Sirens blared in the distance. Street lamps were twisted like and gnarled, sparks dancing from their remains. Buildings collapsed into themselves, raining rubble down on the street. Cars were upturned and lopsided over the jagged road. Glass covered the sidewalk like snow. In the centre of the road was the Batmobile, or what remained of it. The armour plates were now nothing but scraps, smoke trailed from its engine and all the Batmobile was now was a just a hunk of useless metal.
Batman and Spider-Man were on top of the roof of one of the buildings that managed to survive the devastation.
Spider-Man put the pointy eared douche down and let out a sigh of relief.
“So glad I managed to get to you in time,” Spider-Man said. “You may be an asshole but I’d prefer if Gotham’s favourite vigilante wasn’t a ball of flesh on the street.”
“You let him get away,” Batman said coolly.
“Hello,” Spider-Man said. “I saved your life.”
“And caused the destruction of Gotham infrastructure and the loss of many lives.”
“And how the hell is it my fault instead of I don’t know, the psychopathic midget.”
Batman opened his palm revealing a circular device, no smaller than a coin with red and blue wires running through it.
“This is a Disruptor,” Batman said. “The weapon Penguin was carrying was a Vibranium sound cannon. The disruptor would short circuit the weapon, causing it not function.”
Batman placed the Disruptor in his belt. “Or it would have if it wasn’t for your intervention.”
Peter’s legs suddenly felt weak. His heart felt heavy. He looked over the edge of the building and a chill spread across his body. At the bottom he saw crowds of people leaving what remained of their homes, vacant expressions on their faces. Some blood running down their ears, their noses. People were crying, screaming. He heard somebody scream “I can’t hear, I can’t hear.” It was overwhelming.
“I…” Peter said, his voice shaking. His body numb. “I…”
“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t interrupted me,” Batman said.
He didn’t know what came over him but Peter Parker let out a scream. Emotions boiled within him, guilt, sadness, despair. And anger, anger at the man dressed as a bat, anger at himself, anger at everything. He didn’t know why but Peter charged at the Batman, putting all his strength into his punch. He didn’t care what happened to him, he just couldn’t handle all the emotions that were swirling around his chest.
The Batman side-stepped, causing Peter to come to an abrupt stop as he grabbed his arm.
“All this power, all this control.”
Peter tried punching him with his other hand but Batman kicked him across the leg, tripping him over.
“But you don’t know how to hone it,” Batman said. “You don’t have discipline.”
Peter placed his hands down, launching himself like a springboard but all Batman did was step back and all Peter hit was air.
“You rush into things,” Batman said as Peter launched a web at Batman’s chest and tried to carry him over before realising that it was already sliced into half, noticing a Batarang stuck in the ground. “Like a child. Rushing into a world, into a city you know nothing about.”
Peter charged toward him, attacking Batman with two wide sweeps that Batman dodged with ease. Ducking underneath him, Batman punched him straight in the chest knocking the air out of his body.
“And that’s what you are,” Batman said. “A naïve, idiotic child. Picking fights with the Mafia, with criminals like the Penguin.”
“Batman stop,” Batgirl cried, Robin resting on his shoulder. “Leave him alone.”
Batman ignored her, his eyes focused on Spider-Man. Scrutinising him, waiting for his next attack.
Peter got up, trying to land a punch. The steam in his body fizzling out. He tried to punch, to kick but all it took to stop him was one punch to the stomach and he crumpled on the ground like a heap of clothing.
Batman kneeled down, whispering in his ear. “Not knowing that they’re much more dangerous than I am.”
“That’s enough Batman,” Batgirl said, walking towards him with Robin resting on her shoulder. “Beating him up isn’t going to prove anything.”
“Take Robin back to the Batcave,” Batman said. “I’ll go look for the Penguin.”
“Are you even listening to me?”
While Batgirl and Batman were arguing, Peter was suddenly reminded. Reminded of back in pre-school where the other kids used to gang up on him and laugh him, sometimes even beat him. They used to insult him about the fact that he had no parents and how weak he was. In middle school, it was Flash. He remembered the sneers of him and his cronies, how they used to throw basketballs and him. How they used to shove him in his locker and slap him across the face and how they always used to call him little Puny Parker.
It was always about how weak he was, always about how he couldn’t fight back. And after that day at the exhibit, after that day he got bitten by that spider he could finally fight back, he had that power to fight back. But that power as he was taught by a great man, came with a responsibility.
” Hey, pointy ears…” Spider-Man said, groaning. Struggling to get up but getting up nonetheless. “Let me tell you something.”
Batman turned, walking towards him slowly. Batman’s towered over him like a giant. The black symbol on his chest like a warning sign.
“Batman, ignore him,” Batgirl said increasingly frustrated. But Batman ignored her. Instead he walked onwards. Frustrated that she was being ignored, Batgirl carried Robin on her shoulder and grappled away, casting one last look at Bruce before descending to the street below her
But Bruce didn’t care walked towards Peter slowly. His cape trailing behind him like a snake, the bat symbol on his chest a warning sign. He walked towards him like Flash Thompson, like those bullies in pre-school. A walk that seemed casual but was slow and deliberate, in an attempt to intimidate him. On another occasion, Peter would have stepped back in fear but not this time. This time, he stood firm.
And sure, he might be right. Maybe Peter was in over his head, maybe Peter did cause the destruction of the street below him.
But that didn’t give Batman the right to guilt-trip him, that didn’t give him the right to beat him.
And now he was standing face to face with a giant.
“What?” Batman said.
“My uncle would not like you.”
Batman stared at him. “The words of Ben Parker don’t phase me.”
Peter could feel it in his heart. Could feel the fear creeping into his body like a chill. How did he know? What else did he know? Was he in danger? But Peter steeled himself. He knew that giving into this fear would be a sign of weakness. Would be giving the bully leverage.
So, he steeled himself and stared Batman dead in his eyes.
“Don’t you dare say that name,” Peter said. “Or I promise what happens to you next won’t be pretty.”
Spider-Man turned his back to him, meaning those words. No bully would use the name of his uncle in vain, especially not a freak that dressed up like a bat.
Batman saw him swing off and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Kids got spirit, he thought.
…
After some rounds on the street to make sure the civilians were alright, Peter went back to Wayne Manor. He had left his clothes there and Aunt May must be throwing a fit. He snuck by the flashing red and blue lights and crawled into what he could only assume was the bathroom window where he left his clothes and his phone. He got into his suit and checked his phone…
Aunt May: (150 missed calls)
Oh shit.
…
May came out of her car wearing nothing but a robe over her pyjamas. She shuffled through the cars and stormed through the police officers.
“Ma’am,” said one of the officers. A young man by the name of Peralta. “Ma’am I’m sorry but you’re going to have to answer some questions.”
“To hell with your questions,” May said. “My nephew is in that mansion.”
“It’s part of procedure,” the cop said, trailing behind her trying to keep up with her giant strides.
“What’s the matter here?” Commissioner Gordon said, sporting a cigarette in her mouth.
Peralta tensed up a little. “Woman over there won’t answer questions. Says she’s here to see her nephew.”
Gordon squinted, noticing the woman rushing ahead was May Parker. What her nephew was doing at Wayne Manor, Gordon didn’t know. What Bruce Wayne would want with a middle-class orphan; Gordon didn’t know. What he did know was that he did not like seeing the same face twice, especially when it came to his job.
“Tell me where my nephew is!” May Parker barked at the slender man standing in front of the manor.
“I assure you. I have no idea where your nephew could be at this moment ma’am,” the man said in a calm, British accent. Unfazed by the woman literally screaming at his face.
“Then let me in,” May Parker said. “I’ll find him and get out of here.”
“I’m afraid the police are currently holding an investigation,” the man said calmly.
“Listen here Jeeves,” May said. “If you don’t let me in, I’ll have to force myself in and you wouldn’t like that, now would you?”
“How may I help you ma’am?” Commissioner Gordon asked.
“Why thank you Commissioner Gordon,” May said. “I’d like go inside and see my nephew…”
“I’m afraid…”
Gordon was cut off by a frustrated sigh. “You too. I thought you were better than this Gordon.”
Gordon scratched his hair, looking at Alfred Pennysworth who just shrugged.
Meanwhile Peter snuck out of the bathroom, jumping to the walls in order to avoid any cops that were investigating around his area.
“If anything happens to my boy, I’m going to sue you all,” May said, pointing at Gordon and Alfred. “And that spoiled jackass Bruce Wayne who had the bright idea of inviting my nephew to a party full of criminals.”
Peter tried calling his Aunt but the call wasn’t going through. Shuffling through the crowds of wailing rich people and stern-faced GCPD officers he tried calling her again before he finally noticed a bright blue car parked outside the police cordon. Aunt May’s car.
Oh no.
“I’ll count down to ten and if you don’t let me in,” May said.
“Please calm down Mrs. Parker,” Gordon said. “I’m sure your nephew is fine. I’ve been calling my men and…”
“Hey May,” Peter said, a little nervously.
Gordon let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Peter. “See what did I say.”
May also let out a relieved sigh. “Peter, you’re alright.”
May wrapped Peter in a hug which he returned. “Yeah. Am I glad to see you Aunt May.”
“Why didn’t you answer my calls?” May said, letting go of Peter.
“I was scared,” Peter said, though that was far from the truth.
“Oh, Peter,” May said, hugging him even more tightly.
May turned to face Gordon and Alfred. “My nephew is safe, no thanks to you.”
“It’s fine Aunt May,” Peter said. “They’re just doing their jobs.”
But Aunt May ignored him, jabbing a finger at Alfred’s chest. “And you,” she said. “Tell your Master or whatever the hell you call him not to come anywhere near my nephew. Tell him and his ward or whatever he calls that Grayson boy.”
Aunt May turned around, walking towards the car. “Come on Peter, let’s go home.”
Peter nodded, giving a weak smile to Commissioner Gordon and Alfred before following behind his Aunt.
“And you, Peter,” Aunt May said. “You need to stop hanging out with that Grayson boy. He’s nothing but trouble.”
She entered the car, slamming the door shut behind her.
“But Dick had nothing to do with this,” Peter said. “It’s not his fault the Penguin came and crashed the party.”
“I don’t care who’s fault it is,” May said. “I’m not going to risk putting you in danger.”
“But I wasn’t in any danger,” Peter protested.
“Then what happened to your face?” Aunt May said. “If you weren’t in any danger, huh? What are all those bruises?”
Peter stared at the rear-view mirror and was taken aback to see how much of his face was covered in bruises. His hair was a ruffled mess there was blood running down his cheek.
“Oh geez,” Aunt May said, noticing the blood. “Peter do you want me to take to the hospital?”
“No, I’ll be fine…”
May leaned over to him, touching his cheek. “You sure… I…”
“I’m not a baby Aunt May,” Peter said. “I can take care of myself.”
“Your uncle could take care of himself and see what happened to him.”
Aunt May started up the car, driving in complete silence. Surprised Peter wasn’t saying anything, May turned to see…
Peter staring at her, shock, disbelief and rage all written on his bruised face. The anger in his blue eyes made Aunt May want to hide in a corner. “What did you say?”
Aunt May’s mouth was dry. Her heart was heavy at the realisation of the words that escaped her mouth. Looking at Peter, he remembered all those times her husband and Peter used to go to the barn, building god knows what. How her husband tried to make Peter laugh with funny faces after the unfortunate accident that took away his parents and letting out an excited cheer when Peter smiled and then finally laughed. How Peter was the closest thing to the child she and Ben had wanted to have all those years ago when they got married but couldn’t. “Look I’m sorry…”
“No,” Peter said, cutting her off, his voice firm. “You can’t just say that about Uncle Ben and apologise.”
Aunt May was trying to stop her voice from shaking. “Look, I know how much your uncle means to you but…”
“First you tell me that I can’t hang out with my only friend in Gotham,” Peter said. “And now you say that about the man who raised me. No Aunt May, there’s no way in hell you know what he meant to me.”
Seeing her crying like this made Peter feel guilty, he wanted to turn away and apologise but Aunt May had no right to talk about him like this. Nobody did.
“I’m sorry Peter,” Aunt May said, struggling to say the words. Tears running down her face. “I just… I don’t want to lose you.”
Peter laughed without joy. “You already did.”
…
A few weeks later…
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
A few weeks had passed since the Wayne Manor incident and neither the Penguin nor his goons were anywhere to be seen. And much to Gotham’s and Batman’s surprise, neither was the elusive Spider-Man. The last time he’d been seen was after he had helped the people who were affected by the carnage of the Penguin’s sound cannon and since then, nobody saw not a single sliver of red on the rooftops of Gotham.
And Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon hadn’t seen Peter Parker either. He barely attended class and was only there for tests and special assignments, leaving them barely enough time to talk.
Which surprised Bruce. After that brave stand he didn’t expect Peter Parker to just give up. Especially after all the things he said to him.
Water dripped down the cold, damp caves of the Batcave. The microphone on the Batcomputer beeped.
“Master Wayne, Ms. Gordon is here to see you,” said Alfred.
“Bring her in.”
The Batcave was quite except for the occasional screeching of bats and Richard’s grunts and heaves as he jumped from monkey bar to bar.
The door to the Batcave hummed open and the footsteps of Barbara Gordon echoed through the cave walls. Judging by how fast and heavy her footsteps were across the platform, Bruce assumed she was very angry. And the subject of her anger was…
“Bruce what the hell was that?” Barbara said.
“What the hell was what?” Bruce asked, pulling up files on the Penguin and GCPD interrogations of his goons. Turns out most of the thugs involved in the Wayne manor raid weren’t in fact Penguin’s cronies but rather hired help from the streets so none of them knew where the weapons were located. None of them except Skinner who was nowhere to be seen since the Wayne Manor incident.
“That test of yours,” Barbara said, waving her hands around. “Not only did you cost us the investigation but now Penguin is nowhere to be seen.”
“It was to see if he was ready,” Bruce said.
“Ready for what?”
Bruce was silent.
“Ready for what, Bruce?” Barbara exclaimed. “All I see this as is your opportunity to beat up Peter.”
“I agree with Barbs, Bruce,” Dick said, wiping his sweat with his towel. “Just what do you hope to gain from all of this?”
“Gotham is dangerous…”
“You think he doesn’t know that?” Barbara said. “For fucks sake Bruce, his Uncle died. If anybody knows Gotham is dangerous, it’s him.”
Bruce was silent.
“We can’t keep hiding this from him,” Barbara said. “We’re his friends Bruce. What do you think will happen when he finds out it’s us behind Robin and Batgirl? We’re his only friends. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out that his closest friends in Gotham were all in on this ‘test’ of yours?”
“He won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?” Barbara asked. “Dick here has a bandage on his shoulder. The same shoulder where a bullet grazed Robin. How long before he puts two and two together?”
Bruce was silent.
“I don’t know about you Bruce, but I don’t think I’ll be able to keep this up any longer,” Barbara said. “I don’t want to break his heart.”
Bruce ignored her, staring at his computer. The cold blue light washing over him.
“Are you even listening?” Barbara said, walking up to him. “Do you even care, huh Bruce?”
Barbara slammed his desk. “Answer me!”
Dick grabbed his shoulders. “Leave him.”
“I know but…”
Dick shook his head. “He’ll never listen, no matter how much we try.”
“But…”
“Believe me, I know,” Dick said, giving her a warm smile. “Worked with him for five years, remember?”
Barbara nodded, gently pushing Dick away and walking away from Bruce.
Dick turned to Bruce, staring him straight in the eye.
“She might not show it but she cares about you,” Dick said. “She cares about all of us.”
Bruce was as still as a stone.
“I…”
Dick shook his head.
“Look, keep your mouth shut all you want,” Dick said. “But you’re pushing her away. You’re pushing us all away. Alfred’s worried, Barbs is worried, hell even I am.”
Dick sighed. “So, you can shut up all you want but just know those walls won’t hold up for long. And if you keep at it, we won’t be there when they break.”
Bruce was silent.
“Master Wayne,” Alfred said. “Commissioner Gordon put a call through the private line, a new development in the Vibranium case has just popped up.”
“Put him in.”
Dick walked away from him, walked to Barbara who was sitting on top of the monkey bars, rubbing her arms. Dick followed, sitting next to her.
“He wasn’t always like this,” Barbara said.
Dick smirked, sitting next to her. “Barbs, if anyone knows that, I do.”
“He was the only one in this godforsaken city who treated me, treated Batgirl like an equal,” Barbara said. “Hell, even my dad looked down on me.”
Dick pat her back.
“After the Batman revealed who he was, someone so formidable finally seemed so… human,” Barbara said. “I started to respect him too. He was a good friend and a good mentor. Cold but still a good man. But ever since the Castle case…”
The Castle case was the murder of the wife and two children of GCPD officer Frank Castle after he had arrested key members of the Falcone family. Castle was never the same ever since.
“Yeah,” Dick said. “Those children, they were…”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
Dick nodded.
“He didn’t even visit me when I got shot,” Dick said. “It was Alfred tending to my wounds.”
“Good old Alfred,” Barbara said, smiling.
Dick chuckled. “Yeah.”
Dick looked down. “After the whole Two-Face incident back when I was twelve and stupid, I was in bed for days. Bruce visited me for days on end, sitting by my bed, ruffling my hair. He reminded me of my…”
Dad. He wanted to say his dad. But after that, after he recovered, all the warmth, all the love disappeared. Bruce was never the same. He was colder, more distant. But he was still watchful, he still showed he cared but…
“It’s like something’s holding him back,” Dick said. “He keeps his emotions behind a wall. Sometimes I wish he’d just… let us in.”
Barbara nodded. Patting his back.
The Batcomputer turned off and Dick and Barbara heard a bike rev.
They both jumped off the monkey bars, heading towards Bruce who was in his cowl.
“What happened?” Barbara asked.
“There’s a new lead in the case,” Batman said, wearing goggles.
“Do you need help?” Barbara asked.
Batman shook his head. “It’s an investigation. You two should patrol the city, see if Skinner and Penguin show their ugly faces.”
There was a silence as the bike revved up.
“Bruce,” Barbara said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Take care of…”
The bike zoomed off leaving both Dick and Barbara behind in a trail of smoke.
…
Working at McDonalds was mind numbingly bland for Peter, like the meat. From flipping the meat, to filling the tasteless milkshakes and dealing with his workmate Chad (who shared all his shifts) who smelt like pot and talked about anarchy and how the government had cameras in the milkshakes.
Peter was so used to the smell of mouldy cheese and bland meat that he’d do anything to escape his routine. Hell, he’d even study at the school library like he lied to Aunt May about. There was no time to change into Spider-Man cause of the curfew Aunt May (in her infinite wisdom) placed on him so Peter was stuck in this monotonous routine.
Until the day he saw Skinner by the drive-by.
At first, he didn’t believe it. What the hell would a wanted criminal be doing at a McDonalds. But then he noticed the bad patch up job at the truck’s back door and the fact that he was wearing a beanie and sunglasses to cover up his face that Peter was sure that it was Skinner. Before Peter could get close enough to confirm, Skinner shut the door to his car and left. Peter, cursing himself for not being fast enough wanted to follow him but he couldn’t risk being seen scaling walls in a McDonalds uniform, that would definitely turn heads. But all hope was not lost. He asked the drive-by lady and she said Skinner was a frequent customer. She asked why Peter was so curious but Peter ignored her.
Sure enough, the next day he saw Skinner’s truck. The following day, Peter took a shorter shift.
At the back of McDonalds was the garbage lot that nobody besides potheads and teenagers who could climb walls frequented. Peter was about to start climbing but…
“Yo Petey-O,” Chad said in his slow, always tired-sounding voice. “Whatchu doing back there?”
Peter quickly dropped from the wall, a forced smile on his face. “Same as you I suppose.”
Which wasn’t a good answer because Chad was cradling a giant purple bong like a baby. The relaxed look on Chad’s face was suddenly replaced by one of grim seriousness.
“Petey-O,” Chad said, walking towards him, placing his bong one side and placing an arm around’s Peter’s shoulder. Peter could smell the pot in his breath. “Let me give you some advice…”
After some (surprisingly) wise words from Chad about weed and its dangerous effects and how Chad didn’t want Peter to end up like him, Skinner had already driven off and Peter had to head back home.
The next day, Peter managed to climb up the rooftops. Peter figured dressing up as Spider-Man would scare Skinner off from this area so he figured he’d have to dress up in civilian clothes, covering up his face with a hoodie. Peter carefully stalked Skinner through rooftops, making sure not to teeter too close to the edge so as to not attract attention. Luckily the streets were relatively empty.
Skinner drove to another lane which meant Peter would have to leap over to another building. Peter was about to make a running jump but…
Peter felt his phone rang in his pocket. He skidded to a halt and saw just who was calling.
Peter let out an exasperated sigh.
“Hey,” Peter said.
“You’re getting kind of late,” May said, without saying anything more.
“Yeah, yeah I’m on the way.”
Peter hung up and sighed. Skinner was just inches away from being caught, all Peter had to do was tail him and then he’d be able to catch the Penguin too.
But Aunt May and his stupid job always got in the way. Peter let out a groan as he headed back home. If only there was some way to track him down, to keep him in Peter’s sights while Peter was busy with his other responsibilities.
He dragged himself into his bed without, muttering a half-hearted excuse as to why he was late before sliding into his bed. He wished Aunt May wasn’t down his throat with this stupid curfew otherwise he’d be able to tail Skinner with no problem.
That’s when he noticed the battered red and blue box on his table. His gift from Bruce Wayne that he had barely touched, let alone opened since the party. And an idea started forming in his head.
…
Gotham Harbour was once a mighty port laden with majestic ships and mahogany ports was now reduced to a run-down, withered husk of its former self, abundant with drug deals and illegal weapons. Now the Gotham Harbour was dense with GCPD officers, red and blue lights flashing across the inky black sea and a bright yellow cordon snaking around a giant cargo ship.
“Batman,” Commissioner Gordon said, relief spread across his face. “Thought you’d never show.”
“What happened?”
“It’s a bloodbath,” Gordon said. “Bunch of smugglers, or what’s left of em were found by the janitor this evening.”
“Ship doesn’t look like it’s from Gotham.”
“Well get this,” Gordon said. “It isn’t. It’s a stolen cargo ship from Somalian ports. The people who stole it where smugglers from Wakanda.”
“Wakanda?”
Gordon nodded. “What they smuggled from there, God knows. Crew was led by one Ababas Liamsi. Wakandan born. Arrested for fraud and one hell of a debt, he was supposed to meet his buyer at Gotham two months ago but then this happened…”
Gordon beckoned to at Batman to follow him under the cordon. “Take a look.”
Batman followed Gordon through the eerily empty ship. Outside the ship, Batman saw one cop kneeled over, puking into the river. The rest all had pale faces, faces of shock, faces of disbelief. Batman knew Gotham, he knew on the daily just what Gotham’s finest had seen. Men dipped in acid, innocent men and women with their faces removed, their genitals mutilated and a whole array of violent crimes perpetrated the worst Gotham had to offer. But this, this was something not even the GCPD had seen before.
As they navigated the multi-coloured cargo containers, Batman saw men. Or what remained of them. Limbs scattered around like toys in a playground, men torn in half, their intestines spilling from their stomachs. Heads bobbing back and forth with the ship, rolling like soccer balls.
“Jesus,” Gordon said, almost stepping on a man’s eyeball. As they went inside the trail of blood continued. The narrow hallways of the ship were caked in blood and bodies, fingers, noses, heads, torsos, intestines all littered the floor they walked on. Bodies were hung on the roof, their guts the only thing keeping them tethered. One man had his entire abdomen split open revealing what could only be described as the world’s most detailed anatomy lessons. Bodies were twisted like twigs; limbs were bent at odd angles.
Whatever did this wasn’t human, Batman thought. Whatever did this was a monster.
“This doesn’t compare to what was in the vault room,” Gordon said, stepping over a man’s arm.
And Gordon was right. The vault room was a literal bloodbath. Every inch of the vault was covered in blood, with limbs scattered all over the room and organs dotting the floor.
At the end of the room was a large silver vault. By the vault a man’s head was stuck on a metal stake, his face forever trapped in an expression of fear.
The head of Ababas Liamsi
…
Using an RFID chip, he found in the gift box and a few transistors and batteries he managed to build himself a tracker. The tracker was connected to an app he downloaded that allowed him to trace any RFID chip he registered into the app. He wrapped this intricate, delicate tangle of wires and chips in a red shell shaped like a spider.
He decided he’d call it the spider tracker. Yeah, Peter thought. That sounded cool. He managed to make around six of them before running out of supplies but he figured one was enough. Using some of the scraps from Bruce Wayne’s gift he also managed to modify his web shooters. On the side of the little bracelet was a small, flat button. One press (and a really loud whirring sound later) he’d be able to effortlessly switch between his web shooters and spider trackers effortlessly.
Now all that was left was to see if it worked.
Skinner pulled up at the drive through (as usual) but this time Peter was ready. While Skinner made his order, Peter rolled up his sleeve and launched the spider tracker underneath the truck. It stuck underneath (thanks to some clever use of electromagnets on Peter’s part) and Peter let out a quite whoop of victory.
Now all that was left was to see whether or not the app registered the RFID and sure enough there was a red dot at DC 27, the street Peter was on right now.
Peter grinned, now he could work in peace knowing that whatever move Skinner made would be shown right here on his little app. Skinner reversed, almost knocking over Peter.
“Watch out, idiot!” he called, driving off. His car emitting a burst of smoke.
“We’ll see who the idiot is, Skinner,” Peter mumbled. “We’ll see soon enough.”
Peter went back into the cheesy paradise of McDonalds, welcoming the stench of processed meat, knowing this time he’d catch Skinner once and for all.
…
Turns out Peter was the idiot. The big red dot was still stuck on DC 27 which meant the magnets Peter was using were busted and sure enough, they were. They barely stuck on the fridge for five minutes. Peter sighed but didn’t lose hope. There was a junkyard close by so Peter just had to go there and find some magnets. It wasn’t the first time he’d gone dumpster diving. He once had to do that with Uncle Ben to find parts for a computer.
It was starting to drizzle so Peter found pulled on a jacket, throwing a hoodie over his head. He put on his web shooters just in case and rolled his sleeves over them with his bag slung over his shoulder Peter was at the door, ready to leave.
“Where are you going?” Aunt May said. Peter turned to see her, arms crossed, a stern expression on her face.
“Back to school,” Peter said. “I forgot something.”
“It’s almost curfew.”
“I’ll only be five minutes,” Peter said.
“I want to talk, Peter,” Aunt May said.
“We’ll talk later.”
Aunt May stood in front of him. “I want to talk now Peter.”
“And I have a book to get from the library,” Peter said, brushing past her.
“Look,” May said, standing in front of Peter again. Rubbing her eyes. “We haven’t talked ever since what happened after the party and…”
“Yeah and we can talk later.”
“Peter,” Aunt May said firmly. “Please.”
Peter scoffed. “Talk about what. Ben? Blame him for dying again?”
“That’s not what…”
“Really,” Peter said. “It seemed that you meant every word.”
Peter pushed her aside, ignoring her calling after him. He ran down the stairs, trying his hardest to ignore the guilt stabbing his heart.
…
Upon further inspection, Ababas’s head was sliced cleanly off his body. The rest of his body was nowhere to be found. It seemed the perp was trying to make a statement and Ababas was the unfortunate victim. Judging by the fear in his face, it seemed that his limbs were ripped one by one while he was still alive.
“Poor man,” Gordon said. “This is one hell of a way to go, criminal or not.”
Compared to the vault room, the vault was squeaky clean. Almost comically so. There was not a single drop of blood across its smooth silver surface. It was robbed clean, the shelves empty. What seemed to be weapon holders empty.
“Damn this is one hell of a vault,” Gordon said. “It’s bigger than the rooms in this godforsaken ship.”
The entire vault was cleaned off its contents. Nothing remained, not a single shred of evidence as to who the dealers were or who the perpetrator was.
Nothing except a single white card in the middle of the room.
…
Peter was scrounging through mounds of old toys and computers when he felt an old familiar buzz.
He heard the sound of heavy boots across mounds of garbage, splashing across puddles. They were around, five or six of them. He heard the metallic click of a switchblade.
Peter turned around to see he was surrounded by half a dozen men. Each of them sporting battered trench coats and worn out clothes. The one in front had a switchblade dangling in front of him.
Peter raised his hands in surrender. “Look, I don’t want any trouble.” Peter knew he could take these men on without lifting a finger but he also knew that life had dealt them an unfair hand, otherwise they wouldn’t be out here in a junkyard.
The man in front laughed. “Put your hands down boy, we ain’t the cops.”
Peter swung his hands down.
“We want your jacket boy,” the man said. “It gets mighty cold out here and us old men need all the warmth we can get.”
Peter wanted to point out the fact that they were around three people who looked like they were in their twenties but he figured it was best to keep his mouth shut.
Peter took out his jacket and handed it to the old man who yanked it away from him.
“Thank you,” said the old man. “Thank you very much, young man. You’re very kind.”
The rain poured on Peter’s hair and through his shirt making Peter wanting to cover up but he figured showing weakness in front of these guys wouldn’t be the best idea. Luckily Peter was wearing a long sleeve shirt so his web shooters were well hidden.
“Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“Nah kid,” said the old man, causing Peter to stop in his tracks. “Those clothes be looking mighty fine and the boys and seeing how cold Gotham is getting…”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Peter said. “It’s cold for me too, you know?”
The old man let out a hollow laugh. “Kid’s got some lip on him.” The old man walked towards him, the tip of the knife inches away from his Adam’s apple. “Look, kid. You’re surrounded. We boys have dealt with far worse than a kid with a sharp mouth, you’re nothing special kid.”
“I can say the same thing,” Peter said.
The man laughed. “Look at this bugger.”
The other homeless men cracked their knuckles, others drew rusted knives and wooden clubs.
“Last warning boys.”
Somebody cleared their throat. “What’s going on here?”
Everybody turned to see a middle-aged man- Peter assumed he was in his forties- with a hooked nose, wearing faded green work clothes.
Everybody put their weapons back as soon as the man made his presence known. The old man also put his switchblade back in his pocket. The man in the work clothes walked towards the old man who turned.
“Murphy?”
“This kid here gave us his jacket,” Murphy said. “Ain’t no big deal.”
“He gave you his jacket?” the man asked.
Murphy nodded.
“Voluntarily?”
“Yeah,” Murphy said.
“While you guys were carrying knives and clubs.”
Murphy was quite after that.
“Give the kid his jacket Murph,” the man.
“But it’s cold,” Murphy said.
“Could say the same thing about the kid,” the man said. “You feeling cold kid?”
Peter nodded.
“See, give him back his jacket Murph,” the man said. “He’s feeling cold.”
Murphy, begrudgingly gave his Peter’s jacket back. “You’re lucky kid,” Murphy whispered.
Peter put on his jacket. The man walked over to him. “I’ll deal with the kid,” the man said. “You boys walk home now, rains starting to get heavy.”
Murphy’s gang disbanded. Murphy stood, staring straight at Peter.
“That includes you, Murph.”
Murphy turned around, side-eyeing Peter before following behind his gang.
“Now kid,” the man said. “It’s starting to pour. How about we head on over to my place and you tell me just what exactly a kid like you is doing out here?”
…
It was a playing card, Batman noticed. A playing card with a pale white face with vivid green hair and a blood red sneer. A playing card not of a king or jack, no. It was of the joker.
…
Rain clattered off the metal sheets that made up the roof of the man’s house, a dingy shack made up of wooden boards and rusted metal sheets covered with blankets. The inside was a cluttered mess with motherboards and wires cluttered around and scraps of old technology invading the worn wooden desk. On a makeshift shelf were rows of canned food with cans also contributing to the mess that was the floor.
“Make yourself at home,” the man said. “It’s not much but a man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do.”
Peter found himself sitting on a worn-out sofa, a coffee table propped up by three legs and a stack of old hard covered books in front of him.
“You want hot chocolate?” the man asked. “It’s only two days off.”
Peter shook his head, smiling. “No thanks.”
The man smiled warmly and got to making hot chocolate on a gas stove. While he making coffee, Peter noticed a picture frame on the man’s desk. On it was a picture of the man, looking a little younger, with a pretty blonde woman who Peter assumed was his wife and a young girl with a bright smile.
The man sat across him on a creaky stool, taking a sip out of a metal mug.
“That’s my wife Chery and my kid Valeria,” the man said. “Pretty little things, aren’t they?”
Peter nodded in agreement but noticed there was a sadness in his voice as he talked about them.
“So, what brings a kid like you to a place like this?” the man asked.
“Science project,” Peter said.
The man laughed. “Must be one hell of a science project if you’re at the junkyard at this hour.”
“Why?” Peter asked. “What’s wrong with the junkyard.”
“Lot’s of desperate people make their home here,” the man said. “Them being desperate is also what makes them dangerous.”
“And you?” Peter asked.
“I lost my job,” the man said. “And my wife and kid. Only place a man like me can call home is down here.”
Peter nodded sympathetically. As a young kid his Uncle Ben used to always drift from job to job in order to provide him. Peter was young and naïve back then to even care about his struggles back then but now he understood full well how much Uncle Ben sacrificed for him.
“But enough about me,” the man said. “What do you need for your little science project?”
“A magnet,” Peter said. “Strong enough to stick on uneven and unstable surfaces.”
The man nodded. “I have just what you need.” He got up. “See, I’m working on my own science project too.”
The man pointed a large machine at the back of the room covered in a white curtain surrounded by wires and tools.
The man shuffled through a tool box before finally pulling out a some black magnets that he handed to Peter.
“Will this do?”
Peter nodded. “Perfect.”
Peter put it back in his bag. Before he left the man called out to him.
“I didn’t catch your name kid,” he said. “Us men of science need to stick together, you know?”
“Peter,” Peter said. “Peter Parker. Yours?”
The man nodded. “Parker, that’s a nice name. As for me…”
The man smiled warmly at Peter. “My name is Toomes. Adrian Toomes but folks around here call me the Vulture.”
To be continued…