Waking up in a dirty alleyway with nothing but the clothes on your back in the middle of winter in an alleyway that you most certainly don't recognize would be scary for anyone. It's probably a bit worse when you also don't
remember anything about yourself aside from your name, and how old you think you might be.
Hell you aren't even sure about the name thing, everythnig is a little fuzzy right about now.
Picking yourself up off the ground, that new stance didn't last too long as your head started pounding with the worst pain you'd ever felt, amnesia or not. Falling back to your knees, you begin clutching at your head in a feeble attempt to make the pain stop, at least for a moment. What lasted for really only about thirty seconds felt more along the lines of several hours.
It feels like every molecule of your being is on fire, screaming for relief from the hell that you're experiencing, finally uable to hold it back anymore, you tear your hand off of your head and smash it into the ground in front of you, having nearly gone mad from the pain. When the concrete gives way to your hand, being broken to pieces by the blow, the pain finally starts to die down.
That wasn't normal.
You had felt no pain from doing that, let alone the strength that seemed to have come from nowhere being quite a surprise. Your hand was fine as well, having no visible cuts or bruises from punching the ground.
The pain that you had been feeling up until now was fading away, until finally you felt 'normal' aside from the hunger in your gut, screaming at you to find something to eat and to do it quickly. Whoever you are, well, maybe that answer can wait until you've managed to get some food in your belly.
>A quick search through your pocket produces a wallet with no ID, but twenty dollars
>You are starving
You should probably....
>Start searching for some food, you're starving after all
>Inspect the area around you, see if there are any clues
>Try to figure out where you are
>Find somewhere to bunk down for the night, it's freezing out here.
>You're going to need some more money, one way or another
Right, okay, you don't know who you are, you don't know where you are. The first of those problems is going to be slightly more difficult to actually find an answer to, but until you can at the very least figure out what city you're in, it could be completely impossible to know anything more.
Putting on your thinking cap, boy do you wish you actually had a hat right about now to keep some of the heat rolling off your head where it's supposed to be, you tap your chin several times. Glancing around the area where you woke up, the primary 'landmark' is where you embedded your fist into the ground moments before, with nothing much else catching your eye... aside from the newspaper resting ontop of a garbage can.
"Gotham Gazette..." You mutter to yourself as you pick it up.
Stands to reason Gotham is the city you're in, it sounds sort of familiar after all. Not much time to worry about that though, as the rumbling of your stomach focuses you again.
>Current Cash: 20 dollars
>Hunger state: Starving
You need to...
>Get food, now!
>You've gotta get some more cash
>Investigate the area more, there has to be clues.
>Try to find a church or a shelter to take refuge in.
I guess if you work for one of his businesses, but all I can think about is that one comic where it goes into great detail about what the Penguin did to a chef who he thought was laughing at him on a date.
stay away from Cobblepot.
Free lance is safest
Right now the key to staving off death is food, it's hard to think on an empty stomach, and you doubt yours could really get any more empty than it is right now. Making your way out of the alley, noting the name of the street that you're on in case you need to come back here, Park Row, you start walking, this place looks really damn seedy and you doubt that it's safe to stay here longer than you need to.
Wearing a worn out brown bomber jacket, a pair of jeans with holes in the legs, and crappy sneakers, you fit right in with the rest of the shadier looking folks in this part of town. Your brown hair, too long for someone to say it was trimmed to a resonable length, almost covers your eyes before you sweep it back out of your face. You have no idea who you are, but damn, the way you're dressed, it probably isn't someone very important if you're looking like this.
Trying to keep your head straight, you keep on moving, soon finding yourself out of the ghetto area and in a part of town that looks at least... kind of nicer. Less garbage can fires at least.
You've got a few options for where to go for food, even if your cash is a little short at the moment.
>Fast food joint, the American classic
>There's a diner down the street, better food for sure.
>You may look like a bum, but you're getting into that fancy looking lounge somehow!
>Dumpster diving time!
>Fast food joint, the American classic
If McDonald's fries can remain edible for a couple of years, then surely we can slowly build a supply of preservative-pumped french fry rations to last us for an entire month!
Fast food is all the Mr Jackson in your pocket will allow you to afford and still have enough left over for another meal. Anything better than hitting up a Micky D's is far out of your budget right now, and hell, having a mac attack is just what the stomach is ordering right about now... along with some fries and a soda... maybe a few big macs.
Hell you're gonna eat all the big macs you can right now.
Popping into the Macdonalds, you're greeted by an acne ridden teenager working the counter. The young man looking like he's either stoned out of his mind, or about to drop at any second from boredom, maybe both, it's pretty late after all.
>What do you want to order?
>Supersize that shit, 10 dollars
>Large Meal, 8 dollars
>Medium Meal, 5 dollars
>Small meal, 3 dollars
>Gimme the cash kid
The temptation to supersize your order is far, far too incredible to pass up. Fifty percent of your money gone, soon enough you're sitting at a nearby table, gorging yourself on what very well might be the most delicious thing you've ever tasted in your life... because it's the only thing you actually remember eating, amnesia is weird like that it turns out. Still, actually getting food in you is at least helping you relax some, the warmth of the burger and fries filling your aching belly with the satisfaction of being full.
One burger and three fourths of your fries later, you're coming back from the bathroom to finish off what you've got left of your food, only something is very, very off.
A man with a ski mask on is currently holding up the cashier, a pistol pointed at the teenager as the man demands what money there is in the regiser. He hasn't noticed you yet, and you might be able to get out of here without alerting him if you want to... though who knows what he might do to the cashier if you actually just book it.
It's not really your problem, but still... is that something that you actually want to do?
>Cold cock the son of a bitch
>Run out the side
>Hide, wait this out
>Get his attention
>Commence full OPERATOR mode
You're not the type of guy to just sit back and watch this, something about it just sets you off in a way that you don't like. Clentching your fist, you start walking forward, intent on punching the son of a bitch right in the back of his head and hopefully knocking him out in a single blow. If you could to that to concrete earlier, what's to say this human is going to do any better than the construct did?
Unfortunately, as you approach, the cashier looks to you, his eyes full of panic, and the robber is aware enough to pick up that he's looking at someone, whirling aroud and pointing his gun right at you. "Not another step jackass, else your brains are going all over the tables! You hear me?" The guy is jacked on something, his gun is unsteady as he points it at you, possibly some strange narcotic, or he's scared out of his mind that this is taking longer than he thought it would.
"Damn it, hurry up or else I'm gonna shoot you too, what's taking so damn long?" He barks at the teenage cashier, taking his gun off of you for a moment to raise it towards the kid.
This might be your last chance to actually do something, because that kid looks like he's about to piss himself from fear at any moment.
>Commence CQC operations
>Fuck this, run
>Try to talk the robber down.
>Stay still, you tried.
God dammit, I just pictures a ferret flopping around like a fish and somehow this ended up being a successful sneaking tactic. Steve Irwin's voice giving it a voice over didn't help.
And this is what happens when you don't powerslam someone
Angry dice gods
Rip in peace Super strength hatred guy
And that's 13 rolls in a row, not going over 10
That's gotta be some kind of world record
Well guys, it was fun. See you next quest.
Please don't invoke that guy's name, we're in deep enough shit already.
We just ate supersize, we shouldn't be exercising, let alone fighting
That, or we have bad luck powers.
YOU FUCKING WASTED IT
You wasteman, you bludclart.
idc what people says abotu the rolls being time based, you've jinxed us, we'll never roll that high again.
Death by crazed gunman seems a good way to do it, of course if the bullet doesn't bounce off.
Oh woe is us.
Seeing this as your only chance to actually try to do something that might get you and the kid out of this alive, you lunge for the man's gun, trying to recall some techniques that you think you might know as you wrestle with him for control over the weapon. Yet despite your strength, you're unable to get a solid grip on the bastard, the two of you going back and forth until
Ice fills your veins as you look down, the white shirt you had been wearing slowly starting to soak with crimson flowing from your chest. Looking from yourself to the robber in a daze. The man's eyes bulging out of their sockets as he does the same in reverse towards you.
He just fucking shot you.
His breathing going erratic, he shoves you away from him, bolting from the fast food joint as you stumble back, clutching your chest as your vision gets hazy. The sensation of falling is soon followed by smacking your head against a nearby table, looking up at the lights of the roof as you start to fade.
The last thing you see standing over you is a towering, shadowy figure, and you lose yourself to the sweet embrace of darkness.
>Cash: 10 dollars
>Stomach status: Full of grease and a bullet
>Oh shit son you've been shot
Yet... you hear something
>The steady beep of a monitor.
>The sound of crunching snow beneath a boot.
>The roar of a speeding engine.
>A pen writing on paper.
We need to bulk up, massively, then when Solomon Grundy comes around, we wrestle him to the ground, and drag him to a burger place, sit down and tell him bad jokes, and have a grand old time.
You know what we should do? Go to the Gotham Broadcasting Company and see if we can get a job.
That'll put us on track to meeting the greatest Gotham City hero.
When you next wake you're greeted with the sound of boots crunching against the snow, the pain in your abdomen from being shot is gone, but you feel incredibly tired. Groaning, you clutch your head, looking around to once more try to find where exactly it is you are.
With the garbage bags surrounding you though, it's not that difficult to figure out. Someone dumped you in a... dumpster, funny, kinda, not in the ha ha funny but more the "I'm going to find who did this and kill him" sort of funny, at least you think of it that way. Clutching your stomach because oh god the pain is back again, you try to force your way out of the garbe bin, pushing the top open and managing to crawl out as blood once more trickles over your hands from the wound in your torso.
Impacting the ground, because hell no you didn't land on your feet after crawling out of the garbage, you once more groan in pain, trying to get back upright is a struggle in of itself as well. Still, you manage to get back on your feet, as hard as it was, the pain in your chest present and not going away... probably what it's suppose to feel like when you've been shot and dumped.
Okay, time to think... whoever you are.
You're probably short on time and need something done very fast.
>Find a taxi, get a ride
>Try to find a hospital
>Try to find the fucker who shot you
>Try to find a phone.
>EL Discounto Diablo
>"So this guy walks in wearing this shitty ski-mask, all spraypainted red and shit, and he punches -through- Joe! Like what the fuck, man!? Then, in obviously broken spanish he says something about being late to eat his library at the grandmother. Fucking Gotham, I swear."
Gotham has a police department?
I always thought Pic related handled all crime.
>"When we shot him, he lef ta trail of blood and mcdonalds receipts, which we followed, and he took us out one by one with crazy CQC"
El Discounto Diablo is the hero of super strength, regneration, and bad luck that we all need, takes harm unto himself in order to get things done.
Isn't it 911 and it auto redirects to gotham's police?
Oh god no, not the current year!
Silly anon, it's the current year, and red is a triggering colour.
>tfw it's covered in black lines from all the bullet holes we have to keep sewing out of it.
>people call him "Jigsaw" from his outfit
>"No, goddammit, I'm El Discounto Diablo!"
>"You realize the Spanish word for discount is "descuento" in this context, right? Hell, diablo comes before discount if you want to do it correctly!"
His life is suffering.
All right, what you need to do now is simple, start walking, try to find a hospital, and pray that you don't get shot again while also searching for a phone to call 911 if you can find one. Shaking your head to try to push some of those nasty thoughts out of your head, you keep moving, stumbling down the street and clutching your chest. Likely looking as though you're a drunk to anyone that might be paying attention to you, as unlikely as that is.
Finding a payphone... you didn't even know these things still worked, there's thankfully a quarter on the ground nearby, but when you insert it into the slot to try to call, you''re not even given a dial tone... seems like you might have gotten your hopes up a bit too early.
Swearing to yourself, you keep moving, hoping you can find something to call for help, or maybe someone that would be willing to take a bit of pity on you.
Rounding a corner, you're almost knocked square on your ass as you bump head into chest with a man in a suit. Stumbling back a few steps from the impact, the man with short black hair is quite the imposing sight... and then you notice the pretty blonde woman on his arm looking disgusted at you.
"Filthy drunks..." She mutters, clinging onto the man's arm, while he doesn't say anything.
>"Fuck you... been shot."
>people call him "Jigsaw" from his outfit fostering a negative amount of press
>even worse still, people call him "Patches" and say he's like a cute lil scraggly puppy
>"I-I don't care what the correct Spanish terminology is!"
>"You don't care for the spanish? It's the current year you bigot!"
trying to spaghetti his way through encounters with the press and other superhumans, since all he wants to do is eat instead of have awkward sexual tension and love octagonals that end in your doppelganger from another dimension take over the world, while you just stand there awkwardly eating a big mac
"Fuck you... I've been shot." You manage to pant out, your hand coming away from your chest long enough to show the wound that you had been hiding. Looking to the man, your vision already starting to fade once again, you manage to say one last thing. "Call... ambulance... would ya friend?" Before you're once more falling to the wayside.
You figure there's about a fifty fifty percent chance he'll either actually do that, or just leave you to bleed out on the ground since you pretty much kindly told his girlfriend to go fuck herself.
When you next wake up, it's to the white ceiling of what must be a hospital. The steady beep of a heart rate monitor filling your head with the sound that says you're somehow still alive. You owe the guy a big mac, next time you see him, assuming he was the one that actually called for help.
A nearby doctor notices that you're awake, and rushes over to your side. "Ah, you're awake, this is good! Now... young man, could you tell me your name, if you can speak?" He asks, his pen already scratching away at the notepad he's holding.
>Well... what is your name?
>"I don't know"
>My name is not important, what's important is what i'm going to do. I just hate this world and all the mcdonalds robbers that shoot me that reside in it.
>Jeffrey, it's tattooed on my thigh.
Expect the unexpectedly horrific rolls.
"I don't know." You answer the doctor, raising your hand and rubbing your eyes several timse to try to get the blurriness to go away. "I woke up in an alley... didn't know who or where I was. Felt like I was about to starve so I got some food with the cash I had. Guy comes in holding the place up, I try to be a big hero and take him down... bang." Mimicking a gun in your hand to signify what happened to you. "Got shot and dumped. Woke up, stumbled out of another alley, found a guy, swore at his girlfriend, and now I'm waking up here."
You feel the need to catch your breath after saying all of that, you've had quite the exciting day today, for not having any idea what your day has been like aside from what you just described.
The doctor frowns at all of this, jotting down several notes on his clipboard before he pushes up his glasses. "I see... if all of that is true, you've been through quite the experience today Mr... well, I suppose we'll go with Mr. Smith for the time being, if that suits you?"
You shrug, it's better than being called 'You' all of the time.
"Now, Mr. Smith. While we may not know your name, do you have any estimate of how old you might be? If you truly have amnesia, putting out your description along with any other details could help us find someone that knows you." The doctor requests, once more putting his pen to the clipboard in his hands, waiting for you to answer him.
>"I don't know"
>"Well doc it's pretty obvious I'm a teenager." (16)
>"Late teens, I think? 18 or so?"
>"Twenties, I'm gonna say. Sounds right."
Shit, you don't know the answer to this one either, but you've seen your reflection a few times, so at the very least you can make an estimate for what the answer might be. "Twenties, I think. Maybe twenty itself, I dunno, somewhere around that mark though." You answer the doctor, growing frustrated by your own lack of knowledge about yourself to even properly answer basic questions.
"Yes, yes, that sounds right from looking at you." The doctor says, nodding to himself more than you. "Now, I imagine that you're likely quite tired after the day you've had. Rest assured, we are here to take care of you and make sure you're back to full health as soon as possible."
Jotting down a few more things on his clip board, he finally tucks it under his arm and adjusts his glasses again. "Now, if you have any questions about your condition, or anything else, I would be happy to assist you to the best of my ability. Do you have any such concerns, Mr. Smith?" He asks.
Well, you've got a hell of a lot of questions, but you doubt that there's any this guy can answer for you, still, might as well try to get a bit of information out of him while you've got the chance... you are feeling pretty tired all of a sudden, after all.
Free healthcare leads to less doctors, less doctors and free healthcare leads to the government having to pay for it. THAT leads to increased taxes, you're paying for it anyway, and the people who can't afford to pay for it have it payed by people who actually can afford it.
I-I turned into my father.....existential crisis time
I'm aware of all of that.
I was merely stating that it makes a place like the UK to be not entirely true.
Also, I'd rather be guaranteed a doctor and pay higher taxes than be turned away at the door of a hospital because I don't have insurance.
Discuss your socialism elsewhere you Burnie Cucks
We met Donald and his wife visiting Bruce to discuss business and the playboy lifestyle
I-i-i mean, how dare you Eail, it's the CURRENT YEAR
i thought tg was meant to be all cucks? nice
that's cos chuckles is a silly aussie, and they want weird named biscuits and shitposting to be the forefront of global politics
It's all good, considering we're both from Texas it's in our blood. Just don't bring up politics around people with differing opinions it starts arguments.
Which was actually a fun way to tease my last gf, heh
"Am I gonna be all right doc? How bad was my wound?" You ask, running your fingers over the point where you had been shot, perhaps it was the painkillers, but you were already feeling a hell of a lot better than you previously had been. The point of impact is still quite sensative to the touch though, lightly hissing when you run your fingers over it.
"Well, much to our amazement, your body has already started reparing quite a bit of the damage. It was quite simple to remove the bullet in your chest during surgery, and once it was out, it seemed as though you had begun putting yourself back together. Quite the fascinating thing to witness." You really, really don't like the way he said that... something about it just puts you off.
"All right... so who brought me in, or called the paramedics or... well, you get the picture." You sort of trail off, curious as to who you actually owe your life to now.
Now that brings a smile to the doctor's face. "Ah, now there's an answer I was hoping you would ask! Despite what you might think, you were very lucky Mr Smith, the man that you ran into on the street? That was Bruce Wayne himself! He called the authorities and even rode with you during your transportation to our hospital. Mr. Wayne has also offered to cover the expenses of your time here."
Your eye twitches at that name, over and over again, blood starting to pour from your nose down your face at the mention of him.
The last thing you're able to see is the doctor rushing towards you as you pass out yet again for the third time today.
>GOTHAM QUEST #1 END
>Your eye twitches at that name, over and over again, blood starting to pour from your nose down your face at the mention of him.
The twist is we're an Amnesiac Bruce Wayne and that's actually Hush pretending to be Bruce Wayne.
Also Eail, will the other DC Heroes show up? Or at least the other Gotham Heroes?
If >>44722741 had gotten picked would we have met Superman? Does Alan Scott still run the Gotham Broadcasting Company?
If there was enough support for that in time I would have let you meet Superman
ITS JUST A PRANK BRO CHILL
I like it
Might not be a good thing!
>I had thought about offering David Bowie as a name choice in remembrance of the sexiest man to ever live
Will we meet Billy Batson? Swamp thing? Blue Beetle? How many Human Green Lanterns are their? Who's Doctor Fate? Will we meet and befreind The One True LOBO or his fag pretender, what about Deathstroke? will we get to NTR Joker?
>When Killer Frost is a thing
Apple Pie yo
I've noticed a staggering lack of funny accents.
No one wearing masks.
To be fair, Alan Scott is the original Gotham Superhero. There are even a few stories before the Nu52 where Bruce was a child and looked up to the Green Lantern and shit. Fuck Solomon Grundy is one of Alan's Villains originally.
And Superman is always in fucking Gotham, because he and Bruce are BESTEST BUDDIES and shit.
It's completely logical to be able to run into them.
Nah but seriously, I'm curious
What do you guys think Mr. Smith's origins are? Why did he react that way to Wayne's name, if it even was Wayne's name that did it?
DOES HE REALLY HAVE POWERS?
OR IS HE JUST A JOBBER
Obviously we're a semi-rehabilitated Cadmus project.
Maybe they got bored, took some samples from some bat villains with a similar theme. Like Lord Death Man or the Joker or Jane Doe for...
"Project: Unknown" What with the lack of known legal identities. We got exposed to some horrifying chemicals and they thought they killed us...all it really did was put us under and make us a pain in the ass to permanently kill.
Plus or minus some minor biological performance boosting in other ways.
Samsara Serum had to come from somewhere, not like Waller just started with that lying around.
All I'm saying is more often than not the reason Cadmus gets involved in anything is either "We wanted to see what would happen" or "Lex Luthor wanted us to see what would happen"
My, you're a smart one aren't you anon
Cadmus always has a role to play
Time will tell how far that hole goes though
I really doubt the vast majority of 4chan will vote in the primaries
as the overcrowded Republican candidate field continues to shrink (12-13 now from what was once like 16), the more moderate republicans will congregate among the remaining less crazy republicans and a more conventional candidate will emerge as the front runner.
who will then go on to isolate women and minorities with their social platforms and lose the election (they'd probably control congress and the white house if they just softened their rhetoric on immigration)