Still Life

Peter is fully convinced that Gotham is cursed. The entire city has to be cursed to hell and back.

Peter is also convinced that Doctor Strange sent him here to die because there’s no way he actually thought Peter could survive all by himself in a city that is responsible for 38% of all registered criminal offenses in the United States of America.

“I’m totally fucked, aren’t I, Karen?”

“That is certainly an accurate way of describing your current situation, Peter.”

As it turns out, Peter’s hazy memories of reading Batman’s comics back when he was twelve aren’t too far off: Batman and his gaggle of underage vigilantes are a thing; Gotham is considered the world’s capital city of crime and this universe’s technology seems to be stuck in the late 90s.

A not-so-quick boogle search later (and Peter is never saying that again, thank you very much) and Gotham goes from looking bad to really really bad very quickly. As it turns out, it’s currently June 25th, 2005 and Gotham is part of the United States of America (apparently the city left the US for a few years during the 19th century and there’s still a political party who is pushing towards total independence despite the city being a third of the size of the smallest state in the country). 

According to the latest official map issued by the US government, Gotham is made up of four small islands held together by man made bridges. 

The first island, where Peter landed, is divided into Crime Alley, officially named Park Row, Old Gotham and Robbinsville (another boogle search tells him that the name is pure coincidence and no, no one was stupid enough to name a neighborhood after an underage vigilante). 

The second island is far nicer, with most of its territory dedicated to public parks, a cathedral and a handful of residential neighborhoods for middle and upper class families. 

Below it, it’s what Gothamites call the “business center”. The courthouse, the city hall, the GPCD headquarters and even the Wayne Tower, everything that matters seems to be located in that area. 

The final island is literally just Arkham Asylum and Peter can’t help but compare it to alcatraz. 

To top it all off, all the millionaires and billionaires live in a secluded area that is technically no longer Gotham but hasn't been claimed by any other city or state like some kind of “super rich people only, no poor people allowed” country club.

Peter’s deep dive into the city’s history convinces him that whoever was responsible for planning this hellhole is a huge fan of creepy gargoyles because they’re freaking everywhere. On top of churches, around parks, even the primary school's roof is full of small gargoyles making funny faces at the children that play down below. Peter finds three different companies offering tours to non-gothamites just focusing on the gothic architecture of the city, despite the GPCD’s warnings against it. It’s almost too stupid to be true.

Weird architectural choices and rampant crime rate aside, the city is still surprisingly functional. There are buses and subways running practically around the clock and the network actually covers all parts of the city; their educational system is completely free (unlike the rest of the country) and there’s a ton of scholarships, all of them financed by Wayne Enterprises. There are seven different free clinics and two public hospitals, also financed by Wayne Enterprises, all of them labeled “meta-friendly” (Peter makes a mental note to look into that sometime soon). 

The words “proudly funded/financed by W.E.” keep popping up a lot, even outside of Gotham. This one single company seems to be the leading force in technological development, green energy, medical research and, somehow, worker’s rights and it’s starting to hurt Peter’s brain. It’s like Bruce Wayne wakes up everyday, decides he’s going to solve yet another world problem and, somehow, goes to bed richer than he was the day before.

“Peter, we only have ten minutes left. Do you wish to see your new ID?” 

Peter takes a quick look around to make sure no one’s within earshot before turning back to the computer. “Sure, let’s see it.”

The computer’s fan picks up speed as Karen shuts down all the open tabs and a new page pops up. The file looks… cartoonish and, for a moment, Peter wonders if there’s something wrong with Karen’s programming because there’s no way anyone’s real ID looks like that. Then he remembers he is in a comic book and that this entire universe seems to be ok with murderous clowns and crazy ninjas going around and killing people so maybe professional-looking documentation isn't their top priority. 

“Being stuck in a technologically underdeveloped universe has some advantages. I’ve managed to create enough documentation to prove your existence and your parents' existence. Once I have your final say, I will approve a physical copy to be issued and mailed to a nearby P.O. box”, Karen seems satisfied with her forgeries and, after looking up what actual IDs are supposed to look like, Peter can’t deny they’re well made.

According to his new documentation, Peter Benjamin Parker was born August 10th 1986. His parents, Richard and Mary Parker, died when he was four and he went to live with his aunt and uncle, Maybelle Parker-Jameson and Benjamin Franklin Parker. His uncle died when he was ten and he lived with his aunt until her death, just last month. Peter Parker is a good student who lived and studied all his life in New York (which apparently still exists although Queens doesn't) before moving to Gotham.

Seeing death certificates for his entire family, no matter how fake they are, is enough to make Peter want to throw up. Can he actually do this? Build a new life based on lies? Erase his family’s history? Pretend his home, his real home, isn’t gone forever and that he will always be alone with no way of returning to his old life?

“Peter, I sense increased levels of distress. Is there anything you want me to change in your new identity?”

Is there? What would hurt the most: to keep his family’s history as close to the truth as possible or to make up a completely different story? To give his parents, his aunt and uncle, his friends different names, different lives and different deaths? Or maybe it would hurt less if he pretended they never existed in the first place; to make Peter Parker into an orphan who lived his entire life in an orphanage and never got to know what it means to have family.

The monitor flickers once again, as if daring him to make a choice, and Peter wants to punch it over and over again until there's nothing left.

“Uh… No, Karen. I’m fine… I… Do whatever you think it’s best, ok? I trust you. I just… I need to get this done and get out of here.”

“Ok, Peter. Your new documents should be delivered a week from now, along with a backup copy of your new debit card.”

Karen puts away his documents and brings back a gossip page about Bruce Wayne. Peter is tired of looking at the man’s face so he closes that tab too and turns his attention to a map of the city.

“Wait, what was that last one?”

“A backup copy of your new debit card”, Karen repeats as she pulls up what appears to be his bank details. “I can turn one of your earpieces into a temporary card but it would be wiser to have a separate card issued by an actual bank.”

“Karen… I don’t have a bank account. I didn’t have one back home and I certainly don’t have one here”, Peter’s panic must be evident because, from across the room, Mrs. Smith lifts her head from the children’s book she has been organizing. Peter ducks his head and hopes that the noise wasn’t loud enough to make her come check on him.

“I was under the impression we had agreed to take care of all the documents you need in order to blend in.”

“Yeah but…”

“According to my research, most individuals your age in this universe have some kind of bank account, especially if they are living by themselves”, Karen explains and Peter can practically hear how tired she is of putting up with him. If he wasn’t in public, she would probably have the suit facepalm him too. “You will need a bank account in order to purchase the materials you need to fix your suit and to rent a proper place to live.”

“Rent a… Karen, with what money am I supposed to rent a place to live?”

“With the money on your bank account, of course.”

Peter prays to all the gods he can name at the top of his head that no one comes closer to him because he feels like he’s seconds away from passing out as he reads through his bank statements floating across the screen. “Karen… Please tell me you didn’t steal that money from the fucking Batman.”

“Of course not. That would cause Bruce Wayne to look into your identity and possibly discover your non-human abilities. I stole this money from several off-shore accounts belonging to Lex Luthor. None of the transitions were above five hundred dollars and I took all the necessary measures to insure that nothing can be traced back to us. Mr. Luthor’s funds are also currently being mismanaged by one of his accountants and, as such, it is very likely he will blame them for the missing money.”

Peter doesn’t know if he should be relieved or outraged that Karen didn’t steal over ten million dollars from Bruce Wayne without his permission.

“Lex Luthor is being ripped off by his accountant?”

“It seems so”, and apparently that’s all Karen has to say about the matter. Peter thinks he’s about to cry.

“Karen, you’d tell me if you were planning to take over the world, right?”

“Of course, Peter. After all, ensuring your well-being is my prime directive” and Peter is sure that Karen actually means it. He’s also sure Karen would actually take over the world if that meant keeping Peter safe.

“Right…”

“Your login time is about to expire.” Peter blinks slowly as he watches Karen erase any trace of their activity from the library’s shitty computer. Soon after, a bright red timeout pop-up appears across the screen and Peter is forcibly logged out as the computer turns back to that god awful orange background. “I suggest we head off to a nearby grocery store so you can buy some proper nutrition.”

“Uh, sure, why not.”

The supermarket next door is surprisingly normal, if Peter ignores all the weird, slightly-off labels he can find in every other product. Most brands are just one letter off their original name in Peter’s universe but the colors seem to be the complete opposite. There are also some completely wild options on the shelves that he would never come across in his universe like high quality gas masks and all kinds of locks and other at home protection devices that look straight out of an action movie.

The building is mostly empty except for a few elderly customers and a handful of exhausted looking workers and Peter spends some time pacing the corridors, trying to identify what brands match the ones he used to buy back home.

“If someone finds out who was the fucker that blew up that stupid bomb right outside our trashcans, I want to be the first to know. I’ll stick a bomb up their-” Peter has to bite his lip to stop himself from laughing at the chatter coming from one of the employee’s radios. The old lady next to him complains at the employee’s lack of manners before walking away. 

“Steve, please watch your mouth when talking on the radio. Some of us are on the floor right now.”

“Uh, fine, but I meant it! I spent almost three hours cleaning that mess up!”

“Peter, I would recommend focusing on the task at hand”, Karen reminds him and Peter puts back the block of cheese he had been examining. The label claims it can help people get rid of all traces of ‘joker gas’ in their system and Peter is willing to bet that is 100% false advertisement.  “You’re already missing several hundred calories from your usual intake and we still have a lot of things to get done today.”

“Fine… Can you walk me through the shopping list, please?”

Shopping with Karen turns out to be the worst experience ever because she doesn’t stop sassing him and Peter can’t even sass her back without looking like he’s talking to himself. She also takes the opportunity to nag Peter about his well being and lack of self preservation the entire time.

It takes him almost a full hour in the store and Peter ends up buying more things he had intended to because Karen kept blasting random Smash Mouth songs into his earpieces whenever he tried to walk past any of the items on her list. 

(It’s an embarrassingly effective tactic.)

After some debating, Peter ends up changing into clean clothes and washing his face in the supermarket’s bathroom before making his way back to the library’s front stairs. The sky outside is still cloudy but it doesn’t seem like it’s gonna rain anytime soon.

Peter unwraps a sandwich and takes a slow bite, trying to get used to Gotham’s background noise. Karen has gone offline in order to save energy and she’ll only turn back on when he reaches the local electronics store, located in Gotham’s business center. 

He knows he can’t take too long; the electronics store is almost one hour away and Karen has warned him against walking outside past sunset, at least while he hasn’t found a way to fix the spider-suit, but there’s something pleasant about just existing in this little part of town. People stroll past on the sidewalk: moms with strollers, two guys on skateboards, an old couple argue softly over which bus to take. Across the street, a small dog barks once and is quickly picked up by a little girl in pigtails. 

To his left, just beyond a tall iron fence, the high school’s bell rings, and a rush of noise bursts into the air. Childish laughter, sneakers scuffing against the pavement, the shrill whine of a whistle, someone yelling 'I mean it, dude!' in that exaggerated voice only teens use when they’re trying to be taken seriously.

Peter watches without really watching, chewing slowly, sandwich almost gone. He wishes he had his camera with him. 

He’s about to get up so he can throw away the empty wrapper when something triggers his spider-senses. The familiar pressure in the back of his neck causes him to turn but there’s nothing strange that he can see: a young woman in a wheelchair approaches the library followed by two teenage boys; a few feet away a couple with a toddler is chatting casually about a movie they want to see next week and a police siren goes off in the distance for just a few seconds.

Still, the feeling that something is wrong keeps growing and Peter can feel himself moving away from the building before he can even think about doing it in the first place.

‘Keep it together, Parker. You still need to get downtown. You can’t lose your shit just because some kids are being loud next door.’

The sensation that something is off follows him all the way to the subway station. It practically dies down as soon as he gets away from the library but comes back immediately the moment Peter steps into the station. 

The sound hits him first, a low, constant roar, like the city itself is breathing underground. A mix of rumbling subways, distant announcements crackling through old speakers, and the rhythmic clatter of hurried footsteps on tile. There’s even someone playing the piano in the background.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting everything in a harsh, slightly yellow glow and Peter silently mourns his scratched lenses once again. The air is thick, warmer than it should be, with a hint of dust, rusty metal, and too many people crammed into one place for too long.

It’s busy, despite not being rush hour. People move quickly in every direction, like water finding a way around rocks. Conversations rise and fall in a dozen different languages. It feels familiar and comforting, despite how different everything looks. 

Peter keeps to the side at first, taking it all in. Three cops are standing near the entrance, casually scanning the crowd as they chat among themselves. One of them nods at Peter without much interest. Peter nods back, more out of reflex than anything but ultimately decides he should get moving to avoid attracting unwanted attention.

He heads toward the row of ticket machines. Much like the computers at the library and the registers in the supermarket, the ticket machines look terribly outdated. He waits in line, shifting his weight slightly. The lady in front of him complains with someone on the phone about forgetting to charge her card on time and being late for work. 

When it’s finally his turn, Peter fights back a grimace at the nightmarish sight in front of him. The metal casing is scratched in places, dulled by years of fingers tapping, cards swiping, and commuters in a hurry. The metal has lost most of its shine and there's a small sticker in the corner that’s peeling at the edge with an outdated PSA about transit safety and the number for what it’s probably a customer service helpline.

The interface is clunky with big blocky buttons, basic fonts and a weirdly colorful background. It beeps with every press and Peter can’t help but feel like the machine itself it’s telling him to hurry up.

Below the screen, Peter finds a narrow card slot. He takes his earpiece-turned-card from his pocket and hopes Karen’s hard work doesn’t fail him now. The screen blinks twice but the expected 'pick your itinerary' text box pops up and Peter feels himself breath out in relief. The rest of the process is fairly simple and a few seconds later the machine spits out a small subway card along with a paper receipt. 

The machine beeps angrily at him as a bright orange text box informs him the translation his complete and thanking him for choosing Gotham’s public transportation network. He takes the paper receipt from the machine along with his debit card and slips them into his pocket before making his way to the turnstiles.

A quick glance at the railway map printed on the wall tells him he should be taking the yellow line to midtown and then change to the green line until he reaches Reed St. 

A big sign hangs overhead, just above the platform, bolted to the ceiling with thick brackets. It scrolls slowly, one line at a time, listing incoming trains and departure estimates in a washed out, slightly pixelated font: MIDTOWN - WAYNE CENTRAL - 7 MIN; EXPRESS 4 - ARRIVING NOW; DIAMOND DISTRICT - 15 MIN.

Every few minutes, the timing flickers for a split second, catching up with whatever system it's pulling from. Peter is able to catch a glitch every few seconds, a half-finished word or a blank line that sits too long before correcting itself. Oddly enough, there’s no sound, no voiceover, just the quiet hum of the sign’s electronics and the subtle click as it updates. 

After what seems like an eternity, Peter steps into the subway car and does his best to not get crushed by a sea of people.

‘Ok, Parker, all you gotta do is get to the store. The sooner you get to the store, the sooner you can fix your suit. Easy as that, right?’

Jason is getting too tired for this shit.

He hasn’t been in Crime Alley for over forty-eight hours and his men are starting to spam his phone wondering where he’s been and what it’s going on. He also hasn’t slept for more than twenty minutes at a time in over seventy hours but that’s not here nor there.

The only silver lining in this entire mess is the reassurance that all of his idiotic family members are still in one piece without having to hack their phones and having full access to Alfred’s cooking for three whole days.

Still, he would like to find this Spiderman guy and get some answers out of him, preferably before Ra’s decides to strike again.

“Alfie says lunch will be ready in twenty and that he expects us all to eat upstairs for once.”

As expected, Tim doesn’t turn away from the computer but Jason can’t really blame him for being distracted. Despite all the biological material left behind, Spiderman remains a complete mystery. No DNA match, no previous sightings and no known connection to the League or Ra’s himself. According to Damian’s report, Spiderman was unable to recognize Robin or the League and he didn’t know they were in Gotham but he knows Ra’s Al Ghul by name and is aware of Batman’s existence… Which is frankly weird.

Also weird is the fact that Spiderman apparently produces freakishly strong spiderwebs that he uses to immobilize people and also heal himself.

“Is that stuff actually coming out of him or…”

Tim sighs loudly before reaching for the can of Zesti Cola. “I honestly can’t tell. The formula isn’t compatible with any real life spider’s webs that I can find but there is something undeniably natural about the components and if we take in consideration that the guy’s blood is weird as hell…”

In one fluid motion, Tim drinks the entire can before throwing it away. Jason fights back the urge to smack the back of his head as the hiccups begin to bubble out of Tim in rapid succession. 

“The point is- the guy- might be producing this- on his own…”

“But?”

“But what?”

Jason doesn’t roll his eyes because he’s a perfectly capable team player who knows how to deal with bratty, overly caffeinated teen brats. He also promised Alfred that he would keep an eye on Tim and stop him from doing something stupid like work himself into the ground or go after Spiderman (or, Godforbid, Ra’s) by himself.

Jason doesn’t roll his eyes and, honestly, people should be more grateful of how much he has improved his self-control in the past few months.

“Oh, c’mon Timtam, there’s always a but with you.”

“I don’t know… There’s just something off about the structure, see?” He points at one of the monitors and Jason does his best to compare Spiderman’s web samples to twenty other samples from different species of spiders. “Besides the strange structure, the sample practically disintegrated in, what, less than four hours? Normal spider webs don’t do that. Most types of spiderwebs can last over a week if left undisturbed, some can last up to a month. Maybe his DNA is altered in a way that prioritizes strength over longevity but even that doesn’t fully explain it.”

Tim seems honestly lost and extremely frustrated and Jason doesn’t know what to make of it. Nothing about this case makes sense and there’s only so much they can do with whatever shitty evidence they managed to collect so far.

“You think it was made like this on purpose?” 

Damian had been adamant that the webs were coming out of Spiderman’s body but the guy was wearing a pretty high-tech suit (even if it was in need of some repairs). Maybe he was just very committed to the bit and decided to make weird webs to go with the weird spider theme. Jason will take fake, overly engineered spider webs over a guy that is literally half spider, hangs out in a creepy cave biting people and shoots freaky spider webs from his fucking wrists any day of the week. 

“I think it’s a big possibility. I’m waiting for the DNA analysis to be done so I can try and figure out if there’s any connection between his blood and the webs.”

Jason looks at the samples again before moving away from the screen. He never considered himself afraid of spiders (or any kind of bugs for that matter) but there’s something off-putting about a gigantic spider web that is capable of gluing a grown man to the ceiling for hours. 

“You said his blood was weird. How weird are we talking about?”

That seems to wake Tim up. The boy points to the main screen and three different blood work reports pop up. “Weird weird. Like ‘it almost broke the batcomputer twice’ weird! The program keeps spewing out nonsense! This guy’s DNA is mixed with the genetic material of five different kinds of spiders, his blood is radioactive and his cells keep rearranging themselves within minutes no matter how I try to slice them.”

“What the fuck, Tim.”

If this week ends with Jason getting bitten by a radioactive half spider half man vigilante, he’s jumping into the harbor.

“Exactly! This guy’s healing rate is faster than most registered metas and I’m pretty sure he heals faster than Superman.”

Jason is never leaving Crime Alley again. B can go fuck himself with his fucked up luck and his weird shit magnet. 

“Ok… So we have a part-spider, genetically modified, radioactive, highly trained individual and we have no idea where he is, why he’s here and what he plans to do next. Great.”

“And somehow he knows who Ra’s is but didn’t immediately recognize Robin nor Gotham.”

“Right... So what kind of person knows who Ra’s Al Ghul is but doesn’t know what Robin looks like?”

“Someone who isn’t from Gotham, that’s for sure.”

“Great, so that only leaves us with… the rest of the entire fucking universe.”

Tim actually snorts before reaching for yet another can of Zesti Cola, “lucky us.”