“Maybe if we adjust the formula like that and…” Peter started scrawling on the chalkboard and began running the tests on the computer. Curt smiled. In just a few brief minutes, Peter went from not knowing where the DNA samples were to walking around the lab like he had been a part of this lab for as long as Curt had.

Curt used his good arm to pat Peter on the back. “You pick up fast, Peter. You’re just like your father you know that?”

“Thanks,” Peter said, scratching his nose.

“I’m surprised you’re not asking more about him,” Curt said. “I thought you’d want to know more about him. He unfortunately passed away when you were very young, didn’t he?”

“I don’t really want to know,” Peter said with a chuckle. “Don’t get me wrong I love my dad, I miss both him and my mum and for a while they felt like a missing piece I needed to fill but I had my uncle and my aunt and they helped me through all of that.”

“I see,” Curt said, feeling his right-hand tingle. “You’re very mature for your age. Responsible, too.”

Peter chuckled. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it.”

It was at that moment they heard a knock on the glass. Curt and Peter turned to see a man in a black suit with slicked back hair leaning on one leg, grinning and waving at Curt.

Curt’s expression soured. “You test out the new formula. I’ll talk to him.”

Peter nodded. “Sure thing.”

Curt opened the glass door. “What is it you want, Sawyer?”

“That ain’t no way to greet an old friend,” Sawyer said, holding the door open and limping into the lab. “Specially, since I had to limp all the way into this shithole.” Curt blocked him from entering.

“We talk outside.”

Sawyer rolled his eyes. “Fine, fine. Who’s the kid?”

“None of your business,” Curt said, closing the door behind and talking to Sawyer in the hallway. “What is it you want?”

Sawyer grinned. “Look at you, Mr. Hardass. Walking around this place and talking to me like our organisation isn’t the only reason you can see that cute little son of yours.”

Curt clenched his fist. “What the hell do you want?”

“Results,” Sawyer said. “Results. You’re using Wayne money and the boss’s and you’re still not getting results.”

“You saw what happens when we try and rush things,” Curt hissed. “You saw what happened to that kid!”

Sawyer grinned. “And you know what’ll happen if we don’t get our results. Imagine what would happen if the world knew about the experiments Curt Connor’s was up to just for that tiny little arm of his.”

“You bastard!” Curt growled.

Sawyer tapped Curt’s cheek. “Time’s running out, Curt. Better get to it.”

Sawyer limped away. Curt walked back into the lab, rubbing his eyes.

“What’s up?” Peter asked.

“Nothing,” Curt said. “Nothing at all. It’s time to go home, right? Time’s up.”

“Sure thing,” Peter said. “My Aunt’s going to kill me if I’m late. See you tomorrow?”

Curt smiled. “See you tomorrow, Mr. Parker.”

…

On his way back home, Spider-Man looked down and saw a few people running, screaming out of the butchery that was a few blocks away from his place. The head butcher, Salman was throwing knives inside and shouting something in Hindi.

Spider-Man landed. “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

“There’s a jinn, a shaytaan in my freezer,” Salman said in his heavy Indian accent. “It’s eating all my food.”

“I’ll check it out,” Spider-Man said.

“You better,” Salman shouted, shaking his fist. “I paid good money for all that meat.”

“Alright boss,” Spider-Man said in an attempt to calm him down.

The butchery looked like a scene out of a horror movie. Blood was smeared all over the place, cow intestines and chicken livers plastered on the wall. Glass was littered everywhere and the plasma tube dangled hypnotically from the roof. A trail of half-eaten pieces of meat lead through the kitchen and into the freezer room where the door ominously hung open.

“You’re going to have to pay good money for all of this, Mr. Khan,” Spider-Man said. He walked through the kitchen and opened the fridge door. Kneeled over, tearing into the meat like a wild animal with its mouth red from the meat it hungrily lunged its face into was the same creature Spider-Man ran into the other night at the rooftop party.

When the light shined on its face, the monster screeched. Spider-Man’s spider sense buzzed. The monster lunged; Peter ducked but he was too slow. The monster sliced across his face. Luckily it only tore out his mask. The monster bounced around the room like an agitated moth, knocking over pots and pans. Spider-Man launched a web that attached itself to the monster’s leg. The monster pulled and tugged; Spider-Man was dragged across the floor but he used the two edges of the fridge’s doorframe to keep himself from being carried off.

The monster screeched desperately, crying and whining.

“Yeah, yeah save it for later,” Spider-Man said, grunting under the weight. “We’ll hand you over to the folks at S.T.A.R Labs and see what they have to say about you.”

But then the monster turned its face and Spider-Man felt his stomach sink a little. There was once a time when Jason caught a bat in a rat trap. Peter remembered it’s desperate screams as it tried to escape and the fear in its eyes. When Jason or Peter tried to let it out it lashed out of them, Peter still remembered the scratches on his hands. For some reason or another he loosened his grip on the creature. The creature still kept flailing around. Spider-Man raised his hands, he was trying to think of a way to reach the creature. To say something to calm it down.

Suddenly police sirens rang. Red and blue lights flashed across the butchery. The creature cried, stumbling around like a bumblebee and burst through the butchery.

“Wait, wait!” Spider-Man called after the creature. He heard glass cracking and gunshots firing. Spider-Man dashed through the butchery and swung towards the creature but he was too late. He heard a gunshot strike the creature, it stumbled in its flight but it kept on flying into the night, the moon shining across its wings.

“What the hell was that?” said a cop. Spider-Man slammed his fist against the floor, wishing he figured out what was happening earlier.

…

Bradfield felt water splash across his face. His eyes snapped open and he had to twist his face into a painful grin when he saw who was standing in front of him.

“Where’s the kid?”

“I’m the one asking questions here,” Batman said.  

“You benched him huh?” Bradfield said. “Lotta anger in his eyes, kinda like you. Hell of a puncher too. Face hurts like hell.”

“It’s going to hurt even more if you don’t talk,” Batman said. “Who do you work for?”

“I told you, the Master Planner,” Bradfield said. “You’re not getting anything more out of me.”

“I already have enough,” Batman said. “Gil Bradfield, you served in the US Army for 7 years during that time you lost your eye in a shrapnel incident. You were discharged, dismissed and sent back to Gotham. The benefits weren’t enough so you applied for the Wayne Veteran Program.”

Bradfield spat. “And I didn’t get anything. Turns out the higher ups were busy embezzling funds and nobody was there to stop em.”

“They were dealt with,” Batman said. “Why didn’t you reapply then?”

“Oh, c’mon Batman,” Bradfield said. “You’ve been in this city for long, you know what happens when someone bad gets thrown under the bus. They’re just replaced with someone worse. To make matters worse, the hospital bill skyrocketed. Told me they weren’t getting enough funding and to make matters worse, Mr. Wayne ain’t here to oversee anything. People are saying he’s out the country, skiing in Sweden or lord knows where.”

Bradfield stomped his feet against the ground. “There was a time I believed in Bruce Wayne.” He chuckled. “Like there was a time I believed in Harvey Dent. But the truth is they’re all the same. Buried underneath all the niceness, all the talks of change are just rotten rich bastards who only want to turn a profit and don’t care about the little guy.” 

They sat on the cold rooftop in silence. Bradfield grinned. “I’m already too far gone,” Bradfield said. “Might as well spill.”

He turned to face the Wayne Incorporated tower, looming high above Gotham, the big W in the centre watching over the city below.

“The Master Planner is going to expose the truth about Gotham,” Bradfield said. “Gonna expose the truth behind that big building in the centre. And once the people find out just how rotten Gotham’s founding fathers are.”

Bradfield grinned. “Gotham ain’t gonna be the same again.”