remake reborn in injustice

The air in Gotham felt thicker than he expected, like it was saturated with the residue of broken promises and abandoned dreams. The lights from neon signs flickered erratically, casting long shadows across the narrow streets. Sirens wailed in the distance, blending into the low hum of tension that seemed to hang in the atmosphere. The city had a pulse of its own—raw, relentless, chaotic. But beneath it all, there was something darker, a suffocating undercurrent that felt like it was bleeding into the very streets themselves.

The protagonist's boots hit the cracked pavement, the sound sharp in the silence of the alley where he now stood. He glanced around, taking in his new surroundings with a practiced eye. Gotham. He had heard the stories, read the reports. A city once teeming with hope, now reduced to a battleground where the line between right and wrong had long since faded into oblivion. And he was about to become a player in its game.

The god had made it clear: he wasn't here to be a hero. He wasn't here to save people just for the sake of saving them. His mission was different. His task was to correct the mistakes, not to play by the established rules of justice. He would have to get his hands dirty.

A faint, bitter smile crossed his lips. He had always preferred the shadows. And it was in the shadows where he would work best. 

"Let's see who I'm dealing with," he muttered, pulling a small, sleek device from his pocket. It was one of the many tools he had brought with him—something he'd designed himself. His intellect was his greatest weapon, and he wasn't about to waste it. The device hummed to life in his hand, displaying a holographic map of the city. It took mere seconds for him to hack into the local network, gathering intel on the state of Gotham's underworld, the positions of key players, and the general chaos that had taken root since Superman's reign.

The results weren't surprising. The city was in shambles. Crime syndicates had flourished in the absence of true leadership. Political corruption was rampant, and the police force was stretched thin, caught between trying to maintain some semblance of order while under the thumb of the regime.

Superman. He was the root of all this. The so-called *Man of Steel* who had once been humanity's greatest protector was now the greatest threat. His thirst for control had warped him into a tyrant, and under his rule, Gotham had become little more than a testing ground for his ideals of justice. 

The protagonist couldn't help but wonder what had driven Superman to this point. What had happened to the hero he had once been? But it didn't matter. Superman's fall from grace had created a void, one that the protagonist could exploit. He wasn't here to analyze Superman's motives; he was here to fix the problem. 

The device beeped, and the map zoomed in on the heart of Gotham—a massive, towering structure that stood as both a symbol of power and fear: Arkham Asylum. It was a place where Gotham's worst criminals were kept, but it was also a place where the corrupted ideals of justice were nurtured. If there was any place to start making his mark, it was there.

Without hesitation, the protagonist slipped into the shadows, moving through the alleyways with the practiced ease of someone who had walked the path of darkness for years. His senses were heightened, his mind already racing through multiple contingencies, analyzing every scenario that could unfold. He had the power to reshape the world, but he wasn't naive enough to think that meant everything would be easy. Power could be a burden if misused.

As he approached Arkham, he saw the faint glow of security cameras on the periphery, the occasional patrol car moving past the entrance. It was clear that the place was heavily guarded—Superman's regime wasn't going to let anyone just waltz in and shake things up without a fight. But the protagonist wasn't concerned. He had far more than just brute strength at his disposal. 

With a flick of his wrist, a small, almost invisible drone shot out from a compartment in his jacket. It hovered silently in the air, scanning the area with a precision that no human eye could match. The drone's sensors picked up the layout of the perimeter, the locations of guards, and the weak points in the facility's security grid. The protagonist's mind worked quickly, formulating a plan.

"Time to make my entrance," he muttered under his breath. 

He tapped a few commands into his wrist-mounted interface, and with a quiet whirr, the security cameras around Arkham went dark. The system had been hacked, the surveillance feed looped, and the guards outside were none the wiser. 

The protagonist grinned. In this world, information was power. And he was going to use that to his advantage.

He moved swiftly toward the entrance, his steps silent against the concrete. As he approached, he saw two guards standing by the door, their backs turned as they monitored the monitors in front of them. He had no intention of confronting them head-on. No, he had something much more efficient in mind.

From his other pocket, he retrieved a small device, one designed to release a non-lethal, but highly effective, EMP pulse. It would knock out any electronics in the immediate vicinity, rendering the guards' communication devices useless and giving him the opportunity to slip past them unnoticed.

With a swift motion, he threw the device near the guards, watching as it sent a pulse of energy across the area. The two men staggered, their radios and earpieces emitting a high-pitched whine before falling silent. They both reached for their weapons instinctively, but by then, the protagonist had already moved. 

He was behind them in an instant, his hand resting on the back of one of their heads, gently pushing them into unconsciousness. He repeated the process with the other guard, using the same calculated precision. Within seconds, they were both lying unconscious on the ground, no one the wiser to his presence.

The protagonist paused for a moment, scanning the interior of Arkham Asylum through a nearby security window. It was a maze of long, sterile hallways filled with the echoes of madness. But within those walls, he knew there were people who could be useful. Information. Resources. Allies.

It was time to make his move.

Inside Arkham, the inmates were restless. The protagonist's presence hadn't gone unnoticed, even though he'd managed to remain invisible to the guards. A system like this didn't remain intact without some level of awareness, and he could sense it. The inmates, those with twisted minds and dangerous abilities, could be key to his plan. Some might be valuable allies in his mission. Others… well, they might be a necessary evil.

He stepped through the door, moving with the quiet confidence of someone who knew he wasn't here to be caught. The corridors stretched before him, but his mind was already running through options—tactical strikes, manipulations, ways to dismantle the system from within. Every step was deliberate.

"Let's see who's in charge here," he muttered, eyes narrowing as he moved deeper into the asylum.