Six Days Later
Gotham City Subway
"No. No, no, please don't say that. It's not good enough. I need you here now. I... the kids... we're worried sick about you..."
"Yes! I know! I know, my love...," These were the words that fumbled out of the mouth of an ordinary citizen with a string of bad luck - Adrian. As if things couldn't get any worse for the man, it was night time in Gotham, and he was walking through the eerie subways by himself, hoping to get a safe ride home to kiss his wife and children goodnight.
"You need to forgive me for calling so late. I'm sorry, but the car broke down on me. The tow trucks aren't running until tomorrow and I-" He looked up just in time to see light bouncing off the graffiti-caked wall of the subway. Adrian turned his attention back to the phone in his hand, and took a deep breath. Grief and regret twisted his heart apart at the words he was about to say. He hated to address the fact that this could be the last time he ever speaks to his wife again. In Gotham, you just never knew what would happen to you.
"Listen, now, tell the kids I'm alright and I'll be home soon. The train is coming… Natalie, I love you. I'm coming home." Before he attached the phone back to the receiver, Adrian could hear his wife begging to say more words. He couldn't afford it. He had to catch that train. No way he was gonna wait around for thirty minutes in the damp, dingy, and dark notorious subways of Gotham. And he'd be damned before he walked the streets to get home. Cries of old, rusty metal grinding against each other filled the area as the train came to a stop. The doors creaked open and Adrian reluctantly stepped inside, desperately wishing he had a time machine or anything to start the day over.
Once inside, he frantically looked from left to right, surveying both ends of the train and any potential threats. It was the usual suspects one would expect to see on a train in midnight Gotham. There were your street thugs struggling to look intimidating. Then there was the unfortunate homeless either asleep or consumed inside their own world constructed from their braindead minds at the hand of hardcore drugs.
From the two groups, there was only a handful in each, which meant that as long as he kept to himself, it should be a smooth ride home. Adrian grabbed the metal rail protruding from the ceiling with a wet wipe and kept his head down, struggling to keep his racing heartbeat under control. His frame violently shook when he heard a sudden shout coming from the front end, and his gaze snapped toward the disturbance. He was relieved to see it was simply one of the homeless trying to recite a song that was stuck in his head. Coupled with the train that consistently wobbled from the decades old tracks, Adrian's body trembled to the point where he could barely focus. The man singing paused when he saw Adrian staring at him, and a frown crossed his face.
Adrian quickly snapped his head back towards his dress shoes, cursing himself for forgetting the number one rule to stay out of trouble - Never make eye contact.
"Aye!"
Adrian winced violently, his shoulders involuntarily touching his ear lobes as he kept his eyes glued to the ground.
"Man, I'm talkin' to you!"
Adrian swallowed a boulder in his throat. At this point, it would be rude to ignore the man, and he'd be asking for more trouble if he didn't acknowledge him. Adrian turned his head up to see the homeless man smiling.
"You ever been to Atlantis?"
A slight wave of relief at the ridiculous question, Adrian aggressively shook his head and replied, "No, sorry." He took this as an opportunity to traverse to the opposite end of the train, where the wannabe thugs were, hoping that he had a better chance to mind his business there.
"You should go sometime, man! I hear weather is great this time'a year! You heard me?!"
Adrian took a seat, ignoring the singing man from the other end of the train. With his head positioned down, he looked up as best he could at the thugs a few seats away from him without being noticed. No doubt, they were sizing him up. But they remained quiet, and made no advances towards him.
It stayed this way until thankfully, the train made it to its next stop. The thugs got off, leaving Adrian to himself, all alone on the rear of the train. He tilted his head back and let out the biggest breath perhaps ever in his life.
"Finally, thank heav-"
Maybe too soon.
A series of deep, metallic bangs rang out. Adrian's eyes lids jerked open and he looked to see where they were coming from. Some stragglers from outside were violently knocking on the door, begging to be let in. The train door obeyed, and a group of new thugs got on.
Adrian's heart sank to the pit of his stomach when he saw them. Because there was one thing that made them stand out very obviously from the previous thugs that had left - these guys were wearing animal masks, a signature of a notorious crime organization managed by none other than "The Joker." Immediately, Adrian stood up to go back to his first spot on the front end, but he stopped dead in his tracks. More clown mask clad thugs were walking towards him from that direction too.
"How you doin', buddy," one of them whispered in his ear from behind.
"Ghaugh!" Adrian's body practically threw itself against the wall, and the lead thug pinned Adrian with his arms.
"Ya heard of the Joker, eh? 'Course ya have. He owns this town, ya see? Puts the food in ya belly, and keeps the smile on ya face." The thug playfully tapped Adrian's stomach and forced a smile onto his cheek as he spoke. "Now, all he asks is that you give him a lil' somethin' in return. And that , my friend, is your loyalty. Whaddya say?"
It couldn't get any worse for Adrian. Everyone and their mother knew that if you were propositioned by the Joker's henchmen, you either joined or died on the spot. But if there's one thing Adrian had left, it was dignity. He was a loving father of two daughters, and married to his best friend. He'd be damned before he let any one of them see him dead on the street with one of Joker's clown masks strapped to his bleeding face.
"I-I can't. I w-w-won't."
The lead thug laughed and looked back at his associates for a second. "I like this one! He's a funny guy!" The thug then grabbed Adrian's shirt with his left hand, and flipped out a switchblade in the other. "And he's gotta great smile. Let's cut off those lips and give them to the Boss."
Tears shot out of Adrian's face as he fell to his knees, begging for mercy. Instead of having sympathy, they all laughed and prepared for the show. But before anyone could make any further moves, the lights on the train went dark.
"The hell?" One of the thugs murmured.
It was pitch black inside the train, and a thud was heard from the ceiling. Even though nothing could be seen, everyone shot their heads to where the noise came from. It was then that the lights flickered back on, and in the middle of the train was Spider-Man in his notorious black suit. A top hat marked with gold buckles sat on his head, hiding his masked face until he cleverly tipped it up with his thumb.
Crossing his arms in confidence, Spider-Man addressed his audience. "Somebody holler for the Conductor?"
Crickets.
Despite Spider-Man's presence, Adrian's look of dread hadn't changed one bit on his face that was drenched with tears and snot. No shift in attitude took the thugs either, in fact, they laughed at Spider-Man's cringe attempt at comedy before the inevitable brawl.
"Check out this fool!"
"We supposed to be scared of this lame ass dude?"
Spider-Man let them have their laughs. They'd be choking on their own blood soon enough.
He pointed toward Adrian and flicked his head up. "Yo! You." Careening his head backwards, Adrian tried to shake off the finger pointed at him. "Yeaaah you. That's right, buddy, I'm puttin' you on blast. You rang about a disturbance?"
Like a magic trick, Spider-Man produced a bell out of nowhere and playfully rang it, holding it up toward Adrian. Studying the flinching body of the victim too nervous to respond to Spider-Man's quips, he tossed the bell behind him and got serious. "It's all good, man, I can see it on your face. Do me a favor and take a seat, will you? Any seat's fine, uh, how 'bout the one next to you?"
Adrian looked down and winced, putting his disturbed eyes back on Spider-Man. "B-But this one has a… has a… s-stain on it."
Spider-Man dropped his head and threw his arm out towards the adjacent seat. "It's cool, man, I'll have a chat with the janitor when I see him. Just, uh, take the next seat. And if that one has a stain on it-"
"Hey! We're still here, asshole! Aren't you supposed to be fuckin' us up by now?!"
"And lose my job? Nah, I'll ask politely, first." Stepping slightly further, Spider-Man gave a chance for them to surrender first. "Now, will you rough housers please leave my passenger alone? Single file line, now, no pushin'. C'mon, let's hop to it." Spider-Man clapped his hands and pointed toward the back of the train, far away from Adrian.
Only more cocky laughs were given to him, and one goon was brave enough to step forward, cocking his gun as he did so. "Yo, Spider! Keep still for me, homie. Hold this bullet for me real quick."
A darkness swept over the black suited vigilante in front of them. This is what he wanted all along - An excuse to show no mercy. In a flash, Spider-Man leapt forward, took a hold of the lead thug before he fired one ear-cracking shot, and launched him through the nearest window of the train. The sound of shattering glass and screams of pain filled the train for a brief second until they were gone just as fast, taken away by the mercy of velocity and gravity. Spider-Man jokingly looked out the destroyed window, tipped his conductor hat, and watched as the thug tossed along the train tracks like a ragdoll.
"See?! You've gone and made me lose my job! No way they'll keep me around once they find out how I kicked him off!"
"Fuck you!" Cocking guns trained onto Spider-Man.
Let the brawl begin.
Spider-Man shot a web into the face of the man that cursed him. Using it as a grapple, he pulled the man close until his victim collided with his knee, knocking him out on contact. A similar maneuver was given to another thug, this time, the web onto his neck. Flipping backwards, Spider-Man yanked on his web and pulled the thug's jaw into a stability pole, filling the train with a metallic echo from impact.
*Click Clack*
A loaded shotgun tickled Spider-Man's ear to the right. It was easy to intercept when your senses worked three times the speed of a normal human. The barrel of the shotgun was batted away with one hand; the other hand aggressively clawing onto the attacker's face as Peter launched uppercut after uppercut into the man's chest, until he let go of his face just in time for the last uppercut to send him soaring up towards the ceiling. His victim's body crashed into the ceiling light of the train, sprinkling the surrounding area with shards of glass, and malfunctioning light that made Spider-Man's movements even harder to read.
Despite their limited vision, assault rifles spat bullets at a black blur that dodged the projectiles with ease. It was thanks to the Spider-Sense that came in handy as he danced around the train, weaving bullets and burying a punch or kick whenever he saw an opening. Spider-Man then jumped onto the ceiling, frantically shooting out his web all over the flickering interior that was peppered with flashing red lights from his web shooters. In just a matter of seconds, the train was covered in black-colored webbing, leaving the criminals, who weren't knocked out cold from his punches, incapacitated. They all laid helplessly mended to the metal walls of the train, simply groaning.
Spider-Man took a bow and admired his work. "Aaaand, that's concludes our trip, folks! Thank you for choosing the Butt-Whoopin' Express! Feedback is muuuch appreciated, so be sure to rate me five stars on the app! Well, whenever you're able to flex your thumbs again, maybe."
Just in time, the train happened to stop where Adrian needed to get off, an oddly convenient end to Spider-Man's "performance." He casually walked toward the automatic doors to leave, but stopped to say one last thing to the citizen he saved.
"Do me a favor, buddy? Just snag an Uber next time."
Commissioner Gordon's Office
A cup of coffee tickled the gray on the Commissioner's lips. It was cozy in his office, alone, until his guest invited himself in from the shadows.
"Appreciate you getting here on such short notice," Gordon welcomed, his frames still reflecting the screen of the computer he was focused on.
Batman tucked his cape behind him and grunted. "Don't mention it. The nights have been slow thanks to our new vigilante."
Gordon took a sip of his straight black coffee and turned back towards his desk, fishing for a specific folder out of his sea of papers. "That is exactly what I've wanted to talk to you about."
"I've been too preoccupied with this gang war between Joker and Dent to give this a proper investigation."
"Nothin' to fret about. Let me fill you in on what the department knows so far." Commissioner Gordon handed Batman the file that had some pictures of Spider-Man, also with the name of the hero on the top of the sheet.
"There's our guy. Goes by the name 'Spider-Man,' and has been active for a few years. Now, according to the research I did and the phone calls I made, this is just a young man from New York City that had a cult following when he first started."
Batman looked at the photos of Spider Man early in his career and made a good observation. "His suit was originally red and blue. Interesting decision to change it to all black."
"Glad you picked up on that. I could only get access to limited information, but my sources say that something tragic happened to the boy after a year into his career. He changed his suit, as well as his attitude, and lost his fan following due to his more aggressive behavior."
"Obviously ," Batman droned, thinking back to the Gotham crime scenes that had witnesses seeing a man in a black suit with a white spider insignia on the chest and back. Always leaving quite a mess for the police to clean up, the criminals were often beaten to an inch before death, and strung up by their feet with black webbing. Citizens began to grow more and more curious to who exactly this new hero was. Or if he was actually a hero to begin with.
Commissioner Gordon paused for a second to take off his glasses. "Now…here's the last detail I wanted to mention to you. According to some of my sources, Spider-Man is affiliated with an organization known as SHIELD." Batman had heard of them before - S.H.I.E.L.D. and the subsidiary known as the "Avengers". They were both of positive affiliation, but tended to stay away from cities like Gotham and Bludhaven, for whatever reason. "So the question is, why is this vigilante cleaning up Gotham for us? What is his business here?"
Batman massaged his chin and hummed. "I don't know. But I'll find out soon…"
"In more recent news, today marks an official week that a new crime fighter known as 'Spider-Man' has been active in Gotham. This masked vigilante is certainly new to Gotham, but not many residents are aware that he has an extensive background in New York City. Whether you've heard of him or not, you probably share the following question with many other citizens of Gotham - What is Spider-Man doing in Gotham City? Until we can secure an interview, I suppose we'll have to keep on guessing."
"Pfft. It's not rocket science."
Peter chuckled at the news broadcast and sat himself against his bed. After another long night of violence, coming home to a bed and cheesy newscasts was more than welcome. It wasn't first class by any means. The motel was small, old, and runamuck with bugs he swore he'd never seen before. But anything was better than nothing. And the best part of it all was that no one was watching his back. Over the coarse of the week, Peter bathed in the crime scene of Gotham, and relished in the fact that he was nearly the only vigilante in the city - a privilege he didn't have back in New York. He'd heard rumors of one called 'Batman', another known as 'Catwoman', and a handful of others. But he hadn't had the chance to come across any of them.
Not yet at least.
Peter smirked to himself, thinking about running into other heroes and comparing his feats to theirs. All of this intel was gathered from eavesdropping on criminals like a creep in the night - lazily lounging on walls, ceilings, and rooftops, obsessively staring at them as if their stories hypnotized him. It was a leisure Spider-Man indulged in when he wasn't playing dentist, extracting teeth one curbstomp at a time. Besides vigilantes, there was also just as much talk about the colossal criminal empires of Gotham, the biggest one connected to two names that garnered Peter's attention...
First there was "The Joker." It was a name always spoken in a hushed tone, with a trembling voice to accompany it. Spider-Man had yet to run into the man, but based on descriptions, Peter knew him to be a no nonsense crime lord that wouldn't hesitate to feed you bullets if you so much as failed to compliment him on his ridiculous clothes. The Joker owned Gotham, and he made sure the citizens knew it by having a deep connection to the city's nightlife. Just about every club under the Gotham moon was owned by him. If you decided to actually show up to one of the nightly raves, you'd better look the part, or end up missing for good.
The last name... well, a woman of many names, Peter realized, was the "Joker's Girl."
Or, "That Crazy Bitch."
Or finally, "Harley Quinn."
All of the many criminals sounded interesting, but Harley Quinn was by far the most intriguing to Peter. A supposedly flamboyant psychopath, often dressed up in expensive and gaudy outfits to equally showcase her status as "Queen of Gotham" and lover to the Joker. Peter was amused, but also disturbed by the many stories of Harley going toe to toe with opponents twice her size and strength, and somehow, coming out on top, all for the sake of the Joker's best interest.
For someone who had such a reputation as being the Joker's muscle, Peter shouldn't be surprised. But, he was caught off guard when he heard about how dangerously committed Harley was to the Joker's vision, even going as far as to take on impossible odds all for the sake of him. So many stories lullabied Peter to sleep, about how Harley did this or that to a foe, so that her murderous boyfriend would take her to that five-star restaurant that they held at gun point to serve them anyway. It was never the violent context of the stories that fascinated Peter. Rather, it was the fact that they happened in the first place - that this woman was so mentally unstable that she did these things for the Joker, only to have him reward her with abuse and maybe money, sex, or whatever Harley deemed adequate. It seemed so ridiculous, too ridiculous, in fact, to believe. Then again, who was Peter to judge when he had maybe lost his own mind?
Nevertheless, he was still as eager as ever to finally meet the two of them, and put them under his feet. But as he imagined the scenario in his head, a battle with Joker and Harley, he found himself going easy on Harley, more than he should, in a fashion more akin to his first days as Spider-Man. Peter pushed the conflicting thoughts out of his head, telling himself that it would be a welcome challenge to test his resolve, and even more, something to brag about if he ever went back to New York. Though, going back to New York was far from his mind at this point. Peter didn't quite have a true goal when that boat drifted him into Gotham. In fact, he didn't have any goals at all for himself. It wasn't until he heard of these criminals that he realized why he even bothered staying in Gotham in the first place - It was to prove to himself why he needed to still be alive.
Suicide was far from a foreign concept to Peter. Many times, he contemplated it, and often still did. Once Aunt May found a particularly deep cut in his arm, and inquired about it. The other was when he admitted to Coulson a suicide plan when he was drunk. When he was sober the next day, he swore off alcohol when Coulson told him what came from his own mouth. So maybe Gotham was truly a last resort. A test, filled with questions to see why Peter still needed a reason for living.
Peter began stripping off his suit and gear as the broadcast continued.
"On the topic of criminal activity, the self-appointed 'King' and 'Queen' of Gotham, the Joker and Harley Quinn respectively, have been rumored to have now gained absolute control over Gotham's criminal empire."
Next to the reporter's face were two small windows with older pictures of the Joker and Harley Quinn in each. Finally, Peter had a face to associate the two with. The Joker looked as crazy as he'd expect, with the multiple tattoos, green hair, and disconnected look in his eyes.
But then there was that woman he heard so much about.
Harley Quinn...
For some reason, he couldn't get her name out of his head. It echoed and repeated on his brain as he paused the broadcast with the remote. Slowly, he squinted his eyes and walked closer to the TV screen, closer to her mugshot. It was perhaps the most ridiculous mugshot he'd ever seen. Harley was holding her mugshot sign in the photo, sticking her tongue out as she crossed her eyes. The photo certainly fit the descriptions Peter heard through the streets, about a disturbingly violent criminal with a habit of laughing while everyone else was either not, or in most cases, screaming to death.
Peter wanted to know more about the both of them, especially Harley Quinn. He wanted to know just how far she'd gone, or be willing to go for the Joker. It was a subject that genuinely fascinated Peter, and he looked forward to finally meeting Gotham's royalty. It was a perplexing photo, which only made him more curious about her. How could a woman that looked so joyful and innocent be capable of the brutal stories he heard?
"With previously confidential information being lifted by the GCPD, we now have exclusive information on the event that led to the Joker's latest spike in power, which was a recent shootout in the Diamond District. During this event, Oswald Cobblepot, better known by his street name, 'Penguin,' was shot to death, and his body, swaddled in gift wrap, was left on the doorsteps of the GCPD headquarters. It was a strong gesture of the Joker's dominance over Gotham's police department, and an inadvertent challenge for something to be done for the safety of our citizens. With the Penguin out of the equation, only Two-Face is left to compete with the Joker's criminal empire, which is already more than twice the size of the former. The Joker has certainly proven that he is nearly untouchable, but will our new vigilante be the latest to take a crack at conquering the Joker's crime empire?"
Peter shut off the TV, enrapturing himself in the darkness of the room.
"I'll take you up on that challenge."
Following Afternoon
Peter woke up.
It was bright outside in the afternoon. "12:27," was what the digital clock on the lampstand read as he wiped the sleep from his eyes and stretched. Waking up in the afternoon was early for Peter. He was used to waking up far later actually, after so many years of being a night-dweller. He took a moment to gather himself and switch his brain on, only to pause when his brain registered his first thought of the day. That thought just so happened to be about the woman he saw last night on that broadcast. Harley Quinn, and her many other names. Peter swung his legs off the bed and sat with his elbows perched on his knees while he thought about those names. He grinned to himself thinking back to "That Crazy Bitch." It amused him how such a name fit perfectly for the mughsot picture that the broadcast used to describe her. Already, she was indeed a fun person. That much, Peter could tell.
Rising to his feet, he made his way over to the pile of junk food on the TV, fished out a honey bun, and unwrapped it as he thought about the other name. "Queen of Gotham." She was anything but royalty, he mused, but their was a familiar sense to her that usually came with royalty. It was the sense of mysteriousness. Of a curiosity that couldn't be satisfied, simply because you didn't rank high enough to talk to such a figure. As Peter took a bite of his snack, he realized that. That to Harley Quinn, Spider-Man was probably just a peasant compared to her grand hierarchy. His chewing got slower the deeper his thoughts descended about her, until he paused and checked himself.
Why was he thinking about this random woman so much? Yes, she was a criminal. Nothing different about that. Nothing surprising about it either. So what warranted her to stay on his mind throughout the night, in his sleep, and first thing in the morning? That's when it hit him - the rumors of Harley Quinn's obsessive behavior. He remembered the stories about Harley's obsessive behavior towards the Joker, and her infamous motivation to do whatever he commanded of her. It was the "why" that kept Peter's mind fixated on her.
"Why" was she was crazy?
"Why" was she so dedicated to the Joker?
"Why" did some criminals seem to fear the Queen over the King?
Some of the same questions Peter had could be thrown to the Joker. But Peter sub-consciously reasoned that madman must've been born a maniac. Something about Harley Quinn told him that wasn't the case. That there was a very disturbing reason "why" she was the person she was in that mugshot, and in the grotesque horror stories that featured her. Peter snapped his fingers after he wiped icing on his sweatpants. He decided he would get down to the bottom of the "why" so he could purge this woman from his thoughts. With the last half of his honey bun hanging out of his mouth, Peter retrieved his laptop, putting on some mid-west emo as he got started. First, he simply typed in "Harley Quinn."
"Did you mean, 'harlequin,'" Google asked him.
A slight chuckle escaped his lips as he insisted the search engine that the name was spelled correctly. For further insurance, he typed in "Harley Quinn Gotham City." The first few pages were heaps upon heaps of various news articles over the past few years, detailing the many heists she did with the Joker. Most of it was quite disturbing. The hyper-violent nature of her attacks, and the complete disregard for human life, except for one, and it wasn't her own. There was a plethora of links that detailed Harley's criminal record, but they weren't giving Peter what he was looking for.
He needed her history.
Her origin story.
And after a few more pages, finally found something close to it. Peter squinted his eyes at the title of the link.
"Arkham Unlocked. The Forbidden Truth Behind Gotham's Most Wanted."
It sounded like clickbait.
Still, it was better than nothing. Taking a look at the header, Peter noticed the article was written three years ago. Peter had no idea when Harley first started, but there was no doubt that this antique report, at least by internet standards, would shed some light on her early career. It began with criminals he never heard of before or cared for in the first place: "Mr. Freeze," "Professor Pyg," and "Mad Hatter," were just to name a few. Eventually, "The Joker," segment came up, and Peter knew that she couldn't be too far away. And sure enough, the "Harley Quinn" segment was right underneath the Joker's segment.
Bingo.
Peter eagerly scrolled down and began absorbing the information on the screen.
"HARLEY QUINN'S TRUE ORIGIN HAS BEEN MUDDLED INTO URBAN LEGEND UNDER HER NEW REPUTATION AS THE JOKER'S BODYGUARD. Two years ago, Gotham was introduced to its most insane criminal of them all, the Joker."
"'Two years ago...?'" Peter mused to himself. Doing the math thanks to the date of the article, and that told him that she must've gotten her criminal career started about three to four years ago. Spider-Man and Harley Quinn had begun their careers around the same time. Funny how that worked.
Peter carried on, "Though, the comedic crime spree abruptly came to an end when Batman threw the Joker into Arkham Asylum. Just a few months later, as everyone knows, Arkham was destroyed in a massacre that set loose Gotham's most notorious criminals back out on the street. Most of Arkham Asylum's history seemed to be lost along with the facility itself, including the history of the staff's best, Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel. Yes, you read that right."
Peter paused to take in the name. He repeated the name to himself, thinking about the cleverness of putting her first and last name together.
"According to rumor of the surviving staff, Quinzel was the smartest in the facility, and sought to prove her abilities by successfully curing the Joker's mental instability. Little is known afterwards, only that on the day of Arkham's breakout, Quinzel was seen holding a machine gun. It's safe to say that the good old doctor is long gone, trapped somewhere inside the psychotic mess that claims to be in love with the Joker."
That last sentence bothered him. The idea of someone becoming so obsessed with the Joker to the point of "loving" them was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard of. In fact, it made Peter want to laugh. But as he finally backed up from his screen and allowed his eyes to rest, he thought about the authenticity of the story. Was that really how Harley Quinn came to be? Quickly, he brought his face back to the screen and scrolled down for more information on her.
Nothing.
Instead, the article transitioned onto the next criminal. Peter frantically scrolled up and down again, hoping for anything he might've missed.
"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, there has to be more," Peter groaned.
Sure enough, there was. At the very end of the whole article was a compilation of old newspapers with each newspaper respectively sharing a photo of one of the villains mentioned. Of course, Dr. Quinzel's photo was there as well, detailing her arrival to Arkham. Peter squinted his eyes as he looked at the photo and saw Harley without the bleached skin, facial tattoos, and wild hair. She looked innocent, promising, and completely alien to her current form.
But the scariest thing of all was...
"She looks like..."
Gwen.
Peter couldn't say her name. Even as a whisper, Gwen's name could not be uttered out of his mouth. He had done so enough times in the middle of the night, in his sleep, even months after she passed away in his arms. But there was no mistaking the fact that Harley Quinn, or at least the woman Harley used to be, bore a strong resemblance to Gwen Stacy. Peter shook his head and closed his laptop shut, deciding he had wasted enough time on a criminal he even had yet to come across.
Why was he so enraptured by this woman? She should be irrelevant. She'd be taken care of by Spider-Man's hand soon enough. It didn't matter to him that she shared such a likeness to the only woman he'd ever loved. Or that he hated the fact that she seemed to be a mindless slave to a insane man that didn't deserve a shred of love in the first place.
Harley Quinn was a criminal.
And despite the sudden curiosity that gripped his mind, she would be dealt with whenever she inevitably crossed Spider-Man's path.
Peter looked forward to it.
