Gotham Arc #3.
Morning found Jake coiled in his blankets, fast asleep. Sun rays filtered through the curtains, finding their way to his uncovered hands, then his face.
Light?
Jake's eyes shot wide open. He kicked the blankets, sitting bolt upright looking alarmed.
How long had he been out? He quickly checked the Time Bank: 00:49:12
Only seven hours had passed. Good. He hadn't overslept then.
Relieved, he stretched his hands and neck. The exhaustion had worn off. All he needed to do now was grab a bite for his protesting stomach and execute the task ahead.
He glanced at his totem board. Most of the web had dissolved during the night, some pieces falling off while others still clung stubbornly.
Yeah, calling it ugly the previous night had been a compliment. Jake couldn't come up with the right word to describe the atrocity that he was looking at now. Ignoring elegance however, the board kept him on course.
The Riddler, or the Penguin. The umbrella or the cane. Which was the easier mark?
Jake got up, dressed casually above his suit, and headed downstairs to get some breakfast.
Munching a stale-looking burger, Jake felt the weight of his situation. He was trying to survive a running clock -- not entirely sure what would happen if it ran out.
And the risks involved?
He was on course to making some powerful enemies -- heck he already had Harley preparing the worst for him. His current tasks weren't exactly easy either. They were both resourceful and well established crime lords who could go as far as setting up bounties for his head if he caught their attention.
And going after something they each held dear? Yeah, he was definitely bound to catch their full attention.
The burger soured in his mouth. Why did he have to put up with this? Was the consequence of the clock running out worse than living disruptively?
Jake lowered the burger, replacing it on the plate. He swallowed what he had already chewed.
"No." He whispered, resolve etching across his face.
The swinging. His enhanced physical abilities. The growth potential. The sheer adrenaline that came from the defiance!
Jake smirked.
It made it all worth it. The difficulties only added thrill to the experience.
Stomach appeased, Jake set out to Gotham tops. The sun outside was warm and bright, illuminating the city. It was hard imagining Gotham differently from its usually depicted dark and grim aesthetic, but Jake was changing into his suit in that very reality.
All set, Jake swung through apartments, across roads and alleys, vaulted over giant advert posts, crawled through an academy building -- managing a wave at some awe-struck students.
Along his route, he spotted Wayne Tower, figured the location of Wayne Manor, and caught sight of the Iceberg Lounge. The name rang a bell.
Iceberg Lounge? Didn't it belong to Carmine Falcone?
"Owned by Falcone, managed by The Penguin," Jake reminded himself.
Was the Penguin around?
Hoping his target wasn't out on an errand, Jake aimed for the rooftop, fired his web-line and swung wide around a water tank. He landed above a balcony overlooking the waterfront.
Go in? Jake crept towards the edge and lowered his leg to descend. He pulled it back fast as two guards stepped into the balcony, both looking spooked as they searched for something.
They scanned the area like hawks, reporting back only after finding nothing out of the ordinary.
"East balcony to Control," the first guard spoke into his radio. "Sweep's clear. Nothing here."
Static crackled back. "You sure? Motion sensors pinged that sector sixty seconds ago."
The second guard leaned over the railing, scanning the waterfront below. "Maybe a bird. Or one of those cape freaks. Either way, it's gone now."
"Copy that. Resume normal patrols."
Jake's heart raced in his chest from his ungodly position. He clung to the underside of the balcony roof, fingers locked into the narrow groove where steel met concrete. His body flattened against the structure like a lizard praying for invisibility. Every muscle screamed as he held himself perfectly still, suspended above the guards with nothing but tension and stubborn will keeping him in place.
They had been looking for him? Spotted him despite his stealth approach? The security here was on another level.
Every instinct in his body screamed for him to leave.
The first guard holstered his radio, but didn't move to leave. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.
"Control's been paranoid ever since the cat burglar stepped up her game," the second guard muttered. "Heard she's cleaning safes and leaving fucking thank-you notes."
"May be so, but I doubt anyone's that stupid to rob from Falcone or Penguin." The first guard took another drag. "She's safer hitting tomorrow's tournament instead."
"Ah, the underworld tournament. You planning on entering?" The second guy asked.
"Not like the Riddler extended me an invite," the first shrugged.
"It's an open invitation. You find one of those riddles plastered around the East End, solve it, show up at the venue. That's your ticket in."
"What's the prize?"
The second guard shrugged. "Nobody knows for sure. But word is, Riddler's just the host. Someone big is bankrolling this thing. Falcone, maybe. Or one of the other families."
"Big enough to get the Penguin's attention." The first guard stubbed out his cigarette. "Think the boss will make an appearance?"
"Hard to say." His partner moved toward the door. "No one really knows his next move."
The door clicked shut behind them.
Jake waited. Counted to thirty. Then carefully, painfully, unclenched his fingers and pulled himself back up to the roof. His arms shook. His shoulders burned. But his mind was racing.
An underground tournament. Open invitation. Solve a riddle, walk in. And if luck was on his side, the Penguin would be there too.
Two totems. One location. One night.
Jake checked the Time Bank: 00:46:08. Forty-six hours. Plenty of time to find one of Riddler's riddles, figure out the answer, and prep for tonight.
He fired a web-line toward the East End. According to the guards, that's where the Riddler had been "plastering" his riddles.
The overhead sun was scorching when he arrived by the neighborhood's clock tower just as it struck at half past noon.
Time for a bagel?
Jake searched the stacked buildings for a food place. He spotted an open bakery down the street, by the corner. Leaping from the clock tower, he swung down towards it, dropped on the sidewalk gently, and walked to the shop's front calmly.
The best his sudden appearance had done was momentarily spook the people he had landed close by. Everyone else went about their errands unbothered, including the baker impatiently waiting for his order.
Why did that make him feel invisible?
"One bagel and one cupcake to go," Jake said.
"That'll be $13.21," the baker said, casually handing him the receipt.
Jake's jaw fell, his measly $5 note cramping in his fist.
$6.41 for a bagel? $6.80 for a cupcake?
"Sir, I asked for one each." Jake repeated carefully, hoping to clear up any mixup.
The baker looked at him puzzled.
"You must be new here," he concluded, brows relaxing. "Explains why you don't get the taxes."
Taxes?
Jake double-checked the receipt. The baker's attempts at snatching it failed against Jake's agility.
"Are you trying to rip me off?" Jake asked, hangry.
The baker waved it off, "call the cops if you like. Those pigs ain't any different."
Give him five dollars for both and he will still owe me $0.45, Jake rationalized.
"Here." He placed the wrinkled note on the glass top, web-snatched a bagel and cupcake from a side display. Before the baker could register what was happening, Jake was swinging across the street.
"Hey! Stop! Bring that back!" The baker yelled waving his fist angrily at Jake. "How am I supposed to pay the taxes!?"
"Keep the change," Jake shouted, biting a mouthful of the bagel as he twisted out of sight.
He found a bridge and tucked underneath it to enjoy his meal guilt free.
For an overpriced bagel, it tasted like a washed down cardboard. He set it aside for the cupcake, hoping it would be better.
It had the faint smell of vanilla that lingered less longer than a cheap perfume, overtaken by the undercurrent of something sharp and acrid.
The stronger smell pricked at his senses, reminding him of a bucket of paint. Jake looked around to see if the walls of the bridge had been freshly painted.
He walked towards a graffiti mark. It didn't stick or come off when he touched. It was dry, but the smell was still there.
Why was this bothering him so much?
He sniffed. The smell hit him full force that he almost gagged. Strangely, it didn't come from the graffiti, but was instead oozing from the blank space beside it.
Not freshly painted or sprayed -- just clean and spotless unlike the rest of the rusted, dirty wall.
Curious.
His senses were calm as he run a finger along the smooth brick. Little by little, a green pattern emerged from his traced path until he could make out the letter 'R'.
Invisible green paint.
Jake smirked, not stopping.
He knew where this was going. And yet, he was eager to find out.
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