Sandboxing in the Sandbox

Doesn't rain much here.

Apart from that, and the sky, it ain't that different to Gotham. The thief girl gave him enough to be getting on with, and ain't any city so individual you can't find the slums if you're looking. And slums never mind an extra body, and always got room for someone can pay their way.

And the slums always got a fair share of crackpots, and that's what Jason needs. People who're already skirting the edges of sane. They don't run when he asks them to send him three hundred years back into another world.

'Course, none of them can help yet, either. But he'll keep trying.

For now, he's sitting against the wall in a place called Versi, long legs stretched out in front of him, sharpening his knife. He hasn't found anything better yet. Still has to get up close to kill the yellow-eyed bastards. (Lurks, a kid called them.) They're all strength and grip though, not much cunning.

There's a one-armed, one-eyed girl staring at him from across the dirt street. He represses the urge to yell BOO. Wouldn't get him anywhere.