With These Hands

He sat in a secluded corner of a cafe, a half eaten plate of chicken salad which he picked at sat on the table in front of him.

There weren't a lot of customers at the moment, allowing him the solace of silence as he rummaged through his thoughts.

'How is it possible?' He thought, taking a bite out of the salad. It wasn't expensive but it was his second plate, an unsurprising effect of the fitness mix he merged up.

He didn't want to imagine what would happen should he decide not to give his body the energy and nutrients it desired.

The pendant still haunted his mind. In his life, it was a birthday gift he'd given his mother when he was fourteen after saving up months of his allowance. In this life, it was a family heirloom that his mother had gotten from her mother who'd gotten it from her own mother and so on…

He didn't know what kind of twisted game was being played here but he didn't like it.

'It can't be a coincidence.' If he'd been willing to chalk his 'existence' in this world as some sort of supernatural coincidence, the pendant was too specific…too personal.

He tried to distract himself by going through his memories, looking for any small details that he overlooked that could be useful.

While doing that, he randomly used the appraisal function to 'appraise' whatever caught his eye. This coincidentally led to him realizing that it also worked on living things rather than being restricted to objects alone.

As scary as Gotham was made out to be, the adrenaline of his transmigration slowly wore off, allowing him to see the subconscious thought process behind his actions so far.

He had dove into exploring the system's functions and working out to take his mind off the sheer nervousness he was feeling at the entire situation. He was more of a scholar than a fighter, making him even less inclined to get into a fight but he didn't know how long it would last.

He couldn't exactly hold out hope that he would be unaffected by whatever shitstorms would occur and there were a lot of them.

The joker killed indiscriminately and Batman would never end the clown prince, allowing him to escape and repeat the cycle. Victor Zsasz was a similar case. Black Mask, Scarecrow, Bane and the rest of Batman's rogues wouldn't hesitate to kill or threaten who they wanted to if it meant getting what they wanted.

That was just in Gotham. There were still much more dangerous people out there who were even more powerful.

It all made him feel so small…so helpless.

It was only when he felt his fork scrape the plate that he realized that he had emptied the plate while in thought.

Not long after, a waitress came up to clear the table.

+++++

-[Darcy Murray]

-[A waitress by day and a stripper by night. She comes from a troubled background which is only followed by her troubled marriage. Darcy's materialistic needs only drive her deeper into her vices. Her husband is unaware of her nightly activities.]

+++++

He barely stopped himself from letting out a whistle at the short but graphic outline of her life. Taking a look at the innocent smile on her face, he could hardly believe that she was the person being appraised.

Shaking his head, he ordered a few more servings to go. Thankfully it was a weekend, which would give him time to get his affairs in order.

•••

The weekend had passed since he woke up in this body and he had spent it working out and brainstorming a solution to his money problem.

His total expenses were only a bit lower than his predecessors and that was only because of his drastically increased metabolism as a result of the fitness mix.

Speaking of fitness, he now stood in front of his bathroom mirror. He pulled lightly on his shirt, finding it more than a bit loose. His once chubby hands had already lost quite a portion of their excess fat.

Now, his clothes didn't fit. His pants were just barely being held up by his belt.

As it was, he estimated that it would be two months before he ran out of money and that was him being frugal with said money.

"Clothes will have to wait." He murmured, pulling off the shirt and throwing on a hoodie to attempt to hide the drastic change in his physique.

He wasn't chiseled by any means yet but with him spending most of his time in the last two days working out with the mix and eating to gain energy, a large amount of fat had been removed.

That left him with a body that, while it still had some flab, was much better than it was a few days ago. The soreness in his body was just a side effect he'd have to put up with.

'If I don't think of something soon…' he trailed off as he grabbed the school bag that lay at the foot of the bed.

A few minutes later, he was on the bus on his way to school but that was the least important thing on his mind.

That honor was reserved for the latest news in Gotham. He read the headlines on his phone.

'The Joker broke out of Arkham last night.' He read a line from the article, his blood freezing at the news.

He suddenly didn't feel like going to school again.

•••

"Colonialism has its origins in the Age of Discovery when European powers began to establish colonies in other parts of the world. Now, Imperialism has its…" he drowned out the sound of the history lesson, his mind still on edge.

There was also the fact that he had graduated highschool already so he wasn't lacking in knowledge.

"Mr Anderson." The teacher called out, getting his attention.

His head snapped to the middle aged man who was giving him a flat stare. "Yes?"

"Since you obviously have better things to do than pay attention in my class, how about you tell us what caused colonialism?" The man asked with a hint of sarcasm and annoyance.

Liam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As the fat kid, he always got singled out by both the staff and students, not that his grades helped that much with them being average.

'It's time to change that.' He thought before speaking. "Colonialism was caused as a result of the Industrial Revolution which led to largely increased production because of the new machines. However, the rate of local consumption was much lower compared to the surplus rate of production. Hence, the immediate need of the Europeans was to find new marketplaces for selling their products."

He fought off the smug smirk at the silence that fell in the classroom and the stunned faces around him.

"C-correct." The teacher stuttered, clearing his throat to regain some composure before resuming his teaching.

He didn't miss the weird looks he'd gotten since he'd gotten to school. The hoodie tried and failed to hide his weight and fat loss. As such, he was subjected to the whispers and murmurs of others.

His brainstorming session came to a pause soon enough as the next period came. One of his favorite subjects; Chemistry.

'Well, inorganic chemistry to be precise.' He froze at that thought. 'That's it!'

The glare of light that shone on his glasses hid his widened eyes as he found a solution to his money problem.