A Tyrant In Dc

The cold concrete wall dug into Allen's back as his eyes fluttered open. His body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, every wound throbbing. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air, mixing with the faint stench of oil and charred remains. He blinked a few times, his vision blurry, trying to piece together where he was. Slowly, the events of the last few days came rushing back to him.

Two days. He had been out for two whole days.

"Damn," he muttered, his voice hoarse and dry as sandpaper. His throat burned, and he swallowed hard, wincing at the pain. He leaned forward slightly, pressing a hand against his ribs. Broken, probably. The dull throb in his thigh reminded him of the gunshot wound he'd taken. It had scabbed over, but the ache was persistent. Fatigue weighed down on him like a suffocating blanket. His body wasn't just injured—it was exhausted.

The warehouse was eerily quiet now. The chaos of his battle with the boss had left the place in ruins. Splintered wood, shattered glass, and scorch marks decorated the space. Allen slowly turned his head, his neck stiff and uncooperative, and saw the massive corpse of the boss where it had fallen. The man's grotesque frame lay motionless, his once-monstrous presence reduced to a heap of broken flesh. Allen's lips twitched into a weak, bitter smile.

"Guess you weren't so unstoppable after all," he muttered.

His hand brushed against the wall as he pushed himself to his feet, the effort nearly sending him back down. He gritted his teeth, forcing his legs to steady under him. His boots scraped against the floor as he hobbled toward the door. Each step was a battle against his own body.

Then he remembered something. His eyes widened. The cages.

Allen turned sharply—too sharply—and a sharp pain lanced through his side. He hissed through gritted teeth, one hand instinctively clutching his ribs. Gritting his teeth, he limped toward the far side of the warehouse where the cages had been. His mind raced as he thought back to the people trapped there, their faces filled with fear and despair. He had freed them, hadn't he? But then he passed out. Had they managed to escape?

The heavy metallic door to the holding area was still shut. His heart sank. Allen approached it cautiously, his fingers brushing against the cold steel. With a grunt, he pushed it open.

Inside, the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks. They were all still there. Dozens of faces turned toward him, their expressions a mix of fear, confusion, and desperation. Some were huddled together for warmth; others sat alone, their heads bowed in defeat.

"They're alive," Allen whispered, relief washing over him like a tidal wave.

A man at the front of the group, older and frail-looking, stood up shakily. "Are… are you here to help us?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Allen nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "Yeah. I'm here to get you out of here."

As the words left his mouth, a soft chime rang in his head.

"Quest complete. Reward granted: Inventory Level 1."

Allen paused. "Inventory?" he muttered aloud, his brow furrowing. A translucent menu appeared in his vision, listing a grid of ten empty slots. He stared at it for a moment before a small, rare smile tugged at his lips.

"Finally, something useful," he said, shaking his head. "Took you long enough."

He turned his attention back to the captives. They were starting to move now, cautiously stepping out of their cages. Allen held up a hand. "Wait. Before you go, let me check the place. Make sure there aren't any surprises."

As he began to walk around the warehouse, checking for anything the goons might have left behind, he heard a small voice behind him. "Mister?"

Allen turned to see a boy standing there, no older than ten. The boy's white hair and pale skin made him stand out, and a strange mark curled around the corner of his left eye, faintly glowing in the dim light. His eyes were dark and hollow, filled with a depth of pain that no child should ever know.

"What is it, kid?" Allen asked, crouching slightly to meet the boy's gaze. His voice was gruff, but there was a gentleness beneath it.

The boy hesitated, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. "I… I don't have anywhere to go."

Allen's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The boy looked down, his voice barely above a whisper. "The bad men… they made my mom and sister scream. Then they stopped screaming. They burned our house. There's nothing left."

Allen's chest tightened. He closed his eyes briefly, letting out a slow breath. "Damn it," he muttered under his breath. He looked at the boy again, taking in the frail frame, the haunted eyes.

"Alright, kid," Allen said after a moment. "You can come with me."

The boy's eyes widened. "Really?"

"Yeah. But don't think this is a free ride," Allen said, ruffling the boy's hair lightly. "You're gonna have to pull your weight. Got it?"

The boy nodded quickly, a small, hesitant smile appearing on his face. "Got it."

"Good." Allen straightened up, wincing as his injuries protested the movement. He glanced around the warehouse one last time, his eyes landing on a metal safe tucked away in the corner. He limped over to it and pried it open, revealing stacks of cash. His eyes widened slightly as the system chimed again.

"Funds acquired: $524,897."

Allen let out a low whistle. "Well, that's a nice surprise," he muttered, carefully stacking the money into his new inventory. It filled two slots, leaving him with eight. "Not bad."

He turned back to the boy. "Alright, let's get out of here. Stay close."

The boy nodded, sticking to Allen's side as they made their way out of the warehouse. The air outside was crisp and cold, biting at Allen's skin. He glanced up at the dark Gotham sky, the faint glow of the city's lights barely visible through the smog.

As they walked, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

"TP +10."

Allen smirked faintly. "Not a bad day after all."

They disappeared into the shadows, leaving the horrors of the warehouse behind. But Allen knew this was only the beginning. Gotham wasn't a place that let anyone rest for long. And now, with a strange kid in tow and a system that seemed to have its own agenda, he had more questions than answers.

But for now, all he could do was move forward. One step at a time.