Gotham was alive with the sound of sirens, gunshots, and the distant murmur of people trying to survive another night. The city stretched out before Kian like a beast, breathing and throbbing with a pulse that carried equal parts despair and defiance. He inhaled deeply, taking in the damp, acrid air, filled with gasoline, grime, and the faint metallic tang of blood. It was a city built on a foundation of corruption and held together by fear.
Kian walked down the dimly lit streets, his senses on high alert. Every crack of glass, every scuffle of feet, every hushed voice in a nearby alley was a reminder that Gotham was a place where people learned to keep their heads down and survive. But survival was never Kian's only goal; he thrived on purpose, on clarity. In this broken city, he would make his own path—one paved with justice on his terms.
His mind flicked back to the voice in the void, the calm and omnipotent presence that had resurrected him with the promise of power and purpose. His fingers twitched, the electric hum of his telekinetic abilities still fresh and buzzing beneath his skin. He felt like a loaded weapon, one he could unleash at any moment, reshaping the world around him.
As he turned a corner, he saw a pair of uniformed police officers shoving a young man against the hood of their squad car, their voices raised in irritation.
"Shut up and stay down," one of them barked, slamming the man harder against the car. The young man winced, but he kept silent, his eyes darting between the officers with a mixture of fear and resignation.
Kian's instincts flared. The police uniforms didn't fool him—he recognized the body language, the swagger of men used to abusing their authority. He slowed his steps, observing from the shadows. He wanted to see if Gotham's so-called protectors were any better than the criminals they claimed to hunt.
One officer grabbed the man's collar, pulling him up just to shove him back down. "You think you can mess around on these streets? You think we won't notice?"
The young man muttered something under his breath, and the officer hit him across the face. "What was that?"
"Hey," Kian called out, stepping into the light. His voice was calm but carried a warning edge. Both officers turned to face him, surprise flashing across their faces.
"This is official business," one officer sneered, clearly unimpressed. "Get lost."
Kian's eyes narrowed as he appraised them, his gaze cold and unyielding. "Official business doesn't mean roughing up a kid."
The second officer scoffed, exchanging a look with his partner. "And who the hell are you supposed to be? Some kind of hero?"
"No," Kian replied, stepping closer, his voice as sharp as broken glass. "Just a man who doesn't like bullies."
Without warning, he reached out, his telekinesis grabbing the officer by the arm and yanking him away from the young man. The cop staggered, looking down at his arm in shock, as if some unseen force had ripped him back. His hand went to his gun, but before he could draw it, Kian gestured again, a slight flick of his wrist, and the gun flew out of the officer's grasp, clattering to the ground at Kian's feet.
"What the—?" The second officer looked from his partner to Kian, wide-eyed. "What kind of freak are you?"
Kian ignored the question. "You've had your fun. Now get out of here, before you regret it."
Both men hesitated, clearly sizing him up, weighing their options. But whatever they saw in Kian's expression convinced them not to push their luck. They backed away, muttering curses under their breath as they retrieved their weapons and made a hasty retreat.
Kian watched them go, his expression unreadable. Once they were out of sight, he turned to the young man, who was still leaning against the car, rubbing his wrists where the officers had gripped him.
"You okay?" Kian asked, his tone softer.
The young man looked at him with a mix of gratitude and fear. "Yeah… yeah, thanks, man." He hesitated, then added, "Are you… are you like one of those guys? You know, the ones with powers?"
Kian gave a half-smile, more a grim line than anything else. "Something like that. But I'm not here to save anyone. Not really."
The young man nodded, clearly too shaken to ask further questions. Kian didn't bother giving him a speech about staying out of trouble or choosing better friends. The kid lived in Gotham—that was warning enough. He'd learn, or he wouldn't. Either way, it was none of Kian's business.
As the young man disappeared down an alley, Kian continued his path through the city, his thoughts whirling. Gotham was a place where people like those officers thrived, where those with power often wielded it without consequence. He knew from experience that people like that only understood one thing: fear. And if Gotham needed a new kind of fear, he would be the one to deliver it.
Kian found himself drawn toward the city center, where the towering buildings cast long, jagged shadows that seemed to claw at the streets below. He moved quietly, blending into the darkness, his footsteps silent. Despite the night, the streets were far from empty. Homeless people huddled in corners, their eyes hollow and weary. Street vendors hawked questionable wares, and shadowy figures lingered in doorways, waiting for their next target. It was a city drowning in desperation.
As he passed a particularly rundown bar, Kian caught sight of a trio of men loitering near the entrance, their eyes following every passerby with predatory interest. One of them—a burly man with a shaved head and tattoos snaking up his neck—was counting a thick wad of cash, chuckling to himself as he stuffed it into his jacket.
Kian kept walking, but he slowed his pace, his senses sharpening. He knew the type: low-level enforcers, gang members with just enough muscle and guts to bully the weak. They were the kind of men who thought the world owed them something, who took what they wanted without a second thought. And tonight, they seemed to have set their sights on a middle-aged woman who was hurrying down the sidewalk, clutching her purse tightly.
"Hey, lady!" the tattooed man called, stepping into her path with a grin that reeked of malice. "Where you off to in such a hurry?"
The woman tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her arm, his grip bruising. She gasped, looking around for help, but the few people on the street either turned away or pretended not to notice. Fear was a powerful silencer in Gotham.
Kian's jaw clenched. He had seen this too many times before, the weak preyed upon by those who thought they were invincible. But tonight, that would change.
"Let her go," Kian's voice cut through the night, cold and final.
The men turned, startled by his sudden appearance. The tattooed man looked him up and down, sneering. "And who are you supposed to be, her knight in shining armor?"
"Something like that," Kian replied, his gaze icy.
The man laughed, his friends joining in. "Wrong place, wrong time, pal. Best walk away before we mess you up."
Kian didn't flinch. Instead, he took a single, measured step forward, his eyes never leaving the man's. "Last chance. Let her go, and you walk away with all your teeth."
The tattooed man's smirk vanished, replaced by a scowl. He let go of the woman, shoving her aside, and pulled a knife from his pocket. The blade glinted under the flickering streetlight. "You think you're tough, huh?"
Kian's eyes darkened, and before the man could take another step, he lifted his hand, letting the telekinetic energy flow through him. The man's knife wrenched out of his grip, flying backward and embedding itself in the wall. The thug staggered, looking at his empty hand in confusion.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, backing away.
Kian took another step forward, his voice deadly calm. "You have no idea what you're dealing with. Leave, now."
The other two men exchanged a look, clearly unnerved, but their leader spat on the ground, refusing to back down. "I don't know what kind of freak trick you pulled, but you're dead."
He lunged forward, fists swinging, but Kian didn't bother moving. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the man flying backward, his body slamming into a pile of crates with a crash. The other two men took a step back, their courage faltering.
"I won't warn you again," Kian said, his tone cold and final. "Leave."
The two remaining thugs needed no further encouragement. They bolted down the alley, leaving their leader groaning on the ground, clutching his ribs. Kian watched them go, his expression impassive.
The woman, still trembling, managed to stammer out a thank you before hurrying away, clearly eager to escape the chaos.