Gotham Arc #1.
Gotham was much worse than it looked in comics and films: crimes in alleys that reeked of rot; the brooding aesthetic that made his body itch; the pungent smell that threatened to suffocate him.
It made him puke.
Not that he had any choice -- being here. Fate, or something equally divine, decided that his 9-5 wasn't torture enough.
But would he give up his new advantages to get his old life back?
Not exactly.
Really? Not even the warmth of his apartment? The food? The jacuzzi? His friends? Family?
Probably.
The rats in the motels here were vicious. The food tasted like garbage. He knew no one here: no real connection. Yet.
He still would choose to stay. Not prefer it -- choose.
Why?
His knowledge from bingeing comics, animations, and spending way too much time in forums was one reason. The thought of all he could achieve from utilizing that cheat sheet drove him.
And the powers he got? Superhuman abilities.
It made it all worth it. The smell -- he could stomach. The gothic atmosphere didn't matter anymore. Why would it?
He had the strength to lift a truck. He could crawl through buildings and swing from one to the next.
He was--
Not free yet. Freedom came at a cost. A great responsibility.
Jake moved in the night. Every swing was precise, every landing soundless.
The wind bit at his face and he grimaced at the smell. Silently, he gave himself hope. An entire multiverse was waiting -- Gotham was just the starting point.
He latched onto the side of the tallest skyscraper in sight, sticking to the glass like a magnet. From his vantage point he could see the moon. It was full, a striking white with shadowy traces.
He took in a long, deep and refreshing breath.
His face lightened up a bit. The air up here was more tolerable. But it wasn't nearly clean enough. He wanted to soak it in a bit longer, but he had a mission to complete.
Without hesitation, he pushed off, free-falling for a nerve-racking moment before firing a web-line at the last second. The line caught, securing him from crashing with the traffic, swinging him forward at just the right angle.
He twisted mid-air, catching another point, moving faster now. The process was as thrilling as it felt natural. All he needed to do was let go, be free, and trust his Spider Sense.
On that note--
"Open T. Finder," Jake said out loud while swerving around a corner.
Golden light flickered in his vision, transforming into an interface decorated with a spider motif. It was transparent, enabling Jake to still keep sight of where he was swinging.
Three tabs were webbed together in one page.
He tapped the right one. A spider-webbed field with a central icon representing his position. Most of the web strands were colored gold-white, with the exception of a dynamic red strand that blinked and fluctuated like a compass needle.
A navigator. Guiding him as he hunted.
He scaled a bank building and leaped. Free-falling, he pinched the interface and aimed at a balcony. He shot and swung, tapping the left tab.
It displayed an object. His target.
The system called it a Totem. It was his job to find and collect it.
Why?
It had the essence required to fuel his spider powers -- the cost.
His responsibility.
Only by collecting enough would he truly own this acquired destiny.
Jake's hand moved before he could select the middle tab. It crashed to the corner of a building, pushing him away before he could collide with it.
"That was close." Jake breathed. His last swerve had been slightly unfocused.
He was still getting used to this.
The navigator pulsed. A strong gold-white hue.
The Totem was close.
Jake didn't know where exactly he was in Gotham. The navigator was sensory-based. He would need an actual maps app to determine his precise location.
It pulsed again. Stronger.
Jake stopped -- hanging from the side of a building.
He looked around and down. Searching.
The city was as dead as a zombie. There were people on the streets, cars on the road, traffic control, sirens wailing from a distance--
All that and yet the rhythm of the night was decayed. The city didn't have a soul.
Gotham wasn't much without its villains, was it? Jake hoped that something eventful would happen.
And soon.
It was key to finding the totem.
Nothing happened for a moment. He decided to swing across the street, in the direction of the wailing sirens. Suddenly, before he could fully cross--
Ting!
The strands of hair at the back of his head rose. He let go of the web-line without thinking, senses suddenly sharp. One glance at the navigator -- just in time to see the web field turn red -- and he was certain.
"It's here," Jake said, almost excitedly as he pulled himself to the side of the closest building.
He crouched. Pupils dilated, he scanned the streets with the keenness of a hawk.
Down below, several people caught sight of him, but none showed any interest beyond a quick dismissive shrug. Guess Gotham had better brands than someone sticking to walls.
Perhaps.
The music started. Tinny and distorted, a cheery 1950s tune echoed through the corner -- "Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend."
A beat later, a delivery truck burst forth. It headed for the intersection, pink smoke spilling from its exhaust. The side read "Quinn's Consultancy."
Jake remained indifferent as she let out her characteristic maniacal laughter.
"Ha-haahaaa..."
"Knock knock, Gotham! Time for your midnight makeover!"
He smirked. Harley Quinn was here -- and he had been expecting her. He glanced at the image of the Totem in the T. Finder. It depicted a unique, heavy-looking mallet with the words "Good Night" embedded decoratively along it's shaft and head.
Who else possessed that in Gotham?
His eyes fell back on the chaotically hurtling truck. He could feel the totem's pull from inside the vehicle.
Jake fastened his hood, making sure his features were fully concealed. He dived, swinging straight for the truck.
"Explosions, gas... And of course the mallet," Jake mused as he approached. "I shouldn't underestimate her. She thrives in chaos."
He landed on top of the truck, sticking like glue. Harley must have heard him because she started cursing and yelling, and then she hit the brakes. Frankly, her turning the wheel left-right-left after that was unnecessary theatrics.
The truck swerved uncontrollably before screeching to a halt, but all that did nothing to shake off the man on top.
The left door flew open from a kick. Harley came out coughing, dragging her famed weapon after her.
Jake stood up slowly, watching as a character seen only in screens and paper come to life. His breath held.
The moonlight caught the glint of her sequinned jacket. Her pale face covered in makeup contrasted with her colorful ponytails, yet the look suited her perfectly. For a heartbeat, time seemed to slow. And it felt as if Gotham was coming to life through her.
"What do you think you're doin', you fuckin' stalker?!" Harley yelled, squinting at Jake. "Tryin' to hitch a ride, or are you here for an autograph?"
She pointed her mallet at him, swinging it with such ease and elegance that Jake wondered if it was heavy at all.
Jake blinked, the moment breaking.
He swung one leg over the edge and sat down, calm, collected, and unbothered.
"I wouldn't mind an autograph," Jake said casually. "If it comes with that."
He pointed, hardening his tone, making sure his intent came across clearly.
Harley's grin faltered for half a second as she caught the edge in his voice.
"Oh you disgusting creep," she said, grimacing. Hands tightening around the shaft. "Just because you've got a little bass in your voice doesn't give you the right to make such demands."
"What. You scared I'm gonna take it?"Jake asked.
That made her laugh -- high, wild, genuine. "Oh, puddin', I needed that! You really think you can?"
"Pretty sure."
Her grin stretched wider. "Then I'll happily give you some head!"
What-?
Jake barely registered the words -- before the mallet's head came screaming toward him.
WHAM!
🕷️
MimicLord:
Wanna read ahead? 10+ more chapters in my Patreon
Subscribe: Patreon.com/MimicLord
🕷️