The decision was made quickly.
The suit had been a valuable asset, but now it had become more of a liability. Bruce returned to where the suit had been and scrutinized the roof. He found a hiding place - an alcove behind some broken ventilation shaft. Hiding the suit, he tried to remember landmarks: the location of the building, the color of the nearest neon signs, the floor number. The chance of finding the place again was slim, but he had to try.
He hesitated. Should he bring anything else with him? His gaze fell on the
Harpoon. The tool was simple, but sturdy. It would come in handy for both transportation and self-defense. He attached the hook to his belt, taking care to hide it under his clothes.
Then he cautiously made his way toward the stairs leading down. It was steep and narrow, rusted from time and covered in dirt. With each step he felt as if the stairs were about to collapse beneath his feet.
Finally he reached a dark, narrow alleyway. Here it was quiet and deserted. The walls of the buildings were covered with graffiti and trash. The stench was unbearable. But it was the quiet and the shade that he needed right now.
Then he stepped out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, blending into the crowd.
People passed by without paying any attention to him. They were immersed in their own thoughts and concerns. They were dressed in strange shiny clothes. Their faces were decorated with tattoos and piercings.
He walked down the sidewalk, trying not to stand out from the crowd, but his gaze slid over the people around him. He analyzed them as he had once analyzed the criminals of Gotham. And what he saw alerted him.
Many of the passersby had guns. But they weren't pistols, or assault rifles, or knives that he was used to seeing in Gotham. It was something else. Something futuristic, something hybrid.
He saw blasters, rifles firing energy charges, and daggers with blades vibrating at high frequencies.
Bruce tensed. He had always been prepared for battle, but without his suit and gear he felt vulnerable. He needed to learn more about this world before taking any action.
But it wasn't just the weapons that were strange. The people themselves looked... unnatural. Many had elaborate tattoos on their faces, woven into bizarre patterns. But upon closer inspection, Bruce realized they weren't just tattoos. They were cracks. Cracks that covered his skin like spider webs. Cracks through which metal peeked through.
Cyborgs? Modified humans? He didn't know. But it was further proof that he'd entered a world where technology had advanced far. A world where the line between man and machine was blurred.
Bruce stopped, leaning his back against the wall of the building. He needed to think. He needed to develop a plan.
He needed to find information. He needed to figure out where he was, how he got here, and how to get home.
He needed to find allies. People he could trust. If such people even existed in this world.
The flood of neon lights and crowded streets pressed down on Bruce. He needed to get away from it all, to find respite.
He turned down a dark alley and saw the dimly lit sign above the door, "Last Hope." A bar.
He needed to learn more about this world, and bars were a great place to gather information.
He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The smell of cheap alcohol, cigarettes, and sweat hit his nose. There were people sitting in the semi-darkness of the room. Some were drinking alone, some were playing cards, some were arguing loudly about something.
Bruce realized that he had no money. He couldn't even afford a glass of water. But he could listen. In places like this, away from prying ears, people often talked about what they cared about. About politics, about crime, about the news.
He found a vacant table in the corner of the hall and sat down, trying not to attract attention. He listened to the scraps of conversation coming from the neighboring tables.
"...Heard about the new The cyberpsychopath? They say he's cracked the defenses of a corporate conglomerate..."
"...The government has raised taxes again. Soon we'll all be working for corporations for food..."
Bruce tensed. Cyber-psychopaths, corporations... It all sounded like a chaotic set of words. He needed more information. He needed to systematize everything he'd heard.