## Chapter 4: Blood Price and Whispers
Pain. It was a white-hot brand seared into Bob Peterson's existence, sharper than Gotham's rain, colder than the Void's whispers. He stumbled through the labyrinthine alleys behind the docks, clutching his left arm. Blood, warm and slick, pulsed between his fingers with every frantic heartbeat, staining the worn fabric of his hoodie a dark, spreading crimson. The bullet wound – a brutal, searing tear high in his bicep – screamed with every jarring step. *Invulnerability Lv.1* had meant the round hadn't shattered bone or exited, but it had burrowed deep, a leaden weight of agony embedded in his muscle.
**[WARNING: Critical Physical Trauma Detected - Ballistic Penetration (Left Upper Arm)]**
**[Regeneration (Lv.2) Active - Estimated Stabilization: 6-8 Hours. Full Recovery: 48-72 Hours]**
The System's notification was a sterile counterpoint to the blinding, nauseating reality. He could *feel* the Regeneration working – a deep, warm itch beneath the tearing pain, the desperate scramble of cells trying to knit torn flesh and seal the breached vessel. But it was slow. Agonizingly slow. He wasn't healing before his eyes; he was leaking life onto the rain-slicked pavement, one limping step at a time.
*"Feel it,"* the Void hissed, its voice a serpentine coil around his pain receptors, amplified by the injury. *"The bite of their weapons. The fragility of your borrowed flesh. This is the truth they hide beneath their masks and symbols. Weakness. Pain. Let it fuel me. Let the rage burn hot enough to cauterize this wound and melt their bones!"*
*"Shut... up,"* Bob gasped mentally, teeth clenched against a wave of dizziness. He leaned heavily against a dripping brick wall in a particularly dark, reeking alley, sliding down to sit on the cold, filthy ground. He couldn't run much further. He needed to stem the bleeding, hide, and pray the Regeneration outpaced blood loss or discovery.
Fumbling with his good hand, he ripped a long strip from the bottom of his already ruined shirt. Gritting his teeth against the fresh explosion of pain, he clumsily wrapped it around his upper arm, above the wound, pulling it tight with his teeth and his right hand. It was a crude tourniquet, but it slowed the relentless flow. He pressed his back against the cold brick, head swimming, rain plastering hair to his forehead. Black Canary's masked face, sharp with shock and scrutiny, flashed before his eyes. His *own* face, pale and bloodied, reflected in her gaze. Exposed. Known.
**[Level: 2 (18/75 XP)]**
**[JP: 21.5]**
Twenty-one and a half Justice Points. A fortune earned in blood and exposure. He needed to spend it. Now. Defense was paramount. He couldn't survive another bullet. He focused on the interface, the sterile text blurring slightly with pain and exhaustion.
**[Invulnerability: Lv.1 -> Lv.2]**
**[Cost: 15 JP]**
**[JP Remaining: 6.5]**
The upgrade wasn't a surge of power. It was a subtle, profound hardening. He felt the deep, tearing agony in his arm lessen *slightly*, not vanish, but become more contained, more bearable. The sensation of his skin and muscle fibers subtly densifying, reinforcing around the wound site, was almost imperceptible beneath the pain, but the System confirmed it. Bullets wouldn't bounce off him, but they might not penetrate as deeply. Blunt force trauma would bruise, not break as easily. He was marginally harder to kill. Marginally.
*"A bandage on a hemorrhage,"* the Void sneered. *"You bought yourself seconds, not safety. Should have taken Strength. Crushed her windpipe when you had the chance. Ended the hunt before it began."*
Bob ignored it, breathing raggedly. He had 6.5 JP left. Not enough for another major upgrade. He needed to get off the streets. Now. Using the wall for support, he pushed himself up, the world tilting momentarily. He focused on the path back to the Bowery, to Sal's Deli, to his wretched room. Every step was an ordeal, the Regeneration working overtime just to keep him conscious and moving, the crude tourniquet biting into his flesh.
***
The next three days were a haze of pain, feverish chills, and gnawing paranoia. He called in sick to Wayne Enterprises, his voice a ragged whisper easily dismissed. He barricaded himself in his tiny room, surviving on stale crackers and tap water. The Regeneration worked tirelessly, the deep, warm itch a constant companion to the throbbing ache. The fever broke after thirty-six hours. By the third day, the wound was an angry, puckered scar, the muscle beneath still tender but functional. The System's timer had been accurate. He felt weak, drained, but alive. The Void whispered constantly, exploiting his vulnerability, urging violence, promising power born from his suffering.
**[Level: 2 (18/75 XP)]**
**[JP: 6.5]**
**[Abilities: Regeneration Lv.2, Invulnerability Lv.2]**
He needed XP. He needed JP. He needed to know if he was being hunted. Venturing out cautiously on the fourth night, sticking to the deepest shadows far from the docks, he found a discarded copy of the *Gotham Gazette*. The headline screamed: **"MYSTERY VIGILANTE THWARTS INTERGANG HEIST, SAVES BLACK CANARY?"**
His blood ran cold. He scanned the article frantically:
* "...violent confrontation at the Gotham Docks Warehouse 7..."
* "...Intergang operatives apprehended, dangerous dimensional device disabled..."
* "...Black Canary arrived on scene, credits intervention of an unidentified individual..."
* "...sources describe a young male, possibly injured in the confrontation..."
* "...GCPD seeking information on the 'Phantom of the Docks'..."
*Phantom.* They had a name for him. And they knew he was young, possibly injured. Black Canary hadn't given a detailed description, but the GCPD was looking. The article included a grainy, blown-up still from a nearby traffic camera – a dark, blurred figure near the warehouse entrance just before the incident. It was useless for identification, but it proved they had footage. They were searching.
**[Passive Observation: Media Coverage - Intergang Incident]**
**[Analysis: Host involvement highlighted. Identity anonymized but codenames assigned ("Phantom"). Physical description (young male, potentially injured) circulated. GCPD investigation active.]**
**[Reward: N/A - Observation only.]**
No points for infamy. Only danger. The Void chuckled. *"See? The hunt is called. You are prey. Or you could be the hunter. Use the points. Take Strength. Find the ones who shot you. Make them *scream*."*
Bob crumpled the paper, shoving it deep into an overflowing dumpster. He needed to be even more careful. He needed power, but he couldn't afford another high-profile disaster. The System pinged softly as he walked, a low-threat quest appearing:
**[Quest Generated: Alleyway Rescue]**
**[Location: Sprang River Walk (East Section)]**
**[Objective: Prevent assault on homeless individual by intoxicated aggressors.]**
**[Threat Level: Low (3 Unenhanced Hostiles / Intoxicated)]**
**[Potential Reward: 1.5 XP, 1.5 JP]**
Small. Contained. Away from prying cameras. Exactly what he needed. He moved towards the location, his Lv.1 Speed and Lv.1 Reflexes feeling inadequate, his body still weakened. He found the scene quickly: three drunken men harassing an elderly man bundled in rags near the river's edge.
"Just give us your bottle, old man!" one slurred, shoving the figure roughly.
Bob stepped out of the shadows, his hood pulled low. "Leave him alone." His voice was hoarse, lacking its previous forced authority.
The drunks turned, blinking blearily. "Who's this?" one laughed. "Another bum?"
Bob didn't wait for escalation. He moved in quickly (*Speed Lv.1*), not a blur, but decisively. He grabbed the wrist of the one who shoved, twisting it firmly but not breaking it (*Strength Lv.1* – strong, controlled pressure). "I said, leave him alone."
"Ow! Hey!" the man yelped, dropping the meager bottle he'd grabbed from the old man. His friends lunged clumsily. Bob sidestepped one (*Reflexes Lv.1*), shoving him hard enough to stumble into the third. They tangled together, cursing. Bob released the first man's wrist. "Get out of here. Now."
The drunken bravado evaporated under the clear, controlled intervention. They muttered curses but stumbled away into the night. The old man looked up at Bob, eyes wide in the gloom. "Th-thank ye, son."
Bob just nodded, already melting back into the darkness before the man could say more. The encounter was quick, efficient, unseen by anyone but the victim. It felt hollow compared to the warehouse, but safe. Necessary.
**[Quest: Alleyway Rescue - Complete!]**
**[Reward: 1.5 XP, 1.5 JP Awarded.]**
**[Level: 2 (19.5/75 XP)]**
**[JP: 8.0]**
Progress. Slow, grinding progress. But his arm ached fiercely where the scar tissue pulled. He felt drained. The Void whispered of easier paths.
**Interlude: The Cave**
The image on the Batcomputer's main screen was split. One side showed the grainy traffic cam still of the blurred figure near Warehouse 7 – the "Phantom." The other showed enhanced thermal imagery from Black Canary's suit recorder during the Intergang incident, focusing on a fleeting glimpse of a pale, blood-smeared face beneath a fallen hood before the figure fled.
"Analysis confirms male, late teens to early twenties," Oracle's voice stated over the Cave's speakers. "Significant trauma to the left upper arm – consistent with ballistic penetration. Thermal bloom indicates active bleeding and elevated core temperature, likely shock and exertion."
Batman studied the enhanced facial image. Gaunt. Young. Strained. Eyes wide with pain and panic. "No matches in GCPD databases or known meta-human registries. Facial recognition algorithms negative against public records so far."
"He moved fast, but not meta-human fast," Oracle continued. "Canary estimated slightly above Olympic sprinter speed. Strength appeared significant but within human limits – he used leverage and machinery to disable the device, not brute force. Took a bullet and kept functioning... for a while. Enhanced pain tolerance or rapid healing?"
"Or desperation," Batman replied, his voice grim. "He knew the device was critical. He acted to contain it, not to fight Intergang directly. He fled Canary immediately. Avoids contact."
"Vigilante protocol?" Oracle suggested. "New player trying to stay off the radar?"
"Possibly," Batman conceded, pulling up GCPD reports on minor incidents over the past month: lost children found, muggings deterred, small fires contained before authorities arrived. Many lacked clear witness descriptions, but a pattern of low-key, anonymous intervention was emerging, concentrated in the Bowery and Narrows. "Correlate these minor incidents with the thermal signature pattern from the docks. Look for geographical or temporal links. And cross-reference Wayne Enterprises employee records – young males, Bowery/Narrows residency."
"You think he's one of yours?" Oracle asked, surprise evident.
"He was near the docks after standard business hours," Batman stated. "It's a vector. This 'Phantom' has power, or potential for it. He's also reckless and now injured. That makes him vulnerable. And vulnerability in Gotham attracts predators far worse than Intergang. Find him before they do."
Back in his room, Bob felt a familiar, cold pressure against his mind, sharper than before despite the Telepathy Resistance. It wasn't just the Void this time. It felt like... scrutiny. Distant, impersonal, but relentless. He shivered, clutching his healed but still tender arm. The 8.0 Justice Points felt like a meager shield against the storm he knew was coming. He had power growing within him, locked behind impossible levels, and darkness whispering in his ear. But above all, he had the terrifying certainty that the shadows he relied on were no longer his alone. The hunt for the Phantom had begun, and Bob Peterson was running out of places to hide.