A Spider in Gotham Chapter 3

Peter woke up with a jolt. The sound of a baby crying sent his instincts into overdrive. He sprang out of bed, slightly off kilter as the distance was more than he expected. His mind cleared as he swung on his feet. The baby crying was a few beds over. Angry grumbles and some cursing came from all around him.

A wave of memories hit. May, the other Peters, the Goblin, and the spell. His chest was tight. Deep, bone arching sorrow crushed him. He wanted to cry, to scream, anything. This wasn't the place. These people had their own problems.

He shuffled out of the sleeping area to the kitchen. It was closed, a bowl of fruit and some plastic wrapped muffins were out for people. He grabbed an orange before sitting down at a table. His hands worked on autopilot as he started to plan for the day.

It was 5:32 in the morning. The kitchen didn't open for another thirty minutes. He didn't think he could go back to sleep. His plastic bag was still in his bunk. Even if someone stole it, there wasn't much to worry about. A newspaper, a map, and a first aid kit.

He finished his orange, took care of the mess, and headed for the showers. A glance in the mirror let him know the bruises on his face had all but faded. Most of the cuts were now superficial, not much more than scratches. His clothes, luckily, were mostly clean. The blood and grime had been on his suit, wherever it was.

Still. He'd need a change of clothes soon. Otherwise, these ones would get worn out fast. He couldn't just keep staying here either. Clothes, food, and shelter all required money.

That thought brought him back to the present. He finished his shower and headed out to the row of computers. A quick couple of clicks brought up the job board. The construction job he had seen yesterday was still up. It started at 7 A.M.

The clock on the computer told him it was 5:55 A.M. The kitchen would be open in a few minutes. He wrote down the address then headed back to the cafeteria area. There were a few folks puttering around. The lady with the crying kid was one of them. They weren't the same pair that had the bunk under his.

For a moment he was back with May after The Battle of New York. They had spent almost a month in a shelter like this during the cleanup. Most of the damage had been contained by the Avengers, but not all of it. Queens, the Bronx, and some of Brooklyn got his with a good amount of damage. Most of the houses on their street had been destroyed. They had spent most of the attack in the basement watching the news on an old TV. The house above them had been demolished, if it hadn't been for the stairs to the backyard they would have had to wait for the clean-up crews.

That had led to them moving into the apartment. The insurance from the house had paid for it.

Peter shook his head, the wetness around his eyes bringing him back to the world. He wiped away the gathering tears. There was a line forming already. He joined in, ending up behind the lady with the fussy baby. Peter smiled at her, which she returned with a suspicious glare. Instead, he turned his attention to the baby. He waved at them and made a couple of silly faces.

The lady hurried through the line, trying to get away from him. Peter shrugged. He thanked the kitchen workers for the bowl of oatmeal and grabbed an apple as he went by the bowl. Pete finished his food quickly, he cleaned his spot, and headed for the front door. There were two new security guards at the post. Another had joined the person at the desk, which was also someone new. He was an older guy with a clean haircut and a tidy beard.

"Excuse me." Peter said as he stepped up to the desk.

The guy looked at him but didn't speak.

"I need to get to this address." Peter put the handwritten note on the desk as he spoke.

The guy studied Peter. Slowly, he pulled the note closer. The guy flipped it over without looking away. Peter waited.

"The job starts at seven." Peter spoke up. "I need to leave to get there on time."

Finally, the guy looked at the note. He read it, looked at Peter, and then read it again.

"You sure about this?" The guy asked. His voice was higher than expected, not comically so, just slightly.

"It's work." Peter shrugged.

"Go to the intersection to the left once you're out of here. Then go down five blocks." The guy motioned with his hands as he spoke. "After that, take another left. Two blocks and you're there. You should be able to see it from the intersection."

"Thanks." Peter said.

He didn't see the looks that the security guards and the guy exchanged.

Peter followed the instructions. The streets were in a state of flux. Working people were appearing as the thugs faded away. It stoked a fire in his chest. Even with a team of vigilantes this place looked like it needed someone. He hadn't seen a patrol car since he got here. No wonder the streets practically emptied after the sun went down.

There were more people walking than there were cars on the road. The few vehicles he saw were desperately in need of maintenance. More than one burned-out husk took up parking spots along the street. From the looks of it, they had been there for a while too. He really hoped this was the bad part of the city.

The construction site was clearly marked with bright yellow striped tape. An entire block of half-ruined buildings had been fenced off. It was tall and topped with barbwire. There was a sign with a LexCorp logo. The tagline and whatever the project was had been covered by layers of graffiti.

Peter joined a line of workers at the gate. Two men dressed in tactical gear, complete with full-face gasmasks flanked it. There was a small trailer, also covered in graffiti. The few windows it had were covered with metal mesh. As he got closer, he realized that it may have started as a trailer but now it was a solid shack that had been cemented in place.

A guy in a reflective vest and a hardhat stepped out of the shack. He opened the gate and watched the line shuffle in. The hardhat guy purposely didn't look at the guards.

His spider-sense flared up as he walked through the gate. It was a dull pulse rather than anything major. He stole a quick look at the guards. Both of them had a patch with an umbrella on it rather than the same logo as the sign.

"How old are you kid?" The hardhat guy asked.

"Eighteen." Peter replied.

"Got any ID?" The guy asked.

Peter looked up at him. He shook his head. The hardhat guy shrugged.

"Listen up if it's your first day here." Hardhat guy yelled. "First shift is four hours on. There is a one-hour break before the second shift starts. If you are not here by the time the second shift starts, you do not work that shift. If there is not a helmet available for you on the second shift, you do not work that shift. You get paid at the end of the shift. Grab a helmet. You will not get paid if you do not return the helmet. If there isn't a helmet for you, then you aren't working today. Once you got your dome protected, line up. You will be given a toolbelt. Turn it in at lunch and at the end of the day. No pay if anything is missing."

There were still a few left over when Peter grabbed one. He plopped it on his head, then adjusted it, or rather tried. The inside of the helmet was stripped of any sort of straps and padding. He set it on his head, tilting it back, and concentrated for a moment. That was enough to stick the helmet to his head. He had learned the hard way early on that it wasn't just his feet and hands that could stick to things. His entire body could, except it took some focus rather than just happening naturally.

He joined the line once more and waited. Hardhat Guy separated them into groups. Once sorted he would give them some instructions. Peter found himself among a few other smaller guys. He was the shortest among them, but they were all slim side.

"You three." Hardhat Guy barked. "Grab a belt. You're working on the top floors. Follow the red line."

Peter followed the instructions, trying to figure out what that meant. He grabbed a toolbelt and put it on as he went. The red line led them farther down the block. It looked like each crew was working on tearing down a building. They started at the top floor then moved down to the foundation, which was broken by guys with sledgehammers.

He wasn't an expert at construction, but he was pretty sure it was usually done with machinery. His confusion was cleared up when he came to a gap in the buildings. The smashed remains of a bulldozer was wedged vertically in the ground. A couple of jackhammers were sticking out of the engine block.

Peter shook his head. For the next few hours, he focused on the job. The group had split up, working on their own section of the top floor. He was able to zone out, focusing on smashing things. At some point he was aware that Hardhat Guy came to check on the crew. He didn't talk to any of them, just kind of watched before leaving.

A loud siren signaled lunchtime. Peter made his way back to the shack and turned in his gear. Hardhat Guy gave him fifty dollars in tens. He held the money, not letting Peter go yet.

"You did good work, kid." Hardhat Guy spoke in a low tone, trying to keep it private. "Show up for the next week and you'll have a permanent spot."

Peter nodded. It wasn't the worst job. Smashing things seemed to take his mind off of things. His spider-sense flared up again as he walked through the gate, stronger this time. There were more guards at the gate now. They were watching the workers as they left. He didn't have to look back to know that at least one of them was following him.

"Hey, kid." One of the guards shouted at him.

He stopped.

Peter turned around, facing the guards. There were three of them in tactical gear. They hadn't been the ones from the gate. He noticed now that they were armed. Their guns were holstered at the moment, but he wasn't going to ignore that fact. The ones at the gate were watching intently now.

"You're a hard little worker, huh?" One of the guards said.

It was hard to tell which one with their masks. Peter rolled his eyes.

"Someone needs to be taught how things work around here." One of the guards growled as he snapped an extendable baton to length.

Smashing things seemed to take his mind off things.