that was legitness
Peter woke up gasping for breath, doused in his own tears. Feeling panicked by the unfamiliar place, he quickly sat up, accidentally hitting his head on the ceiling.
“Owwwwwww” he whined in pain.
Massaging the back of his head in pain, he sat up cautiously and rested against the back wall of his bunk. Taking in the view around him, he was brought back to reality.
“Nope, definitely not a dream.” he sighed, reminded of the day before.
More of a nightmare really.
Grabbing his bag, he crawled toward the door. Disturbing the blankets whilst doing so, he ruffled his hair, using his fingers to comb through it.
Sticking his tongue out, he tied the laces of his shoes.
“Alrighty, time to start the day” he said huffing.
Shutting the door, he hopped down to the floor, landing a couple feet from the steps down.
Taking note of the time, Peter glanced at a clock.
It read ‘07:46am’
Turning into the room's doorway, he looked around into the cafeteria. Heaps more people than yesterday .
Walking over to the line, he snagged a tray off of the pile and joined the line.
Stomach growling, he could smell warm, sweet food. Moving up in line, he came face to face with a gruff, older lady.
“Young man.” she called for his attention, from across the steam table.
“Yes miss, uh ma’am?”
“No need for that, now what do you want.”
“We’ve got pancakes and waffles this morning.”
“I’ll take the pancakes, please.”
Her curiosity piqued by the rare manners Peter was displaying, she handed over a plate of pancakes. Lifting her hand, pointing her thumb out to the left.
“You can get fruit over there for them and some sauce or whatever.” she said, turning away to serve the person in line behind him.
***
Sitting down in the same spot from the night before, he cut up his food and made little banana-pancake sandwiches.
Shovelling one into his mouth he pondered, Maybe I can return to the library to make some ID for me since I don't have one .
Nibbling on more of his pancake-fruit creations, he entertained a string of thoughts and ideas. Once I whip up some ID or a birth certificate, I should be able to check out job options around here. Maybe get in some more research on this place too?
***
After finishing his breakfast, Peter showered and headed to the library. Determination filled his mind, ready to learn about the city and where he can find employment opportunities in this crap-hole.
Reaching into his bag he gnawed on a muesli-bar. Thank god they hand these out, I’d be toast without them
Pushing against the door, Peter took a step into the library again. He navigated toward the laptops he’d used the day before.
Noticing Miss Barbara, he waved before turning the corner. Spotting the kids section, he walked over grabbing some crappy arts and crafts supplies to write down some notes
“Time to make some ID to score a legal job.” he anticipated.
“yay” Peter weakly let out, raising a fist in the air.
Hours drifted past while Peter delved into the History of Gotham, Its Villains and Protectors. Jotting down notes on the cruddy kids paper, the back adorned in bad poorly drawn scribbles.
During his furious typing he searched up mutants and the laws behind them. Don’t want to have to experience another Sokovia Accords situation .
Finding people referred to mutants as “Meta’s” in this world. According to most of these cites he's coming across, they're not very fond of in Gotham.
Nevertheless he kept researching.
***
Confident in his knowledge of the city and its protectors, he picked up the paper, folding it down, and putting it into his pocket.
Perking up, his ears caught the sound of rolling wheels approaching. Lifting his hand from the Computer he was signing out of, he turned his head in curiosity.
“Hey kid, you there?” Barbara asked.
“ yeah?” head peeking out from behind the blocky device.
“I’m going on my lunch break and an early leave today."
"Sorry to ask you this but you’ll have to leave.” she told him.
Stumbling over his words, Peter hurriedly packed up his stuff, swinging his bag around his shoulder.
“Oh! um-don't worry. That’s fine, I was just finishing up.”
“Alright then, see you around….?” She remarked, the sentence lingering in a questioning silence.
With no ill intent, or any tingling at all from his Spidey-sense, he opened his mouth to tell her his name.
“It’s Peter”
“Goodbye Peter”
Rising to his feet, he headed toward the entrance, Barbra not far behind.
“Have a good day!” he called out, dashing out the stairs and sliding down the handrail of the staircase.
***
Recalling the small amount of cash he has on him, he walked around in hopes of a takeaway joint or a servo.
“Score!” Peter whispered to himself in excitement.
Filled with excitement, he trekked over to the milk-bar that was located on the corner of the street. Entering the store, the bell above the door-frame rang. Looking around he noticed the cashier staring at him.
Then he noticed the gun that they had up on a shelf behind them.
Feeling extremely nervous, he assessed how it must be like for them, on a daily basis with the state of their city and all.
“Oh I have money! I’m not going to rob this place or something.” he reassured, waving his arms in front of himself, walking toward the food section.
A gun wow, just on the shelf . He thought, raising his eyebrows.
Robberies must be pretty common considering how bad queens were sometimes, this place must be a heck of a lot worse . He noted, comparing his old home's crimes to this wreck of a city.
Before he could drown his thoughts of his old home, he took a glance around the stores produce.
“This has to be a joke right… the universe just loves making a fool of my life.” Peter said in desperation, catching sight of really bad knock-off food brand names.
Strolling along the isle, he caught sight of what seemed like pringles.
Under further inspection, he noticed the pig on the front and the brand name ‘Prongles.’ Glancing into the drink fridge aisle on the back wall, he saw items like ‘Club-Cola’, ‘Morning-Dew’ and one that made him choke on a snicker. ‘Dr. Perky.’
“Of all things, the food brands are off” he said with a stupid grin on his face.
Snickering to himself, he made his way to the pre-prepped food section and grabbed a pack of sandwiches.
Peter walked back to the cashier, placing down his pack of sandwiches, and a pack of discounted gum he found for 50c.
I guess no inflation of prices yet, good for me though. He said, glad for the cheaper prices from 2014.
Digging in his pockets hastily for the money, the cashier scanned his items with a cautious tense in his shoulders.
“$6.50”
“What?” Peter asked.
“Your total. Dumbass.” the cashier remarked.
Swiftly counting the money he handed over $6.50 in cash and coins.
“Do you want a receipt?”
“No thankyou.” Peter responded quickly, disliking the interaction.
Grabbing the sandwiches he quickly left the store, the door’s bell ringing behind him.
Is everyone going to be like that? He dreaded.
Continuing down the street, he looked for a place to sit and eat.
After wondering for ten minutes, he found a park to enjoy his sandwiches in. At Least there's some nice places in Gotham . He appreciated, gazing at the somewhat pristine condition of the park.
Chewing on his sandwich, he grabbed out the last half of one, smooshing it down real flat. At Least the food is nice . He thought happily, finishing his food, smiling gratefully at the weight in his stomach he gazed around at the trees and grass.
Appreciating the beauty and calmness nestled into this city, he gazed up at the thick, foggy clouds.
Noticing the sky diming, Peter got up, putting his rubbish in the bin.
It’s gotta be late afternoon now. He figured.
I should really think about getting a phone, or atleast a watchonce I land a job. He thought with a slight grimace.
***
Wandering down the street for a long while, he kept wary of the people around him. Peter noticed a bulletin-board type thing with flyers all over it.
Intrigued, he trudged over, eyes scanning everything.
“Jeez..” he murmured in surprise at the sheer amount of missing person posters on the board.
Paying no mind to all the torn papers for restaurants or old newspapers, his finger brushed against a much finer paper.
Shuffling aside the rest of them, he snagged the flyer.
“Huh” he puffed out in shock of his stroke of luck.
It read ‘Waiter/Server wanted for —-------- -_—-\\_|- Job interviews on the 29th of the 10th.’
“Why is the name scratched out.” he wondered.
Maybe my luck is finally turning around. He hoped.
“Either way the interview is in roughly two weeks from now.” Peter noted, recalling the date.
17/10 still so soon.
All of sudden the hair on the back of his arms and neck stood up as his spidey-sense went off.
Tensing up, he stuffed the flyer into his bag.
“Boy!” a gruff voice called out, followed by three sets of footsteps.
“What do you think you're doing in this territory!?” a voice yelled.
Turning around, Peter looked at the three approaching figures, the tallest and overall biggest being the one hollering and yelling.
Taking a step back, he spotted the bat and crowbar held by the other two.
With his Spidey-sense spiking, he gripped the straps of his bag harder, taking more steps back away from them.
“I didn’t know!” Peter told them, waving his arms out, in front of his face.
“I can go, I’m not looking for any trouble.” he said, glancing around nervously, eyes flicking around the street he was on.
“Maybe you’re looking for some trouble. She implied. “So, spill it. What brings you here?”
"Because it really doesn't seem all that much like an accident."
“Or maybe, he ended up here cause he is just as clueless as he looks.” the bat wielding one remarked.
“I don’t know? Are you guys as shallow as you look?” Peter snarked back in his wariness
“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” the woman said with the slap of her crowbar against her palm.
The largest one started to approach him, with heavy, uneven footsteps. “You’re gonna regret that comment, you foolish little brat.” he demanded.
Before he could get within punching range of Peter, he turned and ran across the street, further into the unfamiliar cityscape.
“GET BACK HERE YOU SHITTY LITTLE PUNK!” the biggest man raged.
Sweating, he ran faster down the street. These people are actually nuts . He thought, evading the one who was currently within arms reach..
So much for that luck . Peter remarked in his head, not in favour of crazy here’s temper.
Glancing back again, he noticed the other two chasing as well, not far behind.
Sprinting into a near alleyway, he cut corners and jumped a rusty chain-link fence. Peter dashed behind a dumpster, praying not to be found.
Minutes passed, and he could hear the people muttering amongst themselves about him.
“That kid couldn’t have gotten far; no one would keep going down that alley.” remarked the other man.
“Clearly not, but didn’t you hear his voice? It was a New York accent.” The woman pointed out.
“So what, leave him to the wolves down in that shit-hole, we deserve to-get-to hand it to him!” Crazy shouted, realising what she was implying.
“We had better go before any bats show up, he's not worth the trouble.”
Hearing faint scoffs of disagreement he stiffened up, but ultimately the sound of footsteps becoming faint, until disappearing entirely caused Peter to get up and look around. Nose wrinkling at the dirty alleyway’s smells.
“I have no idea where I am, do I?” he mumbled to himself.
A thought crossed his mind, “Crap! I’m gonna be locked out of the shelter if I can’t find my way back soon enough.” Facepalming, he groaned in frustration.
“I can’t go back the way I came, that’s practically just asking to find those guys again.”
“But what were they talking about? Not worth it, surely it can't be that bad.” he decided, walking in direction away from where he came.
***
Thanks to the city's foggy atmosphere, it was extremely dim outside. With it getting harder to see, Peter found himself relying on his Spidey-sense to help safely navigate in the dark.
With widening eyes he ran a hand down the side of his face. “It is so past the shelter's curfew.”
I’m not gonna get back in time . Peter fretted.
“Where am I supposed to stay the night?” he murmured nervously. Wandering deeper and deeper into the city, his Spidey-sense was on high alert.
The unwanted goose-bumps of anxiety making him shakey.
I just need to find an abandoned building or something to keep me warm. He thought, whilst rubbing his hands up and down his arms due to the chill.
Glancing around, Peter spotted an old office looking building, but very old. Woah that place is Ancient, falling apart too . He noted, looking up at the crumbling, cobweb coated structure.
Approaching it, he tried the door, only to have it fall off. Peeking inside, he noticed the entire bottom two floors were practically gone.
Stepping backward and further inspecting the place, he had a thought. Maybe I can find another way in?
Circling the office, Peter spotted an open window.
“Bingo!” He celebrated briefly. Up until he heard the sounds of people around a street away. Quieting down he lowered his pumped up fist and re-gathered himself, looking back up at the building.
Now with the celebration forgotten, he walked up to the wall and tried climbing. He had been okay throughout the day, but thanks to the extra weight on his bruised ribs, his body sent throbbing pain racking through him again.
The days finally catching up to me huh.
Peter’s face scrunched up as his breath got a bit shaky and his mouth formed an uneven line, before crying out, “Ack, ah crap ow.”
“Man, that hurts.”
“Alright Peter, you got this.” he reassured himself.
“Just climb up to the window, settle down for the night and go back to the shelter tomorrow.”
Taking deep breaths he began climbing up the wall on his fingertips. Slipping through the window, he plopped his bag on the ground, leaning on his knees for support.
Checking around the place, Peter listened to any noise he could pick up, and with the lack of heartbeats he heard, he knew he had found an empty spot.
“Okay, exploring in the morning, hah that rhymes.” he chuckled wearily at the bad pun, to attempt to refrain from focusing on the throbbing.
Shutting the window and settling down, he opened the bag, digging around until he found the blanket.
“Love Miller’s Community Center.”
“My heart goes out to whoever made blankets a must in the baggy of free stuff.” Peter said, nodding and talking to himself.
Turning around he set-up a makeshift bed on a crusty couch that was on the opposite wall to the window.
Sipping from his water bottle, he stuffed a couple crackers into his mouth, pulling the blanket over his head and turning over.
***
A few hours later, Peter jolted awake to the sound of someone landing on the roof above him.
“Crap crap crap, who the heck is that!?” he whisper-screeched to himself. Tip-toeing over to the window, looking up, he spotted one of the city's vigilantes.
Recalling his research from the day before, he recognized them as the Red Hood. If he remembers correctly he mainly patrols in Crime Alley.
Which means that I'm in Crime Alley . He recognized.
“No wonder crowbar and the crazy’s didn’t wanna follow me. I’m in the worst crime rated part of the city.” he murmured in nervous realisation.
Looking back up at Red Hood, ears straining Peter took notice of the kind of comm on the vigilante.
“Red Hood, we need you back in the Bowery, there's some another gang-knife-fight going down, and I’d rather not have to handle the impoverished and needy press in the morning swarming the place. Okay?” a weirdly familiar female voice reported.
“Yeah it’s looking kinda nasty, and you’ve got the expertise with knives, soooooo.” this time a higher pitched but male voice said.
Leaning forward even further, while attempting to catch a glimpse of the vigilante, he accidentally knocked off some debris from the broken windowsill. It fell down in the alley below, making a loud bang atop a dumpster.
“Shit.” Peter cursed.
Despite his discomforting pain, he crawled up onto the ceiling above the window, muffling his breathing with his hand over his mouth.
“Hold on a second Babs I’ll be right over, I just gotta to quickly check something out.” Red Hood explained.
“Is it anything serious?”
“I’m not sure yet, but someone might be here, and if I didn’t catch them being here at first, then it might be a problem.” he explained, whilst hoisting himself up and over the buildings edge with a grunt.
Scaling down the ledges of the wall, the vigilante halted on the windowsill squinting, he took a peek inside.
“False alarm, nothing here, I’ll be right there.” Red Hood assured. Leaping over ledges of close by buildings to travel over there.
Descending from the ceiling, upside down he lowered himself enough to glance out at the retreating figure, in the distance.
“Close call.” Peter said, exhaling in relief. Although curious about meeting one of the members of the Gotham ‘Bats and the Birds’.
“Back to sleep, thinking can wait until the morning.” he said, shutting the window and retreating to his couch bed.
***
Waking again, Peter sat up, rubbing his eyes.
Last night sure was something . He remembered.
Meeting a vigilante already is-just wow . He widened his eyes.
Packing up the blanket, stuffing it back into his bag he grabbed a muesli-bar to snack on. “I’ll look for some work today, I could use the cash.” he thought, pulling a face at his living situation for the minute.
“In the meantime, guess it’s time to explore this place a bit.” Peter said, walking toward the door leading into his ‘room.’
Pushing it open with a creak, he stepped out into an old hallway. Glancing left and right, he noticed his room was right at the end of the corridor.
Sauntering down, he opened another squeaky door, opening into a medium sized room, containing a small kitchenette and a few workstation benches.
“Oh gross, it smells like coffee in here.” Peter complained at the stench of the old, abandoned coffee making machine.
Pinching his nose, he left the room with his hand making exaggerated fanning waves in front of his face.
“Hopefully nothing else that gross is in here.” he said, with a still scrunched up face from the stale stench.
Floorboards creaking along the way, Peter came across an already open door, glancing into it he spotted cleaning supplies.
“Janitor's closet, sweet!” he exclaimed.
“I could settle down here until I get money for an apartment or whatever.” he said, thinking of fixing up the place a bit.
Closing the door, he pulled open the one next to it, revealing an old-large room filled with old desks in shambles. Paper spilling out of discarded wrecked draws.
“Future me can deal with that, thank you very much.” he said, closing the door to the room that looked like a hurricane had passed through it.
Taking a step back, he headed around the corner of the hall, spotting an old what would have once been a stairwell, and a receptionist desk.
“Maybe they've got something useful back there?” Peter questioned aloud.
Stepping over a broken chair and discarded paperwork, he started opening all the offices desk draws.
With a startling clunk, he let out a yelp.
“Oh, come on.” he complained, clutching his foot.
“Dumb draw falling out on my foot.” he whined in frustration. Glancing down at the draw, he spotted what seemed like a handmade map and tracking paper of sorts inside.
“Wait! Yes! thank you evil draw for falling on my foot.” Peter said, snatching the sheet and taking a closer look at them.
“Crime alley, Burnley, Ottisburg, the Narrows. Wow, practically everythings on here.” he said with his eyes blown wide.
“Sweet, notes on the back on where and who not to go ‘fuck around and find’ out in.” he said, making finger quotations when saying so.
Folding it up, he put it into the side of his sock, inside his shoe.
Can never be too careful in this wreck. He thought, recalling all of what's happened to him so far.
Shrugging, he turned back and walked toward the room he had slept in, snagging some cleaning spray and a broom from the closet.
“Man this place is a gross wreck.” he said gagging, startled by now knowing what he was sleeping on and beside.
The room was coated in a thick layer of dust, the floor having big enough dust bunnies, they were big enough to be real rabbits.
The window, so cobweb-coated you couldn’t see clearly through it anymore, the grout between floor tiles, pitch black from caked on dirt.
Worst of all being the very stained and disease ridden rug, below the somewhat okay couch he had slept on the night before.
Face cringing inward he dry heaved a bit before furrowing his eyebrows in determination and pulled up his sleeves as he began by dragging the wretched rug out of the room, down the hall and throwing it into the old stairwell.
***
Glancing around at his new ‘home’ for the time being, he looked at his couch for-a-bed tucked into the left side of the room, next to a set of cabinets he had found in the office.
On the right having his research set up on a desk he had pulled out of the office as well. All of his food that is stored away in the kitchen next door down the hall.
“This is cosy enough for now, but I should head back to the shelter for breakfast.” Peter said, noticing just how hungry he was.
***
In the chilly, early morning, Peter trekked back over to the shelter. Looking over the buildings, he could see the sun rising over the city's skyline.
Cold enough that he could see his breath. A shiver went down his spine, as he walked through the door into the heated lobby.
“Hey Peter, was it?” The receptionist asked in recognition.
“Yes, that's me.”
“Here for breakfast?” she asked.
Peter responded with, “yes, thankyou.”
“Head on through, you're good to go in.” she finished, typing and clicking randomly on her computer.
***
Halfway through packing up his breakfast tray, he overheard a group of some older men talking about a local restaurant that’s relocating soon.
Nervously heading over he asked, “Hey, I heard you guys mention something about a restaurant?” wondering about picking up another job before next week's interview.
“You know you shouldn’t eves-drop on other people’s conversations around here, kid.” he said.
“It could get you into some serious trouble.” another man spoke, piping up.
Peter felt a bead of sweat go down his neck in worry, “Oh sorry then, I was just wondering if you could tell me more about it?” he said.
“Sure kid why not, you're lucky we didn’t have any other motives though. You shouldn’t go poking your face in other people's business.”
Opening his mouth to respond, Peter was cut off by, “There’s a restaurant a couple blocks from here, relocating to a newer location. They’re looking for some help with jobs around the joint to finish packing it up.” he described.
“What’s the place called?” Peter butted in, wanting more information before he got barraged verbally again.
“John’s Rapid-Diner.”
“The gig blew up after a bit and they've bought a new property to set up shop, you can probably find some work there.” he explained, eyeing Peter up and down.
“Thanks a lot.” he said a little too loudly, quickly leaving the awkward but rewarding encounter.
Why is everyone so weird… well weird here? Peter thought, thinking back on the blank-bored stares he received from the men.
***
There he stood, in front of the diner. Sauntering up to the door, a voice called out,
“What’s a kid like you doin in a place like this?” they questioned.
Turning his head around, Peter wore a curious expression until he noticed the man peeking his head out at him from a side door.
“Looking for jobs, heard you got some.” he said, starting off with a confident approach.
The man then spoke, “Yes we do, why don’t you come on in.” he finished, gesturing to follow with a wave of his hand.
Please strange old homeless men, don't have set me up . he pleaded cringing.
Cautiously, Peter followed in suit, door closing behind them he asked, “What things need doing?” he asked, filling an uncomfy silence that had filled the room.
The man stopped in front of a small desk-like-table covered in junk. “Considering your age, and overall, well…” he paused, looking Peter up and down.
“… appearance.” he finished with.
“I don’t expect much in your capability to help us move things to and from.”
Moving his hand out in front of him, Peter tried to intervene and defend his competence, but ultimately getting cut off by the man.
“You just needed to hang up some flyers around the neighbourhood for our new location,” he explained.
“You’ll be paid $50 per stack of leaflets.”
“oh, seems simple enough.” he said, reaching for the pile of them on the table.
Smacking Peter’s hand, he squeaked out, “what was that for!?”
Picking up a clipboard, he spoke, “Not just yet. You need to sign some stuff for us to make sure you can’t leave me responsible legally, for anything happening to you on the job.”
“reassuring thanks.” he grumbled, rubbing the top of his hand and wrist.
Ignoring the sarcasm he was receiving, the man said “I do have another side gig on top of the flyers if you're up for it.” he led on.
“What kind of side job?” Peter asked firmly, but interested.
“The kind where all you have to do is transport a delivery to a… business partner of mine.” he said, pausing mid-sentence to explain.
“Before you wonder what that might entail and start to question shit, I advise you to keep your mouth shut.” he warned with a glare.
“If you're still down, it is three times the pay you’ll be getting for the papers.”
“Sounds good to me.” he said, quickly agreeing.
I know this seems really suspicious but I could use the money, especially right now I’m gonna have to go back to Crime Alley to make some kind of home in that office soon.
“Welcome to the team then.”
“And as urgent as these flyers are, I'd prefer if you could deliver the envelope for me first.” the man said, holding it out to Peter.
Reaching his own hand, he took the letter from the guy's hand, carefully flipping it over only to find nothing but a cheap stamp on the back.
“Sure thing, but just wondering where’s this thing off to.” he said, waving the letter back and forth a bit.
“Just a buddy of mine's place down by the docks in cape carmine.” he explained.
“Once you're there look for an old shop for fishermen, there's plenty there but I have a feeling you’ll find it.” He reassured me.
“To make matters easier, there should be a symbol on the door that looks something like this.” he uttered out, sketching down a picture on a scrap piece of paper.”
Peter grabbed the old torn paper note with the image and quickly pocketed it with a curious glance back at the man.
Ignoring the judgemental stare he received from the teen, he turned around.
“Shouldn’t take you too long to get there, and then you can put up the flyers around there on your way there and back.”
Picking up the stacks of flyers, he placed them into a large paper bag and handed it to Peter.
“Pretty popular walking grounds up there for all the dumb tourists and rich folk.” He left the conversation off, hassling and ushering Peter outside.
***
Readjusting his grip on the paper bag, Peter counted the flyers.
“Only about a rough twenty more to go.” he let out a yay of false excitement and continued walking up the street.
A little while later of treading up and through the Narrows he finally reached the main docks.
Peter exited off of the gravel he was trekking on, and onto a main footpath before looking up and over at the edge of the sector of Gotham.
As crappy as this place is, at least it has some charm to it . He said, startled as he stood there for a moment to soak up the sight of the harbour and rare liveliness to it.
Up until he was broken out of the small trance by the sound of a couple men starting a bit of a brawl a few metres away from him.
Rushing away he arrived at the edge of the scrawled down street name he’d been given last minute.
Okay well the bossman back there said to drive this and then I can be on my merry way. He wished to walk further into the docks.
"Wow this whole place is a mess." he said gazing around at all the run down buildings and left behind junk piles.
Spotting a somewhat standing building, he headed over and his nerves started tingling up again. Peter then caught sight of an out of place sheet of paper on the door. So he walked up to and came to a stop in front of the fisherman's outlet's door, double checking the chicken scratch picture of the odd symbol.
He stilled and thought for a moment, face pinched with a puzzled look. Tilting his head, Peter furrowed his eyebrows.
“Looks like…?” he paused.
“a scarecrow?”