was good news. At least his predecessor hadn't been some villain destined to be taken down by Batman.
But there was another problem.
The guy was broke. Completely broke.
A worn-out wallet with peeling leather.
Inside, a single five-cent coin lay in the compartment—the last stubborn proof of poverty.
He opened the wallet again, hoping he'd missed something.
No luck.
Still, there were items that proved his identity.
A shield-shaped brass badge had been tucked into the wallet's side pocket. The emblem bore the image of an owl staring sideways, with four capital letters beneath it:
GCPD – Gotham City Police Department.
William pulled out the ID behind the badge and walked into the bathroom.
The man in the mirror had bandages wrapped around his head, unshaven stubble, and deep eye sockets—but it was clearly the same person as the photo.
At last, he understood.
William Hans. Rookie officer, Gotham City Police Department.
Coincidentally similar to his original name. Judging from the poor living conditions, this version of him hadn't yet gotten involved with Gotham's criminal underworld.
Then suddenly—
A line of red text floated into his vision, as if someone were typing it out on a typewriter.
[Romance System has been activated. I am your AI assistant, Little A.]
William wasn't surprised. If you got isekai'd into Gotham, you should at least get some form of compensation.
But…
This system's name sounded suspiciously like a borderline dating sim.
Or more bluntly—
Like an adult romance game.
The red text continued scrolling.
[Welcome to the virtual open city "Novis." I will now guide you through the tutorial. Please follow the arrow and exit the room.]
Virtual city?
Wasn't this Gotham?
Wrong system?
His suspicion was immediately confirmed.
A dotted arrow appeared at his feet—pointing directly at the bathroom wall.
[Please don't hesitate. Proceed toward this door.]
Sensing William's hesitation, the system added encouragement.
[Follow the guidance. There is absolutely no danger ahead.]
More pop-ups appeared, one after another, filling his vision like frozen error windows.
William cursed under his breath.
If he wanted peace, he'd have to break through that wall.
He glanced around, then noticed a pile of renovation materials near the bathtub.
...
Moonlight streamed through the window, casting a busy silhouette onto the mottled wall.
Blood seeped into the floorboards, bubbling between the cracks. Sneakers stepped through the bloodstains, dragging behind them a naked male corpse with wide-open eyes.
The man struggled to lift the body into the bathtub, leaning against the wall, gasping for breath. After a moment, he shakily pulled out a crumpled cigarette.
"This is all your fault… If you'd just given me the money… things wouldn't have turned out like this… damn it… damn it!!!"
He smoked while banging the back of his head against the wall, alternating between sobbing and hysterical laughter.
Thud.
A dull knocking sound interrupted him.
He pressed his ear against the wall.
The noise came from next door.
Like someone smashing the wall with a hammer—harder and more frantic each time.
BOOM!
The wall suddenly exploded inward.
Dust filled the air as William lowered the sledgehammer, coughing twice.
He didn't know why there was a hammer in the bathroom—but why not use the tool handed to him?
As for disturbing the neighbors?
He didn't have time to worry about that.
[Wow! You bravely knocked on your neighbor's door. Try greeting Miss Venice!]
[Age: 23, Lives Alone, Occupation: Restaurant Garnish Artist, Likes Classical Music and Opera, Difficulty: One Star]
However…
The image attached to the profile showed a young white man wearing a backward baseball cap, covered in neck tattoos, glaring fiercely.
William closed the prompt.
But the same man stood in front of him—wearing that exact expression.
"...Hello?"
Before William could explain, the man lunged forward with a knife.
[Miss Venice is demonstrating her exquisite knife skills]
The system popped up at the worst possible time.
William was slammed against the wall.
He grabbed the attacker's wrist and yanked down the shower curtain.
"Calm down, Miss Venice, I can explain—"
"What the hell are you talking about, you bastard?!"
[Your distance with Miss Venice is rapidly decreasing. This is a perfect moment for a kiss]
The absurd prompt made William laugh—loosening his grip.
The man seized the chance and shoved him into the bathtub.
The knife tip hovered less than an inch from his eye.
William felt something beneath him—
A corpse.
Gray beard. Fresh blood. Skull caved in.
Just arrived in Gotham, and there was already a corpse and a murderer next door.
Gotham really was… full of talent.
William stopped holding back.
He punched the man's eye socket, grabbed his hair, slammed his head into the tub, then followed with a brutal punch to the cheekbone.
[You and Miss Venice are getting along wonderfully!]
[Wow! Miss Venice is blushing!]
[Amazing! You and Miss Venice embrace passionately!]
Ignoring the system's nonsense, William fought back fiercely.
The body's original owner had been a cop—once he committed, William quickly regained control and kicked the man off.
The attacker tried to rise, but William grabbed him and executed a shoulder throw.
[Miss Venice has lost her ability to resist under your passionate assault]
"Shut up!"
William pulled out the revolver and fired at the man's knee.
BANG!
The man collapsed, screaming in agony.
[Miss Venice has fallen for your charm. Tutorial complete. Reward: 10 Marking Beacons added to inventory]
William finally cleared the clutter of system notifications and kicked the knife away.
He stepped into the living room and called the police.
"There's a homicide suspect… subdued… Address? …Apartment under an overpass… I can see three tall buildings… might be Wayne Tower…"
While describing the location, he glanced up.
A photo on the cabinet caught his eye.
A father and son.
Arms around each other. Smiling.
The father now lay dead in the bathtub.
The son had just had his knee shattered.
...
Fifteen minutes later, police lights illuminated the old apartment building on Burleigh Street.
"Move aside! Don't crowd the crime scene! Pike, bring the tape!"
James Gordon pushed through the crowd, accompanied by Harvey Bullock and three officers.
3:00 AM calls were routine, especially in Gotham's East End, known locally as "Nightmare Row."
Sirens blared loudly.
Yes, it disturbed residents.
But it also warned criminals:
Stop dealing.
Hide the goods.
Put away the heavy weapons.
Gotham's crime could never be eradicated.
The police could only maintain an unspoken understanding:
Smuggling, drugs, extortion, even murder—
Could be overlooked.
As long as you didn't cross paths with a loaded gun.