Chapter 3

The journey back to Gotham was a blur of nausea and fever dreams for Abel. He huddled in his seat, forehead pressed against the cool window, watching the landscape shift from Metropolis's gleaming spires to Gotham's familiar, gritty skyline. His classmates' excited chatter about the LexCorp incident faded into a dull roar, overwhelmed by the pounding in his head and the fire in his veins.

As the bus pulled up to Gotham Academy, Abel stumbled off, waving away concerned looks from teachers and classmates alike. "I'm fine," he muttered, though the words felt thick and foreign in his mouth. "Just need some air."

He had no intention of going home. The thought of facing his father's worried interrogation or Barbara's scrutiny was unbearable. Instead, Abel let his feet carry him through Gotham's winding streets, each step sending shockwaves of pain through his body.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised purples and angry reds. Abel's vision swam, the city lights blurring into a nauseating kaleidoscope. He found himself in the Narrows, Gotham's most notorious district, where the desperate and downtrodden scraped out a living in the shadow of abandoned factories and crumbling tenements.

A familiar voice cut through the fog in his brain. "Yo, Gordon! You look like shit, man."

Manny Rodriguez materialized out of the gloom, concern etched on his face. A fellow delinquent and one of the few people Abel might consider a friend, Manny was known for his quick wit and quicker fists.

"What's wrong with you, bro? You sick or something?"

Abel tried to respond, but the words wouldn't come. The world tilted alarmingly, and he felt his knees give way. The last thing he heard before darkness claimed him was Manny's panicked voice calling for help.

Abel drifted in and out of consciousness, caught in a maelstrom of fever dreams and half-formed hallucinations. He saw impossible things: strands of DNA twisting and reshaping themselves, his own cells multiplying and changing at a dizzying rate. He felt as if his very essence was being unmade and reforged, atom by atom.

Occasionally, he surfaced long enough to catch glimpses of his surroundings. Peeling wallpaper. The acrid smell of disinfectant barely masking more unpleasant odors. Hushed voices speaking in worried tones.

"...can't take him to a hospital, they'll ask questions..."

"...fever's not breaking, what if he..."

"...Gordon's kid, man. If he dies here, we're all screwed..."

Time lost all meaning. It could have been hours or days before Abel finally clawed his way back to full consciousness. He blinked, his vision slowly coming into focus. He was lying on a narrow cot in a dimly lit room. The air was thick with the mingled scents of unwashed bodies, cheap food, and desperation.

A homeless shelter. Manny must have brought him here.

Abel sat up, expecting to feel weak and dizzy. Instead, he was struck by how... good he felt. More than good. He felt strong, alert, every sense heightened to an almost painful degree. He could hear conversations from rooms away, smell the individual components of the stew being served in the shelter's kitchen, see dust motes dancing in the air with perfect clarity.

"What the hell?" he muttered, looking down at his hands. They seemed unchanged, and yet... He flexed his fingers, marveling at the coiled strength he could feel in every muscle.

A small spider crawled across the opposite wall, and Abel found he could track its movement with ease, almost anticipating where it would go next. A strange tingling sensation at the base of his skull made him turn just as the door opened.

Manny entered, carrying a tray of food. His eyes widened in surprise. "Abel! You're awake! How... how are you feeling, man?"

Abel considered the question. How was he feeling? Transformed. Reborn. Like he was experiencing the world for the first time.

"I feel... different," he said slowly. "How long was I out?"

"Three days, bro. You had us scared shitless. Fever, convulsions... I've seen junkies go through better withdrawals."

Three days. His father must be frantic. And yet, Abel couldn't bring himself to care. Whatever had happened to him, whatever changes he'd undergone, they felt monumental. Life-altering.

He stood up, marveling at the fluid grace of his movements. Everything felt easier, more natural. As if his body had finally caught up with his mind.

"I need to test something," he said, moving towards the window. Before Manny could protest, Abel had it open and was climbing out onto the fire escape.

"Abel, what the fuck? We're four stories up!"

But Abel wasn't listening. He was looking at his hands, then at the brick wall beside him. An impossible idea had taken root in his mind. Slowly, hesitantly, he placed his palm against the rough surface. Then, defying all logic and physics, he began to climb.

It was effortless. His hands and feet seemed to adhere to the wall naturally, allowing him to scale the building as easily as walking on flat ground. Abel laughed, a wild, exhilarated sound that echoed through the Gotham night.

He reached the roof and stood on the edge, looking out over the city. Gotham sprawled before him, a maze of shadows and light. For the first time in his life, Abel felt truly alive, truly free. Whatever had happened to him at LexCorp, whatever that spider bite had done...

It wasn't a curse. It was a gift.