It CAN Get Weirder!

“Hey, hello! Howdy! Have you seen my, um... daughter? She’s yay big!”

Peter Porker had to correct his hand-height-estimate. He was taller now--he kept having to remind himself of that. He stopped a passer-by who sang loudly in his face and pulled back, wincing.

“Okaaay. Thanks!” He said. The person ignored him and pushed their earbuds further into their ears as they danced. Another person nearby played a ragtime tune from a speaker, and Peter could have sworn that his own foot started tapping to the beat. It must’ve been because he was close to it, or something. Maybe because he touched the guy?

Oh, $%!#. He realized, all too terribly, how the dance virus was transferred.

Sound. It probably should’ve been obvious from the start.

“Hey, Noir! Cover your ears!” Peter’s feet scrabbled on the road in a pinwheel of animated blur, before he gained traction and ran to catch up to his monochrome friend, who was outpacing him by leaps and bounds. The man seemed more tightly drawn than a dress on Jessica Rabbit--all tension and panting beneath his mask.

“What? I can’t do that. I gotta keep sharp. Can’t be too careful with kids. She could be lost, or hur--or worse.” Noir huffed, slowing just enough to allow Peter to cut him off. Peter produced two corks out of thin air--toon logic smiled down upon him, apparently--and poked them into his ears.

“WE NEED TO BE CAREFUL. I THINK THE MUSIC HAS SOME KINDA… SUMLIMINAL MESSAGE THAT MAKES YOU A BROADWAY WANNABE.” Pete yelled, through the wall of quiet created by the corks. He pulled another pair out and offered them to Noir.

The man pulled one of Ham’s out and called into his ear, voice irritated and low.

“Don’t need ‘em. I’ve never danced, and I’m not going to start now.” Noir was distracted, completely. He seemed almost desperate.

Is he afraid of losing someone else?

Peter started to say something, but the detective had moved on, scanning the streets and rooftops. Ham put the cork back in and prayed that the guy was right, following just behind him, ready for a possible fight. His senses were on high alert, weak as they were in a human body. He put a hand to his mask and felt his nose through his mask. It was so weird and pointy-yet-snub. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and jumped as he saw a small figure spinning in a circle, arms outstretched, singing with the passion of Lil’ Orphan Annie.

A notably black-haired schoolgirl-skirted girl, with a futuristic robot. Bingo. It sounded like some kind of Disney song, loud and exuberant. It was downright adorable, actually, except that Peni was clearly hypnotized, eyes glassy and void of any ordinary rhythms of thought.

The music--oh, greeeat. It was playing from a speaker attached to SP//dr itself. Didn’t that thing have SPINNING SAWS on its arms in attack mode? Yeesh. Maybe if he jumped onto it--good thing he had plugs for his ears--he took one of his corks out to try to yell something to her, cringing as the music tried to wheedle its way into his ear.

And then Noir jumped out ahead of him, arms outstretched, right toward Peni.

“Hey, kid! Kid! It’s me. You’re still in there, right?” Noir said. Peni turned, beaming, and did a perfect… jazz… move… thingy. Gwen would probably know what it was called. And they had way more pressing issues.

“Yeeees!” Peni said, in a voice close to singing. Ham took a step back. That didn’t sound promising. In fact, it sounded pretty ominous, in a happy-go-lucky teen movie protagonist way. She blinked placidly and took a step toward Noir as the music carried on behind her. Peter came to stand next to Noir and resisted the lull of the dance with a quiet grunt. It felt like it was whispering to him, telling him to bust a move and lah-dee-dah.

He might have been a ‘tune, but he only sang on his own terms.

“Come on, Peni, let’s go. This is--” Noir’s brow furrowed, and his lips twitched. Peter looked between the smiling Peni and the silenced Noir, sweat on his forehead below his mask. It was hot out, and this situation wasn’t helping. Why couldn’t this be a normal multi-genre jukebox of a universe? Nooo, it had to be infectious. Noir squeezed his lips shut and pushed on, and Peter slumped with relief.

“This isn’t our scene, huh?” Noir said, trying to pull Peni away.

“I’m havin’ a good time! I’m havin’ a ball!” Peni said. Her left eye twitched for only a moment after she performed the heel turn, but it was a spark of hope in a dark pit of musical hell. Woah. His brain hadn’t even censored that curse word. Things were getting dire.

“Okay, that’s enough! This world’s crazy Peni, come on, snap outta this.” Noir put a hand on Peni’s shoulder. She jerked back as he stopped her in mid-spin and blinked, confused, her singing straying off-key as her hands continued to jazz.

She stopped, slowly, and put her hands down with noticeable effort. Her singing became louder for a moment, then trickled out as she clamped her jaw shut, balling her tiny hands into fists.

“Noir? Where… did I just…” Peni swayed on her feet and winced, groaning. SP//dr continued shimmying beside her, somehow. Peter wasn’t really sure how that worked, but who was he to question it? It was pretty catchy…

NOPE! He wasn’t going to fall for that song-and-dance. (Heh.) He pushed the cork back into his ear, blocking the sound. Peni looked distressed, and it made his heart twinge to see her. He had to destroy that speaker. Noir reassured Peni with quiet words that Ham couldn’t quite here as the girl came to, looking around with confusion in her eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay!” Peter called. Peni looked to him with an expression of lucid, bemused fear.

And then Peter Porker watched with growing apprehension as Peni smiled.

She mouthed something, eyes growing glassy again. Sh!t! He should’ve given her cork-plugs as soon as they got there. He rushed toward her as Noir tried to hold her and she leapt into SP//dr’s dome, shutting the hatch.

The words floated in the air above her in Japanese before squirming into English text: “CATCH ME IF YOU CAN!”

Then she was off like a shot in her bot. Peter couldn’t hear through cork, but he could tell that Noir had just said a word that would make a sailor pinker than a cartoon pig. The two set off in unison, Ham wiping sweat from his brow with a groan of resignation. If this universe didn’t make musical zombies out of all of them first, he was going to kill Wade.

---

The machine was leaping from rooftop to rooftop, and Noir’s arms were getting damn tired of it.

He’d had a long past few days. Hopping universes like an alley-cat hops on hot pavement. Wearing a dumb outfit. Kissing another guy, even if it was just on the cheek. Eating something called “Wade’s Very Special Imperishable Burrito” that was both the best and most destructive chow he’d ever tried.

Now he had to chase some poor kid around the rooftops while she played “Fly Me to the Moon” by Frank Sinatra from a speaker. The tickle at the back of his throat grew strong, but he was stronger. He’d lived through a hell of a lot, and some “musical disease” wasn’t going to be the thing that made him push daisies.

A cat screeched from an alleyway below as his boot barely missed in, swinging above its head in a quick arc. Where the hell was the kid going?

“NOIR, YOUR LEFT!” Peter yelled.

Noir turned  just in time to see a man, smiling broadly, kick foot-first through the window of the building beside him and leap into the air. The air burst from his lungs as his attacker--who was singing something loud and high right into his ear--squeezed him, trying to grab for his web-shooters. Shit.

“Geddoffa me!” Noir yelled. It wouldn’t work. The guy was wearing “headphones,” the kinda things Miles had in his future. They were the same dark black as Peni’s bot’s speaker, and for a second, he thought he could see something carved into the side--

And then the bastard clocked him in the jaw.

The web snapped away, and Noir was barely able to shoot another one out before he plummeted toward the ground, jerking himself back just in time. He heard a panicked shout of “NOIR!” and a thwip just above his head as Peter Porker swung in front of him, eyes wide beneath the mask.

“Noir, I’m gonna need ya to let go! Stop swinging!” Peter said. For a pig who’d turned into a human, he was damn good at maneuvering with his web-shooters. And also crazy if he thought that Noir was going to let go with a ragtime nutcase on his back.

“Are you tryna get me killed? He’s already trying to pin my arms!” Noir jerked down in an attempt to throw the man, but he held on, drawing something white and small from his pocket.

“OH MY GOD, HE HAS AIRPODS!” Peter shouted. Noir, who understood none of what the toon had said, cocked his head forward and jerked it back, slamming it into the bridge of his piggy-backer’s nose. The man didn’t even stop singing. He nearly managed to shove a bud into Noir’s ear, before a blessedly well-shot piece of web knocked his hand away.

“You got any other ideas?” Noir called, panic rising up. Peni was starting to really outpace them, heading toward a main thoroughfare on robotic legs, shingles falling and pattering to the road behind her.

“I can’t hear you!” Peter yelled, pointing to the corks in his ears, which somehow worked even through his mask. “Please, trust me!”

Noir had to throw a leg out to prevent himself from slamming into a building as the man squeezed his arm and hit a high note. Christ, what the hell was happening?

He met Peter’s eyes, and imagined them below the mask, brown and bright and probably desperate as all hell--and nodded.

“This’d better work!” he yelled, releasing his web long enough for the other guy to grab him. He growled as he felt the guy box at his ears, and pressed his eyes shut as the two started to fall.

---

“Trust me. This is normal.”

1931. He’d taken a case for a radio host, who went by John. Friendly, a little Irish, slim and pale. They’d found the guy’s brother. He’d gone missing in what they’d thought might be foul play, but, as it had turned out, the guy had just skipped town with an old flame to start a new life. It was one of the rare cases in which his suspicions had been proven wrong, and everyone was relieved for it. They’d been drinking scotch, together, in the guy’s apartment in south Brooklyn. The stars were cold and distant, wintry, dim.

John’s hand was on his shoulder, and the man was smiling, looking like any normal guy would seeing a pretty doll in the street. And Noir had his hand on John’s hand.

“I-I like women.” Noir said.

“That’s alright! You can like guys, gals… everyone’s pretty, really, it’s not fair to average joes like me.” the man smiled, hand trailing down his arm. Noir shivered.

You’re not average. You’re witty, and fantastic, and great. Noir almost said it, but something kicked inside him that shattered any illusions he might have had.

“I don’t understand. I-I should--” Noir stood too quickly, causing the glasses to jitter on the side table.

“Wait--”John said, face dropping in surprise. “I’m sorry, I thought you liked men like that.”

“I don’t… I don’t know.” Noir said. He paused, hand halfway to his hat on the hook. “I don’t know what I like. I don’t know if I’m capable of it.”

One of the scotch cups had overturned. The liquid dripped onto the rug and bled down, deepening gray in the half-light of the window. Somewhere outside, a pigeon cooed. John retracted into his chair and picked up the glass, slowly, as Noir pulled his coat over his arms. It felt as though he were locking himself in a cage. He crossed the room in three strides and turned back, for just a moment.

John looked up at him, head still downcast. He laughed, quietly and humorlessly.

“Don’t tell anyone that the babyfaced, skinny, flower-loving radio host is queer, alright?” He joked. His humor couldn’t hide his real fear. “Wouldn’t want that getting out. No one suspects!”

Noir nodded, silent. An image crossed his mind: walking over, taking John’s face in his hands, wiping the guy’s tears. Trusting him.

Then he turned and walked out into the night. It was cold, and the distance between him and John grew quickly.

---

Noir opened his eyes with a gasp as someone grabbed him, groaning with exertion.

Peter Porker had really saved him. He almost couldn’t believe it.

The confused man, nose bloody, was webbed to the wall near him. Ham ripped the headphones off with a line of fluid and smashed them with a mallet as they flew by, all while still holding Noir with one arm.

Shit. The guy had more skill than Noir gave him credit for.

“What happened?” the man asked. He looked afraid, as though he’d been possessed--and really, he kinda had been, if this “subliminal message” stuff was as powerful as all that.

“A hell of a lot!” Peter said. Noir’s eyebrow quirked. No censor, huh? “Musical shenanigans, yadda yadda. Sorry we had to web you!”
“It’s… okay? Are you bonus Spider-Men? I thought there was just one.” The civilian said.

“Uhh, yeah. We’re volunteer Spiders.” Noir said. He leaned in to Peter and muttered a quick “Let’s scram before he asks too much.”

The ex-pig nodded, gave the civilian a salute, and swung away, still holding Noir like Robin Hood holding Maid Marian. Noir opened his mouth to protest, then decided not to, then scrutinized himself very closely for deciding not to. Man, the guy was strong. And kind of sweaty. But mostly strong.

Peter finally noticed what he’d been doing, and his eyes widened. Noir cleared his throat.

“Oh! I forgot. There’s. Yeah!” Porker stuttered. Noir stuck out a shooter and disconnected from Peter, pink beneath his mask. It took him a moment to find his stride as they swung together, side by side.

To catch him and web the guy, Pete would’ve had to drop his own web, knock the attacker aside, web him to the wall, catch Noir with one arm, and swing to a stop all before they hit the ground. Pretty damn good for a gag character from a rubber-hose world. Noir swerved to avoid a pigeon--lots of birds could fly into you if you were staring at someone else.

Peter skidded onto the street ahead, and Noir joined, grateful for the rock beneath his feet. The red of Peni’s bot dissapeared into a building just ahead, and the door, which opened to absolute darkness, loomed ahead.

“Peni?” Noir called. His hand strayed to his gun, which was finally with him, then stopped. These people didn’t know what they were doing. Anyhow, it wouldn’t be that hard to stop a dancer. The web situation was an, uh, outlier.

Peter panted beside him, hands on his knees. Noir turned to ask if he was doing alright, then remembered the corks. This was gonna make things harder. No communication. No chance.

“Hey, Noir?” Peter Porker said. “Thanks… thanks for trusting me.”

Noir’s heart twitched like a fly in a web. He swallowed nothing, then nodded, hesitantly offering a smile under his mask.

“You’re a hell of a fighter. Now let’s find a lucky Peni.” Noir said.

Another flash of brilliant red, just in his peripheral vision. But this wasn’t metallic--it was matte. Ham’s eyes widened as he turned.

Spider-Man stood there. Judging by the lack of a gut, and the lack of an irritated expression, and the headphones, this wasn’t PB. And the situation didn’t seem promising.

“Hello, hello!” The man sang. Noir threw up a hand, and Ham shot out a string, too late.

The man vaulted over his head, using his shoulders as a pivot point, and slammed a pair of “headphones” over Noir’s ears. The detective swore as Ham jumped out of Musical Spider-Man’s way and started to remove the headphones--

“NOIR!” Porker called out, panicked.

The detective’s hand stopped halfway to his head, and he suddenly felt as though he’d drunk a few too many pints down at Rickaby’s. In a good way. A reeeal good way.

He lifted his hand, on instinct, and snapped his fingers. Let the show begin.