LOOTING DC #16. Bruised by the Bat
The smoke was the first to assault his senses. Then came the rain - heavy, abrupt.
But what really got him was the fist that cracked across his jaw like a gunshot. A blur of black followed by white-hot pain.
Jake's head snapped to the side, the taste of iron exploding in his mouth. He hit the pavement hard, the echo lost in the storm.
He tried to regroup, to assess the threat hunting him in the clouded chaos. But his spider-sense betrayed him.
It howled. Left. No - above. Behind. Front. All at once. Overloaded. Spiraling. Useless.
The shifting smoke, the pelting rain, the presence that moved like a phantom in every shadow - nowhere and everywhere - broke it.
Pain fueled his anger. But anger was no match for the fury stalking him through the smoke.
Jake didn't need a name. He already knew.
Batman.
And he was here for vengeance.
But that didn't save him from the next blow. Ribs, crushed. A knee to the gut folded him in half. Then a boot to the chest launched him back, skidding across wet concrete.
No words. No speeches. No hesitation.
Batman hadn't come to talk.
He came to punish.
Jake rolled, barely avoiding a gauntlet meant to break something vital. He fired webbing blindly - thin, desperate strands slicing through smoke - snagging nothing. His body moved on instinct, dodging high, ducking low.
But Batman was already there.
Already moving.
Already ahead.
A strike clipped his shoulder - then his temple - then the back of his knee.
Precision born of war. Of loss. Of knowing exactly how to break a body without ending it.
Jake slammed into a wall.
His lungs spasmed, dragging in wet air laced with smoke. He shot a web toward the rooftops - an escape, a breath, anything - but a batarang caught it mid-flight. Sparks flared and died in the mist.
He didn't see the next hit.
Just felt it - cracking across his back hard enough to rattle his spine. He tumbled forward, landing in a crouch, one hand pressed to the pavement.
Think. Move. Survive.
He spun low, webbing the first thing he could feel - brick - and hurled it into the smoke.
Nothing.
Then - there. A flicker. Cape. Movement.
Jake twisted mid-air to dodge-
Too slow.
A gloved hand snatched his ankle, dragging him down like a ghost caught mid-escape.
He hit the ground hard, his spine protesting. Another hit followed - clean, efficient - a knuckle to the solar plexus that stole his breath, then a jab to the neck that blurred everything.
Batman stepped through the smoke like death made flesh. Calm. Measured. No hesitation.
Jake scrambled back, slipping in the rain, fingers clawing for traction. His spider-sense screamed just enough for him to roll aside as steel slammed down where his skull had been.
You can't fight him like this.
He adjusted - less offense, more survival. Duck under a swing. Bounce off a dumpster. Vault a railing.
Smoke thickened around him. The rain blurred every edge.
Nowhere to run.
He moved on instinct - a ballet of muscle and memory. Dodging. Spinning. Leaping.
But Batman didn't chase.
He herded.
Every step pushed Jake where he wanted. Every block, every pivot, was a move on a chessboard Jake hadn't realized he was playing. A general directing a war with boots and fists.
And every blow had a purpose - stun, disorient, disable. Like he was learning Jake's body with violence. Mapping it. Studying it. Taking notes in bruises and breathlessness.
Jake panted.
This wasn't a fight.
It was a dissection.
"You done running yet?" The voice came - low, steady. Gravel under pressure. Ice over a grave.
Jake froze. Hearing him - finally hearing him - was almost a relief.
He could now put a face to the shadow. Something remotely human.
Batman. No powers. Just skill, grit, and an edge carved out of pain.
Jake's eyes narrowed.
He could outthink him. He had to.
Stop reacting.
His spider-sense was jammed - but that wasn't all he was.
Jake rolled his shoulders back, grinning through blood.
"I was just getting warmed up, Batsy."
Thwip.
Threads lanced through the smoke - high, low, ricocheting off walls, lampposts, even the pavement. From the outside, it looked erratic - chaotic. But Jake had a plan.
Sort of.
"This'd be easier if I had breakfast," Jake muttered, flipping over a swinging gauntlet. "Or, I dunno, a heads-up that Gotham's number one cryptid was gonna curb-stomp me before coffee."
Another thwip. Another anchor point.
He twisted mid-air, letting Batman's boot skim his chest as he flipped back through the railing.
"And by the way," Jake called out, webbing another wall behind Batman. "Nice suit. What's it made of - grief and unresolved childhood trauma?"
No answer. Just the low swoosh of a cape and the crack of a punch nearly missing his ribs.
Jake grinned, ducking under it.
"Touchy."
He skidded across wet pavement, boots slipping, but managed to right himself. The threads were in place. A wide arc. Crisscrossing points. He just needed one good shot.
And there it was.
Batman stepped into his zone. Jake thwipped one final strand - clean, perfect - and it caught.
Batman's arm.
Jake yanked.
Got you, you pointy-eared psycho.
He lunged forward, fist cocked, ready to swing something brutal and satisfying right into that square jaw.
But Batman didn't stumble.
He stepped into it. Unfazed.
Jake's punch barely landed before he saw it.
The shape of him. The stance.
Too solid. Too ready. Too... planned.
Lightning forked through the sky. In the flash, Batman's mask lit up - eyes like hollow coals under a cowl carved from judgment itself.
"A spider's web?" Batman said, voice low and surgical. "You thought you could catch a bat?"
The strand Jake had pulled snapped - not because it tore, but because Batman cut it mid-sentence with a hidden blade.
Before Jake could react, a grappling hook fired - click-thnk - snagging his ankle.
Then the world spun.
Fast and ruthless.
And Jake was suddenly upside down, legs tangled, webbing and line knotting together around his entire body as he swung from a balcony like a trapped fly in his own trap.
Batman stood below him, rain running off his cape, expression unreadable in the shadow.
The fog started clearing.
"Make no mistake," he said coldly. "Bats don't get caught in webs."
He took one slow step forward.
"I eat insects like you for breakfast."
Jake groaned, still hanging like irony itself.
"Do bats... do brunch?"
"I could break a few more bones if you'd like," Batman said, voice cold and low. "Unless you give me what I want."
"Sorry, man..." Jake winced. "But I don't know any good spiders you can have for breakfast."
He was still quipping.
Batman grunted.
"What?" Jake continued, tone shifting. "You thought I was gonna apologize for breaking into the BatCave?"
"Just get over it already," he added. "It happens."
Batman's jaw tightened.
Jake caught the twitch - barely a movement, but enough to know the Bat was still debating how many bones he could legally break without paperwork.
"That suit..." Batman finally said, forcing the words out. "Couldn't have been the only thing you were after."
Jake, still swinging slightly upside down, gave a crooked grin. "I also wanted the Batmobile. But your EMP had a panic attack and fried everything I had."
A beat.
Jake squinted. "Speaking of which - quick question."
He shifted in his restraints. "If I reroute the charge dampeners through a pseudo-ground using my suit's capacitor mesh, think I can bypass the ion scorch and jumpstart the neural-link interface without deep-frying my brain?"
Batman stared up at him, eyes narrowing.
Who was this kid?
Too glib. Too smart. Too young to be this reckless.
Either he was unreadable - or genuinely unhinged. A future Arkham resident with no clue what kind of place he was racing toward. He clearly thought he'd break out the next day.
But that's because he hadn't been there yet.
Still… something about the tone, the jitter in his voice. Batman had been around long enough to recognize it.
He was just a kid.
A smart, mouthy kid in a selfish world. Driven by thrill. By obsession. Hurtling down the wrong path like too many others.
But what made this one different - what made Batman's knuckles itch - was how effortlessly he grated every last nerve.
Batman exhaled through his nose.
He could see it now. This kid reminded him of another stupid kid.
"Survive this," Batman said, voice like gravel under a boot, "and we'll talk."
Jake blinked. "Survive wh-"
The grappling hook fired. Batman was gone.
Jake stared at the empty skyline. "Oh, come on-"
Then he looked down.
Two cops. One corpse.
And him, webbed upside-down like a piñata at a crime scene.
"…Well. Fuck me."
10-day streak to next tier: Day 2/10
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