The Spider Assassin #58
Why the Bat symbol?
Batman had answered that question countless times. To himself, first -- in the cave, standing before the glass case that held his parents' pearls and his father's watch. To Alfred, who'd raised an eyebrow at the choice but said nothing about the theatrical absurdity of a grown man dressing as a flying rodent. To Dick, when the boy had asked why not something stronger, something that didn't make people laugh before they learned to fear it.
The answer had always been the same: because it represented fear. His fear, made tangible and worn like armor. If he bore the symbol of what had terrified him as a child -- the creature that had crashed through the window of his study, all leathery wings and needle teeth -- then perhaps Gotham's criminals would feel that same primal dread when they saw it painted across the night sky.
And it had worked.
The Bat-Signal cut through smog and rain, a warning that sent dealers scattering from street corners and enforcers abandoning their posts. They knew he was coming. Knew that the symbol meant their time was limited, that Batman would find them eventually, would drag them from whatever hole they'd crawled into and deliver them to justice.
But knowing he was coming had never been enough.
Most of them waited anyway. Stood their ground with weapons drawn and bravado thick in their voices, determined to prove something fundamental about themselves -- that they weren't afraid, that Batman was just a man, that tonight would be the night someone finally put the Bat down and claimed the reputation that came with it.
Fear without action was just theater. Batman had learned that within his first year on the streets. The symbol inspired dread, yes, but dread didn't empty a warehouse of armed thugs or prevent a kidnapping in progress. Dread made them nervous. Made them trigger-happy and desperate and twice as dangerous.
He'd needed something more.
Something that didn't just inspire fear but demanded the immediate response fear was supposed to trigger -- flight instead of fight, survival instinct overriding ego and pride and the stupid conviction that they could win if they just stood their ground long enough.
The Batmobile had served that purpose from the moment he'd first brought it roaring through the Narrows.
Criminals didn't wait to see what the Batmobile would do. They didn't stand their ground and aim for the tires or try to block its path with stolen vehicles. They ran. Scattered like roaches when the lights came on, because the sound of that engine -- that thunderous mechanical roar that rattled windows and set off car alarms three blocks away -- triggered something deeper than conscious thought.
It told them that Batman wasn't just coming. He was already here.
Over the years, the Batmobile had become more than transportation. More than tactical advantage or mobile armory. It had become the physical manifestation of what Batman represented to Gotham's underworld: inevitable, overwhelming, unstoppable force that adapted to every threat and emerged victorious from every engagement.
His ultimate weapon.
And now, its culmination -- upgraded, reinforced, armed with systems specifically calibrated to exploit the Spider's documented weaknesses -- was about to demonstrate exactly why no criminal in Gotham waited around once they heard that roar.
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The interior displays painted Bruce's face in shifting blue light. Tactical overlays tracked four friendlies -- Nightwing circling left, Batgirl holding the eastern approach, Red Hood repositioning for clean fire lanes, Oracle's voice steady in his ear coordinating their movements. The Spider appeared as a red hostile marker that jerked and twisted through projected trajectory paths, spider-sense making him difficult to pin but not impossible to predict.
The sonic emitter's housing was cracked. Sparks visible through the damage where the Spider's corrosive webbing had eaten through exterior plating and compromised internal circuitry. Diagnostics reported a thirty-seven percent chance of catastrophic failure if he tried to activate it again.
But Bruce had built redundancies into redundancies. Had anticipated equipment failure and designed systems that could cannibalize themselves for one last deployment if necessary.
His fingers moved across the console, rerouting power from non-essential systems. Climate control went dark. Backup generators engaged, feeding everything they had into the damaged emitter. The frequency modulation would be crude -- no time for the fine-tuning that had made the initial assault so effective -- but crude would suffice.
He just needed to disrupt the precognition long enough for the others to capitalize.
"Nightwing," Bruce said. "High-voltage on my mark. Batgirl, grappling cables the moment he's down. Red Hood, incendiary rounds -- full saturation, don't give that black mass time to adapt."
"Copy," Dick's voice came back. Tense but controlled. "What's the mark?"
"You'll know it when you hear it."
Bruce's hand hovered over the activation sequence. The Batmobile's structural integrity would take damage from this. The emitter housing would tear itself apart, potentially taking surrounding systems with it. Hull plating near the deployment aperture would buckle from the energy discharge.
But Batman understood. If he didn't push it that far, the Spider would have the opportunity to claim it the same he'd done Gotham's objects.
Better to sacrifice it achieving victory than lose it as a trophy.
He triggered the sequence.
The emitter screamed.
Not the focused, calibrated assault from before -- this was raw sonic output, unmodulated and desperate, tearing through the air with enough force that the Batmobile's own sensors registered damage warnings. The frequency wobbled, jumped, found the resonance that made spider-physiology seize and hold it there through sheer brute application of power.
Through the windshield, Bruce watched the Spider convulse. Watched the black surface ripple and distort, the dark mass form losing coherence as the sound waves attacked the bond between alien tissue and human host.
"Now!"
Red Hood's incendiary rounds painted the intersection in orange light. Fire washed across the Spider's form, and the symbiote's distress became visible -- black material peeling away from Jake's body like burning plastic, retreating from heat it couldn't neutralize fast enough.
Nightwing's escrima stick found its mark. Electricity surged through the contact point, and this time there was no symbiotic barrier to absorb the voltage. The current hit enhanced nervous system directly, muscle fibers seizing in helpless spasm.
The symbiote tore free.
Ripped itself from Jake's body in one agonized motion, a black mass that collapsed onto pavement and writhed there with something approaching independent awareness. Leaving Jake exposed -- just a man in torn clothing, bleeding from a dozen wounds the symbiote had been holding together through pressure and regeneration.
Batgirl's cue. She deployed the grappling cables with perfect timing. The reinforced lines wrapped around Jake's torso, his arms, his legs, cinching tight with mechanisms designed to constrict under resistance. He went down hard, momentum stolen, body slack from electrical trauma.
"We got him," Jason said. Something like relief in his voice. "Holy shit, we actually--"
"Not yet."
Bruce was already moving. Out of the Batmobile's cockpit -- the vehicle listing slightly where damaged systems had compromised stabilization -- and crossing the distance toward where his proteges stood over Jake's restrained form.
Because he'd seen what they hadn't. What their celebration had made them miss.
The symbiote was moving.
Not writhing in distress anymore. Moving with purpose, flowing across pavement toward its host with the determination of something that understood exactly what it needed to do.
"Somebody grab that thing--"
They all lunged simultaneously. Dick's hands found purchase first, trying to contain black material that had no solid form to grip. Batgirl moved to assist, her gauntlets designed for this kind of work. Jason fired a containment net that the symbiote simply flowed through like water.
But it only needed to touch Jake's skin.
The moment contact occurred, Sleeper twisted from their collective grasp with strength that shouldn't have been possible for something without skeletal structure. It poured into Jake's body through every available opening -- mouth, nose, the wounds Red Hood's incendiary rounds had created -- filling him with black material that restored definition to his form and healed damage as it spread.
The cables snapped. Not gradually -- simultaneously, like they'd been made from thread instead of reinforced polymer.
Jake rose. Slower than before, injury and exhaustion visible in the way he favored his left side. But rising nonetheless, spider-sense giving him just enough warning to dodge Dick's follow-up strike and create separation.
Bruce moved to intercept. The Batmobile sat fifteen feet away, systems failing, barely functional after sacrificing itself for that final sonic assault. If the Spider reached it--
Jake's webline caught the vehicle's undercarriage. Yanked him forward with enhanced strength that had been depleted but not exhausted. His hand found armor plating that was still warm from weapon discharge.
"You all put up a fight," Jake said. Blood on his teeth, voice rough from screaming. "But this is my win."
"Don't--"
"Consume."
The Batmobile fractured.
Not physically at first -- the breakdown started deeper than material construction, reality bending around the vehicle in ways that made Bruce's tactical mind reject what his eyes reported. Black light bled from every surface, from weapons ports and exhaust vents and the spaces between armor plates. The Batmobile was dissolving into something that resembled flame burning without heat, pulled inward instead of rising.
The black firelight poured into Jake's body.
And something fundamental gave away in Bruce Wayne. He felt his energy drain instantly -- energy that had nothing to do with adrenaline or stamina or any biological system he could name. His legs stopped supporting his weight. The ground rushed up to meet his knees, and he caught himself with one hand while the other clutched at his chest where absence screamed louder than pain.
Batgirl's hands found his shoulders before he could fall completely.
Dick and Jason were already moving toward the Spider. Weapons raised, ready to capitalize on his injured state, to press while he was still vulnerable.
Jake swung away.
His webline caught the nearest building's edge and pulled him upward with visible effort. Each movement looked like it cost him, symbiotic enhancement barely compensating for damage he'd accumulated throughout the engagement. He climbed more than swung, using the webbing to haul himself toward the rooftops where pursuit would be difficult.
"We were so close--" Dick's frustration bled through his usual control. But he was already turning back, abandoning pursuit in favor of supporting Bruce. "We need to get him out of here--"
"Batman. Batman. Bat. Man."
The voice came in front of them. Rhythmic, broken, and Harvey Dent forcing out while he moved like he was dragging his body forward through sheer will rather than functional coordination.
His crew followed at a distance, uncertainty written across their faces as they watched their boss shamble toward the intersection where Gotham's underworld had just witnessed something impossible.
Batgirl's hand moved toward smoke pellets. Dick and Jason positioned themselves between Harvey and Bruce, ready to defend or extract depending on how this played.
"Defy Batman." Harvey's voice fractured on the words. "Defy... Batman. That was the decision we always both agreed on."
"Boss, you're going the wrong way--" One of Harvey's crew shouted from behind him. Pointing upward where the Spider had retreated to the rooftops. "The Spider's up there--"
But Harvey wasn't listening. His fractured mind had found something to anchor itself to, some core conviction that predated the coin and the acid and the split between Harvey and Two-Face. He'd existed to oppose Batman. Had built his entire identity around defying what the Bat represented.
And Batman was here. Right here. That made the decision simple.
Dick triggered the smoke grenade.
White clouds billowed outward, obscuring Harvey's advance and giving them the cover they needed. Bruce felt hands supporting his weight -- Batgirl on one side, Dick materializing on the other.
Harvey's voice followed them through the smoke. "Batman... defy Batman... Batman..."
The words faded as distance and chemical clouds separated them from the intersection.
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Jake watched from the rooftop's edge.
His entire body felt like it had been through a industrial shredder. Sleeper had restored structural integrity -- sealed the worst wounds, stabilized broken ribs, stopped the bleeding that would have killed him in minutes -- but the symbiote couldn't erase exhaustion or the deep ache that came from enhanced muscles being pushed past sustainable limits.
Below, smoke obscured the intersection. But his spider-sense could still track them. The Batfamily extracting Batman, moving with urgent coordination that suggested genuine concern. Harvey Dent shambling after them like a broken automaton, his crew following with the confusion of people who'd watched their boss's mind snap in real-time.
Jake's eyes found Nightwing through the smoke. Locked gazes for a moment that felt significant. Anger there. Frustration. The look of someone who'd come within inches of victory and watched it slip away.
But Jake had won.
He'd consumed his first Epic-tier totem. The Batmobile -- Batman's ultimate weapon, the vehicle that made criminals scatter before it arrived -- was breaking down into component information somewhere in his system. Ninety-six hours added to his time bank once he redeemed it.
He would have died getting it. Or worse -- captured.
If not for Sleeper.
The symbiote had saved him. Torn itself free from his body to avoid complete destruction, then rebuilt the bond the moment opportunity presented itself. Had given him just enough strength to claim the totem before Batman could stop him.
But he wasn't safe yet.
He needed distance. Needed to disappear before the Batfamily regrouped and came after him with whatever contingency Batman had prepared for round two.
Jake fired webbing. The strand caught, and he swung away from the intersection. Each movement reminded him of damage Sleeper couldn't fully compensate for -- cracked ribs grinding, torn muscle fibers protesting, enhanced healing working overtime to keep him functional.
He leaned on the symbiote's strength. Let Sleeper handle locomotion while his conscious mind focused on maintaining direction and avoiding obstacles.
The city swallowed him. Gotham's vertical landscape providing the maze he needed to lose himself in while his body remembered how to function without Batman's arsenal trying to tear it apart.
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**The Spider Assassin Arc -- Complete.**
Thank you for walking through Gotham's bloodiest two weeks with me. For sticking around while Jake evolved from desperate survivor to something Gotham's underworld will whisper about in the same breath as the Bat. For trusting me when the violence got dark and the moral lines got blurry.
Your comments, subscriptions, and continued presence here fuel this story in ways I can't properly articulate. Every notification reminds me people care where this goes. That matters more than you know.
Next arc, the bill comes due. Jake's about to learn what happens when you steal from reality itself. And he'll need every hour he's stockpiled to survive what's coming.
See you in the Mechanical-Arm Spider Arc.
*~MimicLord*
*"I will keep taking until I don't have to anymore."*
**Up Next: The Mechanical-Arm Spider Arc** | The Undead Spider
Patreon.com/mimiclord for early access
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**Arc Statistics:**
Word Count: 50,380
Chapters: 21
T. Finder Progress: 9.5%
Totems Collected: 7
Time Bank: 147 hours (6 days, 3 hours)
Days in Gotham: 14