Wayne Enterprise
The maintenance entrance smells like bleach and old water.
Max Dillon pushes through the door with a white bakery box balanced carefully in his arms. The string cuts into his fingers, but he doesn't let go. Inside the box is a cake with blue frosting, a red web piped clumsily across the top, and a little Spider-Man figurine standing crooked at the center.
Happy Birthday, Max, the bakery lady had written in uneven icing.
He'd smiled when he saw it. Really smiled.
Inside the building, no one notices him as employees walk past talking about schedules, weekend plans, gossip. Someone bumps his shoulder hard enough to make the cake wobble.
"Sorry," they mutter without looking back.
Max steadies the box, heart sinking just a little.
"Hey," he says, quietly, to no one in particular. "It's my birthday."
No one hears him so he keeps walking.
For two months now, Gotham has talked about Spider-Man nonstop. The news plays clips of him saving hostages, stopping robberies, helping people evacuate burning buildings. There are murals popping up in alleys. Kids wear red-and-blue backpacks. Old ladies talk about how polite he is.
Max watches all of it every night on his tiny TV.
He notices people, Max thinks. He sees them.
He reaches the break room, sets the box down carefully on the table, and opens it just a crack to peek inside. The little figurine has tipped over.
Max gently stands it back up.
"Don't worry," he whispers to it. "I'll fix it later."
His shift finally ends an hour late. He checks the clock, stomach tight.
Go home. Eat cake. Maybe watch the news. Maybe they'll show Spider-Man again.
"Max."
The voice stops him cold.
His supervisor stands by the office door, arms crossed, irritation already written across his face.
"Yeah?" Max says, hopeful despite himself. "I'm actually just heading out….."
"I need you to take care of something first," the man interrupts. "Currents are acting up above the eel tanks."
Max blinks. "Uh… that's electrical. That's not really my..."
"You're maintenance," his boss snaps. "And everyone else already left."
Max glances back toward the break room. Toward the cake.
"…It's my birthday," he says softly.
His boss sighs like Max just asked for the moon. "Five minutes. Then go."
Max nods.
"Yeah. Okay. Sure."
He puts the cake back in the fridge, carefully closing the door. For a second, he hesitates, fingers lingering on the handle.
"I'll be right back," he tells it.
The aquarium floor is dim and quiet, blue light rippling across the walls. The eel tank hums ominously, water sloshing as long shapes move beneath the surface.
Max climbs the ladder to the maintenance platform, tools rattling in his belt. The current box sparks faintly.
"Always on my birthday," he mutters.
He reaches in and spark becomes a scream of light. Pain explodes through him and Max doesn't even have time to shout. Electricity surges through his body, every nerve lighting up at once. His muscles lock, teeth clenched so hard he thinks they'll shatter.
The platform jerks then the railing gives way and Max falls.
He hits the water with a splash that echoes through the empty building.
The eels swarm instantly.
Electricity and water and living flesh collide in a blinding storm. The tank glows white-blue as current arcs wildly, crawling over scales, glass, skin.
Max sinks and his scream is swallowed by the water.
In another part of Gotham, a mural of Spider-Man is being painted on a brick wall. A kid laughs as the hero's eyes are filled in bright white.
People walk past, smiling because they feel safer now.
They don't see Max Dillon.
They don't hear the tank crack.
They don't notice when the lights flicker and the water inside begins to glow.
Gotham Academy
Alex limps into the cafeteria like nothing is wrong. Which is impressive, considering everything is wrong.
His shoulder aches with every step, his ribs feel like they've been lightly tenderized by a truck, and he's pretty sure one of his bruises has developed its own personality. He keeps his backpack slung low to hide the worst of it and tells himself, Act normal. Normal people are not constantly wincing.
He grabs a single plate of food.
Just one which is a miracle.
Alex sits at a corner table and starts eating, chewing carefully like the tray might explode if he moves too fast.
"Hey."
Alex looks up and immediately straightens, regretting it.
Cass stands there with her tray, eyes already scanning him in that quiet, focused way of hers.
"Oh hi!" Alex says way too fast. "You can….yeah…sit. Totally. I mean, obviously. This is a free table. Not that you needed permission. Or… permission exists. I mean…."
Cass sits down and she smiles and that somehow makes it worse.
Alex continues eating and talking because silence would absolutely kill him.
"So, uh, did you know Gotham Academy has, like, way too many stairs? I counted. Well, not counted-counted. More like… emotionally counted. My legs are very upset with me."
Cass nods, resting her chin in her hand, watching him with clear amusement.
Alex doesn't notice.
"And the science lab stools? Designed by someone who hates spines. I'm convinced. Also, I think the vending machine on the third floor is haunted. It stole my money and then blinked at me."
Cass's smile widens and she signs something slowly.
Alex barely glances down before responding out loud and signing back at the same time. "Yeah, I think it prefers chaos. Or maybe it just doesn't like me specifically."
Across the cafeteria, Tim watches over the rim of his drink.
Steph leans closer. "Oh my god. Look at them."
"They've been talking for six minutes straight," Tim says. "Alex hasn't taken a breath."
"I give it two weeks," Steph says. "He asks her out. Trips over a chair. Dies of embarrassment."
Tim considers. "Counterpoint. Cass asks him out. He faints."
They shake on it.
Back at the table, Alex keeps rambling.
"So anyway, I'm pretty sure my backpack weighs more than me, which is saying something because…." He pauses, noticing Cass hasn't eaten a bite. "Oh. Sorry. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
Cass nods and then signs: Keep talking.
Alex smiles despite himself. "You're a bad influence."
She looks very pleased with that.
Suddenly, the lights flicker.
Once then twice
The cafeteria goes quiet.
Then the entire building shudders as a thunderous boom rolls across Gotham.
Windows rattle and someone screams.
Blue-white lightning erupts in the distance, clawing up into the sky like something alive.
Alex's spider-sense detonates in his skull and he's on his feet before he realizes he moved and Cass looks up at him sharply.
Alex forces a laugh that sounds suspiciously like panic. "Uh power outage? Gotham's… uh… thing?"
He grabs his bag. "I should bathroom. Emergency bathroom. Very emergent."
He turns and bolts and Cass watches him go.
"…Called it," Steph mutters.
Outside, Alex vanishes into the crowd.
Cass's hands clench around her fork.
She signs slowly, eyes still on the exit.
He's going to help.
Tim is already pulling out his phone.
"Yeah," he says quietly as it rings. "Bruce? It's happening again."
Steph glances out the window at the lightning tearing through the skyline.
"Gotham really needs to stop exploding during lunch," she says.
Earlier
The morgue is silent in the way only places meant for the dead ever are.
White lights hum overhead. Stainless steel reflects back a cold, lifeless version of the room. On one of the tables lies a body, hidden beneath a thin white sheet then the lights flicker.
Monitors begin to buzz. Heart-rate machines crackle with static. Drawers rattle softly, metal trembling against metal.
The sheet twitches and a hand jerks upward beneath it and with a sharp gasp, the body sits straight up.
The sheet flies off as the man scrambles backward, falling off the table and hitting the tiled floor hard. He stares at his hands, breath coming fast, shallow, panicked.
They glow faintly blue.
"No… no, no, no" he whispers, scrambling to his feet.
Electric sparks jump from his fingers to a nearby tray. Instruments clatter to the floor as the current ripples outward. The man presses his hands to his chest, trying to steady himself, trying to breathe.
"I was dead," he says hoarsely. "I was dead."
Alarms begin to scream and panic takes over.
He grabs the first clothes he can find which are scrubs and a hoodie and stumbles out of the morgue into the night.
Gotham feels wrong.
Too loud. Too bright. Every sound drills into his skull. Every flickering streetlight makes his skin itch. Hunger gnaws at him, sharp and painful, like something inside him is hollow and screaming to be filled.
He staggers down the sidewalk, clutching his stomach.
Then he sees it. A fallen power cable, sparking wildly against the pavement.The hunger becomes unbearable so he drops to his knees and grabs it and electricity floods him.
He gasps but instead of pain, there's relief. Warmth. Strength. The glow in his skin brightens as the cable goes dark in his hands.
"Hey!"
A cop rushes over, hand on his holster. "Hey, freak! Are you crazy or something? Back away from the cables, jackass!"
The man looks up and the cop freezes.
Blue skin. Glowing eyes. Electricity crawling under his flesh like veins of light.
"You really are a freak," the cop whispers, horror turning to anger. He yanks his gun free. "Stay where you are!"
More sirens. More cops. Guns raised.
The man backs up, hands lifted. "Wait please stop! I didn't do anything! This isn't my fault!"
A truck barrels down the street toward the crowd and instinct takes over and he throws his hands out.
Lightning explodes from him, lifting the truck into the air and flipping it clean over his head. It crashes behind him in a storm of sparks and glass.
The street erupts in chaos.
Cop cars screech to a halt, forming a circle around him. Tear gas canisters arc through the air
The man spins, coughing, eyes landing on the massive digital screens above the street.
His reflection stares back and he was blue and glowing like a monster.
"No…" his voice breaks. "That's not me."
Gas hisses. Guns aim.
"Stop!" he screams. "Please enough!"
Electricity detonates outward.
Cop cars lift and slam aside like toys. Bullets fire but disintegrate before they can touch him.
A black sedan skids to a stop.
Commissioner Gordon steps out. "What's going on?"
"Some kind of meta," an officer says. "Electric powers. Hostile."
Another wave of electricity surges and a car flips spinning straight toward Gordon but it stops and under it crouches Spider-Man.
He lands lightly on the hood, grinning beneath his mask. "Okay, Gotham, reminder no throwing cars at the commissioner."
He hops down and looks at the hooded figure. "Hey, Sparkles!"
The man turns slowly. "Is that you?"
Spider-Man blinks. "Uh… yeah? Hi?"
"You don't remember me?" the man says, voice cracking. "I walked into the street. A car almost hit me. You saved me. You said you needed me."
Spider-Man's eyes widen behind the mask. "Oh. Oh! You're the blueprints guy."
"Yes," the man says. "That's me."
Spider-Man steps closer. "Of course I remember you. You're my eyes and ears." He pauses. "What was your name again?"
The man's face twists. "How could you forget me?"
"Oh, I know it don't tell me…"
"Max."
"Max!" Spider-Man snaps his fingers. "Knew it. You look… different. New vibe."
On a rooftop above, a sniper lines up his shot.
Spider-Man tilts his head. "So, how are ya?"
Max laughs bitterly. "I don't know what's happening to me. I feel so much power. So much anger."
"I see that," Spider-Man says gently. "But I also see you're scared. And you don't want to hurt anyone. It's gonna be okay."
"I have a clear shot," the sniper murmurs.
"Don't shoot," Gordon barks. "Let the spider work."
"I don't want them shooting at me," Max whispers.
Spider-Man turns to the cops. "Hey! Nobody shoot! This is my buddy Max. Nobody hurts Max, alright?"
Max takes a step forward.
"Whoa careful!" Spider-Man says. "Grates. Electricity. Bad combo."
Max's voice trembles. "I just… I wanted someone to see me."
"How about you come with me," Spider-Man says softly. "We'll talk."
Max nods. "Okay."
The shot rings out.
Max screams as the bullet hits. Electricity erupts violently.
Spider-Man throws his hands up. "STOP! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Gordon roars into his radio. "WHO FIRED THAT SHOT?!"
Max turns, fury blazing and fires.
Spider-Man shoots a web but the electricity races up it, exploding his web-shooters and slamming him into a squad car. Webbing sprays wildly from the damaged device.
A billboard snaps loose.
Spider-Man leaps, grabs a cop, yanks him clear as the sign crashes down.
The crowd erupts.
"SPIDEY! SPIDEY!"
Max kneels, palms slamming into a metal grate. Waves of electricity ripple outward.
Spider-Man flips behind a car, using it as cover with his spider-sense screaming as civilians grab railings now alive with current.
"One shooter," he mutters. "Great."
He fires web after web, pulling people free, saving them one by one.
Behind him, Gotham chants his name.