Further continuity chatter: In this chapter and the previous, I seem to be sticking to the Ultimate Spider-Man universe. I do like Ultimate Spider-Man up till issue #95, and I will probably be referring to it again. However, as before, note that it is not my sole reference, nor do I accept everything in it.

Thanks for the continuing reviews! Very encouraging!

I wasn't out of the toxin's grip, not yet. Standing, I could begin to be aware of my surroundings, could begin to see – but the information I received was warped and twisted. The dullest thing looked threatening, and everything was somehow magnified yet vague. I was still in an alleyway, but it was definitely a different one – I didn't remember being behind a pizza place and a crafts store. Looking at my hands, each finger seemed to end in a clawed point that I knew was not there. And the Batman's face, or mask... it had glowing white eyes, triangular in shape and staring with blank menace. Tall crooked ears rose above angular, sunken features and a gaping, morphing mouth which glowed with the same white light.

"What the hell?" I choked. My voice was not my own, sounding muted and garbled in my ears. "What the hell was that?"

"Fear toxin," came the voice – a growl. My head still throbbed, my spider-sense still buzzing with electric unpleasantness. Like a shock, and I was constantly taking voltage.

Suddenly I put two and two together. They said Batman struck fear into the hearts of criminals, that it was his primary weapon. Suddenly I knew how. I couldn't be sure if the sick horror I felt was because of the realization, or just a pre-existing condition by this point. The Batman was vicious – crazy, twisted – he'd hit me with his fear toxin! My mask was half-off, disgusting inside, and I was barely able to stand. But I wouldn't take what had just happened lying down. I swung at him.

Word of advice: Don't try to punch the Batman. Even if he's not going to try to fight you, it hurts. Guy has armor like you wouldn't believe packed into the suit; you'd be much better off punching the average interior wall.

I felt like I'd broken my hand. Maybe the fear toxin magnified pain, too. He grabbed my fist in his hand and said, "What are you doing." I could see features more clearly now – a more human mouth, for one, no longer gaping white and glowing, began to emerge.

"The hell! You – you do that to people? And they call me a menace!" I tried to throw him off, but I wasn't up to my usual, you know, proportional strength of a spider.

He gripped my fist tightly. "No. No I do not. You stumbled onto a trap of Scarecrow's, I can assume he laid it for me. Because honestly, that kind of dosage was not built for someone of your, ah... physique." He paused, releasing me, and I reeled back slightly. "How old are you, exactly?"

I get that a lot. Second only to "You're shorter than I thought you'd be". What can I say? It's one of the unfortunate side-effects to being a teenage superhero. It's not that people know just by looking at me in costume that I'm a kid; it's that once I start yapping and making all these jokes and pop culture references, I start sounding like I need to be doing homework and getting a good eight hours in instead of swinging around in my pyjamas.

I didn't dignify that with a response. "Hang on. Scarecrow." I'd never heard of him. It was a question, though in my stunned, toxin-soaked state it may not have sounded like one.

"You wouldn't have heard of him here. Dr. Jonathan Crane, alias Scarecrow, professor of Psychology at Gotham University. Took his obsession with fear too far when he started creating a toxin and testing it out on the students. He's had grander designs than that, too, but he's been in Arkham Asylum for years now..."

I wasn't looking at him now, as I had spotted a tap on the back wall of one of the buildings. It was probably too dark for him to get a good look at my face anyway, but I was sure to face away from him as I removed my mask and gave it a good wash. Better wet and uncomfortable than... ew. "So what's he doing here?" I took a drink of the water before putting the sopping mask back on.

"You familiar with Wilson Fisk?"

I swear I freeze for a second every time I hear that name. Wilson Fisk is the kind of scum that really makes my blood boil. They call him a white-collar criminal, and that's not true. You see, a white-collar criminal just deals with money – they move around numbers, they lie on their paperwork, they do insider trading. They don't get their hands dirty.

It's hard to crush a man's skull with your bare hands and not consider them dirty.

But Fisk, the Kingpin, had done just that – in front of his own security system. Knowingly on-camera. It should have dwarfed Watergate. But the guy – I swear – the guy throws around money at the right charities, bribes the right people, and suddenly the security DVD is thrown out of court as inadmissable evidence. That kind of power – to have the whole nation see this footage on their TV, this footage of you murdering someone – and just throw your weight around, and have them all acting like you're a saint. It gives me chills.

Or maybe the chills are because he put my mask on the guy. To give him inspiration before he crushed his head.

"Kingpin? We've met," I said shortly. "He's working with this Scarecrow?"

"That's the short version, yes. I wasn't sure if Scarecrow knew I was here yet. You just proved he's got an inkling." He sighed. "Good news is he hasn't made any big moves yet. The toxin's not coming from the drainage systems, it was on a pressure trigger under the manhole lid, if you're curious."

"You're saying he could have dumped this fear toxin stuff into the storm drains."

"He won't." He sounded so sure.

"Why not? Guy's supposed to be nuts, right?"

"One, he's tried that before and I stopped him. Two... and more importantly... He's not going to give away product for free if he's selling it to Fisk."

It took a moment to sink in. "That... completely stinks."

"Hrm." It was something of an affirmation. He stepped a bit closer. "So who are you?"

I stared. Everything was starting to look normal. The guy was definitely human – though possibly a mutant, I reminded myself. "Seriously? I know who you are. You're the Batman. You make the news. So you should recognize me – what, you don't recognize me from the Bugle? Am I that much cuter in person? Or did the vomit throw you off?"

I don't know how he gave me the look he did with that mask and the white eyes. "I'd say you're Spider-Man. But I hear there's a lot of those here."

Ouch. But technically accurate.

"Oh. Yeah, there've... there've been a few impostors, but I can assure you I'm the real deal. Criminals who have put on the mask. Plus I've made a few changes of costume myself."

"I liked the black one better."

I wanted to laugh. But I just wasn't my usual, cheery self. I kept seeing flickers of shadow, hearing snatches of mangled sound. "It just wasn't me."

He asked again. "How old are you?" I don't think he had much of a sense of humour.

"Old enough." It was time to change the topic; he was starting to frustrate me too. "You think this Scarecrow has anything planned tonight?"

"Chances are slim. He's not meeting with Fisk for a few days. He's obsessive, but not an idiot. He's not going to do anything that'll ruin his chances." He was fiddling with – controls, a keypad maybe, on his arm. Huh. He was a gadget guy. But it was my turn to be suspicious. Kingpin was a secretive guy. His private dealings weren't exactly broadcast to the world – let alone out of New York.

"What, do you have Kingpin's day planner? How do you know?"

Again with the look. His eyes narrowed, his jaw hard. Which was saying something, because the guy had this jawline I'd only seen on Captain America, or maybe Wolverine under all the scruff. It was like the grim bastard just couldn't take a joke.

"I have sources." He stopped at that, broad arms crossing.

Both of us were running out of patience – I felt sick, and at this point, if nothing serious was likely to happen, I just wanted to go home. Think the situation over, and try to put a stop to it another day.

Like on the weekend. That'd be nice for once.

"Great. Listen, then. I'm going to go. Thanks for the heads up." My head was swimming too much.
Oh, and I had school in the morning. Bonus.

It was rude, but I swung off without another word.

Which would've been fine; the Batman didn't stand on ceremony, as it turned out. But he did say, or rather shout, something I missed swinging off that fast. Since I missed it, of course, I didn't hear the exact words.

I imagine it was something like,

"Hey, you know the effects are gonna come back in a few hours, right? You want the antidote?"

Well, maybe not so casual. But something like that. Anyway, I didn't hear it. I swung my cute little hiney right back to Queens, right back home. It was only midnight when I crept into my room. Not bad at all. I'd get a little sleep, go to school, try to see if I could work out more about this deal between Kingpin and the Scarecrow guy during study hall.

So I assumed. Just letting you know now, that's not how it worked out.

In the wee hours of the morning, the fear consumed me.

I can't believe how quickly I'm writing these chapters. Spidey's just fun to write. I think I've decided that it's gonna be his POV the majority of the time, but I may switch to Batman. I will DEFINITELY be switching to another character who has only had a 'cameo' so far at some point. Take that as a teaser!