#gothopolis au

"It's... the ground?" the man repeats. Bruce's grip tightens, "Clarify." The man raises his hands in surrender, "I-I swear! I'm tellin' the truth," he shakily lets out, "Nearly a decade or so ago, the sphere was created and everyone left down here fell into chaos! Trash is everywhere, and resources are scarce!"

'Trash?' Bruce looks past the man and sees nothing but dunes of sand and scattered junk everywhere. Then, the smell finally registers. A grimace crosses his face as he looks back at the man in his fist. His small hands grab onto Bruce's wrist and forearm before continuing with his babbling, "We gotta eat, so we do what we gotta to survive y'know?! Ya'can't blame us for that, right?"

Bruce lets out a deep sigh, "No. I suppose I can't," he sets the man down on his feet but doesn't let go of his shirt. The texture is thin and seemingly light weight. Though loose-fitting, it's strong enough not to tear under a tough grip and good beating. Suitable for hot weather, but the texture's..off.

"Look! If ya want our loot, you can have it! We can always just get more! Just please don't kill us!" the man begs.

"I'm not going to kill you," the man slumps with relief, "but if you don't tell what I need to know, you're going to wish I did." The man tenses up once again as a nervous smile crosses his face, "Heeey! Whateva 'ya need to know, I got'cha! No need to get all torture-y on us, okay?"

Bruce squints his eyes. "But I need my mask back. We ain't all immune to the air around here." Bruce raises an eyebrow, "Explain."

"Oh, uh, well, the trash from The Sphere, pollutes our air, so we gotta wear masks in certain places so we don't get pollution poisoning and die and stuff."

"Is that it?"

"Um, do ya got a map?"

"...no."

*Insert Wattpad time skip*

"So let me get this straight," Bruce begins, staring at the strangers' map, "This is the ground? It's polluted to the point where you need to wear masks everywhere or else you'll get sick and/or die, and it's all the 'Sphere's' fault?"

The man nods at his reiteration, mask bouncing as he does, "Almost. Some places are safe zones where you don't need a mask, but those were claimed by all the 'richer' folks, as they like to call themselves. Where we're at, is called a polluted zone. It's not safe to breathe the air here for a long time or you'll get sick. Die if any longer," the man, whose name is apparently Carl, corrects.

"Don't forget, about the No Man's Lands," one of his partners, who actually turned out to be a woman named Sheila, says, "As soon as you enter one, you only have about 10 maybe 15 minutes to leave before you die," she explains, pointing at her partner's map.

"Mhm," the other man, Marcus, vocalizes in agreement.

Bruce looks down at the map and back at them, "So, where are we now?"

"We're in a polluted zone. There should be a few settlements around the edge, but you've got nothin' of value to trade. If ya ain't got nothin', ya ain't gettin' nothin' either'," Carl says.

"Settlements? Is that where you all were headed? Why?"

"Because we gotta trade," Marcus says, "Sphereites dump their shit down here on a near daily basis. Hourly even. Look hard enough, you're bound to find something, or someone, worth trading," he explains.

Sheila leans towards Bruce, "That's why we had you," she tells him. Bruce furrows his eyebrows at her comment. "How am I worth trading?" he asks. They all share a look between each before Carl looks back at Bruce, "What do'ya mean, 'how am I worth trading'? Look at you! You're a beast! A freak of nature!" he shouts.

"...I'm 92, not a freak of nature?" Bruce sneers. 'I swear, ever since my hair fell out and more wrinkles and liver spots appeared, people ALWAYS want to remind me that I'm on death's doorstep,' he thinks to himself.

"No. You're a LITERAL beast!" Marcus exclaims

"What are you talking about?"

Sheila reaches into her beige and brown satchel and pulls out a chipped and cracked hand mirror and hands it to Bruce. He reaches out to grab it when he notices that his hand is clawed and completely black from the tips of his fingers, up past his elbow. He quickly draws his hand back towards himself and flips them over and over, searching for the pale, frail, wrinkly, liver spotted skin he's had for the last 5 and a half decades, and he finds none of it.

Then, he starts noticing. His voice is clearer. His muscles and bones don't ache. He's been standing the entire time without his cane and not once did he feel the need to lean or reach for his heart medication. Even the cut on his forearm didn't hurt as much as it should've. However, his back felt uncharacteristically heavy. Weightless and at the same time, like a thick coat he's been wearing for a long time.

"Do you still need this or..." Sheila gestures towards the mirror still clapped in her hand. Now hesitant, Bruce takes it, and what looks back at him is a face thought to be long gone.

Windswept inky black hair with whisps of silver now placed on his once bald and spotted head. An aged face, though with some lines, was unwrinkled. His now much clearer eyes widened at features he's only gotten to see in old photographs and even older memories. And then, he notices newer things too.

His grey-blue eyes, once surrounded by white scleras now swim in a pool of pitch black. His ears are larger and sharper and dare he even think it, more... bat-like. He notices the black fur that coats them transitioning down into face eventually ending near the corners of his lips, surrounding his eyes and eyebrows, and ending on the bridge of his nose. His nose is also more bat-like with two small points protruding upward from the tip of it. He gapes his mouth and notices how much sharper his teeth are, his canines especially. He glides his tongue over them and sees that his tongue is somehow longer and thinner.

And just when he thinks he's noticed everything, something behind him moves. He jerks his head back as far as it can go, which appears to be further than he or his captors expected, earning gasps from everyone. Him included, but for a different reason.

He expects to see an animal or even a secret fourth assailant readying to ambush him, but what he finds instead, are two massive pitch black boney bat wings firmly (and assuming permanently) protruding from his back. It's only then did he feel the tips of said wings grazing the sand and trash covered ground around him.

He lowers the mirror in his and mumbles in a quiet voice,

"What happened to me?"

He looks back up to his captors and hands Sheila back her mirror, "Now I know why you all were so quick to to trade me and even quicker to give up your assault," he comments to the group.

"Yeah, but like, no hard feeling, right?" Carl asks nervously.

"Sure."

The group eases.

"But I need to get some things from you all," Bruce continued.

"We already gave you all the information we know!? And none of us made a move to reclaim that knife you pocketed! What else do ya want from us!?" Carl begs.

Bruce steps forward and leans his towering frame closer to Carl's face, "According to you, I need a mask, a map, and something worth trading."

"Please don't trade us! We got other stuff worth more, promise!"

"I'm not going to trade you. I'm not like that," Bruce tells them, "However, I want your mask, some of the stuff you planned on trading, and your map."

"Our map?" Bruce nods.

"If this world is as harsh as you claim it to be, it's likely that each of you have spares. Am I wrong?" he states rhetorically.

"Man. After I time together, I thought you'd at least be a bit more greatfull," Carl comments as he reaches into his satchel.

"I am. You're still conscious and standing aren't you?"

"Heh, right," Carl rummages faster. He pulls out a spare mask, map, and a small bag of what Bruce is assuming money or trinkets. He presents them to Bruce, but Bruce only takes the bag and nothing else.

"Put them on the ground."

"...what?"

"Put them on the ground, and give me yours."

"Come on!" Sheila exclaims, "Haven't we given you enough?"

"You've given me what I wanted. Now, you're going to give me what I need."

Carl takes off his mask and hands it over with his map. Bruce places the mask on his face and folds the map under his arm. He then ties the bag full of coins and trinkets and fastens it to his waist. It's only then that he notices a smaller second pair of wings wrapped snugly against the lower half of his torso and ending just above his feet. Then a breeze makes its way through the crevices of said folded wings and a heat rises on Bruce's face.

"Is the stuff in this bag enough to get me some clothes?"