A Magician In Gotham (DC Self-Insert) By Stranger (DC)

Summary: Gotham City, 1987. Batman has just begun his war on the crime plaguing his city with a newly promoted James Gordon and idealistic D.A Harvey Dent as his unlikely allies. A would-be comedian named Jack Napier discovers the stage might not be for him. No one outside academic circles has ever heard the name Jonathan Crane. Nora Fries is about to get some very bad medical news. A petty thief known as Selina Kyle decides to take the term "cat burglar" a bit too literally.

But while this is all going on, an unfortunate outsider has just found out the hard way that there are places where magic isn't limited to childrens books or tacky stage shows...

Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/a-magician-in-gotham-dc-self-insert.982177/reader/

Word count:98k

Chapters:41

Gotham City, June 21st, 1987

This is a hell of a way to spend your birthday. Though I'm not entirerly certain how I'm supposed to count this one, since if there is another version of myself in this universe, which seems doubtful, he would currently be turning 1.

"So, you're a wizard?" The teenaged girl sitting in the rickety guest chair in front of my desk says, her tone making it clear she's not buying any of this for a second. Not that I can blame her. A few months ago, magic was strictly something for tacky Las Vegas performers and childrens books written by a transphobic soccer mom for me too. Thankfully, there's about a decade separating me from the Harry Potter series, so at least I won't have to deal with those jokes for a while.

"Actually, miss, I'm a magician!"

She frowns "What's the difference?"

"There isn't one, really. It's mostly a matter of branding, at least to me. I mean, when people say wizard, what comes to mind?"

"...I don't know, wands maybe?"

"Wands, robes, long white beards, those stupid pointy hats like in that old Mickey Mouse cartoon, exactly, and trust me, Bruce Wayne himself couldn't pay me enough to dress up like Gandalf for the job!"

The girl just looks confused at the reference "Who's Gandalf?"

Ugh, right, movies won't be made for 15 goddamned years yet, and most Gothamites aren't exactly the reading type. And I doubt the Ralph Bakhsi version was a bigger hit in this world than it was in my own. "Nevermind, just this old wizard guy, it's not important. SO, what brings you to my office?"

"I mean..." She pauses, and it's clear that the only reason she's in here is either out of curiosity, or because her friends dared her to go make fun of the crazy guy who thinks he's a wizard. Again, I can't exactly blame her, this is early days yet, there aren't any homicidal clowns or Lewis Carrol-obsessed pedophiles running around, and Batman is still mostly something everyone pretends is an urban legend for some reason, so someone claiming to be using magic is more likely to be some lonely shut-in making shit up to get attention from someone other than his dozen cats. Most of those types usually don't go as far as actually setting up a whole business about it. Writing terrible pseudoscientific books, sure, but not like, an entire office and businesscards and stuff. That takes special dedication, especially in these pre-Internet days.

Still, it seemed like the prudent thing to do, once I figured out what I could do, and that it probably wasn't going to help me get home anytime soon. Not only would it provide me with an income, but more importantly, once things get going a bit, it'll help me establish a reputation. Which frankly, I want to have sooner rather than later, because Gotham City is SCARY! At least is is when you're dropped in a back alley with nothing but the clothes on your back, and a head full of arcane knowledge that sure as hell wasn't there the night before. So yeah, no money, no valid ID, and effectively homeless does not for a great Gothan experience make, bonus magic knowledge or not.

My would-be client finally seems to make up her mind what to ask "If you're a wizard-"

"Magician!"

"-fine, if you're a magician, why do you even need this..." she waves her hand around, gesturing around my rather sparse office "...whatever this is? Couldn't you just like, turn lead into gold?"

I CAN do that actually, it's one of the first spells I figured out, but let's put it a different way "Let's say for arguments sake that I COULD do that, and I'm not saying I can, there's basically two different outcomes for me; someone in the U.S government will eventually figure out there's suddenly more gold on the market than there should be, it's coming from Gotham City, I get tracked down, and either pressganged into government service, thrown in a lab somewhere so they can pick me apart, or just locked up in a maximum security prison somewhere for whatever charges they can come up with. Or, option B, the goddamned mob families gets wind of me, force me into servitude at gun point, or just kill me and toss me in a shallow grave out in Slaughter Swamp somewhere just so none of their enemies can get ahold of me either. Frankly, neither option sounds all that great."

"Okay... but what about seeing the future? Couldn't you use that to like, look up future lottery numbers or something? I mean, it's right on your door and everything" She motions behind her towards the door leading to the hallway, and while the sign isn't visible from the inside, she's right. On the outside of the door, there's a plain sheet of paper that's been stuck to the wooden surface with thumbtacks, and on it, written in black marker, there's the following words:

"The Magician Freelance Magic!"

"Lost Items, Lost Pets, Lost People Found!"

"Fortunes Told (No Refunds!)"

"Healing, Blessings, Protective Spells Performed! No Curses!"

"Fair Rates! We Accept: Cash, Jewelry, Gold!

"Absolutely No Credit, Checks, Sexual Favors, Souls, Magic Beans or Firstborn Children!"

I was also going to add a note about not accepting Voices like in The Little Mermaid, but the Disney movie hasn't been made yet, and I doubt the original fairy tale is all that popular around here.

"See, the thing about seeing into the future is that there isn't a set outcome for most things, so what you end up with is seeing different probabilities. Sure, I can make a fairly likely guess on some things, depending on how likely a certain outcome is, such as a sports event between two teams, but it's never an absolute certainty, and for something completely random like a lottery? I might as well be drawing numbers out of a hat. However, it IS a certainty if I look into the future to find out something that has already happened, which is why I offer my services to track down lost things or people. It's not like they're going to get MORE lost, I simply take a look where they are right now."

That seems to mollify my would-be client, even if it's clear she still isn't buying any of this for a second. "Can you....raise the dead?"

"You're thinking of Jesus, miss. He's in the old church down the block if it's him you're looking for."

That actually gets a laugh out of her. "You know, I just realized I never asked what your name is, it's not on the sign outside, just "The Magician", and then that weird playing card glued next to it on the sign"

"It's a tarot card, actually, it's called The Magician, seemed appropriate enough. As for my name..."

See, two of the things I've learned in the time I've spent in this world so far - one, if you're a magic user, giving out your real name can have some very unpleasant consequences if you're not careful. Don't ask me why that is, or why it's applied so inconsistently, the Zatara family never seemed to suffer any ill effects from literally touring on theirs, but the first time I tried using my own name in this reality, a damn air raid siren warning went off in my head, and I ended up scrambling for something to call myself, which ended up being the first thing that popped into my head when I thought of a "magician".

Incidentally, earlier that day, I had visited the Gotham public library, and discovered that there's no Stephen King in this universe, as if it needed yet another strike against it. And thus, two vastly different problems ended up coinciding.

"....the name is Randall Flagg, miss. And I'm The Last Magician of Rational Thought!"

....

As far as fake identities go, I suppose I could have chosen a worse name. But I could have chosen a lot better too. For one thing, I'm fairly certain this world already has a Flagg family, though for obvious reasons the existance of the Suicide Squad isn't a matter of public record, and even if it was, I have no idea if they've even formed yet, considering that metahumans have only just started to pop up again after the post-Justice Society lull. Scrying to find out if the Squad exists should be fairly straightforward, it just simply hasn't been a priority yet, and so far, I've mostly stuck to newspapers and history books from the library to figure out exactly what kind of world I've ended up in.

First thing I figured out, literally, as it was damn near the first thing I laid eyes on when I woke up in that alley in the middle of the night thanks to a discarded newspaper blowing right into my face, there's definetly a Batman. Or at least someone running around town dressed like a bat and beating the shit out of mobsters and gang members. No Robin, or at least not one that's shown up in any of the newspapers I've read, and considering that James Gordon just got named commissioner a few weeks ago after the cartoonishly corrupt Loeb got canned, it's probably early enough that Dick Grayson hasn't been orphaned yet. Mental note, I need to keep an eye on that.

There's also a Superman, if the news coming out of Metropolis are any indication, and unlike Batman, Superman doesn't bother with the subterfuge, he's already front and center with Truth, Justice and The American Way. Crime's apparently dropped in Metropolis by something like 200% already, I guess if there's a risk of a bulletproof guy who can literally throw you into orbit showing up, it probably takes some of the appeal out of crime. Just wait until they find out he can also see through anything not made of lead, and hear a cat walking across a floor covered in feathers from across town.

Wonder Woman exists, and is apparently an ambassador to the U.N, though strangely, according to a biography on the Justice Society I found at the library, there was a Wonder Woman back in the 1940's as well, but judging from the photographs, it's not Diana Prince. They look similar enough, but their faces don't exactly match, and I think the woman in the photos might be shorter as well, not to mention her physique isn't quite as impressive as the modern one, though it could just be the quality of the old photos. However, I do vaguely remember that in some versions, Queen Hippolyta was the Wonder Woman in the Justice Society to take Diana's place in the timeline, so who knows? It's not really important.

Most of the gang seems to be here; there's a Flash running around in Keystone City, a Green Lantern in Coast City, a Green Arrow in Star City... on a side note, they had some really lazy fuckers in charge of naming their cities in this reality. Not that my own reality had it much better. I mean, Oklahoma City? New England? Bet it took them a lot of all nighters to come up with those gems.

Where was I? Oh right, superheroes. Aquaman is around as well, operating out of a lighthouse in a small Massachusetts town called Amnesty Bay. Strangely, I haven't been able to find any mention of Martian Manhunter anywhere, I have no idea if that means he's just sticking under the radar, or if he's still on Mars. There IS a Black Canary, but this one was a member of the Justice Society in the 40's, and was apparently active right here in Gotham. If there's a modern one, I haven't seen any signs of her around, which could mean there just isn't one, or that she just hasn't started out yet.

Most importantly though, despite the core members all being here, there isn't a Justice League, at least not yet. My guess is that whatever big threat that will bring them all together in this timeline simply hasn't happened yet, so there's something to look forward to. Yay.

I finish jotting down the last bit of notes in the dog-eared notebook I picked up at a thrift store a few days ago, just to have somewhere to keep track of things. Aside from my own ramblings, it also doubles as a place to keep copies of the runes and spells that require actual incantations and rituals rather than being cast from will alone. I don't strictly need it of course, as far as I can tell, the knowledge in my head seems to be a permanent addition, but it never hurts to have backup. As I close the book, the mark on the cover, a seal drawn in clear, black ink, glows faintly before fading out. Not a big work of magic or anything, just a little something I came up with in case I lose track of the notebook. If anyone except me tries to read it, it'll just look like bad high school poetry. It's easier than writing everything in code. It might not be a tome of ancient magic knowledge, but it gets the job done!

I pull my denim jacket off the hook on the wall, and quickly shrug into it before darting out the door and locking it behind me. The jacket is another thing I bought cheap, along with the two buttons that now decorate the front of the denim; a vintage yellow smiley face button, and a peace symbol, one of the few nods I've bothered to make towards the character of Randall Flagg. Sure, he might've been a mass murdering, sadistic, petty satanic archetype, but I have to admit, the man had style.

Not mimicking the cowboy boots though. There's not enough magic in the world to convince me to wear that. I'm sticking with my own steel-toed leather boots for footwear.

I stuff my notebook into the pocket of my jeans as I shuffle down the stairs towards the street. My office, which is little more than a repurposed studio apartment, is on the third floor of a crumbling old slum building that was probably quite impressive 60 years ago but now seems to consider building safety standards polite suggestions. However, as much of a shithole it is, it did fill one of my most important requirements; the building manager doesn't ask any questions, and was more than willing to accept some of my transmuted gold as payment for a few months rent. He was even willing to part with some furniture that had been left behind by previous tenants so I wouldn't have to sleep on the floor or greet my clients from a desk consisting of an old fruit crate.

The ancient lock on the door wouldn't deter a strong gust of wind, much less a burglar, not that I have much worth stealing yet, but that's easily been remedied by another rune carved on the inside of both the front door, and the single, dirt-stained window of the apartment, which overlooks the alley leading to the next door building, though so far the closest I've seen to any thieves out there is the occasional stray cat. A corresponding rune carved into the apartment key means that I'm the only one who can open the door, while the window simply can't be opened from the outside at all. Not the most refined kind of magical security, but hey, it works.

Quickly walking down the stairs, stepping over a suspicious-looking stain on the threadbare hallway carpet on the second floor, I glance at the neighboring apartments as I pass them. From what I can tell, many of them are empty, a few of them even missing doors entirerly, revealing nothing but unoccupied rooms with peeling wallpaper and the occasional bit of trash on the floor, but others have people in them. I can hear a wailing baby behind one door near the stairs leading to the third floor, and further down the hall, a gaunt man with thinning hair and unhealthy, pockmarked skin is leaning in the doorway of his own apartment, smoking a badly rolled cigarette, ignoring me as I walk past. A few kids are hanging around the stoop as I step outside, wincing as I'm met with the stifling heat of a Gotham City June day.

I shield my eyes with one hand as I look up at the summer sun, peeking through the everpresent smog clouds that drift across the sky. The comics were right, Gotham seems to get the worst parts of every season; freezing cold in the winter, and oppressive heat in the summers. Or maybe it's just down here in the shabby parts of the city, I bet the richer folks uptown have their streets airconditioned. Note to self, better start testing out a cooling spell to stitch into my jacket...

Well, heatwave or not, the streets are bustling with people, though the weather isn't going to be improving anyones mood. I join with the crowd as I begin heading down the sidewalk, following the street north towards my own destination. I could simply create a portal to wherever I'm heading, but for one thing, I want to familiarize myself with Gotham a bit more. This is the first time in my life I've lived in a genuinely big city, and despite everything Gotham has working against it, be it corrupt cops, the mob basically running the place to the point that a masked vigilante was required to even start fixing things, pollution and urban blight that makes Detroit from my own reality to look like a beach resort, there's a certain... energy here that I've never felt anywhere else. Something that makes people want to stick around even if they have the money to leave. I think it's part of the reason for why I decided to stay rather than just portal to somewhere safer, or just bought myself a ticket on the first train out of here when I transmuted my first chunk of gold from a random quarter I found on the sidewalk about a day after I first got here.

Still got that quarter actually, rattling around in my pocket, never ended up selling it. Sort of a "first dollar earned" thing, I guess.

The honking from the traffic slowly crawling along the congested roads and the shouts and murmur from the pedestrians around me becomes a kind of background noise as I slowly make my way north, the buildings around me gradually becoming nicer and less dillapitated than the ones in my own neighborhood. The stores around here don't have bars or iron grates over the windows, and the windows look like they've actually been cleaned on occasion. Even the summer heat seems slightly less overbearing around here. Par for the course, really. Finally, I come to a stop in front of an unassuming brick building on a street corner, a large storefront window being the only sign that this is anything other than another residential tenament.

See, one of the problems with magic is that it tends to make you want to use it for everything, and to be fair, there's really not a lot of situations it can't fix, which is also why a lot of magic users end up sitting ducks the few times when their abilities fail them. Especially when they have access to as much of it as I seem to. So, one of the first things I decided to do once I figured out how my new powers worked, was to find something to fall back on in case I ever need to. And the man I'm here to meet has been helping me with doing exactly that.

As I step through the front door, the comparative coolness of the inside is a refreshing change from the heat on the street. A short hallway opens up into a wide room that's sparsely decorated, with several sets of weights and barbells stacked around a bench press over in one corner, alongside a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. A large boxing ring takes up most of the space in the middle of the room, and leaning against the side is a muscular man who looks to be in his middle-aged judging by his hair that's just beginning to grey, wrapping tape around one fist.

It's hard to believe that the guy is actually well into his 60's.

Ted Grant, formerly known as Wildcat of the Justice Society, looks up as he hears the door opens, and grins at the sight of me "Jeez, Flagg, you're already sweating like a turkey the day before Thanksgiving, and we haven't even started todays session yet! Hot enough for ya?"

Link: https://forums.spacebattles.com/threads/a-magician-in-gotham-dc-self-insert.982177/reader/