Gotham... is a page of black paper.
It is the white words you wrote on the black paper, the path you have been pursuing and falling.
It is like the first sentence of the last story in your life.
— "Batman: Gotham Impressions"
"Zizi... Gotham Gazette brings you the latest news... The tense standoff between the Ventriloquist and the police at the Gotham Evidence Bureau has lasted for three hours. Experts believe..."
"...This is completely the attraction between freaks... The Arkham prison break incident a few days ago... Because Batman, you know, he attracts those..."
"So far, Batman has not arrived at the scene. Now the question arises: where is he? And what exactly is the police department doing? Is the Gotham City Police Department incompetent—wait, there is a new development. It's Batman! He's here!"
Gotham City was rainy in June, but the square in front of the Gotham Evidence Bureau was noisier than usual.
Before Bruce's Batmobile came to a complete stop, a large group of reporters gathered around like flies to rotting meat.
Braving the drizzle, they pushed past the protesters holding signs that said "We don't want Batman" and the baton-wielding police trying to maintain order.
The camera flashes kept going off.
"Batman, may I ask what you think about the recent rumors in Gotham that you were killed by Bane..."
"...Regarding the challenge issued by the Ventriloquist, do you have any..."
"...Batman, why did you openly—"
"You freak! It's all your fault! That lunatic inside, don't you get it? You attracted—"
"...Catch him, catch him!"
The protesters who tried to attack the Batmobile were quickly restrained, but Bruce Wayne turned a deaf ear to them.
In the chaos, facing those gazes of admiration, indifference, or disgust, he opened the sliding roof of the Batmobile and inhaled the first breath of humid air on the rainy night.
Huh—
He was a little nervous for the first time in a long time.
As an actor in his previous life, he should have been used to being under the spotlight.
But... today was different.
The lonely soul sighed. It was one thing to travel to the DC Universe—as a superfan of DC comics, he had been confident he could still live a decent life. But he never expected to wake up as the head of the most famous vigilante: Bruce Wayne himself...
What happened to the powerful allies he was supposed to cling to? What's the deal with becoming the powerful ally?
As everyone knows, Batman—despite being the only one without superpowers among the seven giants of the Justice League—is probably the strongest pure-blooded human on Earth.
He's rich, smart, wise, a master of combat, and has a will of steel. He punches Darkseid and kicks the Justice League. He's so badass it's indescribable.
But—what does any of that have to do with him, the traveler?
He has none of the will, none of the skills, only the memories. Sigh.
The situation is bad. Very bad.
Oh, and by the way, Batman is an orphan—and he was also an orphan in his previous life. That may be the only thing they have in common. The original body with dead parents plus the traveler with dead parents... the double-orphan combo is just so cool.
What's even worse is that being dropped into Batman's life was already hard mode—but the timeline? He arrived during "Batman: Knightfall", just as the Dark Knight is about to suffer one of the rare total defeats of his career—his spine broken by Bane!
This isn't hard mode anymore. This is hell mode.
He even thought about abandoning everything and leaving Gotham—but quickly gave up that stupid idea.
Bane knows Batman's true identity. Fleeing would be suicide.
Once Bane defeats him and takes over the city, maybe—no, definitely—he'd be dead. Even if he miraculously survived, he'd be stuck in a wheelchair for life...
His eyes glanced at the lower-left corner of his vision and saw a line of silver-white text only he could see:
[The Alfred Protocol is taking effect]
[Warning! You need at least one anchoring prop to synchronize with parallel Batman's memory!]
Damn it. Other people enter the Batcave, sign in, get platinum kryptonite, swallow it whole, and become Superman... or reincarnate as a child with a cheat system and safety net.
All he got was a system too afraid to even reveal itself.
Three days after arriving, he even tried the toilet paper in the Batcave—nothing. Not even a reaction.
Batman had knowledge of the Alfred Protocol, but in the comics, it was a mechanical device used to protect against memory tampering—not this weird HUD text appearing on his retina!
"Batman!"
A shout interrupted Bruce's thoughts. He turned and saw Jim Gordon, chief of the Gotham City Police Department, rushing toward him.
He had two heavy dark circles under his eyes, and his brown-gray-streaked hair was soaked and matted to his forehead, making him look both exhausted and on edge—like a groundhog driven to the brink of a mental breakdown.
"Oh my God! Batman! You're here. It's hard to believe you're still alive. I thought that punch from Bane killed you. Are you really the Bat? Not the Joker who picked up the suit off a corpse and is playing some twisted cosplay with me here?"
"The boring guessing game ends here," Batman replied. "Don't be fooled by rumors."
He immediately caught the hint of suspicion in Gordon's joke and shut it down.
Yes, the body was real. But the soul... wasn't.
Don't let them find out. Gotham is full of detectives.
He sighed inwardly. These people are hard to deal with.
Without Batman's soul—his will, skills, and instincts—everything now depends on him.
He turned his eyes to the Gotham Evidence Bureau, looming in the rain.
This was the plan.
As a superfan of DC comics, he knew the Batman mythos inside out. He knew all the villains.
With his acting skills and his background as a psychologist, maybe—just maybe—he could manipulate and psychologically control some of the weaker, less stable villains...
Use them as pawns to take down Bane.
Bruce looked at Gordon and cut to the chase.
"Did you bring what I asked for?"
"Oh, of course."
Gordon's eyes drifted away from his face as he raised an evidence bag. Inside was a hideous puppet with a scar across its face.
Scarface—the Ventriloquist's favorite puppet.
"Good. Give it to me."
Gordon hesitated, but eventually handed over the evidence bag—much to Bruce's relief.
He paused, then explained:
"The source of the rumor—that Batman was killed by Bane—wasn't me. It was my disciple. The Angel of Death."
"Yeah, right. Sure."
Gordon was smart enough not to press the topic.
Batman gave him a long look.
"We'll talk more later."
He pulled a large satchel from the back of the Batmobile, held Scarface in one hand, and walked toward the door of the Evidence Bureau under the gaze of the crowd.
"Huh..."
He whispered, barely audible:
Ladies and gentlemen...
The props are ready. The actors are in place.
Please allow me the honor to announce that the performance...
begins.