Settlement

Gotham's mornings were always halfhearted.

The sky went from black to a moldy gray. Whether the sun had actually risen depended entirely on the citizens' faith in the laws of astronomy.

In the attic, Chen Mo lay on a floor covered with old newspapers, already on his sixth pencil.

The first five had all died last night.

Bruce the puppy lay in a cardboard box, his hind leg still wrapped in a webbing splint, his tail sweeping against the cardboard wall now and then.

Rustle.

Rustle.

Sooner or later, he'd wag his tail into a fracture too.

Holding the very end of the pencil, Chen Mo carefully finished the pointed ears on the cover's Batman.

They had to be pointed.

Without the points, there was no soul.

He drew the two bat ears long and sharp. Paired with the stern half-mask, the result looked unmistakably Gotham at a glance, and perfectly suited to taking turns being tormented by villains.

Chen Mo studied it for a moment and nodded in satisfaction.

"Art."

The puppy raised his head to look at him, then rested his chin again.

The second issue of Gotham Phantom was finished. Chen Mo flipped back to the first page to check the lines and panel layouts from the beginning.

Heavy lines, high contrast, shadows as dense as Gotham City Hall's conscience.

The plot had also thoroughly absorbed the spirit of old-school DC Comics.

In the opening, Batman was in peril. In the middle, he was forced to change into a Catwoman-style bodysuit. After that, several supervillains took turns showering him with attention, while Batman himself remained strong and unyielding.

The finale was a double-page spread.

Torrential rain weighed down on an abandoned clock tower. Chains bound Batman's arms, and his mask split down the middle. Half his face lay hidden in shadow, while the one exposed eye declared, "I will still protect this city."

Below the image was a line of handwritten narration.

-even the night could be swallowed by the night itself.

Chen Mo looked at it for two seconds and marveled sincerely.

"I'm so cultured."

If the real Bruce Wayne heard that, he'd probably call the police straight away. He could skip the part where he was moved.

Chen Mo kept flipping.

The anatomy was accurate, and the artwork was beautiful enough. The suffering, suggestiveness, and melodrama that the underground comics market loved were all there.

Gotham's bottom rung got bullied by gangs during the day, by rent at night, and by bills in the small hours. They needed something to console themselves.

For instance, watching the most mysterious, most terrifying, most unapproachable Dark Knight get shoved into the mud and ground down by fate and villains together.

Perfectly reasonable.

"Bruce Wayne doesn't read underground comics anyway."

Chen Mo made a thoroughly insincere sign of the cross in his mind.

"Hallelujah, Infinite Heavenly Venerable, Amitabha, amen."

He straightened the pages and slipped them into a manila envelope. After sealing it, he added a line on the front.

[For Gotham's seasoned pro's eyes only.]

Chen Mo looked at it for a while, then turned to ask the dog.

"Is that a little cocky?"

"Whine."

"You think so too?"

"Whine."

"Then it's fine. Cocky means market recognition."

He shoved the envelope under the battered sofa, stood up, and flexed his wrists.

Click.

A faint sound came from his joints.

Spider-Man wasn't about to get arthritis from drawing just yet. The eight-ton strength he'd only acquired last night was settling into his bones and muscles, and he still wasn't used to it himself.

Eight tons sounded too abstract.

When Chen Mo saw the system notification, the first question that popped into his head was: Would he have to be careful opening bottles from now on?

The answer was already obvious.

Five pencils and two cups had perished in succession. While scooping dog food for Bruce, he'd also squeezed the spoon handle into a piece of modern art.

His already impoverished household continued to suffer further setbacks.

Chen Mo pushed aside the pine board by the attic window. Cold wind immediately burrowed into his collar, much like a pack of drowned ghosts that dared force their way in without paying rent.

He hunched his neck.

"Ugh, even the wind in this city acts like it's here to collect a debt."

Chen Mo climbed out the window and hooked his fingers into the gaps between the bricks.

Before, he had needed to tense his fingers to hang there. Now, with only two fingers resting against it, he remained steady on the wall dozens of meters above the ground.

Below were two broken streetlights and an overturned trash can. A drunk in the alley was also trading insults with a stray cat. Both parties were emotionally stable, so it probably wouldn't escalate into a criminal case anytime soon.

"Eight tons, huh."

With a slight push of his fingertips, Chen Mo flipped onto the roof.

He held back as much as he could when he landed, but the old sheet metal underfoot still made a guilty-sounding crack.

Crack.

A thin split opened beside his sole.

Chen Mo looked down.

"Not my fault."

He explained earnestly to the air.

"Years of neglect."

The system offered no comment.

Good. Then it didn't count as damaging public property.

Chen Mo climbed all the way onto the water tower. The wind was colder up high. In the distance, fog kneaded the city center's neon into a mass of dirty light, with Wayne Tower shining within it, looking somewhat out of place.

He raised his wrist and aimed at the abandoned chimney next door.

"Let's test it."

Thwip!

A strand of webbing shot out, visibly thicker than before, its surface tinged a very pale yellow.

The webbing stuck to the top of the chimney.

Chen Mo gripped the strand and gave it a tentative tug.

The chimney didn't move.

He added a little force.

Dust began falling from the gaps between the bricks.

A little more.

Crack!

Several loose red bricks broke straight off the chimney, spun a few times in midair, and smashed into the abandoned yard below.

Bang!

Bang, bang!

"Beep!"

His external conscience began issuing a warning.

Holding the webbing, Chen Mo looked at the bricks in the yard.

"That's enough."

After a pause, he corrected himself.

"Maybe a little too much."

The webbing hadn't dried completely yet. It retained some elasticity when pulled taut, and none of the strands had snapped where the force was applied. Once fully cured, its strength would probably exceed Kevlar.

That sounded a lot like an advertisement.

As it happened, he really did need an advertising slogan.

Upgraded service, optimized customer experience.

Gotham's criminals deserved a more secure restraint experience.

Chen Mo jumped from the edge of the water tower, his red-and-blue figure swinging toward the East End.

Bad morning, criminals of Gotham!

The first customers arrived quickly.

In an East End back alley, three car thieves were hard at work launching their business around an old pickup.

One picked the lock, one kept watch, and the remaining one planned the company's future.

"Once we sell this one, we'll customize a car of our own first."

The one planning their future spoke with great enthusiasm.

"Then we'll save enough to open a garage. Keep the books clean, and even the cops will have to call me boss."

Chen Mo crouched on the wall and listened for half a minute, filled with solemn respect.

Steal cars, sell them, open a garage, go legit as a lawful businessman.

Gotham truly was a land of outstanding talent. Even its car thieves had a complete business cycle.

"Good morning, you three young entrepreneurs."

Chen Mo lowered himself upside down, stopping right in front of the lookout's eyes.

The cigarette in the man's mouth dropped to the ground with a patter.

"Spider-Man!"

"Correct."

Chen Mo released his feet and landed.

"Glad you recognize me. Skipping the introductions is an effective way to improve law enforcement efficiency."

The lock picker reacted fastest, turning to run.

Chen Mo flicked his hand and fired webbing. A pale yellow web spread across the alley entrance, slapped onto the man's chest, and stuck him to the wall along with half a trash can.

The second man pulled a knife.

Chen Mo followed with a shot from his left hand. The webbing wrapped around the man's wrist and crawled up the knife handle, encasing his whole hand in a large yellow-and-white steamed bun in the blink of an eye.

The one in charge of planning the future showed the best judgment.

He immediately raised both hands.

"I surrender."

Chen Mo turned to look at him.

"You have a bright future."

Three minutes later, Chen Mo had arranged the three young entrepreneurs side by side at the alley entrance.

Webbing wrapped them from shoulders to ankles, leaving their mouths and noses exposed, with two extra loops around several joints where they could easily exert force. All three could still breathe and blink.

All other services were temporarily suspended.

They looked like three freshly manufactured Gotham-exclusive silkworm cocoons.

One of the cocoons tried to struggle, and the webbing immediately tightened another loop.

"Don't move."

Chen Mo crouched and patted his forehead.

"How many times have I said it? The more you struggle, the tighter it gets. Why won't anyone believe me?"

The car thief settled down completely.

Chen Mo took a sticky note from his belt pouch and carefully wrote two lines.

[Attempted car theft.

Attached: chibi Spider-Man shooting webs.]

He stuck the note to the forehead of the man in the middle.

"That concludes the customer feedback session."

Chen Mo stood up and heard police sirens already approaching in the distance.

"The nice police officers will probably arrive in twenty minutes to two hours. That's a pretty wide range, but it's a Gotham specialty service."

The police were actually fairly efficient today.

Possibly because this street was close to a doughnut shop.

Chen Mo fired a web and swung toward the next block.

Wind poured into the alley, flipping the sticky note in the middle over and slapping it across the car thief's eyes.

He couldn't even shake his head. All he could do was wait for the police with that little chibi Spider-Man on his face.