Jackson woke up ten minutes later to find Marcus sitting on the couch with a glass of water and an ice pack.
"Here," Marcus offered both. "For the record, I didn't mean to give you a heart attack. That's kind of the opposite of what I'm going for today."
Jackson took the water with a shaking hand, pressed the ice pack to the back of his head where it had almost hit the floor. He stared at Marcus like he was trying to determine if this was real or a stress-induced hallucination.
"You're dead," Jackson said finally. "I went to the hospital. I identified your body. You were dead, Marcus."
"I know. I woke up in the morgue about an hour ago. Trust me, it was a surprise for me too."
"People don't just—" Jackson's voice cracked. "You can't just wake up from being dead for three days! That's not how death works!"
"Yeah, I'm getting that impression." Marcus leaned back on the couch. "But here we are. Me, surprisingly not dead. You, having a completely reasonable freak-out about it."
Jackson set down the water, ran both hands through his hair. "I need to call someone. The hospital. The police. Your uncle. Sarah's been—god, Sarah's been a complete mess. She blamed herself for not walking with you after class."
"I'll call them. I just needed a minute to... process." Marcus gestured vaguely at himself. "The whole being alive again thing."
"How is this possible?" Jackson stood up, paced to the window and back. "I mean, scientifically, medically, in any logical sense—how?"
"No idea. I was kind of hoping you'd have theories." Marcus tried for levity. "You're the one who actually pays attention in biology. I just build stuff."
Jackson wasn't buying the humor. "Marcus. You were shot in the chest. The bullet hit your heart. You were dead when the ambulance arrived. Dead when they brought you in. Dead when I had to—" He stopped, voice breaking. "When I had to identify you."
The reality of that hit Marcus harder than he'd expected. His roommate—his friend—had been through hell. Had seen his body. Had mourned him.
"I'm sorry," Marcus said quietly, the humor dropping away. "I'm sorry you had to do that. I'm sorry for all of this."
"Don't apologize for not being dead!" Jackson's laugh was slightly hysterical. "That's insane! I'm glad you're alive! I'm just trying to understand how!"
"That makes two of us."
They sat in silence for a moment. Rain continued pattering against the windows. Gotham's eternal soundtrack.
"I should call your uncle," Jackson said finally. "And Sarah. And probably the hospital because they're going to need to know their dead guy walked out."
"Yeah. Soon." Marcus stood up, moved to the window. "Just... give me a few more minutes? I need to figure some things out first."
"Figure what out?"
"Why I'm different."
Jackson's expression shifted from shock to concern. "Different how?"
Marcus touched his chest where the scar was. "I healed completely. In three days. While dead. That's not normal even if resurrection was normal, which it definitely isn't."
"Let me see."
Marcus pulled up his shirt. The scar was visible—circular, clean, completely healed.
Jackson moved closer, studied it with the analytical focus of someone trying to make sense of impossible data. "That's... that should take weeks to heal. Months. And you were dead so you shouldn't have healed at all."
"Right. So something changed. Something fundamental." Marcus lowered his shirt. "And I need to figure out what before I start making calls and answering questions I don't have answers to."
"Changed how?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out."
Marcus moved to his desk, started pacing. His engineering brain was kicking in, trying to approach this like a problem to solve rather than an existential crisis.
"Okay. Facts: I died. Spent three days dead. Woke up alive and healed. That suggests something happened during those three days. Something that brought me back and fixed the damage."
"That's not how bodies work," Jackson said weakly.
"I know that. You know that. My body apparently missed that particular memo." Marcus stopped pacing. "What if whatever brought me back didn't just fix the bullet wound? What if it changed other things?"
"Like what?"
"I don't know. But I feel... different. I can't explain it. Just different."
Jackson was quiet for a moment. Then: "Test it."
"What?"
"You're an engineer. You like data. So get data." Jackson gestured around the apartment. "Test yourself. Figure out what's different. Then maybe we'll have something resembling an explanation when we call everyone."
Marcus considered that. It was logical. Scientific. Better than just calling people and saying "surprise, I'm not dead, no idea why."
"Okay. Yeah. Let's do that."
They started with the obvious things.
Pulse: Normal. Maybe slightly slower than before? Marcus couldn't remember his exact resting heart rate.
Blood pressure: Jackson had a monitor from his pre-med phase before switching to engineering. Reading came back normal.
Reflexes: Normal.
"Nothing obviously superhuman," Jackson noted, writing everything down. "Which is probably good? I don't know. Is that good?"
"I was kind of hoping for X-ray vision," Marcus joked. "Or at least better eyesight. I could ditch the contacts."
"Focus. What else feels different?"
Marcus thought about it. "Everything's... sharper? Like my senses are dialed up slightly. Not dramatically, just... more."
"More how?"
"I can hear the couple arguing two floors down. Usually that's just muffled noise but I can actually make out words." Marcus focused. "She's mad about him forgetting their anniversary. He's saying he didn't forget, just didn't have money for—okay, that's kind of invasive actually."
Jackson stared at him. "You can hear that clearly?"
"Apparently." Marcus moved to the window. "And I can see details I don't think I could before. That street sign three blocks away? I can read it. No contacts."
"Your vision was 20/40. That should be impossible."
"Yeah, well, add it to the list of impossible things I'm doing today." Marcus turned back. "What else should we test?"
"Strength? Speed? Durability?"
"How do we test durability? I'm not getting shot again."
"Fair point." Jackson looked around the apartment. "Strength then. Pick up something heavy."
Marcus moved to the couch—old, heavy thing they'd gotten from a thrift store. He'd needed Jackson's help moving it in originally. He grabbed one end, lifted.
It came up easily. Too easily. Like it weighed half what it should.
"Uh," Marcus said.
"Uh?" Jackson echoed.
Marcus set it down carefully. "That was easier than it should be."
"How much easier?"
"A lot easier." Marcus looked at his hands like they belonged to someone else. "I'm stronger. Definitely stronger."
They tested more. Marcus could lift things that should have required both of them. Could hold positions that should have made his muscles scream in seconds. Could move faster than he remembered being able to.
Not superhuman. Not obviously metahuman. Just... enhanced. Better. Optimized.
"Okay," Jackson said after twenty minutes of testing. "So you died, came back, and now you're basically a better version of yourself. Enhanced healing, enhanced senses, enhanced physical capabilities. That's..."
"Impossible?"
"I was going to say terrifying but impossible works too." Jackson sat down heavily. "Marcus, what the hell happened to you?"
"I don't know. I remember dying. I remember darkness. And then just... waking up."
"Nothing in between?"
Marcus tried to remember. There was something. Something in the darkness. A sense of touching something vast and ancient and impossibly complex. Like brushing against the edge of something that existed beyond normal reality.
But trying to remember it was like trying to hold water. The details slipped away.
"Maybe?" Marcus shook his head. "I can't remember clearly. Just darkness and falling and then nothing until the morgue."
Jackson was quiet for a long moment. "We need to tell people you're alive. But we need to figure out what to tell them about... this." He gestured at Marcus. "Because 'I died and came back stronger' isn't going to fly."
"No kidding." Marcus paced again. "What if I just don't mention the enhancement part? Just say I don't know how I survived but I'm okay now?"
"They're going to want to run tests. Medical tests. If you're enhanced they'll find out."
"Then I avoid the tests."
"For how long? Marcus, people are going to have questions. A lot of questions. You can't just avoid them forever."
"I can avoid them for now. Until I figure out what's actually happening to me." Marcus stopped, looked at Jackson. "Will you back me up on that? Just for a little while? Until I understand this?"
Jackson looked conflicted. "I should tell someone. This is medical. Scientific. Something that needs to be studied."
"I'm not a science experiment."
"I know that. But—"
"Jackson. Please. Just give me some time."
His roommate sighed. "Fine. But you're calling your uncle. Tonight. And Sarah. They deserve to know you're alive."
"I will. I promise." Marcus checked his phone. 2:47 AM. "Maybe later today though. It's the middle of the night."
"You think they're sleeping? Your uncle's probably at his shop unable to work. Sarah's probably staring at the ceiling blaming herself. Call them."
Marcus knew Jackson was right. But the thought of those conversations—of trying to explain the inexplicable—filled him with dread.
Still. They deserved to know.
"Yeah. Okay." Marcus picked up his phone. "Let me figure out what to say first."
"How about 'Hi, I'm not dead, sorry for the inconvenience'?"
Despite everything, Marcus laughed. "That's terrible."
"You have better?"
"Not really." Marcus looked at his phone, at the dozens of missed messages. "But I'll think of something."
Jackson stood up, grabbed his jacket. "I'm going to go get actual food. And maybe process the fact that my dead roommate just came back to life. You want anything?"
"Coffee. Lots of coffee."
"Got it. Don't die again while I'm gone."
"No promises. I clearly don't have great control over that."
Jackson left, shaking his head. The door closed behind him, leaving Marcus alone in the apartment.
Marcus sat on the couch, phone in hand, trying to find the words.
Hey Sarah, funny story...
No.
Uncle Mike, before you freak out...
Worse.
So I know I was dead but...
Terrible.
Marcus set the phone down, put his head in his hands.
He'd died. Somehow came back. Was now enhanced in ways he didn't understand. And had to explain all of this to people who loved him and thought they'd lost him.
"Okay, Marcus," he said to his empty apartment. "You've built robots that actually worked. You've passed thermodynamics. You've survived Gotham rent prices. You can handle this."
He picked up the phone again. Pulled up Sarah's contact.
His finger hovered over the call button.
She's going to have so many questions. Questions I can't answer.
But she deserved to know he was alive.
Marcus hit call before he could talk himself out of it.
It rang once. Twice.
"Hello?" Sarah's voice was rough, like she'd been crying. Or hadn't slept. Probably both.
Marcus's throat tightened. "Hey, Sarah. It's me."
Silence. Complete silence.
Then: "Marcus?"
"Yeah. It's me. I'm—" He tried for levity, failed completely. "I'm okay. I'm alive. I don't know how but I'm alive."
The sound she made was somewhere between a sob and a laugh and a scream. "Marcus Reid, if this is some sick joke—"
"It's not. I promise. It's really me."
"But you were—they said you were—" Her voice cracked. "I saw the police report. You were shot. You died. They said you died."
"I know. I did. But I'm okay now. I'm home. I'm alive." Marcus closed his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Sarah. I'm so sorry you had to go through this."
"Where are you? I'm coming over right now. Don't move. Don't go anywhere. I'm—" The sound of frantic movement, keys jingling. "I'm coming."
"Sarah, it's three in the morning—"
"I don't care! You died! You were dead! And now you're—I'm coming over right now!"
The line went dead.
Marcus sat there, phone still pressed to his ear, and realized he had about fifteen minutes before his best friend arrived to either hug him or kill him.
Possibly both.
He should probably make more coffee.
This was going to be a long night.
And somehow, Marcus suspected, just the beginning.