“This thing started all those years ago,” Tom Marsh said, blowing a cloud of smoke. “Remember when that big meteor struck. Folks were calling it alien and all that. Big media coverage, the usual hoshposh. Few weeks past and everybody forgot about it. You know how folks are. However, the scientists down here found something on that meteor, something that’d make em rich. They were whispers about a new weapon or something. I’m pretty sure you and everybody knows ACE ain’t just dumping chemicals in rivers, they also make weapons. And the higherups saw something big in this. Something very, very big.”
Who is Jack Napier?
“Napier,” said the man who owned the newspaper shop. Not many people read newspapers nowadays, they had their apps and their smartphones so the man knew everybody that stopped by his shop. Everybody that stopped by to say hello. They were the kids who had parents who were a little older than them, they were old fashioned folks just like him who never got used to the those fancy touch screens and there was the few odd young folk who actually sat down and found the time to read these old fashioned newspapers. Jack Napier was one of them. “Oh, Jack. You talking about Jack. Charming man, that one. Every morning before work he used to come here to pick up a newspaper. Used to complain a lot about his job. Poor man, so skinny, looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.” The man chuckled. “Despite all that, guy sure knew how to make a guy laugh. Used to crack plenty of jokes, made my day. Told me he wanted to be a comedian, make a name for himself on the stage. Had no doubt he’d make it too. Used to tell me he’d be in a big mansion. Him and his wife.” The newspaper vendor looked down. “May god rest her soul.”
“His wife?” the neighbour said. “Oh, Jeannie. Oh, Jeannie was a sweet lady. Used to help out everyone in the neighbourhood without asking for anything. Even when she was pregnant. The girl was weighing her down, making her sweat like a bodybuilder yet she still helped me out with my boy.” Tears started falling down her face. “Never asked for anything Jeannie. Her husband could barely afford the bills yet she still never accepted donations. I even insisted yet she refused. Then the accident, the accident took her away. Her and the baby just… just…” She wiped the tears from her cheek and tried stifling her sobs. “Gone.”
The neighbour could barely mouth the last word.
…
The Vulture’s wings were blue. Before he could fire Spider-Man leapt across the rooftop and tackled him off the building.
“This is kinda romantic don’t you think?” Spider-Man said as they plummeted to the ground.
They traded fists, Spider-Man dodging the Vulture’s feral swipes and Spider-Man’s fists hitting against his mask like a sledgehammer. Vulture did a barrel role, swiping at that lunchbox that was dangling at his side and not quite reaching it. The feathers finally launched, swerving wildly in the air. Spider-Man grabbed Vulture and turned around, the feathers missing them by inches. The feathers sliced through bits of Spider-Man’s suit and even the Vulture’s jacket. There was one lucky feather that sliced through the lunchbox, Spider-Man noticing that attached two webs to either side of the pavement below and kicked the Vulture downwards, using the Vulture’s body to propel himself upwards.
Spider-Man saw the “lunchbox” in mid-air and fired his web at it, attaching it to the walls of a nearby building before being tackled upwards into the air by the Vulture.
“Enjoying your flight?” Vulture asked
“Service here kinda sucks,” Spider-Man said
Spider-Man squirmed out of his tight grip, grabbed his shoulders and flipped over him, diving to the buildings below headfirst. “What kinda flight doesn’t have parachutes?”
Spider-Man felt a familiar buzz. He rolled his body around mid-air and saw the Vulture diving at him, his wings glowing bright blue. Spider-Man launched a web directly at his face causing him to swerve violently upwards.
Spider-Man attached a web to the side of the building and swung across, groups of bystanders gasping in awe and pointing up at him.
“Thank you, thank you,” Spider-Man said, waving down at them. “Have any of you seen an electro-magnet, looks like a lunchbox?”
Spider-Man saw the magnet stuck to the sides of one of the buildings. He was close to grabbing it when he felt his spider sense buzz.
A volley of feathers was headed his way, dancing in the air. Spider-Man danced with them. He dodged them, squirming his way through the dense flock of feathers and inching closer and closer to the magnet. One of the feathers sliced through the webbing that cocooned around the magnet. Spider-Man shot his web. The white string was just inches away from it when he felt something tackle him across the street like a truck.
There was a tangle of limbs as Spider-Man clawed at the Vulture’s mask and the Vulture swiped like a wild animal. Spider-Man’s spider sense was like a fire alarm.
“This… isn’t… how… you… treat… someone… on… a… first… date,” Spider-Man said gritting his teeth. Spider-Man scrambled his hands around the Vulture’s wings and reached for something, anything. He found something sticking out, like a lever.
There was a violent updraft of wind and the Vulture was thrown upwards in the sky. The Vulture’s grip loosened as he was carried upwards by a patchwork parachute. Spider-Man noticed that it was made out of something that looked like old blankets before he tumbled on the ground, making cracks in the pavement.
“And Gotham is always here to welcome me,” he mumbled.
He noticed a few pedestrians walking by, staring at him surprised before moving on with their day.
“Any help?” Spider-Man asked. He was ignored. “Anyone?”
He couldn’t rest yet. His spider-sense started buzzing. He got up just in time to notice the Vulture swooping by. He leaped up in the air before the Vulture could grab a hold of him.
Now the pedestrians were acting up. They started scattering like cockroaches when a light was shined upon them.
Spider-Man realised he had to get to the battery. That was the only way to deal with the wings. The Vulture dived again, this time behind him. Spider-Man backflipped over him. He turned around and fired from his left web shooter.
Only air came out.
…
“They started experimenting with this weapon,” Tom said. “Started with mice and all that. Dumped them in the lake afterwards. Then they started going bigger, sheep, goats some of the boys even mentioned seeing a cow. When they were done, they dumped those into the lake too. They even tried monkeys but nothing seemed to work and the backers were getting real impatient. They started pushing for human experiments and sure enough ACE folded. Brought in some homeless folk, hell even some normal folk. Promised some money, you see. Those people went in and never came back. People started talking about it, they disappeared. A reporter tried to find out what was happening he disappeared too.” Tom chuckled. “Not something you can throw in a lake.”
The newspaper man looked out in the distance. “Jack was a different man after Jeannie’s death. Jokes got a little darker too. Walked around like a zombie. Started visiting that bar over at Crime Alley with all the shady folk. Josie’s or whatever. Started gambling too, got into a lotta debt with some bad people. And that’s where Nelson came in.”
“Napier,” Josie said, taking a swig of her cigarette. “Napier, Napier, Napier,” she mumbled to herself. Realisation flashed across her eyes and she pointed her finger in the air. “Oh Napier.” She waved her hand, letting out a hearty laugh. “Oh, that man used to drink himself a storm. Used to walk over to the stage and spit out some lame ass jokes. Used to also play poker at the tables at the back. Must’ve broken a mirror when he was young because boy was he rotten on his luck. Boy racked himself enough debt to cause a heart attack to any sane man though from what I’ve heard Napier was anything but. And remember what I said about luck? Poor bastard racked up debt going in at six figures and he owed all that money to Brute Nelson. Brute fucking Nelson.”
“Back in the day Brute wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with,” the newspaper man said. “Man was built like an elephant. Folks used to say he hit like a sledgehammer and poor old Jack owed him a debt. Unfortunately, Jack couldn’t pay back and Brute, Brute always gets his money.”
“Some of Brute’s contacts found about some top-secret weapon or something like that in ACE chemicals,” Josie said. “There was lot of money in that and Brute knew some people in the black market. But the thing was Brute couldn’t risk sending one of his men, that’d link straight back at him. Brute found out ACE wouldn’t risk anyone escaping and spreading their secret so he needed someone disposable. Someone nobody would bat an eye at if he died, somebody that wouldn’t tie back to him. Somebody like Jack.”
…
Spider-Man pulled up his sleeve and saw a white liquid pouring down his arm. The web shooter had been crushed and the spider tracers were clattering on the road and splitting into a mess of small wires and red casing. Spider-Man had not chance to assess the damage as his spider sense was starting to buzz and he heard the sound of a motor right behind him.
Spider-Man jumped over Vulture as he dived in front of him. But Spider-Man couldn’t catch a break as volleys of metal feathers twirled around him.
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“Oh, come on! Not fair.” Spider-Man dodged the feather using his one functioning web shooter to zip past them and relying on the walls of the buildings nearby to bounce around dodging the others. “Can we call a time out? My web shooters are jammed.”
Vulture didn’t let up, as soon as the feathers attached themselves to his wings he went in for another dive. Spider-Man jumped to the side, landing on the roof of a car and using his right web shooter to keep some distance between them. He had to get to the electromagnet, fast.
Vulture dived again, crashing into the side of the building. Spider-Man jumped in a nick of time and twirled in the air covering the giant hole he made in someone’s kitchen with a web.
“C’mon Vulture,” Spider-Man said. “Don’t you have even a tiny shred of dignity? Don’t you want a fair fight?”
Spider-Man scanned the ground for the magnet as Vulture tore through the webbing.
“I’ll take that as a no.”
The Vulture launched feathers and dived without forethought at Spider-Man while he dodged and weaved through the feathers and tried stopping him with as much webbing as possible.
Spider-Man noticed the electromagnet on the ground. Luckily, it was not damaged from all the fighting.
“Big Bird, can you wait a minute?” Spider-Man said. “Gotta get my lunch.”
The Vulture caught on to what Spider-Man was doing and dived for the magnet too.
For a split-second Spider-Man wondered what was going for the magnet. He didn’t know what was in it. Spider-Man’s red gloved hands were the first to reach it before he was tackled across the ground.
The magnet flew in the air. Spider-Man knew that it would break. He noticed a few dents on it before he had grabbed it. He knew it would break if it hit the ground one last time.
But then the Vulture grabbed it in his claws.
“Now what do we have here?” the Vulture said. And even though he had a mask on Spider-Man could still imagine the giant smirk hidden behind it.
…
“That was the last we heard of Jack,” the neighbour said. “There was a ‘present’ for him in the mail. Jack left with the box and we never heard from him again. It’s a shame.”
“How so?” Bruce Wayne disguised as the reporter Bob Williams asked.
“Buried underneath the gambling and drinking was a good man,” the neighbour said, tapping the tissues Bob offered underneath her eyes. “A good man who lost his wife.”
“I don’t remember much that night,” Tom Marsh said, looking up at the web of catwalks and chemical vats. “I just remember this man dressed with a red cylinder on his head getting shot at, holding something in his hand like a baby. I just remember the gunfire and the shouting. Me and some of the boys followed him, we didn’t know what were thinking, maybe we could help the poor bastard. I don’t know. But the last we saw of him, last we heard of him was his screaming as he fell down into the vat of chemicals. After that, security tightened. Everything was kept hush hush, some of the good folk over here went missing. ACE was never the same.”
Tom threw the cigarette stub on the ground, crushing it under his heel. “Look, I’ll get protection, right? My daughter, I don’t want her ending up with a job like mine. I don’t want my wife breaking her back to make her happy. We can barely pay her school fees let alone a good lunch. I… I don’t…”
Bob William placed a firm hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe. Your family will be safe. Here’s what you have to do.”
The Wayne Foundation was chalk full of resources. That afternoon, Tom left work early. Said he was feeling sick. Men from the Wayne Foundation relocated him to a Wayne Family safehouse in the outskirts of Gotham, under the direct command of Lucius Fox and the watchful eye of the Batman.
…
Brute Nelson had a hell of a stomach ache. He owed it to time. Poor old Brian “Brute” Nelson was no longer the monster they knew. His muscles were now flaps of fat, his stomach was so large it spilled over his crotch and his skin was ripe with red patches from all the meth he smoked and the crack he sniffed.
Brute Nelson was a victim of time.
After trying to take a dump, Brute washed his hands. He spent a lot of money on this house, a lot of good money but now it was reduced to a cracked fucking mess with dust on the fancy ass tiles and beer bottles lining the shower. Stupid ass bitch Paulene had to leave him. Paulene used to clean the house and do all her stupid bitch stuff. Too bad she couldn’t take a beating. All that preaching about being a strong woman and she couldn’t even take a beating. Brute was fine without her anyway.
Brute flushed down his shit. For one moment, one small moment he looked at himself in the mirror. All the patches on his skin, his balding head and mess of a beard and thought, if only for one second that maybe he was a loser.
Then his stomach started to ache and he decided maybe he needed another sniff of the good old powder.
He opened his bathroom door.
“We need to talk, Nelson,” said Batman.
Brute was glad he’d taken that dump.
…
“Now what’s this?” Vulture said with a smirk.
“Nothing,” Spider-Man said, turning his head quickly. He couldn’t let Vulture destroy the electromagnet. It was the only way he could deal with him and if he destroyed it Peter didn’t know how many people would pay the price. He noticed a manhole cover. Spider-Man put his hand behind his back. “It’s just a lunchbox. I get hungry on the job.”
The Vulture chuckled. “Now Spider-Man if there’s one thing I don’t like it’s a liar and I want you to answer this honestly. Are you a liar?”
He launched a web, he felt it strike something metal. “Don’t we always lie? To protect the ones we love? I love you Vultchy, didn’t you notice the signs?”
“You’re lying again,” the Vulture said. “Aren’t you, Petey?”
Peter stopped tugging at the manhole cover. He was dumbstruck, how did he know? How the hell did he know? He calmed himself down, shut himself up. Maybe it was just some Gotham slang he didn’t know. Maybe he was spouting off some psychopathic shit. He didn’t know, but better to play it cool. Play it smart.
“Are you okay Vulture?” Spider-Man said. “I’m Spider-Man. Not Petey-Man.”
“Oh, I know who you are Peter Parker,” Vulture said. “You live with your poor old Aunt May down by the AF junkyard. I know that your uncle got shot, I know that you’re from the good old NYC.”
Peter stopped. The worry was eating away at his heart. Please god, please keep Aunt May safe. Please, please, please. How did he know? How the hell did he know?
But he was also angry. Like someone pulling his pants down or throwing open the curtain when he was in the shower. He was humiliated and Peter did not like being humiliated.
“You know what I don’t like Vultchy?” Peter asked. He felt his web tug at the manhole. “When people make it personal. You know what you did Vultchy?”
He tossed the manhole cover at Vulture. He had no time to react as the cover hit him directly in his head making him loosen the grip on the magnet.
“You made it personal.”
The Vulture tried to fly away but Peter was one step ahead of him. He webbed up the magnet, clutching it to his chest and leaped at Vulture.
“Never mention my aunt,” Peter said, punching Vulture in the stomach. “Or my uncle.” He punched Vulture in the face.
He leaped up to the side of a building, attaching a web to the Vulture’s chest and slamming him against the walls of the building before kicking him down to the pavement.
“I’m going to take your wings you little flying bastard,” Peter said. “And I’m going to show the world your ugly little face.”
Peter placed pinned the Vulture down on the ground placing right leg on his foot on his back to keep him there.
“No leave my wings,” The Vulture cried. “Please.”
The electromagnet attached itself on the wings. Peter pressed the button and a surge of electricity spread across the wings. There was bright flash of blue as electricity crackled and surged and circuits sounded like popcorn as they popped. The Vulture screamed in despair as his wings fizzled out of existence. Peter almost felt sorry for him.
He was about to rip off the bastard’s mask when he felt his spider sense and a gunshot ringing in the air.
“Get off him.”
He turned to see an officer pointing his gun at him. His moustache was so bushy it covered his mouth and he had a hell of a potbelly.
“Hey, Officer,” Peter said. “Look I’m just going to unmask this bastard and…”
Another gunshot.
“What you think you can just waltz in here and do our jobs?”
“I mean the Batman does it just fine?”
“The Batman is good with the commissioner,” the officer said. “You ain’t?”
There was now a fleet of police cars. All of them had their guns pointed at him.
“Alright, alright,” Peter said. “I’m out of here.”
The officer smirked. “Oh yes you are, boys fire away. These bastards are the reason we don’t get as paid as much as we used to.”
Peter leaped on the side of the building as gunshots rang in the air. He wanted to know just who the Vulture was, how he knew who he was but he hoped those bastards would deal with him. He didn’t know why they were firing at him and he didn’t care. He just had to make sure Aunt May was safe. He didn’t do much praying but he prayed to whoever was up there that she would be okay, that the Vulture’s cronies didn’t get to her.
…
“Oh, it’s nothing Betty,” the police officer said to the microphone. “It’s just some commotion, the boys and I took care of it.” The officer switched off the microphone.
He turned to the police officers. “And we did take care of it, right boys?”
All his friends started nodding and murmuring in agreement.
“One more of those costumed assholes and we’d be going to bed starving,” the officer said. “As for this poor bozo.”
The Vulture or whatever the news called him was lying headfirst in the pavement, mumbling something to himself.
“Well we can do whatever we want,” the officer said. “Shoot him, kick him, fuck him, hell if I care. The less of these self-righteous costumed freaks the better.”
The officer kneeled down. “I just wonder what’s behind that fancy ass mask of his.”
The officer was about to remove the mask from the man when something found itself buried in his throat. Something sharp.
The Vulture pulled out his feather and the officer’s neck or what was left of it erupted in blood. The officer vomited out his own blood, dribbling down his mouth and throat before falling to the floor. Dead.
“Hey, Bob you okay?”
“No,” Vulture said.
He could feel it, electricity surging through his wings. It was nothing, just a spark. But it was enough.
“Hey Bob, you okay?”
The officer had no time to react as a feather sliced impaled itself through his throat and stuck out at the back of his neck.
The wings were blue. A feint blue, a dying blue. But they were still blue. Electricity hummed through them. Singing a dying tune. A dying tune the feathers danced to.
A dance of blood and gunfire. Of claws and struggles. Of metal and screams. A dance of a bird and its prey.
The police sirens wailed in despair as Adrian Toomes walked away from the corpses of police officers, painted in red.
…
“Honey, I’m home!” The Joker called, the door to Brute Nelson’s house swinging behind him.
“And I can’t wait to show you what I bought you.” The Joker placed his hat and coat on the coat hanger and held his revolver up in the air. “It’s going to knock you dead.” He turned the cylinder with this thumb.
“Oh, come on honey,” Joker said, walking through the shelves stacked with medicine and beer bottles. “Don’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious.”
He kicked open the door to the bathroom. Empty medicine and beer bottles, no Brute.
“Oh, come on honey,” Joker said. “You know I’m not the type for surprises.”
The Joker grinned. “Oh, you’re a kinky one, aren’t you? Please tell me you’re wearing the lingerie I bought you.”
The Joker kicked open the bedroom door. Nobody was there.
“Please don’t tell me you’re in the living room,” Joker said. “You know how much I hate climbing up these god damn stairs.”
The Joker opened the door to the living room. “You know how much I hate them.” He noticed that the living room sofa was turned around and a person sitting on it. “Why they kill me darling.”
The Joker walked to the sofa slowly. Stepping on a bottle on his way there. “Oh, come on Brutey. That one was funny. Why the hell aren’t you laughing?”
Joker turned the chair around and saw Robin, leg resting on his knee, a smirk on his face.
He felt a strong grip behind his head.
“Welcome home, honey,” said a deep voice.
And everything went black.
To be continued