Chapter 15: A Shift

Marco was already sitting in the dining room of the pizzeria when Peter stepped in. The man's face was pale, dark circles under his eyes. A gun sat on the table, not pointed towards the door but close enough for the owner to grab it in an instant if he needed to.

This, added to the disquieting trip from his apartment to the restaurant, significantly reduced Peter's enthusiasm. He kept forgetting how dangerous Gotham could be sometimes, not only to its vigilantes but to its citizens, to the point that most of them had to carry and show off weapons to avoid being robbed.

"Everything alright?" He asked, shuffling uneasily. Marco blinked and looked up sharply, seeming like he hadn't even noticed him enter, despite the noise he made. Whatever was happening in town was serious enough to disturb him.

"You came, uh?" The older man sighed after staring at him for a long, awkward moment. "Do you even know what's happening around here?"

Peter grimaced and shook his head. Marco snorted at the admission but there was no humor in his eyes, only a deep worry. His brows were furrowed and his left hand kept tapping the table, inches away from his firearm. The teenager focused and, as he had expected, he could hear the man's heartbeat, slightly faster than it would usually have been.

"Well kid," his boss said, lighting himself a cigarette as he spoke then sticking it in his mouth and taking a long drag. "We have two dangerous madmen on the run tonight."

"Ah." Peter said, his blood freezing as he started wondering if, maybe, Firefly was one of these two men. He wasn't ready to face him yet, he wasn't ready to face anyone in Gotham.

Marco breathed out a large puff of smoke, exhaustion dragging his shoulders down. His heart still sounded anxious, although his breathing was calm and measured.

"Know anything about our city's freaks?"

Peter cringed a bit at the last word, remembering how he had been called that, just before having a gun pulled on him. Would Marco turn on him if he found out he was a meta? He hoped not, he desperately needed money and shelter to start gaining a semblance of life back and this job was all he had.

"A bit." He said eventually, clenching and unclenching his hands in his pockets. "Mostly by name. It's hard to remember them all."

"You should." His tone was deadly serious. 

"Y-Yessir."

Marco waved him forward, pointing at the seat across the table he was sitting at. He flicked his cigarette off when Peter walked closer, a simple gesture but one the teen appreciated nonetheless.

"Last night," the adult sighed, rubbing his temples, "there was a breakout at Arkham."

Arkham was a detention center, he remembered, some kind of prison where the police sent enhanced criminals. That was where Croc had been examined in the documents he had read online. Definitely a place with dubious moral standings, if they allowed private informations like what he had read to be posted for anyone to find.

"Good news," Marco sighed, "is that it was only one inmate."

He didn't look particularly relieved to say that, which made Peter anxious as to who exactly had broken out.

"Bad news," he continued, "is that it was the Joker."

The way he said it made him think he should probably have a stronger reaction to this information than slightly raising an eyebrow but, other than the fact the criminal was at the head of the clown gang, Peter didn't really know anything about him.

"Uh… How bad is that?"

Marco sighed, looking like he wanted to bash his own head into the table for a second. He regained control of himself almost immediately however, crossing his arms and answering:

"It is very bad. He probably won't do anything for now, Joker is the kind of man who likes to plan out some kind of big finale, but the simple fact he's out is going to distract not only the Bats but also the GCPD."

"Is this why there's so many people outside?" Peter waved at the door.

His boss nodded.

"They'll still be doing some busts and crackdowns but the amount is going to be seriously reduced. Doesn't help that Riddler is also back in town."

Peter remembered reading about the Riddler, a man who liked to entrap and control other people for his enjoyment, subjecting them to various tests and puzzles. Not the kind of villain that would have existed back in his universe, and not someone he felt particularly well equipped to deal with as Spider-Man. The man did not rely on his strength to commit his crimes, he definitely was not a safe target for him.

"So what should I look out for?" He asked after a minute or so of turning the new informations in his head.

This did change things significantly. One of the main gang leaders was back in town, emboldening his followers, and he was the type of rogue to use his time out of jail to plan out some big, destructive event. He wished he knew more about the Joker. As it was, he had no idea of what said event would look like.

He couldn't even remember if the man was a meta or not, the long list of Gotham villains blurred together in his mind. He needed to spend more time reading about them.

He just didn't have enough hours in his days to do everything he needed to. That was also something he was discovering about adult life. Before, he had had a fixed schedule : Waking up, getting ready, going to school, going on patrol, doing homework, sleeping. With some hanging out in between and some time with friends and family, it had been his rhythm for years now.

Suddenly, he was supposed to make up his own rhythm, something he was struggling with. He wished he could speak with May or Ben, asked them how they had done it.

Not going to happen now.

As he was lost in his thoughts, Marco had kept talking and he found himself snapping back to reality with a start.

"-off the streets and be careful on the rooftops. I don't know yet where Joker wants to set up his place, or even if he will, but he's going to start tightening his grip on the city."

"You don't think they'll catch him?" He asked, trying to look like he hadn't just spaced out in the middle of a conversation.

Marco shrugged.

"I hope they will, but we can't count on it. Every single time the man has been out, he's caused some kind of catastrophic accident. It just takes a while to build up to it."

"How long?"

The question left his lips immediately. He would have to make sure his suit was ready for whatever was coming, this would be his deadline. He hoped he had more than a week, because he didn't think he would be able to fit one in that little time. Even a month would be hard, considering everything he needed to buy and craft for it.

Thankfully, when he replied, Marco was a lot more generous with time than he had expected:

"Couple months, probably. City's been quiet for a while, and Penguin holds a lot of territory right now. He won't be able to act right away. But the city's gonna get worse the longer he's out."

Two months was plenty of time for Peter to get his suit running, but he didn't like the way the man was talking. Listening to him, it sounded a lot like the already gritty and violent city would become even more dangerous very soon. It was hard to picture.

Distantly, he wondered why Marco wasn't trying to convince him to get a gun anymore, especially in those circumstances. Not wanting to get into a talk about it, he chose not to mention it, instead listening to his boss as he continued :

"Main thing you need to be careful about is gas. They keep it in the flowers they wear on their shirts. Dangerous shit. If you see green smoke, hold your breath. Believe me, depending on how strong it is, you could seriously regret breathing it in."

Peter nodded, feeling a chill run down his spine. What kind of gas was this… poison? He had never been poisoned before so he didn't know if he had a resistance to it, although he assumed his Spider physiology helped with some types of venoms. This probably wouldn't be one, though.

Chemicals could be a problem. A lot of arachnids were sensitive to a lot of common ones, and he had found out the hard way that he had inherited this weakness, during a prank turned emergency with MJ and Ned.

"What about Riddler?"

Marco shook his head.

"Probably won't encounter him. He only takes in a few people or targets the Bat, lately. He's also on the run. GCPD tried to bust him out, heard a few bats were there too."

"They didn't get him?"

The man ran a hand through his hair, looking weary. "No. Said so this morning. Don't you have a phone or something?"

When Peter looked down as his only answer, the adult groaned.

"Kid, this isn't New York. In Gotham you need to keep informed. If you don't know exactly who's free and who's behind bars, it could kill you."

"I- didn't think about that."

"Of course you didn't," his boss sighed, "you aren't from here. It's alright. You just need to learn before it's too late."

They stayed silent for a few seconds before Marco straightened up, still tapping the table anxiously with his left hand.

"-nyways, wanted to talk to you about something before you go. And not all of that Joker shit."

The man bent down and picked up something from under his chair. He threw it on top of the table, sliding it towards Peter. It was a small map of Gotham, printed in black and white on a sheet of cheap paper. The boy took it.

"I'm opening for a new delivery person, gonna get interviews in next week. Probably gonna look for someone with a ride, too."

Peter frowned.

"You didn't give me an interview." He pointed out, confused.

"That's because I expected you to come running back in after an hour, brat." Marco snorted. "Didn't think I'd actually be opening again so soon."

"Ah."

"Yep. But doesn't matter now, you made it." He pointed at the sheet of paper, looking serious. "Chose four neighborhoods, they'll be yours. I'll have the new hire cover the others, if they do have a ride."

Peter looked down at the map, now understanding why it had been given to him.

"The Bowery." He said automatically, which made the man grin. They both knew how dangerous the place was, yet it was also one of the closest districts, considering the pizzeria was in between it and Old Gotham, at the very north of the city. For good measure, he added that neighborhood to the list.

Delivering to the GCPD would keep him in touch with Gordon and, indirectly, the city's vigilantes. Sure it would be as Peter the delivery boy and not as Spider-Man, but he needed to take any win he could.

"Is Park Row its own area?" He asked, hoping to avoid it in the future, despite Harley living there.

Marco shook his head.

"Sorry kid, it's officially part of the Bowery."

He eventually added East End and the Docks to his small list, the first being closest to the Bowery and the second for the nostalgia of seeing waves crash against the city's shore. He missed New York.

Marco didn't argue with him about his choices, simply nodding and taking the map back from him. He was told once again to be careful before the adult limped away to the back room to bring him his GPS, bag and pizza boxes.

"Sixteen deliveries tonight, brat. Be careful out there, they haven't started to shoot on sight, but it might start soon."

This last sentence did not help calm his nerves at all. How much worse could the city get? And, more importantly, was he going to be able to wait for his suit to be done before doing something? If it got too bad, there would be a point where he had to intervene no matter what.

If someone was shot in front of him, if he was jumped again… how was he going to hide his abilities, without his suit to hide his identity? Peter Parker would be busted as a meta and, in Gotham, it didn't seem to be a good thing…

He stepped out into the night to an even more crowded street. Packs of men and women had started to form, most of them wearing flowers. He tried his best to smell anything out of the ordinary but, outside of blood, urine, powder and drugs, there was no new scent there. Either the gas hadn't been distributed yet or it didn't have a smell.

He was mostly ignored as he made his way up a fire escape. Gotham felt like it was rumbling, an old motor waking up, whispers rising all around him in the streets and behind walls. He didn't hear any police sirens, they were probably busy investigating the break-out while it was fresh.

Just how dangerous was the Joker? It was hard to guess with so little information at hand. He hadn't looked into the man, focusing instead on the rogues he felt like he could handle in a fight. This might have been a mistake.

The roof in front of the pizzeria was blessedly empty of any criminal activities, which allowed him to type the first address into the GPS. Bowery, not too far away from where he was right now.

Down in the streets, Peter could see various groups moving and talking. The flower wearing thugs had been obviously emboldened by their leader freeing himself. They were walking around with their chest puffed out, mocking some of the other loiterers. Other gangs were still present though, specifically the ones wearing black leather.

It seemed like the criminals he had learned to associate with the Penguin's crew, dressed with more expensive clothes than any of the other mobsters, had retreated to the Docks since he couldn't see any of them around. Tensions in between groups, then? Or perhaps their leader wanted to keep them close, to build up his own strength.

Sticking to the roofs, he slowly made his way to his first drop off spot, a residential building that looked a few weeks away from completely crumbling. Typical, for the area.

Climbing down was not an easy decision to make, considering the tense atmosphere down in the streets, but he had to. He handed off the pizza to a worried looking woman, holding a baby in her right arm and a knife in her left hand.

"Take care of yourself, kid." She told him, stuffing a handful of crumpled bills in his hands. "Thank you for coming." She looked about to cry, her lips were shaking. He could smell fear on her. He could smell fear everywhere around him.

He felt out of the loop but still, he smiled at her as gently as he could before hurrying back up the roofs. Staying down on the pavement made him feel anxious, vulnerable. But, even as he reached the top of the damaged building, he could hear movement around, people shooting up drugs, guns clicking, boots grinding against stone.

He started moving again.

Staying still was dangerous, during this kind of nights. At least, that was what his instinct told him. As such, he immediately leaped away from the roof and into another one, sliding down then jumping up again, pushing himself higher and higher up. He needed to be fast, impossible to catch.

The next delivery was described as "roof only", which was always nice. He tried to enjoy the run leading there, picking up a bit more speed than he usually did with pizza on his back. The idea that something big was coming, that the police and the heroes were distracted, that two dangerous men were out and active on the streets, was more nerve wracking than he thought it would be.

He had messed up his last outing as Spider-Man, what if he didn't get better during those two months? What if he failed to protect civilians again?

The questions haunted him all the way up the abandoned residential tower he was supposed to deliver to. Not one to judge after having to spend some time without housing himself, he didn't stop his climb, making sure to look like he was scaling the building in a boring, totally not supernatural way.

It was slower than it usually would be but he made it to the top without jostling the food too much. There, sitting on top of a dilapidated staircase, feet dangling off of its edge, two men were looking down at him.

One of them was Nightwing, wearing his trademark black and blue outfit. This high up above the Bowery's squat buildings, the moon allowed Peter to see him a bit better than he had before. His hair was dark, slightly curly, and he had a strong, muscular build. He smiled when he saw him, looking absolutely delighted.

"You came!"

The other man next to him was also quite obviously a vigilante. Unlike his partner, though, he wasn't wearing a domino mask but instead what looked to be a bloody red helmet and a lot of firearms. It was a bit odd to see the two of them sitting together, as their heroic aesthetics were very much clashing.

"Uh… yeah…" Peter answered awkwardly, sliding his bag off of his shoulder.

"Did you make the kid climb all the way up there?" Red Helmet Guy asked Nightwing, sounding slightly incredulous. His voice was muffled by his headwear, which made Peter wonder how he could breathe properly with it on. His body armor was different than the other hero's, too, with thicker plating and what looked like a lot more metal, over the other's more flexible mixed materials suit.

"It's okay," Nightwing replied, now ignoring the pizza entirely to talk to his companion. "He's from Marco's"

"Shit, they reopened?"

The blue hero nodded enthusiastically before jumping down the staircase and landing in a crouch in front of Peter. He was a lot taller than him and smelled like powder, Kevlar and blood. He had been in a fight already that night, despite it only starting.

Red Helmet followed him, landing as smoothly as he had. Both of them moved with a grace Peter had rarely seen in non-meta humans. It reminded him of the Black Widow, back home. He knew that, if he acted naturally, he would probably look the same. However, he tried his best to make himself as unassuming as he could.

Too bad this city wouldn't let him act innocent and powerless.

"You might want to rethink the job." Red Helmet told him as Nightwing swapped the pizza with a (very) large tip. "Gonna get messy soon."

"I actually agree with him for once." The other hero piped in, opening the box and grabbing a slice for himself. "Not a good time to work nights."

Peter shrugged. Being scolded by vigilantes about having a dangerous job was a bit hypocritical but he decided not to point it out. As far as the men knew, he was simply a parkour loving pizza boy with a knack for survival. And they were right, in a way, he had no idea what he was getting into. His lack of knowledge about the Joker, which everyone seemed to fear terribly, was evidence enough.

"No choice." He said eventually. "Not a lot of people hiring here."

Nightwing nodded in agreement. Red Helmet had already turned away, munching on his own pizza slice.

There were so many questions Peter could ask them. They were directly connected to Batman. Nightwing was, at least. And the Bat was a member of the largest hero organization of the planet. They probably had all of the answers he needed, but-

He didn't exist, legally. Not only that but he had been in contact with several criminals without denouncing them and was, on top of that, definitely living in a criminal hideout. He also did not know their secret identities or have any indication that they would believe him or treat him as an innocent civilian. For all he knew, they might throw him in Arkham. Contacting them as Peter Parker would be a bad idea, he needed to wait until Spider-Man was active again, to talk to them from equal to equal.

"Well… good luck, guys." He told them, backing away towards the edge. "Hope you enjoy the pizza."

Nightwing beamed at him again, waving him goodbye. Out of everyone he had met in Gotham, he was by far the most cheerful.

As he made a show of hoisting himself down and grabbing a windows ledge to head to the ground, Peter wondered what the man was doing there. Maybe he wanted to help out with the crisis happening in the city? That would definitely make sense, considering his strong ties to Gotham herself.

If other vigilantes were visiting the city, the situation must be quite dire indeed. He needed to finish his suit quickly.

His next few deliveries were to a various assortment of criminals and civilians, with nothing out of the ordinary about any of them, other than the tense atmosphere and abundance of weapons. Thankfully, the word had gotten around that there was now a pizza delivery guy roaming the streets at night so he didn't get any weapon pulled on him.

He was almost done with his shift when he was direct, once again, towards Crime Alley. This time, however, the drop point was to a small park north of it. Knowing what kind of people populated parks at night, especially in this area, Peter readied himself for a difficult few minutes.

Thankfully, as he passed the rusty, dangling park gates, he could see that it was mostly empty. The poorly cut grass did have some people sitting on it, but they looked too high-or drunk- to attack him.

No benches in this park, no trash cans either. Only a lot of rubbles, burned down remains of unrecognizable furniture and dying trees.

Peter walked on the main path until he reached the end of the small garden, marked by a tall, busted open iron gate. He frowned. Nobody seemed to be waiting on a delivery.

Then, he started noticing something.

Or rather, hearing something.

"Pssst… Pizza boy… Hey… Pizza boy…"

He whirled around, trying to find the source of the whispers. They were coming from behind a large, headless stone statue, to the very left of the park, shaded by a couple sick, blackened oaks. He could hear someone breathing behind, giggles occasionally breaking through.

When he realized who had ordered the pizza, he almost wanted to walk away, leave it right there and ignore his duty. Unfortunately for him, he needed intel and money so, against his own better judgement, he started to make his way towards Harley's hiding place.

The woman was sitting cross legged against the back of the statue, a large black sports bag and a pink suitcase on the ground next to her. She smiled at him but, under the cheerful expression, Peter could read something very dark. She looked exhausted and pale, under the little amount of moonlight that made it past the oaks. She, too, smelled like blood but with an added mix of alcohol and tobacco.

"Heeeeeyyy… pizza kid…" She greeted him. "Come here…"

He did, keeping a distance of a few feet in between them, in case he needed to back off quickly. She had never been violent towards him but he could tell something was clearly wrong.

"Are you okay?" He asked her, worried despite himself. She might be unstable and intimidating but she was still a human and he could clearly see that she was upset.

She didn't reply for a long time after he asked that and, when she did, it didn't have anything to do with his question. Her voice did shake slightly, he noticed.

"Am gonna have to move away for a bit… wanted to talk to you before."

Peter had a very bad feeling about where this was going.

"You want to talk to me?"

"Well, I also wanted a pizza," she admitted. "But I need money."

That was awkward.

"I don't have money." He told her, not adding that, even if he did, he would probably not give it to an almost stranger. He needed funds too badly for that. Charity would come later, when he had more income.

"I know." Harley nodded.

That was a surprising statement but, before he could ask more questions, she elaborated, sounding slightly smug :

"You don't wear a coat in December, always have the same shoes on, and your soap is the cheapest kind at the store."

Peter took a few steps back in shock. Harley had struck him as an influential but unstable person. Sure, he had suspected she was more intelligent than she let on but he hadn't expected her to be this perceptive.

"You need money." She was still speaking. "I need money. We can help each other out."

He was definitely not interested in what she had to offer, considering the kind of people she was hanging out around and what he had seen at her apartment. He shook his head, although he doubted she could see, or feel, it.

"I have a job," he told her, trying to sound confident.

"One that doesn't pay enough for a new coat." She pointed out. She sounded more lucid than she ever had in front of him. If there wasn't a slight edge of hysteria to her tone, he would have assumed she was a smart but inoffensive woman.

He knew better, though. He could smell guns in her bags, in her clothes, too.

"I want to stay legal," he said eventually. "That's why I work here."

"Poor little boy." Harley cackled. " You really don't know where you are, do you? Gotham doesn't care about legality."

"I do." He protested, taking her pizza out, intending to shove it in her hands and walk away.

She didn't grab it though and, as he had had to step closer to hand it to her, he could now see her eyes, digging into his. She looked like a completely different person that night, serious like he had never seen her.

"You are a meta."

She said it matter-of-factly, confidence dripping from her voice. There was no fear here, or disgust, only interest.

"I…" she continued, "… have contacts."

He didn't know what to do, holding the pizza box in front of him like an idiot, feeling very much out of his depth. What was Peter Parker doing there, talking to a woman who was most definitely a criminal, in the dead of night?

"The kind of metas like you… can make a lot of money. We both need that. You know how to fight, I've seen you."

There was now an urgency in her tone, something she had managed to keep hidden earlier. Peter hesitated. He wanted to leave but, also, he couldn't help but be curious.

"I'm not joining a gang," he warned her.

"Good. Am not either. That's the whole point."

He still didn't understand what she wanted of him, especially now that gang activities were out of the questions. He asked her and she laughed, the second time that night. Hysteria was bubbling under her breath, he could hear it.

"Metas are very prized in fighting rings." She told him in a fake whisper, her eccentric behavior slowly resurfacing. "Meta against meta, several normal guys against a meta… it's all a good show. Good money."

Peter couldn't help but be astounded at that. He shook his head slowly.

"You want me to fight in some kind of… underground meta ring?"

"Yes." She sounded delighted.

"Me?"

"Yes."

His first instinct was to say no, however something stopped him. As far as illegal activities went, that was probably one of the least morally ambiguous ones he could find in Gotham. With non-metas, he could pull his punches, with metas, he could go all in.

That, however, made him pause.

"Wait… metas are valued?"

She nodded so energetically it was noticeable even in the dim light. Clouds were now covering the moon, bathing everything around them in shadows.

"Yep." She said. "Lots of metas in Gotham nowadays. Most of them can only bend spoons."

"A guy pulled a gun on me because I'm a meta." Peter protested, realizing too late he had admitted what they both already knew. Harley didn't remark on it, though, instead cackling :

"Inner city folks get touchy. Get scared. But people here… stuff like this happens more often. Lots of metas in the underworld. Weirder ones than you, for sure."

"Can I wear a mask?" He asked, crossing his arms.

Harley tutted.

"No, no, no." She sung. "Too easy to sneak bugs in. Are you worried about people recognizing you?"

He blushed, blessedly hidden by the night. Harley's cackles turned into a high-pitched burst of laughter and his cheeks started burning harder.

"Why do you care?" She asked him. "You think the people there don't have shit to hide?"

That made him pause, adding a second, sudden advantage to the offer than money. He started pacing a bit, wishing he didn't have to hold the pizza this awkwardly. Harley hadn't yet made a move to grab it, though.

"What kind of person goes to those?" He asked finally.

He could feel her satisfaction as she somehow sensed that he was allowing himself to be convinced. With a sweet, syrupy fake voice, she replied :

"To the regular ones? Nobody of importance." She stopped talking for a few seconds for dramatic effect, then continued : "For the metas? Well… those are considered the highest form of entertainment here."

"Penguin?" Peter fired, not thinking about the kind of information he was giving the woman.

"He loves them." Harley cooed, clapping her hands. "Who wouldn't?"

"I assume it's a no pictures zone, then."

She laughed again, hysteria now breaking through her façade, creeping into her demeanor. Something like terror lingered in her scent. He could only smell it because of how close he was to her, but it was overpowering. Why was she so afraid? More importantly, what was she afraid of? It most definitely wasn't of him.

"Of course not, silly! No contact zone, black-out, no camera, no electronics. No traces. Not with the kind of people watching."

Penguin never allowed himself to be caught on tape participating in any kind of illegal activities. That he would be a regular spectator, on its own, was a good indicator of how secretive it was. The man had never stayed in prison more than a few months, as his lawyers always managed to sway judges and juries in his favor.

"Do I have to use my real name?"

That earned him another pitying cackle. She was right to laugh, it was a stupid question. Peter Parker didn't exist in this world. The only thing he was protecting by hiding his identity from those people was his future. He was still relieved when she told him nobody cared about the name he used as long as he obeyed the rules.

Because, even if it was hard to think about, he did want a future in this world. He wanted to find a way to go to college, get a job he liked, maybe one day reunite with MJ or, if he couldn't…

He didn't want to think about that.

Denial, a part of him accused. He ignored it.

What would May think of him? He wondered as he opened his mouth to ask his next question. What would MJ, his MJ, the one who remembered him, so if she saw him like this, getting involved in all sorts of criminal activities with strange adults at night?

"You don't get busted?"

He felt a sour taste fill his mouth as he realized that he was considering participating in activities that were most definitely not legal. To the point where he had to worry about being arrested when partaking in it.

"Ah… they did. Used to. Not anymore. The key is timing."

He understood what she meant immediately, remembering the talk he had had with Marco earlier. "It's only open when they're distracted." He whispered. "The GCPD, I mean."

"And the Bats." Harley added. "Yes it's not that common, it tends to make a lot of noise… they can hear the whispers if there's nothing distracting them."

"But there is. Because of the break-out."

It all made sense. It was a bad time for the average Gotham citizens, with the bombs, the Joker and the Riddler but, for the underworld, it was perfect to throw these kind of… twisted festivals. That was what it sounded like, from what Harley was saying, some kind of highly anticipated event.

When the bats were away, the rogues came out to play, he thought, feeling oddly disconnected from what was happening around him. Everything was happening to fast, he was getting talked into something he wasn't sure he was fully alright with.

It was so tempting, though. All of this, information and money, was exactly what he needed to start up his vigilantism in Gotham. There was no way Harley would knew aware of it, though. How would she know how important it was to him?

"I'll help you get in." She told him. "In exchange, I want half of what you win. I'll let you know where to drop the money and I'll have someone take you down there."

She sounded so confident that he would accept her offer, despite the astronomically high percentage, that he was struck silent for a moment.

Then, maybe she was right to value herself that much. Without her telling him, he would probably never have heard of those fighting rings, even less have had a shot at entering one of them. He had been right about her having influence in the underworld. One of the only things he hadn't been wrong about, in Gotham.

Money, of course, was a big draw. The rewards had to be high, if Harley, who barely knew him, thought it was worth a try. Then, she really didn't seem particularly mentally healthy, and her judgment may very well be impaired. He has no guarantee that this wasn't just some delusion or, even worse, a scam.

If it was the real deal and he went there, he would have to fight with his face uncovered, in front of people who might have seen him deliver pizza before. He could use a fake name but still, he had never used his powers in front of strangers without hiding his identity. It felt wrong to do it, like he was putting everyone he loved in danger, but-

Well, he didn't really have many people left, now, did he?

He couldn't even think of any one who would be at risk. The house he lived in was already filled with criminals, and his boss carried a gun wherever he went. He didn't have friends in this world, and everyone in his family was dead.

That was one instance where being completely alone was an advantage, he thought bitterly. There wasn't any reason for him not to accept this offer. He could even use it to relay information to Gordon, pretending he had found out about it through other means.

Plus, the money could help him speed up his suit making process. The pizza job wasn't enough to fund his projects as fast as he needed to.

Really, the only thing holding him back was his sense of right and wrong, the idea that this was too close to toeing the line between good and evil. It didn't hurt anyone, though. He truly did not have anything left to protect anyways, not even his identity. He didn't exist here.

His mouth was dry when he asked, feeling numb :

"How much?"

"A few thousands for the group ones." Harley answered, grin audible in her voice. "More when it's two metas."

That-

That was an incredible amount of money.

"Cash?" He asked, his voice sounding strangled even to him.

"Of course!"

A few thousands.

If he won, he would have enough not only to make enough web fluids to last him for months but also to get materials for several suits, a new wardrobe, and perhaps even find someone to get him papers.

This would change everything.

"That's a lot." He eventually said, still reeling a bit at the amount.

"Told ya. People like watching metas fight. It's fun."

Peter ignored her, not wanting to argue when he was about to become one of those metas fighting for some criminal's entertainment. Instead, he put the pizza down on the back of the statue, next to its foot, on the stone pedestal.

"When does it start?" He asked Harley, feeling his throat tighten with anxiety as he stepped further down a path he wasn't sure he was fully comfortable following.

"Ah… I'll have my girlfriend sign you up." The woman told him, putting the pizza box on her lap and opening it up to dig into her meal. "You have a phone?"

"No."

"Me either."

They stared at each other in the dark for a few seconds before Harley straightened up, an olive falling from her slice as she moved. Peter could smell it crash on the ground and roll away towards the oak.

"I'll just order pizza." She told him cheerfully.

He was about to nod, then he stopped and explained:

"Uh… I'm only gonna be delivering to the Bowery, Old Gotham, East End and the Docks. We're getting a new driver."

"That's alright," Harley reassured him, "We can keep meeting like this, it's fun."

Peter did not agree. This way of meeting was more nerve wracking than anything, honestly. 

"I'm gonna go now." He informed the woman, not wanting to stay any longer and get talked into participating into yet another illegal morally dubious activity.

The worst part of all this was that he wouldn't be able to avoid the woman, since he had to deliver her food as part of his job. There was no backing out of this, he was stepping into a world that was completely foreign to him.

As he finished his shift, he couldn't shake the thought that, as good as the deal had seemed back then, he had just made a terrible mistake.

There was something itching at the back of his neck, as he thought about it. It was distant, barely noticeable and, when he brought his hand up to scratch himself, he couldn't feel any bump or injury.

Oh boy.

This was not a good sign.

Notes:

OG SPIDEY CAGE FIGHTING MOOD

Fueling my desire to see Peter violently fistfight people as himself instead of Spider-Man. It's totally not gonna backfire.

Also countdown to chaos has started.