Spiders and Bats: An Arachnid in Gotham
A/N: Chapter 4 is just the second half of the old Chapter 3 with some rewrites. I split Chapter 3 into two chapters (Chase and promise) because it was too long, if I remember correctly. Anyway, sorry for being gone for so long. Life just kinda, sorta happened. Plus, there's this novel I've spent a lot of my free time writing, so yeah, it took me longer than I should have to finish this chapter. I'll do better next time, sorry.
On a side note, anyone else here playing Final Fantasy Record Keeper and Fate/Grand Order?
The Gotham City Clock Tower was situated at the docks by Gotham Bay, making it visible across the river from Uptown Gotham. Ever since she took up the Oracle identity, Barbara Gordon had been using the Tower as a base of operations, most extensively during her stint as leader of the Birds of Prey.
If I remember my notes correctly, the Clock Tower was built by Wayne Enterprises as part of Gotham City's major expansion in the early 20th century. Considering the company's track record regarding safety standards in building construction, the structure was strong enough to withstand the worst of No Man's Land, making it one of the few buildings in the city to stand tall amid the destruction that devastated the rest of the harbor area.
And then Black Mask blew it up.
Okay, well, more like Babs blew it up to keep Black Mask from getting his hands on the servers and hard drives she had kept deep within its basements, which contain almost all of the data she's amassed as an information broker all these years. And if those ever go into the wrong hands, well, you get the idea.
After that incident, Babs had Bruce build the Clock Tower back from scratch, but instead of housing her equipment inside the Tower again like last time, she had him build a cavern underneath it to better protect against future incidents like that. And that's how the Oraclecave was born.
Chapter Five: Oracle
"That's not how it's called, isn't it?" he asked, as we rode the elevator to the basement.
"No, but if I annoy her enough maybe she'll give in and let me call it that," I told him.
"Huh," he exclaimed, and shrugged. "Well, good luck with that."
I looked at him and smirked.
The elevator we were in was pretty well-lit, and as such, that moment was the first time I've gotten a good look at him. I really couldn't see him that well back at the Batcave considering how dim the lights were in that place, so right then I was trying to get my fill of him.
Come to think of it, that was also the first time I've gotten a good look at his costume under a good light. Admittedly, it was kind of creepy at first—the costume was solid black, aside from the white spider emblem on the front and back, the big, white bug-eyes on his mask, and the patches of white on the back of his hands.
The fact that it wasn't made of normal cloth was pretty obvious, too: for example, you could readily see the segment where the forearm connected seamlessly with the upper arm at the elbow, and it didn't have so much as a stitch. Our outfits are made pretty much the same way, except that the material of his costume is more fabric-like than our body armor.
That is to say that because of the cloth-like material, his costume had the tendency to be very... skintight, as I've noticed, and it hugged his body quite snugly. It reminded me of how clingy Babs' old Batgirl costume was, back when they used something that looked like spandex instead of body armor—or at least I think it was spandex. I've only ever seen her wear it in some old photos in the Batcave by Bruce's desk, so I wasn't sure. Anyway, much like Babs' costume, Spider-Man's outfit seemed painted on, especially with the way it followed the contours of his abs and his pecs, the broadness of his shoulders, and the toned muscles of his arms and legs. In the thick of it, I couldn't help but want to run my fingers down the length of his neck, and across his collarbone, and on his—
"Steph, you're drooling," he said, suddenly. I couldn't even tell how long he'd been looking at me, or how long I've been staring at him like some sort of pervert.
"No, I wasn't," I denied vehemently, and ran my forearm across my mouth, "and I wasn't ogling you."
"Uh, okay?" he mumbled.
Ha. He bought it.
"And what's with this 'Steph' business?" I asked him, trying to change the subject. "I thought I was 'Eggplant' now."
"I thought you didn't like it," he said.
"What? Of course, I liked it," I told him, and I meant it, too. "I mean, it sounded awkward at first, but now it sounds kind of… cute. Adorable, even."
He smiled then, I think. It's hard to tell with the mask.
"I'm glad you like it then, Eggplant," he said sheepishly, with his hand on the back of his head. He's so cute like that. "By the way, you ever plan on naming your bike?"
"What do you mean?" I asked him. "It does have a name, you know. I call it 'The Bike with No Name'."
"Cute, Eggplant," he said, "but that's not a name."
"What do you propose then, Webhead?"
He looked like he was in deep in thought for a moment. "I'll think of something," he said, finally.
The lights on the panel above us turned green, and the elevator doors opened then as we reached the basement floor. The doors parted slowly, and as they did, I could make out the figure of someone standing just outside the elevator. She was a woman about Spider-Man's height, wearing a purple outfit that bared her stomach, with matching purple gloves, mask, and boots.
Why's she standing there?
"Spider-sense tingling," I heard Spider-Man whisper.
All of a sudden, when the gap between the elevator doors were wide enough, the figure sneaked in and grabbed me abruptly by the collar of my costume.
"Traitor," muttered Huntress under her breath, and she tossed me outside the elevator. I hit the floor violently, and my mouth let out a little whimper. As I got my bearings back, I watched as she then pointed her crossbow at Spider-Man and turned her head towards me, crying, "I can't believe we trusted you. I can't believe he trusted you, even more than he ever did me. And now you spit on his face by bringing this criminal here to the Clock Tower."
I got back up on my feet, and grabbed a Batarang from my utility belt.
At the time, I couldn't help but think about why Huntress is Batman's so-called 'least favorite daughter' as Babs would put it. And no, it doesn't make me proud that he at least prefers me to her—because if you put it like that, that makes me out to be just a teensy bit more tolerable than a murderous bitch who's not all together right in the head, if you get my meaning.
And frankly, that's just insulting.
"Look, lady," said Spider-Man. "I've no idea what the hell you're talking about, but you can't just go around throwing people around like that."
"Shut up or eat crossbow bolt, punk," she said, and adjusted her aim, pointing her crossbow straight at Spider-Man's head.
Undaunted, Spider-Man walked even closer towards her, and her crossbow was now only an inch from his forehead. "Try me," he dared her.
Huntress smirked. "You think I'm bluffing?" she asked him, and she grinned. "Alright then."
What happened next was too fast for me to follow.
I remember seeing her pull the trigger, and my reaction was to aim my Batarang at her, wanting to stop her before she could kill him in cold blood. I remember thinking that I'd be too late regardless, that Spider-Man would be dead and I couldn't do anything to stop it. What I remember seeing a second later was Huntress pinned to one side of the elevator by Spider-Man, with his fist an inch or two to the side of her head, leaving a very noticeable dent on the steel wall of the elevator.
On the other side of the elevator, a crossbow bolt was lodged firmly onto the wall, as a broken crossbow made of cobalt steel, aluminum, and oak lied in pieces on the ground.
"Fast, aren't you?" she remarked, tonelessly.
"Proportional speed of a spider," he told her. He almost sounded like he was bragging.
"Your girlfriend over there must be so proud," she teased him.
"She's not my girlfriend."
"That's a shame then," she said almost immediately. "Still, that speed—that must be how you were able to kill him. Only someone who could move that fast could."
That was when I walked up to them and stood beside Spider-Man.
"What are you talking about, Huntress? Killed who?" I questioned her loudly. "Also, I'm not his girlfriend."
She looked at us like we were lying through our teeth.
"Killer Croc, who else?" she said remorselessly.
I don't know what kind of expression it was that I made at that moment. I felt shock, disgust, empathy, and disbelief all at the same time. I didn't even really care about Croc, heartless as that might sound, but I really didn't. Yet, just the idea that someone who you've been talking to no more than an hour earlier is dead… the feeling was horrible. I looked at Spider-Man, and he just stood there and stared at her motionlessly, like he didn't comprehend what Huntress just said.
"He's dead?" asked Spider-Man, almost in a whisper.
Huntress then looked at him, like she was gauging his reaction. She then closed her eyes and sighed, before walking away. Before I could call her name, she then looked back at us and asked, "So you didn't kill him?"
"No, I didn't," said Spider-Man, but his tone lacked conviction. It almost sounded as if he actually did kill him.
"I guess not," remarked Huntress then, and she began to walk.
I ran after her, and Spider-Man followed closely behind me.
"What the hell was that about?" I asked her, angrily, as soon as I caught up to her. As far as I was concerned, she had a lot of explaining to do.
"Killer Croc was killed tonight as the police were transporting him back to Blackgate," she began to explain, as if she heard my narration. "The killer was clad entirely in black, and was strong enough to tear open the back of the police van Croc was in, and then broke his neck without him being able to amount even a little resistance. The killer was then able to escape the scene without the police being able to so much as make an attempt to apprehend him, meaning either he was too fast and they weren't given the slightest bit of time to react, or the GCPD was just being its inept, unreliable self. I would usually chalk it up to the latter of the two, except that Montoya and Bullock were with the escorts, which makes that possibility less believable."
"So you're saying you thought I did it because of my powers and costume?" asked Spider-Man.
"No," answered Huntress. "I was here when Batman left Oracle a memo deputizing you as a member of the Family, and so in my disbelief that he would do something so brash with someone I've never even heard of, I started reading up on you. You've got a clean profile, and a track record of being accused for crimes like murder, and later being proved innocent. So when Oracle got the report of Croc's murder, despite you being the only active metahuman from outside of Gotham, we knew better than to suspect you. The fact that your outfit looks like the killer's is something I only found out after meeting you just now."
That makes sense, since this isn't Spider-Man's usual color scheme.
"Then why accuse him anyway?" I questioned her.
"Call it standard procedure," she explained. "Besides, I wanted to see what he'd do, just to erase the tiny bit of doubt that might still be lurking in the back of my mind. I thought for sure that he'd make a move when I pointed my crossbow at his head, but he just dodged my shot and pushed me back without hurting me. I underestimated him."
"That makes sense, I guess," said Spider-Man. "But why attack her?"
"Oh, I can answer that one," I remarked. "It's because she downright hates my guts."
"Please, Stephanie, you're overestimating how much I care about you," she replied. "Hating you would imply I feel something regarding you, instead of the complete and utter apathy I feel about you and your entire person."
"Is that so? Tell me, Helena: that bit earlier about Batman trusting me more than he ever trusted you, were those just empty words, or were they the voice of the attention-seeking, little girl inside you crying out for her daddy-figure to notice her?"
"You're one to talk about fathers, Stephanie. Which one of us has a father that's served time at Ryker's and Blackgate, again?"
"Maybe yours would have spent just as much time if you didn't kill him, Helena."
Low blow, I know, but I was just so pissed off at her. And besides—
"Is that so, Miss 'My-dad-is-a-Riddler-knock-off'?"
—she didn't even blink at the statement, and just started calling me names.
Well, two can play at that game, I thought.
"It is so, Miss 'My-dad-was-a-Godfather-wannabe'."
"Tch. Villain spawn."
"Mafia princess."
"Oh, you take that back, you blonde bimbo!"
"Touched a nerve? Look who's talking, Helena-sleeps-around!"
"Girls."
A voice that dripped with disappointment and disbelief echoed through our ears as Babs suddenly appeared right in front of us, leaning back on her wheelchair, and with her arms crossed over her very ample chest and no I wasn't looking at them or anything they were just suddenly there and I just happened to look at them and I wasn't staring because I was jealous or anything about how big her chest is compared to mine and now I'm just mumbling incoherently I'm so sorry—
Gah. Why are my hormones going haywire tonight?
"Why are you two bickering?" she asked us sternly.
Before I knew it, we were both pointing at each other, shouting "She started it!"
"Children. You two are children. I am dealing with two, little girls right now," she remarked, tiredly. She then wheeled between us towards Spider-Man, who was standing behind us. "Sorry you had to see that."
"It's fine, really, I think," he said, sheepishly, with his hand on the back of his head.
Babs then reached her hand out towards him and he took it.
"Barbara Gordon," she introduced herself. "Oracle. But you can call me 'Babs' if you like."
"Peter Parker," he then introduced himself, after pulling off his mask with his free hand. "Spider-Man. Most people just call me 'Peter' though."
"Huh. You're pretty cute," Babs remarked, and Peter blushed. "I was not expecting that."
"Lady, that makes two of us," said Peter. "I was told you were easy on the eyes, but that word underestimates things by a lot."
Crap. Are they flirting?
"And who was it that told you that, Petey?" asked Babs.
They are flirting. Oh, no, you don't. I'm putting a stop to this.
"Eggplant did," said Peter.
"Eggplant?" asked Babs, curiously.
She then turned towards me, and I gave her a look that said 'Hands off' or the closest thing to that. She then gave me a look that said 'Eggplant, huh?', and I replied with 'Yeah, yeah'. Then afterwards she giggled, and gave me a shrug, saying 'Then he's all yours'.
At least, that's how I think that conversation went.
"Peter," I called his attention. "Wasn't there something you wanted to ask Babs?"
It looked as if he only just remembered why we went there in the first place. There was a very serious look on his face, which I can now see for certain with his mask off and all, as he asked, "Can you tell me why Croc was killed?"
I was surprised. "What about Osborn?" I asked him. "He's the reason why you even went to Gotham in the first place, right?"
"True, but this takes precedence," he said. "We were the ones who apprehended Croc, so in a way we had some responsibility over him."
"But—"
"Besides, remember what he told us when we beat him?"
"He said that 'something was coming'. Ominous stuff, yeah, but it's not like you don't hear those kinds of clichéd lines all the time from these villains. Seriously, it's like they get all their ideas from comic books or something."
"Except Croc doesn't strike me as the idea generating-type," he remarked, and crossed his arms.
"Well, you're right about that," Babs cut in, and she began to move away. Peter, Huntress, and I followed her as she made her way to the main room. "Despite his abilities—or perhaps, because of them—Croc is just a King Mook at best that works for more enterprising schemers like the Joker and Black Mask. Meaning somebody else is pulling the strings, and Jones just happened to get caught up in them. Maybe he was even working for them until he realized what a dangerous position that placed him in."
"And that someone was the one that ordered the hit on Croc to keep him from spilling what he knew, seeing as he was in police custody," surmised Huntress. "Plus, they had the killer dress like you in order to frame you for the crime. Is that what you're getting at, Spider-Man?"
"Exactly," confirmed Peter. "Well, except that last part. It didn't cross my mind that they deliberately went out of their way to frame me. So will the police start looking for me now?"
"No, they won't," said Babs, as we reached the door to the main room. "I've scrambled their network so the video feeds from street cameras of your impostor committing the crime won't reach police records. We have the only copy of the video available."
It was a tall door about ten feet high, four feet wide, and half a foot thick, made of adamantium laced with Nth metal. The Nth metal was to ward off ghosts and spirits, or so I was told. Which begs the question of why a ghost would bother to pass through the doors instead of, you know, the walls. Though I wouldn't put it past Batman to have the walls, floor, and ceiling of the main room be made out of Nth metal-laced adamantium. He certainly has the money for that kind of undertaking.
"Thanks for that, Barbara," said Peter, and he smiled warmly at her. "I don't want to say that I'm used to all the bad publicity back in New York—because that would be depressing—so managing to barely avoid that sort of hate in Gotham feels great. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," said Babs, and smiled back at him. "And really, just call me 'Babs'."
"Will do then, Babs."
She then looked at me and winked, like she was saying 'Can't help it'. So I just scowled at her until she said 'Sorry' with her eyes. But she didn't.
Babs then punched the unlock code onto the keypad beside the door, and a small green light on the keypad lighted up as the door began to open. We stepped inside, and I stretched my arms as the temptation of sleep started to take me.
It was way past midnight, after all.
Anyway, on the other side of the door was the main room where all of Babs' hacker stuff was. The place was very spacious, a little bigger than a high school auditorium even, but it was almost virtually empty and was very minimalist in design. There were several doors in there that led to server rooms, while one of them led to a bathroom.
Near the main door was a small coffee table surrounded by three red sofas, one of the only splashes of color in a dominantly white room. There were some gym equipment to one side, and a couple of bookshelves next to those were stacked end to end with books on a multitude of subjects. I tried reading a few one time, but rather than anything literary, they were mostly academic and technical journals that made my head hurt when I tried to sift through them. Then when I accidentally dropped this huge medical journal, my foot began to hurt, too. So I stopped trying to read through Babs' books, if only for my own good.
The only other notable thing about the room was the computer at the front with a huge monitor flanked by several normal-sized monitors on each side, not unlike the one in the Batcave. We followed Babs as she moved towards it, and when she did she began booting up her computer. And as she did that, she then turned around towards the three of us, and leaned back on her wheelchair.
"So, let's get down to business," she declared purposefully, and turned to Peter. "Petey, you're here for Norman Osborn, correct?"
"Right, but like I said, that can wait. The case with Croc seems more urgen—"
"No, I've already tasked Huntress with that," said Babs, and she looked in Huntress' direction. "You'll take care of it, won't you, Helena?"
"Right," confirmed Huntress, and she strode away abruptly. We watched as she walked towards the back of the room, but before going out the door, she turned towards me, and said, "You owe me a crossbow."
"Was that her way of saying goodbye?" I asked aloud.
"No, I think you literally just owe her a crossbow," said Peter, while skirting over the fact that he was the one who broke it.
"Anyway, what about what Croc said?" I asked Babs.
"You can tell me more about that later," said Babs. "But from what I can gather he never said anything concrete aside from 'something is coming', huh?"
"No, I guess not."
"Then we can leave that on the back burner for now and Huntress investigate it," Bab concluded. "Meanwhile, this ordeal with Norman Osborn is a more pressing issue. Peter, Bruce sent me a transcript of your meeting with him earlier today—or since it's two past midnight, yesterday—with Tony Stark of Stark Industries. Though Mr. Stark tried to hide the topic behind the guise of a potential business proposal between Stark Industries and Wayne Enterprises, it was quite apparent from your conversation that the two of you were more concerned with questioning Bruce about a joint venture between OsCorp and Wayne Enterprises."
"That's right," confirmed Peter, "though Bruce Wayne denied knowing anything about a deal existing between his company and Osborn's."
"Which is why Bruce had me check the records for any anomalies. You know, paper trails and stuff like that."
Babs then fiddled with her computer, and brought up a few documents onto the screen.
"I'm assuming you found something?"
"Then you assumed right. There seems to a have been a shipment of WayneTech equipment that went right under our noses to an unknown location. Among the myriad of lab equipment delivered by the truckload from Wayne Enterprises' R&D department seems to be a set of experimental gene splicers."
Images of the WayneTech gene splicers then showed up onscreen, and you'd be hard-pressed to believe that they weren't some sort of prop in the lair of a mad scientist in a movie.
"That would make sense. Osborn is a biochemist, and from what I gathered from my sources back in NYC, I have reason to assume that he's delving into making biochemical weapons for some insane, unknown purpose. But what bugs me is how were they able to smuggle a large number of equipment out of Wayne Enterprises without the head honcho knowing about it?"
"That isn't hard to do," said Babs, and brought up the image of a man onto the center of the screen. "Any high-ranking member of the board can perform duties like that without any need for Bruce's approval. Wayne Enterprises has so many divisions that keeping track of every decision-making responsibility is a tall order even for someone like Bruce Wayne. What's surprising though is that this man, Philip Kane, is Bruce's uncle, and one of the last people you'd expect to make under-the-table dealings."
"So," I said as I began to put in my two cents, "either he's not as clean as he lets on or—"
"—or he's being brainwashed, hypnotized, blackmailed, replaced by a shapeshifter, replaced by a clone, or what have you," continued Babs.
"Christ, I hate clones," Spider-Man muttered to himself quite audibly. "So you want me and Eggplant to find out what his deal is?"
I could hear Babs trying to muffle a giggle while whispering "Eggplant" under her breath.
Ah, whatever, as long I think it's cute.
"No, I'll have Dick do it once he's done with work at Bludhaven," explained Babs. "As the oldest of Bruce's adopted sons, he can get close to Philip Kane without inciting suspicion. Neither of you can do that in your civvies, and if you do it in costume and get exposed, well, that'll just complicate things. I'd rather not have Batgirl and Spider-Man be accused of threatening a senior member of Wayne Enterprises."
Let me just take this moment to remark on how well Babs has thought this through. Like seriously, there's a very good reason why she's the most favorite daughter.
"Besides, you're needed at Gotham University tomorrow, right?" she asked Peter.
"Right, I'm due to give a lecture as part of my cov—wait, how did you know that?" he questioned her in his surprise.
As I turned to look at her reaction, I saw that Babs was smiling like a mischievous, little kid. It was quite jarring to see that kind of playful face on her.
"I kinda, sorta hacked into Tony Stark's tablet while it was connected to Wayne Tower's Wi-Fi when you guys were there, and I saw the schedule he made for your cover story."
Peter looked perplexed. "Wait, did you just say you hacked Tony Stark?"
"Yeah, but I only got so far as to breach his firewalls and read a few files before I got kicked out," Babs explained sheepishly. "Luckily, my network is too heavily encrypted for him to trace me back here, so all is good."
"That's… pretty amazing, regardless," complimented Peter. "The first time I hacked him, I had to program an override to bypass his security network so I'd remain undetected. Although instead of his tablet, I was hacking into his armor, but still…"
"Well, that's more impressive than I did," replied Babs. "Though I really just wanted to see how deep I could get into his software before his security kicked me out. If I wanted to, I'm pretty sure I could've written an override like you did, and download the contents of his tablet for kicks, er, trophies. Trophies, like, just to show I can."
"You know, I don't doubt that for second."
"I know for a fact you don't."
Crap. Their flirting again, and I can't even butt in because I don't know what they're talking about.
"Well, it's been a long night, we should really be going," I cut in, and yawned for added effect. "Especially since there's still school tomorrow, and you know, college student here."
"Yeah, it is pretty late. I should go home, too," agreed Babs, as she checked the time on her computer's desktop. She then turned towards Peter and asked, "Maybe you'd like to have some coffee at my apartment for a while? With Tim always gone, it's been a long time since I've talked about programming with anyone."
"Programming's more of a hobby of mine actually, so I don't know how good a conversation we can have about it, but sure, I'd love to—"
"Actually, he can't since I've already invited him to have some cake at my place," I told her, in the most unconvincing manner possible.
"You did?" asked Peter, genuinely confused.
"Yeah, on the bike ride here. You don't remember? That wasn't even a half hour ago."
"I think I remember it… vaguely?"
Ha. He bought it.
"Huh. Is that so?" asked Babs, and she smiled at me knowingly. "That's too bad then. Maybe we can have coffee some other time, Peter."
"We can always do it tomorrow—or actually, later—at school, Babs," I told her. "With all three of us."
"I suppose we can," she agreed readily. When Babs decides to take a hint, she's actually pretty good at playing the wingman, at least as far as I've noticed. "Drop by my office at lunch then."
"Will do," I said, and pulled Peter by the arm.
He then turned around as we made our way towards the main door, and said, "It was nice meeting you, Babs."
"It was nice meeting you too, Spider-Man," said Babs, waving at us. "I look forward to working with you."
We went out the door together, and they shut closed behind us.
End of Chapter 5