Try the other spider-man book as well.
Spiderman: An idiot's dream.
___________________Perhaps I had been too hasty in making conclusions. Maybe I should have remembered the most important detail: I was trained by none other than Batman himself—the terror flying on black wings through the night; the stream of retribution slithering through Gotham's sewers; the pebble in a criminal's boot; the right hand of fate with a flowing cape, who makes villains whisper their last prayers before sunrise.
Heh, dramatic enough? Sure. But all the same… damn it! Even though I was now a super soldier, crashing onto the unyielding stone floor of this cave hadn't grown any softer. How many times had I kissed this cold, heartless ground tonight? Ten? Fifteen? I had lost count hours ago.
Pushing myself up on shaky arms, I once again got to witness the dark vaults of this cavern. From between the sharp stalactites, dozens of pairs of tiny eyes flickered—bats, perched high above, watching me with rapt attention. A living audience to my ongoing humiliation.
This time, however, I didn't rush to jump up. Instead, I stretched out on the jagged stone, surrendering to its hardness, and muttered a silent curse at the cruel taskmaster responsible for all this misery.
"Hey, Bats," I called out, my voice echoing off the cave walls. "Look, I understand I'm someone with a… let's call it a complicated personality. I might've even irritated you one or two—or ten—times. But beating me into the floor won't solve that."
Bruce only smirked, extending his hand down to me. "How nice of you to notice," he murmured dryly.
Not too proud to refuse help, I gripped his hand and pulled myself upright. Even now, even with every cell in my body enhanced, every reflex sharpened by serum, I could not defeat him.
The reason wasn't the serum's quality, nor some astrological misfortune, or lazy training. No—the explanation was far simpler: experience.
This wasn't Bruce's first dance with men stronger than him in raw numbers. He'd fought Bane, the drug-fueled colossus with veins full of venom. He'd fought Killer Croc in the sewers, that hulking crocodile-man with jaws sharp enough to tear a car apart. He'd even fought mercenary legends like Deathstroke—Slade Wilson, arguably superior in training and augmented abilities to even Captain America himself.
What chance did I realistically have against someone who treated such opponents not as nightmares, but as his warm-ups? Against that line-up, I was still little more than an ambitious rookie.
As Bruce himself put it, I was like a reckless child suddenly handed a world-class weapon. I had no idea yet how to use this new toy properly.
Still… some progress was there. If before this training, Bats had floored me instantly without even breaking eye contact with his computer screens, now things were different. For the first time, he had to take me seriously. He had to look at me, think, respect the fact that one wrong move could mean I'd actually clip him.
It wasn't that I was smarter, or more skilled. It was simply that my sheer numbers—reflexes, vision, and movements—had all hit a new tier. Suddenly, during the fights, I began noticing things I'd never seen before. Slivers of motion I once considered too fast became crystal clear. The world slowed, just slightly, offering me opportunities I'd been blind to before.
But no amount of boosted reflex could substitute for true technique. Batman wielded his experience like a blade—redirecting my force, punishing openings, turning every mistake into my downfall.
And so, though I didn't manage to pin him, I did learn perhaps the more important thing—control. Control over my own new strength.
"Not bad," Bruce grunted, stepping back into the shadows, analyzing me with that piercing stare of his. "You're starting to adapt."
"Perhaps." My fists clenched tightly. "These last few days I haven't allowed myself a moment of pause, and at least the results are beginning to show."
I stretched, weary bones popping despite my supposed enhancements, and inhaled deep the damp cave air. "Still… I think I deserve a break. After everything. Tomorrow's the first of December—the last month of this year. Wouldn't hurt to rest for once. Alfred, by the way, told me some interesting news…"
"Damian. He'll be joining us tomorrow?"
"Strange, don't you think?" I asked playfully, raising an eyebrow. "You arranged with his grandfather that Damian would stay under your care during winter and summer, enjoying spring and fall with Ra's. But it's still twenty days till winter, isn't it? And suddenly Ra's is already shipping the boy here, early."
I tilted my head slyly. "Don't you think maybe this is a little ploy? A tactic to distract you with your son, to ensure you have less time… for me?"
Bruce's silence was his answer.
"It's obvious," I pressed. "Perfect timing. Damian's antics alone will devour your time. And the less time you can train me, the easier it will be for your enemies."
"So," Batman asked at last, "you have a plan?"
"I have part of a plan," I answered confidently.
Bruce actually smirked at that. "That's reassuring," he said, before walking back towards the enormous console of the Batcomputer.
"What's with the gloom then?" I asked, following him. "Don't tell me this unexpected arrival of your kid has thrown you this much off balance." I clapped him lightly on the shoulder, smiling wider. "Relax. I'll help make sure you don't lose face. Together, we'll make you into Gotham's Dad of the Year. After all, how hard can handling a six-year-old be?"
Bruce turned to look at me in dead silence. "…Why don't your words inspire any confidence?"
"Maybe," I said, folding my arms, "because six-year-old boys only think about one thing."
"Girls?" Bruce asked suspiciously.
"No," I corrected. "Murders."
And so began the final month of 2010. Maybe it was just mood talking, but the air itself seemed colder today. Frost clung to Gotham's bones, sharp edges of winter creeping forward. Yet for all the chill, snow still hadn't fallen.
I longed for snow—the kind that carpeted the ground in white, pure and fresh. I wanted to build a snowman with my companions, pelt them in a snowball fight, then sprawl in the powder to shape a snow angel. A silly, simple desire. But Gotham stubbornly refused to give me that gift today.
Breathing in the refreshing bite of the wind, I made for the company headquarters. It was supposed to be a day of rest, but some matters demanded closing.
"Alex?" Barbara's surprised voice met me as soon as I entered. "Didn't you say yesterday you'd actually rest today? Or…" She offered a mischievous smile. "Maybe working counts as your form of relaxation? Oh, that explains it. Saturday, and here I thought we'd finally leave early. But now our boss has appeared in flesh, I sense overtime looming."
"Come on," I said mock-seriously. "Haven't you heard the expression? Monday starts on Saturday. If you love your work, the days lose distinction. Devotion to one's craft knows no weekends."
Barbara raised her brows, curious. "I didn't know you loved your job that much."
"Oh, I don't," I said with exaggerated honesty. "I was talking about Kavita. She's the workaholic."
Barbara laughed. "So not here for business, then. What brings you in? Surely not paperwork?"
"Is Natasha here today?" I asked casually.
"She is," Barbara admitted. "Drowning in paperwork. Don't tell me—you came here for her?" She stepped closer, eyes narrowing. "Alex… what are you up to?"
I wrapped my arm playfully around her shoulders. "Relax. I just need to talk to her about something. No flirting involved… at least, for now."
Barbara sighed with mock weariness. "Right. Of course. Guess I shouldn't be surprised, this is you, after all." Thıs text ıs hosted at n0velfire.net
Before I could answer, she suddenly pressed her lips to mine—warm, insistent, brimming with passion. Her kiss seared.
"When you speak to her," she whispered afterwards, eyes locked on mine, "remember this kiss."
I smiled. "I've got a photographic memory. Believe me, not a single detail will be forgotten."
"That's comforting," she said with playful finality. "Now go bother your 'spy.' I've got real business to handle." Then she leaned back. "By the way, a quick report since you appeared uninvited. Testing of Angry Birds Seasons and Fruit Ninja is complete. Zero errors. In five days, Angry Birds' sequel launches. In ten, Fruit Ninja."
"Advertising status?"
"Already running like rolling thunder," she said with pride.
"Good to hear." I nodded warmly. "You've done exceptional work. All of my employees—truly talented."
"And you doubted that?" Barbara teased.
"Not for a single moment." I winked, then waved. "But now I'm going. If trouble arises, call me. I'll come galloping your way like some fairytale prince."
Her cheeks flushed faintly at that.
It wasn't far from there to Natasha's office—only a few doors down the same row. Our company was modest, cramped onto a single floor. A small kingdom, but ours nonetheless.
Thank you all for reading.
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