บท 1: Prolog #1
The interior of the van was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a single bulb dangling from the ceiling. The air was thick with the scent of metal, grease, and a slight trace of sweat—a signature blend of places that served as chaotic workshops rather than mere vehicles. The cramped space was lined with matte-black metal panels equipped with hooks and mounts holding an arsenal of weapons. Assault rifles, shotguns, and even a pair of grenades in specialized holsters—all ready for immediate use.
In the middle of the cargo area, sprawled on a worn-out mattress, lay a young man. He looked about 24 years old, his face plain and unremarkable—the kind of face that blended into Gotham's crowds, utterly forgettable. Black hair clung to his forehead, damp with sweat, and his half-closed eyes hinted at someone drifting between sleep and wakefulness. However, a flicker of bright blue in his gaze betrayed an unusual sharpness.
The man was dressed in a simple, dark protective outfit—a standard uniform for thugs working under Gotham's infamous magic lord, The Penguin. His leather jacket bore scuffs and wear, his dark pants were rugged, and his heavy boots showed traces of mud and blood. A belt with a holster hung loosely on his hips, though his weapon had been removed, likely secured among the other armaments on the wall.
The floor was lined with rubber matting to muffle footsteps, though it bore stains of oil, grime, and what looked disturbingly like blood. Along the walls sat several leather bags—closed, but clearly containing something valuable.
The van's engine vibrations sent subtle tremors through the interior, occasionally punctuated by the distant wail of police sirens—a sound that was never a good omen in Gotham.
The young man lay motionless, as though lost in pain or thought. A closer look at the rear doors revealed a small hole, as if a bullet or some other projectile had punched through the reinforced walls.
By tracing the trajectory of the projectile, it became clear why the young man was lying half-dead on the mattress. Whatever had pierced the van's door had inflicted a severe wound on his right thigh. The gash was deep but not enough to hit the bone or damage anything vital.
The object that had breached the van's rear door and injured the young man was a steel batarang, about the size of two hands. It now lay embedded in the van's floor, not far from the semi-conscious man.
Judging by the van's trembling walls and its rocking foundation, it was barreling through Gotham's crowded streets, with no regard for traffic laws. In the background, beyond the hum of the engine and the chaotic symphony of Gotham's street life, police sirens wailed. Their sound hinted at a chase involving this very van and, possibly, its injured passenger.
The young man's head slammed against the van's side as it veered sharply onto a sidewalk.
"What the hell is going on?"
Once the pain subsided, the young man glanced around the van's interior. The sight of weapons mounted on racks sparked a moment of shock, but the pain in his leg snapped him back to reality. Spotting a first aid kit hanging on the wall, he reached for it despite the searing pain.
"Damn it… open up."
The man struggled with the kit's clasp, and after a brief, frustrating battle, its contents spilled onto the van's floor. Cursing under his breath, he flung the empty container aside and painstakingly rummaged through the scattered supplies. Through sheer grit, he managed to find a medical device to stop the bleeding and bandage the wound.
[Skill Gained: First Aid (1/10) (20/1000)]
Effectiveness in providing first aid increased by 10%.
As the translucent gray panel appeared before his eyes, the man nearly leapt in surprise—a reaction ill-advised given his current physical state and the fact that the van was still careening through the city. The sudden appearance of the interface, reminiscent of the status screens in Solo Leveling, stirred both wonder and disbelief in him.
"I need to lie down… But damn… I transmigrated… I have a system… Ow… And I'm in a speeding van… Wait… am I using a sack of money as a pillow? Did I rob a bank?!"
"How the hell did this even happen?"
[No permission to receive information about.]
[Life-threatening condition detected. Negative status: [Bleeding] . ]
[Negative status [Bleeding]. Be deactivated.]
[Body status: [Stable]/In the process of importing a new body into the host's mind. Activated.]
.... .
"What the hell..."
Just a few seconds after reading the System device, Neron — both the new soul and its current vessel — received a notification that sent a sharp pain through his head. Flashes of memory flickered in his mind, a distortion from too much power. Apparently, he had been transported to this strange world of DC Comics.
The experience was... peculiar. Neron now saw destinies that had never been given to him, yet his fate had revealed itself in this strange world. In his old world, he had been an introvert, spending more time with his devices than interacting with people. Here, in the DC world, reality had taken an entirely different turn.
In this incarnation, Neron, instead of protecting the boring life of a factory worker, had embraced a life of crime. The memories clearly suggested that it was a decision motivated by a desire to escape the monotonous existence he had endured day by day. This strategy, though full of danger, led to freedom and control that Neron had never experienced in his past life.
As one of Penguin's men in Gotham, Neron had access to money that was worth more than human life in the grim districts of the city. He now had an income that far surpassed that of an average citizen.
Bank heists, extortion, rackets, and clashes with the police were part of the daily routine. These were just a few of the tasks assigned by Penguin. And these were well-paid by the mob boss.
One memory stood out among the others.
The Neron of this world had forced a café owner — a woman with exceptional beauty — to submit to him in exchange for delaying the payment deadline by just one week.
Ironically, a few days earlier, when visiting the café with a client, it had been directly referred to Penguin based on the café's profits.
Neron had become familiar with the café, visiting it regularly and becoming a steady customer. He noted the number of patrons, what they ordered, and calculated the potential income.
However, his warped psyche and fascination with the café owner's beauty led him to act. He naturally and amicably decided to ask for her phone number.
But the outcome, with Neron's tightly clenched heart, was inevitable. As a member of Penguin's gang, he had a theoretical immunity in several areas. Armed with a weapon, after the woman gave him the most disgusting, mocking smile, he dragged her to the hideout.
And it could be said that this was about business, even though he didn't know exactly what argument he used for extortion. It served as an excuse to carry out a bad act on the café owner.
This life seemed to be everything Neron had always wanted, the amount of opportunities now opening up to him was vast. The DC Neron did what the current Neron had always wanted. And now the present Neron had the system at his disposal.
Neron felt like laughing like a madman, if it weren't for the sound of a small window opening, followed by the face of the driver who shouted at him with a tense expression.
"Hex, damn it! Are you alive? Good. Take the rifle and take down two squad cars, then close the van's door. According to the plan, we need to drive a bit further before we reach the secret passage to the underground. What are you waiting for? Go!"
Hex – the alias given to the previous owner of the body during one of Penguin's exclusive parties. The mob boss had a habit of rewarding the most loyal members of his crew, those who carried out orders flawlessly and, most importantly, didn't get caught. Penguin valued reliability and knew how to reward loyalty in many creative ways.
Neron recalled a story about one of his colleagues, who had once requested an unusual weapon – a portable flamethrower. Penguin had assigned him a risky task, and to everyone's surprise, after completing it, he was rewarded with the coveted equipment.
At these parties, besides rewards, aliases were given. They were mainly meant to protect the identity of the participants, although sometimes an alias stayed with someone permanently, even when they moved up in Gotham's criminal hierarchy.
Back to the present situation: Despite the pulsating pain, Neron felt the adrenaline and excitement. He grabbed the rifle hanging on the wall of the van, quickly checked the magazine, and then reached for a mask lying on one of the bags. The simple design featuring Mickey Mouse didn't amuse him in the slightest. What mattered was functionality, not aesthetics. After putting on the mask, he opened the rear doors of the vehicle.
The van's doors flew open, pulled by a gust of air at high speed.
Nero's gaze fell on the two police cars. In an instant, he saw the terror on the policemen's faces before he fired his first shot at the nearest vehicle.
The raid was only about three meters behind the van, so even with minimal shooting skills, Nero easily hit the driver.
The car lost control. The steering wheel, crushed by the body of the dead policeman, veered sharply to the left. The police car swerved into the opposite lane and soon overturned.
The other vehicle tried to maneuver to avoid another round of shots, but Nero, in a manic, almost euphoric state, predicted the trajectory. He aimed with a precision that seemed almost inhuman and killed the second driver. And so the police chase came to an end.
[Obtained skill:[Sharpshooter](1/10)(03/1000)](Efficiency in using firearms.]
Neron smiled under his mask as he closed the van's rear doors and, in a good mood, sat down on the mattress. However, just as he was about to signal the driver that the task was complete, his gaze fell on a batarang, stuck near the mattress.
[Name: Batarang (Special property: Anti-armor, Locator) Rank: [Epic] (A special Batarang custom-made by Wayne Ent. on behalf of Bruce Wayne. Made of a special blend of metals used exclusively by Batman, it is capable of breaking through even carbon steel. The Batarang has a built-in locator, with a signal emitter strong enough to send a signal to the center even if it was embedded on the moon)
Although Neron wanted to keep the Batarang as a souvenir, he knew that leaving it in the van could cost him his life. So he took out his phone, took a photo along with the location where he was throwing the Batarang, and made up a story about how he discovered that this specific Batarang had a tracker. He sent the message directly to the Penguin, who shortly thereafter instructed him and his driver to go to an alternative entrance to one of Penguin's criminal hideouts. However, this time they did not encounter a chase. Based on his memories, Neron speculated that Penguin had likely sent false information to the police, and thus to Batman as well. Although he wasn't completely sure about this.
Even though Neron remembered most of the entrances to Penguin's hideouts, seeing one of the most impressive entrances made it hard for him to hide his excitement as he looked through the van's window, where he had just been talking to the driver.
The entrance to Penguin's facility was literally hidden beneath the road, a stretch of road located in a dead-end street between two gloomy apartment buildings, which opened up like an old-fashioned basement door.
The situation developed rather quickly from there. The driver made a phone call confirming the task's completion and submitted a report. Neron, not even a second after the van stopped and was parked in the lot, was transported to the medical section, where he received quick medical assistance. Within an hour, Neron found himself in his room at the headquarters.
In theory, Neron was forbidden from leaving the hideout while experts working for the Boss were assessing the situation.
They were checking the police data, materials sent to numerous labs, even private ones like the forensic lab working under Wayne Enterprises standards. If the experts found anything suspicious, they would begin working on ensuring the employee's so-called clean slate.
Working for Penguin had many advantages, but there was one rule his employees had to follow. The first was to never insult the appearance of their boss. And the second rule was to always tell the truth. Even if, by accident or on purpose, you had killed a child. In such a case, you would be punished, but not flayed alive.
Neron's room was quite simple: a desk, a laptop, a wardrobe, and gray walls without any decorations. A very minimalist style, but the frequency of death in this business was so high that no one ever considered investing their own funds in decorating their quarters. It was better to buy your own place, around which experts would create a background for the employee's previous life.
According to his memories, Neron owned a café and his own apartment right above it. It wasn't the same café where he had been collecting protection money not too long ago, but a café located near Gotham University, right next to the campus.
His café mainly served students and teachers, and he was known as the lazy manager, usually sleeping in the back room.
To hide the illegal side of Neron's life, Penguin had invested in a double of Neron, whose sole task was to lounge around in the back of the café and occasionally solve customer problems.
It's an obvious fact that not every "employee" receives such special treatment. It all depended on the number of successful "jobs" and the profits their actions brought to Penguin. Neron DC had many unresolved traumas from his childhood, just like his current self. However, DC Neron, thanks to the pain of the past, was slowly becoming one of Penguin's most effective men. Though he still belonged to the category of lackeys, this was about to change soon.
Now Neron lay down with a smile on the mattress. The amount of emotions and adrenaline he had experienced over the last few hours was greater than anything he had ever felt in his life.
His wound no longer hurt, as Penguin's doctors had injected him with some strange substance that should heal his injury within two hours. So, moving on the mattress didn't cause him pain, and he could calmly indulge in euphoria.
Thoughts crossed Neron's mind that he was in the world of DC Comics, which was one of the most dangerous worlds, if not the most dangerous, but still very dangerous. And he was still at the level of a regular human being, who was on the right path to eventually being called a typical crazy villain of Gotham City.
However, these more rational thoughts were slowly replaced by more joyful ones from Neron's perspective. The leading female characters of DC Comics were just the tip of the iceberg. Neron knew that with the System, he could become strong enough to have everything he wanted, without caring about anyone. He knew, he believed, that with power, he would get whatever he wanted.
So, after calming down a bit, he decided to check what this system was, whether it was a broken "Template System" or maybe the typical one with skill advancement and missions.
"System, what functions do you have?"
[ The host has the following functions at their disposal:[Status][Equipment][Rating][Information]][ Host ma do dyspozycji następujące funkcje:[Status][Ekwipunek][Ocena][Informacja]]
This slightly reduced Neron's smile. The "Status" function was fundamental for many systems. Therefore, he decided to check it last. He had already tested the "Evaluation" function in the van with Batman's Batarang, so he understood how it worked. This function simply gave him information about a specific object.
"Information?! What does this function do?"
A silly question, since the name should explain it. However, according to Neron, a precautionary inquiry might reveal uses that could have escaped his attention.
[The [Information] function allows the System to provide information to the Host that it does not have itself. Although some information may be blocked for undisclosed reasons]
"What does "undisclosed" mean?"
[Host is not authorized to receive the mentioned information][Host nie ma uprawnień do otrzymania wspomnianych informacji]
Neron was slightly disgusted by this answer, but surprisingly, he didn't remember many details about DC Comics himself. Although he had above-average knowledge about many characters, he wasn't as familiar with events. So receiving information was quite useful. Neron decided to test the limits of the information he could get from the system at the next opportunity.
"System, show me my Status."
Before the system activated the function, a warning flashed through his mind that someone might be eavesdropping. However, after a moment, he remembered that at this hour, the room monitoring all spaces was usually undergoing an inventory check by Penguin's right-hand man. And in most cases, the private rooms of henchmen were ignored.
So, the chance that his rather peculiar behavior would raise any alarms was really low, especially since some of the lower-ranking employees in the building showed numerous psychological issues. Therefore, talking to himself shouldn't attract anyone's attention.
Status:
Name: Neron Firebones
Rase: Human
Title:Penguin's Thug (+5 to Gotham's Underworld Reputation, increased availability of weapons and resources from Penguin)
Power Level: 45
(Range: 0–100 for normal humans; 101–200 for metahumans; 201+ for superhumans and cosmic beings)
Skills:
-Gangster Tactician (2/10)(120/1000) ((Planning heists, ambushes and quick actions in the field)
-Street Charisma (3/10)(230/1000)(Ability to intimidate and negotiate with other criminals)
-First Aid (1/10)(20/1000)](Effectiveness in providing first aid by 10%)-Sharp Shooter (1/10)(03/1000)](Effectiveness in using firearms.)
Powers: None
Equipment: Empty
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