Walking down the cracked streets of Gotham, Allen led the kid—Ken, as he'd learned—through the desolate urban wasteland. The sound of their footsteps echoed faintly, a rhythmic reminder of how quiet the city had become in the early hours of the morning. To anyone watching from the shadows, they might've looked like an odd pair: a tall, darkly clad man and a pale, white-haired boy with a gaze far too heavy for someone his age.
But Allen wasn't thinking about appearances.
No, he was caught up in his own thoughts, dissecting every move he'd made over the past few weeks. The fights, the blood, the victories that felt hollow. He glanced at the boy walking next to him, quiet and somber. Looking at this from the outside, anyone might think we're friends, Allen thought. But I'm just his caretaker. Babysitter, maybe.
He sighed, his breath misting in the cold night air. "What the hell am I doing?" he muttered under his breath.
Ken didn't react. The boy hadn't said much since they left the warehouse, and Allen hadn't pressed him. The kid had been through hell. Probably still in it. There wasn't much to say that wouldn't come off as hollow or patronizing. And Allen had never been good at that emotional crap anyway.
As they walked, Allen's mind wandered. He thought about everything that had happened. The constant arguments with the system. Running into situations head-on like some hotheaded idiot. For someone who's twenty-four, I'm acting childish as hell, he thought. Reckless. Stupid. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was something deeper—a need to prove something, even if it was only to himself. Either way, he wasn't proud of it.
He opened the system interface as they walked, the familiar black-and-red text flashing in his vision. He scrolled to the quests section, frowning when he saw the timer for the intruder bonus quest had run out.
**No penalty added. Bonus quest expired.**
He scowled. "Figures," he muttered. He hadn't even had a chance to go after it. Between surviving the warehouse chaos and making sure Ken didn't end up as collateral damage, there hadn't been any time. But knowing there was no penalty did little to soothe the irritation gnawing at him. It was a missed opportunity, and Allen hated those.
As they turned a corner, Allen caught sight of his reflection in a shattered storefront window. Bloodstains on his shirt, dark circles under his eyes, and a stiffness in his gait that spoke of unhealed wounds. He looked like hell. And yet, the system had healed him enough to function. Barely.
He pulled up his status screen as they reached the rundown apartment building he'd holed up in.
Level: 5
EXP: 762/2000
HP: 200/200 (Healed)
Abilities: Minor healing Lv. 1
Shop: Locked
Inventory slots:2/10
Quests: None
TP: 30/200
Allen stared at the numbers as they climbed the creaking staircase to his temporary hideout. He'd been so caught up in surviving that he hadn't had time to appreciate what he'd gained. Minor healing, for one. He hadn't used it yet, but the name was self-explanatory. As for the inventory… it was basic, but useful. Two slots were already taken up by some weapons he'd swiped, leaving him with precious little space for anything else.
As they reached the apartment, Allen opened the door and motioned for Ken to head inside. "Go crash on the couch or something," he said.
Ken didn't argue. The boy walked over to the worn-out sofa and sat down, his small frame barely making an impression on the faded cushions. Allen watched him for a moment before sitting down at the rickety table in the corner. He leaned back, rubbing his temples.
"System," he said aloud. "Explain minor healing."
**Minor healing restores 25-50 HP per use. The amount depends on the Tyranny Points (TP) invested.
"Alright," Allen said, nodding to himself. "And TP?"
Tyranny Points are earned through combat. Normal enemies yield 5 TP each. Special enemies yield more. Points can also be earned through quest completion.
Allen grunted. "So, the more people I fight, the stronger I get. Typical."
Correct.
He sighed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. "You know," he said, "I've been thinking. I owe you an apology. I've been acting like a brat, whining about everything instead of just dealing with it."
The system didn't respond immediately. Then, after a pause:
For someone constantly complaining about being twenty-four years old, you certainly act like a child.
Allen couldn't help but laugh. "Fair point," he said. "Fair point."
From across the room, Ken watched him with a curious expression. The boy tilted his head, his white hair falling into his eyes. "This guy's crazy," Ken thought to himself. But he said nothing.
Allen leaned back in his chair, looking over at Ken. "You hungry?" he asked.
Ken shook his head. "No."
"Alright. Get some rest," Allen said. "We've got a lot to figure out tomorrow."
Ken nodded, curling up on the couch. As Allen watched him drift off to sleep, he couldn't help but think about the kid's future. Gotham wasn't a place for children, let alone one who'd been through what Ken had. Allen didn't know how he was going to take care of him, but he'd figure it out. He always did.
For now, though, he needed sleep. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, and Allen needed to be ready. But as he closed his eyes, he couldn't shake the feeling that something big was coming. Something he wasn't prepared for.
And in Gotham, being unprepared was a death sentence.