18 Rattigan, the Rat Shogun #18

So, picture this – I go, "Rattigan, time to shine!" And bam! Out of thin air, the rat magician himself shows up. Now, in my head, I'm thinking he'll dash towards Twoface, and sink his teeth into that villainous rear – classic hero move, right?

But nope, Rattigan takes it slow, like he's strutting on a rat runway. Hands behind his back, head held high, giving off this vibe like the whole situation is beneath his rodent dignity.

My eyes start doing a little twitch dance of annoyance. I was a second away from turning Rattigan into a rat projectile and throwing him at Twoface. But the cheeky rat finally decided to make a move, raising his tiny paw and pointing it at Twoface like a season general ordering a cavalry charge.

Cue the rat parade. Suddenly, rats started popping up from every nook and cranny in the streets, like they got VIP invitations. They came together, creating a tidal wave of vermin that engulfed Twoface faster than you can toss a coin.

I'm just standing there, wide-eyed, taking in the spectacle. And get this, even Batman – the brooding superhero himself – looked a bit shaken. His gaze lingered on Rattigan, like he was reevaluating his entire bat-life. Welcome to the weird side of Gotham, Bats!

Still, the broody caped crusader didn't seem all too amused by the spectacle.

"That's enough," Batman's gruff voice cut through the chaotic scene, breaking my momentary stupor. I mean, sure, the idea of letting the rats have a nibble-fest on Twoface was tempting, but you just don't do the whole murder spectacle in Gotham, especially not with the Caped Crusader watching.

It's like bringing a kazoo to a heavy metal concert – just not the right vibe, not to mention a one-way ticket to the ER. Although I was going to the hospital anyway, I preferred my visit to be for strictly non-Batman-related reasons.

"You heard the man, Rattigan. Pack it in," I muttered, clambering back onto my feet. Rattigan shot me a look, the kind that screamed, 'Seriously, mate?'

It's not like the rat had a diploma in criminology, but he sure had an attitude.

Nevertheless, Rattigan obliged, waving his tiny paws like some rodent orchestra conductor. The rat brigade dispersed, leaving Twoface on the asphalt, looking like he went a few rounds with a rat blender.

Rattigan, ever the showman, hopped onto my shoulder, acting like he'd just orchestrated the grandest performance in rat history. He then cast a haughty glance in Batman's direction.

The whole situation was just weirdly surreal. I couldn't decide if Batman was impressed or pondering the absurdity of his job description. Evidently, he was just pissed.

Batman took another glance at Rattigan, his intense gaze shifting to me. "You're the offworlder who appeared in Metropolis," he stated, a tinge of suspicion in his voice. I responded with a nonchalant shrug.

"What are you doing in my city?" he asked, clearly not thrilled with my unexpected presence. His tone, the classic Batman gruffness, echoed in the dimly lit alley. I raised an eyebrow at his inquiry.

"None of your business," I calmly retorted. While I had a soft spot for the caped crusader, I knew he wouldn't buy any flowery words or innocent acts I had to offer, so I didn't even bother.

Even if my acting and persuasion skills promised to sway the most hard-headed people, I wouldn't try it on Batman. Even if I could trick him right now, he'd still find a reason to doubt me later, making him even more suspicious of me.

You can roll over on your back and show Batman your stomach all you wanted, but he'd still trample over it if he thought you were a threat to this shithole of a city.

Evidently, he wasn't thrilled with my answer. Then again, I doubted any answer would've made this broody guy break into a grin.

"You made it my business when you strolled into Gotham with this creature," he stated, his eyes narrowing as he observed Rattigan. "This city is already chaotic enough as it is. The last thing it needs is an unknown threat running rampant," he added, his disapproval palpable.

I couldn't help but smile at his words. "Well, lucky for Gotham, I don't have any more business here," I declared. "Actually, I was on my way out when your pal over there thought it'd be hilarious to blow up my rented car with a friggin' rocket launcher..." I gestured toward the unconscious Twoface, lying on the ground in all his post-rat-apocalypse glory.

"That said, I do need to get patched up, so I'll have to linger here for an extra hour or two," I concluded with a sigh, eyeing my battered and scratched-up body. Man, those were some nice clothes, too. Talk about a fashion tragedy.

Though I was perfectly comfortable telling Batman to take a hike and mind his own business, pushing further would be like juggling lit dynamite. I wasn't interested in having him breathing down my neck. Frankly, I'd prefer a fire-breathing dragon on my tail than this guy. Evidently, Batman got the memo.

"Make it quick then..." he grumbled, his tacit approval signaling that I wasn't on his immediate troublemaker radar.

As I prepared to reply, a distant police siren echoed through the Gotham night, instantly diverting my attention. It didn't take long for me to realize my rookie mistake – turning my back on the caped crusader. Classic blunder. One of DC's unwritten rules.

"Oh well... I'm definitely not turning around to check if he's still there..." I muttered with a nonchalant shrug. "Time to find someone to patch me up, I suppose..." I stated, beginning to walk in the opposite direction of the incoming sirens.

Rattigan, perched on my shoulder, contributed to the banter with a series of chitters that unmistakably sounded like, "As well as you should. You look like crap..."

I rolled my eyes at the cheeky rodent. "Thanks for the insightful commentary, Captain Obvious..."

...

Lounging on my bed in my New York apartment, I couldn't help but crack a smile at the sight of Rattigan, perched like a king on his makeshift throne of random items he'd gathered from around the place.

The cheeky rodent was Surprisingly cute when he wasn't being an incessant pain in my behind, but hey, even a cosmic being needs to unwind.

I had contemplated heading to Leslie Thompson's clinic to patch up my battle scars. The woman knew her stuff, and I would have liked to meet her at least once, but the prospect of venturing into Gotham's East End, a criminal hotspot, was enough to make me reconsider.

Plus, her clinic was perpetually bursting at the seams. So, opting for the peasant route, I settled for the regular hospital.

Dodging the chaos of Gotham, ensuring no rockets were aimed in my direction, I returned to New York and promptly made my way to the car rental agency.

With a heavy heart – and a sizable dent in my pride – I informed them of the unfortunate demise of their beloved vehicle. Insurance covered the damages, thankfully, but not before the clerk gave me a stern lecture about the sheer recklessness of stepping into Gotham.

After wrestling with paperwork and enduring the clerk's scolding, I was finally set free. The day had slipped away unnoticed, and here I was, back in the apartment, nursing my wounds and contemplating the unpredictable nature of Gotham.

Let's be real here; the entire incident was a consequence of my own questionable decisions. I waltzed into Gotham, well aware of its reputation, armed with nothing but my overconfidence.

It's a miracle I didn't end up as a permanent resident in the city's graveyard – all thanks to Rattigan's last-second missile alert. Surprise, surprise – I can actually admit when I mess up. Call it a rare moment of self-awareness amid my usual cocktail of arrogance and narcissism.

But hey, wallowing in self-blame and regret wasn't my style. I preferred solutions over brooding, and luckily, I had the means to ensure this kind of mess wouldn't catch me off guard again. Inhaling deeply, I summoned the system's interface and made a beeline for the shop.

"Available points: 690," I muttered to myself, eyeing the digital display with a mix of satisfaction and contemplation. It was time to invest wisely in my survival kit for the next round in this chaos-infested playground of a world.

...

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