The maintenance entrance of Wayne Enterprises smelled like bleach and old water, the kind of scent that never really left no matter how many times the floors were scrubbed. It clung to the walls, to the pipes, to the air itself, and Max Dillon barely noticed it anymore as he pushed through the door with his shoulder. Both hands were occupied, carefully balancing a white bakery box tied with thin string that dug into his fingers, but he didn't loosen his grip for even a second. Inside that box was something fragile, something important, and for once, something that was his.
The hallway beyond was already busy, employees moving past him in pressed clothes and polished shoes, talking about meetings, deadlines, weekend plans, and people Max had never met.
Their voices blended into a constant hum, a rhythm of a life he wasn't really part of, and as he stepped into their flow, someone clipped his shoulder hard enough to jolt him sideways.
The box tilted dangerously, frosting shifting beneath the lid, and Max's breath caught as he tightened his grip just in time.
"Sorry," the guy muttered without even looking back.
Max steadied the box slowly, his heart thumping harder than it should have, and for a moment he just stood there, watching the crowd move around him like water around a rock. "Hey," he said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "It's my birthday."
No one heard him or if they did, they didn't care.
He swallowed, adjusted his hold on the box, and kept walking.
For two months now, Gotham had talked about one thing nonstop, and even Max couldn't escape it. Spider-Man was everywhere.
The news looped clips of him swinging through the city, saving people, stopping crimes, pulling strangers out of danger like it was the most natural thing in the world. Murals had started appearing in alleyways, bright splashes of red and blue against gray brick. Kids wore backpacks with web patterns.
Old women in the break room talked about how polite he was, how he always helped, how he noticed people.
Max noticed that part the most.
He notices people, Max thought as he walked, eyes flicking over faces that never paused on his. He sees them.
He reached the break room eventually, pushing the door open with his shoulder and stepping into the quiet space. The noise from the hallway faded immediately, replaced by the low buzz of a refrigerator and the faint ticking of a wall clock. He set the box down carefully on the table, taking a breath before lifting the lid just enough to peek inside.
The cake was simple, a little uneven around the edges, with blue frosting spread thick across the top and a red web piped over it in shaky lines. A small Spider-Man figurine stood in the center, though it had tipped over slightly during the walk. Max smiled, a real one this time, and reached in gently to set it upright again.
"Don't worry," he murmured, almost like he was talking to a person instead of plastic. "I'll fix it later."
He closed the lid slowly, like he didn't want to rush the moment, and left it there as he finished the last hour of his shift. The clock seemed to drag more than usual, every minute stretching longer than it should, and when it finally ticked past the end of his time, Max wiped his hands on his uniform and checked it again just to be sure.
Go home, he told himself. Eat cake. Maybe watch the news. Maybe they'll show Spider-Man again.
"Max."
The voice stopped him before he could even take a step.
His supervisor stood in the doorway of the office, arms crossed, expression already edged with irritation like Max had done something wrong just by existing. Max turned, trying to keep the small flicker of hope in his chest alive despite everything.
"Yeah?" he said, forcing a smile. "I'm actually just heading out…."
"I need you to take care of something first," the man interrupted, his tone flat and final. "Currents are acting up above the eel tanks."
Max blinked, the words not fully registering at first. "Uh… that's electrical," he said carefully. "That's not really my…."
"You're maintenance," his boss snapped, cutting him off. "And everyone else already left."
Max's eyes flicked back toward the break room, toward the fridge where the cake sat waiting, untouched.
"…It's my birthday," he said softly, almost without meaning to.
His boss let out a long sigh, like Max had just asked for something unreasonable. "Five minutes," he said. "Then go."
Max nodded, because of course he did. "Yeah," he murmured. "Okay. Sure."
He walked back into the break room, opened the fridge, and placed the cake inside carefully, making sure it sat flat. For a second, he just stood there with his hand on the door, fingers resting against the cool metal.
"I'll be right back," he said quietly.
The aquarium floor was darker than the rest of the building, lit mostly by the faint, shifting glow of the tanks.
Blue light rippled across the walls and ceiling, bending and warping with the movement of water, and the air felt heavier here, thick with humidity and the faint hum of machinery.
The eel tank sat at the far end, its glass walls reflecting distorted shapes as long, shadowy bodies moved beneath the surface.
Max climbed the ladder to the maintenance platform, each step echoing faintly in the empty space. His tools rattled softly against his belt as he reached the top, and he leaned over the current box, already sparking faintly.
"Always on my birthday," he muttered, more tired than annoyed.
He reached in.
For a split second, nothing happened then the world exploded and the small spark became a blinding surge of light and sound, electricity ripping through the system and into him in an instant. Max's body locked up, every muscle seizing at once as the current tore through him, his vision going white as pain overwhelmed everything else.
He tried to scream, but the sound never made it out, his jaw clenched tight as his entire body convulsed under the force of it.
The platform jerked violently then the railing gave way and Max fell.
He hit the water hard, the impact knocking what little air he had left from his lungs as the tank swallowed him whole. For a fraction of a second, there was silence, a suspended moment where nothing existed but the cold pressure of the water around him.
Then the eels moved and they swarmed instantly, drawn by the energy still crackling through him, their bodies writhing through the water as electricity surged again. The tank lit up in a blinding blue-white glow, arcs of current snapping wildly through the water, crawling over glass, over scales, over skin.
Max's body jerked again, the pain even worse now, amplified by the water surrounding him. His vision blurred, dark spots creeping in at the edges as the current refused to stop, refused to let go. His scream never reached the surface, swallowed completely as he sank deeper into the glowing chaos.
Glass began to crack.
The sound was faint at first, almost lost beneath the roar of electricity, but it spread quickly, thin fractures spiderwebbing across the tank as the pressure built. The light flickered violently, shadows jumping across the walls as the entire room seemed to pulse with energy.
Across the city, life went on.
A mural of Spider-Man was being painted on a brick wall, bright colors cutting through the gray as a kid laughed nearby, pointing excitedly when the artist filled in the hero's white eyes. People passed by, smiling, talking about how much safer things felt lately, how someone was finally out there looking out for them.
No one saw Max Dillon.
No one heard the glass strain under the pressure.
No one noticed when the lights flickered again, harder this time, or when the water inside the tank began to glow brighter and brighter, until it looked less like something alive and more like something being born.
Gotham Academy
Alex limped into the cafeteria like nothing was wrong, which, under the circumstances, was honestly kind of impressive. Every step sent a dull ache through his shoulder, his ribs protested with each breath, and the bruise along his side felt like it had developed its own opinions about his life choices.
Still, he kept his posture loose, his expression neutral, and his backpack slung low enough to hide the worst of it as he merged into the noise of students and conversation. Act normal, he told himself again, like repeating it enough times might make it true.
Normal people are not constantly wincing. Normal people are not recovering from being thrown through a window by a guy with an ice cannon.
He grabbed a plate from the line, paused for a moment as his instincts screamed at him to take more, then forced himself to stop at one. That alone felt like a victory.
The smell of food hit him harder than usual, his stomach reminding him very loudly that it was still recovering from yesterday's chaos, but he ignored it and moved toward the corner of the cafeteria.
Sitting down carefully, he adjusted his position inch by inch until the pain settled into something manageable, then started eating slower than usual, chewing like any sudden movement might set off a chain reaction of suffering.
"Hey."
Alex looked up too quickly, immediately regretting it as a sharp pulse of pain ran through his shoulder, but he pushed it down and straightened anyway.
Cass stood there with her tray, her posture relaxed but her eyes already focused on him in that quiet, observant way that made him feel like she could read everything he was trying to hide.
"Oh hi!" he said, a little too fast, words tripping over each other before he could stop them. "You can…yeah sit. Totally. I mean, obviously, it's a free table. Not that you needed permission. Or permission exists, I just…yeah."
Cass sat across from him, smooth and effortless, and when she smiled and Alex felt his brain short-circuit just a little.
He immediately went back to eating and talking at the same time, because silence felt like the kind of thing that would destroy him completely if he let it exist for too long. "So, uh, did you know Gotham Academy has, like, way too many stairs?" he said, gesturing slightly with his fork before thinking better of it and lowering it again. "I counted. Well, not counted-counted. More like… emotionally counted. My legs are currently filing complaints."
Cass rested her chin lightly against her hand, watching him with clear amusement, her eyes following every small expression and shift in his tone like it was all part of a pattern she was quietly putting together. Alex didn't notice.
"And the science lab stools?" he continued, leaning forward slightly before remembering his ribs and immediately adjusting. "Designed by someone who definitely hates spines. Like, personally. I'm convinced. Also, the vending machine on the third floor is haunted. It stole my money yesterday and then blinked at me. I don't know how, but it did."
Cass's smile widened just a fraction, and she signed something slowly, deliberately.
Alex barely glanced down before responding, his hands moving automatically as he signed back while still talking out loud. "Yeah, I think it prefers chaos. Or maybe it just doesn't like me specifically. Which, honestly, fair. I've had that reaction before."
Across the cafeteria, Tim watched the exchange over the rim of his drink, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes sharp with focus.
Steph leaned in closer, barely containing her grin. "Oh my god," she whispered. "Look at them."
"They've been talking for six minutes straight," Tim said quietly. "Alex hasn't taken a breath once."
"I give it two weeks," Steph said, folding her arms as she watched. "He asks her out, trips over a chair, and dies of embarrassment."
Tim considered that for a moment. "Counterpoint," he said. "Cass asks him out. He faints on the spot." Steph's grin widened. "Deal."
They shook on it.
Back at the table, Alex was still going, his voice steady even if his body definitely wasn't. "So anyway, I'm pretty sure my backpack weighs more than I do, which is saying something because…." he stopped mid-sentence, finally noticing that Cass hadn't taken a single bite of her food. "Oh," he said, blinking. "Sorry. I'm doing it again, aren't I?"
Cass nodded once, completely unbothered, and then signed: Keep talking.
Alex stared at her for a second before a small smile broke through despite everything. "You're a bad influence," he said.
She looked very pleased with that. For a moment, everything felt… normal. Then the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
The entire cafeteria went quiet, conversations cutting off mid-sentence as heads turned instinctively toward the ceiling, toward the windows, toward anything that might explain it. The hum of electricity stuttered, and then the building shuddered as a deep, thunderous boom rolled across Gotham like something massive had just woken up.
Windows rattled.
Someone screamed.
A flash of blue-white lightning tore across the distant skyline, jagged and unnatural, clawing upward instead of down like it had somewhere to go.
Alex's spider-sense detonated.
It wasn't a warning but it was a full-body alarm, sharp and overwhelming, sending a spike of adrenaline through him so fast he was already on his feet before he even realized he'd moved. His chair scraped loudly against the floor, drawing attention, and Cass's head snapped up instantly, her eyes locking onto him with sudden intensity.
Alex forced a laugh, but it came out tight, strained, just a little too high. "Uh… power outage?" he said quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the windows. "Gotham's… uh… thing? You know. Explosions. Weather. Very unpredictable."
Cass didn't respond just watched him.
Alex grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder in one quick motion that he immediately regretted as pain flared through his side. He didn't let it show. "I should uh bathroom," he added, already backing away. "Emergency bathroom. Very… emergent situation." The he turned and bolted.
Cass watched him go, her expression unreadable but her eyes following him all the way to the exit.
"…Called it," Steph muttered from across the room.
Outside, Alex disappeared into the crowd almost instantly, moving faster than he had any right to with the way his body felt. The moment he cleared the main flow of students, his pace shifted, urgency overriding everything else as he ducked toward the nearest alley.
Back inside, Cass's hands tightened slightly around her fork, the metal bending just enough to notice if you were looking closely.
She signed slowly, her gaze still fixed on the doors.
He's going to help.
Tim was already pulling out his phone, his expression focused as he stepped slightly away from the table. "Yeah," he said quietly as the line connected. "Bruce? It's happening again."
Steph glanced out the window, her usual humor dimming just a little as another flash of blue-white light split the skyline in the distance.
"Gotham really needs to stop exploding during lunch," she said, shaking her head.
No one disagreed.
Earlier
The morgue was silent in the way only places meant for the dead ever were, a heavy, suffocating quiet that pressed against the ears and settled deep in the chest.
The white fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow across stainless steel tables and tiled floors, everything too clean, too still, too final. There was no life here, no movement, no warmtm just the quiet understanding that whatever entered this room wasn't meant to leave again.
At least, not alive.
One of the tables near the center held a body, covered by a thin white sheet that barely concealed the shape beneath it. A tag hung loosely from the edge, swaying just slightly in the artificial air, and for a long moment, nothing changed.
Then the lights flickered.
It was subtle at first, a brief stutter in the steady glow, but it happened again, longer this time, and the hum overhead shifted into something uneven, something wrong. Monitors along the wall began to buzz, their screens crackling with static as if something unseen had reached into the system and twisted it.
Metal drawers rattled faintly, a soft, unnatural vibration that didn't belong in a room built on stillness.
The sheet twitched but it was small, almost imperceptible, like a trick of the light but then it happened again, sharper this time, and suddenly a hand jerked upward beneath the fabric.
With a violent gasp, the body shot upright.
The sheet flew off as the man scrambled backward, panic taking over before his mind could catch up with what was happening.
He tumbled off the table, hitting the cold tile floor hard, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he stared at his hands like they didn't belong to him.
They glowed.
Faint at first, a soft blue light pulsing beneath his skin, but unmistakable.
"No… no, no, no," he whispered, his voice shaking as he pushed himself up, stumbling backward until his shoulders hit the counter behind him.
Sparks snapped from his fingers and they jumped to a nearby tray, metal instruments clattering violently to the floor as electricity rippled outward in jagged bursts.
The man flinched, clutching his chest as if he could hold himself together, as if he could force whatever this was back inside.
"I was dead," he said hoarsely, the words barely more than breath. "I was dead."
The machines screamed to life and alarms blared through the room, sharp and deafening, red lights flashing as systems overloaded and shorted out under the surge of energy pouring off him.
The noise shattered whatever fragile control he had left, and panic surged up, wild and uncontrollable.
"I need to get out," he muttered, his voice breaking as he looked around like the walls were closing in. "I need to….."
He grabbed the first clothes he could find, scrubs thrown hastily over his still-glowing skin, a hoodie yanked on without thinking as sparks snapped and crawled across the fabric.
The door slammed open under his hand, electricity bursting outward as he stumbled into the hallway and then into the night beyond, leaving chaos behind him.
Gotham didn't feel right.
It was too loud, too bright, every sound amplified until it drilled into his skull. Car engines roared like thunder, voices blurred into sharp, grating noise, and every flickering streetlight made his skin crawl as if something inside him was reaching out to them. He staggered down the sidewalk, clutching his stomach as a deep, gnawing hunger twisted inside him, worse than anything he'd ever felt.
It wasn't just hunger. It was need.
Then he saw it a fallen power cable lay across the pavement, sparks snapping wildly where it had torn free, electricity dancing along its surface in violent, chaotic bursts.
The sight of it made something inside him surge, a desperate, overwhelming pull that drowned out everything else.
He dropped to his knees without thinking and the moment his hands closed around the cable, the world exploded again but this time, it wasn't pain but it was relief.
Energy flooded into him, warm and powerful, filling the hollow space inside like something snapping back into place.
The glow beneath his skin brightened instantly, blue light spilling through his veins as the cable went dark in his grip, drained completely. He gasped, shoulders shaking as he pulled in a breath that finally felt real.
"Hey!"
The shout cut through the moment like a blade.
A cop rushed toward him, one hand already on his holster, his expression twisted between confusion and anger. "Hey, freak! Are you crazy or something?" he barked. "Back away from the cables, jackass!"
The man looked up and the cop froze as he saw blue skin with glowing eyes. Electricity crawling beneath the surface like living veins of light.
"You really are a freak," the officer whispered, the shock in his voice hardening into something colder as he yanked his gun free. "Stay where you are!"
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second with more cops and more guns.
The man staggered back, hands raised instinctively as fear clawed its way up his throat. "Wait please, stop!" he said, his voice breaking as he shook his head. "I didn't do anything! This isn't my fault!"
A truck roared down the street behind him, out of control, its driver unable to stop in time as it barreled toward the growing crowd. He reacted without thinking and his hands shot forward.
Lightning exploded from him and the force lifted the truck clean off the ground, flipping it through the air as if it weighed nothing at all. It soared over his head and crashed behind him in a violent storm of sparks and shattered glass.
The street descended into chaos and police cars screeched into position, forming a loose circle as officers shouted over one another, tear gas canisters arcing through the air as they tried to contain something none of them understood.
The man spun in place, coughing as the gas filled his lungs, his vision blurring as he stumbled back. His eyes caught the massive digital screens mounted above the street and he saw himself.
A monster.
"No…" His voice cracked, shaking as he stared at the reflection. "That's not me."
"Stop!" he screamed, desperation turning sharp and raw. "Please enough!"
The energy inside him snapped and electricity detonated outward in a blinding surge, lifting cars off the ground and slamming them aside like toys. Bullets fired, but they never reached him, disintegrating midair as the current tore them apart.
A black sedan skidded to a stop at the edge of the chaos. Commissioner Gordon stepped out, taking in the scene with a grim expression. "What's going on?" he demanded.
"Some kind of meta," an officer said quickly. "Electric powers. Hostile."
A car lifted, spinning wildly as it hurtled straight toward Gordon and stopped.
A red-and-blue figure crouched beneath it, holding it up like it weighed nothing at all.
Spider-Man.
He straightened slightly, adjusting his grip before setting the car down with surprising care, then hopped lightly onto the hood, glancing around at the destruction.
"Okay, Gotham," he said, his voice carrying just enough humor to cut through the tension, "quick reminder no throwing cars at the commissioner. That's like, rule one."
He dropped down, turning his attention to the glowing figure in the center of it all.
"Hey, Sparkles!"
The man turned slowly, his glowing eyes locking onto him.
"…Is that you?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
Spider-Man blinked. "Uh… yeah?" he said. "Hi?"
"You don't remember me?" the man asked, something raw and fragile breaking through the anger. "I walked into the street. A car almost hit me. You saved me. You said you needed me."
Spider-Man stilled.
"Oh," he said, realization dawning. "Oh! You're the blueprints guy."
"Yes," the man said, his voice tightening. "That's me."
Spider-Man took a cautious step forward, hands raised slightly. "Of course I remember you," he said quickly. "You're my eyes and ears." He paused, tilting his head. "What was your name again?"
The man's expression twisted, hurt flashing across his face. "How could you forget me?"
"Oh, I know it, don't tell me, it's…,"
"Max."
"Max!" Spider-Man snapped his fingers. "Knew it. You look… different. New vibe."
Above them, on a distant rooftop, a sniper steadied his rifle. Spider-Man tilted his head slightly, his tone softening. "So… how are ya?"
Max let out a hollow laugh. "I don't know what's happening to me," he said. "I feel… everything. Power. Anger. It won't stop."
"I see that," Spider-Man said gently. "But I also see you're scared. And you don't want to hurt anyone. It's gonna be okay."
"I don't want them shooting at me," Max whispered. Spider-Man turned, raising a hand toward the officers. "Hey! Nobody shoot!" he called out. "This is my buddy Max. Nobody hurts Max, alright?"
Max took a step forward.
"Whoa careful!" Spider-Man added quickly. "Grates. Electricity. Bad combo."
Max's voice trembled. "I just… wanted someone to see me."
Spider-Man nodded slowly. "I see you," he said. "How about you come with me? We'll talk. Figure this out
Max hesitated then he nodded. "Okay."
The shot rang out and Max screamed as the bullet struck, the impact triggering a violent surge of energy that exploded outward in a blinding flash.
Spider-Man whipped around, fury snapping through his voice. "STOP! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!"
Gordon shouted into his radio, his voice cutting through the chaos. "WHO FIRED THAT SHOT?!"
Max turned, pain twisting into rage, and unleashed a blast.
Spider-Man fired a web instinctively, but the electricity raced up the line instantly, detonating his web-shooter and sending him crashing into a squad car. Sparks flew as the device malfunctioned, web fluid spraying wildly.
A billboard tore loose above the street. Spider-Man saw it falling and he moved.
Leaping forward, he grabbed a nearby officer and yanked him clear just as the sign crashed down, metal bending and shattering against the pavement.
The crowd erupted.
"SPIDEY! SPIDEY!"
Max dropped to his knees, slamming his hands against a metal grate as waves of electricity surged outward, crawling across every surface it touched.
Spider-Man flipped behind a car, crouching low as his spider-sense screamed, eyes darting across the chaos as civilians grabbed onto railings that were suddenly alive with current.
"One shooter," he muttered under his breath. "Great."
He didn't hesitate and webs fired in rapid succession, each shot precise as he pulled people away from danger, yanking them clear of electrified surfaces, catching them before they could fall, moving faster than the chaos could catch up.
Behind him, Gotham chanted his name and he kept moving.