Gotham City.
Morning light spilled unevenly across the skyline, catching on glass towers and cutting through the heavier shadows that always seemed to cling to the streets below. Gotham never looked fully awake even in daylight, it felt like it was holding its breath.
Three kids walked side by side down a crowded sidewalk, backpacks bouncing lightly as they talked over each other.
"So who would win in a fight Nightwing or Red Hood?" one of them asked, clearly invested.
"Red Hood," the second kid answered immediately. "He's got guns. And he looks awesome doing it."
The third shook his head. "Nah. Nightwing would win. He does flips and stuff. He'd dodge everything and then boom fight over."
They laughed, completely distracted as they stepped off the curb into the crosswalk. They didn't see the armored money truck barreling toward them.
Its engine roared, tires screeching as it blasted through a red light without slowing. Horns blared from nearby cars, but the driver didn't care or didn't have time to.
"Hey!" someone shouted from the sidewalk.
A red-and-blue blur dropped from above and in one smooth motion, a figure swung down, arms wrapping around all three kids at once, lifting them clean off the pavement. The movement was fast, precise and with no wasted motion. In the same breath, he carried them across the street and set them safely onto the opposite sidewalk just as the truck thundered past where they had been standing.
The kids stumbled back, blinking in shock.
"What?" one of them started.
Standing above them now was a figure in a sleek red-and-dark-blue suit, a black spider emblem stretched across his chest. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, despite the chaos that had just unfolded.
"Careful, kids," he said lightly. "People can't drive in Gotham." He tilted his head as if he'd just made a passing observation rather than saved three lives. The truck continued speeding away behind him. One of the kids finally found his voice. "Who are you?"
The masked figure paused, crouching slightly so he was closer to their eye level. Even through the mask, there was an energy about him like he was smiling.
"Well, kid," he said, gesturing vaguely at himself, "I'm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
He paused, then added, as if it were an afterthought, "Oh and Nightwing would totally beat Red Hood."
Before the kids could respond, he shot a web upward and swung away, vanishing into the city in a blur of motion.
A beat of silence.
"THAT WAS SO COOL!" all three kids shouted at once.
Spider-Man landed against the side of a building, then leapt off it, webbing forward through Gotham's narrow streets. The armored money truck was still tearing ahead, weaving dangerously through traffic.
"Alright, big metal box, time to pull over," he muttered to himself.
He shot a web and latched onto the side of the truck, sticking there like it was nothing. Then he knocked twice on the driver's window.
"Knock knock, Mister Criminal."
The thug inside actually rolled the window down. Spider-Man leaned closer and waved. "Hi! Name's Spider-Man. Or Webhead. Or Amazing depends on the branding mood. Just don't call me late for dinner. Gets weird."
The thug blinked… then swung a punch. Spider-Man leaned back effortlessly, the fist cutting through empty air.
"Ooooh, not a hugger. Got it," he said, hanging from the side of the truck like it was a casual conversation spot. "Quick question though did you really have to rob a bank this morning? I've got something important later. You're kind of messing up my schedule."
The thug snarled, reaching under the seat and pulling out a gun. "I'm sick of your mouth!"
He fired and Spider-Man flipped upward, landing on the roof of the truck as bullets sparked harmlessly against metal behind him.
"Yeah, yeah, same reaction I get at parent-teacher conferences," he quipped.
Up ahead, pedestrians crossed near a cluster of offices. A man in a Wayne Enterprises badge walked briskly along the sidewalk, clutching a stack of blueprints. Papers slipped from his grip as people jostled past him.
The name on the badge read: Max Dillon. Then Spider-Man glanced down through the truck's side window.
"Gun trouble? Let me help!"
He reached through the open window, grabbed the steering wheel, and yanked hard making the truck lurched violently.
"COMING THROUGH!" he shouted as the vehicle swerved.
Then he saw the direction it was heading.
"Oh. That's bad."
Max was directly in its path and Spider-Man didn't hesitate as he launched himself off the truck, swinging low, extending an arm just in time to scoop Max off his feet as the truck surged forward. In one continuous arc, he carried them both out of harm's way and landed on the sidewalk, skidding slightly before stabilizing.
The truck roared past where Max had been standing, missing him by inches. The scattered blueprints fluttered into the air again. Spider-Man helped Max to his feet and gently adjusted his crooked glasses.
"You okay?"
Max blinked rapidly, trying to process what had just happened. "You're… that spider vigilante. The one people have been seeing during the day for the past two months."
"The suit really gives it away, huh?" Spider-Man replied. He reached down and neatly webbed the scattered blueprints together, peeling them off the ground and placing them back into Max's hands in a tidy bundle.
"Here you go. Important-looking papers shouldn't get street seasoning."
"These are important," Max said, still catching his breath. "But… how do you know my name?"
Spider-Man tapped Max's badge lightly. "It's right there." Max looked down, embarrassed. "Right… I… I'm nobody."
Spider-Man placed a hand on his shoulder, his tone shifting becoming less joking and more grounded.
"No," he said firmly. "You're somebody, Max. Don't forget that. Gotham needs people like you. I need you, okay? You're my eyes and ears out here."
Max looked up at him, surprised.
"…Alright," he said quietly.
"Good," Spider-Man replied, already stepping back. "Stay safe."
He fired a web and swung away and back at the truck, Spider-Man returned in a fast arc, landing near the driver's window. With a quick flick of his wrist, he fired a web that yanked the thug clean out through the opening.
The man yelped as he was flung upward, then left hanging upside down from a nearby streetlight, wrapped securely in webbing.
"Enjoy the view," Spider-Man called.
He then shot two thick web-lines onto the back of the truck, bracing himself against the pavement. His feet dug in as he pulled hard.
The massive vehicle resisted for a moment and then finally screeched to a halt. Spider-Man exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly.
"Still got time," he muttered, glancing up at a distant clock tower. He shot a web and swung off again, disappearing into the Gotham skyline.
Across the street, a man with curly black hair and sharp blue eyes stood calmly, finishing a bite of his bagel. He watched the entire sequence with quiet interest before pulling out his phone.
"Bruce," he said into it, voice low but steady, "I've got something interesting to tell you."
Spider-Man landed on a rooftop overlooking Gotham Academy. The city hummed below him, distant sirens blending into the ambient noise of traffic and life.
He reached up and removed his mask, revealing a teenage boy beneath with red hair slightly messy, blue eyes scanning the horizon with a mix of nerves and determination.
"Okay… Alex," he muttered to himself.
He looked toward the school building.
"First day at a new school. Totally normal. Not intimidating at all. Just a bunch of rich, probably judgmental kids staring at you like you don't belong."
He forced a small smile.
"Positive attitude."
Alex peeled off the upper half of his suit, revealing the Gotham Academy uniform underneath. He retrieved his backpack with his Spider-Man suit neatly folded and web-secured inside and slung it over his shoulder.
Then he dropped down from the rooftop into the alley below.
Landing softly, he straightened his jacket, adjusted his bag, and took a steady breath and then, just a normal student among thousands, he walked toward Gotham Academy.
Batcave
The Batcave stretched out in darkness, illuminated only by the cold glow of monitors and the artificial light of the Batcomputer. Water dripped somewhere in the distance, echoing faintly through the cavern, but otherwise the space was still.
Bruce Wayne stood at the center of it all with his arms crossed. Eyes fixed on the main display. On the screen, security footage looped again and again.
A red-and-blue figure dropping into frame. A money truck skidding. Web-lines snapping taut. Civilians being pulled from danger in fractions of a second.
Spider-Man.
Bruce's gaze didn't waver as the footage replayed for what had to be the tenth time. Footsteps echoed behind him, light but familiar.
Dick Grayson walked into the Batcave with his usual ease, hands in his pockets, already looking at the screen before he even fully approached. There was no hesitation in him just curiosity.
"So," Dick said, casual as ever, "what do you think?"
He held up a small paper bag.
"I saw the whole thing while grabbing breakfast."
He reached inside, pulled out a half-eaten bagel, and offered it to Bruce like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Bruce didn't move at first. His eyes shifted first to the bagel, then to Dick woth a single eyebrow rose slightly.
Dick cleared his throat. "I was still hungry after mine." Bruce exhaled quietly, uncrossed one arm, and took the bagel. Without a word, he began eating.
Dick smirked faintly, then turned his attention back to the Batcomputer display. The footage continued looping in front of them.
"Alright," Dick said, nodding toward the screen, "I'll give him this he's good. Especially for what, two months in?"
He leaned forward slightly, studying the angles, the movement, the timing.
"But I don't see any formal training. No structured movement, no combat discipline. It's instinctive. Reactive. Which is impressive but also messy."
Bruce didn't look away from the screen.
"Where'd he learn to fight?" Dick added.
"He didn't," Bruce replied.
Dick blinked, glancing at him. "Didn't?"
Bruce tapped a few keys on the console. The footage zoomed in. Overlays appeared with trajectory lines, force indicators and reaction timing.
"No enhanced suit," Bruce continued. "No external tech augmentations. No stabilizers, no assist systems."
Dick's expression shifted with his focus sharpening.
Bruce's voice remained even.
"His abilities are internal."
Dick leaned back slightly, processing that.
"You're saying…" he began.
Bruce brought up another frame. Spider-Man caught mid-motion, one arm extended, stopping the momentum of a falling vehicle with sheer force.
"…meta," Dick finished. Bruce gave a single nod.
"Strength," Bruce said. "Agility. Speed. Reflexes. All significantly above human baseline."
Dick crossed his arms now, studying the data overlays alongside the footage.
"Okay," Dick said slowly. "That explains the movement. But the way he talks… the timing… he's not just reacting, he's thinking while he's moving."
Bruce didn't respond immediately. He watched another loop play out with Spider-Man deflecting gunfire, redirecting a vehicle, rescuing a civilian mid-chaos.
"Efficiency without formal training," Bruce said finally. "That's uncommon." Dick nodded once. "So… you going to stop him?"
The Batcomputer continued cycling footage in the background, the same moment repeating Spider-Man landing, stabilizing, speaking, moving on.
Bruce didn't answer right away. Dick waited because he knew better than to rush that answer.
Finally, Bruce spoke.
"No."
Dick raised his eyebrows slightly. "Really?"
Bruce turned his head just enough to acknowledge him, then pressed another key on the console. A separate audio feed played through the cave's speakers.
"'You're a somebody, Max. Don't forget that. Gotham needs people like you. I need you to be my eyes and ears out here, alright?'"
The voice echoed briefly before cutting off and Bruce looked back at Dick.
"Does that sound like an adult to you?"
Dick's expression softened almost immediately. The casual edge in his posture faded, replaced by something more thoughtful.
"…No," he admitted.
The Batcomputer continued its quiet work. The footage remained frozen between loops, waiting for input.
Dick tilted his head slightly, thinking it through.
"You think…" he started carefully, choosing his words, "he's the same age as Tim, Cass, and Steph?"
Bruce gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Dick let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "That tracks."
He glanced back at the screen, watching Spider-Man's movements again but now with a different perspective. Less like analyzing a vigilante… more like assessing a peer.
"Different environment," Dick added. "Same kind of pressure. He just… ended up on the other side of it."
Bruce said nothing, but his eyes remained fixed on the footage. Dick straightened slightly, already shifting mentally into action mode.
"I'll tell them," he said. "Tim will want to run his own analysis. Cass will probably already be halfway through understanding his movement patterns. Steph's going to have questions. A lot of them."
A faint hint of a smirk crossed Dick's face. Bruce didn't respond immediately and Dick turned, taking a few steps toward the exit tunnel, then paused.
He glanced back over his shoulder.
"He's got a good heart, Bruce."
Bruce's voice was quieter now.
"I know."
Dick nodded once, satisfied with that answer, and continued walking out of the cave. His footsteps faded into the distance, swallowed by the cavern's vastness and the batcave returned to silence.
Bruce stood alone once again as he turned back to the Batcomputer and the screen shifted, freezing on a clear frame from the footage. Spider-Man mid-swing, body angled forward, one arm extended, web-line trailing behind him. The mask tilted slightly upward just enough to suggest motion, intent, awareness.
Bruce studied the image just analyzing and remembering.