Three minutes earlier.
While chaos reigned, Alan had found what he was looking for: an electrical socket, sparking invitingly from the shattered wall. He produced the hairpin he'd swiped from Nurse Catherine's cap.
With a dramatic sigh, he declared to the world, "Let it be known that though my body may be torn asunder, my innocence shall remain pristine in this world!"
Then, with the unwavering conviction of a martyr, he jammed the metal pin into the socket.
CRACK!
A brilliant flash of blue-white light consumed his vision, and his world went dark.
The lights in Arkham Asylum flickered and died. Alan had successfully blown the main fuse.
In the silent, fleeting darkness of his unconscious mind, a new reality booted up.
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
[HOST DETECTED. ACTIVATING FULL PROFESSION SYSTEM.]
[SELECT STARTING PROFESSION:]
WARRIOR
THIEF
ARCHER
(Note: Upon reaching max level in a primary profession, a secondary profession may be unlocked.)
[SELECTION TIMED OUT. ASSIGNING RANDOM PROFESSION...]
[...DING!]
[CONGRATULATIONS, HOST! YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED THE THIEF PROFESSION.]
[SELECT FACTION TIMELINE:]
CAMPS OF JUSTICE: S.H.I.E.L.D., THE SKY-EYE SOCIETY, THE VISION
CAMPS OF EVIL: HYDRA, THE HAND, THE LEAGUE OF ASSASSINS
[SELECTION TIMED OUT. ASSIGNING RANDOM FACTION...]
[...DING!]
[CONGRATULATIONS, HOST! YOU HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED TOTHE LEAGUE OF ASSASSINS.]
Alan had, quite accidentally, activated his own personal cheat code, though he was blissfully unaware, lost in the electrical abyss.
Moments later, Arkham's backup generators kicked in, flooding the corridors with sterile, emergency light. But Alan was gone.
Huddled in the relative safety of his office, Dean Quincy Sharp frantically rewound the security footage, his eyes glued to the monitor. He watched the clip again, and then again. A cold sweat beaded on his temples, soaking the collar of his shirt. He knew, better than anyone, that the official story for reopening Arkham—the containment of Gotham's lunatics—was a complete fabrication. The asylum's true purpose was the constant surveillance and study of one person: Alan.
With trembling hands, he dialed a secure number.
"Fury," he said, his voice strained. "The asset is gone."
After a terse report, he hung up and immediately dialed another number. "Amanda..."
High on a wind-scoured, snow-capped peak stood an ancient, oriental-style fortress. This was Nanda Parbat, one of the primary training grounds for the League of Assassins, a place where orphans from the world's forgotten corners were forged into the deadliest killers alive. The base, perpetually encased in ice and snow, was reserved for the elite, a place to hone the body and the blade.
Ra's al Ghul, the Demon's Head, stood before his assembled warriors. Dressed in a flowing ceremonial robe, he spoke with the grave, solemn air of a prophet.
"Since the dawn of time, the world has been ravaged by war," he began, his voice echoing in the cold air. "You are all its victims, children who have lost your families to the greed and folly of lesser men. The purpose of the League of Assassins is to end all war, to carve out a new world of true justice, a world where no child will ever have to suffer as you have. You will be the arbiters of this new age, the judges who will personally condemn the warlords and tyrants."
It was a powerful, intoxicating speech. The League specifically recruited war orphans, brainwashing them from a young age to ensure their unwavering loyalty. To them, Ra's al Ghul was not a villain; he was a visionary, the embodiment of justice, their spiritual guide.
"Well said, boss!"
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The incongruous applause shattered the reverent silence.
In the front row, a man with a crude hole cut in the mouth of his mask clapped his hands with the clumsy rhythm of a trained gorilla. It was, of course, Alan, freshly deposited by the whims of his new system.
"Boss, I will be the man who silently supports you from the shadows," he declared, then nudged the women on either side of him with his elbows. "Nyssa, Talia, give him some love. The boss spoke with such passion, I almost believed him."
Talia shot him a venomous glare before turning a reproachful gaze on her sister. Nyssa's face was a mask of weary helplessness. She was already regretting her decision three days ago to rescue this madman from the snow. Since his arrival, the entire disciplined atmosphere of the League had gone completely off the rails.
"Why is there a hole in your mask?" Ra's al Ghul asked, his brow furrowed. He had lived for centuries, his mind a placid ocean of patience, but right now, all he wanted was to shove his sword into the man's mouth and silence him forever.
"Sir, report! I can't breathe properly, sir!" Alan chirped.
"Then take the mask off."
"But I must maintain the mystique of a righteous crusader."
I'm so stupid, Ra's thought. Truly, I am an idiot. He knew the man wasn't normal. He shouldn't have engaged. He shouldn't have even asked.
"Nyssa," Ra's said, his voice dangerously calm. "You brought him here. You will be responsible for... training him." He put a heavy emphasis on the final words.
A daughter knows her father's will. "Yes, Father. I understand," Nyssa replied.
The meaning was clear: train him until he breaks. Make him quit and leave on his own accord. Why not just kill him? Because Ra's al Ghul had spent decades cultivating the image of a righteous organization. One does not simply murder the infirm and the innocent, especially not in front of one's followers. Besides, the man was clearly disabled. They were honor-bound to help.
"Come with me," Nyssa said, turning sharply. She strode away, her face a thundercloud.
Alan followed, practically skipping.
"Sister, if you train me all by yourself, won't the others get jealous?"
"Sister, they really won't be jealous?"
"Sister, they don't want to beat me up, do they?"
"How terrifying! Not like me. I only feel sorry for you, sister."
Alan's cloying, sycophantic tone made Nyssa's hands clench into fists, her nails digging into her palms. In the distance, Talia watched with unconcealed glee, suddenly finding Alan quite pleasing to the eye. The two sisters, daughters of the Demon's Head, had been rivals since birth, both vying to be their father's successor. Any misfortune that befell one was a source of great joy for the other.
Inside the martial arts dojo, Nyssa tossed Alan a bamboo practice sword. "From this day forward, I will teach you the arts of combat," she said, her voice laced with ice. "You will either become a true warrior, or you will fail and give up."
Alan took the sword and tucked it into his belt. He struck a pose, gazing out the window at the snow-covered peaks with a 45-degree tilt of his head. His eyes swam with a profound loneliness, the look of a world-weary swordsman contemplating a life of battle and loss.
Nyssa frowned, utterly bewildered. The mind of a madman was a chaotic sea. One moment he was a suck-up, the next a brooding hero. There was no pattern, no logic.
"Now that it has come to this," Alan sighed dramatically, "I can hide it no longer."
He continued, his voice a low whisper. "I once wielded a blade that sundered eternity itself, holding back the enemies of heaven. I have kept my sword sealed for endless eons. Do you truly wish for me to unleash that power again?"
A muscle twitched in Nyssa's cheek. She was losing control of her emotions.
Your sword sundered eternity? My sword is going to sunder your ribs.
"Stop talking nonsense," she snapped impatiently. "Attack me."
"Since it cannot be avoided, I have no choice but to use the ninjutsu I am most proud of."
"Ninjutsu?"
"Indeed," Alan explained with the utmost seriousness. "In my travels, I once passed through a village hidden in the leaves. There, I mastered a powerful ninjutsu. I fear you may not be able to handle it."
"Hah," she scoffed. "Then by all means, show me."
Ninjutsu was a real martial art, and the League of Assassins had collected countless scrolls on the subject. To hear this fool speak of it in front of her was a joke.
"Be careful," Alan warned. He took a long, deep breath, puffing out his cheeks as if gathering an immense amount of chakra for an ultimate attack.
Seeing this, Nyssa instinctively tightened her grip on her own sword. A sliver of doubt entered her mind. Her eyes narrowed with caution. Could his claims be real?
"I'm going to the bathroom first."
The ultimate secret of his ninjutsu: Bowel Release Jutsu—Can't Hold It Anymore.
Without another word, Alan turned and walked out of the dojo.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU ASSHOLE!" Nyssa's furious roar echoed through the fortress. This man wasn't just mad; he was insulting her intelligence.
***********
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