Sarah arrived in twelve minutes.
Marcus heard her running up the stairs—his enhanced hearing picking up every footstep, every labored breath. She was sprinting.
The door flew open. She must have gotten the spare key from Jackson.
Sarah stood in the doorway, hair wild, wearing sweatpants and a jacket thrown over pajamas, mascara streaked down her face from crying. She stared at Marcus like she couldn't quite believe he was real.
"Hey," Marcus said weakly. "So, funny story—"
She crossed the room in three strides and punched him in the shoulder. Hard.
"Ow! What—"
"That's for dying!" She punched him again. "And that's for making me think I'd lost my best friend!"
Then she threw her arms around him and held on like she was afraid he'd disappear.
Marcus hugged her back, feeling her shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"You died," Sarah said into his shoulder, voice muffled and broken. "You actually died. I went to the hospital. They told me you were gone. I had to call your uncle. I had to tell him his nephew was—" She pulled back, looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "And now you're here. In your apartment. Alive. How?"
"Honestly? I have no idea."
"That's not an answer, Marcus."
"It's the only one I have." He guided her to the couch. "I woke up in the morgue about three hours ago. Just... woke up. In a drawer. And then I came home."
Sarah sat down hard. "You woke up. In a morgue."
"Yeah."
"After being dead for three days."
"Also yeah."
"That's impossible."
"I'm getting that a lot tonight." Marcus sat beside her. "But here I am. Impossible but alive."
Sarah was silent for a long moment, just looking at him. Taking in every detail like she was memorizing him. Making sure he was real.
"The bullet wound," she said finally. "Show me."
Marcus hesitated, then pulled up his shirt to show the scar.
Sarah leaned closer, studied it with the analytical focus she brought to engineering problems. Her fingers traced the edge of the scar tissue, gentle but thorough.
"This is completely healed. Like it happened months ago." She looked up at him. "Marcus, you were shot three days ago. This should be fresh. Raw. It should barely be starting to close."
"I know."
"But it's not. It's..." She pulled her hand back. "What happened to you?"
"I don't know. Whatever brought me back also healed me. That's all I've got."
Sarah stood up, started pacing. Marcus recognized the look—her problem-solving mode. The same expression she got when they were working on a particularly difficult project.
"Okay. Let's approach this logically. You died. Clinical death. Confirmed by medical professionals." She was counting on her fingers. "Then you were dead for seventy-two hours. Then you spontaneously resurrected with accelerated healing. Those are the facts."
"Sounds insane when you list it like that."
"It is insane. But it happened." She stopped pacing. "Is the healing the only change?"
Marcus exchanged a glance with Jackson, who'd returned during Sarah's arrival and was now watching from the kitchen with coffee.
"Maybe not," Marcus admitted.
"What else?"
"Enhanced senses. Better vision, hearing. I'm stronger than before. Faster. More durable, probably, though I haven't tested that one." He stood up. "Here, watch."
He moved to the bookshelf—heavy oak thing loaded with textbooks. Lifted it one-handed. It was awkward but manageable when it should have been impossible.
Sarah's eyes went wide. "That weighs like two hundred pounds."
"I know." Marcus set it down carefully. "Whatever happened to me, it didn't just bring me back. It made me... better. Enhanced."
"Enhanced how much?"
"We've been testing. Maybe fifty percent stronger? Reflexes are faster. Senses are sharper. Not superhuman but definitely beyond normal."
Sarah absorbed this, her engineering brain clearly working through implications. "Have you told anyone? The hospital? Police?"
"Just you and Jackson. I wanted to understand what happened before I started answering questions I don't have answers to."
"Smart." She sat back down, pulled out her phone. "Okay. We need to document this. Run proper tests. Figure out your baseline capabilities now versus before. Get data."
"Sarah—"
"Don't 'Sarah' me. You died and came back with superpowers. We need to understand what happened scientifically before we do anything else." She was already making notes. "We should test strength, speed, reaction time, sensory acuity. And we need to figure out if this is permanent or if you're going to suddenly de-power and drop dead again."
Marcus hadn't considered that last possibility. The thought sent a chill through him.
"You think that could happen?"
"I have no idea. Nobody has any idea because people don't just resurrect from the dead." She looked up at him. "Which is why we need data. Information. Understanding. That's how we figure this out."
Jackson brought over coffee for all of them. "She's right. We need a systematic approach."
"Great. So we're doing science to my weird resurrection." Marcus took the coffee gratefully. "This is the strangest study session we've ever had."
"Remember when we had to build that bridge that kept collapsing?" Sarah offered. "This is weirder but similar energy."
Despite everything, Marcus smiled. This was familiar. The three of them tackling a problem together. Even if the problem was him being impossibly alive.
"Okay. So what's first?"
"First? We test your limits. See what you can actually do." Sarah pulled up a notes app. "Then we figure out if there are any other changes we haven't discovered yet. Then we make a plan for what you tell people."
"My uncle needs to know I'm alive. Soon."
"He does. But let's get you some answers first so you have something to tell him beyond 'magic, I guess.'" Sarah looked at Jackson. "You have those old fitness trackers from your quantified self phase?"
"Yeah, somewhere. Why?"
"We need baseline measurements. Heart rate variability, sleep patterns, activity levels. If Marcus is enhanced, it should show up in the data."
"I'm not sure 'enhanced' really covers waking up from death," Marcus said. "That seems like it deserves its own category."
"We'll call it 'post-resurrection adjustment period' in the notes," Sarah said dryly. "Very scientific."
Over the next hour, they ran tests.
Strength: Marcus could lift approximately 60% more than his previous max. Not superhuman, but definitely beyond normal human capability for someone his size.
Speed: His sprint time was faster. His reaction time was significantly improved—catching things before they hit the ground, responding to stimuli almost before they happened.
Senses: His hearing extended further than normal. His vision was sharper at distance. His sense of touch seemed more refined, able to detect texture differences he'd never noticed before.
"You're not obviously superhuman," Jackson noted, reviewing the data. "But you're operating at peak human levels across the board. Like an Olympic athlete but in every category simultaneously."
"Athlete adjacent," Marcus joked. "I've found my calling."
"This is serious," Sarah said, but she was smiling slightly. "You're enhanced across multiple vectors. That suggests whatever happened affected your entire physiology, not just specific systems."
"In English?"
"You're not just stronger or faster. You're better. Period. At everything physical." She made more notes. "We should test cognitive function too. Reaction time suggests neural enhancement. Maybe your brain is running faster as well."
They ran cognitive tests—pattern recognition, memory recall, processing speed. Marcus scored higher than his previous baseline on everything. Not genius-level, but noticeably improved.
"Your brain is processing information faster," Sarah concluded. "Which tracks with the physical enhancements. Whatever changed you, it optimized your entire system."
"I died and came back as a better version of myself." Marcus shook his head. "That's so weird."
"Weird doesn't begin to cover it." Jackson checked his phone. "It's almost five AM. We should probably get some sleep."
"I'm not tired," Marcus realized. "At all. I should be exhausted but I feel fine."
"Add 'reduced sleep requirement' to the list," Sarah muttered, still taking notes. "Your body might be more efficient at rest and recovery now."
"This is going to take forever to document," Jackson said.
"Good thing we're engineers. We love documentation." Sarah finally set down her phone, looked at Marcus seriously. "But we need to be careful. If the wrong people find out about this, they'll want to study you. Use you. You're a walking medical miracle. That makes you valuable. And in Gotham, valuable things tend to disappear."
Marcus hadn't thought about that. But she was right. Gotham was full of people who would see his resurrection and enhancement as an opportunity. Criminal organizations. Corrupt scientists. Worse.
"So what do I do?"
"We keep this quiet. Just the three of us for now." Sarah looked at Jackson, who nodded agreement. "You tell your uncle you survived, but you don't mention the enhancements. You avoid hospitals and police questioning as much as possible. And we figure out what happened to you before anyone else does."
"Sarah—"
"I'm serious, Marcus. Gotham eats people alive. And you just became a lot more interesting than a normal college student." She squeezed his hand. "We keep you safe. That's priority one."
Marcus looked at his best friends—Sarah fierce and protective, Jackson worried but supportive. They were right. Whatever had happened to him, it was dangerous information in the wrong hands.
"Okay. We keep it quiet." He stood up, moved to the window. Dawn was starting to break over Gotham's skyline. "But I need to tell my uncle something. He deserves to know I'm alive."
"Call him. Tell him you survived but you're confused about details. Medical trauma, memory gaps, whatever." Sarah joined him at the window. "Then we figure out the rest."
Marcus nodded. Pulled out his phone. His uncle's contact stared back at him.
Uncle Mike. The man who'd raised him after his parents died. Who'd taught him to fix cars and use tools and solve problems. Who'd just lost his nephew and was now grieving.
Marcus hit call.
It rang three times.
"Hello?" His uncle's voice was rough, exhausted.
"Uncle Mike. It's Marcus."
Silence. Then: "Marcus? But you—they said—"
"I know what they said. But I'm okay. I'm alive. I don't know how but I'm alive."
The sound his uncle made was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Boy, if this is a joke—"
"It's not. I promise. It's really me."
"Where are you?"
"Home. My apartment."
"I'm coming. Don't move. I'm leaving right now."
"Uncle Mike, it's five in the morning—"
"I don't care. You were dead. They told me you were dead. I'm not waiting." The sound of keys, a door opening. "I'll be there in two hours. Stay put."
The line went dead.
Marcus lowered his phone, looked at Sarah and Jackson.
"He's on his way."
"Good," Sarah said. "He should be with you."
"What do I tell him?"
"As much truth as you can without mentioning the enhancements. You survived. You don't know how. You're okay now." Sarah squeezed his shoulder. "The rest we figure out later."
Marcus nodded, watching the sun rise over Gotham.
He'd died. Come back different. Enhanced in ways he didn't understand.
And now he had to figure out what to do with this second chance at life.
Why did I come back? Why am I different? What am I supposed to do now?
No answers came. Just the sunrise and his friends beside him and the knowledge that nothing would ever be the same.
But at least he was alive.
In Gotham, that counted as a win.
Even if he had no idea what came next.