Chapter 2 - DC Comics (1)

In one of the darkest cities in the world, one only illuminated by the numerous tall skyscraper that serves to hide the hideousness of said city, the night was as always, a tragedy for most, a regular one for a few lucky others.

Gotham City was also known as the city of crime. Home to numerous deranged psychopaths and supervillains whose goals were either to piss off the black knight of Gotham or make people suffer while gaining some money.

This night again, Gotham North commonly called Arkham City would see the birth of another monster. Perhaps, the sanest of all of them, a real saint compared to most as he at least, has morals.

A real benediction considering his world-ending powers.

Two blue dots shone through one of the darkest cells of the infamous Arkham Asylum.

Considered the worst asylum in the world due to the severity of the inmates' actions most of the time, being imprisoned by Batman himself, one of the founders of the newly formed Justice League.

Inside the dark cell, the man stood up from the ground. Every surface was replaced by a soft material, clearly a poor recreation for a padded cell. It has to be remarked however that only the cell inside was of poor quality. As one of the last defenses before the insane people it contains escape to the world, the security was through the roof... at least it is supposed to be since multiple evasions were not that uncommon.

The straitjacket that all inmates wear is a clear sign that they are NOT supposed to be able to remove it alone.

There were even chains that surrounded their torso to make removing it impossible for the slightly stronger than usual humans that would hopefully spend the rest of their days there.

Standing up from the soft ground without even a grunt despite the difficulty that it is supposed to be, the young man with impeccable facial features looks straight in front of him, as if looking at something others could not see.

It was in fact, something that others could not see.

[Status:

Name: Mess Light

Age: 21 years old

Title: Youngest Asylum Inmate

Race: Meta-Human

Ability: Atomic Manipulation [Beginner]

Mission:

[Not someone Arkham Asylum Could Contain]

Description: You have woken up in an unknown cell, without much of your memories! If this isn't the start of a fantastic adventure what else could it be?! Make your way out and figure out the rest yourself!

Rewards: [Mess Light's I.D.] x1, [A certain Bat's attention] x1, [Common Knowledge on Gotham] x2

Unaffected by the darkness that would make reading such a thing impossible, the young man took a look at the room first.

"It's pretty empty." He remarked, looking at the few books on the ground and the small toilet bowl, still completely white as if it had never been used.

He did not take waste more time as his eyes fell on his clothes.

A white straitjacket forced his arms to hug his relatively healthy body, designed to prevent any patient to harm themselves, despite the guards more often than not, beating some of the inmates imprisoned there.

While doctors were supposed to prevent this, they merely observed the reaction, taking advantage of it to play good and bad cop for their sadistic pleasure.

Mess found a slight mental muscle deep inside his mind and lightly flexed it, using his newfound power toward the chains bounding his arms at his sides.

No need to say that it was more than efficient since the chains not only broke through the sheer amount of power he exuded but also went beyond that as it simply disintegrated, turning to fine powder on the ground as Mess' control over his power was more than shallow, only allowing him to seemingly mindlessly destroy his target.

It was a far cry from his full potential, but for now, it would be more than enough to leave the place.

Forcefully breaking through the remaining resistance of the straightjacket, Mess extended his arms above his head, stretching his numb limbs.

"It feels like it has been centuries since I last moved my arms..." He remarked, hearing his joints pop as they fully regained their full functionality along with the muscles surrounding them.

With one last crack coming from his neck, the young man pointed the palm of his hand toward the nearest wall.

Another flex of the newfound muscle was more than sufficient as the entire wall turned into a fine powder, mixing concrete and mattress in one big sand-like pile that revealed a hole toward a dimly-lit corridor.

"I used too much power... I am barely scratching the surface of this power." Mess said to himself, ignoring the noise of his feet crushing the sand-like substance beneath him as he made his way toward the stairs at the end far end of the corridor.

He quietly observed his surroundings not that surprised to not see many guards around. They don't care much about this wing of the asylum as most of the inmates in there are generally in a catatonic state and it's best to not have much interaction with them.

He was one too, though he failed to remember why exactly he end up there, recently having gained consciousness after what he would call some kind of reincarnation.

Looking at the few signs he encountered on the way, he continued to make his way down toward the main hall.

- - -

[Meanwhile, elsewhere inside the infamous Arkham Asylum]

Contrary to what Mess thought, his evasion was noticed by the guards and security forces of the institute.

As they mainly housed a frightening number of criminally insane inmates, they were used to some of them trying to break out once in a while.

As such, numerous surveillance cameras relatively well hidden were constantly recording every cell and corridor of the labyrinth-like place.

Unlike what it looked like from the outside, the security was pretty high and large enough for unfamiliar people to lose themselves quite easily if they trust the signs hung on the walls since they were specifically designed to do so in case this kind of incident takes place.

All employees were either accompanied by a supervisor that did know the place by heart or was given special directions to find the inmates they were tasked to.

Wearing heavy riot shields and uniforms, the prisonguards were gathered at the same place, relatively void of other cells, rifles pointed at the corner from which the recently escaped criminal would emerge in a few moments.

Most of them did not see what truly transpired within his cell otherwise, they would refuse to encounter one of the few 'freaks' on these four walls caged.

The supervisor that looked at the video footage of Mess Light's escape was both confused and fearful.

One of the most docile inmates locked here suddenly decided to act like the rumors of his crimes suggested, expressing supernatural powers equal to some of the superpowered guys that go around causing mayhem or trying to keep peace in other cities.

Even during his whole career, he did not see much of these meta-humans.

No, Bob McClary was happy to live in Gotham sometimes, as the crime-filled city not only offered him quite an advantageous position to be able to beat some of the criminals here completely free from any repercussion, but they also had way fewer superpowered individuals which mean that their good olds bullets firing weapons were just as effective to take them down as any other human being.

But now, Bob looked from behind the safety of his underlings' shields at the inmate strolling from the corner, his eyes glowing through the penumbra with a clear blue light as he quietly observed them.

His gaze was cold, focused, and methodical.

He could not remove the vision of his wall simply crumbling down under a single wave of his hand, soundless, effortless.

It was inexplicable and still out of his comprehension even if he was given one.

However, he knew that this was too late to step back now.

He was not the Joker, but he exuded a presence just as frightening as him although he looked way more stable.

Thus, he hesitated. Supposed to talk through the megaphone in his hand to give the man instruction to surrender, he stayed motionless, as if the slightest movement could lead to an incalculable amount of nightmares to befall them.

Meanwhile, the two dozen guards with rifles pointed at the individual were confused to have been called to stop one of the less dangerous inmates here.

Although he was far less infamous than the clown himself, he was still the youngest Arkham inmate here and a relatively famous mass murderer although the full number of his victims was never entirely disclosed.

His arrest was without incident but the crimes themselves were enough to give him a title that sent tremors through a good part of America simply for the sheer violence of his actions.

Needless to say that the slaughter was not very well appreciated and if not for his apparent comatose-like mental state, he would have been immediately sentenced to death.

They all observed with various emotions on their faces the young man they all believed to be almost braindead until now walk around the corner, his chains nowhere to be seen while his straitjacket was untied leaving him free to move however he desired.

Most of them assumed him to be some kind of superhuman, nothing more. It was not that surprising otherwise he would not have been capable of doing what he was accused of.

As such, they were just momentarily surprised by his shining eyes washing over them with an unafraid expression on his face.

Even if he was capable of lifting a car, he would be obliged to fall under the relentless assault of their bullets.

Raising their rifles way more reassured at their similar thoughts they patiently awaited their supervisor's orders.

"Stop right here, Mess Light. You will lie down on your stomach, arms and feet crossed, waiting for us to come to tie you once again do you understand?!" Bob ordered through the megaphone, gaining the man's attention.

Seeing his eyes fully locked onto his figure was not reassuring but Bob convinced himself of his safety behind the armed men.

"I will count to 5. Once I reach 0 you are on the ground otherwise we will force you to stay down forever!"

"..." Mess still looked unimpressed at this as he did not even bother to reply, his eyes however lightly moved left to right as if reading invisible words in the air.

"4... 3..." Bob began, expecting the young man to lie down after a few seconds.

"2..." He continued, now fully frightened at the man's movement.

It took either a complete fool or a monster to walk straight toward men that targeted him with heavy weapons.

"1..." He stretched the number, waiting for the man to at least lift his hand in the air or try to appear even slightly less threatening if he was mentally reduced as the rumor implied.

However, the next words made everyone understand that it was far worse than what they feared.

"0." Mess said, his deep voice fully taking everyone by surprise as they did not expect him to continue to walk toward them, fully understanding the repercussions that would follow. Nor were they prepared for the broad smile that stretched his handsome face, one that no one ever saw.

However, he stopped a few meters in front of the men that this time, shakily moved their rifles' cannons toward his head while waiting for Bob McClary to launch the assault.

"What's wrong? Afraid of good old me?" He taunted looking at them with a surprisingly large smile.

The moment his right began to move up, however, Bob quickly recalled the way he disintegrated the door of his cell.

And without further warning, he shouted at his men the following sentence.

"Shoot! What are you waiting for?! Sent this crazy freak in hell!"

As if feeling that the advice was the best they would ever receive in their lives since they were not fully informed of his 'new' supernatural abilities, they quickly let loose, letting a wave of bullets onto the man.

After a few seconds, Bob's voice echoed once again, this time telling them to stop. "Hold your fire!"

Through the smoke of their weapons and the dust raised, they could recognize Mess' silhouette standing still and straight.

It was evident that he was unaffected by the rain of hot iron, at his feet several piles of silver dust.

"What the—" One of the guards tried to say but was interrupted by the young man lifting his hands to each of his sides as if presenting a spectacle.

"I have to thank you, this was... informative."

Bob, seeing the impossible sight was just as frightened as the men if not more as he was able to see the young man's next movements from his retreated spot.

With a clap of his hands, silence reigned, the stupor from the guards quickly disappearing from their faces.

Their faces disappeared, crumbling into dust where they previously were standing.

Bob was beyond scared, sometimes that he only believed gods could do in their mythos happened in front of him.

Falling on his knees with a relatively loud noise, Mess' eyes went to his shivering figure, dimly lit up by the lights in the ceiling.

"I missed one? No wonder the mission ain't complete yet."

"Pl-please l-let me go... I have a fa-family to take ca—" Bob tried to bargain, trying to appeal to Mess' emotions but the approaching man simply put his hand on his head.

"You are such a precious guy, let me help you be even more precious."

With a single touch of his hand, Bob McClary became a man worth his weight in gold.

Tonight, Gotham has seen the rebirth of one of its worse criminals, one unchained by law and order, acting like he desires to.

Mess Light aka The Dreamer.