A single taut rope hooked onto the window. Half a dozen men in purple jumpsuits and masks ascended up the factory window of the Wayne tech factory. Their mission? To retrieve the parts their boss told them to get.

They entered, flashlight darting across the various trinkets that lined the table and filled the boxes. Their boss had disabled security and power to the factory, this was supposed to be an easy mission. The key word was supposed to.

The moment they found the gizmo, two of their men were knocked out. The Batman was here.

They pulled out their guns but he was faster, knocking the weapons out. Batarangs came flying like hailstones, striking them in their arms, legs and hands. They held on, trying to fight back but Batman was stronger, fists flying and bones breaking all around him. His every move was deliberate, his every blow purposeful. And like the machine he was, within a few seconds he had already pinpointed the leader and held him up.

"Talk," Batman said. "What do you want with the modulator?"

Batman ripped off his mask and standing in front of him was a man missing an eye. When face to face with the Batman, normal men usually spilled their secrets or screamed in fear. The man Batman held up wasn't a normal man.

"How's the leg, Batman?" the one-eyed man asked. If the Batman was startled by the statement he didn't show it. Instead, he slammed the man against a wall.

"What do you want with the modulator?" Batman growled. "Who do you work for?"

The one-eyed man just smiled. Batman twisted him around, pinning him against the wall.

"Talk," Batman growled. "Or I'll break your arm."

"The Master Planner knows all his inventions," the one-eyed man said. "How'd you lose your leg? Who was it? Dent, Penguin..." The man paused. A smile crossed his face. "The Joker."

There was a crack as the one-eyed man's arm hung limply on the side. He didn't scream.

"Who do you work for?" Batman roared.

Batman had no time to react as the sound of metal clinked on the floor. The Batman fell onto his left knee.

ERROR. ERROR, JAMMING SIGNAL DETECTED, echoed the Batcomputer. LEG COMPROMISED; LEG COMPROMISED. SIGNAL LOST.

The one-eyed man kicked Batman across the face. Taking advantage of the momentary weakness, the robbers scattered. Batman tried to stop them but he could only do so much with one leg, throwing gadgets that missed and trying to the drag the men back. All of it proved futile. The men kicked and punched him but Batman could barely defend himself.

The one-eyed man smiled.

"I guess even the Batman has a weakness," the one-eyed man said with a grin, kicking the Batman across the face.

"What have you done?" Batman asked.

The one-eyed man just smiled. "The Master Planner knows all his inventions. I'd kill you but I think it'd be satisfying if someone saw you crawling around with that leg of yours."

The one-eyed man left with the modulator. Batman tried chasing but all he could managed was a weak hobble as he tripped and fell down, hitting his face against the floor.

Batman dragged himself to the window to see the men in the purple jumpsuits were but a speck in the distance. Batman crawled over to the small metal device, crushing it with his fist reducing it to a mess of wires.

SIGNAL REGAINED, said the Batcomputer. Batman pulled himself up, the prosthetic reconnecting itself to his nerve. But by then, the men in purple jumpsuits and the one-eyed man had already disappeared.

Batman growled, slamming his hand against the window sill. He was weak, too weak.

Above him, the silver moon cast an eerie glow over the city of Gotham. The shadows looked harsher tonight.

...

The world came into focus when his maths teacher slammed the textbook on his desk.

"Parker, wake up."

Peter blinked, looking up to see the fierce face of Mr. Lowenthal looking down at him. Peter snapped upright.

"Mr. Lowenthal," Peter said.

The class snickered. Mr. Lowenthal raised a hand. "Can you tell me what x is?"

"X... what do you mean...?"

Mr. Lowenthal pointed at the board where a series of formulas was spread across the board.

"Um... 25?"

"24," Mr. Lowenthal said. "Still better than the answers half the class came up with but that's the reason your marks have been dropping from A plus to B's. Parker, see me after class."

Peter groaned and slumped across his desk.

...

Barbara Gordon looked out the window, biting her fingers. The anxiety was killing her. Today was the last day of her physio and whatever the results were determined whether or not she would walk again or be stuck to this wheelchair for the rest of her life. Her father was in the lobby waiting for the therapist to come in but Peter was nowhere to be seen.

She looked out the window and back at the door and then the window when...

"Hey," Peter said, crawling in through the window. She wasn't startled at all. Peter walked over to her and kissed her on the forehead. "How are you, you look nervous?"

He looked breathless, like he was in a rush.

"I am nervous," Barbara said. "If this doesn't go well..."

"Hey it will go well." Peter knelt down and placed comforting hands on her shoulders. "You've been exercising right? Massaging your legs and whatever. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Barbara looked down at her lap. "I know. It's just..."

"You're the strongest, most capable woman I know..."

"You don't know many girls," Barbara said.

Peter ignored that and continued. "It'll be okay. I believe in you."

Barbara smiled. "Thanks, Pete."

Peter smiled. "5:30 PM, right?"

Barbara nodded. "Yeah."

"I'll be there," Peter said. "After this afternoon."

"You really need to take care of yourself, I can see bags under your eyes," Barbara said. "Three jobs in one afternoon and to top it all off, training with Bruce? Why don't you do that Wayne internship Bruce offered?"

"You know how Bruce is," Peter said. "If I work for him I'm sure it'd be part of his whole training program. I appreciate the training but Spider-Man isn't all I am. I just want to train so Aunt May won't wake up one morning to see that her nephew died doing something reckless."

"It'll make your life a whole lot easier," Barbara said. "Maybe you should think about it."

Peter shrugged, putting on his mask. "Eh. Besides I've managed to hold onto these jobs. How bad can it be?"

...

"Peter Parker..." started Mr. Hamdani at the TV store, his voice was sympathetic.

"... you are..." the head chef at the gas station said, his voice shaking as he flipped a pancake.

"... FIRED!" exclaimed the Mr. Aziz as Peter handed over his hat to him.

In a deserted corner under the Gotham tram, Peter grumbled. He was bent down, surrounded by garbage and as if to add insult to injury most of the garbage were the pizza boxes from the Aziz's Pizzas with flies whizzing around the pizzas he worked so hard to deliver.

On the road a black Roll's Royce pulled over, the window rolled down and a petite man with a thin moustache had his hands on the wheel accompanied by a young boy with hazel eyes and a big grin on his face.

"Master Peter."

"Hey Al," Peter mumbled, getting up from his spot and opening the back door.

"Sup dork," said the boy.

"Hey Jason," Peter said. "What are you doing here?"

Peter opened the back door, throwing his bag inside the car.

"Master Jason said he missed you and wanted to see you," Alfred said.

Jason reddened. "I did not say that."

"Aww, Jason," Peter said. "That's so cute."

"Shut up!" Jason exclaimed. "Dumbass!"

"I thought it would be good for him to get out and get some fresh air instead of being cooped up in the manor so here we are," Alfred said. "What about you? You look under the weather."

"Well, I just lost three jobs," Peter said. "So not so good."

Jason laughed.

"Does that mean you'll be incapacitated for the upcoming training?" Alfred asked.

Peter sighed, closing the door behind him. "I wish."

...

Muffled screeches of Bats, water dripping from stalagmites and a bright light from a giant computer in the centre of a web of walkways.

Bruce Wayne stood in the centre, typing away at the computers.

"Master Parker is here for training, sir," Alfred said.

"Tell him I'll be there in a minute," Bruce said. On the Batcomputer screens a large map of Gotham was spread out. "The Master Planners forces have been stealing from Wayne factories all over. I've sent the technology they stole to Lucius to find out what they're building. The only thing we know about this Master Planner is that he has a grudge against Wayne Enterprises."

"Your father was a good man," Alfred said. "But even good men have enemies. A fact you are acutely aware of."

Bruce was silent.

"You seem rather anxious Master Bruce," Alfred said. "What seems to be the problem?"

"He knew about the leg," Bruce said, turning around from his chair revealing the lump. "One of his men, he told me the Master Planner knows all his inventions."

"Mr. Fox told us the leg was made by a certain Otto Octavius," Alfred said. "But that's rather impossible, our friend Mr. Octavius is rather incapacitated."

"Maybe," Bruce said. "But that doesn't change the fact that this leg is a weakness, if anyone were to find out about it..."

"So that means you isolate yourself and bury yourself in your work," Alfred said, rather bitterly.

"I have to Alfred," Bruce said. "If anyone finds out, if I make one slip up we're all compromised..."

"But look at what's happening around you," Alfred said. "You and Mr. Fox are struggling to keep your hold on Wayne Enterprises, everybody in Gotham is wondering where Bruce Wayne is. The subsidiaries and organisations you believed in, that your mother believed in are slowly losing their funding."

"Quiet," Bruce said, barely looking at Alfred's eyes.

"And not to mention Master Jason," Alfred said. "He's been denied his childhood for so long by violence and drugs and here you are throwing him into a world of violence and drugs. He can't only be Robin, sir. He has a whole life ahead of him, he can't be cooped up in this manor for so long the only thing in his life being gadgets and criminals."

"He seems to be enjoying it," Bruce said.

"He shouldn't be!" Alfred snapped.

The silence was heavy. "You're right. He shouldn't be enjoying it." Bruce sighed. He rolled his chair over to his prosthetic leg placing it under the stump and pressing a button on the chip attached to his neck. The leg reattached itself. "But this... this leg. It's a weakness, a burden. And the Batman..." He walked over to the glass case that held his suit, Bruce's face barely reflected on the black symbol in the middle. "The Batman can't afford to be weak."

...

Peter felt Bruce's fist on his face for what felt like the hundredth time but was probably the one thousandth punch.

Jason snickered and Bruce managed to flip him to the ground to the perfectly timed lawn of Wayne Manor when the punch Peter landed failed to connect.

"Dammit," Peter groaned as he got up. "How the hell do you know when I'm going to attack?"

Bruce grabbed a tower and wiped his face. "Your control over most of your powers is spectacular, you could easily punch me across the lawn and I wouldn't be able to do anything about it."

"So why do I have to keep training..."

"Like I said," Bruce said. "Most of your powers."

Alfred stood by the curb with a tray with a water bottle. Jason sat on a chair eating popcorn and laughing at Peter.

Bruce grabbed the water bottle and drank it. Sweat drenched his training shirt whereas Peter's shirt was squeaky clean.

"Your spider sense," Bruce said. "That's what you call it?"

"Yes," Peter said. "It's just a sense that warns me of danger. I don't think there's anything I need to control..."

"Yes you do," Bruce said. "You let it guide your movements instead of guiding your movements yourself. It makes it easier to predict where you're going to move next. Most of the criminals you face aren't trained but if you were to face someone like Deathstroke or Taskmaster they'd catch onto you pretty quick and..."

Jason mouthed 'Bang'.

"Yes," Bruce said. "Bang."

The sun was starting to set. "Training's done," Bruce said. "I'll see you later."

Later meant busting a drug warehouse for one of the new gangs that had been popping up in Gotham lately.

"Yeah," Peter mumbled. "I'll see you there."

...

Mr. Parker was awfully quiet on the car ride home, Alfred could see him staring vacantly out the window.

"What seems to be the matter?" Alfred asked. Peter sighed, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Was training too harsh today or...?"

"No," Peter said. "No. It's just..."

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've taken plenty of beatings before," Peter chuckled. "Skinny, nerdy kid like me with the big glasses on my face, made me a prime target. I was bullied for most of my life and when that spider bit me I could finally..." Peter stared at his clenched fists. "Fight back. And yeah, it was fun for a while, being able to fight back. To see the look on Flash's face and those asshole wrestlers I fought over in New York. But then my Uncle died and I..." Peter barely could look himself in the mirror. "I almost killed the man. You should've seen his face, how terrified he was. I couldn't bring myself to kill him, I couldn't bring myself to kill anyone. Fighting, being strong... it... it didn't seem as fun anymore."

"These things," Peter said. "Crime bosses, Vultures and Jokers. No kid has to worry about that. No kid has to worry about dangerous men finding out who they are. No kid has to pray to whatever God is out there that when the moment they open the door, their aunt or their mum is dead. At school... I almost had two close calls. Some idiot barged into me wearing the costume and someone saw the mask in my hand. I managed to drive them off but..."

Peter sighed. "And what Bruce said about... about those criminals. Deathstalk and Taskbar or whatever. What if I do piss them off? What if I'm not ready and I die? What happens to me then? What happens to Barbara and May and everybody else?"

Peter looked into the mirror and he looked like he was about to cry. "I just... I'm scared Alfred. I try and joke and keep a cool head but every time I put on that mask I'm scared and... and... I don't... I don't want to be scared anymore."

Alfred was silent. His eyes were calm and impassive, something Peter appreciated more than anything.

"Sometimes..." Peter said. "Sometimes... I don't want to be Spider-Man anymore and I... I don't know how I feel about that."

...

After some encouraging words from Alfred, Peter told him to drop him off at a florist so he could get some flowers for Barbara. He could barely afford a bouquet of flowers so opted for a single rose. He got to the hospital, straightened his hair as best he could and barged into Barbara's room.

"Hey Babs I got you some..."

Barbara was hunched over, sobbing with a nurse patting her back. Commissioner Gordon stood by the door with a sombre expression on his face. The nurse stared at Peter and then at the Commissioner who gave her an understanding nod and took him outside the room.

Peter followed the Commissioner up the stairs to the roof. The Commissioner had a grim expression on his face. They went to the rooftop, standing on opposite sides of the door. Peter twirled the rose in his fingers while Gordon took out a cigarette and light it up.

"You smoke?" Gordon asked.

Peter shook his head.

"Good," Gordon said, puffing out a cloud of smoke. "What took you?"

"Part time jobs," Peter said. He suddenly felt itchy. It felt like his shirt was trying to strangle him. "I just moved here..."

"Oh yeah you're May Parker's kid," Gordon said. "Part-time jobs? You're pretty responsible for your age."

Peter let out a nervous chuckle. "You don't know the half of it," he muttered.

"You got some bruises on your face?" Gordon said. "You got into a fight?"

"No," Peter said a little too quickly. "Just fell. Look, what happened to Barbara?"

"She won't be able to walk again," Gordon said.

Thee rose slipped from Peter's fingers. "What? No... no way. That's not possible. The Doctors said she was fine and she's... they have to be wrong. There's just no way..."

"I think the Doctor's know what they're talking about," Gordon said. "Look if you're just here to pay a social visit you should get out of here. She doesn't want to see anybody." Gordon crushed the cigarette under his heel. "She needs space to process everything."

"But I wanna be there," Peter said. "I can't just sit around..."

"Well, you should've been there when she got the results," Gordon snapped. Peter was taken aback.

Gordon sighed. He took out his box of cigarettes to pop out another cigar but when it wouldn't come out he crushed it and stuffed it back into his coat pockets. "Look kid, this is stressful. For the both of us. I suggest you give her some space to process this. Right now, I think that's all we can do here."

"Yeah," Peter said. "Yeah, you're right."

He walked over to the door, crushing the rose underneath his heel.

...

He wanted to say he was hungry.

But no words came out.

It was dark and he wanted to scream.

But no words came out.

His body felt heavier, the world around him was an explosion of sound that overwhelmed him, that made him want to cry.

But no words came out.

His body was not his anymore, claws and hair in places he never had it before. His back felt heavy and his teeth ripped into his tongue. He wanted, help from somebody, anybody.

But no words came out.

Only screaming.

Only screaming.

...

Peter was angry. He didn't know what he was angry at, but he just knew he was angry.

...

Men in white coats came to him.

He started to thrash about violently; his screams were even louder. The lights were on and it hurt his eyes and he wanted to tell them but no voice came out.

Only screeches.

And then he saw a needle glinting in the light and he was scared and he started thrashing. He hated needles, he hated needles. He wanted to tell them. He wanted to scream at them.

But he had no words. All he had was the screaming. And the men in coats ignored the screaming. They always ignored the screaming. They never cared about the screaming.

...

Peter just wanted to go home. He just wanted to sleep. But then his spider sense started buzzing and he heard people scream in the distance.

Goddammit.

...

And with a strength he didn't have before he broke the needle. Now they cared about the screaming. And with a strength he never had before he broke through the bindings. Now they really cared about the screaming.

They were red lights that made his eyes feel like fire, and the sound of alarm that made his head explode in pain but he didn't care about that. He had to get out of here. He ran through endlessly twisted hallways, the sound and the lights and the shouts and the screams made him hurt all over. But staying here would hurt even more.

Men in purple took out guns. Men in purple started firing at him. And his mother told him guns kill. But these guns didn't kill him, he could feel the pain but they didn't kill him.

And then he found himself on a rooftop with no way to escape.

And the men with the guns were right behind him.

In the distance he saw lights, so many lights in front of him that made his eyes burn.

The men with the guns burst through the door, guns pointed at him.

(His back felt so heavy.)

The men with the guns looked they were about to kill him but he could hear the men in lab coats screaming at them.

(He could move his back)

He tried to talk to them but it was only screams, only screams.

(they were wings!)

The men with guns started to shoot but he could fly.

...

It was a rooftop party full of assholes in fancy clothes who didn't have to worry about paying rent. Peter was inclined to just forget about them and move on but it looked like a tornado had torn through the rooftop party. Food and tables were scattered everywhere and the people in fancy clothes were all huddled up in one corner with pale faces.

Peter heard chomping and gulping in the other corner of the room. He walked through the trail of carnage, through the upturned tables and sizzling food on the floor to what looked like a midget huddled in the corner with what appeared to be a giant pink cake wrapped in his gloves. He had what seemed to be a leather cloak wrapped around his hairy body and really pointy ears.

"Hey, sir," Peter said. "I think the people over there want you to leave."

The midget turned his face and Peter let out an audible

"What the fuck?"

...

He followed the lights even though it burned his eyes. Even though the sounds made his head hurt. His stomach felt like a black hole and his body was shaking.

He found as soon as he was close to the lights he could smell it, food and bread and cake and chocolate. It made his body shake and he fell into the sea below.

On the coast he saw a man, he tried to ask him for food, for his mother and father but his voice wasn't his own and the man ran away on weak legs.

He tried to ask for help but they all ran and they all screamed when they saw him. He was wondering why? He was just a boy and he just wanted his mum.

One of them had a gun and he hated the pain so he ran away, he tried to fly but he felt the gun strike his leg. He stumbled on the floor and for the first time he saw his face.

It wasn't his face anymore.

...

He followed the smell of food.

The person... no the creature had long ears with so many nerves in them, his round black eyes were large and beady and when he spread his black leathery wings it was like he was staring at a painting of the Devil.

"What the hell are you?" Peter said.

But whenever he tried to take the food he was shot or screamed or shouted at. And if he stayed in the light for long, his eyes started to burn.

The creature screeched and Peter could see teeth, rows of teeth. Almost as much as Carnage.

But his stomach was empty and he started to feel weak. So, he flew.

The creature lashed out at Peter but Peter dodged and Peter punched the monster. It screeched but Peter punched it again.

His wings started to feel weak, he could feel the world around him fading. The world around him, the lights and the sounds became fuzzier and fuzzier and his stomach gnawed at him, the pain spreading all across his body.

The creature backed off and stumbled. Peter could swear he saw fear in its eyes but then it lunged at Peter like a starved animal. Peter kicked it across the face.

And he smelt it in the distance. Cake and meat. His wings were starting to feel heavier but he begged them, pleaded that they carry him to the food.

It spread its wings and flew away but Peter wasn't having that, he attached a web to its legs.

He saw colours, an explosion of blurry colours that looked like flowers. When they saw him, the colours scattered like petals. The screaming was annoying but he didn't care. He dragged himself to the food. All he wanted was food.

The creature tore through the webs with his claws. Peter leapt at the beast but it dodged him and flew off, screeching into the night sky.

All he wanted was food.

The people with fancy clothes all gathered around him asking Peter questions he didn't have answers to. Peter swung away.

All he got was pain.

He was thankful that when he got home that Aunt May was sleeping. The TV was still on, some crappy reality TV show going on at a low volume. Peter switched off the TV and placed a gentle kiss on Aunt May's wrinkling cheeks. He grabbed a blanket from her room and placed it over her.

When he turned around he saw all the rent payments that were overdue and he felt his heart sink.

He turned to Aunt May and saw how thin she was starting to get. He could see the dark rings under her eyes.

And his mind was made.

"Hey Bruce," Peter said when Bruce picked up his phone.

"I'm busy," Bruce said. He could hear the wind howling behind Batman and police sirens blaring in the distance. "Make it quick."

"Is that Wayne internship still open?" Peter asked.

...

The beast crawled to a place away from all the noise, away from all the lights. Its stomach was still empty but he would survive the night. Thoughts raced around its mind, thoughts about food, about the lab, about its mother.

His mother, gentle smiles and delicious food. He remembered the pies she cooked and the love in her face whenever she saw him.

The beast wanted to cry.

It found out soon enough that no tears would fall.

To be continued...