The Laughing Spider #31.
From the center of the geyser -- rising like something from a nightmare given form -- was Jake.
But not Jake. Nor The Spider. Not anymore.
His skin had gone past pale into something translucent. Veins visible beneath the surface, pulsing with green luminescence. His broken bones had reset -- arms bent backwards. Spine curved into shapes that shouldn't support life. His face was a mask of chemical scarring, features barely recognizable.
Harley's sobs cut off. Her face transformed from grief to manic delight. "GOOD NIGHT! MY GOOD NIGHT! YOU CAME BACK!"
Jake's head snapped toward her. Eyes completely black. No iris. No pupil. Just void.
Then he moved.
His body contorted, joints bending backward, forward, sideways. Spider-like but wrong. Like someone had taken the concept of a spider and applied it to human anatomy without understanding why certain things shouldn't bend.
Green webbing erupted from his wrists. Not weak. Not failing. These strands were thick as cables. Toxic. Alive. They moved like serpents, seeking targets.
One strand caught an assassin. The man screamed as the webbing ate through his armor, his clothes, his skin. He fell, still screaming, into the vat. The chemicals swallowed him. His screams cut off abruptly.
Another strand caught Penguin's man. Yanked him upward. The webbing constricted. Bones cracked like gunshots. The man's spine compressed until vertebrae punched through skin. He stopped moving.
Jake released him. The body fell into the vat with a wet splash.
"I'M STRONGER! BETTER! PERFECT-PERFECT-PERFECT!" His voice was multiplied. Overlapping. Like several versions of him speaking at once.
More webbing. Everywhere. Penguin's men tried to dodge. Too slow. Three more caught. Two died instantly -- necks snapped by the force of being yanked. The third hit the catwalk's railing. The impact folded him in half backward. His legs twitched once, twice, then stopped.
Bronze Tiger roared. His talisman glowed brighter. The transformation began -- human to animal -- muscles bulging, fur sprouting.
Jake's head snapped toward him. Black eyes locked on.
Webbing shot out. Bronze Tiger dodged, already moving with animal instinct. The strand missed by inches. Hit the wall behind him. The metal began dissolving, eaten away by the chemicals woven into the webbing's structure.
Bronze Tiger charged. Fast. Powerful. Claws extended.
Jake, quiet, moved. His body contorted impossibly, bending under the swipe. His counter-strike caught Bronze Tiger's ribs. Enhanced strength amplified by chemicals and madness. The impact sent the transformed meta flying.
He crashed into Onyx. She'd been trying to flank, moving through the shadows. Bronze Tiger's bulk slammed into her. They both went down in a tangle of limbs.
Jake hissed. More webbing caught Bronze Tiger's ankle. Jake pulled.
The tiger came flying back. Jake caught him mid-air. Held him overhead. The beast's weight should have been impossible to manage. Jake threw.
Bronze Tiger hit the far wall. The impact cracked concrete. He slid down, human again, talisman dark. Onyx grabbed his arm, already dragging him toward the exit.
Penguin's remaining men opened fire. Bullets tore through the air. Jake's black eyes tracked each trajectory with impossible precision.
He moved between them. Dancing. Weaving. Horrifyingly silent. His body contorted around each bullet like water flowing around stones.
When the gunfire stopped -- magazines empty -- Jake's head tilted.
Green webbing erupted like a tidal wave. It caught four men simultaneously. Yanked them toward the vat. They screamed. Clawed at the webbing. At each other. At anything.
They hit the chemicals. Their screams intensified for three seconds. Then stopped as the liquid invaded their lungs.
Riddler had been backing toward the exit. Slow. Careful. Not attracting attention.
Deathstroke's eye tracked him. One assassin moved to block.
Deathstroke's hand rose. Stop. Let him go.
The assassin stepped aside.
Riddler didn't need to be told twice. He ran. His backup walking stick clattering against metal with each step. The sound echoed through the factory, mixing with Jake's silence.
Another of Penguin's men tried to follow. Webbing caught his leg. He fell. Tried to crawl. More webbing wrapped his torso. His arms. His head.
The webbing constricted. His muffled screams were cut off as his ribcage collapsed. The chemicals in the webbing began eating through. By the time the strands dissolved, there wasn't enough left to identify.
The assassins remained. They tried coordinating. high, low.
Jake's webbing caught them mid-attack. Slammed two together with bone-crushing force. He held them there -- suspended in the air, bodies pressed together like lovers.
He constricted the webbing. The men screamed as bones broke. As organs ruptured. As their bodies were compressed into each other until it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.
When he released them, they fell as one mass. Didn't separate. The impact finished what the compression had started.
He caught an arrow from a crossbow -- aimed for his head -- with blackened teeth. Fired it back with inhuman speed. It blew through the assassin's chest, revealing his torn heart.
Deathstroke watched it all with that same clinical detachment. His remaining assassin stood beside him, waiting for orders that didn't come.
Jake's black eyes found them.
Deathstroke's hand moved to his sword, understanding. He calculated, measuring. "No."
He turned. Walked toward the exit. His pace was unhurried. Professional. A man completing a job.
Jake's webbing shot toward him. Deathstroke's sword was already moving. The blade cut through the strand mid-flight. The two pieces dissolved before hitting the ground.
"Impressive," Deathstroke said without turning. "But I'm done here."
More webbing. His sword cut through it. Then more. Each strand met the same fate. Jake wasn't laughing, but his face was morphing into something like a smile only found in horror movies.
Deathstroke was already at the door. His assassin backing out beside him.
They disappeared into the shadows.
Jake stood in the center of the factory floor. Surrounded by bodies. By blood. By chemicals eating through metal and flesh indiscriminately. His chest heaved. His black eyes swept the carnage.
His gaze found Penguin.
The crime lord had pressed himself against the far wall. His blade was still on the ground. His hands were empty. His face was pale.
"You," Jake whispered. His eyes somehow grew darker. More distant.
He took one step forward. His joints bent wayward with each movement. Bones clicking. Tendons snapping.
"Stay back," Penguin managed. "I-- I can pay-- whatever you want-- name your price--"
Jake took another step.
One more step. Penguin was trapped. Nowhere to run. The wall behind him. Jake in front. Bodies everywhere else.
Jake's wrist rose. Green webbing forming. Ready to fire. Ready to tear. Ready to--
His body seized.
Not from external attack. From within. His back arched impossibly. His mouth opened in a silent scream. His black eyes rolled back.
The chemicals had finally caught up.
His heart. Liver. Kidneys. Brain.
His entire body shutdown.
Jake fell forward. Hit the grating with a wet sound. His body twitched once. Twice.
Then stopped.
No movement. No breathing. Just meat and bone and chemicals eating him from the inside out.
The silence in the factory eased into something less uncomfortable.
Penguin stared at the body. Didn't move. Couldn't move. His mind was still catching up with survival. With the fact that he wasn't dead.
"Maybe I overestimated his worth," Deathstroke's voice came from the shadows. He hadn't left. Had been watching. Studying. "But Gotham's destruction is already set in motion."
Penguin's head snapped up. But the assassin was already gone. For real this time. The shadows held nothing but darkness.
The Riddler had escaped. With the knowledge of the Roman Ring's destruction. With the truth that would set Gotham ablaze.
Penguin stood slowly. His legs shook. His hands trembled. But he forced himself upright. Forced himself toward Jake's body.
Had to confirm it. Had to be sure. Had to know the umbrella -- the family legacy -- was truly gone.
His foot nudged Jake's shoulder. No response. He nudged harder. Still nothing.
Behind him, Harley had been silent. Processing. Her face cycled through emotions too fast to track. Grief. Rage. Denial. Hope. Despair.
"Good Night?" Her voice was small. Broken. "Baby? You-- you came back for me. You were so strong. So perfect." Tears streamed down her face. "You can't be-- you're not--"
Penguin's hand moved to his jacket. Found a backup blade. Small. Sharp. Designed for precision work.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. Not to Jake. To his father. His grandfather. The legacy that had died in this broken body. "But I have to know."
He raised the blade.
"NO!"
The sound that came from Harley was primal. She launched herself at Penguin, bat swinging. The impact caught his temple. Not full force -- she wasn't herself, wasn't thinking clearly -- but enough. His vision whited out. His legs gave way.
He collapsed beside Jake's body.
Harley stood over them both. Bat raised. Ready to swing again. Her makeup was completely destroyed now. Tears and chemicals had washed away the paint. Revealed the face beneath. Young. Scared. Broken.
"That's my mallet," she said through sobs. "My mallet. My Good Night. My perfect weapon." Her voice rose. "And I will defend him from all the bad men coming for him! ALL OF THEM!"
She swung the bat again. Caught Penguin's ribs. Something cracked. He groaned but didn't get up.
Harley dropped to her knees beside Jake. Her hands hovered over his body. Afraid to touch. Afraid of what she'd find.
"Come on, sweety," she whispered. "I'll protect you from all the bad men. Take you where no one can harm you." Her fingers finally touched his face. Cold. Still. "You'll be okay. I know you will. You've proved it to me so many times."
She gathered him in her arms. His broken body was lighter than it should be. The chemicals had eaten away muscle mass. Dissolved organs. Left only the frame.
"So many times," she repeated. Rocking back and forth. "You always came back. Always got stronger. Always--"
Her voice broke.
Around them, the factory settled into its familiar decay. The Chemical Pool bubbled. Bodies cooled. Blood mixed with chemicals and disappeared into the grating.
And Harley Quinn held her perfect weapon. Her Good Night. Her mallet made flesh.
And sang him a lullaby through her tears.
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