Gotham City, a little slice of New Jersey where everything eventually festers and dies if you are a part of the lower class. The lower class being anything below stinking rich, and bathing in tubs full of money. The poorest of the poor were relegated to wandering the streets to be picked off by either hunger, the elements, crossfire gang fights, forceful or willing indiction into gangs, and most likely death.

The middle class constantly dealt with the rancid crime of the city, with families always tittering on the edge of financial ruin. Despite being a cesspool of a city, the going rate for apartments ranged from cheap if you were willing to sit in the middle of known gang territory or New york Levels of expensive beyond the roughest areas of the city. The number of upscale entrepreneurs and big business buildings appearing throughout the years had caused the Gotham housing market to shoot sky-high. Despite the constant crime, the presence of multiple millionaires had kept the housing market within the upper-cost levels of the United States.

To contrast the staggering cost of living, the standard minimum wage had stayed stagnant at $7.25 per hour. For many a single misstep outside, a single thoughtless mistake, a single hospital bill, can quite easily cause them to fall under the weight of the city and die within an alley.

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Timothy

Within a vacant alley filled with day-old trash, Timothy lounged on an overripe trashbag. As comfortable as the smelly plastic lounge chair was, Timothy was not there by choice, nay he was merely laying still to conserve energy as a result of his most recent mugging. Nursing a black eye with only the palm of his hand, Timothy thought back to how his circumstances had devolved to their current scenario.

His family was by no means wealthy, always struggling to stay afloat in their one-bedroom apartment, despite the fact four of them lived within the unit. His mother was the standard second-generation spawn of refugees from the war-torn middle east, making Timothy the third generation to stand on American soil. His father, bless the man's soul, could be argued to be the standard "white-thrash" of American Society, having been born from Irish heritage parents to only be abandoned later on in life. The man had gone through the nine yards of the judiciary system, become addicted to drugs, and had begged for years on the street. Ironically, despite his troubled past, the man held a heart of gold, with most of his prior crimes being done under a drugged fog or done to eat something other than soggy bread from the Gotham's pitiful soup kitchens. In fact, the man had met his mother when he saved her from a mugging. Their meeting would eventually turn into love, where Timothy's mother would help the man get a roof over his head and get a proper job in a packaging plant near Gothams harbor. His mother, similarly to his father, didn't hold much of higher education and only held a high school degree. Despite the lack of crimes, she could only ever find a job as a secretary in the standard rich lobby of some highrise building.

Still, they pulled together enough income to live in an apartment where eventually Timothy himself was born, and later his sister. Life was standardly monotonous with their parents working to provide a proper education for himself and his sister. Timothy held lofty dreams of becoming an engineer for the local Wayne Enterprise, while his sister was still undecided on her current career path.

Of course, much to Timothy's dismay, life came crashing down like a piano on top of his family's head. It began with his father's inexplainable layoff at the packaging plant, rumors indicating the facility was purchased by a small-time mob boss looking to step up in the world. All "non-essential" personnel were booted out without even a severance package. His mother similarly was fired after she rebuffed several sexual advances from her boss, with the man conveniently telling her she wasn't "performing" well and fired her. The family didn't have enough savings to take the man to court and expect to win, so they merely backed off.

Misfortune further struck them when Timothy was taking a class at the local Gotham community college. Despite the terrible turn of events, his family had decided to try and cheer themselves up with a fancy new recipe for dinner. Thus, his mother, father, and little sister all went toward the local supermarket together to pick up ingredients for their new meal. As per the standard life of any Gothamnite, disaster struck on the way home when the family car became sandwiched between two local gangs fighting. Some idiot mob boss had deemed it fit to "be true to his roots" and form-fit his gang with Tommy guns. The result of the firefight, was his family's car being riddled with hundreds of bullets with all its occupants dying. Eventually, Timothy was left by himself in the cruel landscape of Gotham. He tried his best to keep the apartment and find a job, but his grief-driven depression caused him to lose the apartment. It seemed he adopted more of his personality from his father's side as he gradually became homeless, furthering his depression.

Nowadays he just spent time loitering the streets, avoiding various gangs, and merely feeling sorry for himself. His current injuries could be attributed to his accidental crossing with the local punks, their egos inflated sky-high from stealing goods from the local mall. Apparently, aside from stealing vast quantities of goods from the store, they also passed their free time by beating on the homeless. Yesterday was just apparently his turn.

Timothy honestly didn't have the energy to care anymore. He had given up on finding any meaning in life and was merely intent on just laying down on the ground to die. Yet, each time he attempted to end his own life his family's disapproving gazes would flash through his mind, a reminder that he was alive and they weren't. He knew his family wouldn't want him to take his own life but....living was so hard when the entire world no longer deemed you fit to exist. Timothy could power through and attempt to get a job as his father had, but he lacked any support to make a meaningful try. Gotham City's department of services for the homeless barely helped with finding job placements.

If Timothy could laugh without jostling his sore ribs he would. The entire city was content on letting the people suffer, letting good people get killed or incarcerated to fill in the quota for their privately funded prisions. AT the end of the day the city's lack of caring for the average American is what created the cesspool that is Gotham City, and to a lesser extent many other cities in the country. The system was broken, and the common man was always the one to suffer.

His depressive spiral was only broken by the telltale sounds of hunger emitting from his stomach. He groaned at the prospect of moving his ailed body, but since he didn't have the balls to end his own life, he supposed he was still mandated to look for something to eat. His options were; begging, waiting for the soup kitchen to open to get a sandwich that barely filled him, or stealing some fruit from the local market.

Honestly, he was ashamed to admit when he first became homeless he pilfered the occasional apple or head of lettuce from the produce aisle. But, as he gradually started to look more like the hobo he was, with unkempt hair, messy beard, ratty holed covered clothing, and generally smelling like the dumpster he slept in, most establishments kept their eyes on him like a hawk hunting a mouse each time he entered a store. Sometimes security wouldn't even let him in.

Begging by itself wasn't much of an option either sometimes. The main place where one could get a quick coin from bleeding hearts was taken by the more healthy beggars, who frankly don't like others moving onto their turf. This wasn't even including the various gangs that would forcibly recruit you if you stayed out in the open too long, or didn't constantly keep on the move. Still, he was hungry, and begging was the only choice at the moment.

Forcing himself, up from the garbage bag Timothy gingerly raised his upper body into a sitting position, gasping through his sore ribs. With a wince and a heave, he situated himself on the soles of his feet as he rose to his hunched height of 5'6. He groaned out loud as his body painfully shifted to accommodate gravity's force on his shoulders.

The tendons in his legs popped as he moved toward the mouth of the alley, intent on finding some corner to sit on to both beg and conserve what little energy his body held.

Exiting the alley he was met with the standard lonesome street one would see in residential distracts during work hours. The occasional stores dotted the sidewalk, interspersed between apartment buildings. Timothy figured he should set up shop near the local Hispanic bodega, a standard hangout for ruffians during the later hours of the day, but home to some kind old folks during the day who just wanted to buy an item or two.

Gradually he neared the corner store, worn-out sneakers plodding on age-old sidewalk cement. It was only as he rounded the corner to sit along the bodegas side wall did he come face to face with another person out on the street. Based on her look he wondered why she was out in the middle of the day, it wasn't like he owned a watch but he assumed teenagers of her sort should be in the cesspool of the Gotahms education system. Though, he figured rampant truancy was still plaguing Gotham. There was a reason young blood tended to gravitate toward the gangs, and the education system didn't help stem the flow.

Still, the girl wasn't wearing any gang-affiliated clothing nor held any tattoos, but she could be an undercover drug runner for all he knew. Every gang, even the uptight penguin gang with their tuxedos, hired young teenagers to run drugs for them in their civies. If the kid was caught, at most the judge would give them a slap on the wrist, send them to a correctional institution for a day or two and that was it. The local system tended to shy away from heavily punishing "kids", but seemed awfully vicious with anyone over 18.

The girl was wearing fairly well-off clothing, concourse hightop sneakers, black stockings that lead to a fairly long navy blue skirt that covered her knees, and what appeared to be a cream-colored blouse under some sports white and red hoodie designed for running. Short black hair cut into a bob cut below her ears graced her head, with various red highlights interspersed throughout the black canvas.

Timothy knew he should just move on since a homeless man talking to a young girl in the middle of the street typically would result in the cops being called but the girl made him pause longer than he should have.

For some reason, he couldn't understand the girl was talking to herself as she skimmed over an open comic in her hands.

"Honestly, why do they even bother with the reboots. Don't the developers know the source material will eventually dry up if they constantly shove rehash the same old plotlines? At this point, the only reason I can see for people to buy this issue is to look at the new adventure of their favorite character. That's if the character hasn't been rebooted with a brand spanking new personality."

Alright, Timothy maybe understands that the girl was disillusioned by the comic she likely bought based on her rant. But typically one didn't start talking to themselves in the middle of the street and keep their comments inside their head. It was far too easy to be labeled as the crazy person talking to themselves on the street, and that caused a multitude of problems he didn't want to deal with. Timothy decided he should probably re-trace his steps and set up shop along the other side of the bodega when the girls emerald eyes shot up from the comic to look straight at his face.

He was not ashamed to admit that he slightly cringed from her sudden intense gaze at his face. Ever since he became homeless people tended to gloss over his existence, barely making eye contact as they gave him a nickel or two. Suddenly getting full-on direct eye contact from a pair of piercing green eyes originating from someone talking to themselves, made Timothy immediately avert his gaze to the wall. IT was an action caused by a lack of self-esteem and the fact he didn't want to associate with a crazy person.

" Oh, didn't know someone would pass by today. Usually, this street is clear until 5 pm, since it's a ways away from any meaningful area. Tell me, good sir, if you don't mind me asking, what brings you to this rather calm portion of Gotham? Merely taking a stroll?"

Despite not looking directly at her, Timothy could feel her intense gaze. He knew he could just walk away, ignore the girl's inquiry and just continue to beg somewhere else....but for some reason, he felt compelled to answer the teenager. There was a weight pressing down on the back of his mind, his honed street instinct that warned him of potential trouble. He couldn't tell if his instinct was warning him to flee or to answer the girl's question but he decided to bite the bullet.

Opening his mouth, his rarely used voice graced both their ears. Gravely, and cracking at odd intervals due to misuse. Timothy inwardly cringed at the way his voice sounded as he spoke.

"Uh..J-just walking a-around the local area where i sleep you know...just sorta looking for an area to sit down and start begging for a meal...I uh don't suppose you have a dollar to spare?"

Immediately after he uttered those words, Timothy wanted to bury himself in a hole. Sure, it was true he was a bum who was actually hungry but for the first thing to ask a girl who could have been his sister's age, was for her to give him a dollar? The emotion of embarrassment reignited in his soul, as he realized just normally talking was beyond him at the moment.

The girl just hummed at him, a singular note that he taught sounded fairly well. A part of his mind not being burned by embarrassment wondered if she sang songs, but he figured he shouldn't bother asking unless he wanted to embarrass himself more. Deciding he should just leave, Timothy began to turn around when the girl spoke.

"My i see life has thrown you along the side lanes, but let me get a closer look into your history to see what truly went wrong."

Before he could even bother asking what she meant, his head was forcefully brought down by two glove-covered hands, with his eyes immediately meeting glowing emerald eyes. And by glowing Timothy meant it literally, as the teenager's eyes were literally glowing in a haunting green hue.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, as Timothy realized he wasn't talking to the standard denizen of Gotham. As he attempted to free himself from the girl's grasp, he noticed that despite his larger size he couldn't free himself from her hands. His arms came up as he grasped her twig-like arms, intent on yanking them away from his face. Yet no matter how hard he struggled the hands were like iron clasps on his face, unmoving.

His eyes couldn't move from the girl's emerald gaze, as he felt something foreign invade his mind. It was as if he was a roach under a microscope, his whole life laid bare.

Timothy at that moment knew he fucked up, and likely met with one of the new freaks that were popping out of Gotham's woodwork. Lately, villains were popping out of the woodwork that were more than human or just plain crazy. The crazies ranged from new mob bosses like the guy with duel faces and some lunatic clown, while rumors on the street talked about a giant crocodile man living in the sewers. There were even rumors of some bat person stalking the night for gangbangers, who would beat the gangers within an inch of their lives. Times were changing and the world was giving birth to freaks of all shapes and sizes. Timothy seemed to have run into one of them.

"Ah I see you've had some bad luck Timothy, not all your fault although some things could have been avoided. But here's a little deal I want to make with you. I was bored of reading the same stories, over and over again. So let's make a new one. I'll give you a "dollar" that will change your life, while in exchange you follow my little jaunt through this world. I won't be here for long really, just jumping in when I feel like it but lets make the world sparkle shall we."

With her piece said the girl merely gazed into his eyes, waiting for his answer. Timothy may have been massively depressed and borderline suicidal but he didn't feel like having his head crushed like a melon between two steel hands. Gulping down his fear, he gave the smaller girl a shaky smile and said;

"Uh, sure?"

Smiling the most innocent smile he ever bore witness to, the girl let go of his face. The sudden lack of hold, and his constant desperation to move, cause him to whip his head upwards, with his back going ramrod straight to his full height. Despite the minor whiplash, Timothy looked at the girl who decided to start laughing and twirling in the breeze.

"Wonderful, Wonderful!! Let us make this a singular beginning to a wonderfull Arc of action and fun. OH OH I know lets, make the story piece-wise with snippets of action and fun. YES perfect, that way I don't always need to be "here"."

The girl was just back to talking to herself as she twirling in place, coat flapping in the wind. If Timothy had enough courage he would leave post pronto, but he was a coward at heart. Suddenly the girl rounded on him and grasped his right hand. He felt something pressed down on his palm as she spoke.

"Here is your "dollar", always keep it on you. With this I gift you the devil's luck, may the cycle take care of you. Now come, you are the first to enter the new arc, let's go show the world why stories should always have endings."

The girl giggled as she turned away from him and began walking down the street.

Timothy was already feeling tired with the lack of food in his body but the girl's sudden appearance in his life just made him want to sit down and die. The freak of a girl was too hyperactive for someone like him but....

Gazing down into his right palm he brought up a large golden coin, a four-leaf clover emblazoned on one side with the other holding a skull and crossbones. From the sheer weight of the coin, he figured it was either authentic gold or some extremely well-made prop. Just staring at the skull gave him goosebumps, its vacant eyes telling him of promised misfortune should he gaze much longer. His thoughts were ripped from their musing when he heard the girl yell back toward him, already halfway down the block.

"COME ON, the story's already bad enough. We can't let the readers wait much longer. The exposition is done, we demand action now!."

The girl ran down the street, and Timothy wondered if he should just ditch the lunatic of a girl and pawn the gold coin off in some shady pawnshop to get a meal...but he figured he probably shouldn't. Something told him the girl could just kill him with her absurd strength if he didn't follow her so he just cursed his chances of catching the eye of one of Gotham's lunatics.

"I hope she has food at least...."

X The story is a lie, and life is cruel X