Rain poured relentlessly over Gotham City, the dark clouds above casting the sprawling metropolis in a permanent shade of gray. The stars and full moon were hidden, their light extinguished by the oppressive storm clouds. Flashes of lightning momentarily illuminated the cityscape, stark white veins cutting through the darkness, each bolt followed by a low, rolling rumble of thunder. The rain's steady rhythm created a calming yet somber symphony, underscoring the restless pulse of the city below.

Despite the weather, Gotham’s nightlife persisted. Neon signs flickered defiantly against the gloom, illuminating streets filled with hurried pedestrians and glistening cars. Umbrellas bobbed through the chaos, their owners weaving between each other with practiced urgency, desperate to escape the storm. The people, oblivious to anything beyond their immediate discomfort, went about their lives, unaware of the extraordinary event unfolding far from the city’s bustling heart.

In a desolate alley, a tear ripped through the fabric of reality itself. A swirling vortex of flaming colors erupted into existence, casting the narrow space in an eerie, otherworldly glow. The air seemed to shift and twist, an invisible force scattering debris and trash like leaves in the wind. The storm seemed to bend around the portal, the rain hissing as it met the fiery edges.

Without warning, a figure was hurled from the portal, their body hitting the soaked concrete with a sickening thud. For a moment, the only sounds were the patter of rain and the distant hum of the city. A soft groan broke the silence, muffled and weak, before fading entirely. The portal began to shrink, its vivid colors collapsing inward until, with a final flash, it vanished, leaving no trace but the groaning figure sprawled on the ground.

The storm continued unabated, and the city remained unaware. The alley, now silent and still, had become the unintentional stage for something far beyond Gotham’s usual nightmares.

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Tom took a shaky breath as he leaned against the damp brick wall, the patter of rain blending with the distant hum of the restless streets. His mind raced, trying to process the surreal chain of events that had brought him here. The portal—that swirling, fiery gateway—had thrown him into this world with all the care of a child tossing a toy. He could still feel the impact of his landing, the dull ache in his body a constant reminder that this wasn’t some fever dream.

The alley around him was dimly lit, the faint glow of a distant streetlamp barely penetrating the shadows. His clothes clung to him, soaked through from the relentless downpour, and his breath misted in the chill night air. Tom stared down at his hands, turning them over as if searching for some clue, some sign that could explain what had just happened. But they were just his hands, trembling slightly, nothing extraordinary about them.

“What the hell is going on?” he muttered, his voice hoarse and barely audible over the rain. He replayed the moment in his mind—the portal tearing itself into existence, the way the world seemed to ripple and twist before he was pulled through. It defied every law of physics he knew, every rule of reality.

His eyes darted back to where the portal had been, half-expecting it to still be there, a vivid swirl of impossible colors. But the alley was empty now, save for the scattered debris that had been caught in the vortex’s pull. A faint smell of ozone lingered in the air, sharp and electric, a lingering trace of the portal’s unnatural energy.

“Portals like that don’t exist,” he whispered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair. “Not in my world, anyway. Not outside of movies or comics.” The thought sent a shiver down his spine. The idea was absurd, yet the evidence was staring him in the face.

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus. “Okay, Tom. Think. You’re in a city. Find out where. Get your bearings.” But even as he tried to impose logic on his situation, his thoughts refused to settle. The portal hadn’t just brought him here; it had saved him. He’d been ready to end it all, to leave behind the crushing weight of a life he couldn’t bear anymore. And now, here he was, alive and… somewhere else.

The absurdity of it all almost made him laugh. “Can’t even kill yourself without the universe getting in the way,” he muttered bitterly. He shook his head, trying to push the thought aside. The portal’s sudden disappearance, punctuated by a loud popping noise, had left him with more questions than answers. Why had it saved him? Why here?

Sighing, he pushed himself off the wall and stepped out from under the steel fire escape that had provided meager shelter from the rain. His boots splashed in shallow puddles as he walked toward the street, his eyes scanning for anything familiar. The city felt alive in a way he wasn’t used to, the air heavy with a mix of rain, gasoline, and something darker, something he couldn’t quite place.

“Alright,” he said to himself, trying to muster some semblance of determination. “Step one: figure out where the hell I am.” He reached instinctively for his phone, only to find his pocket empty. Panic flared for a moment as he patted himself down, but his wallet was still there, a small mercy. He pulled it out and stared at his ID, the familiar name staring back at him: Tom Martin.

The familiarity was grounding, but it didn’t solve his immediate problem. He was in a city he didn’t recognize, with no phone and no clue how far he’d been thrown. Gritting his teeth, he stepped out onto the sidewalk, the rain plastering his hair to his forehead. Neon signs flickered in the distance, their light reflecting off the wet pavement. He had to find someone, anyone, who could tell him where he was.

As he scanned the near-empty street, his eyes landed on a figure moving quickly under a large black umbrella. The man’s faded brown jacket and cowboy boots made him stand out against the city’s dark backdrop. Gathering his courage, Tom stepped forward, raising a hand to get the man’s attention.

“Excuse me, sir,” he called, his voice shaky. The man slowed, glancing at him with a mixture of caution and curiosity. Tom gestured toward a small awning in front of a closed store. “Can we… can we step over there for a moment? Out of the rain?”

The man hesitated, then nodded, following Tom to the awning. Tom swallowed hard, trying to steady his voice. “I’m a little lost. Could you tell me where I am?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Sure lad, you’re in Crest Hill,” The older man said while glancing at a passing car. The vehicle almost splashed them with water from puddles struggling to drain into the street’s gutters.

Tom frowned. Crest Hill? That didn’t ring any bells. “Crest Hill… in New York City?” he asked, his voice tinged with desperation. Please say New York. Please say New York.

Now, it was the older man’s turn to frown. “You are really lost, lad; you’re in Gotham City.”

Tom’s heart sank. “Oh my God,” he whispered. His legs felt weak, and he gripped the edge of the awning to steady himself. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. This was Gotham City. The Gotham City. Or a very sick prank he hoped.

The man looked at him with growing concern. “You alright there?”

Tom forced a shaky smile. “Yeah… just a little overwhelmed. Thanks for your help.” He hesitated. “Would it be alright if I borrowed your phone for a moment? I think I lost mine.”

The man hesitated again but eventually sighed, pulling out his phone. “Alright. Just don’t run off with it, eh?”

Tom nodded quickly, taking the phone with trembling hands. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Thank you.” Tom grabbed the phone and quickly began to do some research.

Tom took a shaky breath as he stared at the screen. His dark green eyes scanned the words over and over again, willing them to change, but they didn’t. "Gotham City," the screen read. Gotham. Not New York, not any city he could pretend to recognize from his own world. He felt his pulse quicken, his mind racing to connect the dots.

The older man’s voice cut through his spiraling thoughts. “You alright there, lad? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Tom forced a weak smile, handing the phone back with trembling hands. “Yeah, just… a little overwhelmed. Thanks for letting me borrow your phone.” The man gave him a bemused nod before turning and walking off into the rain, leaving Tom alone under the small awning.

He leaned heavily against the wall, the sounds of Gotham’s nightlife around him fading into a dull hum as his thoughts took center stage. Gotham City. This is impossible. His chest tightened as he began to process the implications. He closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, trying to steady himself.

“Okay,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the patter of rain. “Think, Tom. Think. What the hell is going on?”

He began pacing under the awning, running his fingers through his damp hair. He had read countless comics, watched the movies, and binged the animated series. He knew of Gotham City—its landmarks, its villains, its hero. And the thought of being here… in this world? It was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying.

“This can’t be real,” he whispered, his voice cracking slightly. But the evidence was all around him. The skyline in the distance, the grimy streets, the ominous atmosphere that seemed to cling to everything. And the man’s words—“You’re in Gotham City”—played on a loop in his head. This wasn’t New York. This wasn’t his world.

Tom’s thoughts spiraled further. His first instinct was denial, but the reality of the portal—the swirling vortex of flaming colors, the force that had pulled him through and spat him out into this dark and rain-soaked alley—was undeniable. He had chalked it up to a hallucination or some last desperate trick of his mind before death, but now? Now it was all too real.

His hand instinctively went to his pocket, searching for his phone. Empty. He patted himself down, Remembering he’d lost it. His wallet, at least, was still there. He flipped it open once again and pulled out his ID, staring at his name: Tom Martin. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but seeing his name felt grounding.

But grounding wasn’t what he needed right now. Answers. He needed answers. Swallowing hard, he made his way back to the sidewalk, his shoes splashing in shallow puddles. He flagged down another passerby, a man hurrying under a large black umbrella.

“Excuse me,” Tom called, his voice shaky. “I… I’m a little lost. Can you tell me where I am?” Hoping for a different answer this time, Tom waited for the man's response.

The man gave him a skeptical look but obliged. “You’re in Gotham City, kid. What’s the matter with you?”

Tom’s stomach dropped. “Thank you,” he muttered, stepping back under the awning as the man hurried on. His breathing quickened, and he gripped the edge of a nearby bench to steady himself. This wasn’t a joke. This wasn’t a misunderstanding. He was in Gotham.

A wild mix of emotions surged through him—fear, awe, confusion, and even a spark of excitement. Gotham City. Batman’s city. The city of heroes and villains, of Arkham Asylum, of the Joker and Two-Face. A place that had always been fiction, confined to the pages of comics or the screen, was now his reality.

And I have knowledge of it. The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the fog of his panic. He wasn’t just anyone dropped into this world. He knew things—things that could maybe save lives. But that also meant he knew the dangers. Gotham wasn’t just a playground for heroes and villains; it was a nightmare for the unprepared. And right now, Tom was as unprepared as they came.

A nervous laugh bubbled out of him, unbidden. “What the hell, man?” he muttered to himself. He looked up at the rain pouring down, droplets splashing on his upturned face. “Out of all the places… Gotham?” He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the fear gnawing at his chest.

Tom had no idea what had brought him here or why. But one thing was certain if he was going to survive in Gotham, he’d need a plan. Fast.

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Far beneath the surface of Gotham City, a massive computer hummed to life, its sound cutting through the silence of the cavernous space. The Batcomputer—sleek, futuristic, and undeniably powerful—was a testament to cutting-edge technology that only someone with Bruce Wayne's resources and intellect could assemble. Here, in the shadowy depths of the Batcave, it stood as both a sentinel and a silent guardian.

The glow of countless monitors bathed the cave walls in a soft, ethereal light, casting long shadows that flickered with every change on the screens. Data scrolled rapidly across the displays, a cascade of graphs, charts, and encrypted codes. Among the shifting visuals, a single flashing message dominated the largest monitor, its red hue cutting through the ambient blue and green lights.

A deep, mechanical voice broke the stillness, echoing across the cavern’s jagged stone walls. “Energy anomaly detected,” it intoned, precise and emotionless, as though the voice itself carried the weight of importance.

The cave seemed to respond, its silence turning heavy as if acknowledging the gravity of the situation. The Batcomputer’s sensors had picked up something extraordinary—an anomaly unlike any it had recorded before. Lines of data scrambled across the screens, the system running analysis after analysis in real-time.

Near the glowing terminals, shadows stirred. The faint creak of boots on polished stone suggested someone was watching, waiting. A gloved hand reached forward, tapping a sequence of commands into the console. The flashing message vanished, replaced by a three-dimensional map of Gotham City, pulsing with faint energy waves emanating from a singular point.

In the heart of the Batcave, amid its trophies and tools of war, a mystery was unfolding—one that demanded the attention of Gotham’s greatest detective. The ripple Tom’s arrival had created had not gone unnoticed.