"It's so damn quiet here…"
Adam yawned, lazily propped his boots on the scuffed wooden desk, and tipped his police cap forward to cover his face. Slouching in a battered office chair, he looked every bit the picture of a disillusioned civil servant.
If any superior saw him , he'd be slapped with disciplinary action—or worse, thrown in a holding cell for disrespect. But no one here gave a damn.
That's because this wasn't downtown Gotham anymore.
Not the infamous asylum—though it loomed like a ghostly cathedral nearby—but Arkham District's rundown police station, tucked in the most miserable corner of the city. After his sudden transfer, Adam had learned the hard way that Gotham didn't just bury its trash—it relocated it.
Arkham was the city's dead-end. A place where even rats filed eviction notices. With its cracked roads, rusted chemical plants, and condemned apartment blocks, it felt less like a district and more like a forgotten warzone. And at its heart stood Arkham Asylum, Gotham's crown jewel of madness—a psychiatric prison that looked like it had been lifted from a Gothic horror novel and dropped into reality.
Every lunatic, maniac, and masked psycho not named Joker eventually passed through those doors. Adam had seen it on the drive in: barbed wire fences, floodlights, and a kind of silence that screamed.
Now he was stuck here. Exiled, really. All because he'd opened his mouth in front of cameras and called Batman a hero.
"Should've kept my damn mouth shut," Adam thought. "Sing one praise for the Bat and boom—you're reassigned to lunatic land."
Loeb hadn't fired him, but the message had been clear. Adam might've gotten the shiny title of "detective," but it was a hollow honor. There were twenty detectives stationed here already, most of them counting the days until retirement or death—whichever came first.
Still, the exile wasn't total.
"At least I didn't get fired… I guess Lob still has a speck of conscience left," Adam muttered under his breath.
Just as his eyes began to drift shut beneath his cap, the door creaked open and a gravelly voice barked, "Everyone up! Patrol duty. Move your asses!"
The reaction from the officers in the room was immediate and bizarre—like someone had tossed a grenade full of adrenaline. Chairs scraped back, boots slammed down, and cops rushed for their gear like it was a Black Friday sale.
Adam blinked. He was new here, but even he knew something was off. Patrol in Gotham? That meant sticking your neck out where it could be cut off. Who the hell volunteered for that?
He stood, adjusted his belt, and joined the group reluctantly, but not without muttering under his breath, "These fools excited to patrol Arkham? What kind of lunatic signs up to die for minimum wage?"
A wiry older officer noticed the look on Adam's face and let out a wheezy chuckle. "You're new, right? You'll understand soon. Downtown's got perks—bribes, bonuses, benefits. But Arkham? This place's got nothin' but ghosts and rats. If you want to eat, you gotta hustle."
Adam raised a brow but followed him anyway. Hustle, huh?
The district patrol car rumbled through cracked roads lined with leaning tenements and busted neon signs. Adam sat in the passenger seat, eyes scanning the streets.
It wasn't what he expected. Crowded, yes—but alive.
They'd reached the Chinatown quadrant of Arkham, which pulsed with a kind of defiant energy. Shops lined the streets like dominoes, their awnings stretched wide to form makeshift market corridors. Colorful lanterns dangled over tight alleys. Stalls spilled onto sidewalks, selling dumplings, incense, DVDs, knockoff tech, and herbal remedies. Neon signage glowed with bold Chinese characters layered atop each other, shouting promises of fortune, tea, and discounted electronics.
Children ran between cars selling flowers and snacks to passing drivers. Music played from somewhere deep in the alleyways. It felt… familiar.
"I'm yellow-skinned, Chinese—it makes sense they'd assign me to patrol this sector," Adam thought. Though there was a strange comfort in the language and color, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was deliberate.
The old officer beside him leaned on the wheel and grinned. "Not bad, eh? You lucked out getting this zone. These folks? They don't want trouble. They want peace, prosperity, and customers. You keep your nose clean, they'll treat you like family."
Adam nodded, then asked, "You said I got half of Chinatown. What about the other half?"
The officer's smile twisted. "Oh, that. That's further west. Technically mixed territory, but mostly Mexican. Bit more… colorful."
"Let's just say, I got charged ten bucks for street parking once—and I was in uniform. Kids running scams, fake permits, you name it. The food's great, sure, but those boys hustle harder than Wall Street sharks. Still... they got their own charm."
He paused, leaned in a little closer, and lowered his voice like sharing a secret.
"And their women? Hot as hell. Big voices too. I swear, during the day they're singing like sirens, and at night? Whew. Different kind of music. You'll see."
Adam gave him a dry look. "Sounds like you're on a first-name basis with HR violations."
The officer cackled. "Hey, Arkham doesn't have HR. We're the graveyard shift of Gotham PD, kid. You don't laugh, you go nuts. Trust me."
Adam turned back to the window, absorbing the sights—and the grim realization settling deep in his bones.
He was a time traveler. That much he'd accepted. But unlike the heroes in web novels or comics, he hadn't been gifted with superpowers, secret systems, or overpowered bloodlines. No cheat codes. No mentor. No magic.
Just a badge, a sidearm, and the worst district in Gotham.
"If some author wrote my life as a web novel, it'd be dead on arrival. No golden finger, no plot armor—just a nobody trying to stay alive in a city that eats nobodies for breakfast."
The thought made him snort under his breath.
The old cop mistook his amusement and slapped his shoulder. "Stick with me, kid. After this shift, I'll take you to a place that'll blow your mind. You ain't seen Arkham till you've seen the real Arkham." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the NovᴇlFɪre.nᴇt
Adam raised an eyebrow. "Real Arkham?"
The old man winked. "You'll see. It's a little... hidden gem. You might find your reason to stay here after all."