Santa Fe, the capital of New Mexico.
Here, on the border between the United States and Mexico, violence and chaos thrived. Beneath the city’s desolate facade lay an underworld-driven prosperity, where crime festered like an open wound.
“Honestly, I’m not surprised by this arrangement at all.”
Bruce stood outside a worn building, its faded sign barely clinging to the wall: Santa Fe Orphanage.
“Really, I’m not the least bit surprised—or even bothered! So, Kathoom, come down here!”
With a perfectly polite smile, Bruce kept a clenched fist behind his back, calling up to the owl hovering above.
Kathoom flapped his wings and repeated for the umpteenth time, “I told you, I didn’t assign this identity. Do I seem like the kind of owl who makes jokes about people’s painful pasts?”
“Don’t you?”
Bruce almost laughed at the absurdity. He’d been with Kathoom for over a year now; this owl had no shortage of twisted humor.
The first time, Bruce had known nothing. When Kathoom led him to the orphanage, he’d begrudgingly accepted it. But now? Ending up in another orphanage again made him start to wonder.
Maybe, just maybe, this whole “identity assignment” was Kathoom’s doing. How else could he explain winding up at an orphanage twice?
Did the entire multiverse know that Bruce Wayne was an orphan?
Without any proof, Bruce could only throw down a threat. “Don’t let me catch you in the act!”
“Whatever.” Kathoom had his own sense of pride and replied sharply, “Not wasting my time with you!”
The reason Kathoom had chosen this world was that it was on the brink of collapse, but still within a manageable power level—perfect for broadening Bruce’s horizons.
Kathoom only knew this was a Marvel world. Exactly which Marvel world remained to be seen.
“Fine, see if I care!” Bruce muttered as he stormed into the orphanage.
—
The orphanage was small, just a single dilapidated building.
When Bruce walked inside, he didn’t even see a caretaker, and no one seemed to care where he’d been.
The whole place was utterly lifeless.
As a veteran “orphanage critic,” Bruce had no hesitation in giving this place a failing review.
Not that he actually cared about orphanage comfort. He found a spot to sit, waiting for whatever was supposed to happen next.
He knew his assigned identity wasn’t fully revealed yet.
Sure enough, after a while, the sound of footsteps approached. Two private investigators entered through the main door, holding a photo. They looked pleased as they approached him.
“Hm?”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the two men. “You two again?”
They looked exactly like the investigators from the last orphanage he’d been in.
“Excuse me, are you Bruce Wayne?” one of them asked.
“Yes, that’s me,” Bruce replied smoothly. “Fake’s dead, right? So how much did he leave me? Let’s get to the point.”
Since the investigators hadn’t changed, Bruce was sure the supposed father’s name hadn’t either.
Fake Wayne.
The two detectives exchanged surprised looks, not expecting things to unfold this way.
But they quickly confirmed Bruce’s suspicion: indeed, the head of the Wayne family, Fake Wayne, had passed away unexpectedly in New York, leaving a substantial inheritance awaiting Bruce.
“Young Master Bruce!” The detective smiled obsequiously. “In this era the assets you’ll inherit amount to no less than one billion dollars!”
“Hm?”
Bruce’s gaze sharpened. Something was off. Last time it had been three billion, and now it was just one?
He scrutinized the two detectives with a wary look. Were they pocketing some of it on the side?
The two men turned pale and hastily explained themselves. After a long-winded explanation, they managed to convince Bruce that, in the current state of affairs, the Wayne family holding onto even a billion was no small feat.
“What do you mean, ‘in this era’?”
Bruce wanted to ask more, but the two detectives had already hurried off.
They left him with one final instruction: if he wanted the inheritance, he would have to travel to New York in person. Their role was merely to inform him.
This inheritance process was much less accommodating than last century’s. Now, they were expecting Bruce to travel for it.
That suggested one thing: the United States’ regional systems might no longer be interconnected.
Bruce felt an uneasy sense that this world was even less stable than it appeared.
Just then, Kathoom came swooping in from the distance, landing beside him with a triumphant shout, “Bruce, we’ve hit the jackpot!”
—
“Marvel Multiverse”—this was the first time Bruce heard the term from Kathoom.
Without giving him a chance to digest it, Kathoom continued his explanation.
“Fifty years ago, America had a golden era of superheroes. All kinds of heroes emerged.
“Mutants, serum-enhanced soldiers, tech-powered heroes, sorcerers—even gods from other worlds. They formed alliances, protecting world peace.
“But just as the superhero era peaked, a sudden war broke out, destroying everything.
“Superheroes fell one by one, and America fell into the hands of criminals.
“Now, it’s the world we see before us!”
As he spoke, Kathoom handed Bruce a stack of newspapers.
Bruce took one glance and felt almost sick.
The headline announced a decree from none other than the great President Red Skull, ordering an entire region to be labeled as rebels and exterminated without mercy.
“Isn’t this part of the United States?”
Bruce’s worldview was shaken to the core. He couldn’t comprehend a president enforcing a scorched-earth policy on his own nation.
He looked up at Kathoom with questioning eyes.
Was this place really suitable for a vacation?
“Don’t worry,” the owl reassured him. “No matter how dangerous this world is, you’ll be safe. Even if you die, I can just bring you back with a shot of the Dionesium Factor.”
“Then why not give it to me now?”
Bruce asked, “You said the Dionesium Factor has healing powers. If I had it now, I wouldn’t even need to worry about dying.”
“Well…”
Kathoom hesitated. “The thing is, I haven’t figured out where the Dionesium Factor came from. If it turns out to be from the Joker and I inject you with it, you could catch the Joker Virus…”
The Joker.
Bruce had heard of this figure from Kathoom—a future arch-enemy of his, an embodiment of pure chaos.
The most potent Dionesium Factor was supposedly found in the Joker’s body.
Bruce couldn’t help but ask, “And what would happen if I caught the Joker Virus?”
“Oh, well…”
Kathoom paused, then replied, “Let’s just say…you’d have a real laugh.”
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