Peter hung his head out the backseat window, finding comfort from the fuzzy warm glow of the streetlights and vibrant skyscrapers. After he accepted their recruitment, Veck and his thugs took him to their Mercedes and began driving around the city, looking for the perfect spot for his initiation. While doing so, Peter's thumb traced along the plastic of the party mask he was given - a smiling giraffe that looked more creepy than child friendly.

Veck looked in the rearview mirror as he drove and spoke, "Say kid. You got a name?"

Peter lazily put his head back in and adjusted in his leather seat. "Nope, no name. Mom and Pops had one job and they couldn't even do that right. What kinda asshats forget to name their own son, am I right?"

"Hold up, is this fool serious?" The thug next to Peter asked.

"Folks at the orphanage just called me 'Thing One' or 'Thing Two.' Y'know, depending on how many of us boys were in a room. Made it all the way to 'Thing Sixty Nine' before they finally gave me a name."

Veck gripped the steering tighter, getting annoyed by Peter's ruthless sarcasm. "Aww, touching story that nobody asked for, kid. Quit shitting us and tell us your fucking name."

"Here we go." One of the thugs said, taking a look at the keychain that was peeking out of Peter's pocket. Before Peter could intercept the man's hand, it had snatched the article out of the pocket, and held it up to the dome light.

The thug read the name that was on the keychain out loud, and Peter bit his bottom lip at the uttering of his Uncle Ben's name.

"'Benjamin.' Eh, I ain't really seein' it, kid." The thug said, shoving the keychain back toward Peter.

It was funny that the thug mentioned Peter looking nothing like the name they assumed was his. Peter felt that he couldn't be any farther than the man Uncle Ben raised him to be. To Peter, it was a disgrace to use the same name as his Uncle. Even though this was the case, it had still worked out in Peter's favor. There was no way he could afford to tell them his real name, so he settled for his middle name.

"I'm not a kid, by the way."

"Shit, you sure look like a kid to me, fool. Not that the Joker gives a rat's ass," the thug next to him said. "We need all the bodies we can get."

"Don't even get me started. Especially with the Bat and that Spider freak running around Gotham. All our boys are dropping like flies," the thug in Veck's passenger seat added.

"You in college, kid," questioned Veck.

Peter rolled his eyes, sucking his teeth at the use of the word "kid" again. "Dropped out."

"Family?"

"Nope. Told you I was an orphan, remember?"

Silence invaded the car afterwards. None of them were quite sure what to say. Should they comfort Peter or just continue to pretend he didn't say anything?

Peter decided to break that stillness and ask a question of his own. "So. When do we get to meet him?"

"Who?" The thug next to him asked.

"Duh, Michael Jackson's ghost." Chuckling to himself, Peter licked his lips, shook his head, and clarified, "Heh, nah, man I'm talking about The Joker. When do I get to meet him?"

"You don't." The thug in the passenger seat clarified.

Without warning, Veck pulled onto the side of a curb and parked his car. He turned around in the seat and pointed his finger at Peter.

"Look, Benjamin. You're moving too fast. Slow down. Okay? Now, this isn't recess, so you don't talk to us like we're one of your boys. 'Cause we're not. I'll throw your body outta this van and not even think twice. Lord knows it wouldn't be the first time. Before you can even think about breathing the Joker's air, you need to prove your worth to me first."

"Word, youngblood. You ain't even pass initiation yet." The thug next to him said. Their attempt to intimidate him failed to wipe the shit-eating grin from his face.

Peter shrugged his shoulders and nonchalantly threw his hands in the air. "Okay, okay, so whaddya want me to do? Steal some old lady's purse or something else cliche?"

Veck smirked and sighed. "Who do you think we are, Benjamin? Pussies? Save that weak shit for Two Face's boys. We …," Veck pulled out his Glock and handed it to Peter. "... we do what needs to be done. Whatever means necessary. You ever held one of those before?"

"Yeah, once or twice. Once during a fireworks show, and the other… well, my neighbor's dog wouldn't shutup so I-"

"For fuck's sake, it's a yes or no answer! You want to meet the Joker so bad?! Runnin' your fuckin' mouth like that is gonna get a knife down your throat."

Peter sighed and looked up toward the ceiling. "'Kay, alright, alri-"

"It's a simple question! Have you held a gun in your hand before?!" Veck angrily persisted.

"Nah, m-man. But how hard can it be? You point and shoot," Peter answered, pretending to shoot with his finger gun. He put his hands down and shrugged. "Easy peasy."

Veck smiled and handed Peter a clip for the Glock, and pointed out the window toward a convenience store. "If it's so easy, prove it. Go get yourself some food and clothes. Just don't bother paying for it."

"'Food and clothes'? What happened to all that stuff about me living large and driving fancy cars?"

"The Joker keeps his promises, but not to scrubs like you. And that's all you are to us right now. Just a scrub. That means you pull your own weight. Prove to us you're worth more than the dogshit on my shoes, and maybe we'll talk incentives."

Peter winced and gave a wry smile. "Dude... you got dogshit on your shoes?" Veck stayed quiet, blinking once at Peter's ignorance. "Look, man, if you need a new pair of shoes, I can just give you mine!" Peter joked, shrugging his shoulders. "I-I mean, no need to swoop up random folks off the street and have them rob stores for you just because you're self conscious about your shitty shoes, man. I get it. You're embarrassed. We've all been there. I mean, I'm self-connscious about my..." Peter paused, getting amused at the impatience on Veck's face. "...On second thought, nah. Can't really think of any faults in me."

Veck chuckled. "That so?"

"Yep," Peter confidently nodded his head back and forth.

"What about the fact that you're not as smart as you think you are?"

"Say what?"

"You're stalling." Veck blurted out, blunt and to the point. "See, I used to be you, kid. I know how you think. You're not very smart, trying to find time to figure out how to get out of this robbery." Veck's voice got deep with impatience. "There ain't. You're fucked. 'Cause, either the clerk in the store shoots, or I do. Now, I'm gonna tell you. One. Last. Time." Veck shifted even further into the backseat, resting his arm fully on Peter's shoulders. "Rob that store. Or I will put a bullet in your head for wasting my time."

Peter stared at the gun in his hand, hesitation clearly in his eyes.

One of thugs spoke up and encouraged him. "It's initiation, youngblood. Everybody's gotta do it."

"And I need a gun for it?"

"The fuck you think?" One of the thugs answered. "Shit, your babyface sure ain't gonna cut it."

Peter playfully slapped his cheeks. "Nice to know I still got it, though."

Even with the odds so far against him, Peter had no fear. It was a tricky situation, for sure. He had to figure something out. No way he'd be forced to commit a crime and become the very thing that he hated the most in his life besides himself - A criminal. Without leaving Veck's intense stare, Peter took the loaded magazine and nodded his head up and down. "I got this."*

A familiar ring came from the front of the store. Looking over his shoulder, the cashier paused his midnight stocking and turned to address his customer.

"Can I help you with something?"

Peter nodded, biting his lip as he approached the counter. "So, yeah, um… so, I'm supposed to rob you." Peter broke out into a nervous fit of giggles, to which the clerk wasn't amused. He quickly reassured the employee, albeit with a bit of a clumsy pace. "Yeah, yeah, it's funny, right? But, the thing is, I don't wanna do that to be honest? Sooo, I had this really clever idea. Okay? 'Kay, so, check this out." Peter animated his proposal in an exaggerated manner with his hands. "Why don't you just pretend that I'm robbing you? Right? And everything will be cool."

The merchant blinked once and sighed. "Get out."

Peter threw his hands up in the air. "Or, yep. Cool. Leaving is a perfectly valid option too. Sorry to bother you, man. Have a good one."

Veck and the crew watched as Peter left the store with nothing but the shit-eating grin he always refused to let go. All of them flew out of the car in a fit of frustration, wondering what happened to their show of blood and glory.

"What the hell?! Where's our shit?!" One of the thugs asked.

Peter scratched his nose and looked off to the side. "Oh, yeah. That. Um, so here's the deal, he doesn't want me to rob him. So I didn't."

"And why didn't you do it anyway?" Veck asked.

"Because it's a free country. And I'd like to think that the Joker is a patriot. Pretty sure he wouldn't mind if I exercised my constitutional right to suck at robberies."

"Alright. I've had enough of you, little shit." Showcasing his surprisingly fast reflexes, Veck took the gun from Peter's hand, and pointed it at his forehead.

"Whoa, whoa! Okay, look…"

"Not laughin' now, huh, smartass?" Veck said, pleased by the cries of mercy from Peter. He ignored him, grabbing Peter by the back of his hoodie, and slamming him against the hood of the Mercedes.

Even with the left side of his mouth rubbing against the hood, Peter managed to squawk out a sentence to delay his execution. "Veck, wait! I look up to you guys, man!"

Veck laughed and shook his head. "Kissin' ass won't save you, punk."

"Nah, nah, man, I mean it!" Despite his face smushing into the car, or even worse, the gun barrel biting into his temple, Peter tilted his head enough to look at Veck through the corner of his eye. "I'm dead serious, I've always wanted to work for the Joker. But we gotta ask ourselves, would he be proud of us if we were robbing stores for chump change?"

"Bitch, what the fuck?!" One of the thugs hollered. "You don't even know the Joker! If he sends us to light up some old fuck's joint, you do it and don't ask questions! Not unless you want your head blown off."

"We could be doing so much more with our time. Instead of wasting these bullets, why not dump them into one of Two-face's men? Huh? He's screwin' with Joker right? Look, I'm just saying… small time shakedowns like this is for lackeys. And I didn't sign up to be a lackey."

"I don't care what you thought you were getting into, Benjamin, you fucked up riding the train tonight. Wrong place, wrong time, buddy. 'Cause this life ain't for you. And now, it's over. So shut the fuck up and quit squirmin'."

Peter had to accept that his plan might just be over. He might just have to show them that he was the dreaded vigilante that was more than capable of proving Veck wrong. But if he did so, he'd have to start all over again, with a new sect from the Joker's crew. And who knows? Maybe the same situation would happen where he'd be forced to commit to something that went against what he believed in. These thoughts raced in Peter's head as he felt Veck's grip grow tighter on the gun, ready to finish him off. But the most unlikely second chance was given to him in the form of two other thugs rushing toward the convenience store entrance.

"Wait! Wait! Hold on!" Peter shouted, nodding his head toward the store.

Veck rolled his eyes and looked toward the spot, and noticed that, sure enough, something interesting was going on. Those thugs that entered the store were dressed in suits that split into black and white colors, a signature of Two-Face's criminal militia.

Veck sub-consciously let go of his grip as he came to terms with the situation. "Oh, shit. Two-Face's boys are here."

"For real?" One of the thugs asked, turning around. "They didn't see us right here?"

"Guess not," another confirmed. "Good chance to get the jump on those fools."

That was just what Peter wanted to hear. Seizing the opportunity, Peter pushed Veck off and sought to prove himself in an unconventional way.*

"Money in the bag, motherfucker! Money in the fucking bag!"

"F-Fine! Just, hnk, p-please… please!" It was hard for the clerk to form a coherent sentence with sharpened axes pointed right at him. It was well known throughout Gotham the brutality of Two-Face's henchmen, which was used as a gimmick to make themselves seem more threatening than the competition. The clerk's hands shook at an uncontrollable speed, too distracted by the fact that it may be the last time he used them. In the midst of the robbery, everyone turned their heads towards the sound of the front door chime alerting them to a new presence.

Peter skipped to a stop in front of them and sized up the two rival thugs and their split suits. "Nice threads! Lemme guess. You guys got one half on discount and the other half on layaway? Didn't think Two-Face was that much of a cheapskate."

"Who the fuck are you?" One of them asked.

Veck answered, sporting his wolf mask as the front door closed behind him and his subordinates rushing inside. "He's with us. And I know damn well you bozos know who we are."

"Yeah. Dead men walkin'."

Two-Face's thugs spared no time as they bolted toward them with their axes out like barbarians. Peter intercepted them, throwing himself into a tackle at the rival in front. Down on the ground, Peter stuck his right leg out to trip over the second goon that tried making way for Veck and the others. With the first thug still pinned down, Peter launched fist after fist into his face until the second goon got back up and tried to sneak behind with his axe. Thanks to trusty Spider-Sense, Peter launched himself into a backflip. Halfway through his flip, Peter threaded his fingers together into a fist, and slammed it down on the second goon's head like a sledgehammer. He fell to the floor as an unconscious mass, while the other goon used the opportunity to stand back up.

"You're so fuckin' dead."

He charged toward Peter, wildly swinging his axe like a mad man while Peter weaved effortlessly out of each swing, strategically maneuvering himself backwards from the front of the store, and back into the rear aisles. Veck and his crew still followed, not even bothering to offer support and, instead, watching Peter's performance. Having enough fun teasing his opponent, Peter hooked his foot behind the goon's calf and kicked outward, throwing him off balance onto the floor. The opponent rolled down the aisle, stopping himself with his shoe, while Peter let the both of them catch their breath.

As Peter did so, Veck called out to him, throwing the giraffe mask at him so that he could put it on. "Dumbass! You forgot this!"

Peter caught it and put it on. The plastic mold in front of his nose sure didn't help with his breathing.

Veck and the other thugs were eagerly staring at the scene as the men got ready to attack again. Show wasn't over just yet. The two goons stood up from opposite ends and charged toward him from both ends of the snack aisle, thinking for sure they had him locked. If only they knew who they were dealing with, and how wrong they were. Anything but ordinary was this thug, and they found out when Peter jumped up and simultaneously kicked his legs outward in both directions, as if he were doing the splits in mid-air. The maneuver caught them both off guard, but Peter gave them no time to recover. Both of them held their noses from the kick.

Going for the thug on the left, Peter began his assault with punches to his face, holding back of course, but making sure to swing wildly to give an illusion that he didn't know what he was doing. Recovering from one of Peter's swings, one of them threw a haymaker towards Peter's mask-covered face. Yet, he intercepted the punch while the man's arm was still fully outstretched. Peter grabbed the arm by its base, pulled it close to his chest, and used force to push the man against the aisle. Chips and pastries fell to the ground from the impact, and the goon tripped on the products as he stumbled back. Taking advantage of that sloppy stance, Peter grabbed the thug by both his legs, and vaulted forward with his knee, straight into his opponent's gut.

A rasp breath burst out of his mouth as he keeled over, but Peter wasn't finished with him yet. Now that he was hunched over, Peter reeled back and slammed his own forehead into the thug, sending him, again, flying back into the chips and pastries. He slid to down the floor as a defeated mess, and an enraged holler from the other end of the aisle psyched Peter up. To him, this was just a fun sparring session. He welcomed the challenge, playfully shuffling up to the man who had picked up the axe again.

Flashes of silver gleamed in the light in quick successions as the axe blade desperately tried to bite into Peter's skin multiple times. The goon was swinging so hard that he was losing his grip, and paused to recalibrate himself, which was just the opening that Peter needed, or "pretended" to need. Peter playfully socked him in the throat, causing him to drop his axe, and desperately gasp for air with both hands around his neck.

"Hungry? Here." Throwing candy and snacks at the thug, Peter toyed with the man as he fought to get his breath back.

"Finish him off already, c'mon!" Peter heard one of his associates holler. He looked to his right for a second and saw Veck and the others, standing there impressed with guns in hand. It was time to wrap up the show. Ducking just in time, he avoided an overhead clothesline from the burly thug, and ascended up from the duck, and into the man's chest with a fist. Surprisingly, though, the goon caught Peter's fist, and held it close to his chest, and pulled him in. A burly hand clasped around Peter's throat, lifting him up off the ground, and the next thing he knew, he was getting rocketed backwards towards the drink aisle at full speed.

Grimacing to prepare for the impact, Peter kicked his legs in and out in the air as his back collided with the window door that housed sodas and energy drinks. Glass exploded from the impact, and Peter fell backwards into the compartment. Slightly dazed and shaking glass from his hair, Peter looked up to see his opponent getting ready to strike him in his vulnerable position. Not so fast. Tucking both his knees into his abs, Peter then shot his legs out to full extension in the thug's gut. He went flying backwards, struggling to keep his balance from the double kick. Digging himself out of the drinks compartment, Peter rushed back onto the floor and picked up the axe on the ground. Stancing himself right over the thug's torso, Peter raised the axe in the air, before letting it descend full speed.

"Nooo!" He screamed for mercy, and got what he wanted, as the axe blade buried itself into the tile mere inches away from his head. Catching his breath, Peter looked into the thug's eyes that had no doubt seen death.

"You lose, bud." Peter grinned, but it only lasted a moment when he instinctively flinched from a gunshot out of nowhere.

Peter opened his eyes to see a chunk of flesh taken out of the goon's forehead just seconds after. He followed the sound of the shoot to Veck's smoking Glock. Peter flinched again.

Another shot. This time, given to the second goon that was unconscious.

Veck stuck the gun in the back of his pants and nodded at Peter. "You know how to give a good beatdown. Guess that's worth something."

"Talkin' 'bout a 'good beatdown'?" One of the thugs said with a huge smile on his face. "Benjamin just mopped the floor with those bad boys all by himself! That was some real shit, man!"

He walked up to Peter, offering a fistbump. No response. Peter was too busy staring at the face of the man he still stood over, whose eyes were crossed over one another and mouth agape with silent agony. Sure, he didn't pull the trigger. But it was hard for him not to feel like he still had a finger on the gun. As brutal as Spider-Man had become, Peter still couldn't bring him to kill someone. Seeing what he'd been avoiding so long up close was a horrible feeling he couldn't shake.

"What's the matter, kid? You never seen a dead body?"

"Fuck his dead ass!" One of the other thugs said. "I ain't ever seen a backflip like that before."

Peter shook his head, closing his eyes, and reminding himself to stay in the moment. Stay in the game.

"Benjamin," Veck said, slowly walking up to him. "The hell did you learn some shit like that?"

Peter swallowed hard and opened his eyes back up toward Veck. "Bruce Lee movies. A-And vegetables. The green ones, y'know. They're good for you." He chastised himself, setting a mental reminder to tone down his feats lest he raise suspicion. Veck nodded his head and took that for what it was. In his eyes, Peter had, at least to an extent, proven himself somewhat useful. However, as he looked back over to the register, there was still the issue of the clerk. The employee was flush against the wall, shaken in terror at the violence showcased before him. Peter followed Veck's eyesight and subsequently, his train of thought.

No way Peter was gonna let Veck kill the clerk too. There had been enough bloodshed for the night.

"Yo, Veck," Peter stated before the commander could make his way over. "Let's leave him alive. Y'know? So he can testify about what he saw."

Veck shrugged. "Figured I'd be doing him a favor. But, hey. This was your bust, and we got what we came for. I don't care either way," Veck conceded, grabbing the money that the clerk had intended for Two-Face's goons.

Peter clenched his fists and decided to seal the deal, playing even further into his cover. "You saw what we can do, huh? Yeah, that's right. If Two-Face's boys show up to talk noise, you ignore them." Peter swallowed hard before he finished his threat. "Unless you wanna end up like them."

Concluding his sentence, Peter felt a strong pat on his back, and followed the hand to one of thugs smiling at him. "Whaddya know? Damn kid's a natural."

Gotham never ceased to amaze Peter. Not once did the city ever fail to live up to its reputation of being Hell on earth. The city seemed to be dead and alive somehow at the same time thanks to the constant haze that plagued every corner of the streets, and the bustle of the footraffic that almost rivaled New York's. However, the further Veck drove toward a certain area, the city started to unmask its decrepit roots. Peter was in the backseat of the car, and stuck his head out of the window to see the tall buildings of downtown Gotham get lost in the early morning fog. Yanking his head back into the car, he opened his mouth to ask exactly where they were going now, but paused when his attention focused on what was ahead instead - A floating district of impossibly congested buildings, seemingly rotting on top of a river right in the middle of the city.

'Fascinating,' was the word that came to mind at first. But as the car trekked into the entrance of the miniature city, a myriad of negative words came to mind. True, the Narrows were fascinating, but in a way that Peter could only describe as "raw", "forsaken", and just downright "depressing." Even the citizens trudging along the rugged, makeshift sidewalks were a stark contrast to even the lower class of Downtown. At least, in that class, the poor had shoes to wear. Most of the Narrows' lower class seemed to lack even the most basic of necessities, with a large majority of them lacking clean haircuts, clothes, and bodily upkeep.

The same could be said about the actual structure of the buildings. Though, they weren't nearly as tall as Downtown and Midtown Gotham, the Narrows' architecture seemed to rival its competitors with an illusion of broken grandeur, which was all courtesy of the mess of wires that connected from one rooftop to another as a jumbled mess.

Peter shook his head and whistled. "This place has seen better days. Uhp. I mean, guess you could say that about the entire city. But, yeah, especially this place."

Veck paused and tilted his head back, keeping his eyes on the road. "Come to think of it, you never mentioned where you're from."

"Oakland. Cali." It was a lie that Peter threw out, half-way joking before he realized it was too late to take it back.

Veck gave an understanding nod, and didn't question the statement's validity. "Huh. Explains the hustle you have. Whatever. Oakland is heaven compared to the Narrows."

"That's the name of the place? Guessin' whoever made this town just ran out of ideas? Hey, this place is narrow? Why don't we just call it…" Peter shot out his hands, waiting for someone to finish. "You guessed it! C'mon, you guys are no fun."

One of the thugs groaned. "Stuck in the car with your chatty ass is no fun. Thank God we're droppin' the kid off here."

Peter's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach from what he heard.

It had to be a joke?

Right?

"Wait. What?"

A simple nod was all Veck offered as a response as he drove into the core of the district. Rounding a corner, he slowed his speed as they began approaching an expansive industrial facility. All around the street, Peter noticed more men that appeared to be affiliated with the Joker's sect. The bystanders around gawked at the sight of Veck's Mercedes, clearly not used to seeing such a luxury on a nightly basis. Veck parked the car on the street adjacent to the warehouse, and turned all the way around in the seat to face Peter.

"This is you, smartass. Your new home," Veck sassed, pointing out the windshield toward the facility. "This here's what we call 'Purgatory.' Where the newbies for the Joker go."

Tilting his head back in the seat, Peter groaned. "Veck, c'mon, you're killing me here. Didn't I prove tonight that I deserve more than to stay in the literal Armpit of Gotham?"

"You proved you're not expendable. That you can fight. Nothing more. Nothing less."

"Exactly. I can fight better than most in my class. I shouldn't be here. I should be in the city with you guys." Peter sucked his teeth and shrugged. "C'mon, don't do me like this."

His plan was backfiring. And fast. Hell would be frozen over before Harley Quinn set foot in the Narrows. It didn't fit the rich, extravagant persona that she shared with the Joker, so the odds of her lounging about in such a place were slim to none.

Peter fucked up.

Plus, how long would it take to work his way up through the ranks to earn his way out and into the city? It was too much weight that he hadn't seen coming.

Peter fucked up. Badly .

While Peter's heart started pounding out of his chest from impatience and anxiety, Veck shoved his hand into the money bag they stole and took out five twenty dollar bills.

"This should hold you over for a couple of weeks," he said, handing over the cash. "Around that time, I'll come back to check on you, and see-"

Mid sentence, Veck paused and turned around toward the driver window at the sound of a knock. A young adult man stood outside of the car, signaling for the window to be lowered. Veck complied, and flicked up his head at the man.

"Joker's posse, eh? Hook us up, would ya?"

Veck leaned forward in his seat, noticing an older woman and man behind the first. Veck nodded and handed a few large bills to all of them through the window.

"God bless the Joker." One of them said, bowing out of respect.

Peter wanted to laugh at how ridiculous that sounded, but remembered that he had no idea how it felt to be one of them - A resident of the Narrows.

Veck rolled up and sighed, looking back towards Peter. "The Joker looks out for his people. This is the shittiest place in Gotham. But, it's still ours. We gotta represent. And that means spoiling our natives every now and then." Opening the door, Veck stepped out of the Mercedes and came around to open the rear passenger seat for Peter. "Listen up. I already put in a call to Purgatory. They know you're comin.' Look for the captain in charge and fall in line. Keep quiet, do what you're told, and you'll be fine. Purgatory is only hard for scrubs who can't imagine sleepin' next to roaches and rats every night. But if you can stomach that, the rest of it's easy. Just small time shakedowns here and there, and that's it."

Veck tilted his head to the left past Peter, and noticed something on the seat. "Oh, and another thing," he said, reaching over to the seat and picking up Peter's giraffe mask. "Don't forget this."

Peter took the mask, and stuffed it into the same bag with his stolen clothes and cash. His trusty skateboard was in his other hand, and he looked up into the brown, hazy sky of the Narrows district, refusing to believe how quickly, and how deep he'd gotten himself into his roleplay.

"See you in a couple of weeks…" Veck chuckled as he put one foot back into his Mercedes. "...If you aren't wasted by then."