“Do you think I’m stupid?” Aunt May asked. “Pillows underneath your blanket, Peter. Pillows? I’ve raised you for 12 years Peter and just like your father and uncle I know you don’t take naps in the afternoon.”

They were inside the apartment, Aunt May practically forcing him inside so that they don’t make noise and wake up the other tenants.

“Maybe today was different.”

Aunt May scoffed. “Different? Please, I’ve been married to a Parker long enough to know how stubborn you all are.”

Aunt May crossed her arms. “Where have you been?”

“Studying.”

“Till 10 PM?”

“Like you said us Parkers are stubborn.”

“Peter Parker, there’s a reason there’s a curfew and…”

Aunt May noticed the blood running down Peter’s shoulders and her expression softened.

“Peter are you okay?”

Peter turned away from her eyes. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Get on the sofa.”

“I said I’m fi…”

“I said get on the sofa, Peter,” Aunt May interrupted, her voice firm. “You’re bleeding.”

Peter sighed and dragged himself to the sofa, his hip screaming in pain. He placed a hand on it and saw that he was in fact bleeding. Peter lay down on the sofa his bag on the coffee table as Aunt May rushed toward him carrying a First Aid Kit and some bandages.

Aunt May commanded Peter to remove his shirt. Peter obliged and put his shirt on the table.

“When did you get so muscular?” May mumbled, dousing a cotton swab with anti-septic. It stung, like someone was poking his body with a flaming hot stick but after the septic settled, Peter found it rather soothing.

“What happened?” May asked.

“Nothing.”

Peter couldn’t see May rolling her eyes but he knew she was doing that right now. “This doesn’t look like nothing.”

Peter figured lying to her wouldn’t be the best idea. “I got into a fight.”

May pressed the cotton bud so deep into Peter’s wound, he cringed, almost ripping the sofa covers.

“That hurts,” Peter mumbled. Aunt May loosened her grip but Peter could sense she was still angry.

“What kind of a fight?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You’re my nephew, Peter,” Aunt May said. “As far as I’m concerned it is my business.”

“Some guy tried to mug me,” Peter lied. “With a knife. I managed to fight him off.”

“Not very well, it seems.”

With a delicate hand, Aunt May wrapped bandages around Peter’s wounds. She also put some band-aid on the wound on his shin.

After she bandaged his wounds, Peter got up and stretched. The bandages felt tight, making his movements feel stiff. It didn’t help that the bandages also made his body feel itchy. Very, very itchy. He was tired and ready to sleep but Aunt May wasn’t having it.

“So, Peter, you have anything to say for yourself.”

“I want to go sleep,” Peter said.

Aunt May ignored him and went on. “You don’t respond to my calls and messages. You ignore curfew and you barge in like none of that matters.”

Peter was silent.

“To top it all off you come with scratches all over your body and don’t bother explaining yourself,” May shouted. “Do you know how dangerous it is? So many people were killed by that clown just this morning and yet you think it’s safe to run around town without a single care in the world?”

“I want to go sleep,” Peter said. “You should be in bed too.”

Aunt May scoffed. She laughed without humour. “Sleep? I should go sleep? When my nephew is out there in this godforsaken city? The same city that…” Aunt May’s words were caught in her throat. “That took my husband away from me.”

The guilt weighed on Peter’s heart, like it always did. A tiny, black spot that grew and grew until it completely took over making his chest tight and his throat feel like it was being clamped. Sometimes it would get so bad that his entire body would feel heavy, sometimes it would get so bad that he’d fall on his knees. It wasn’t the city that took away her husband, it was him. Him and that chip on his shoulder that let that bastard run away.

At the same time, Peter didn’t like being policed. He didn’t like being told that he should stay away from his friends. He didn’t like being told that he couldn’t get a job, that he had to be home at a certain time. He was not a kid anymore, goddammit.

Aunt May placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Peter turned and could see just how old she was getting. Wrinkles on her face, strands of white in her hair. She was starting to lose weight too, her clothes slightly baggy. But the thing that really made Peter’s heart churn, that made it hurt like hell was dark rings underneath her eyes. They were dark and heavy; she hadn’t been getting sleep for days.

“Look Peter,” May said. “I’m not your mother but please, please listen to me. You can’t keep doing this. You can’t keep coming home late, you can’t keep getting into fights and you can’t keep going around with that Grayson boy. It’s too dangerous.”

The guilt was there but so was the anger. The anger that every teenager has at being told what to do. And Peter went on to say something he would regret.

“You’re right, Aunt May.”

Aunt May smiled and loosened her grip on Peter’s shoulder.

Peter turned to face her; fists clenched. For some reason, as determined as he felt he couldn’t bring himself to look at her eyes.

“You’re not my mother,” Peter said. “And you never will be.”

Peter didn’t meet her eyes as he limped to his room.

…

“They’re heavily armed,” Barbara explained, they were around a table in the Wayne Manor dining hall, leaning over pictures and blueprints Barbara had brought. It was early noon and neither of them had gotten any sleep. The smell of the tea Alfred was making was much too tempting to both Barbara and Dick. “The guards out front is armed to the teeth with automatic weapons, all of them ordered to shoot on sight. Thank god I was careful.”

The screen of the Batcomputer flashed with blueprints. “I managed to find some blueprints of the area,” Batgirl said. “If they’re correct the weapons are being stored in a vault in the main office.”

“How many guards are there?” Bruce asked.

“If I did my maths right… around 60,” Barbara said, she pointed to a picture she took of a man with a buzz cut and a tattoo on his neck. “I did some research on a few of them, turns out a lot of them are highly trained mercenaries.”

“And none of them spotted you?” Bruce asked.

Barbara smiled. “I was trained by the best.”

“As soon as the sun rose, a lot of the mercenaries left,” Barbara said, she had been staking out the Penguin’s hideout the entire night, noting patrol routes and taking stock of their weapons. She had to lie to her mum, telling her she was at a friend’s house. Meanwhile, dad was way too busy with the Joker case so he slept at the precinct. “The only ones that were active were Penguin’s usual goons.”

“They’re being careful,” Bruce said.

“If we’re going to go at night, we’re going to have to be careful too,” Batgirl said.

“We?” Bruce asked.

“Yes Bruce, we,” Barbara said. “There’s no way in hell you’ll be able to take all of them alone.”

Alfred came in, the smell of tea accompanying him. “Pardon the intrusion but your tea is ready.”

Alfred placed the cups on the table, careful to avoid the various images and maps spread across the table.

“Thanks a bunch Al,” Barbara said.

Alfred bowed and sauntered back to the kitchen.

“We need someone at Wilde’s mansion,” Bruce said. “We can’t let the Joker get his way.”

Barbara took a sip of her tea. God, it was so refreshing. “That’s true but we can’t let you die either.”

“I’ll do it,” Dick said, sipping his tea. “I’ll help Bruce out.”

“I can help out too,” Barbara said. “Dick can help at Wilde’s mansion.”

“No, it’s too dangerous,” Dick said.

“I can handle myself Dick!”

“Say that to the assholes carrying automatic weapons…”

Bruce raised a hand to silence them both. “Calm down, the both of you. Stop acting like children.”

He turned to Barbara. “Dick’s right.”

“What?” Barbara interrupted. “What the hell do you mean he’s right? And I can’t believe you’re taking his side Bruce. I trained under you, you of all people know what I’m capable off.”

Bruce crossed his arms. “I’m not trying to undermine you Barbara. I know you’re capable of handling yourself. But if I’m going to be working with someone, I’ll need someone with more experience. And Dick has been Robin for five years. You on the other hand have only been Batgirl for two.”

Bruce crossed his arms. “Now normally I’d send you and Dick to handle Cobblepot but Cobblepot has information I need. Information he needs a little push to spill.”

Both Barbara and Dick knew what Bruce meant by push.

“So, Barbara,” Bruce said. “I’m sending you to Wilde’s mansion. Make sure the Joker doesn’t get to him. I trust…”

“What?” Barbara and Dick interrupted.

Bruce sighed. “I trust…”

“Say that again,” Dick said. “But slowly.”

The corner of Bruce’s mouth twitched a little. “I trust you’ll be capable of handling that.”

Barbara smiled. “Leave it to me.” Though the thought of dealing with some of the men in the GCPD made her want to gag. She finished the cup of Alfred’s tea for good measure.

“Dick,” Bruce said.

“Yes,” Dick said.

“Make sure you rest up,” Bruce said. “We have a long night ahead of us.”

Bruce disappeared into the hallways of Wayne Manor; his tea untouched.

…

“What?” Peter exclaimed, his McDonalds hat almost falling off his face.

“Yes Parker,” Mr. Farook said. “You’ll be cleaning up this mess this coming Saturday.”

The restaurant looked as if a volcano had just gone off but instead of lava it was a wild burst of colours sticking on the walls and furniture like a fungus.

“That’s insane.”

Mr. Farook scoffed. “There was one rule, Mr. Parker. One rule that I clearly established when you started to work here. One rule, Parker and what was that rule?”

Peter saw raspberry slushie crawling across the wall like a snail, breaking off into little red droplets on the floor.

“Never use the slushie machine,” Peter said flatly.

“And what did you do, Mr. Parker?”

The green cream soda slushie hung off the sign like moss.

Peter sighed. “I used the slushie machine.”

“Exactly,” Mr. Farook said.

“But can’t we negotiate?” Peter pleaded. “I have plans on Saturday.”

“Well you should have thought about those plans before you used the slushie machine.”

Peter groaned.

“Oh, and you’re working at the drive-in today,” Mr. Farook said.

The rest of Peter’s day involved him being drastically slowed down because of the slushie mould that got stuck on his foot and seeing cars appear back and forth in front of him repeating the same damn line.

“This is McDonalds DC27,” Peter said, forcing a smile. “What is it you’ll be having today?”

After his hellish day working at the drive-in, Peter tried scraping that god damn mould off his shoe but to no avail. He dragged himself back home, wondering how he’d break the news to Barbara that he’d have to cancel.

He walked by Ditko’s electronics store on his way home. Peter always passed by Ditko’s on his way back home, checking out the latest in electronics. It came to a point where Mr. Ditko always greeted him with a friendly smile. This time Mr. Ditko’s eyes were glued on the TV screen.

“Hey Mr. Ditko,” Peter said.

“Hey Peter,” Mr. Ditko said in his scratchy voice. “Did you see the news today?”

Peter was checking out the big screen TV’s with a look of envy on his face. Boy oh boy what he would do get himself one of those UHD ones. It was so damn unfair that Harry had one in his living room while Peter had to scrap by with some old ass TV from the 80’s.

“No,” Peter said. “What’s going on?”

“Well we have that new freak, the Joker going around killing innocent people,” Mr. Ditko said, a look of disdain on his face. “Now we have this freak with wings tearing up trucks.”

At that Peter got out of his post work stupor. “Did you say wings?”

Mr. Ditko nodded. “Yep, man calls himself Vulture. He’s going around killing ACE chemical managers and blowing up their factories.”

Peter felt his stomach churn. He knew he should have done something about Vulture. He knew he shouldn’t have let the police handle it.

“First Penguin has the gall to kidnap Bruce Wayne and now we have terrorists killing innocent people.” Mr. Ditko shook his head. “What the hell has this city come to, eh Parker?”

He didn’t get a response.

“Parker.”

He craned his neck around the store, looking for the kid. “Eh must’ve gotten scared outta his mind,” Mr. Ditko mumbled to himself. “Don’t blame him.”

He glued his eyes on the TV screen, the news reporter talking standing in front of Jay Wilde’s manor.

…

“Damn look at the figure on that chick,” Officer Peralta said, nudging his friend. “Batman has some hot friends let me tell you that.”

Jay Wilde’s manor was filled to the brim with alert GCPD officers and much to Batgirl’s surprise, a fully equipped SWAT team with officers standing guard at the doors, their eyes alert and focused. As she walked through the winding hallways some of the SWAT officers stared at her with murder in their eyes.

“You’ll have to forgive them, Batgirl,” her dad said, causing her to jump. “They don’t trust you folk especially after how badly they got embarrassed by Batman all those years ago.”

“D… I mean Commissioner Gordon,” Batgirl said. “You have to forgive me for getting startled. I’m not used to being snuck up on.”

Her dad chuckled. He took squeezed out a cigarette from his box. “First time for everything.” He puffed out smoke. “So, I take it he’s busy.”

Batgirl nodded. Her stomach squirmed a little like it always did when she felt something was awkward. Normally this didn’t happen around her father but seeing her father stare at her like she was a complete stranger, a workmate instead of his own daughter made her feel uncomfortable in a way she couldn’t express.

“Where’s Wilde?” Batgirl asked, to get her bearings obviously but mainly to break the silence. The silence that wasn’t there when they’re at home around the dinner table.

“He’s in the basement,” Dad said. “House has too many windows.”

“How’s he taking it?”

Dad smiled. “Not well.”

Batgirl chuckled. “Figures.”

“We checked his bloodstream for any traces of poison,” dad said. “We didn’t find any. As usual, we cross referenced the database your boss sent us with camera footage and sure enough, everybody who went in and out Wilde’s mansion within the past 24 hours matches what we saw in the database.”

“Can I go see him?” Batgirl asked.

“Be my guest.”

Dad lead her through the labyrinthine hallways of Wilde’s mansion. The basement door was a musty wooden door. When her dad opened it, they were greeted by a cloud of dust. Both of them coughed.

“If the cigarettes don’t kill me, it’s going to be the dust in this mansion.”

They walked down the dusty staircase. At the end of the stairway they were two guards. They let her Dad go but blocked her from going any further.

“She’s with me boys,” Dad said.

The guards stared at her before parting way and letting her through.

The lights of the basement flickered. It was occupied by rows of empty suits of armour holding swords firmly upright. The suits of armour were caked with dust and that paired with the sheer density of suits on display made Barbara feel a little claustrophobic. GCPD and SWAT officers patrolled the basement, carrying automatic weapons. A few of them were sitting around an old brown table playing cards and drinking beer. Most of them stared at her with suspicion in their eyes, the rest were grinning, others were whistling.

Jay Wilde was at the end of the basement, being guarded by two SWAT officials. A mess of a man, Jay Wilde’s hair was sticking out in all directions. His shirt was tucked at one end and his shirt blazer had a button missing. He was pacing around back and forth, shouting at random SWAT officials before sitting on a chair, tapping his foot against the floor.

As soon as he saw her Dad he got up.

“Gordon you’ve got to let me out of here,” he said, grabbing both of the Commissioner’s shoulders. “I’m getting crazy sitting here.”

“It’s for your own good, Mr. Wilde.”

“My own good.” Wilde laughed. “My own good. Come on Gordon you know that’s fucking crazy.”

He snapped his head at Batgirl. “And who the fuck is that?”

“She’s with me,” Gordon said. “She’s been assigned to protect you.”

Wilde laughed. “This that Batgirl I’ve been hearing about. The Batman not care about me enough that he sent a woman to protect me.”

Batgirl clenched her fist but Gordon raised a hand.

“She’s more than capable of protecting you,” Gordon said.

“Oh, sure she is,” Wilde said. “You know what my dad always told me. Never send a woman to do a man’s job.”

“Asshole,” Batgirl muttered.

“Locked in my own basement,” Wilde laughed. “My own basement.”

Wilde sat on his chair, hand on his head.

“Now you know what I have to deal with every day,” her dad said.

Batgirl let out a sigh. Sitting on his chair hunched over, surrounded by two shiny suits of armour Jay Wilde looked like he was kneeling before a guillotine, the suits of armour the executioner.

Looking at the armour, Batgirl felt a shiver run down her spine. Like she was being watched. Watched by a pair of venom green eyes.

…

A torrent of rain poured on the metal rooftops of Cobblepot fisheries causing a hypnotic clang to echo throughout the pier. It was 7 PM and large strobes of heavily armed mercenaries patrolled the faded parking lot, the rain piercing through their armour and bouncing of their weapons. Floodlights blazed through the night sky like a lighthouse, shining across the fisheries like the sun. In the heavy downpour of the rain Batman could make out through the eyes of his binoculars the pair of eerie green glow of night goggles piercing through the darkness from his spot atop the rooftops. It was like being stared at by a pair of cold green eyes.

“How many we looking at?” Robin asked, crouching beside him.

“Around 20 of them,” Batman said. “All heavily armed, all carrying AK 47’s and M16’s.”

“So how do you think we should tackle this?”

“Quietly,” Batman said. “We can’t alert the guards. We can’t let Penguin escape a third time.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Robin asked. “They’re heavily armed. They have night goggles and floodlights. We take one step in their and we’re sitting ducks.”

“The floodlights are connected to a generator, away from the main power source of the fisheries,” Batman said. “We take care of that; we take care of our main problem.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?” Robin asked. “Wouldn’t the main power source, I don’t know. Be guarded?”

“That’s why we won’t be doing that,” Batman said. “You’ll go in alone, disable the generator and then I’ll come in and dispatch the guards out front. If we both go in, we’ll attract attention.”

“Yay me,” Robin muttered.

There was a flash of lightning and a roar of thunder.

“I’ll send you a map of the area,” Batman said. Robin nodded. “Now go.”

Robin jumped off the building and the operation commenced.

…

It started to rain by the time Peter made it to the junkyard. Droplets of water poured from the mounds of trash, dripping on the gravel ground below. Homeless men huddled beneath sheets of metal, sharing food and smoking cigarettes.

Peter Parker needed an electromagnet. The last time he had a run in with the Vulture he almost died. This time he’d be prepared. Peter didn’t know where he could find an electromagnet, let alone the parts to build one but he knew someone who did.

Peter entered the junkyard looking for Adrian Toomes.

…

It was weird, Batgirl thought. Why was the armour to Skinner’s right shiny? The rest of the suits of armour were covered in dust but why was this one glimmering.

The lights flickered.

“What’s up?” her dad asked as she carefully made her way to the suit of armour. She was on guard, her body tense.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Batgirl said, letting out a tense. “Just checking something.”

Batgirl ran her hand across the armour.

“What the hell is she doing?” Wilde asked, turning his head slightly.

“Checking something,” Gordon said flatly.

Wilde laughed. “I didn’t give her the authority to touch my stuff. Get her away from that.”

“It’s police business.”

Wilde scoffed. “Police business my ass. You guys can rob my house clean and call it police business.” Wilde went to one of the guards and placed her hand on his shoulder, pointing at Batgirl. “Get her away from that.”

The guard stared at him blankly.

“Now!”

Batgirl examined the joints, running her hand through the armour. It was squeaky clean from head to toe.

The guard cleared his throat. ”Ma’am I’m afraid you’re going to have to get your hands off the property.”

“Wait,” Batgirl said.

The guard turned to Gordon who shook his head but Wilde wasn’t having it.

“What the hell did your dad teach you?” Wilde said, his face as red as a tomato. “When it comes to women you have to be firm!”

The guard sighed. “Ma’am if you don’t unhand that armour, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave.”

Even underneath the mansion they could hear the thunder rumble. The light flickered.

Batgirl moved the arm, it creaked.

“Ma’am, please,” the guard said. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to handcuff you if this goes on any further.”

Gordon sighed. “Listen to the man, Batgirl. No point being stubborn.”

“Just wait a sec,” Batgirl snapped.

The thunder growled. Rain started dancing on the roof of Claridge’s manor.

Batgirl couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong about this suit of armour. That something was off. The Joker mentioned that he was going to get up close and personal. Was this what he meant? She looked into the holes of the visor and it made her stomach churn. It was almost as if it was staring back.

Wilde screeched. The guard fumbled. Lightning flashed and Barbara Gordon opened the visor.

To be continued…