He stood atop the rooftop of the skyscraper, the sleepless city below was ablaze with lights, the neon in the night dyed the steam spewing from manhole covers red.
It was an early spring night, the bustling metropolis shrouded in mist, a slightly chilling wind carried the scent of industrial exhaust and wastewater.
In his eyes, all he saw was a world of wealth, fame, and power piled together into a gaudy display of revelry and extravagance.
But in the farther reaches of the darkness, in places beyond sight—perhaps in the dim alleyways littered with trash, perhaps in sewers hiding the homeless, maybe beneath the overpasses where gangs gathered.
Those carelessly discarded guns and bodies, the sinister laughter and screams in the dark, the black dried blood... perpetually reminded newcomers that beneath the city's shiny facade lay boundless sin and madness, and anyone who underestimated it would be mercilessly devoured.
Where was this? Perhaps just by listening quietly to the citizens' descriptions, someone could guess.
The city's residents loved to describe it using the names of villains they were familiar with.
Some said it was like Killer Crocodile because it always lurked in the darkness, swallowing people whole without leaving a trace, sometimes only causing a splash or bubble, but no one cared.
Some said it was like Two-Faced Man because its merciless choices, whether of justice and evil or order and chaos, constantly spun in madness, fate flipping like a coin, tossed up only to fall down again, leaving people helpless.
Some said it was like Scarecrow because, no matter what beautiful dreams were being dreamed, they would suddenly turn into nightmares, digging out people's deepest fears until they went crazy, drooling, and wandering the streets.
Some said it was like Joker because this city was outright insane! Haha, ha, hahaha!
Of course, there was a great chance that the next moment, this citizen would erupt, stabbing a pencil or fork into a visitor's eye, then with wide innocent eyes, curiously asking the twitching corpse.
"Why so serious?"
...
As a visitor from the Otherworld, he didn't need to ask any resident, he just needed to look up, watching the bright beams in the night sky leaving a bat-shaped symbol in the cloud layer to know where he was.
"Gotham..."
He murmured.
The next moment, a sudden downpour swallowed his silhouette.
The gray rain, with a faint acidic smell, obscured everything he saw and heard before, covering all the sins, leaving only the sound of rushing water and a coldness that seeped into his heart.
But this coldness didn't come from the rain. He was fully armored; his head and body shrouded by fine metal armor.
A full-cover mask helmet, his neck down to fully wrapped in tight chain armor, and his chest, shoulders, and limbs were layered with another level of armor-like shoulder pads, all telling him that he was no longer an ordinary person.
He was once an ordinary person, living an unremarkable and simple life.
As a night warehouse keeper, he was, in fact, a security guard, not the tall, intimidating kind, but he benefited from youth and a certain bravado.
"What happened? Why am I here? I don't remember."
He reached out, trying to touch his forehead, but the thick tactical gloves completely isolated the helmet's texture and temperature.
Indeed, as a young man, he had seen things like time travel in various literary works.
He had read in novels about traversing through a computer explosion, choking on food, getting hit while saving someone crossing the street, and falling into a toilet, but why him?
He peered through the rain curtain into the distance, trying to divert his attention from the bat symbol, gazing vacantly at the dark clouds in the sky, struggling to recall.
The neon on countless skyscrapers blurred in the rain and fog, everything seemed so unreal.
All he remembered was going home after work, dealing with a call from a middle school classmate inviting him to a wedding.
Then... playing on the computer? The old laptop sounded like a tractor when powered on.
Yes, he enjoyed those fantasy worlds, allowing him to briefly forget the monotony of real life.
There was no explosion in memory, nor strange lights or sounds, just a slight daze, and he found himself here, standing on Wayne Tower's rooftop in Gotham, inexplicably feeling the night breeze.
In this godforsaken place, he had stood dazed for five minutes, gradually accepting this fact and falling into confusion.
As for who he was, realizing he had crossed into the DC Universe made it clear. Night shifts were boring, he read many novels and later became obsessed with American comics.
Even a small security guard like him heard young colleagues mention things like "The Avengers 2 is great" or "Guardians of the Galaxy is fun," female coworkers talking about "Cap and Bucky are the real deal, Iron Man is third wheel" and such.
At first, he didn't understand at all.
To have topics in common and get along with colleagues, he started with movies on his old computer and found them exciting, enjoying the thrill of American blockbusters.
Later, he took advantage of the workplace WiFi to catch up on comics. Although at first, he couldn't tell Marvel from DC, after reading a lot, he even remembered the names and abilities of hundreds of heroes and villains, as well as the important stories they were part of.
Although he only read comics that were translated into Chinese, it was enough for small talk with his colleagues.
At that moment, his helmet only had vision on the left side. He lowered his head to look at a small puddle that had formed at his feet. In the circles of ripples, he could just see his current appearance.
A half-black, half-yellow metal helmet, styled like a hockey mask. Two long strips of cloth flew in the wind and rain from the back of his head like a Rambo headband. The left eye on the mask was a red rhombic monocle, while the right half of the mask was completely black with no gaps.
He had become Deathstroke.
His real name was Slade Joseph Wilson, one of the DC Universe's greatest mercenaries and assassins, a strategic master, martial arts master, and master of all weapons.
Originally, he was a modified person from the United States Military with 90% brain development, just slightly inferior to the heroine of "Super Body"; and his physique surpassed human limits, with the self-healing ability to heal most wounds.
Later, because his superior betrayed his friend, leading his friend to be captured by the enemy, although Deathstroke rescued his comrade and broke through the encirclement, he inevitably fell out with the military, which led him to become a mercenary, using his super power to do dirty work just to make a living.
The key was, he inherited everything from Deathstroke, except for the memories... Of course, he at least got to learn for free the bodily memories like English, driving, and using firearms.
He felt like an outsider, looking at the fluctuating image of himself on the water from a third-party perspective. Now what he knew about Deathstroke came from the comics.
In fact, at first, discovering he had become someone with super power made him quite happy.
Becoming Deathstroke was pretty good. As long as he was prepared and had a plan, he feared no one. Even against Batman, the DC golden boy, he had more than a 50% win rate.
As a villain, he could easily beat Robin and the Teen Titans. In the recently reformed New 52 comics, he even fought Wonder Woman in hand-to-hand combat and retreated from Superman unscathed, even without Kryptonite.
However, after the initial excitement, he felt a lot of pressure.
Why?
Because Deathstroke was a mercenary, working for money, no matter what it was. Therefore, in whatever world, he had offended almost all the superheroes and supervillains in the DC Universe... Helping the Penguin Man against Two-Faced Man, aiding Two-Faced Man against Black Mask, assisting Black Mask against the Penguin Man, and occasionally taking on assignments to deal with various superheroes.
In Deathstroke's eyes, there was no distinction between superheroes and supervillains; they were just employers and targets. They were all people.
It didn't matter who gave him tasks, as long as there was money to be made.
"Now that's a problem..."
Before crossing over, his name was Su Ming. The old hand at his workplace all called him Xiaoming. Every time he was called that, he always felt he had made many mistakes. Like not washing hands before meals, crossing the road without looking at the traffic lights, being late for class, and in any case, the one who made mistakes in elementary school textbooks was always him.
"First, I must determine which parallel universe of DC this is, then determine the timeline and where the story has progressed to." He sighed and wanted to smoke, but the mask blocked him: "There are many worlds in the DC Universe with Gotham and Batman. If it's the movie universe, the power ceiling of the world isn't very high. In the recently released Justice League movie, the Desert Wolf was beaten like a doll. But if it's the comic universe, no matter which one, the danger increases significantly..."
"Earth 0, the main world of the New 52 comics; Earth 3, where all the heroes and villains have swapped identities; Earth 10, a world ruled by NAZIs; Earth 38, the initial world of DC Comics..."
Su Ming wiped the mask. The rainwater pooled like a stream at his feet. With no other clothes under his armor, he felt very cold, his whole body drenched in water.
But he had never felt his brain so clear. The settings of the comic worlds he had only glanced at before could now be recalled completely and vividly. Was this due to Deathstroke's super brain? But shouldn't memory be brought by one's soul?
Currently, this body was filled with an explosive sense of power, something he had never experienced before either. It seemed he was a soul inhabiting Deathstroke's original body.
The problem was, although Deathstroke had a self-healing ability, it wasn't very strong, not reaching the level of regrowing lost limbs, so his right eye was permanently blind.
When high-speed regeneration was activated, it would also consume a lot of his strength, even causing him to lose his reason.
Deathstroke was over fifty years old, his son and daughter had both become superheroes, wanting to kill him at any time. There was also an undying old father with telekinesis as a supervillain, who similarly wanted to finish him off.
Fortunately, he was strong enough that they couldn't kill him.
"A person in his twenties turned into someone over fifty... Finally had a family, yet the relationships weren't good..."
Su Ming shook his head helplessly. Deathstroke had strong abilities and intelligence, but clearly lacked emotional intelligence.
"By the way, why did he come here before, was he given some mission? Fully armed, he must have been planning something."
Su Ming gave up thinking further, even though his current body was enhanced, the habit still made him want to find a place to shelter from the rain. Not only because the early spring rain was too chilly, but also because Gotham's industrial pollution was so severe. This rainwater carried a nauseating acidic stench he had never experienced before.
Leaving the edge of the building, he turned to leave. Despite carrying a parachute pack, he still decided to use the stairs, as he had never used a glider before, and it would be quite funny if he fell to his death.
'World-famous mercenary jumps to death in Gotham City last night, suspected emotional entanglement with Batman.'
Su Ming could already imagine this. If he were to die, tomorrow's Gotham Daily headline would definitely be like this. He still didn't want to die, even when crossing into a dangerous world like this, he didn't want to die.
Not to mention, he was a true straight man. Although he didn't discriminate against Joker and Batman's daily showcase of affection, he didn't want to be involved at all.