He stood atop the rooftop of a skyscraper, gazing down at the sleepless city ablaze with lights. Neon blooms illuminated the night, tinting the dense steam billowing from the manhole covers along the streets.
It was an early spring night. The bustling metropolis was shrouded in pervasive smog, and a chilly wind carried the scent of industrial emissions and wastewater.
What he saw was a world built upon wealth, fame, and power—a kaleidoscope of dazzling lights and intoxicating revelry.
But in the distant darkness, beyond the reach of his sight—perhaps in dim alleys piled high with trash cans, perhaps in sewers where vagrants hid, or beneath overpasses where gangs gathered—lay a different reality.
Discarded guns and bodies strewn carelessly, eerie laughter and screams echoing in the darkness, dried black bloodstains—all constantly reminded newcomers that beneath this city's glamorous façade lurked boundless sin and madness. Anyone who underestimated it would be mercilessly swallowed whole.
Where was this place? Perhaps by quietly listening to the residents' descriptions, one could guess.
The city's inhabitants liked to use the names of familiar villains to describe it.
Some said it was like Killer Croc, always devouring people suddenly in the dark, leaving not even a bone fragment behind. Maybe just a splash or a ripple, but no one would care.
Some said it was like Two-Face, its ruthless choices spinning endlessly between good and evil, order and chaos. Fate was like a coin, constantly tossed and landing, leaving people helpless.
Some said it was like Scarecrow, turning any sweet dream into a nightmare, digging out one's deepest fears until madness set in, leaving them drooling and wandering the streets.
Some said it was like The Joker, because this city—it's just insane! Ha ha, ha, hahahaha!
Of course, there's a good chance that in the next moment, this citizen would suddenly lunge, stabbing a pencil or fork into an outsider's eye, then widen their innocent eyes, stretch their neck, and curiously ask the convulsing corpse:
"Why so serious?"
As a stranger from another world, he didn't need to ask any resident. He only had to look up at the bright beam piercing the night sky, casting a bat-shaped signal onto the clouds, to know where he was.
"Gotham..."
He murmured.
In the next moment, a sudden downpour engulfed his figure.
The gray rainwater, with a faint acidic smell, obscured everything he had seen and heard before, covering all sins. Only the sound of the pouring rain could be heard, and a chill that came from deep within could be felt.
But this coldness didn't come from the rain. He was fully armed; both his head and body were covered in finely crafted metal armor.
A full-face helmet, his body wrapped in tight chainmail from the neck down. His chest, shoulders, and limbs were further protected by additional armor-like guards. All of this told him that at this moment, he was no longer an ordinary person.
He used to be an ordinary guy, living an unremarkable, simple life.
Working as a night warehouse manager—which was basically a security guard. He wasn't the tall and strong type that looked intimidating, but he was young and had some youthful courage.
"The process... How did I get here? I don't remember."
He reached out, trying to touch his forehead, but the thick tactical gloves completely blocked any sensation of the helmet's touch and temperature.
Indeed, as a young man, he'd seen plenty of stories about people being transported to other worlds in various media.
In novels, he'd seen characters transported because of exploding computers, choking while eating, getting hit by a car while saving someone crossing the street, or even falling into a toilet. But what about him?
He gazed into the distance through the curtain of rain, trying hard to divert his attention from the Bat-Signal, staring blankly at the dark clouds on the horizon, straining to recall.
Countless neon lights on skyscrapers became blurred in the rain and mist; everything felt so unreal.
He only remembered returning home from work, dealing with a call from a middle school classmate inviting him to a wedding.
Then... playing on the computer for a while? His old laptop would make a tractor-like noise when powered on.
Yes, he loved those fantasy worlds; they allowed him to momentarily forget the monotony of real life.
In his memory, there were no explosions, no strange lights or sounds. He just felt a blur, and he was here, standing on the rooftop of Wayne Tower, the tallest building in Gotham City, inexplicably enjoying the night breeze.
He had stood dumbfounded in this eerie place for five minutes. After gradually accepting this fact, he fell into confusion.
As for who he was, he realized upon recognizing he had arrived in the DC Universe. Night shifts were boring; he'd read many novels and later became fascinated with American comics.
Even as a small security guard, he'd heard other young people at work talk about how "Avengers 2 was great," or "Guardians of the Galaxy was fun," and female colleagues saying things like "Steve and Bucky are canon, Tony is the third wheel."
He didn't understand at first.
To have common topics and get along with colleagues, he first caught up on movies on his broken computer and thought they were good—American blockbusters were exciting.
Then he took advantage of the company's Wi-Fi during work to catch up on some comics. Although he was a newbie who couldn't tell Marvel from DC at first, after reading more, he even remembered the names and abilities of hundreds of heroes and villains, as well as the major storylines they were involved in.
Even though he only read translated comics, it was enough to chat idly with colleagues.
At this moment, his helmet only provided vision from the left side. He lowered his head, looking at a small puddle that had formed at his feet. Amidst the ripples, he could just make out his current appearance.
A metal helmet split half-black, half-orange, resembling a hockey mask. Two long fabric straps fluttered behind his head in the wind and rain, like Rambo's headband. The left eye of the mask was a red diamond-shaped lens, while the right half was completely black without a single slit.
He had become Deathstroke.
Real name Slade Joseph Wilson, one of the greatest mercenaries and assassins in the DC universe—a master strategist and tactician, expert martial artist, and master of all weapons.
Originally, he was a U.S. military test subject with 90% brain capacity utilization—just a bit less than the protagonist of "Lucy". He also had physical abilities surpassing the peak of human potential and could regenerate most injuries.
Later, because his superior betrayed his friend, leading to his friend's capture by enemies, Deathstroke rescued his comrade and fought his way out, but inevitably fell out with the military. This led him to become a mercenary, using his superhuman abilities to do dirty work and make a living.
The key point was, he had inherited everything from Deathstroke—except his memories, of course. At least he had freely acquired the muscle memory for driving, and handling firearms.
He felt like an outsider, observing his own wavering reflection in the water from a third-person perspective. Now, everything he knew about Deathstroke came from the comics.
Actually, at first, discovering that he'd become someone with superpowers made him quite happy.
Becoming Deathstroke was pretty good. With preparation and planning, he didn't fear anyone. Even facing Batman—the DC universe's favorite son—he had over a 50% chance of winning.
As a villain, he could easily defeat Robin and the Teen Titans. In the recent New 52 comics where he was redeemed, he even fought Wonder Woman in close combat, and without kryptonite, escaped unscathed from Superman.
However, after the initial excitement, he began to feel a lot of pressure.
Why?
Because Deathstroke was a mercenary, doing anything for money. So, in any world, he'd have offended almost all of the DC universe's superheroes and supervillains—helping The Penguin deal with Two-Face, helping Two-Face deal with Black Mask, helping Black Mask deal with The Penguin, and occasionally accepting missions against various superheroes.
In Deathstroke's view, there was no difference between superheroes and supervillains—they were just clients and targets. They were all people.
No matter who gave him the job, as long as there was money to be made.
"This is troublesome..."
Before arriving here, his name was Su Ming.
"First, I need to determine which parallel universe of DC this is, and then figure out the timeline and where the story has progressed." He sighed, wanting to smoke a cigarette, but the mask prevented him. "There are many worlds with Gotham and Batman in the DC universe. If it's the movie universe, the world's power level isn't very high. In the recent 'Justice League' movie, Steppenwolf was beaten like a rag doll. But if it's the comic universe, no matter which one, the danger increases greatly..."
"Earth-0, the main world of the New 52 comics; Earth-3, where all heroes and villains have swapped roles; Earth-10, a world ruled by Nazis; Earth-38, the original world of DC comics..."
Su Ming wiped his mask. The rainwater was pooling at his feet like a stream. There were no clothes under his armor; he felt very cold, his whole body soaked.
But he had never felt his mind so clear. The comic world settings he'd only glanced at before could now be recalled completely. Was this due to Deathstroke's super brain? But memories should come from his own soul, right?
Now this body was filled with explosive power, something he'd never felt before. It seemed he had possessed Deathstroke's original body.
The problem was, although Deathstroke had a healing factor, it wasn't very strong. It couldn't regenerate lost limbs, so his right eye was permanently blind.
When rapid regeneration activated, it would consume a lot of his stamina and even make him lose his sanity.
Deathstroke was over fifty years old; his son and daughter had become superheroes who wanted to kill him at any time. He also had an immortal father who was a supervillain with telekinesis, and he also wanted to kill him.
Fortunately, he was strong enough that they couldn't kill him.
"A guy in his twenties becoming someone in his fifties... Finally having family, but with poor relationships..."
Su Ming shook his head helplessly. Deathstroke had strong abilities and intelligence, but obviously lacked emotional intelligence.
"By the way, why did he come here before? Did he receive some mission? Fully armed, he must have been planning something."
Su Ming gave up thinking further. Although his current body was enhanced, his habit was still to find a place to shelter from the rain. Not just because the early spring rain was freezing cold, but also because Gotham's industrial pollution was too severe—the rainwater had a disgusting acidic smell he'd never experienced before.
Leaving the edge of the building, he turned to leave. Even though he had a glider pack on his back, he'd better take the stairs. He'd never used a glider before; it'd be a joke if he fell to his death.
"World-famous mercenary jumps off building in Gotham City last night; suspected emotional entanglement with Batman."
He could already imagine that headline in tomorrow's Gotham Times. He didn't want to die; even in a dangerous world he'd arrived in, he didn't want to die.
Besides, he was straight. While he didn't mind The Joker and Batman flaunting their rivalry every day, he absolutely didn't want to be involved.
He left the edge of the building, turning to descend. Although he had a glider pack, he'd better take the stairs. He'd never used a glider before; it'd be ridiculous if he fell to his death.