I think I'm going to throw up.
Actually, no.
My body this weird, heavy, body doesn't want to puke.
It wants seconds.
And that is the most messed up part about all of this.
I was standing in that greasy Gotham alleyway.
The rain was still falling, but it felt different now.
It felt... lighter?
No, I was just stronger.
Every drop hitting my skin felt like a pebble hitting a tank.
I looked down at my hands.
There was red under my fingernails.
Not just blood.
Gristle.
Pieces of that guy.
The one with the stone skin who worked for my "dad."
"Oh god," I whispered.
My voice sounded hollow, like I was talking inside a metal pipe.
"I ate him. I actually... I chewed."
I slumped against the brick wall.
I didn't just fall; my weight actually cracked the bricks behind me.
I slid down until I hit the wet pavement, my heart thumping like a drum kit being kicked down a flight of stairs.
Back on Earth, I was the guy who cried at the end of Cyberpunk Edgerunners.
I was the otaku who spent six hours painting a Batman miniature because I liked the "justice" of it all.
I wasn't a cannibal.
I wasn't a freak.
Except, I was.
[Ding! Digestion at 100%.]
The blue screen popped up in my face.
It was so bright it made my head throb.
[Current Buff: Stone Skin (Absolute Grade - 50% Transfer).]
[Effect: Your skin density is now equivalent to reinforced tectonic plates.]
"Shut up," I hissed.
My breath smelled like copper.
"Just shut the hell up."
I gripped my head.
The anxiety was a physical weight.
It was a cold, oily snake coiling in my gut.
I had the memories of my old life—the smell of my mom's cooking, the sound of my mechanical keyboard.
And now, I had the memory of the crunch.
The way his life force felt like a warm shot of espresso sliding down my throat.
I started shaking.
It started in my right hand the one stained with the Black Hand smoke and spread to my whole body.
I was having a panic attack, but my new lungs were too good.
I couldn't even faint.
I was stuck being awake for the trauma.
"I'm a monster," I sobbed.
I didn't care if anyone heard me.
"I'm Jack Grimm's mistake. I'm a freak."
I stayed there for what felt like hours.
Just me and the dumpster.
I thought about the guy I ate.
Did he have a dog? A girlfriend?
He was a thug for JK Holdings, sure, but did he deserve to be eaten?
I didn't have an answer.
All I had was a growing sense of "Power" that felt like a joke.
A mean, cosmic joke from that janitor.
I needed to move.
I smelled like a butcher shop.
If I walked out onto the street like this, the police or worse, my "Father" would find me.
I stood up.
My legs felt like lead pillars.
I needed to hide.
I needed to look like a person again.
I found a donation bin behind a thrift store called 'The Second Hand.'
The irony was so thick I almost laughed, but it would have sounded like a scream.
I used my right hand.
The Black Hand side.
I didn't transform this time; I just focused.
A small, jagged blade of black light flickered from my thumb.
It didn't glow; it seemed to eat the light around it.
I sliced the lock on the bin like it was made of warm butter.
"Sorry," I muttered.
"Adding 'thief' to the list. Great job, Jack."
I rummaged through the bin.
Everything felt so thin.
My fingers, reinforced by the 50% power of that stone-skin guy, felt like they were going to rip the fabric just by touching it.
I found a pair of oversized black cargo pants and a heavy charcoal hoodie.
The hoodie was the most important part.
I needed to hide this face.
This pale, "Joker-lite" skin that seemed to shimmer if you looked at it too long.
I stripped off my ruined clothes behind a dumpster.
Looking at my bare chest was a mistake.
I was wiry, but the muscles were defined in a way that looked wrong.
Like they were made of braided steel cables instead of meat.
And my skin... it was too white.
Not "gamer" white.
It was "corpse in a chemical vat" white.
I pulled the hoodie on.
The soft cotton felt like a lie against my skin.
I found a pair of beat-up sneakers that were a size too small.
I just… squeezed.
I felt my foot bones crack and adjust to fit the shoe.
It didn't even hurt.
That was the scariest part.
The pain was just "data" now.
I walked to a cracked mirror leaning against the brick wall.
I looked like a normal teenager.
Just a pale kid in a hoodie.
A bit "emo," maybe.
Nobody would look at me and see the 15-foot biological horror that had just devoured three men.
"Purpose," I whispered, repeating the word like a mantra.
"I need a purpose. ROJ said I have to clean. But I'm not a vacuum cleaner."
I looked at my right hand.
The Black Hand mark was hidden under the sleeve, but I could feel it pulsing.
It was hungry again.
It didn't care about my guilt.
It didn't care about my panic attacks.
I walked out of the alley and onto the street.
The Absolute Gotham was a nightmare of neon and shadow.
I saw a giant screen on the side of a building.
It showed a man in a sharp suit with a grin that made my skin crawl.
Jack Grimm. My "Father."
The screen was announcing a "Urban Renewal" project.
It basically meant tearing down a poor neighborhood to build a private park.
My stomach growled.
A deep, guttural sound that seemed to vibrate in my bones.
[Ding! Hunger Level: Increasing.]
[Recommendation: Consume 'Filth' to stabilize your Absolute DNA.]
The guilt was still there, a cold lump in my throat.
But the survival instinct—the Joker DNA was louder.
"I'm not going to eat good people," I promised myself, my voice trembling.
"If I have to be a monster... I'm only going to eat the ones who made this world this way."
I turned away from the bright lights and started walking toward the docks.
This version of me knew exactly where the worst people hung out.
I had new clothes.
I had a new body.
And I had a list of people who wouldn't be missed.
Heaven help the Absolute Universe.
The Bastard Son was looking for dinner.