Mechanical-Arm Spider #66.
The webline snapped taut against steel and glass.
Jake swung upward with momentum that pulled him above Star City's skyline, black material rippling across his shoulders as Sleeper compensated for the trajectory shift. His hand released at the apex and he sailed through night air before firing another strand, catching a communications tower that brought him level with one of the downtown skyscrapers.
He landed on a rooftop access, straightened and moved to the building's edge, white eyes tracking the cityscape spreading below him like a grid of possibilities.
Star City looked cleaner than Gotham even at night. The streets were wider, better lit. Organized urban planning that suggested someone actually cared about infrastructure. Buildings rose in clusters that marked different districts -- the financial center to the north, the Glades sprawling east, and south toward the river where industry met waterfront in ways that made smuggling convenient.
Minimal activity this late. A few cars on the main thoroughfares, distant sirens that could have been ambulance or police, the ambient glow of a city that never quite slept but understood the concept of rest.
The interface pulsed in his peripheral vision. Jake pulled up the Progress Tab with a thought, let the information materialize while his eyes stayed on the city below.
🕷️
[Progress Tab]
Completion: 9.5%
Totems redeemed: 7
Time Bank: 02:03:17
Kill Milestone: 00:22:34
System Tools: Symbolic Extraction? Enabled.
🕸️
Twenty-two hours and thirty-four minutes until Sleeper left him.
Less than a day before the symbiote dissolved whatever bond the system had forged between them and Jake returned to being just another enhanced meta-human with one arm. The thought settled in his chest with weight that had nothing to do with physical mass.
He'd adapted to the missing limb already. Had learned to compensate during his time in Gotham, figured out the angles and leverage points that made him lethal despite the disadvantage. Being one-armed didn't make him less dangerous.
But it made him limited.
And the system wasn't putting him through scenarios designed for limited capabilities. The kinds of fights he'd survived in Gotham -- Bane's crushing strength, Batman's tactical perfection -- those situations demanded every advantage he could scrape together. Losing Sleeper meant losing the edge that had kept him breathing when breathing should have been optional.
The Kill Milestone had hit forty seven kills. The thought surfaced unbidden in ways that suggested his conscious mind hadn't fully processed the implication.
Thirteen more kills before the system would grant him another limited-duration enhancement. Another temporary solution to permanent problems. The milestone reward had proven useful -- Sleeper had saved his life more times than Jake wanted to count -- but temporary wasn't sustainable.
He needed something permanent.
Jake's right hand moved without conscious direction. Sleeper responded to the impulse, black material sliding away from his left shoulder with organic precision. The symbiote withdrew and Jake stared at the stub where his arm should have been.
Clean amputation just below the shoulder. Scar tissue that Sleeper had sealed during their bonding, preventing infection or complications that would have worsened his situation. The stub looked smaller than he remembered, almost fragile compared to the enhanced mass Sleeper provided everywhere else.
A part of him missing didn't really change anything fundamental about who he was or what he could do.
But it changed the math. Changed the survival calculations he ran every time a fight started.
Sleeper flowed back across the stub, reforming the arm with seamless integration. Jake flexed the fingers, tested the grip strength, confirmed the symbiote's responsiveness. Everything worked perfectly.
For twenty-two more hours.
Then the vibrations started.
Sleeper rippled across Jake's entire body with movement that felt purposeful rather than reflexive. The black material shifted, patterns forming and dissolving in waves that traveled from his core to his extremities. Jake watched his own torso transform into something that resembled a chalkboard mid-lecture, symbols appearing on the symbiote's surface with systematic precision.
Chemical formulas.
Jake recognized them immediately and that recognition sent his mind reeling into territory he hadn't explored since his first night in Gotham. These weren't random markings or decorative patterns -- they were molecular structures drafted with accuracy that suggested deep understanding of chemical composition.
C₁₈H₁₃NO₃ bonded to compound chains that created the Joker toxin's base structure. Modifications that enhanced potency, delivery vectors that made the chemical weaponizable through dermal contact or inhalation. The formula sprawled across his chest in detail that would make a chemist weep.
Below that, Ivy's pheromones -- organic compounds that hijacked human neurochemistry through olfactory pathways. The molecular structure was elegant in its complexity, each element precisely positioned to create cascading effects in the target's endocrine system.
And finally, Kobra-Venom. The enhancement serum that turned ordinary humans into temporary super-soldiers. Adrenaline derivatives mixed with synthetic compounds that forced the body past natural limitations, trading long-term stability for short-term power.
Jake stared at his own body displaying information he shouldn't have possessed. He'd never been a chemistry genius, had barely passed high school science with grades that suggested effort rather than aptitude. But now he understood these formulas with clarity that felt impossible.
The enhanced abilities came with enhanced intellect.
He hadn't explored that aspect his abilities because survival had demanded physical solutions to physical problems. But Sleeper had been processing chemical data since their bond -- mapping the Joker toxin, metabolizing Ivy's compounds, integrating the Kobra-Venom in his system. The symbiote had learned from exposure and now it was sharing that knowledge.
Giving him weapons.
The formulas remained visible on his skin while Jake's mind processed implications faster than he would have thought possible. Sleeper was helping him prepare for what came next, providing tools that could level playing fields when brute force wasn't sufficient. The symbiote understood something Jake was only beginning to grasp -- that the world would get more aggressive by the minute, that enemies would escalate, that survival meant staying ahead of the curve.
He didn't understand why Sleeper was helping beyond what the system required. The symbiote's autonomy was muted compared to what Jake had read about Venom or Carnage, restricted by whatever protocols the system had implemented. But this felt like choice. Like the symbiote had decided Jake was worth investing in.
Maybe that's how the system meant for it to work.
The formulas faded, absorbed back into Sleeper's mass as the symbiote settled into its usual configuration. Jake didn't need to photograph them or write them down. The knowledge was in his mind now, permanent in ways the symbiote's presence wasn't.
He turned his attention back to Star City.
The encounter with Green Arrow hadn't turned out the way he'd wanted. The bow totem had been corrupted the second Green Arrow had devalued it himself. Only by understanding what it represented to him could Jake be able to redeem it.
Jake's eyes settled on the interface again.
🕷️
System Tools: Symbolic Extraction? Enabled.
🕸️
Symbolic Extraction was the reason why Green Arrow's totem had been upgraded from Rare to Epic. Could disabling it make consuming the bow possible without having to search for its meaning?
Jake wasn't sure. What he could confirm was that disabling it to consume the bow meant Oliver Queen would chase him to the ends of the world, if only to have revenge. Just like Harley, Penguin, Riddler, Falcone-- Batman had suffered the effects of Symbolic Extraction and Jake was just relieved he didn't have that target on his back.
Symbolic Extraction would stay enabled. For now.
And his plan to unveil what the bow meant to Oliver Queen would work.
The plan forming in his mind was insane. Suicidal, even. But it was also the only logical move available.
Jake needed to destabilize Star City overnight.
Not through random destruction or meaningless chaos -- that would bring every hero on the eastern seaboard down on his head before he accomplished anything. No, this required surgical precision applied to existing fractures. Star City had rot beneath its cleaner streets and better lighting, criminal infrastructure that Green Arrow had been fighting for years without fully dismantling.
Jake was going to bring that rot to the surface.
Expose the hidden underworld, force gang conflicts into open warfare, create enough chaos that Oliver Queen would have no choice but to fight with everything he had. And when the vigilante was desperate enough, exhausted enough, broken enough by watching his city burn -- that's when his pride would become vulnerable. When protecting Star City would cost him the very thing that made him Green Arrow.
The idea sounded diabolical because it was. But Jake had gone through too much to give up now. Had survived Gotham's worst and emerged with totems that bought him time he couldn't afford to waste. He wasn't claiming sainthood or pretending this was heroic.
This was survival dressed up as strategy.
His phone came out with his right hand, screen illuminating as he pulled up maps and started making tactical assessments. Star City's biggest underground commodity was Vertigo -- the drug that Queen had been fighting since before the name Green Arrow meant anything. Distribution networks required infrastructure, and infrastructure left patterns.
The port was the obvious entry point. Star City's waterfront handled enough legitimate cargo that smuggling would be trivial for anyone with the right connections. But offloading something like Vertigo directly at the docks seemed too risky. The compound was controlled substance tier, the kind of thing that would make law enforcement interested if manifests got checked too carefully.
Even organizations like the Ninth Circle -- the hidden powers that made Gotham's Court of Owls look transparent -- wouldn't risk getting their hands dirty falsifying paperwork over street-level narcotics.
Jake's eyes tracked from the port to the River Industrial Corridor on his phone's map. The waterway connected directly to the docks but ran through neighborhoods that had seen better decades. Warehouses lined the river in clusters that suggested industrial use that had moved elsewhere, leaving behind structures perfect for activities that required privacy.
Distribution points.
Street gangs serving as the retail end of whatever pipeline fed Vertigo into Star City's veins. Hit them hard enough and the fire would start. Small at first, localized violence between organizations that thought they were protecting territory. But fire spread when you gave it enough fuel.
And Jake planned to dump gasoline.
Going after the gangs would provoke immediate response -- criminals defending their operations with whatever weapons they could acquire. Black markets in a city this size would harbor everything from military-grade firearms to experimental tech from cities like Central and Metropolis. Jake would be walking into unknown arsenals with nothing but enhanced abilities and a symbiote that had an expiration date.
Suicidal.
But he had advantages they couldn't account for. Speed that made human reaction times look glacial. Strength that let him treat concrete like clay. Webs that could immobilize targets before they understood they were in a fight. And now, chemical knowledge that could turn their own weapons against them if he had time to synthesize what Sleeper had taught him.
Twenty-two hours was enough time if he didn't waste it.
Jake oriented south. The Glades spread below him in the direction he needed to travel, residential areas giving way to industrial zones that marked the River Corridor's territory. He could see the waterway from here, a dark line cutting through the city's grid with buildings clustered along its banks like barnacles.
That's where he'd start.
The River Industrial Warehouse district would burn first. Enough havoc to get noticed, enough damage to make every gang in the area want his head. And when they came for him with everything they had -- when tensions broke and old grudges surfaced and opportunistic violence found targets of convenience -- Star City would tear itself apart.
Oliver Queen would have to choose between stopping Jake and saving his city from the chaos Jake had orchestrated.
And either choice would cost him what mattered most.
Jake fired webbing. The strand caught a building south of his position and he swung into the night, leaving the skyscraper's rooftop empty behind him. The city blurred past in segments -- downtown giving way to older construction, glass and steel replaced by brick and corroded metal.
The Glades passed beneath him in blocks that showed Star City's economic stratification through architecture alone. Pawn shops with bars on the windows, convenience stores that closed before dark, apartment buildings where half the units had boards instead of glass.
Then the industrial corridor opened before him.
Warehouses lined the river in formations that suggested they'd been planned with efficiency in mind decades ago. Corrugated metal walls, loading docks that faced the water, crane infrastructure that hadn't moved in years. Some showed signs of legitimate use -- fresh paint, functional lighting, vehicles parked in organized patterns.
Others looked abandoned.
Jake landed on the first warehouse roof and tore through corrugated metal with Sleeper's claws. The material screamed as he peeled it back, creating an opening large enough to drop through.
The interior was empty. Just hollow space and concrete floor, stripped of anything valuable years ago. Moonlight filtered through the torn roof, illuminating dust that hung in the air like fog.
Jake grabbed a support beam and yanked. Metal groaned, then buckled. The beam tore free and brought part of the ceiling structure down with it, crashing onto the warehouse floor with impact that echoed across the industrial corridor.
He swung back out through the hole he'd made and moved upriver.
The next building was a decommissioned factory. Broken windows, rusted machinery still bolted to the floor, the smell of chemicals that had eaten through concrete decades ago. No operations. No guards. Just another empty shell.
Jake webbed the machinery and pulled. Tons of metal tore free from moorings with shrieks that would wake anyone within blocks. He threw pieces through walls, brought down more ceiling infrastructure, created destruction that served no purpose except noise.
The third warehouse showed signs of recent use. Fresh tire tracks leading to a loading dock, fluorescent lights visible through grimy windows. Jake crashed through the skylight and landed among startled men in coveralls who'd been moving legitimate cargo.
They scattered. Jake let them run and went to work on their inventory. Webbed pallets and yanked them down, sent forklifts crashing through stacks of crates, tore loading equipment apart with claws that made metal shriek.
Someone was shouting into a phone about calling the police. Jake ignored them and kept destroying.
The fourth warehouse -- that's where he found it.
He dropped through the roof and the chemical smell hit immediately. Vertigo. Tables covered in white powder, men in the middle of sorting product into bags with assembly-line efficiency. A dozen of them, maybe more, all freezing as glass rained down around Jake's landing.
One second of shocked silence.
Then someone grabbed a gun from a table.
"Who the hell--"
Jake webbed the nearest light fixture and yanked it free. The assembly crashed down onto their operation, scattering product worth thousands across the concrete floor. White powder billowed into clouds that made visibility drop to nothing.
"What the--"
"Stop him!"
Gunfire erupted. Blind shots into the powder cloud that ricocheted off concrete and metal. Jake was already moving, grabbing crates and hurling them through walls, webbing equipment and tearing it down, destroying everything within reach with systematic thoroughness.
"He's wrecking everything!"
"Somebody kill this freak!"
More gunfire. Jake webbed the shooters and yanked them off their feet, sent them crashing into others who were trying to organize. He grabbed a metal barrel and threw it through the loading dock doors with enough force to tear the entire structure off its hinges.
The crash echoed across the river.
"That's thousands of dollars you just--"
Jake drove his claws through their remaining product. Bags split open, powder scattered across the floor in drifts that represented weeks of work and revenue streams that had just evaporated.
"I'm gonna gut you for this!"
"Get on the radio -- tell everyone we got a problem down here!"
Jake was already swinging toward the next warehouse. Behind him, voices were shouting into phones and radios, spreading word that someone was destroying operations up and down the corridor.
The fifth warehouse tried to mount defense. Men with automatic weapons positioned near the entrance, ready for whatever came through. Jake tore through the roof instead and dropped into their midst.
They opened fire immediately. Jake webbed a support beam and pulled the entire structure down on them -- metal and concrete crashing across the warehouse floor, creating chaos that made accurate shooting impossible.
He destroyed their operation while they scrambled for cover. Scattered product, broke equipment, set fires that would consume whatever he couldn't demolish directly.
"He's hitting the riverside ops!"
"Someone get down here with real firepower!"
"I want this bastard dead!"
The threats followed him to the sixth warehouse. The seventh. Each one the same pattern -- tear through the roof, destroy everything valuable, leave before they could organize proper resistance.
But they were organizing anyway.
Vehicles converged from multiple directions. Panel vans and muscle cars screeching to stops outside warehouses that were still burning. Armed men poured out, spreading through the industrial corridor with weapons raised and fury that made them careless about who else was in the area.
"Find him!"
"Check every building!"
"You see anything in black, you put it down!"
Jake swung between warehouses, visible enough to draw fire, fast enough that bullets couldn't track him. He led them deeper into the corridor, toward decommissioned buildings and abandoned factories where more gangs had operations they'd kept hidden.
Gunfire erupted from multiple positions. Not just at Jake -- at each other, at shadows, at anything that moved wrong in territory that was suddenly contested.
"That's our section!"
"The hell it is -- we've been running this area for months!"
"I don't care who you think you are, get out before--"
More gunfire. Return fire. Someone screamed. Jake kept moving, kept destroying, kept drawing their attention while chaos spread in his wake like infection.
The industrial corridor was tearing itself apart. Gangs flooding into each other's territory. Old grudges surfacing. Weapons meant for protection being turned toward whoever happened to be closest when frustration needed outlet.
Star City's hidden rot coming to the surface.
Jake paused on a crane overlooking the river. Below him, the warehouse district burned -- literal fires in some buildings, metaphorical ones everywhere else. Armed groups engaged in confused firefights. Sirens wailing in the distance as police scrambled to respond to what sounded like a war zone.
This was just the beginning.
The heat was spreading exactly as planned.