Another world

Makhoa opened his eyes slowly, greeted by an unfamiliar room adorned with a simplicity far removed from the opulence he was accustomed to in Gotham. As he attempted to sit up, a disconcerting realization washed over him – he was no longer in the formidable body of Ghostmaker but that of a ten-year-old boy.

The memories of cleaning up Gotham's mess alongside Bruce Wayne, his childhood friend and rival, came flooding back. The quitting of the batman incorporated because they didn't listened to his orders to kill the joker incorporated members to reduce the injuries of the Batman incorporated members. However, this unforeseen transformation left Makhoa baffled.

Hurrying out of bed, he examined his diminutive hands and feet, a stark contrast to the powerful physique he once possessed. His mind raced with skepticism, contemplating whether this was some elaborate prank orchestrated by the Dark Knight himself. Yet, Makhoa knew Bruce well enough to dismiss the possibility of him employing such illusions.

A mirror in the bathroom revealed the undeniable truth – a ten-year-old version of Ghostmaker stared back at him. Confusion and frustration gnawed at him, prompting thoughts of batman playing tricks on him. The psychopathic hero, unburdened by fear or sympathy, wasted no time expressing his displeasure.

"Hey bats, I know you're pulling a trick on me. Let me out of it, or I'll pulverize the guy responsible for this," Makhoa declared, his voice carrying the conviction of someone unafraid to challenge the legendary Batman.

However, his threats hung in the air unanswered. Minutes passed without a response from Bruce or the alleged illusion magician. Growing increasingly agitated, Makhoa unleashed a torrent of curses, his frustration mounting with each passing moment.

"BRUCE, I'LL BEAT YOU TO PULP IF I DON'T GET OUT RIGHT NOW! AND YOU, MAGICIAN, STOP YOUR TRICKERY OR I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET EVER CASTING IT. I SWEAR, I'LL DO IT TO HIM, BRUCE, SO DON'T TEST ME!"

Yet, silence persisted. Makhoa's worry intensified, an unfamiliar emotion for someone accustomed to being in control. Just then, a young girl, no older than sixteen, entered the room, clad in a maid outfit that seemed oddly out of place.

"Young master, you have to brush your teeth and shower so you can go to school with your brother," she said calmly, as if Makhoa's outburst was a routine occurrence.

The mention of a brother caught Makhoa off guard. He scanned the room, noticing a photograph on the dresser – a family portrait featuring a teenage boy who bore a striking resemblance to his younger self. The realization hit him like a tidal wave.

"Brother?" Makhoa muttered, grappling with the newfound knowledge that extended beyond his own identity. The mystery of his transformation deepened as he contemplated the significance of this unfamiliar world, where superhumans were not just saviors but students navigating the challenges of school life.