Gotham Arc #17.
Three blocks from Hillside, Jake collapsed on a rooftop.
His shoulder burned like someone had pressed a branding iron through muscle and bone. Blood soaked through the suit: sticky, warm, spreading. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Beside him, Selina landed hard, rolled, came up breathing raggedly. Her suit was torn in three places. Bruises already forming on her throat where the guard had pressed.
They'd made it. Barely.
Then Selina started laughing.
Not hysterical. Genuine. Thrilled. She pulled off her goggles, and her eyes were bright, alive, electric with the kind of joy that came from surviving something that should have killed you.
"I almost thought we wouldn't make it," she gasped between breaths, pressing one hand to her ribs. "But you, Spider--" She looked at him, grinning wide enough to show teeth. "You're amazing."
Jake didn't laugh. Couldn't. His mind was still in that study, hand wrapped around Falcone's throat, feeling the cartilage compress beneath his fingers. Watching the man's face go from red to purple. Wanting -- needing -- to squeeze just a little harder.
What if he had?
Could he learn to control the urge?
But he smiled anyway. Cheered by Selina's infectious energy despite the darkness clawing at his thoughts. Behind the mask, small and genuine.
He pulled out the locket, let it dangle from his fingers. The gold caught the moonlight, spinning slowly.
Selina's laugh stopped. Her eyes locked onto it with the intensity of someone seeing water after days in the desert.
The interface flickered in Jake's vision.
🕷️
[Totem redeemed!]
Select one Bonus Reward:
1. Bundle of Cash - a little something to keep you going during this time crunch.
2. Totem Icon - for your navigation needs and a chance to collect your next totem faster.
3. Mystery Reward
🕸️
The Roman Ring's bonus reward still awaited his decision. He'd deferred it, uncertain, keeping his options open.
Now he had the locket. Weightless in his hand. Would he really give it up?
He opened it with his thumb. Up close, he saw the pictures clearly: two images, both young women with the same sharp cheekbones, same fierce eyes. One in street clothes, confident and defiant, scar on the left cheek. The other in softer lighting, gentler somehow.
Both wore the same face: twins.
"My twin sister, Maggie," Selina said, voice low and distant, like she was speaking from the bottom of a well. "She died in a wildfire two years ago. Trapped in a building, couldn't get out in time."
She closed her eyes. Her jaw worked, fighting something.
"That locket is the only thing I recovered from the ash." Her voice cracked slightly. "It's all I have left of her."
Jake's chest tightened. The totem pull was there -- that magnetic hunger the system created, demanding he consume it, add those extra hours to his bank. Keep surviving. Keep moving.
But Selina's face stopped him cold. The raw grief there. The desperate hope that he'd do the right thing.
Maybe relinquishing a totem was the start he needed to keep the monster within in check.
"I believe this is yours," Jake said quietly, holding it out.
Selina's breath caught. For three seconds she just stared at it, like she couldn't quite believe it was real. Then her hand shot out, caught it one-handed, clutched it to her chest with both palms pressed flat.
"Thank you," she whispered. And it wasn't just words. It was genuine gratitude from someone who didn't give it easily, who'd been betrayed and burned too many times to trust freely. "I don't know how I can ever repay you."
"Just leave Gotham safely," Jake said. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat, each pulse sending fresh pain radiating down his arm. "Then we'll talk."
She secured the locket around her neck with shaking fingers, tucked it beneath her suit where it disappeared against her skin. "You sure you don't want to come with me? I can save you a seat. Get you out of this nightmare city."
Jake paused. The offer hung between them, tempting in ways he hadn't expected.
Then the interface pulsed, waiting for his attention.
"Totem Icon," he whispered under his breath.
The Object Tab snapped to focus. The question mark that had been sitting there began to shift, lines twisting and reforming until an image resolved with crystal clarity:
A green rose. Petals perfect and gleaming like carved jade. Wrapped in thorns that looked sharp enough to draw blood through the interface itself.
He recognized it immediately. Poison Ivy's pheromone rose. Still in this cursed city. Still waiting.
Selina read his answer in the silence, in the way his body tensed despite the injury. "You've got business to take care of in Gotham." Not a question. She understood. "I get it."
She moved closer, careful not to jostle his wounded shoulder. Her fingers hovered over the makeshift web-bandage, inspecting without touching.
"Old Gotham: there's a clinic tucked between a bodega and a pawn shop on Finger Street," she said, voice dropping to something practical, professional. "If you need that looked at, find Dr. Leslie Thompkins. Tell her Catwoman sent you. She's... discreet. Won't ask questions you don't want to answer."
Her hand touched his uninjured shoulder, gentle, warm through the suit's fabric.
Then she leaned in and kissed him, above the mask, where fabric met exposed skin at his temple. Her lips were soft, brief, electric.
"Miss me when I'm gone, Spider," she whispered against his skin, body leaning into his for one heartbeat longer. "I know I won't forget you."
She turned. Ran. Leaped to the next rooftop with that same impossible grace, landing silent as smoke.
Jake watched her go. Watched until she was just a shadow among shadows, then nothing at all.
Would he ever see her again?
Would he have actually followed her if the system hadn't given him a reason to stay?
The questions sat heavy in his chest, unanswered. None of it mattered right now. His shoulder was on fire. The wound needed attention before infection set in.
Old Gotham. Just a few blocks north.
He fired his web-line with his left hand, body straining with every swing. His right arm hung useless, each movement sending fresh agony through torn muscle.
The interface updated as he moved:
🕷️
[Progress Tab]
Completion: 5.0%
Totems redeemed: 4
Time Bank: 02:35:05
🕸️
Four totems down. Five percent complete. One hundred and fifty five hours banked.
Not enough. Never enough. But more than yesterday.
🕸️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕷️🕸️
Dr. Leslie Thompkins' clinic occupied a converted brownstone that had seen better decades. The sign out front just read "CLINIC" in faded white letters against peeling blue paint. No medical symbols. No business hours posted. Just that one word, functional and blunt.
It was late, past two in the morning, but lights still glowed behind curtained windows.
Jake didn't knock. His shoulder was screaming, his vision swimming at the edges. He kicked the door, just enough force to push it open, and stumbled inside.
An elderly woman looked up from paperwork spread across a desk. Wire-frame glasses. Gray hair pulled back in a practical bun. She wore scrubs that had been washed so many times the blue had faded to almost white.
"Gunshot wound," Jake managed, words slurring slightly. His hand missed the wall when he reached for support. "Maybe... thirty minutes ago. Selina... Cat—"
His legs gave out. The floor came up fast.
To her credit, Dr. Thompkins didn't waste time with questions or shock. She moved with practiced efficiency that spoke of decades in Gotham's underbelly, crossing the distance in four quick steps.
"Help me get him up," she called over her shoulder.
A younger man emerged from a back room -- nurse, maybe, or assistant. Together they hauled Jake's considerable weight onto an examination table. Chrome and leather, worn but clean. Medical equipment hummed quietly nearby.
Jake's eyes were half-closed now, consciousness fading like water through his fingers.
"The webbing," Dr. Thompkins said, examining the improvised seal with clinical precision. "Clever. Synthetic protein matrix, self-adhering. Bought him time by maintaining pressure and preventing exsanguination. But I need to remove it to assess the damage. Carefully: don't tear the underlying tissue."
Her hands were already moving, prepping instruments. Scissors. Forceps. Antiseptic that smelled sharp and chemical. She worked with the calm competence of someone who'd patched up gunshot wounds in Gotham for decades and had seen far worse walk through her doors.
Jake tried to focus on her face. Tried to stay conscious. Failed.
The darkness pulled him under.
A/N:
I don't know about happy, but this Year, all I want is that you be part of my memories. The comments, the reviews, the subscriptions: all of it! I hope my dreams will come true this year🤞
Thank you for 2025. Wishing you all the best in 2026.
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