It CAN Get Weirder!

“Something’s definitely out of order.”

Peni skidded across the floor on her hover-heelies with the grace of a cat on a tightwire. Her SP//dr suit hummed behind her, at attention, and swivelled its hyperLED dome of a head in her direction.

The screen that dominated the far wall was a mixture of soft, paint-powder blue light, which dimmed and brightened depending on when she looked at them, and a swath of rainbow light depicting what looked to be the inside of a cobwebbed, black-lit cupboard. She could catch her reflection in it: pale, miniscule, lips drawn into a bow and hands skimming the waxy surface of the screen, spinning diagrams left and right and off the port entirely.

At a closer glance--at least, if you were tech genius Peni Parker and not a random layperson--it was clear that the image of a “cobwebbed cupboard” was not a scattered collection of holographic webbing and pinpricks, but a map: one depicting the multiverse in striking detail. Smiley-face emoticons marked the universes that housed her friends, gleaming yellow in the clusters between web-strands.

SP//dr purred, and tapped at the screen. The pocket of universes nearest to her own warped, like a collection of mutated cells just waiting to multiply, twisted and pinched at the fulcrums. An ominous red line streaked between three in a jagged curve, and as of now, another line was solidifying between Noir’s and hers.

According to every well-guarded paper she’d read, Autonomous Dimensional Transport Devices had been invented (and subsequently banned) in her universe in the year 2100, due to the dangers of using them to affect other universes. Even now, only elite scientists knew that they had ever come into existence. The general public was often satisfied by hand-wavy stuff when learning about multiverses. She wasn’t.

And now, with only her to witness it, something was crossing into her universe. Something with a flight path, not just blips from dimensional hoppers. It had to be big.

SP//dr’s eyes turned to question marks, then to X-symbols. //Is it dangerous?// They asked.

“I don’t know. It could be a villain with crazy tech skills. Or maybe… no,” Peni winced, and didn’t let herself entertain the thought. “It’s not them.”

That always happened, didn’t it? Everyone left. She became attached to people more easily than she detached. She always burrowed into other people’s good intentions and didn’t let go until she was ripped out--

She stood up, sucked in a breath, and jumped into SP//dr’s dome. The machine glowed  Her spider’s psychic link buzzed against hers, and she leaned away. She didn’t want it to listen in right now. It was time for a job, not therapy. She was strong.

Peni’s eyes lost any sparkle they’d had before, the shadow of her tufty bangs concealing them from the overhead light. Whoever had come to her universe had ripped a hole straight through the lines connecting them, like a needle punching through cloth at random. This wasn’t the work of a normal hopper. This was a job done by a villain, and SP//dr--both Peni and her bot--couldn’t stand villains.

A flick of her eye and a brush of her finger opened the skylight exit above her head. She reminded herself to call May and Ben to tell them she’d be busy for a few hours. They’d understand.

In a streak of magnet-red and royal blue, SP//dr shot out and into the covered alleyway, blazing in the afternoon light. The device had beeped to a stop on top of the Algren, a multi-story mega-restaurant known for its stellar service and absolutely astronomical prices.

No more villains. Not in her universe. Not in any universe.

---

“Right, see, the first step in being a flatfoot, is, to, scope out your… ah, shit.” Noir gave up on gesticulating wildly and contented himself with staring at the expanse of raw, unbridled human innovation.

And, goddamn, was it bright as a nun’s penny.

The colors were enough to make his world tilt back on its hinges--or maybe that was just him craning his neck up to look as far as they could. They’d impacted on top of a medium-tall building, meaning that they were at least 10 stories above ground level in this candy-tone, paint-splatter version of New York. Every color he couldn’t possibly name burned in every corner of what he could see, from office windows across from him and on airships half the size of dirigibles that blared music in another language and flivvers faster than comets on the street below.

He’d been holding his breath. In reverence? In fear? Whichever it was, it was overwhelming--he’d tried for so long to feel things, and he didn’t know if it was the best idea anymore. Not in the least.

I shot a guy for him.

What? What, no. He’d shot a guy for every broad he’d ever solved a case with. Sometimes multiple guys. Sometimes he’d even have to shoot a dame, if she was the type to send him to the Big Sleep. The laws of chivalry took a backward kick out the window when the cards were down and the knives were up.

Why am I comparing him to an attractive woman? He’s a man, and also a cartoon, the kind kids see at the picture show. I’m losing it.

And, caught between two extremes: blank-minded awe of the explosion of color and one he’d chosen to dub “bare-bones panic,” and settled on the former.

“Okay.” PB said, face falling. “I’m adding this place to my own, personal blacklist.”

“You’re no fun, Parker-Chan,” Wade said. Noir turned and watched, detached from his own actions.

“If you ever say anything like that to me again, I will call the police.” PB said. Noir’s eyes, honed by years of detective work, weren’t blind to the subtler parts of his threat: the leftwards-dart of the eyes, the vanished upward twist of the lip, and an outward breath to hide a real laugh. PB liked this guy, clearly. All the talk Peter had spilled about PB being annoyed with him was only half true.

Click-click. Footsteps. Now Peter was standing next to him, looking toward him. He felt a hand on his arm.

“Hey, hey, we’re all here. Crazy city, huh?” Peter said. The hand was like the Hoover Dam for his pulse: it slowed things, steadied him enough to tear his eyes away from the goddamn mess of a skyline and look down.

“Hell yeah, it is,” Noir said. “It’s like a plane full’a paint slammed straight into my eyelids. Does the future just keep getting more and more… bright?” he asked, rubbing his temples.

“Honestly? #@%& if I know.” Peter looked disappointed for a moment as the censor did its job. “My own universe is pretty, y’know, bright and colorful, because it’s governed by Tunes laws and… hey, does someone draw us? I mean, the people in my universe?”

“What do you mean?” Noir asked.
“If you think about it, whoever animates my universe is basically god. That is, if someone DOES animate my universe.” Peter took a step away, his face comically pinched as he concentrated.

“This isn’t comforting any more, Porker,” Noir warned. Peter held up a hand.

“But if there IS no animator, and my universe is just... like that, then why do we run on Looney Tunes laws? Hey, if you think about it, how do I know what Looney Tunes are?”

“I--say, that’s a good question.” Noir hadn’t thought about that. His head began to ache again.

“I think we’re getting off track…” PB warned, uselessly.

“And why do I still do tunes stuff, then? Or have censors?”

“Evidence for no animator. No god.” Noir said, staring off into the middle distance. It was a practiced empty stare. Good for staying alert, while still contemplating the meaning of a short and brutal existence.

“Hey, why haven’t any of us glitched?” asked Wade.

“Not now, Wade,” Peter said, then snapped to alertness. An exclamation point appeared above his head, and Noir swiped for it without thinking. It vanished just before his fingers touched it, and they scraped Peter’s hair as they missed. Soft hair.

Shut your mouth, brain. Shut your monkey-fighting mouth, right now. He watched as Peter remained oblivious and turned to Wade, one finger raised.

“Wait! No, not not now, right now! You’re right. We haven’t glitched.” Peter began to pace.

“Yeah, probably should have noticed that our atoms aren’t snapping themselves into tiny pieces every few minutes by now,” PB said, scratching his stubble.

“So we got out scott free, ‘s that what you’re saying?” Noir asked. He looked to Porker for support and found that the man--pig? Cartoon?--was staring at Wade, mouth partially open.

“No need to thank the stopped clock, amigos,” Wade said, sounding very much like he wanted to be thanked. “I just remember how much PB whined about it--”

“Thanks.” PB said, deadpan.

“You’re welcome. And it hasn’t happened to any of us, unless it happened while we were split.”

“Nope,” Peter said. “I was smooth-sailing. Like a duckling.”

“Now, hold on. We may’ve just gotten, I don’t know, crazy lucky for a change. Be prepared to glitch during a battle, guys. Don’t leave me with all of the work.”

“Hey, now, I pulled my weight during that fight, no matter how much static crossed my atoms,” Noir said, standing taller. He’d defended those kids damn well. “And Peter Porker here saved that little doll Peni’s life. Didn’ you stop by that whiskey-hole to get food before we went inta the collider?”

“It’s called a bar and grill, and the burger was delicious. But you’re right, I’m sorry. If there’s anyone who’d be a drain, it’s me.” PB smiled with heavy-lidded eyes. Noir had seen the expression on himself in the mirror some mornings, when he tried to remember what it had been like before… well, everything, really.

An uncomfortable silence dribbled over the four of them. Wade opened his mouth, then shut it again, placing a hand on PB’s shoulder. The man looked surprised, then laughed.

“Hey, hey, it’s a joke,” PB said, laughing at himself in the same way the bombing comics at Rickaby’s did every Friday night. He lifted his hands to placate the others, and Noir decided to let the matter slide for the moment.

“Now, we’ll think about that later. But for now, we need to find a guy with cloaking technology, and a certain cybernetics expert with sparkly anime eyes. Noir? Do your thing.” PB said. Wade passed a burrito to him. PB looked momentarily thrown, then decided to eat it anyway.

Wade and Peter looked to him, and seemed to be waiting for something.

“What, d’ya think I’m psychic? We’ve at least gotta start looking around, first. Now come on. We’ll try wherever this is, first.”

“Why’s that?” asked Peter.

“Because I have no goddamn idea where anything in this future-York is, trotter,” Noir said, “so we’re going to start where we landed, and I’ll find our tech-catchers no matter what, alright?”

“Okay, okay! Fair enough!” Peter said. He walked to the roof’s edge and thwipped a strand onto the side of another, even-taller building, and saluted the others.

“Pretty sure we can drop down here, between these two, and go into… whatever this is. I’ll go first.”

Peter took a moment to close his eyes, then dropped with a slow slide whistle. Where did those come from? Noir decided to save it for the maker and followed PB over the edge, as the other man held Wade and Wade pantomimed a ladylike swoon. It was the same way he’d held Peter--well, sans the Romeo-and-Juliet theatrics. Strange. His own reflection in the side of the building caught his eye as he slid down the length of his web and touched down on the street, leaving a sinuous string behind.

Peter dusted himself off and whistled as PB attempted to remove Wade with little success.

“Getting clingy, there, Wade?” Peter asked.

“You can’t make me let go. I know my rights.”

“Your rights have literally nothing to do with this,” PB said, lurching awkwardly under his friend’s weight. Noir felt something odd kick at his chest. Was that what an almost-laugh felt like? He wouldn’t really know, but dammit if it didn’t feel good.

“Right, let’s make a plan for going into the--” Noir broke off and strode to the front of the building, peering up. “Algren Restaurant. Alright, looks fancy-ish.” He watched as a couple dressed in striking, low-cut clothing entered, smiling. Good, their group wouldn’t stand out all that much.

“What’s the idea?” PB asked.

“Well, first, some of us need to get to the kitchen.” Noir began. “If we want to keep an eye everywhere. The other… two, I guess, can try to get into the restaurant as clients.”

“Me. And Peter B. There is NO way I’m passing up on snagging some future food from the fridge, buddy,” Wade said. PB looked as though he were about to protest, then considered the matter further, and nodded.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see if we can pose as waiters, get some uniforms.” PB said.

“On it.” Wade finally released his hold on Peter B. and vanished into a side door. PB swiped at him and groaned as the man slipped through, bouncing on his toes.

“Right, and we’ll be, ah, friends going out to lunch, as friends do.” Noir said. He put his hands in the pockets of his pants, which were very tight over his uniform, and tried not to look at Peter.

“Just like pals!” Peter said, very quick. PB bit his tongue and looked between the two, then nodded, and took off after Wade.

“Thank god they left the side door unlocked. Shall we?” asked Noir.

“After you,” Peter mock-bowed. Noir strode out with purpose, boots hitting the concrete with muffled thumps. Peter followed just afterward, and they opened the restaurant doors to the next circle of hell.

---

“What is this thing?”

Peni used her robot to open the doors of the pod. It was dulled by smoke and burn damage, and she could just barely see her face in its side. Green light flickered from within as she opened it, revealing a screen scrolling code in a language that probably hadn’t been used since the dark ages.

Good. A leg up on whoever this person was--or whoever these people were.

Her robot scanned it in a millisecond and returned the data. It was a rough-travel micro-collider, one that could only travel one way, unless there were a hub involved. Primitive, but useful. Someone with the right skills could wreak havoc on her dimension with it.

Her robot stood and backed away from it, scanning along the ground for a travel path. Nothing obvious--and then, a footprint! One footprint, a large, human shoe, pointed out toward the city.

“He could be in a lot of places,” Peni said, apprehensive. Her robot hummed in agreement, then tensed, its scanners picking something up.

“What is it?” she asked. SP//dr leaned down and plucked a hair from the wall of the pod, holding it up to analyze. The DNA match-finder clicked throughout the nearby block, searching and then beeped just below her feet.

“We did it!” she said, victorious. The man was entering the restaurant now, alongside another, if the heat signature was correct. They were arm-in-arm. A couple? Did two villains enter her universe?

Whatever the case, she’d take them down. Now it was just a matter of sneaking into a fancy, hip, and well-staffed establishment, in broad daylight, with a large robot.

This would be easy as rewiring a mainframe while being shot at.

---

Noir clutched Peter’s arm and smiled wider as the receptionist gave them a welcoming smile.

“Why, yes! We ARE the Parker couple reservation!” Porker said. “How did you guess? We as legitimate patrons of this establishment would very much like to know.”

“Oh, of course we’d know you!” the woman at the desk laughed. “You’re New York’s favorite couple!”

Noir suddenly wanted to know, very keenly, what exactly the Hell was going on.