Uncle Mike arrived in exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes.
Marcus heard the truck pull up—heard it from three floors up and through the window, his enhanced hearing tracking the familiar rumble of the old Ford's engine. He'd know that sound anywhere. Uncle Mike had been promising to fix the exhaust for two years.
"He's here," Marcus said, standing up from where he'd been sitting with Sarah and Jackson.
"How do you know?" Jackson asked, then caught himself. "Right. Super hearing. Still getting used to that."
"It's not super hearing. It's just... better hearing." Marcus moved toward the door. "There's a difference."
"Is there though?" Sarah asked, but she was smiling.
The footsteps on the stairs were fast, heavy. Uncle Mike taking them two at a time despite being in his fifties. Marcus opened the door before his uncle could knock.
Uncle Mike stood in the hallway, chest heaving from the sprint up three flights of stairs. He looked terrible—eyes red from crying, hair uncombed, wearing the same clothes he'd probably had on for two days. A man who'd been grieving and not sleeping.
He stared at Marcus like he was seeing a ghost.
"Hey," Marcus said softly. "Sorry for the heart attack."
Uncle Mike's face crumpled. He pulled Marcus into a crushing hug, the kind that drove the air from Marcus's lungs. "You stupid, stupid kid. They said you were dead. They said—" His voice broke. "I thought I'd lost you too."
Too. Like he'd lost Marcus's parents. Another family member gone too soon.
Marcus hugged him back, feeling the man shake. "I'm okay. I'm here. I'm alive."
They stood there for a long moment, Uncle Mike just holding on like he was afraid Marcus would vanish if he let go.
Finally, Sarah cleared her throat gently. "Mr. Reid, maybe you should come in? Before the neighbors call the cops about the emotional scene in the hallway?"
Uncle Mike pulled back, wiped his eyes roughly, tried to compose himself. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."
They moved into the apartment. Uncle Mike sank onto the couch like his legs had given out, still staring at Marcus like he couldn't quite believe he was real.
"I don't understand," Uncle Mike said finally. "They called me. Said you'd been shot. That you didn't make it. I came to Gotham. I had to..." He stopped, swallowed hard. "I had to identify you at the morgue. That was you. I saw you. You were dead."
Marcus sat down across from him, Sarah and Jackson flanking him supportively. "I was. I don't remember much but I remember getting shot. And then... nothing until I woke up in the morgue drawer."
"People don't wake up from being dead."
"I know. But I did." Marcus spread his hands. "I can't explain it. I don't understand it. But I'm here."
Uncle Mike leaned forward, studied Marcus's face. "You look different. Healthier. Like you've been eating properly for once." A weak attempt at humor.
"The hospital gown didn't really work for me. Too breezy."
His uncle almost smiled. "Don't joke. Not about this."
"Sorry. Nervous habit." Marcus sobered. "I know this is impossible. Trust me, I've been trying to process it too. But whatever happened, I'm okay now. Better than okay, actually."
"Have you seen a doctor? Been checked out?"
"Dr. Thompkins looked at me briefly," Marcus lied. Well, partially lied. He would need to see her soon anyway. "She said I'm healthy. The wound healed cleanly."
"Show me."
Marcus pulled up his shirt, showed the scar. Uncle Mike leaned closer, his mechanic's hands—calloused and steady—reaching out to touch the healed tissue gently.
"This is... this is impossible. A bullet wound doesn't heal like this in three days. It doesn't heal like this in three months." He looked up at Marcus. "What happened to you, kid?"
"I honestly don't know. I wish I did."
Uncle Mike sat back, ran a hand over his face. "The police are going to have questions. The hospital. They had you marked as deceased. There's paperwork. Death certificates. I started planning a funeral."
"I know. I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing for being alive." Uncle Mike's voice was firm despite the emotion. "Never apologize for that. But we need to figure out what to tell people. Because this is going to cause problems."
Sarah spoke up. "We've been thinking about that. Marcus has gaps in his memory from the trauma. He doesn't remember much between getting shot and waking up. Medical anomaly, rare but documented survival case, something like that."
"You want him to lie."
"I want him to survive," Sarah said bluntly. "Gotham isn't kind to people who are different. If the wrong people find out about this—about how impossible it is—they'll want to study him. Use him. We can't let that happen."
Uncle Mike looked at her, then at Marcus. "You're scared."
It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," Marcus admitted. "I am. I died. I came back different. I don't understand what happened and I don't know what it means. And if people find out..." He trailed off.
"They'll make you into something you're not," Uncle Mike finished. He was quiet for a moment. "Okay. We keep it simple. Medical miracle. Rare survival. You don't remember details due to trauma. We stick to that story."
"You're okay with that?"
"I'm okay with keeping you safe." Uncle Mike stood up, pulled Marcus into another hug. "I just got you back. I'm not losing you again because some corporate lab or criminal organization decides you're valuable."
Marcus hugged him back, grateful. "Thanks."
"Don't thank me for basic human decency." Uncle Mike pulled back. "Now, have you eaten? You look like you've lost weight."
"I've been dead for three days. Cut me some slack."
"Not funny."
"Little bit funny."
Uncle Mike's expression softened despite himself. "There's the smartass kid I raised. Okay. Food. Then we figure out what to do about the police and hospital and all the official paperwork that says you're supposed to be dead."
Jackson stood up. "I'll order pizza. It's breakfast but I think we're past normal meal schedules at this point."
"Make it two pizzas," Sarah added. "And coffee. So much coffee."
While Jackson ordered food, Uncle Mike walked around the apartment, touching things like he was grounding himself in reality. Marcus's books. His tools. The projects scattered across his desk.
"I took some things," Uncle Mike said quietly. "For the funeral. Photos. Your tools. I thought..." He stopped. "I'll bring them back."
"Keep the tools if you want. I know you liked the socket set."
"Marcus."
"Okay, I'll shut up."
Uncle Mike turned to face him. "What are you going to do now? Go back to school like nothing happened?"
Marcus hadn't thought that far ahead. School seemed surreal after dying and coming back. "I don't know. Maybe? I mean, I'm still enrolled. Sort of. Assuming they don't have me listed as deceased in their records too."
"You need to be careful. Whatever happened to you, whoever shot you—they're still out there."
"It was a random mugging. Wrong place, wrong time."
"In Gotham, nothing is random." Uncle Mike's expression was serious. "Promise me you'll be more careful. No more walking alone at night. No more taking shortcuts through bad neighborhoods. Promise me."
"I promise." Marcus meant it. He'd gotten a second chance at life. He wasn't going to waste it by being stupid.
The pizza arrived. They ate in Marcus's small living room, the absurdity of the situation settling over them. A resurrection breakfast at six in the morning with his best friends and the man who'd raised him.
"So what's the plan?" Jackson asked around a mouthful of pizza. "We can't just pretend Marcus didn't die. There are records. Official documents."
"We start with the hospital," Uncle Mike said. "Let them know there was an error. That Marcus is alive. It'll cause confusion but that's better than the alternative."
"What alternative?"
"The one where someone realizes how impossible this is and starts asking questions we can't answer." Uncle Mike looked at Marcus. "You stay low for a while. Let the bureaucracy work itself out. Focus on school. Normal life."
"Normal life after dying and coming back enhanced," Sarah muttered.
Uncle Mike's eyes sharpened. "Enhanced?"
Marcus shot Sarah a look. She winced.
"I just meant he's healthy," Sarah backpedaled. "Really healthy. Considering."
Uncle Mike wasn't buying it. He looked at Marcus. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"
Marcus hesitated. He'd planned to keep the enhancements secret. But this was Uncle Mike. The man who'd raised him. Who'd taught him that honesty mattered.
"Maybe," Marcus admitted. "Nothing dangerous. Just... changes."
"What kind of changes?"
Marcus stood up, moved to the bookshelf. Lifted it one-handed. Held it steady while Uncle Mike's eyes went wide.
"That kind of change," Marcus said, setting it down. "Whatever brought me back also made me stronger. Faster. Better senses. I'm not superhuman but I'm definitely not normal anymore."
Uncle Mike absorbed this silently. Then he sat down heavily. "Kid, you're going to give me a heart attack."
"Sorry."
"Stop apologizing!" Uncle Mike rubbed his temples. "Okay. Okay. You're enhanced. That's... that's fine. That's totally fine. People get enhanced in Gotham all the time. It's practically a hobby here."
"Usually not from dying though," Jackson offered.
"Not helping," Sarah told him.
Uncle Mike looked at Marcus seriously. "Can you control it? The enhancements?"
"Yeah. I'm not going to accidentally break things or hurt people. It's just... me but better."
"And you don't know why this happened?"
"No idea. I wish I did."
Uncle Mike stood up, paced to the window and back. "Alright. New plan. We keep this even quieter than before. You don't tell anyone about the enhancements. Not doctors, not police, no one. Just the people in this room."
"That's what we were thinking," Sarah said.
"Good. Because if the wrong people find out..." Uncle Mike trailed off, but everyone understood. Gotham was full of people who would see Marcus as an opportunity. A test subject. A weapon.
"I'll be careful," Marcus promised. "No showing off. No using the enhancements publicly. I'll just be regular Marcus."
"Regular Marcus who came back from the dead," Jackson pointed out.
"Can everyone please stop reminding me of that? I'm trying not to have an existential crisis here."
Sarah smiled. "Too late for that."
They spent the next hour making plans. Uncle Mike would go to the hospital, explain there'd been an error, that Marcus was alive. He'd handle the bureaucracy. Sarah and Jackson would help Marcus prepare for returning to school. They'd keep his enhancements secret.
"And you," Uncle Mike said, pointing at Marcus. "You stay out of trouble. No heroics. No putting yourself in danger. You got a second chance. Don't waste it."
"I won't."
Uncle Mike pulled him into another hug. "I'm glad you're alive, kid. Even if I don't understand how."
"Me too."
After Uncle Mike left to deal with the hospital, Marcus collapsed back on the couch.
"That went better than expected," Jackson said.
"He took the super strength thing pretty well," Sarah agreed. "I thought he'd freak out more."
"Uncle Mike's seen a lot in Gotham. Takes a lot to shock him." Marcus closed his eyes. "But he's right. I need to be careful. Whatever happened to me, it made me different. And different is dangerous here."
"So what now?" Sarah asked.
Marcus opened his eyes, looked at his best friends. "Now? I figure out what I'm supposed to do with this second chance. Go back to school. Try to be normal. And hope whatever brought me back doesn't have other plans."
But even as he said it, Marcus felt something stirring. A sense that his resurrection wasn't random. That whatever had changed him had done so for a reason.
He just had no idea what that reason was.
Yet.
Outside, Gotham woke up to another gray day. Rain clouds gathering. The city moving forward like it always did, indifferent to impossibilities.
And somewhere in that city, Marcus Reid tried to figure out how to be alive again.
Enhanced.
Different.
And completely uncertain what came next.
But at least he had his friends. His uncle. People who cared.
In Gotham, that was more than most people got.
Marcus would take it.
And try not to think about the darkness he'd touched while dead.
The sense of something vast and ancient waiting just beyond normal reality.
Watching.
He'd think about that later.
Right now, he was just grateful to be alive.
Everything else could wait.