There was the crackling of static and a familiar jovial voice ringed through the hallways of Claridge’s mansion.
“Is this thing on?” Joker said, poking a mic attached to his collar. “Tell me… um… Hal. Is this thing on?”
There was a nervous whimper as the camera shook up and down.
“Robin trace that broadcast,” Batman growled. “Quickly.”
On the TV screen was a sharp powdered face with a blood red green and vivid green hair. The Joker wore a purple trench coat, green waistcoat, a bright red tie and a blue shirt. Next to him, with a bullet in the centre of her head was a woman dressed in bright red, the Joker’s eager footsteps causing droplets of her blood to splash on the camera.
The camera shook like an earthquake until a revolver was pointed at it.
“Steady now,” Joker said. “You’ve got to capture all this goodness. You’ve got to get a good shot.”
The Joker pulled the hammer of his revolver with a grin. The camera steadied itself, focusing on the wide grin of the Joker.
“Good evening,” Joker said. “Or should I say morning? Good mevening people of Gotham City. In a few hours Henry Claridge will be declared dead.” The Joker sighed. “I ruined the surprise, didn’t I?”
“Amusement Mile,” Robin said.
Batman stormed off, Robin trailing behind, Gordon calling after both of them.
“Now…”
The cameraman burst into tears. The camera was limp on the floor showing the wide-open eyes of the reporter and the bloody hole in her forehead.
“Now, now Hal,” the Joker said in an almost soothing, mother like voice. “You can’t just leave the camera hanging like that. What type of cameraman are you?” He grabbed the man’s hands causing him to let out a whimper. “Steady now, the people of Gotham need to know who’s up next. Their anxiety is supposed to be eased. Isn’t that what news reporters do best?”
The Batmobile blazed through the streets of Gotham, its tires screeching against the asphalt road as it made its way to Amusement Mile.
The camera focused on the Joker’s ghoulish grin. “The next on my list is…” The Joker pulled out a wad of paper that he unwound, rolls of paper spilled on the floor and snaked across the floor.
“Hmm,” Joker said, running his purple gloved fingers across the list. “We have the president, Wilson, Brock… Aha.”
The Joker tapped the middle of the paper. “Jay Wilde. Tomorrow at 12 P.M, Jay Wilde is going to bite the bullet. This time it’s going to be a little up close and personal so stay tuned Gotham. Till next time, over and out!”
There was a gunshot. The camera swirled like a vortex resting on a limp hand, the crack lens trained on a pair of shiny shoes clumping on the food.
The Batmobile screeched to a halt in front of a Gotham News Truck. Batman ejected out of the Batmobile, the extra mobility from the boost, eyes darting around for any sign of the Joker. He rolled as he landed on the pavement. The Joker was nowhere to be seen. Batman stood in front of the GCPD news truck and began his investigation. The driver had been shot first, his body leaning against the door, the blood from the bullet hole in his skull staining the blue surface of the truck. The reporter, a Ms. Ritchie an up and comer Batman ran into a few times went out to investigate but was shot right before she could even open the door. The camera man was left alive to film the Joker’s sick broadcast. After it was done, he was promptly dealt with.
The Joker knew there would be a news broadcast down at Amusement Mile, no way he could have intercepted this truck by chance. That suggested a familiarity with the area or at least access to information. Robin was soon by Batman’s side.
“Jesus,” he muttered.
The GCPD sirens wailed, the red and blue light danced around the news truck. Commissioner Gordon walked up to Batman.
“What did you find out?” Gordon asked looking at the truck, hands on his hips.
“The victims are Anne Ritchie and her crew,” Batman said.
“Did you just say Anne Ritchie?” Gordon asked.
“Do you know her?”
“She once interviewed the GCPD,” Gordon said. “One of the few reporters out there to speak about the corruption from both Gotham’s leaders and the police force. She was doing research about poverty and how Gotham doesn’t have the necessary facilities to deal with the mentally ill in Gotham for a documentary series.”
And it made sense. Amusement Mile, once a colourful destination filled with life. Its Amusement Park being the pride and joy of Gotham before the death of the Waynes. Gotham City fell into a depression after that and Amusement Mile was hit the hardest.
Robin was silent, which was very uncharacteristic for the Boy Wonder. Batman clenched his fist.
“He’s a monster Jim.”
“You think I don’t know that,” Gordon said. “Everyday something new plagues us. Everyday it’s a new monster and everyday somebody god damn dies.”
The ambulance sirens wailed as the bodies were placed on stretchers, their bodies were covered with a white blanket as they were placed in ambulances.
“I won’t rest until he’s behind bars,” Batman said. “I won’t rest till he is brought to justice.”
Gordon pulled out a cigarette. “Let’s hope so, friend.”
He puffed out the smoke after he took a swig as the Batmobile was just a speck in the distance.
“Let’s hope so.”
…
“So, what do they call you?” Spider-Man asked. He needed to stall. He couldn’t use his webs since he was almost out. To make matters worse, a fleet of trucks were leaving the Penguin’s warehouse and there was no time to check if they were still being tracked.
The man with wings dived as Spider-Man leaped over him. As he leapt, he made a note of the structure of the wings. It had a motor that spewed out flames for an extra boost but what caught Spider-Man’s attention was the electric conduit running through the wings. Spider-Man noticed an electric battery sloppily hidden behind a metal cover that it was hard not to notice. Spider-Man also noticed red wires poking out of the sleek metal surface of the wings.
“Do they call you Eagle?” Spider-Man as Eagle swerved around to face him. Eagle crashed through the warehouse Spider-Man was standing on prompting Spider-Man to leap to the other warehouse. The Penguin’s trucks were but a speck in the distance. Spider-Man desperately wanted to pull out his phone but Eagle burst out of the roof of the warehouse he had reduced to shrapnel. Splinters falling from his jumpsuit.
“Nah that sounds too American,” Spider-Man said. “And I don’t see red and white anywhere on your wings.”
The man with wings dived for Spider-Man again but Spider-Man dropped as the man crashed into another warehouse.
Spider-Man jumped back up as the man regained his bearings and faced Spider-Man one more time.
“What about Falcon?” Spider-Man asked.
Falcon didn’t dive this time. Instead he put on a pair of black steel claws. The claws hissed as they tightened around Falcon’s hands, sticking to his fingers like a pair of rubber gloves.
Falcon dived but this time he stopped in front of Spider-Man and started swiping. Spider-Man dodged that without a sweat but then Falcon turned his body. His wing cut through the air as Spider-Man jumped over it.
“I have a feeling that’s already…”
Spider-Man had no time to finish his sentence as Falcon flew upwards in the air like a bullet, grabbing him and diving through various warehouses, crashing through them like a missile.
Falcon tossed Spider-Man as plunged through a warehouse like a comet, covering his fall by crossing his arms. He landed on the floor, rolling and crashing into a dozen wooden crates.
“… Taken,” Spider-Man groaned. Spider-Man heard the whirring of metal wings. Spider-Man stretched his muscles, hearing them crack.
“This is going to hurt in the morning,” Spider-Man said. Through the Spider-Man shaped hole in the roof he could see the Man circling around the warehouse like a… like a… Spider-Man groaned. He was too tired to think. He got up, dust and wooden splinters cascading down his body and sprang up the hole, stumbling a little as he made it to the roof.
The man appeared in front of him, flapping his wings.
“How about Big Bird?” Spider-Man asked. “Yeah, Big Bird suits you.”
Spider-Man’s head started buzzing. He took up a defensive pose as Big Bird’s wings started to glow blue.
“Why are your wings glowing, Big Bird?” Spider-Man asked. “Is it going to show me the letter of the day?”
The sharp edges at the edge of the wings started rattling. First it was rattled like a wind chime, then it started rattling like an earthquake. His Spider-Sense was really starting to act up.
“You looking for a name, kid?” Big Bird said, his voiced muffled by his mask. “Call me Vulture.”
The blue glow stopped as the sharp edges of his wings started flying towards Spider-Man. Spider-Man quickly attached a web to one of the crates in the warehouse and yanked it up, the flying daggers reducing it to nothing. Spider-Man dodged them, the daggers whizzing past him like bullets but one of them whizzed past his left arm, the other his right leg as a sharp pain shot through those parts of his body.
The Vulture’s wings glowed as those daggers returned and attached themselves to his wing.
“How do you like my feathers, kid?”
Spider-Man placed his right palm over his left bicep as blood covered his gloves.
“That is…” Spider-Man said, falling on one knee thanks to the bleeding of his right leg. “A really stupid name.”
The Vulture chuckled. “You have a big mouth, don’t you?”
“Some people say I don’t know when to shut up.”
Vulture laughed. “Oh, don’t worry. My feathers will do it for you.”
Spider-Man tried to leap but the pain in his leg was unbearable, it flared up whenever he tried to move.
But he didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die. He had a date with Barbara. Who’d look after Aunt May? All these questions floated through his mind as he stared at the Vulture who he felt was sneering behind that mask. His spider sense was screaming, begging him to move. But he couldn’t move. The feathers cut deep.
His brain was working fast, trying to formulate a way to get out of here. Desperate to keep him alive but his body refused. There was nothing to attach his web to except the Vulture. And sure, Peter could use his webs to propel himself forward but his body was in too much pain to comply.
And as the blue glow disappeared, Peter heard a bike roaring in the distance.
There was a flash of yellow and a muffled yelp as the Vulture’s feathers veered violently of course.
There was a rush of air as Spider-Man plummeted down the hole in the warehouse roof, crashing through wooden crates as feathers tore through the space that Spider-Man was supposed to be.
Spider-Man managed to regain his composure fast enough to see a pair of gorgeous green eyes staring straight at his. He was awestruck by how beautiful they were and how familiar they seemed to be. For a second, for one powerful second that felt like an hour they stared at each other. Batgirl smiled.
“Hi,” Batgirl said before Spider-Man pushed her off.
…
The lights of the Batcave flared as the Batmobile navigated the craggy hallways. The Batmobile parked on its designated platform and Batman and Robin got out.
Bruce Wayne removed his mask. Dick Grayson cast a solemn stare at the cave walls, thinking about the death he had just seen.
He followed behind Bruce, the lights following behind him. Bruce removed his cowl, hanging it on one of the suits of armour he was working on. Meanwhile Dick removed his Robin suit and put it on his specially designated mannequin, unclipping his cape and hanging it on the armour.
“Gets really stuffy,” he mumbled.
“Computer,” Bruce said. “Bring up information you can on Jay Wilde and Henry Claridge.”
“Affirmative,” droned the female voice of the Computer.
Dick slumped down on a chair, staring at the floor, his fingers tapping against his chair. In fact, Dick Grayson was so concerned with the floor that he didn’t eve notice the small glance Bruce was giving him.
“And tell Alfred to bring in dinner,” Bruce said. “I’m starving.”
“Very well.”
There was a silence, only broken by the occasional screeching of Bats and water dripping from the stalactites of the cave. Bruce was typing on the Batcomputer when the sound of footsteps echoed through the cave.
“Dinner, as requested Master Bruce,” said the calm voice of the Wayne family’s Butler. He opened the plate and the smell of chicken soup wafted through the air causing Dick’s stomach to grumble. “For you and Master Dick.”
“Thank you, Alfred,” Bruce said, barely touching his food. His eyes trained on the computer. Alfred dragged a table over to Dick and placed his platter on it.
“Thanks Al,” Dick said. His stomach was grumbling but Dick didn’t feel like eating. The faces of Claridge, Ms. Ritchie and the cameraman flashed through his mind, killing his appetite.
“You seem downtrodden Master Dick,” Alfred said. “Is anything the matter?”
“Yes, there is a problem,” Dick said.
“Please, go on.”
“It’s the fact that you call me Master Dick despite the fact I keep telling you not to,” Dick said.
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“Well I do find calling you that rather amusing,” Alfred said.
Dick chuckled and then sighed.
“It’s just, I’m worried Al.”
“About whom?” Alfred said. “Is it Master Bruce?”
Dick shook his head. “No, Bruce can take on a whole army…”
“Don’t give him ideas,” Alfred said.
Dick smirked. “No reason for me to worry about him.” Dick sighed. “No, it’s Barbs and Pete who I’m worried about.”
“What about them?”
“The Joker,” Dick said. “He’s… he’s a monster. And I’ve seen monsters, hell one of them even tried to kill me. But the Joker, he’s a different kind of monster. And knowing Barbs and Pete and how stubborn they are, they’re the types of people who’ll go after him and do whatever it takes to put him behind bars. And I’m worried Al. I’m worried that they’ll be in over their heads and get themselves killed and I don’t… I don’t want to lose them.”
“Do you trust them, Master Dick?” Alfred asked.
“What do you mean? Of course, I trust them.”
“If you trusted them, you’d know what they’re capable of,” Alfred said. “Ms. Gordon was trained right here, underneath this very manor by both you and Master Wayne alongside her own martial arts training. Meanwhile, Mr. Parker from what I’ve heard was bitten by a radioactive spider that gave him powers. They’re more than capable of handling themselves.”
“I know… but…”
“The way I see it, Master Richard is that you don’t believe in their capabilities,” Alfred said.
“I do… I mean…” Dick tried to interject but couldn’t find the words.
“The only solution I can propose, Master Richard,” Alfred said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Is that you have to take a leap of faith. Trust in your friend’s capabilities because you and I both know they’re more than capable of handling themselves.”
Dick sighed. “You’re right.”
“Besides if there’s anybody you should be worrying about it’s me,” Alfred said. “You don’t know how many times I’ve reached breaking point looking after you two.”
Dick laughed. “I trust you Al.”
“Trust is all well and good,” Alfred said. “But we’ll see how well your trust holds when you wake up with a running stomach in the middle of the night.”
Dick smirked. His stomach was starting to grumble again. He was about to dig into the soup but told the Batcomputer to run a quick scan for traces of laxatives before he dug in.
There was another silence. Dick almost dozed off before hearing Bruce call for him.
Dick yawned and stretched, taking his place at Bruce’s right side at the Batcomputer as was usual during investigations. “What’s up?”
“What do you know about the Red Hood?” Bruce asked.
“Besides that murder case at Gotham U?” Dick said, rubbing his eyes. “Not much.”
“Apparently Jay Wilde and Henry Claridge were part of the Board of Directors for Ace Chemicals but they stepped down 5 years ago,” Bruce said. A newspaper clipping of the Gotham Gazette flashed on screen, on the article it said: Henry Claridge and Jay Wilde step down after recent incident at factory.
The article read: Henry Claridge and Jay Wilde, prominent heads of Ace Chemicals step down after a recent incident where a man fell into one of their chemical vats. The newspaper article further elaborated on Ace Chemicals safety procedures and how many workers went home with burns or chemical related injuries.
Bruce clicked and another newspaper clipping was put on screen. This time about shootings at Ace Chemicals.
On April 24th, gunfire was reported in the Ace Chemicals chemical vat at 6 P.M. Luckily, nobody was hurt but sources report a mysterious man in a red hood was seen falling into a vat of chemicals.
The newspaper clipping showed a hazy image of a well-dressed man with a red cape clutching something and falling into a vat of chemicals. His face was covered by a weird red cylinder that looked like a half a capsule. The newspaper went on to call him the Red Hood.
“So, you’re saying Joker is this Red Hood guy?” Dick said. “But didn’t we already catch him at that University. You remember, the janitor guy?”
“Earl Benson was an impersonator,” Bruce said. And scum. Earl Benson lead a series of racially and sexually motivated murders on the students of Gotham U because he wasn’t accepted into the university due to his low grades. It was thanks to both Bruce and Dick that he was put behind bars. The Batman had to take up a job teaching criminology so that he could gain access to the university much to Dick’s amusement. Both Alfred and Dick wouldn’t let it go for months. “The real Red Hood was never caught or that’s what we were led to believe. A few days after Red Hood fell into the chemical vat, this happened.”
Mass murder shocks Gotham
Ace Chemicals employees were found massacred at 2:30 P.M today. The murderer was found to be Jack Napier AKA The Red Hood. Napier was found at the scene of the crime alive and confessed to the murders. While confessing, Napier was seen laughing. The bodies were torn to shreds and ripped apart, many of them unrecognizable. Many of the victim’s family are expressing disdain at the fact that Napier was sentenced into Arkham Asylum for life.
There was an image of a pale faced man with wiry hair and an eerie grin. His cheeks were stretched out and his body was thin and mangled.
“This and the case files were covered up,” Bruce said. “I can’t find this case anywhere in the Gotham databases. After these incidents, Wilde and Claridge resigned.”
“So what?” Dick said. “These are revenge killings.”
“Yes,” Bruce said, stroking his chin. “But a lot of it doesn’t make sense. How can one-man tear through 20 workers like they’re nothing? Evidence shows that they were ripped apart limb by limb. Some of their bodies were even sliced in half.”
Like the bodies in the freighter, Bruce thought.
“What’s more why were Ace Chemicals so adamant to cover up this case?” Bruce said. “What are they trying to hide?”
Dick shrugged. “What do you propose we do? Investigate Ace? See what they’re up to?”
“No,” Bruce said. “There’s too many questions, too many pieces of the puzzle missing.”
Who ordered the Vibranium Weapons? If Bruce could find that out then one of the mysteries would be solved. Who in Gotham needed weapons of such high calibre? It was obvious Joker stole the weapons to the Penguin who was then responsible for distribution but why? Why did the Joker sell those weapons especially since they were so valuable? Why would a criminal mastermind sell weapons of such high value?
All these questions were spinning around Bruce’s head and they could be easily answered by the Penguin. But there was no information, no clue as to the Penguin’s whereabouts.
Bruce slammed his fist against the desktop.
“Bruce, you okay?” Dick asked.
Bruce was silent. Dick noticed that Bruce’s dinner was still untouched. Bruce got up from his desk, ignoring Dick and storming off. Bruce was about to leave the Batcave when the Batcomputer made an announcement.
“Barbara Gordon is requesting a call.”
“Put her through,” Bruce said.
On his gauntlet, a holographic image of Barbara wearing her Batgirl costume flashed in front of Bruce’s eyes.
“You’re not going to believe this Bruce,” Barbara said, gasping to catch her breath. “But… I found the Penguin.”
…
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Spider-Man said struggling to get up and pulling out his phone from his bag (which was, much to Peter’s surprise, miraculously unharmed) and checking his GPS. Unfortunately, Penguin and crew had left Skinner’s truck behind so the red dot was beeping at the warehouse district.
“Excuse me, I just saved your life,” Batgirl said, hands on her hips. “And please don’t tell me it’s too dangerous. I’ve heard that a thousand times already.”
“You shouldn’t be here because you should be following the Penguin,” Spider-Man snapped. “Not saving my life.”
“How stupid do you think I am?” Batgirl said, jabbing a finger on Spider-Man’s chest. “You really think I’d let him get away like that? I put a tracker on his truck.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah,” Batgirl said, a smug grin on her face.
“But you still shouldn’t be here.”
“Why?”
“It’s too dangerous.”
Batgirl rolled her eyes.
“I’m serious,” Spider-Man said. “That guy’s wings can shoot these sharp ass pieces of metal. I barely made it out alive even with my spider-sense.”
Spider-Man was about to collapse but Batgirl lifted him up.
“If the person with superpowers can’t avoid those things,” Spider-Man said. “What do you think will happen to Batman’s girlfriend?”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” Batgirl snapped.
Spider-Man noticed that some of the Vulture’s feathers were stuck against the warehouse floor. They weren’t moving, at least not yet.
“What did you do to him?” Spider-Man asked.
“I kicked him against the face.”
Spider-Man sighed. “What else did you do to him?”
“I threw a few disruptors on his wings,” Batgirl said.
“What are those?”
“They’re a type of grenade that lets out an electric charge to disable weapons,” Batgirl said. “I figured since Big Bird’s wings runs on electricity that they would work.”
“You were right.”
Spider-Man could feel his strength returning to his body. “You can let go of me now.”
“You sure?”
Spider-Man nodded. Batgirl let go of him, he stumbled a little prompting Batgirl to reach out her arms but Spider-Man shook his head. He rested his body against the wall, noticing the concern in Batgirl’s eyes.
“Look, I’ll be fine.” Though the deep breaths he was taking in between each word were not very convincing. “You get out of here. Track down Penguin and tell your Bat-friend about it.”
“But…”
Spider-Man held out a hand to stop her. “I’m telling you, it’s too dangerous. Look at how beat up I am. You think you’ll do any better?”
Batgirl wanted to argue but he was right. There was no way she could go toe to toe with a man that could take on a superhuman. Just then the Vulture’s feathers started to wobble.
“We don’t have time,” Spider-Man said. “Get the hell out of here, find the Penguin.”
“And what will you do?”
Spider-Man chuckled. “I’ll be the diversion. Real heroic, don’t you think?”
The feathers zipped out of the floor and cut through the roof.
“Your bike still alright?”
Batgirl nodded.
“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Spider-Man said, limping to the warehouse door.
“Wait,” Batgirl said.
“What?”
“Before you go,” she shuffled through her utility belt and pulled out some smoke pellets and a small circular device with a red light in the middle. “Smoke bombs and some disruptors, press the button on the side to turn them on.” Batgirl pointed at a small grey button on the right side of the disruptor. “In case you need them.”
Spider-Man took them and placed them in his bottle pockets. “I’ll keep them in mind.”
Batgirl stared at Spider-Man, at Peter’s eyes. She knew, behind that mask was a cute boy. A cute boy she might never see again. Deep down, she wanted to tell him, wanted to tell him who she was but she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t break Bruce’s trust like that.
“Good luck,” Batgirl said.
“I’ll need that,” Spider-Man said. “I don’t usually have the best luck.”
…
The Batman’s other sidekick burst through the door, rushing to her bike. The Vulture dived for her but was greeted by a punch to the face.
“It’s not her you want, Vultch,” the nuisance said. “It’s me.”
That punch hurt like hell. Spider-Man landed in front of him though much to the Vulture’s satisfaction, he was beat up. Blood was running down his arms and legs and breathing heavily. The poor kid wasn’t looking to hot.
The Vulture pressed a button on his left glove and his wings started glowing.
Spider-Man’s eyes widened. He turned to Batgirl who was inches away from her bike. “Get down!”
Vulture launched a volley of his feathers. They danced in the air, racing towards their target.
Spider-Man ran against the warehouse walls, diving towards the Bat’s sidekick. There was a sound of a door being torn from its hinges as the Spider-Man swung it in an arc, the feathers thudding against the frame.
The Vulture’s wings glowed again and the feathers retracted. There was a loud cracking noise and both Batgirl and Spider-Man were shrouded in a veil of smoke.
The Vulture growled in annoyance. But then he saw the Bat chick’s bike pierce through the smoke. Grinning, the Vulture flew after her only to be greeted by a door to the face.
“Eyes on me, Vultch,” Spider-Man said. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”
Vulture ignored him and chased after Batgirl but before he could even begin to dive, he was pulled down by a violent force. Spider-Man’s webs pulled him to the ground, his wings scraping against the surface.
“Nuh-uh, Vultch,” Spider-Man said. “Hands off the goods.”
The Vulture growled. He regained his bearings, flying up and turning to face Spider-Man.
The girl could wait. Spider-Man had to die.
…
The Vulture dived, Spider-Man ducked and rolled.
“They call you the Vulture, right?” Spider-Man said. “Aren’t you supposed to feed on scraps?”
Counting the one he had just used, Spider-Man had eight smoke pellets and three disruptors. Not to mention he was almost out of web fluid. He had to use his resources carefully.
The Vulture’s wings started to glow. The feathers zoomed towards Spider-Man. Spider-Man was prepared to dodge but this time the Vulture did something different. He dived.
“This thing goes against your whole M.O man,” Spider-Man said as he leaped over the Vulture. Twisting around the feathers, one of them slicing through his left shoulder. “You’re only supposed to be doing this after I’m dead.”
“You will be soon,” Vulture said, swerving in the air and diving again, his feathers hovering around him.
“Don’t think so,” Spider-Man said, he dropped a smoke pellet and made a run for it. Sprinting through the grey veil, avoiding the silver feathers. In the distance he heard the hum of Vulture’s wings as his feathers started to rattle. He felt a rush of air just as soon as Spider-Man burst out of the veil.
The Vulture stalked his prey as Spider-Man navigated through the maze of warehouses. Before the Vulture could dive, Spider-Man dived into one of the nearest warehouses. When the Vulture let loose a volley of feathers, Spider-Man attached his webs to one of them and tossed them back, stopping Vulture mid-dive.
It was starting to get really annoying.
“Catch me if you can Big Bird,” Spider-Man said as the Vulture dived. Before he could even grab a hold of him, Spider-Man tossed a smoke pellet and found himself in one of the warehouses.
Five left, Peter thought.
The Vulture crashed through the warehouse, Spider-Man managed to dodge his dive at the last second but the Vulture turned around and launched a volley of feathers.
Spider-Man burst through the wall, the feathers zooming towards him. Spider-Man managed to toss some boxes that stopped some of the feathers but one of them swept past his right leg causing Spider-Man to stumble. The Vulture dived again but before he could latch on to Spider-Man he was greeted by smoke.
Four.
Vulture turned. Spider-Man was not looking so good. Blood was running down his legs and his arms. One of the feathers had even managed to scrape his side. Spider-Man was starting to let out large breaths.
The Vulture launched himself at him, swiping with his claws. He swiped at smoke.
Three.
Spider-Man had to get out of the Vulture’s line of sight. Find a place to hide, regain his bearings. But since the bastard could fly it was starting to make it really, really difficult.
“C’mon Big Bird can’t you take a hint?” Spider-Man said. “I don’t want to know the number of the day, man.”
The Vulture took a sharp turn, Spider-Man backflipped over him noticing that his wings were glowing blue again. Feathers twirled in the air as Spider-Man loosened his body to avoid them, landing on the ground on his knees.
“I can’t catch a break, can I?” Spider-Man said as the Vulture spun around. Spider-Man tossed another smoke bomb.
Two.
Spider-Man jumped to the roof of one of the warehouses as the Vulture waited for the smoke to clear.
The Vulture shot a glare up at Spider-Man and Spider-Man thought, even though he had a mask on, that if looks could kill he’d be dead by now. The Vulture lunged… at smoke.
One.
The Vulture was high up in the air and Spider-Man was nowhere to be found.
…
He didn’t have time. Spider-Man still had the disruptors but he was running out of resources. He needed to come up with something, fast.
He looked around the warehouse, noticing empty crates, tire marks and… someone lying on the floor knocked out.
Spider-Man ran to the body. “Hey, hey. Are you alright?” His feet splashed over something. “You need to get out of here it’s not…”
Spider-Man turned the body over only to be greeted by the wide-open eyes of Skinner, a hole cutting right through his forehead.
“Jesus,” Spider-Man said, the body falling from his hands. He knew the Penguin was a maniac but he didn’t think he would kill one of his own men. He looked up and saw Skinner’s truck, doors wide open, the engine cover sticking out like an open mouth and Spider-Man knew. Penguin and his goons were looking for a tracker, something, anything to show that Skinner wasn’t followed. When they couldn’t find the tracker, Penguin shot Skinner believing it was him that lead Spider-Man to the Penguin’s weapon cache.
Skinner may have been an asshole, a criminal but he didn’t deserve to die. And because Spider-Man thought that he was smart by deciding to track down the Penguin, Skinner’s death was on him.
Great, Peter thought. Just fucking great. Someone else died because of his recklessness and carelessness. First Ben, now Skinner. Sure, Skinner wasn’t innocent but that didn’t mean he deserved to die.
The guilt started up again, hurting his heart, making his legs feel like lead. Who else was going to die next? Aunt May, Barbara, Dick Grayson? He wouldn’t be surprised cause whenever Peter decided to do something, it always led to someone dying. Why couldn’t the spider have bitten someone else? If it wasn’t for that stupid fucking spider, he wouldn’t have to deal with this. Nobody would have had to die by his hands.
At that moment, Spider-Man heard the sounds of crashing. Peter would deal with this later, right now he had to get out of here alive. He looked around, his eyes darting to the boxes, to the door and then finally the truck.
And a plan started to form in his head.
…
The Vulture heard the sound of something being dragged across the floor and dived.
He crashed through another empty warehouse. Except this time, it wasn’t empty. No, instead what he saw was the dead body of one of Penguin’s goons.
Stupid Spider-Man. If it wasn’t for him Vulture could have gotten his weapons but no, the red suited idiot had to interfere.
“Hey, Big Bird!”
Speak of the Devil. Vulture turned his head to see the web-head staring at him, straining under the weight of…
Was that a truck?
“Catch,” Spider-Man said, tossing the truck straight at him. The Vulture tore through the truck like it was nothing, slicing it into two clean halves, only to be greeted by smoke.
“Did you miss me?”
Spider-Man leaped up from behind one of the bonnets of the truck, latching on to his wings.
The Vulture spun causing the Spider to lose his grip and plummet to the ground.
As he was falling the Vulture’s wings started to glow a bright blue. His feathers started to rattle.
Grinning underneath the mask, Peter Parker said, “Gotcha.”
Vulture heard a beeping noise. Suddenly his wings gave out. He started plummeting to the ground, crashing into one of the warehouses. His feather clattered on the floor like a bunch of useless needles.
Meanwhile, Spider-Man landed on the ground on his feet, almost tripping over. He wanted to see just who the Vulture was beneath that mask but he heard sirens wailing in the distance. He figured the cops would deal with him and started limping back to his apartment. He looked up at the starry skies covered by the usual Gotham fog and sighed.
This was one hell of a day.
…
Penguin’s screeched to a halt in front of a host of run-down buildings by the sea. Ship horns blared in the distance and the Gotham monorail creaked around the island. The bright lights of Gotham were reflected in the calm waves of the sea. In the middle of these multicoloured dots was a big blue W distorted by the ups and down of the moving waves.
Cobblepot Fisheries not a pleasant place. A dilapidated set of buildings that once was the booming economic centre of Gotham, reduced to a place for Penguin’s father and his connections to smuggle drugs once the Wayne’s stole their fortune.
Penguin tapped his umbrella against the pavement. “Hurry it up boys. We ain’t got all day.
Crates upon crates of Vibranium weaponry was being hauled out of the trucks. Some of them being carried by coughing forklifts, others by four to five of Penguin’s toughest goons.
Not once did the Penguin suspect hiding in the shadows. The Batgirl crouched against the roof of one of the old warehouses, binoculars in hand. Watching.
…
Peter had to drag himself up the stairs to his apartment. His body was battered and begging him to sleep. He was trying to fight the urge to just curl up on one of the stairs and just sleep.
His mind wandered, to Barbara, to Dick Grayson, to Bruce Wayne, to Uncle Ben before finally settling on Skinner. Skinner’s death was his fault, if only he had been careful. If only he hadn’t decided to track him Skinner would be alive. The guilt tugged at his heart, slowing him down even more. Flashes of Skinner’s glassy eyes and bloodied face raced through his mind. Finally, Peter made it to his apartment door. He opened the apartment door, having to find the strength to pull it open. He was ready to plop into bed and just rest. That was all he wanted.
But life didn’t give Peter what he wanted. Life never gave Peter what he wanted.
Standing at the doorway, arms crossed and eyes as hard as stone was his Aunt May. And boy was she pissed.
To be continued…