Chapter 3: The First Vigilante in Gotham.

Viktor stepped out of the dingy apartment building, the faint scent of blood still clinging to his clothes despite the pristine long black sleeves he wore. His gloved hands slid into his pockets, the faint sheen of his diamond transformation lingering just beneath the surface of his skin, while making sure that his neck and head are still human. The streets of Gotham greeted him with their usual grime—broken streetlights flickering above cracked sidewalks, the scent of decay in the air. Rain drizzled lightly, casting a gray, oppressive mist over the city, a perfect reflection of Viktor's mood.

Gotham was a city full of shadows, both literal and metaphorical. As Viktor strolled through the poorly lit streets, his boots tapping quietly against the pavement, he observed the passersby: tired, hollow-eyed workers heading home from their dead-end jobs, small-time thugs lurking in alleys, waiting for their next victim. He chuckled to himself, his mind teeming with plans.

"This city," he mused softly under his breath, "is a breeding ground for misery, and yet... it's ripe for opportunity." He inhaled deeply, the scent of rain and pollution filling his diamond lungs as he cast his cold gaze over the crumbling skyline. "Perfect for someone like me."

The old Viktor was weak, broken by betrayal and humiliation, forever gone. This new Viktor, armed with Emma Frost's telepathy and diamond body transformation, combined with Phineas Mason's engineering genius, was unstoppable. He wasn't just another soul trying to survive in Gotham. No. He would thrive with in it.

But for now, he had nothing. No money, no resources. Just the knowledge in his head and the raw power in his veins. His lips curled into a twisted smile. It was more than enough.

---

As he walked through Gotham's underbelly, his thoughts drifted to the system. The strange prompts that seemed to measure his every move. "+1 Fame from Lucrisha." That little notification amused him to no end. Fame, power, control, it all seemed to be within reach, but he needed to play this right. Lucrisha and Richie no longer serve a purpose. He'd wiped the memories of Richie, while keeping Lucrisha's intack as a sort of experiment to see how many points he can get from a person, as for the terror he'd left them with, it would fester, feed his growing reputation, and soon enough, he'd have more points than he knew what to do with.

"Ah, Lucrisha…" Viktor murmured to himself, the memory of her broken form making him grin with satisfaction. "I wonder how long it'll take before you crack completely."

But fame points alone weren't going to get him what he wanted. He needed money and fast. The old Viktor had been broke, a pathetic shell of a man who drowned himself in alcohol. Viktor laughed aloud at the thought. "Dying of alcohol poisoning? I still can't stop laughing remembering it, haha ha ha ha."

His mind buzzed with possibilities. He was a genius level engineer now, thanks to the Tinkerer's abilities. Salvaged tech? Please. He could build a working prototype of an exosuit out of spare parts lying around Gotham's junkyards. And there were plenty of those.

"Money first," Viktor whispered as he ducked into a narrow alley, the walls on either side grimy and covered in graffiti. "Then power."

The alley he walked through was narrow, with dim streetlights casting a sickly yellow glow on the cracked pavement. He turned a corner, and the alley opened up into a larger junkyard. Looking around, there doesn't seem to be anyone nearby. Either the guards were posted far from here, or the owner of this massive heap was blissfully unaware. Either way, it didn't matter. The place was abandoned enough for his purposes.

"Perfect." Viktor said, as if his mind was in over drive.

With ease, Viktor leaped over the high chain-link fence, his movements almost graceful. He landed with barely a sound, his boots splashing against the rain-slicked ground. He scanned the vast expanse of twisted metal and discarded electronics, towering like monoliths of Gotham's waste from Wayne Industries, Ace Chemicals and many more. Old cars piled up like forgotten relics, broken machines lay scattered like bones in a graveyard. Viktor's eyes gleamed with something close to excitement as he surveyed the wreckage.

"This," he muttered to himself, "is where it begins."

---

He moved quickly, efficiently. His newfound genius, courtesy of Phineas Mason's skills, buzzed through his mind. He didn't have access to advance technology or advanced relics from aliens or another world. No, Gotham wasn't that kind of city yet. It wasn't a place for gods and cosmic battles… yet. But that didn't matter. Viktor could work with what was here.

The junkyard offered a wealth of scrap metal, rusted electronics, and discarded tech. In his mind, blueprints were already forming—designs for something rough but functional and deadly. He scavenged without hesitation, pulling together pieces of wiring, metal plating, and broken motors. A broken motorcycle chassis caught his eye, and with a smirk, he dragged it toward his makeshift workspace under a large rusting awning. The rain drummed against the metal above, the sound comforting in its rhythmic pulse as Viktor got to work.

Hours passed, and the crude shape of a suit began to take form. Viktor's diamond hands moved with precision, melding metal to metal using chemicals he found, wiring circuits together with scavenged tech. It wasn't going to be a masterpiece since he didn't have the resources for that yet, but it would serve its purpose.

As the final piece clicked into place, Viktor stepped back, admiring his creation.

The suit was made from junk and ugly, although it has sharp edges that gave it an aggressive, angular appearance. It should be plenty enough to kick start his career, while the torso was reinforced with salvaged steel plating to protect his vital organs, most parts of the piston and machinery are expose. But his diamond form should be enough of a protection since most of his body is protected by thick metal sheets. As for his arms and legs, they were covered in segmented armor, allowing for both mobility and strength. The suit clung to his body, molding to his shape without restricting his movements.

Just for kicks, Viktor picked up a red spray can and painted a spider symbol on the chest of his new suit, the design reminiscent of the 'Spider-Man 2' movie with Tobey Maguire. He chuckled at the irony, knowing how absurd it was, but found it amusing to adopt the name "Spider-Man" in a world without one. In the future, Gotham wouldn't only have Batman, but Spider-Man as well.

The suit was designed for practical use it didn't have to look good. It featured night vision capabilities, giving him sight in the night, rain-soaked alleys of Gotham. Viktor had also incorporated an air filter and re-breather, making it ideal for toxic environments or even underwater situations. He would love to make a device that would help him cling to walls like Spider-man but he doesn't have time now, nor property equipment to do that, plus it's getting dark.

On his wrists, web shooters crafted from salvaged tech and chemicals gave him new mobility options. He could swing through Gotham's towering structures or scale high places with ease. The suit also came equipped with a shocker brace capable of firing sonic blasts, a sound-based attack powerful enough to disorient or knock back enemies. In his diamond form, the suit adapted flawlessly and capable of handling his strength of 2 tons without tearing.

The faceplate was featureless, sleek, and imposing, with only two sharp, glowing blue eyes that gave the suit a haunting presence. The red spider symbol stood out boldly against the dark armor, both mocking and symbolizing the universe where he got his power. Glowing blue lines along the bracers pulsed with energy, especially when the shocker brace was charged, completing the look of an dark knight who had no qualms about bending morality to achieve his goals.

"Perfect," Viktor whispered, his voice cold and muffled beneath the helmet, yet carrying an unmistakable edge. He flexed his hands, feeling the surge of power coursing through him. The suit wasn't just armor—it will be his symbol, his monicker. And as long as his diamond form remained hidden beneath, he would be invulnerable. Untouchable.

He gazed at his reflection in a shattered car window, watching as the rain cascaded over his new form. His diamond skin shimmered faintly under the armor, but no one would ever see that. They would only see the new identity he had created—this shadowy figure that would soon strike fear into the very heart of Gotham's underworld, they will only know Spider-man.

---

The rain fell steadily over Gotham, casting the city in a sheet of shimmering silver. The streets below bustled with life as cars zipped by, their headlights cutting through the gloom. Viktor stood perched atop a skyscraper, his new suit glinting in the faint light. The red spider symbol he had spray-painted across his chest stood out, a taunting reminder of the absurdity of his chosen name: Spider-Man.

"Let's see how far this little joke will go," Viktor muttered to himself, a joke that is only known to him, his cold smile hidden beneath the mask.

With a flick of his wrist, he fired his web shooter, the thin strand of synthetic webbing latching onto a distant building. He leaped into the air, letting the momentum carry him forward, swinging effortlessly between Gotham's towering skyscrapers. The rain whipped past his faceplate, the glowing blue eyes of his mask cutting through the downpour with perfect clarity. His heart pounded with excitement—this was his city now.

As he swung through the night, pedestrians below began to notice. Some pointed, others gasped. Cameras flashed from smartphones, capturing the mysterious figure soaring through the city like a phantom.

+1 Fame from bystander.

Viktor smirked as the system notification popped up in his mind. "Not bad. Not bad at all," he whispered, webbing onto another building and catapulting himself forward with expert precision, his telepathic mind gathering memory and information from the crowd, like gymnastic skills, fighting skills and all other useful skills he can grab, by using Emma Frost's mutant ability to improve his own as he roams Gotham.

+1 Fame from onlooker.

Another notification. More eyes on him. More fame. The system was tracking his progress, feeding off the attention he garnered. It fueled him, pushed him to move faster, higher. He could hear the murmurs from below as people caught glimpses of him.

"Who is that? What the hell is it?" someone shouted.

Viktor laughed, fame was fame. He needed it, craved it even, like oxygen. Fame meant power, and in the DC universe, power was everything.

But this was no time for parlor tricks. As Viktor soared through the city, his mind focused on his current objective. From the memories he'd gleaned from the thugs he had toyed with earlier, he knew of a Golden Dragon gang safe house not far from here. His target: money. Cold, hard cash to fund his future endeavors and fuel his rise in this new World.

He landed atop a narrow building, disappearing into the shadows as he crouched. His unrefined suit made a harsh clanging sound but it seems the people here do not really care. No one was even stepping out to look for where or what that sound came from, it seems they are to confident that no one would mess with them.

With his dark suit perfectly blending with the darkness. Below him, the entrance to the Golden Dragon gang's hideout. A run-down warehouse tucked between two towering buildings. The sign was dimly lit, flickering with a weak yellow light, but the place was heavily guarded. Thugs patrolled the perimeter if you can even call that patrolling as most of them are sleeping or gossiping, their weapons gleaming in the wet night air.

Viktor scanned the area, his diamond eyes sharp. "Amateurs," he muttered under his breath. Slipping from his rooftop vantage point, he descended silently, using his webbing to lower himself into an alley. The darkness cloaked him as he made his approach, the rain masking any subtle noises.

The thugs were on edge, as if they could sense something was off. But Viktor didn't give them a chance to react.

Not caring for stealth he press a button on his gloves, his shocker gauntlet activated, a pulse of blue energy crackling to life. He aimed at the closest guard, releasing a sonic blast that sent the man flying into a stack of metal crates with a deafening crash. The thug hit the ground, unconscious, his body twitching from the shockwave.

The noise finally alerted most of the Dragon Gang as some bark orders to check what was going on. As the other guards spun around with their guns raised, Viktor was already moving.

He fired his web shooters, entangling two of them before they could even squeeze the trigger. With a swift yank, he pulled them toward him, delivering a crushing punch in his diamond form. Almost crushing their skulls, as their bodies crumpled to the ground, limp and broken.

A third guard opened fire, but the bullets merely bounced off Viktor's armor and diamond body. He chuckled, his voice cold and mocking. "You really thought that would work?" He moved with deadly precision, closing the distance in an instant and slamming the man into a nearby wall. The impact cracked the brick, and the guard slumped down, unconscious.

Viktor entered the warehouse, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room. Stacks of cash littered the tables, surrounded by more thugs counting their haul. The air was thick with the stench of sweat and gunpowder, but Viktor was unaffected, his suit's air filter keeping his senses sharp.

The moment they saw him, panic erupted. "Who the hell are you?!" one of the men shouted, scrambling for his gun.

"I'm Spider-man" his voice low muffled by his metallic mask almost producing an eerie sound. He leaped onto the ceiling, using his web shooters to pull himself into the shadows above. The thugs looked around frantically, some firing randomly on the ceiling other have their weapons at the ready, but it was too late.

He dropped from the ceiling like a predator, his shocker gauntlet flaring as he released another sonic blast, this time at the center of the room. The wave of energy knocked half the men off their feet, their bodies flung across the warehouse like ragdolls.

One thug, braver than the rest, rushed at him with a knife. Viktor laughed, catching the blade in his diamond hand before snapping it in half with ease. He delivered a brutal spartan kick to the man's chest, sending him crashing into a pile of wooden crates. The sound of breaking bones echoed in the room.

The last remaining thug stood frozen, his face pale with terror. Viktor approached him slowly, savoring the fear in his eyes. "You have something I want," he said, his voice low and menacing. He motioned to the stacks of cash on the table.

The thug didn't hesitate, nodding frantically as he backed away, hands raised in surrender. Viktor grabbed the money, stuffing it into a duffel bag he had found on the floor.

As he turned to leave, the thug, in a moment of desperation, tried to raise his gun. Viktor didn't even flinch. A quick flick of his wrist, and a web shot out, entangling the man's weapon and yanking it from his hands.

"Nice try," Viktor said with a cold smirk. "But no cigar." With a press of a button on his gloves a sonic blast rang out as the last thug's body flew slamming hard to the wall breaking his bones.

With the bag of cash slung over his shoulder, Viktor fired his web shooters again, propelling himself out of the warehouse and into the night. He disappeared into the shadows of Gotham, leaving behind nothing but chaos and fear.

As he swung through the city once more, the rain pelting against his suit, he couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. He was building something here, something dark, something powerful. What about the heroes, what about their reactions? Viktor couldn't care less, there's no hero, no Batman not even a Superman. All he cares about now are points for his system, the fame points that kept ticking in as he swings through the darkness disappearing into the night.

+1 Fame from Witness.

+1 Fame from Beaten Up Thugs.

The system prompts were becoming music to his ears. This was just the beginning.