Chapter 1 The Hunt Begins

The city hummed with life—cars honked, street vendors shouted, and dancers moved to the rhythm of unseen drums. This was just another day in Gotham. But to Jaxon, it was something else entirely.

A teenage boy stood at the city's entrance, his breath caught in his throat. His black singlet clung to his muscular frame, highlighting his well-defined build. White hair, tied into a firm ponytail, left a few loose strands cascading over his face. A black full bag hung from his shoulders. His brown skin contrasted against his crystalline blue eyes, which widened in awe as they reflected the chaos before him. His jaw hung open—he had never seen anything like this.

His black boots tapped lightly against the pavement as he walked, his head still tilting toward every corner of the street, taking in the overwhelming sights.

A hand gently touched his back.

"Hey—"

Instinct took over. Jaxon's grip tightened around the stranger's arm as he bent his back, seamlessly hurling the poor man over his shoulder. The world flipped for the unfortunate soul before he slammed onto the pavement with a heavy thud.

Jaxon locked his arms while taking a firm stance ready to strike. "Wait wait wait" The man said while dragging himself back.

"I just wanted to know if you'd like to try my sushi. That's all" He said pointing at the sushi stand behind him "I swear I didn't mean any harm" Immediately he lifted up and ran away.

Jaxon eased off, releasing his stance. Without a second glance, he kept walking down the street. At first, he walked in the middle of the road, completely unaware of the chaos he was causing. Cars screeched to a halt in front of him, their drivers slamming their horns in frustration.

"Get out of the way, you freak!"

"What the hell's wrong with you?"

"You blind or something?"

Jaxon blinked, still utterly confused by what was happening.

A fair-skinned man in a police uniform stormed toward him. "The hell's wrong with you?! Who just walks in the middle of the road? You're causing a traffic jam!"

Jaxon tilted his head, staring up at him. "Um... where am I supposed to walk, then?"

The officer scoffed and pointed. "The sidewalk, you moron."

Without a word, Jaxon turned and walked toward the sidewalk.

The officer's face twitched. "What the hell's wrong with that kid?"

---

Jaxon continued along the sidewalk, still oblivious to the disaster he'd caused. His steps were slow, hesitant. As he passed by a ladder leaning against a wall—

Thud!

A teenage boy tumbled from above, crashing right into Jaxon and sending them both sprawling onto the pavement. The boy groaned, his apron smeared with paint, brown hair sticking to his forehead. Frantically, he patted the ground, searching for his glasses.

By the time he jammed them back onto his face, Jaxon was already standing, his towering figure casting a shadow over him.

"Shit," the boy muttered, scrambling to his feet. "I'm so sorry, man! It was an accident—I lost my footing and—" He trailed off, his voice as goofy as his expression.

Jaxon stared at him, expressionless.

The boy hesitated before stretching out a hand. "I'm Milo, by the way."

Jaxon glanced at the offered handshake, then back at Milo. An awkward silence stretched between them. Milo grinned nervously, still holding his hand out.

Finally, Jaxon reached out, gripping Milo's palm in a bone-crushing squeeze.

"I'm Jaxon."

Milo whimpered, his face contorting in pain. "Uhh... y-you can let go now!"

Jaxon released him instantly. Milo yanked his hand back, wincing. "Damn, you're strong, huh?" He chuckled through the pain.

"Yes," Jaxon said plainly. "I'll be on my way now."

"Wait—where are you headed?"

"I don't know."

Milo's eyes widened. "You... don't know?"

"Yeah. I just got here. I'll go wherever I deem fit."

"Oh! You're new here?"

"Yes."

Milo hesitated. "Don't you have any family or relatives you can stay with?"

"I do not."

Milo frowned, his curiosity about Jaxon growing with every answer.

"Well, uh—"

A motorcycle roared past them. The driver, clad entirely in black, zoomed down the street. Jaxon's gaze slowly followed him—just as the biker snatched an old woman's purse mid-ride.

Time seemed to slow.

Jaxon's hands clenched into fists. A voice in his head whispered, You didn't see anything. You didn't see anything. You didn't—

His body moved before he could think.

With a powerful stomp, he shot forward, a dark blur against the city streets. The ground skidded beneath his boots as he planted himself directly in the motorcycle's path.

The driver's head snapped up. "What the—?!"

Jaxon's arm thrust forward, his stance wide. His knuckles collided with the biker's gut, lifting him clean off his seat.

BOOM!

The force sent the thief hurtling backward. His body bounced and skidded across the pavement before coming to a painful stop.

Jaxon stood still, gripping the pink purse in his other hand—the one he'd snatched from the biker before sending him flying.

The street fell silent.

Then—cheers erupted. Applause rang through the air as people celebrated the sudden hero before them.

Jaxon stiffened. His mind snapped back to his original goal—keeping a low profile.

Without a word, he hurled the purse into the air. The old woman caught it, stunned. But when the crowd turned back to him—

He was gone.

Milo stood frozen, still processing what had just happened.

"...Who the hell are you, Jaxon?" he whispered.

****

The Outskirts of Gotham

A wooden cabin stood alone in the heart of the woods, surrounded by towering trees and the distant echoes of wildlife.

Jack, a man in his early forties, approached with slow, measured steps. His ash-colored singlet clung tightly to his muscular frame, emphasizing the years of hardened experience etched into his body. His left arm ended at the elbow, capped with a fitted metal cover. A black eye patch wrapped around his head, held in place by a thick rope. His dark hair was combed back, his remaining eye as sharp as a predator's.

As he neared the cabin, his voice cut through the stillness.

"Hey, Jaxon! Didn't I tell you to cut down these woods before I got back?"

Silence.

His brow furrowed. "Jaxon." His voice sharpened. "Jaxon, where the hell are you?"

He halted abruptly. His eye locked onto the cabin, his entire body stiffening. A deadly aura radiated from him as realization set in.

Then—he moved.

With explosive speed, he slammed the cabin door open. The wood groaned under the impact, dust shaking from the frame. His gaze swept across the dimly lit room, scanning every corner.

Empty.

The grin that stretched across his face was slow, deliberate—cruel.

A low, menacing chuckle rumbled in his throat.

"The hunt begins."