The Multiverse Coin Collector

Chapter 3: The Road to Gotham

The dirt road stretched endlessly, winding through the forest like a serpent. Sam walked steadily, the crunch of gravel beneath his boots the only sound accompanying him. He adjusted the strap of his watch as he moved, the holographic screen fading back into its dormant state. His thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the strange events since his death.

"This game... this world," he muttered to himself. "It's not just survival. It's something else entirely."

As he rounded a bend, the faint rumble of an engine reached his ears. Sam stopped, his eyes narrowing as he turned toward the sound. A moment later, a large, rusted semi-truck appeared on the horizon, its hulking form cutting through the serene backdrop of trees.

"Perfect," he murmured, stepping to the side of the road and waving his hand.

The truck slowed down, coming to a stop a few feet away. The driver leaned out the window, a burly man with a thick beard and a trucker hat. His plaid shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, exposing muscled forearms. He chewed on a toothpick, his sharp eyes scanning Sam.

"You alright, kid?" the man asked, his voice deep and gruff.

Sam nodded. "Car broke down a few miles back. Any chance you can give me a lift to the next city?"

The man hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly, but then he nodded. "Hop in. I'm headed toward Gotham anyway."

Sam climbed into the passenger seat, the musty smell of old leather filling his nose. The interior of the truck was cluttered—fast food wrappers, empty soda cans, and a collection of country music CDs scattered across the dashboard.

The truck roared to life, and they began their journey down the road. The driver kept glancing at Sam from the corner of his eye, clearly suspicious.

"So," the driver started, breaking the silence, "what were you doin' out here alone? Middle of nowhere ain't exactly a good spot for a stroll."

Sam leaned back in his seat, keeping his expression neutral. "Told you. My car broke down. Figured I'd walk to find some help."

The driver grunted but didn't press further. The silence between them grew, filled only by the low hum of the engine and the occasional bump of the truck on the uneven road.

---

After an hour, the truck began to slow, pulling off to the side of the road. Sam's eyes narrowed.

"What's going on?" he asked, his voice calm but firm.

The driver shifted into park and unbuckled his seatbelt. "Gotta take a leak. Be right back." He stepped out of the truck, slamming the door behind him.

Sam nodded but remained tense. Years of experience in the military told him something was off. He watched the man walk toward the trees, his movements stiff and deliberate.

In the cab, Sam glanced at his watch. The hologram of Kit popped up almost immediately.

"Trouble?" Kit asked, her tiny cat-like face cocking to one side.

"Not sure yet," Sam muttered, his gaze fixed on the driver's retreating form.

Suddenly, a chill ran down his spine—a soldier's intuition. Something was wrong. He reached for the door handle, stepping out of the truck cautiously.

"Stay sharp," Kit advised.

As Sam stepped onto the gravel, a shout shattered the stillness of the forest.

"Don't move!"

Sam turned sharply, his eyes locking onto the driver, who now stood a few feet away, a pistol aimed squarely at him.

"Hands up!" the man barked. His face twisted into a cruel sneer, the genial façade gone.

Sam raised his hands slowly, his mind racing.

"Figures," Sam muttered under his breath. "Should've known."

The driver's grin widened. "You're unlucky, kid. Thought you'd make a nice payday, but now you'll make an even better prisoner. Get in the back."

Sam's eyes flicked to the pistol. His heart pounded, but his expression remained stoic.

"Not happening," he said flatly.

The driver's grin faltered. "You think I won't shoot?"

Sam didn't respond. Instead, he tapped the watch, summoning the holographic menu.

"Ryu," he said coldly.

The driver's confusion turned to shock as a bright light enveloped Sam. His figure shimmered, and when the light faded, Sam stood transformed. Clad in a red gi, his body radiated strength. His hair spiked upward, his expression fierce and unwavering.

"What the hell—?" the driver stammered, stumbling backward.

Sam didn't waste time. He surged forward, his fists moving in a blur. He ducked under the driver's panicked shot, the bullet whizzing harmlessly past his head. In a single motion, Sam drove his fist into the man's stomach, sending him flying backward into the side of the truck.

The driver groaned, slumping to the ground. His pistol clattered to the gravel. Sam grabbed the weapon, ejecting the magazine and tossing it into the woods.

Kit's voice crackled in his ear. "Not bad, rookie. Looks like you're getting the hang of this."

Sam ignored her, his eyes fixed on the unconscious driver. He felt a surge of anger. The man had clearly planned to kidnap him—and who knows how many others before him.

But there was no time to dwell. He climbed into the truck, still in Ryu's form, and started the engine.

---

As the truck rumbled down the road, Kit reappeared, lounging lazily on his wrist.

"By the way," she said, "I should probably explain how this works."

Sam glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "How what works?"

"The mastery system," Kit said. "Every time you transform into a character, you start at 0% mastery. As you fight, train, or just generally use their abilities, your mastery increases. At 10%, you'll unlock more of their moves. At 50%, you can use most of their powers without transforming. And at 100%..."

"You're telling me I can use Ryu's abilities even without looking like him?" Sam asked, his interest piqued.

"Exactly," Kit replied. "But you've got a long way to go, rookie. Right now, you're at 1%."

Sam grunted, his focus returning to the road. The truck's engine roared as he accelerated.

A muffled sound broke his concentration.

Frowning, Sam glanced toward the back of the truck. The sound came again—a faint, muffled whimper.

Sam pulled over, cutting the engine. His soldier's instincts flared. He climbed out and walked to the rear of the truck. The cargo doors were padlocked, but a swift punch in his Ryu form shattered the lock easily.

He pulled the doors open, and his breath caught in his throat.

Inside, two young girls—no older than twelve—sat huddled together, their faces pale and tear-streaked. They looked up at him, their eyes wide with terror.

Sam's fists clenched at his sides as the gravity of the situation hit him.

"What the fuck..." he whispered, his voice low and filled with anger.

The girls flinched at his tone, pressing themselves further into the corner of the truck.

Sam took a step back, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "It's okay," he said softly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The girls didn't respond, their trembling figures a stark reminder of the cruelty of the world he was now navigating.

Sam exhaled slowly, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. This wasn't just a game—it was life and death.

He turned back toward the cargo, his mind already racing with plans. The first order of business: get these girls to safety.