Chapter 3
Tim blinked
What the hell?
"Huh?"
He muttered, crouched low, eyes locked onto the hooded figure vanishing into the night. He frowned, confusion twisting in his gut at what just happened.
He stayed there for a second longer before launching forward into pursuit; the rooftops blurred past as he leapt across them with practised ease.
"Oracle, check the cams for some guy in a red hoodie for me."
The guy was not as fast as the Flash but still fast—probably a meta.
Tim had been on a routine patrol—chasing some of Penguin’s goons—when he’d strayed into Jason’s territory. Not ideal. Jason had probably already heard about it.
Tim had been about to pull back when he’d noticed him.
At first, he seemed unremarkable. Baggy hoodie, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Suspicious, sure, but nothing Gotham didn’t see a hundred times a night.
Then the guy turned.
Milky brown eyes locked onto Tim’s across the rooftop gap, and for a split second, it felt like those eyes weren’t just looking at him, but through him. Hyper-aware. Calculating. Like he already knew everything about Tim.
That was the moment Tim knew something was off.
Then the guy bolted.
Wait, how did he even see me?
Tim had been running ever since, more than twenty minutes now. His lungs burned, but he pushed forward. Jason was definitely going to lecture him about this. He felt tired, today was meant to be his rest day but of course, they were short on staff so he was sent.
Because, of course, luck just had to betray him.
He let out a frustrated sigh as a weight dropped beside him, heavy boots hitting the concrete.
"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"
Jason’s voice crackled through his earpiece, thick with irritation.
"Heyyy, Red," Tim greeted, forcing a sheepish smile, not slowing.
"Why are you here and what are you doing?" Jason kept pace easily, tone sharp.
"I have a perfectly good excuse," Tim started, vaulting over a gap. "But first—help me catch this guy."
Jason grumbled something under his breath. "Who?"
"Guy in a hoodie seemed normal but managed to spot me when I was hidden.”
He hesitated for a bit before adding
“Hmm might be cute but likely your type?"
Wrong choice.
Tim didn’t have to see Jason’s face to know he was glaring.
Shit. Forgot he just broke up with his girlfriend.
"Uhh—"
"Figure's getting faster," Oracle cut in, voice laced with static. "Stop arguing and keep him in sight. This area doesn't have a lot of working cameras and—"
Her voice cut out.
Tim’s heart kicked up. "O, you there?"
Silence. Then— Oracles' voice crackled back.
"Tim, the footage is getting deleted."
Tim nearly tripped. "What?"
His mind raced. That wasn’t possible. He and Oracle had built the most secure network Gotham had ever seen. No one could break into it. No one.
So how was someone wiping their feed in real time?
Jason’s voice cut through his spiralling thoughts. "Replacement, keep up!"
Tim cursed, forcing his legs to move faster.
Jason was already pissed.
First, Tim was in his territory, which meant Bruce was going to nag him about “cooperation” and “teamwork.”
Second, Tim was chasing some random dude at full sprint like a damn bloodhound.
Third—Jason had no idea what the hell was going on, and he hated that.
Tim’s breathing was ragged over comms, sharp exhales between steps. Jason could tell he was pushing it. They were gaining on the guy, but not fast enough.
"You wanna explain why we’re chasing Usain Bolt in a hoodie?" Jason growled.
Tim didn’t answer immediately, too focused. Then—
"Our footage is getting wiped."
Jason nearly missed his next step. "What?"
"I don’t know how," Tim snapped, frustration seeping through. "Someone's hacking us mid-pursuit. I can’t stop it."
Jason swore. This was bad.
Gotham had hackers, sure. But hijacking Oracle’s system in real time? That was on a whole different level. Even Tim—paranoid, genius-level Tim—sounded thrown.
And the guy they were chasing?
Still getting faster.
"Keep pushing him east," Jason ordered. "I’ll drop down, try to cut him off."
Tim nodded, shifting his trajectory. Jason moved ahead, lungs burning as he vaulted to the next rooftop. The guy was heading deeper into the Narrows—stupid move. Limited exits. If they kept pushing, he’d have nowhere left to run.
Jason reached for his grapple—
And the guy vanished.
Gone. Like he’d never been there.
Jason skidded to a stop. "The hell?"
Tim landed beside him, panting. "How—?"
They lost him
The coms crackled as Oracle’s voice came through
“The little brat says you guys are taking too long so he went to take care of the guy himself”
Ahhh fuck, can’t the day get any worse
His eyes caught movement in the corner
Found you
Of course, there was a wall.
And of course, Peter ran straight into it.
His head snapped back, a dull throb blooming across his forehead as he stumbled. “Ow, ow—wow, Karen, not even a warning?” he muttered, rubbing the spot.
“Sorry, Peter, but this wasn’t here before,” Karen replied. “There’s someone else near you.”
Great. More problems.
Peter barely had time to process that before his spider-sense flared.
1, 2, 3— move.
Something sharp sliced through the air toward his head.
Peter twisted at the last second, feeling the rush of displaced air as the object embedded itself into the concrete behind him with a solid thunk. If he’d been a regular guy, that would’ve been the end of him.
He looked up, instinct already coiling for another attack—
And….wait, is that a kid? What through fuck?!
A tiny figure, perched on the rooftop, cape billowing like he thought he was Dracula. But Peter wasn’t fooled. The way the kid stood, balanced and ready wasn't normal. He had the same armoured look as the first guy Peter had spotted earlier, but smaller, more compact.
“Oh yeah, hey, Karen?” Peter whispered, inching back. “Right now would be a great time to tell me who these people are.”
“I’m working on it, Peter.”
One problem down. But that still left the whole child soldier throwing sharp things at his head situation.
“Hey—hey, hold on a sec—”
His voice sounded off.
Peter frowned, glancing down. His mouth and neck were covered, and a slick black coating stretched over his skin. Like a mask—no, like a second face.
Dumbass
Peter tensed as the voice slithered through his skull, smug and amused.
His head pounded. Not now, not now.
The little gremlin hadn’t moved, eyes locked onto him. A predator's stare.
Peter raised his hands, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. “Okay, I really don’t want to fight a kid, so let’s just—”
But his body didn’t listen.
His legs coiled. His muscles tensed. Something inside him pushed forward.
Stop.
Peter dug his heels in, trying to wrest back control, but it was slipping, fraying too fast.
Let me out. Let me deal with them.
The voice curled around his thoughts, rich with hunger.
No —
But it wasn’t enough.
Peter lunged.
The kid darted back, impossibly fast, twisting to avoid Peter’s outstretched hand.
But the moment stretched, warped—rage bled into Peter’s chest, hot and sharp and not his own.
Peter swung.
“Stay down!” he snarled, voice raw, a snarl laced through the words.
His fist connected with Robin’s shoulder. A solid, sickening thud.
The kid staggered but didn’t go down.
Peter froze. A cold, nauseating weight dropped in his stomach.
“I didn’t mean to—I didn’t want to—”
A shot rang out.
Peter’s body moved before his mind caught up, twisting as a bullet whizzed past his ear.
A new voice growled through the night air.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The guy with the helmet was there now.
Peter barely had a second to react before helmet guy was on him, moving fast—too fast. Peter dodged, but something snapped inside him. The world burned red at the edges.
Please, Peter. Let me help.
The voice whispered in his head.
Desperation clawed up his throat.
He gave in.
The shift was instant.
His limbs stretched, twisting into something stronger, deadlier. The world sharpened. His chest heaved, and when he exhaled, the air curled white-hot against his fangs. It was uncomfortable and the pain was unbearable, he could feel his consciousness slipping.
Fuck seriously this is the what the 3rd time?
Helmet and the kid stood before him, their postures shifting, wary.
The gremlin moved first. He sprinted and jumped running along the walls before jumping down at him with his katanas now in hand.
Peter dodged clumsily, his mind swirling with the buzzing from his instinct, the new voice, and the slight hint of Karen’s voice shouting in his ear.
He caught the kid’s wrist mid-strike and slammed him into the wall.
A sharp breath punched out of the kid's lungs, but he didn’t go down easy, struggling against Peter’s grip.
Another hit—this time from Mr. Helmet—caught Peter’s side. He didn’t flinch.
Peter snarled, shoving the kid back
At the impact, the kid crumpled against the wall.
Peter turned his focus to helmet guy and punched him on the side
Helmet grunted but raised his hands crouching and punching at Peters gut
Peter’s senses screamed and he hit
Then—
Silence.
His breath came in ragged gasps.
Helmet was down, cursing through clenched teeth, trying to push himself up.
The kid was slumped against the wall, barely moving.
The guy on the roof —when had he even gotten here?—was sprawled unconscious at Peter’s feet.
His hands shook. His heartbeat thundered in his skull.
What did I do?
It’s not too late to end them, Venom murmured, lazy, coaxing.
“No,” Peter whispered.
The weight of the symbiote was suffocating. He could feel it pressing down on him, twisting around his bones.
His mind flashed back to Uncle Ben. His dead body sprawled on the ground, his eyes still open and staring at Peter. If only he–
Tears stung in his eyes, his vision blurring.
He stumbled back pulling his hood down more.
Turning around
He ran.
Didn’t look back. Didn’t dare.
His chest heaved as he leapt onto the nearest rooftop, moving on instinct, one thought rattling through his skull:
What have I done?