Where’s Waldo? In Gotham. (Young Justice x Where’s Waldo crossover Self Insert)

[Michael Schachter]

I usually don't post here, but well, there is always a first time.

Where's Waldo? In Gotham​

The Batcave was quiet, save for the low hum of surveillance equipment and the sharp tap of Batman's fingers on the console as he fast-forwarded through hours of grainy security footage. He stopped abruptly, eyes narrowing, and hit rewind. Robin, Alfred, and Zatara stood nearby, each watching the screen with varying degrees of focus and curiosity.

They were observing a robbery at the Gotham First National Bank—nothing unusual by Gotham standards, except for one element that defied explanation. Over the past two days, the investigation had yielded virtually nothing. No forced entry, no fingerprints, no lingering traces of any toxins or hypnotics in the air. The employees and patrons swore they hadn't seen anything or anyone suspicious.

And yet, here he was.

Batman frowned as he played the footage again at regular speed. There, just after 8:02 a.m., a young man walked into the bank lobby. Striped red-and-white sweater, bobbled cap, large round glasses, blue jeans. The attire alone would have drawn attention in any other city, but somehow, no one looked his way. He passed in front of a security guard, who didn't even turn his head, strode right past the teller counter, and headed straight to the vault's back room. It was as though he were just a whisper of wind slipping through a crowd.

"Are we sure this isn't some kind of hypnotic effect?" Robin asked, squinting at the figure in red and white as he rewound the footage a second time.

Batman shook his head, analyzing the body language of everyone in the lobby. Not a single flicker of a reaction. "Hypnotics would leave traces. Elevated heart rates, minor physiological responses to suggest a disruption in awareness. But everyone is behaving exactly as they would on a normal day."

He paused the footage on a frame showing the figure's face, partially obscured by those wide, rounded glasses. He zoomed in, studying every pixel, searching for any clues—a scar, a smirk, something to suggest intent. But the face was placid, almost strangely blank.

"Alfred, what do you make of this?" he asked.

Alfred leaned closer, his brow furrowing as he inspected the screen. "If I didn't know better, sir, I'd say the young man seems almost… lost. Like someone who wandered in by mistake."

Batman considered that. "Lost people don't walk past security, vault doors, and half a dozen employees without a single person noticing. And they certainly don't leave with over two million in cash."

Zatara, who had been watching in contemplative silence, finally spoke up. "It's no enchantment, Batman. I can sense the residue of magic, if it's there, but this…" He gestured at the screen. "This is something else. Whoever he is, he's working under no spell or illusion."

Robin folded his arms, clearly dissatisfied. "So he's just… invisible?"

"Not invisible. The cameras captured his image. People can see him," Batman replied, gesturing to the grainy footage again. "He's walking in plain sight. He was there, his shoes left footprints. But somehow, no one registers him. Like he doesn't belong in their line of focus. Or… like he's part of the background."

The analogy felt inadequate, but Batman had never encountered anything like it. The young man didn't exude menace, nor did he display any overt signs of criminal intent. He simply… moved, like a ghostly flash of red and white, gliding through their senses.

"He's an anomaly," Batman concluded. "A moving blind spot."

"Perhaps he's using some form of advanced stealth technology," Alfred suggested, though his tone was doubtful. "But that outfit… hardly conducive to blending in."

"Exactly," Batman murmured, replaying the footage yet again. It didn't make sense. Gotham was known for masked criminals, grand costumes, and elaborate disguises, but no one would choose something as blatant as this. It was either brilliantly strategic or absurdly naïve.

"What about psychic interference?" Robin suggested, frowning as he watched the footage once more. "Maybe something that redirects focus away from him?"

Zatara shook his head. "No, this isn't psychic. There's no aura, no enchantment tethered to him. Whoever this is, he has a talent that's… unique."

A quiet tension settled over the group as Batman cycled through different camera angles, each showing the figure at different points within the bank, undetected, gliding through locked doors, accessing secured areas, and finally, exiting the bank carrying a duffel bag filled with stolen cash. Not a single person in the building turned their head as he walked out. If the footage hadn't caught him, he might as well have been a ghost.

Batman drummed his fingers on the console, thinking aloud. "It could be a physiological anomaly, some mutation allowing him to emit a field that distorts perception. Or it could be a neurological factor, possibly affecting the parts of the brain that recognize familiarity…"

The theories tumbled out, none of them satisfying. He tried to fit the puzzle pieces together—an outfit designed to stand out, yet a power to fade completely into the crowd. The juxtaposition was so absurd it was almost comical. And yet, here he was, pulling off a heist as though he'd simply walked out of a cartoon.

Zatara's gaze lingered on the screen, his expression one of mild unease. "If this person isn't using magic or psychic interference, then his ability defies even the basic principles of human perception. That's dangerous, Batman. Dangerous and… uncharted."

Batman didn't need reminding. He felt it, that uncomfortable itch in his mind, the sense of staring down something that shouldn't exist. He leaned forward, zooming in on a final frame: the figure's retreating form, striped sweater and bobbled hat disappearing into the morning haze. There was a strange, almost whimsical quality to him. As if he were daring them to find him in plain sight.

"We need more information," he said finally, voice rough with tension. "Run this footage through every database. I want to know if this face has shown up before, even once. And cross-reference any similar cases—incidents where a suspect vanished or was overlooked."

"And if there are no similar cases?" Robin asked, a hint of doubt in his voice.

"Then we'll be looking for him in every crowd, every street, every gathering," Batman replied, unyielding. "Whoever this is, they walked out of a bank undetected with two million in cash. Someone with that skill set doesn't stop at one heist. And if he's operating in Gotham, then he's already underestimated the city."

Zatara inclined his head, thoughtful. "Just be careful. A person who can make themselves invisible in plain sight could slip past you before you even know he's there."

Batman only grunted in response. In all his years, he had never let a shadow slip past him, no matter how elusive. But this was different. This was an anomaly wrapped in absurdity, a riddle wearing stripes.

Alfred turned to him, softening his voice. "And if you do find him, sir, what then?"

Batman's jaw tightened. "Then we make sure he knows that Gotham isn't a playground. And that there's nowhere he can hide, not even in plain sight."

Spoiler: Our protagonist

 

[Son Of The Doll]

I am DEFINITELY watching

 

[ArcAngelOfDeath&Taxes]

Must, refrain, from, laughing.
Watching.

 

[krahe]

Love crack premises treated seriosly and written well

 

[ArsMagna1337]

As someone who watched the Where's Waldo series that Lumpy Touch made, I watch this with glee.

Spoiler

Very gleefully, indeed.

 

[KonahrikYol]

next he should rob the mayor's office building, only taking the mayor's office chair and nothing else.

 

[Sceonn]

So he's going to stay in just that one city?

 

[Shinichi07]

Batman's jaw tightened. "Then we make sure he knows that Gotham isn't a playground. And that there's nowhere he can hide, not even in plain sight."

Click to shrink...

*Everyone who works with Batman realizing that he's going to be even more paranoid now because it's actually justified this time.*

 

[Vanbers]

Spoiler: Our protagonist

Click to shrink...

Spoiler: Literally Batman

Anyways:

>First ever post on the site
>It's solid fucking gold

Bro there's starting strong and then there's this. Watched, definitely looking good.

 

[ArtMagnus]

Waldo would be fantastic friends with Mister Miracle I think. And when Santa can't make it, he does deliveries of Coal to Darkseid.

 

[Michael Schachter]

Spoiler: Literally Batman

Anyways:

>First ever post on the site
>It's solid fucking gold

Bro there's starting strong and then there's this. Watched, definitely looking good.

Click to shrink...

Thank you !! Glad you liked it

 

[chiefnewo]

Interesting start, good writing so far! Here's to you keeping it up!

 

[Anansi]

Fuck. Now I'm imagining the Justice League hastily looks through Batman's computer, searching for Waldo with sheer paranoia while constantly look back and forth for any signs of him appearing in the Batcave like it's FNAF all over again ​

 

[Heuristic]

Fantastic. I can't wait for our boy to somehow make his attire enter mainstream to recreate one of the puzzles made of nothing but impersonators.

 

[Michael Schachter]

Chapter 2: Lost in plain sight​

Six months ago



I checked myself out in the mirror, feeling pleased, if a little silly, in my Waldo costume. It was the perfect blend of casual and a little weird—low effort and cheap but recognizable, just a striped sweater, round glasses, and that ridiculous bobbled hat. My curly brown hair peeked out beneath it, giving the ensemble a slightly disheveled charm. Good enough for a Halloween party. I'd even managed to find an old pair of jeans that were the exact shade of blue.

"Perfect," I said to myself with a smirk, slipping my phone into my pocket. "You're gonna be the one guy who's easy to find at a Halloween party."

I headed down the street, glancing at my phone to check the directions my brother send me a few minutes earlier. The sidewalk was crowded with people in costumes, some truly impressive, others just as last-minute as mine. I chuckled at a guy wearing a sandwich board that read 404 Costume Not Found—and was about to snap a picture when a sudden flash of blinding light swallowed everything in front of me.

The world went white. I stumbled forward, disoriented, clutching my face as the light faded, and when I opened my eyes, I was… somewhere else.

I blinked, staring around.

This was not my city. I was no longer in a cozy little neighborhood lined with Halloween decorations and people milling about. Instead, I was in the middle of a sprawling, gritty city—a place that looked more like a set from a crime movie than my small hometown between the mountains.

"Where the hell…?" I muttered, half-expecting someone in a director's chair to shout, "Cut!" Any minute now. Right?

No one answered. In fact, no one even seemed to notice me standing there in the middle of the street.

"Okay… maybe I hit my head." I looked around and spotted a guy in a trench coat walking past.

Trying to look as normal as possible, I stepped up to him. "Hey, excuse me—"

The man walked right past me, eyes fixed forward, not even glancing my way.

I watched him go, bemused. "Uh, alright… that's weird. And not rude at all."

Undeterred, I tried again, approaching a woman with a stack of papers in one hand. "Sorry, miss, but could you tell me where I am?"

Nothing. She breezed by, almost brushing shoulders with me without even looking up.

"Oh, sure, I'm the invisible guy at the party," I muttered. "Very funny, universe."

Finally, I spotted someone—a wiry guy on the corner, waiting at a crosswalk. I waved a hand at him. "Hey, buddy! Where am I?"

The guy turned his head slightly, his expression blank until I touched him in the arm, then something in his eyes flickered, like he was just realizing I was there.

The stranger blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Whoa. Where'd you come from?"

"Right here," I replied with forced cheer, holding up my arms. "The whole time, actually! Look, I'm lost, I don't know how I got here, but could you just tell me—"

A sudden bang echoed from down the street, and the stranger's head whipped in that direction. He stared for a moment, then turned back to me—and blinked, a blank look settling over his face.

He muttered to himself, "where... did he go?"

"Oh, sure, just forget I exist," I sighed, but the man was already walking away.

What was going on? I hadn't felt this ignored since the time I tried to convince my girlfriend to play Dungeons and Dragons with me. I sighed and wandered farther down the street, scanning for anyone who looked helpful or, at the very least, mildly aware.

But every time I waved or called out, it was the same thing. Either people walked by as if I wasn't there, or, in the few cases where I actually managed to snag someone's attention, the effect wore off the second they turned their heads or blinked long enough. I started to suspect I could be screaming at the top of my lungs in the middle of traffic, and not a soul would notice me.

"So, I'm lost," I muttered, glancing around, trying to take it all in. "Lost in a big, creepy city that feels like it's built entirely out of sketchy alleyways. No idea where I am. And I've apparently developed the world's most useless superpower." I laughed to myself, a little hysterical. It was a morbid defence mechanism I had to cope whenever I was extremely upset.

Better laugh than cry.

"I'm not invisible. I'm… I'm ignorable. I'm the walking embodiment of a background detail!"

I tried to use my phone to call someone but it had no signal.

Curse you murphy!

I approached a fruit vendor next, determined to make myself seen. I gave a wave in front of the vendor's face, fully expecting to be ignored, but this time the vendor blinked and seemed to actually register me, staring at me with a mildly bewildered expression.

"Hey! You can see me!" I said with more excitement than I'd intended. I was at the edge of a mental breakdown after all.

"Of course, I can see you," the vendor replied, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You want something or not?"

"Actually, yeah, I have a question—where exactly am I?" I asked, feeling like I was finally about to get some answers.

The vendor cocked an eyebrow. "You been living under a rock? This is Gotham City."

"Gotham… City?" I repeated slowly, as if the words were foreign. "As in the old fashioned way to refer to New York?"

The vendor just snorted. "Gotham City, New Jersey. Kid, I don't know what you're talking about. Now, you want fruit or not?"

"Uh, no, thanks." I tried to smile and turned to leave when I heard a faint clatter from a nearby trash can. The vendor glanced toward the noise—and in that instant, his eyes went glassy, his expression blank.

I waved a hand in front of his face again. "Hey… buddy?"

Nothing. It was like I was back to being a shadow.

As I kept walking, something finally caught my eye—a massive sign mounted high on a nearby building. The words 'Wayne Enterprises' stood out in bold letters, their illuminated outline visible even in the dreary gloom of the city. My eyes widened as I took it in.

Wayne Enterprises. The same company owned by Bruce Wayne, a.k.a. Batman, if this place really was Gotham. I wasn't just in any random version of Gotham City—I was in the Gotham, the one with Batman and a whole rogues' gallery of villains.

The realization sent a shiver down my spine.

Did I just get Isekaied?

"Alright, new plan," I muttered to myself, a wry smile forming on my lips. "This is fine. I'm totally not going insane! I'm just in Gotham City, which may or may not actually exist, with the powers of an aggressively mediocre children's book character. This is all fine."

I continued walking down the street, hands shoved into my pockets, noting that people occasionally glanced my way, not to me, but through me. The absurdity of it was almost comforting, like I'd somehow broken all the unwritten rules of social existence.

I was, quite literally, a walking blind spot.

"Well," I mused to myself, "if I've gotta be stuck somewhere, at least it's in a city with… ambiance." I looked around at the dark, foreboding buildings, the gargoyles, the vaguely ominous shadows, and the air of constant tension, the gun shot noises in the background. "Though, honestly, couldn't I have landed in Metropolis? Or even Smallville? That place has got to be less murder-y."

Lost in my musings, I almost didn't notice I'd stepped out into the road I saw the lights of a truck, swerving past me as if it hadn't seen me until the last second. I jumped back, hands up in surrender, muttering, "Alright, maybe getting run over isn't the best way to test the limits of this… whatever this is."

After another hour of wandering, my mind buzzed with theories about what had happened. Somehow, I'd gone from being a normal guy in a Waldo costume to a guy actually living as Waldo—just one invisible stripe among the masses, capable of blending in to the point of almost complete anonymity. I tested my new "power" here and there, trying to interact with people, I even stole some food from a store when I got hungry, finding that they could register me only if I put in effort and tryed to actively attract their attention. But as soon as they looked away, or blinked long enough, it was back to square one.

I let out a dry chuckle, taking in the chaos of the city around me, every bit as dangerous and dismal as the comics had described. I was, officially, lost in Gotham—lost in plain sight.

Lost in plain sight!

"Well, no one ever said it'd be easy to be a hero," I muttered with a sigh. Then I added, "Or... a background character in this case."

With nothing but a striped sweater, glasses, and an inexplicable power I didn't understand, I took a deep breath and kept walking into the endless, shadowy heart of Gotham City.

 

[The Radiance's Follower]

TFTC. Batman be asking where's Waldo.

 

[Anansi]

And from that point on, Gotham City becomes a city wide FNAF campaign, especially with Waldo strutting around her streets.​

 

[Vanbers]

"My powers are useless!" said the man who is impossible to find or be noticed, lmao.

Hoping for more outside perspectives of him and his misadventures tbh, I feel like it's more interesting to see the people trying to find him, and puzzling out what he's doing from the clues they find, imo.

Either way, great chapter, and this story is really shaping up to be a treat.

 

[Michael Schachter]

A strange encounter​

Joshua stood at the corner, waiting for the crosswalk light to change. It had been a long day, and all he wanted was to get home without any hassle and get some sleep. Gotham was always full of strange sights, but something felt off—a strange sense of unease that he couldn't quite shake. The distant sounds of car horns and sirens created a constant background noise, blending in with the murmurs of the people passing by.

He rubbed his temples.

Suddenly, he felt something—a light tap on his arm. He turned, his eyes narrowing as they met those of a young man standing right next to him. He hadn't noticed anyone approach, which was strange in itself. The young man looked odd—not in a menacing way, but out of place. Innocent looking. The red-and-white striped sweater, the bobbled hat, the round glasses—it all looked more like a costume than casual wear.

"Whoa. Where'd you come from?" he blurted out, genuinely startled. It was as though the young man had just appeared out of nowhere.

One moment there was nobody there, then he blinked, and the guy suddenly appeared.

"Right here," the young man said, smiling, although his smile seemed forced, as though he was trying hard to stay cheerful. "The whole time, actually! Look, I'm lost. I don't know how I got here, but could you just tell me—"

Before Joshua could respond, a loud bang echoed down the street—the kind of noise that made everyone stop and pay attention. He instinctively looked in the direction of the noise, eyes searching for trouble. It was Gotham, after all, and loud noises often meant bad news.

For a moment, he forgot about the young man next to him.

When he turned back, the guy was nowhere to be found. Their conversation felt like a fading dream—there but not quite there, like a blurry figure in his peripheral vision. Joshua blinked, suddenly feeling disoriented, as if he were waking up from a trance.

"Where... did he go?" he muttered, glancing around. It was an odd sensation—like he had forgotten something important, but no matter how hard he tried, the memory wouldn't stick. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the strange fog clouding his thoughts.

He looked around the intersection, seeing the light had changed. People were moving across the crosswalk, and he joined them, his legs carrying him forward on instinct. There was something nagging at him, a sense of loss that he couldn't explain. He looked back over his shoulder, half-expecting to see him there, but the corner was empty.

"Must be losing it," he muttered, pulling his trench coat tighter around himself as he continued walking. It was Gotham, after all. Weird things happened here every day, and most people learned to ignore them. Still, this was different. It wasn't just weird—it was personal, like he'd brushed against something he shouldn't have, something that wasn't meant to be.

As he walked, he tried to focus on his destination—home, warmth, some kind of normalcy. But his thoughts kept drifting back to that guy. He couldn't explain why the memory was slipping away, like sand running through his fingers. He never remembered faces very well, but this time, it felt different. It felt wrong.

Was his hair blond or red? Maybe black?

After a few blocks, he finally let out a sigh, dismissing the thought with a shake of his head. There was enough madness in Gotham without him adding his own delusions to it. People vanished all the time here, and there was no point in dwelling on one more disappearing face. Still, he couldn't quite shake the feeling that he'd missed something important back at that corner—something that mattered.

"Gotta get more sleep," he mumbled to himself, pushing his hands deeper into his coat pockets. Whatever that kid had been, whatever he wanted—the wiry guy had decided to let it go. In Gotham, curiosity was often a dangerous thing, and it was usually better not to ask questions—especially when you weren't sure you'd like the answers.

 

[Benisapersonbmiller]

this is so unique I love it. I wonder what the requirements are for people to notice him are.

 

[Michael Schachter]

"My powers are useless!" said the man who is impossible to find or be noticed, lmao.

Hoping for more outside perspectives of him and his misadventures tbh, I feel like it's more interesting to see the people trying to find him, and puzzling out what he's doing from the clues they find, imo.

Either way, great chapter, and this story is really shaping up to be a treat.

Click to shrink...

Hope you feel happy, I wrote the extra chapter just for you !

 

[ENDDRAGON]

I hope he meets his Woof.

 

[wakkaflakkafly2]

Doesn't seem like he started out with the intention to do crimes. I guess living the invisible life puts a strain on us social creatures.

Maybe attracting Batman's attention through crime is just an effort to MAKE someone focus on him. Who better to detect him than the world's greatest detective?

 

[Michael Schachter]

Chapter 3​

I'd like to say that after a good night's sleep, everything became crystal clear. But no. Gotham doesn't do "restful." It's the sort of city where the air feels like it's constantly plotting something against you. The beds in the hotel I snuck into weren't bad, but the occasional sound of sirens and gunshots drifting through the broken window didn't exactly inspire confidence in the safety of my squatting arrangement. Still, I had a roof over my head and a stolen granola bar to stave off hunger. Thriving.

A cracked wall clock told me it was a little past dawn. The city outside was already alive with the sound of honking cars, barking vendors, and what I could only assume were rogue elements planning their morning heists. The grimy windows let in just enough light to remind me that Gotham mornings weren't mornings; they were slightly lighter evenings.

First things first. Get some breakfast.

I put my stripped sweater and set out into the city, weaving through early risers and suspiciously well-dressed thugs who were probably on their way to their version of a nine-to-five. The last thing I wanted was to draw attention, though my Waldo costume was a walking contradiction: too subtle to notice, but just memorable enough to get an odd glance if someone really looked. Still, no one was stopping me.

One benefit of being Gotham's most ignorable resident.

I wandered into a convenience store. It was small, dimly lit, and smelled faintly of floor cleaner and old coffee. Perfect.

As I moved through the store filling my pockets with instant ramen, an idea sparked in my mind. I decided to test just how far my ability extended. I grabbed a small box of Froot Loops and held it in front of a man walking towards me. He didn't even glance at it, his eyes sliding right past me and the box as if it weren't there. The toucan in the box mocking him. I moved the box up and down, right in front of his face—nothing.

But then, I let go.

The box tumbled to the floor, and the man jumped, eyes widening as he stared at it. He muttered something about a draft, shaking his head as he hurried away.

Woah

Intrigued, I picked up a can of soup and approached a woman browsing the shelves. Holding it directly in her line of sight, I watched as her eyes focused everywhere but on me. Then, I tossed it lightly in her direction. From her perspective, it must have seemed like the can materialized out of thin air. She screamed, stumbling back, her face pale with shock.

"Where did that come from?" she gasped, her voice shaky.

I couldn't help but smirk. It was becoming clear—anything I held shared my "unimportant" status. But the second it left my hand, it became "real" again, visible, tangible, and startling.

I smirked. "Okay, Michael. Let's see just how far this rabbit hole goes."

I left the store and stood in front of a hot dog cart, trying not to laugh about what I was planning. The vendor, a beefy armenian man with a handlebar mustache and the demeanor of someone who'd seen it all, was about to become my first true test subject.

"Hey, buddy!" I called out, waving a hand.

He turned, his eyes narrowing suspiciously at me. "What d'ya want?"

"One hot dog, please," I said, slapping down a few crumpled bills on the cart. I watched as he fumbled with the bun, slapped a steaming sausage into it, put some mustard and left it on the table. The moment he glanced down, I grabbed the hot dog and the money from the table in one smooth motion. When he looked back up, his face froze.

"Huh?" His brows furrowed as he stared at the empty cart. "Where'd it—?"

"Hey!" I shouted again, throwing my voice like some amateur magician. He startled, his eyes snapping to me as I stood at the far side of the cart. "I'd like to order a hot dog."

The man blinked. He glanced down at the cart, then at me, his face contorted in confusion. "Didn't I just...?"

"Must've been imagining things," I said cheerfully, slapping the same bills down. He mumbled something under his breath and started assembling another hot dog. This time, I didn't wait for him to finish. The second his focus shifted, I reached out, grabbed the new dog from his hand, and stuffed the bills back into my pocket a second time.

By the fifth round, the man's sanity was visibly cracking. He stared at the empty space where the hot dog had been, muttering to himself like a man on the edge.

"I'm being haunted by sausage thieves," he whispered. "That's it. I'm switching to pretzels."

My heart skipped. Maybe it was guilt, or maybe it was the fact that I was testing a superpower in a city known for caped vigilantes who did not take kindly to people messing with vendors. Either way, I sidled away with my prize before Batman could descend from the heavens to scold me with the bat-glare.

But that experiment confirmed it: my powers weren't about being unseen. It was more like… becoming the world's least compelling magic trick. When people looked directly at me, I existed in their reality—barely. Look away, and I vanished faster than their gym memberships in February.

Back in the gritty heart of Gotham, I wandered into a department store to do some more rigorous testing. Walking through the automatic doors, I noticed something curious. The sensors didn't react. The doors didn't slide open until a woman behind me shuffled forward, stepping into range.

Interesting.

I strolled inside, grabbed some clothes, and walked back through the anti-theft gates. No beeps, no alerts. It was as if I didn't exist in the system's world. The same as I confirmed earlier, the items I was holding seemed to share my unimportance. Once I let go of them, they became visible again, but as long as I was carrying them, they were as ignored as I was. To confirm, I threw one of the clothes back through the gate, and immediately the alarm blared. The sudden sound startled a nearby shopper, who glanced around confusedly.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgment while I held them, but the second they left my grasp, they were real again.

"So, it's not just people," I muttered to myself. "Machines ignore me too. Cool. And terrifying."

I wandered deeper into the store, brushing past racks of clothing. A kid pointed in my direction, tugging on his mother's sleeve. "The air moved!" he said excitedly.

The mother glanced up, her eyes passing right over me without so much as a twitch. "Don't make stuff up, honey."

My new nickname was officially "air." I didn't hate it.

Better than the ghost of Macy's.

At one point, I decided to push my luck. I reached for a pair of shoes on a display and I threw them at a stock boy.

"Ghosts," the stock boy muttered to his coworker as he flinched. "I told you this place was haunted!"

As the day wore on, the outline of my new reality became clearer. My powers—or curse, depending on how you framed it—were more nuanced than simple invisibility. People could see me if I forced them to, but the second I stopped trying, I became a black hole for attention. I wasn't unseen. I was unimportant.

Then I did the obvious thing anyone in my situation would do and tested removing my costume. I found a secluded corner of the store (yes, I might be unreconizable but I still have shame) and slowly removed the costume piece by piece, starting with the glasses. The effect was immediate—people passing by didn't even glance in my direction, not even when I tried my hardest to get their attention. When I took off the striped sweater, it felt like my powers were dialed to eleven. I waved a hand in front of a store employee, and they walked right past me, their eyes unfocused, as if I had ceased to exist entirely. I even hit a customer in the shoulder, and he winced, rubbing it with a confused expression. "Why does my shoulder hurt all of a sudden?" he muttered, looking around without seeing me at all. That told me everything I needed to know: the costume was the key to being noticed, however fleetingly.

It actually helped me getting noticed.

This left me with a curious problem. On the one hand, I could do anything—walk into banks, stroll past security guards, swipe a few apples here and there—and no one would bat an eye. On the other hand, this power didn't exactly scream "hero material." I was just some guy playing pranks on hot dog vendors and regular citizens while Gotham's real villains plotted their next citywide hostage crisis.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting Gotham in its signature cocktail of shadows and flickering neon, I sat on a bench overlooking the harbor. I pulled my stripped sweater tighter against the chill and staring at the city skyline.

This was my life now. Stripes in the shadows. A ghost in the machine. A guy who could take a hot dog without paying but still didn't know how to get back home.

I sighed. Somewhere out there, Batman was probably brooding on a rooftop, grappling with moral dilemmas I couldn't begin to fathom. But me? I was just a guy in a Waldo costume, trying to figure out what the hell to do next.

For the first time since I'd arrived here, I allowed myself to laugh. It was a quiet, shaky sound, barely audible over the waves. But it was real. And for now, that was enough.

If Gotham thought it could break me, it was in for a surprise.

After all, I was Waldo. Waldo always finds a way.










The people of Gotham had stories—plenty of them, and most of them involved the strange and inexplicable. But that particular day, a string of unusual encounters was gaining some traction. Each account seemed bizarre on its own, but together, they painted a surreal picture of a city haunted by a new, baffling mystery.

Boris, the hot dog vendor, was usually a rock-solid guy—you had to be if you were selling street food in Gotham. But lately, his buddies noticed he'd been acting... jittery. "Haunted by sausage thieves," he'd said, rubbing his temples at the bar later that night. His friends leaned in, expecting a funny story, but Boris looked anything but amused.

"I'm telling ya," he said, his thick accent adding weight to the words. "They vanished. The hot dogs. One moment there, the next—poof!" He gestured wildly, almost knocking over his beer. His drinking buddies laughed, thinking it was just exhaustion. But Boris wasn't done. "And then this guy keeps showing up, because I am almost sure it was the same, asking for another. I swear, I'm staring at the boy, and then… nothing! It's like—" He hesitated, "like he never even there." He shook his head and muttered, "Pretzels. I'm switching to pretzels. Can't haunt pretzels, the salt protect agains ghosts."

His friends exchanged glances, unsure whether to laugh or be genuinely concerned. But Boris' sincerity sold it. And thus, "the Case of the Vanishing Hot Dogs" became the latest bar tale, one met with equal parts amusement and bewilderment.



Sandra had been working the convenience store for about three years now. She thought she'd seen it all—late-night drunks, kids trying to pocket candy, even the occasional wannabe robber. But nothing could have prepared her for the "Flying Soup Can" incident.

"It's like it appeared outta thin air," Sandra recounted later to her coworker. "I'm standing there, minding my business, when this can just... flies at me! I swear, Martha, I nearly had a heart attack." Martha, who was halfway through restocking, paused and looked at Sandra with raised eyebrows.

"What do you mean, it just appeared?" she asked, incredulous.

"I mean," Sandra said, her voice dropping to a whisper, "I didn't see anyone. There was a red and white blur, one moment it's just a shelf full of cans, and then BAM—there's one flying at me like it had a grudge." She rubbed her arm, still feeling the ghost of the impact. Martha laughed, shaking her head.

"Maybe the store's haunted," she teased, but Sandra wasn't so sure. The rest of her shift, she found herself side-eyeing the soup aisle, just waiting for something else to make a move.




Kevin, the floor manager at Gotham's busiest department store, was not amused. He had just dealt with a customer complaint about "floating shoes." The lady had been adamant—"They just flew off the shelf!" she'd said, her face flushed and her voice shaky.

"It's probably kids," Kevin had assured her, though deep down, he wasn't convinced. He'd watched the security footage—nothing (right? His instincts told him there was something yet he couldnt find it) No one had been near the shoes when they moved. It was just… a shelf of shoes, and then, one pair tumbling over. He rubbed his eyes, rewound the footage, and watched again. The shoes had moved as if someone—or something—had nudged them, but there was no one there.

Later, he found himself on the sales floor, staring at the shoes. A stock boy came up beside him and whispered, "Told you, it's ghosts. I've been saying it for weeks." Kevin told him.

"If it's ghosts, they're not buying anything," he muttered. "And if they're not buying, I don't care." Still, as he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that something weird was going on. And he wasn't being paid enough to deal with hauntings.




Janice had always prided herself on her rational mind. She wasn't one to buy into ghost stories or superstitions. So, when her shoulder suddenly started throbbing while she was shopping, her first thought was practical—"Must've pulled a muscle."

But the ache came out of nowhere. One moment, she'd been browsing handbags, and the next—BAM, sharp pain right in her shoulder. She'd spun around, expecting to see someone—a kid, maybe, or a distracted shopper. But there was no one there. Just rows of handbags and other customers minding their own business.

"It's the weirdest thing," she told her friend over coffee later. "I swear, it felt like someone bumped into me. But there was nobody there!" Her friend, a bit of a conspiracy enthusiast, leaned in.

"Maybe it's the government," she whispered, eyes wide. "You know, testing some invisibility tech or something." Janice laughed, shaking her head.

"Or maybe I'm just going crazy," she said, though the memory of that sudden jolt still bothered her. She rubbed her shoulder absentmindedly. Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn't happen again.




"Mom, I'm telling you, the air moved!" The little boy was practically bouncing in his seat, his face flushed with excitement. His mother, clearly tired, sighed and gave him a weary smile.

"That's nice, dear," she said, clearly not believing a word. But the boy wasn't having it.

"No, really! It was like… whoosh!" He waved his small hands around dramatically. "Right by the clothes! A red blur! And then—and then it was gone! Just like that!" He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

His mother gave him a distracted nod, focusing more on her phone than on her son's insistence. "Maybe it was a ghost," she said absently, and the boy's eyes went wide.

"A ghost? Really?!" He sounded more excited than scared, and he spent the rest of the day telling anyone who would listen about the "clothing ghost" he'd seen at the department store. By the end of the week, half his classmates were convinced that Gotham's largest store was haunted, much to the annoyance of their parents.


You could say Gotham was a city used to the unusual. It thrived on the strange and the inexplicable, with caped crusaders and theatrical villains lurking around every corner. But for Boris, Sandra, Kevin, Janice, and that one excitable kid, their experiences were just a little more peculiar than usual—and all for the same reason: a guy in a red-striped sweater who wasn't quite there, and yet, somehow, left a mark on their day. They'd talk about it for weeks, spinning their anecdotes into stories of ghosts, drafts, and government conspiracies. In a city like Gotham, sometimes the strangest things were the ones that didn't make the headlines.

 

[Michael Schachter]

When the people talk about a white and red blur, this is an approximation of what they see.

Outsider perspective on waldo

The costume actually helps him getting noticed!

 

[_Loth_]

Image is bricked

Link is fine tho

 

[MuchCod1414]

Image is missing

 

[Shadowj6480]

I assumed the bricked image was a meme of how nobody can really properly perceive Waldo for an extended period of time.

 

[Michael Schachter]

Image is bricked

Link is fine tho

Click to shrink...

Image is missing

Click to shrink...

I assumed the bricked image was a meme of how nobody can really properly perceive Waldo for an extended period of time.

Click to shrink...

Fixed the image!
Thank you : )

 

[MuchCod1414]

Click to shrink...

Now, where the heck is this guy?