Noah sat on the edge of his motel bed, staring at the laptop in front of him. Gotham's lights flickered faintly outside the window, painting the room with orange and gray streaks. He'd spent the past few days training, exploring the city with Pamela, and slowly learning to navigate this chaotic world. Tonight, though… tonight was different.
He had a plan.
A normal plan.
A job.
Not superhero work, not chaos management, not park strolls with Pamela. Just… a normal IT job at a small tech group downtown. Sure, it wasn't glamorous, and sure, it didn't pay much. But it was something. Something to anchor him in the city, something that didn't involve punching thugs or bending bricks with his mind.
Noah opened the posting again, reading carefully. IT support, system maintenance, software updates, network troubleshooting… pretty standard stuff. Exactly the kind of work he knew he could do—even if Gotham's tech landscape might be slightly more "creative" than his home world's.
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.
"I can do this," he muttered. "It's just… sitting behind a desk and solving problems."
He glanced at his wallet. Money was tight. If he got this job, even part-time, it would cover rent, food, and a little cushion for emergencies.
Noah started filling out the application, typing in his personal information, education history, and work experience. He paused over the section labeled, Why should we hire you?
Normally, he'd write something bland, polite, safe. But he wanted this job. He wanted a foothold in this world. So he leaned back, closed his eyes for a moment, and focused—not to bend reality violently or crush metal, but just… to subtly guide the words, make the sentences flow perfectly, convey confidence without arrogance, experience without boasting.
When he opened his eyes, the paragraph on the screen read smoothly: clear, professional, concise, with just enough personality to stand out.
Noah leaned back and exhaled. "Not cheating… just… leveling the odds a little."
He attached a small digital portfolio—previous projects, mock-ups, a few freelance gigs. Again, he polished it slightly, subtly enhancing readability and presentation. Nothing flashy. Just… clean.
Clicking "submit," he exhaled heavily.
"Done. That's it. Now we wait."
The next morning, Noah awoke to the sound of his laptop pinging. He blinked blearily, reached over, and saw a new email.
Congratulations, you've been selected for an interview.
He stared at the screen, mouth slightly open.
"…Wow. That was fast."
The email included the time and location: a small office building in downtown Gotham. Not flashy, not fancy, just clean and professional. Exactly what he wanted.
Noah dressed in simple but tidy clothes: black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a dark jacket. Nothing over the top. He wanted to look competent, approachable, and normal—no suits like last night's dinner with Pamela, no flashy shoes, just… regular.
He checked his reflection in the motel mirror. Hair combed, jacket straight. Good enough. He grabbed his bag and left.
The office building was small but functional. Glass doors, polished floors, a reception desk with a friendly woman behind it. She looked up and smiled as he entered.
"Hello, I'm Noah Grey. I'm here for the IT interview?" he asked.
"Of course, Mr. Grey," she said, typing into her computer. "They'll see you now. Please follow me."
Noah followed her down a quiet hallway into a small office where two people sat behind a desk, laptops open. One looked up and smiled.
"Mr. Grey, thank you for coming. We were impressed by your resume," said a man in a gray sweater. "Please, have a seat."
Noah nodded and sat, trying to calm the slight flutter of nerves in his stomach. Interviews had always made him anxious, but tonight, for some reason, he felt ready.
The interview began. Questions about his experience, problem-solving abilities, software knowledge, network troubleshooting. Noah answered confidently, calmly. But when a tricky question arose—one that might have tripped him up—he subtly guided his words, making them precise, clear, and well-structured. Not unnaturally, just… better than normal.
By the end, both interviewers were nodding, impressed.
"Mr. Grey," the woman said, smiling, "you clearly have the skills we're looking for. When can you start?"
Noah blinked. "Uh… as soon as possible."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and Noah left the office feeling a strange sense of satisfaction. Gotham felt… quieter somehow. Almost friendly.
Outside, he leaned against the building and exhaled.
"First step of being normal… check," he muttered.
He decided to walk a little, enjoying the night air. The city was busy, but he felt a rare sense of calm. He hadn't had a day like this since he arrived. A day where he didn't have to fight, hide, or manipulate reality for survival. A day where he did something ordinary.
He passed a street vendor selling hot dogs and coffee. Normally, he might have ignored it. Tonight, though, he bought a small snack and walked slowly, savoring it.
"This is… nice," he muttered, watching the lights of Gotham reflect off the wet pavement.
He thought about Pamela. Dinner last night. The way she smiled. The way she laughed at his jokes. He chuckled softly.
"Okay, Noah," he whispered to himself. "You're finally starting to do some normal things. Don't screw this up."
At the motel, he showered and collapsed onto the bed, tired but satisfied. He stared at the ceiling, feeling the quiet hum of the city outside.
For once, he didn't feel like he was running from chaos. For once, he felt… grounded.
And somewhere deep down, he knew that tomorrow, he'd wake up and face Gotham again, but this time with a little more control. A little more confidence.
A little… normalcy.
Noah didn't know how long it would last. He knew Gotham had a way of pulling people back into chaos when they least expected it. But for now, he had a job. Money in his pocket. A sense of stability.
And for Noah, that was enough.
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