100YoP Chapter Six "I brought the Scorched Earth Special." (Patreon)

"Everyone remembers their parts? ...A'ight, then we good to get out  there. Remember, first priority is your lives. Anything else can go fuck  itself, but y'all gotta come back. Understood? ... Good. Synchronize  watches, can't fuck up the timing on this. Let's go."


Farah, two hours before guard shift change:

Butcher drove her to the Lounge, not speaking a word as he drove his  car, a 1980's black Pontiac Firebird that had been modified with modern  conveniences over the years, through Gotham's streets. The music was at a low volume, the engine purred smoothly, and at Farah's  request, Butcher had opened a window to let out the smoke from his  cigar.

"... nervous?" he eventually asked.

"Nah, man," Farah waved him off. "You know I don't scare."

"Hrm. I asked because you'd been tapping yo' foot for the last twenty minutes, and it was gettin' on my nerves."

She stopped tapping her foot. "That don' mean nuthin'."

"Sure," he said.

Streetlights silhouetted them inside the car, the wind cut in through  the window, and Farah pressed her mouth in a thin line. She owed Butcher  a lot, over years of doin' her thing and him weighing in when she got  in over her head. He'd rarely asked for anything in return, but he  was... severe. Serious. Hard to please.

Seeing the casual way he acted around Sam and Billy was odd by itself, but...

"... so what's the deal with Billy and Sam?" she eventually asked.

"What'chu mean?"

"Like, halfway through a conversation they'll just look at each other  and decide on shit," she said. "I get that they've known each other a  long time, but what's their history?"

"... you've only known Billy for a bit, so you haven't been able to tell  that much," he said. "But thing is, he ain't all there."

"What, like he's crazy?"

"Nah, he's just..." Butcher waved a hand about, reaching for the word.  "Blank. Y'know? Like there are these moments when you look him in the  eye and there ain't nothing staring back. And he just goes and does what  he's told to. I only know some of it, but he's been through a lot of  shit, and it's like it pulled out bits of him."

"So how does Sam fit into this?"

"Sam is the only person besides Billy that knows the full story,"  Butcher said. "Figured out the earliest shit when they met, and then he  just was there for the rest. And every time, Sam tried to help."

"So what, it's like some samurai life debt or some shit?" asked Farah.

Butcher shrugged. "More like a dog that's been kicked around and the one person the dog trusts to never hit it."

She frowned, "I'm having trouble seein' it."

"Wait," he muttered. "When shit hits the fan, Billy's gonna drop  anythin' resemblin' a code, and Sam's gonna hold his tighter. That's the  way it's always been."

Farah looked at him, frowning. "Why'd you ask me to work with 'em, Butcher?"

He took a drag of his cigar before replying. "For you, it was because I  saw all these brains, all this potential and you weren't doin' anything  with it but takin' people's shit and laughin' at them."

"That's basically my new job."

"Yeah, but you ain't alone. And you're not taking it from just anyone."

Farah nodded, granting the point, "And for Sam?"

"For Sam..." Butcher sighed. "Sam only ever listens to Billy and I, and  he's gotten used to gettin' the best of an argument with me. This crew  was an opportunity to put someone near him to remind 'im that he ain't  hold the answers to the universe."

"Haven't been doing much good of it," Farah grumbled. "He wouldn't listen when I told him the job was impossible."

"Because it isn't. Besides, he's still getting used to you," said  Butcher. "Sammy's like a cat, just give it time. He's countin' on you,  and after a while he'll be listenin' too."

"And why should it be me talkin' to him?" Farah asked, "You know I get in trouble as much as anyone."

"True," Butcher nodded. "But for every time you've needed help, you  helped yourself three times more. I know. Sam needs someone to argue  with him, even if just to keep him sharp."

Farah made a face, but said nothing more while the car slowly arrived.  Butcher gave her a nod before she left, and she crossed the street to  enter the Iceberg Lounge.

She was dressed up again, this time having chosen a sleek black dress  and some golden necklaces and rings. She strode in, faked confidence,  and played again. If the looks from the dealer and plants at the poker  tables were any indication, they still remembered her as the huge sucker  that lost five thousand to some basic cons.

That was how she'd figured out where the hidden guards were during  recon. Unlike the more obvious thugs standing around with phone wires  around their ears, at each table there was at least one  bedraggled-lookin' person whose job it was to read the other players,  subtly indicated to the dealer when and where to give good hands, and  then rake in some of the money. They had much more subtle earpieces,  hard to notice if you didn't look.

Keeping a poker face and making sure not to stare at the plants more  than what would be normal, she took a seat and proceeded to waste  Two-Face's money for two hours. Or rather, one hour and fifty-four  minutes, when she went to the bathroom six minutes before the guard  shift change.

That was when, exactly on the clock, she heard Billy and Yua break down the front door and open fire.


Yua, half an hour before guard shift change:

"Not much longer, now," Billy said, stopping the black van around the  block from the Iceberg Lounge. He checked a watch he kept strapped on  the inside of his wrist, sucked his teeth and leaned back, eyes closed.

Yua looked at him. They barely knew each other, Billy had just found her  years at the behest of Penguin, because he'd remembered fondly the  services she'd done in his name before she became lost. Penguin had  offered her money in exchange for a few severed heads, and as she needed  money to live, she took the deal. And then gone back to the convenience  store once the job was done.

She'd been surprised when Billy appeared a few weeks ago and asked if  she'd kept up her skills. She said she was as skilled as the last time  they saw each other.

He'd seemed surprised that she remembered him. Yua didn't explain he was the first thing to seem real in years.

Billy offered her a new job again. He described it laconically;  'long-term, have a boss and partners, rake in cash'. Yua accepted.

They hadn't been alone much since, but the same recurring details kept  jumping out at her when she looked at him. The way he held his hands in  front of him when he didn't use them, always in front of his hip and  close together. The scars on his knuckles and on his sides, that peeked  under his shirt when he stretched or raised his hands. The tattoo she  saw the corner of a little under his shirt collar. The signs of his nose  being broken in the past and poorly fixed. How he seemed as alert to  his surroundings as Spider was, minus the power that explained their  leader's tendencies.

They were familiar.

"Is there a reason as to why you're starin' at me?" Billy asked, not opening his eyes.

"I was thinking," Yua said.

"Wanna share 'bout what?"

"Not really."

"Fair."

He stayed there. She didn't stop staring at him.

"... have you been in prison?" Yua asked. Billy raised his eyebrow  wordlessly, but otherwise didn't move anything. "You seem rather young  for it, but you move like some of my uncles did."

"Hrm. Blackgate, two years," he said. "Took the fall for a gun  possession charge, got tried as an adult at thirteen and caught the full  four years, but everyone with eyes could tell what I was doin' so I got  out early for good behaviour."

"Why did you take the fault?"

"Because Sammy wasn't in the interrogation room, so I did somethin'  stupid." Billy shrugged, "I got promised a few things, and I believed  it. And that's the end of storytime."

Yua knew a dismissal when she heard one, her parents had been careful  about teaching her that. So she kept quiet and kept looking at Billy.

And looking.

And looking.

Eventually, Billy opened his eyes with a sigh and sat up, "Okay, this is getting fucking creepy. What's up?"

"What am I doing that's creepy?"

"Starin' at me. Unblinkingly."

"Oh," Yua nodded. "I'll keep it in mind."

She kept staring, blinking slowly every so often.

"... okay. I am now ordering you to talk to me about what you were  thinking about," Billy said, then he frowned and looked away, "Jesus,  I'm becoming Sammy."

"Does he order you to talk about your thoughts a lot?"

"We ain't talkin' about me. Talk. What the fuck are you staring for?"

"I realized I don't know why you got me specifically for this job," Yua  confessed. "I'd assumed it was for my combat prowess, but I've since  learnt that you are very well connected."

"I am," Billy nodded. "Goonion and prison buddies go a long way."

"So why me?"

Billy looked at her, then stared forward. He reached under the kevlar  vest he wore and pulled out a box of cigarettes, taking one for himself  and lighting it before shoving the box back under there

"You follow, right?" he asked, "That's you, you just follow?"

Without permission, the muscles in Yua's back tightened in expectation  of a blow, but she forced them to relax as soon as she could. "Yes. My  path isn't mine to decide."

"That's why." Billy shuffled around in his seat until he was facing her,  and reached over to poke her between the eyes, "Now, outside of right  now, Sam's your boss. But I hired you, so I'm gonna give you an order and you're gonna follow it, no matter what. Even if Sam speaks against it. A'ight?"

Yua nodded. She hadn't expected Billy to conspire against Sam, but back  with her family this had been a common ocurrance. Power plays to gain  enough authority to boss Yua around had been a common event of the last  days. "Understood."

He retrieved his hand and looked her dead in the eye. "No matter what  happens, no matter what Sam says, I don't care if its yours or anyone  else's lives at risk, you keep him safe. Do you understand? If he says  to run and save yourself, you stop, save him, and then worry about yourself."

She blinked, then slowly nodded. "If... if that is your word, then that is what I'll do."

He looked at her, then nodded slowly and looked ahead. Yua kept staring out of the corner of her eye, but faced forward.

This was the weirdest gang Yua had ever been in. And one time she worked  with some guy with an eyepatch that kept jumping out of trash cans.

She thought she might like it.

Eventually, minutes passed and it was time to move. They both adjusted  some gas-masks designed like the bottom half of Spider's mask, loaded  their weapons, and exited the van at the same time, heading side-by-side  to the entrance of the Iceberg Lounge.

This was the arsenal:

They both had kevlar vests wrapped around their chests and well-oiled  AK-47s hung by the shoulder, both donated from Mister Butcher's  basement, same as the three greanades each strapped to their chests by a  bandolier. Over the weaponless shoulder, they each carried one empty  duffle bag. Farah gave them one black airpod each, and the gas masks  that covered the lower half of their faces, as well as the combat gloves  and combat boots had been gifts by Spider. And then there was their own  additions.

Yua, or Golden now that her mask was on, had a pistol on her hip, a  bowie knife strapped to the back of her belt, a knife on the side of  each leg, shivs stuck to the sides of both boots, her hair tied back in a  knot by a sheathed throwing knife, brass knuckles in her pockets, a  razor under her tongue, and a tomahowk tied on the side of her chest.  For emergencies.

Billy, now Huntsman, had elected to tie a desert eagle on each hip, a  sawed-off shotgun stuck to the back of his waist, a smoke grenade in his  belt, and a revolver to the side of his chest. There were extra bits of  ammo tied around different parts of his body, and 'peashooter'  revolvers strapped to his boots, as well as a wrapped-up package on his  back that he'd called his 'scorched earth special'. For emergencies.

The loadout was a little heavy, but neither Golden nor Huntsman gave word to complaints as they marched forward.

As the change of guard was partway, there were two guards on each side  of the door, double the usual. There was a crowd in the middle, and  while well-honed Gothamite instincts had already spotted them and had  people starting to run, there was still a lot of people in the way of  clear shots.

Or at least, that's how it must have felt for Huntsman. Golden simply  aimed at the spaces between the people and hit the guards on the right  side of the door in their arms and legs, nothing crippling but scraping  off enough that they should choose to stay and scream in pain rather  than fight, as per Spider's specializations. That, and a few rounds that  Huntsman released into the air had everyone throwing themselves at the  ground, giving him a free shot at the guards.

"One day you'll have to tell me how you shoot like that,"   Huntsman commented, as they stepped on the cowering people to get to  the door. There were a few complaints underfoot, but no one had been  seriously hurt, so neither of them bothered much about it.

"Family secret," said Golden. She raised a hand to stop  Huntsman before shooting through the wall, judging the correct placement  by the shadows on the door. She knew she was true when she heard the  screams of pain, but a few from deeper inside fired warning shots at the  door.

Huntsman let the AK-47 hang for a second to remove the smoke grenade,  pull out the ring, and toss it at the entrance, letting it get covered  by smoke. They both entered the room firing, he aimed upwards again,  trying to scare people into taking cover, while Golden just shot where  she peeked through the smoke the obvious guards to be.

A few came down the stairs, and some of the hidden ones in the bottom  level revealed themselves. Huntsman took care of the lower ones, while  Golden took care of the ones further away.

"Reloading," Huntsman spat. Golden retrieved the pistol  from her hip and, starting to struggle due to the different weapons,  satisfied herself just keeping the lower ones behind cover while still  wounding the ones coming down the stairs. Huntsman finished reloading  just as the AK-47 ran out of ammo, so Golden let him cover while she  quickly reloaded and they retook their task.

After a while, everyone was either down due to wounds or down due to  fear. Huntsman looked at Golden, and she shrugged, trying to spot the  hidden guards that hadn't revealed themselves.

The airpod in Golden's right ear turned on with a small 'pop' and Weaver's voice called out, "Blonde guy, red tie, at your two o'clock."

So Spider's part of the plan went right. Golden walked over and pulled  the blonde man to his feet, removing his pistol and slamming it across  his face.

This part of the job promised to be tedious.



Sam's PoV, during guard shift change:

The sound of gunfire and screaming civilians let me know it was time.  So, cloaked in invisibility, I swung onto the Lounge, found the unlocked  bathroom window and opened it. It was a bit of a tight fit, especially  with the backpack, but Spider-flexibility (having powers never stopped  being cool) made it happen, and I turned off the invisibility.

"I still say that's creepy," Farah said, looking over the door to her bathroom stall.

"You checked the bathroom was empty?" I asked instead of replying, because she had a right to be wrong.

"No, because I was born yesterday," she said, rolling her eyes. "Just give me my stuff already."

I handed over the bag. Once she pulled out a purse, a gun and a tablet,  she handed it back to me and I put it on. While she tapped away at her  tablet, I checked that my weapons were easily accessible and looked at  the bathroom. There were mirrors around the sinks, with little plastic  cards.

Designated coke spots, I thought, shaking my head. Estos ricos están majaretas.

The airpod in my ear made a small pop, and I heard Farah--no,  Weaver--direct the rest of the crew in finding the undercover thugs.

"I'll head out, then," I said, turning my camouflage back on. "Stay safe."

She gave me a thumbs-up, retreating inside the stall and handing out  advice to Huntsman and Golden in whispers. I'd have to trust that she  could take care of herself with her gun if anyone came for her, at least  long enough for the rest of us to get there.

Unseen, I opened the door and walked out. Huntsman and Golden were  grabbing people from the crowd, taking off their guns and knocking them  to the ground before taking out the magazines, emptying the chambers and  throwing the weapons away from the people. One such undercover thug was  reaching for his weapon behind them both, but I just punched him in the  back of the head on my way to the stairs.

"Good one," Weaver said.

I didn't answer, instead walking up the stairs. There were seven armed  men pointing pistols and rifles at the entrance. It made me a little  nervous to stand in front of it all, but the lack of ringing from my  Spidey sense kept me frosty while I took inventory.

Seven armed men waiting at the head of the stairs, hard to see from the  bottom without being exposed. Behind, there was a few wealthy types that  looked fairly calm, probably gang lords and such. The Penguin himself  was sitting there, wearing a monocle and top hat like the massive  douchebag he was. On each side of him there were two individuals that I  guessed to be elite mooks of his hire. One was huge, bulky muscles that  strained the stitches of a bulky trenchcoat, the other was an average  middle-aged dude, balding and with a prominent beer gut.

Too different from the normal suits-and-ties look Penguin's hires tended to wear, but too close to be anything but bodyguards.

I ignored them for the moment, jumping over a few guards and landing  silently behind them to make my way up the stairs to Cobblepot's office.  The door was as impressive as always, and even more now that Farah had  read me on the actual details of it.

Titanium rods that stuck through the frame, and the material it was made  of was an alloy with some kinda regenerating metal called Promethium.  It had a charge of about two thousand volts ready to release as soon as  someone failed to present the code and fingerprint, the code changed  every day and only Cobblepot's fingerprint with the associated body heat  could open it, so just cutting it off wouldn't be enough. Farah had  told me it was a model famous for being impenetrable, couldn't be  hacked, couldn't be overloaded, couldn't be broken through. It was  supposed to be totally impenetrable.

I put my hand on the drywall next to the side of the door, turned on my  Stick 'Em Powers, softly ripped off the drywall and pushed the locks  inside with webs until the door was unlocked, at which point I webbed  them there.

Totally impenetrable, I thought with a scoff. They said the same of my first girlfriend, but I got there, didn't I? Hey-oh!

After a moment, I hung my head, I'm so glad no one heard that.

Whatever. I walked inside, tilting my head to the side as I looked at  windowless room. Expensive art of what I assumed to be several  generations of Cobblepots (judging by the beak noses that followed me  around the room) hung on every wall, a solid stone desk, lots of books  that I doubted had ever been read... I spoke up so it'd get picked up by  the mic Weaver'd put on my mask. "What exactly am I looking for, Weaver?"

"... the laptop. On the desk. In front of you." She sounded annoyed.

I looked. There was a lapotp on the desk. WayneTech, obviously. Not even Penguin was so low as to buy LexCorp shit.

"... I'm not great with machines, a'ight?" I grumbled,  walking over and pulling a pendrive she'd given me from my jacket's  inside pocket. The pendrive went in, and I watched as a file was  automatically downloaded without me needing to do anything. Once it was  over, I took it off and stashed it. "So it's done?"

"Backdoor installed, but I'm gonna need a while to get to the off-shores. Still, it's just a matter of time now." Weaver's voice was very smug. "You're free to do your thing."

"Much obliged," I said, walking down the stairs, turning off my camouflage on the way. "Tell Huntsman and Golden to give me a minute to clear the way."

They must have heard me talking on the way down, because while four  still aimed at the stairs three had their guns aimed at me. I raised my  hands amicably, no needing to get shot immediately.

"Wh- How the hell?" Penguin squawked, pointing at me. "Did you just come out of my office?"

"Yop," I said, popping the 'p'. "Name's Spider, you may have heard of me. By the way, you should have gotten better security, man."

Who knew? Maybe I could push him to start hiring Goonion guys. Gotta look out for my old pals, no?

Cobblepot spat something unkind I didn't quite catch--probably something  unflattering about the Ghost of Communism Roaming Europe, or whatever  millionaires complain about--and waved a hand at his goons. "Kill him!"

Before they could pull their triggers, I jumped at them. I landed on the  one furthest to the left, feet to his face and landing at superhuman  speeds. Before his back could hit the floor I lashed out with a kick,  immediately sending the one in the middle straight to the floor. The  last one didn't have time to reaim his weapon before I punched him into a  wall, leaving a small dent.

Right, pull your punches. I reminded myself, looking worriedly where the goon slumped. Don't slip 'cause you're excited.

The distraction allowed the four other gunmen to train their weapons on  me, but in a second I was on them, jumping to the side to avoid fire and  grabbing one by the shirt to throw him at the one behind, web them  together, kick them into the third and fourth when they tried to back  off, and then stick a few more webs before kicking them down the stairs.

I watched them roll down with some amusement.

"Clear?!" Huntsman shouted over from downstairs.

I leaned over to watch, admiring the many cowering civilians and wounded  goons that littered the floor as the two members of my crew stood in  the middle, holding their weapons. "Mostly! Gotta couple elites here, but it looks- GAH!"

I didn't even have time to dodge despite my Spidey Sense's warning.  Before I could finish jumping, I was caught in the side by something  wirey and moist smashing into my side and leaving me stuck on the wall  without powers, groaning and coughing in spread eagle position.

My vision didn't blur for long, and I saw that I'd been hit by a thick,  postule-covered tentacle with pinkish flesh and exposed muscles  throughout. My eyes followed it as it shrunk back, turning into the  middle-aged guy's arm.

"Elites, huh?" he said, rubbing his shoulder with a creepy grin on. "I like that."

The one in the trenchcoat stood up and flexed until it broke, revealing  grey skin underneath. Penguin seemed very smug while a voice like two  gravestones rubbing together growled out, "Solomon Grundy, Born On A Monday."

"Hrm," I said, from where I was halfway encrusted into the wall. "Well, shit."

"Go wild," Penguin said with a dismissive wave. "I'll cover it with the cops if you kill him."

The middle-aged guy grinned and started bloating grotesquely with  postules. His limbs expanded, shrunk and twisted as the sound of  snapping tendons and cracking bones rang out. Some shot out to be more  limbs, until he'd become a mass of arms, legs, tentacles with eyes and  mouth opening in random spots.

Somehow, I did not lose my lunch. Some of the guests did, and even Penguin looked a bit grossed out.

I pushed myself out of the wall, cracked my neck, and pulled out my weapons.

"A'ight," I pulled back the hammer of my revolver. "Bring it, motherfuckers."

They did. It hurt.



Billy's PoV:

Billy really should have gotten some spider powers when he had a chance,  no matter what any stupid pamphlet said about the risk of mutations.  The fight had gone on for five seconds it took for him and Yu-Golden to get there.

When they arrived, there were several carvings on the floor made by the tentacle monster that apparently just was there.  Lots of dents in the floor and walls from Solomon Grundy's rushes.  There were a few webs here and there, whole in places where he'd missed  the lightning-fast tentacles and torn in places where he hadn't.  Grundy's legs were covered in weblines as well, some still had chunks of  whatever had been on the other end trailing behind the juggernaut.

And just as they got there, a tentacle clipped Spider, and a mouth on it  bit a chunk out of his shoulder before he flew through a wall.

"Shit!" Huntsman spat, immediately rushing over. "Golden, keep them busy! I've got Spider!"

"Understood," she answered, all professionalism as she opened fire on the two metas.

"S-Spider, c'mon, talk to me," Huntsman begged, kneeling besides him.

"Gkht," Spider hissed, forcing himself to sit up. "Fuck me, he's fast. Is Y-Golden fighting them alone?"

"Yeah, but-" As Huntsman turned to look for some assurance  that could be made about their partner fighting two monsters alone, she  found that Golden was dancing easily between the tentacles and arms. An  aura of light surrounded her as she jumped, ducked, kicked and stepped  around the offending appendages. Her AK had been discarded, and she was  instead using that bowie knife and the gun at her hip to score hits on  the many limbs while ocassionally dodging Grundy's much more random  punches. "Holy shit."

"Oh, that's actually happening? I thought I was concussed again." Spider muttered, "Did you know she could do that?"

"Nope."

"Huh." Spider shook his head and looked at Hunstman, "We should ask about that later. You see where I dropped my shit?"

"No," Huntsman said. "How are we doing this?"

"Help Golden, I'm not comfortable letting a woman of asian descent fight a tentacle monster alone. I'll take Grundy." He said, and when Huntsman nodded and made to get up, Spider stopped him to look him over, then at Golden. "Before you go, I gotta ask something."

"Sure?"

"Is there a reason for why you're dressed like a Republican and she's dressed like a knife convention?"

Billy looked down at his outfit, then up at Sam. "We decided on 'better safe than sorry' before coming."

"... Good call," he clapped Huntsman in the shoulder. "Toss me my shit if you find it."

Then he ran towards the stairs, shooting two weblines at a distracted  Grundy's back before pulling hard enough to pull the zombie across the  air, where Spider grabbed him and proceeded to throw him backwards into  the lower floor.

"Good luck," Huntsman called, getting a thumbs-up back before Spider jumped after Grundy.

He turned to the tentacle thing with grit teeth, took his AK and aimed  to shoot at the limbs that weren't moving near Golden's shiny ass.


Spider PoV:

"Everyone that isn't a cape can fuck off!" I shouted. "Don't get caught up in the middle, just run!"

The civilians and goons didn't hesitate to follow orders, the wounded  ones being helped by whoever was around while I tried to hold back the  grey giant.

"Christened On A Tuesday!" He roared, taking a shot at my face  that I ducked under, stepping forward and putting a right cross on his  jaw. His head snapped to the side, then slowly turned back to me. "Ouch. That Hurt."

"... there's more where that came from?"

He snorted like a bull, and started throwing punches one after another.  Height-wise, he had half of mine on me, easily, and his fists were  roughtly the side of my skull. Coupled with the surprising speed and the  obvious strength he had to deal, the stair was being demolished around  us as I danced around his hits, landing blows where I could. They never  seemed to do much more than inconvenience him, and my hands were  starting to hurt.

Seeing the bottom of the stairs wasn't occupied by bystanders anymore, I  stood under him and between his legs, waited for him to throw a punch,  and then jumped away when the stairs collapsed under him.

As I landed, I was wrapping webs around my knuckles like a boxer. I  threw a few punches, getting used to the feeling, and looked at the  stairs.

The buzzing of my Spidey Sense wasn't necessary, I felt the tremors in  the floor before he burst out, hands spread wide and an animalistic roar  escaping him.

I planted myself firmly, and threw an uppercut as hard as I could to the  bottom of his jaw, sending him a couple inches into the air before he  landed a little behind, shaking his head. I didn't let up, getting in a  boxing in front of him and lashing out with punch after punch. I put my  whole body behind every blow, sending him a little back with every punch  to his stomach. I could hear Grundy groan with each hit as the stairs  were demolished around us and I slammed him into a wall.

I was feeling pretty good about my chances until Grundy just put a hand  in front of his stomach, caught my hand, and lifted me up.

"Married. On. A. Wednesday." He growled, then lifted me overhead and threw me into the floor, bouncing me like a ball.

Have you ever gotten fucking bounced? I was amazed I didn't break  anything, the way my bones hurt and my teeth chattered. I was catching  my breath when Grundy fell on me with his giant hands pushing at my  neck. It was only because of my Spidey Sense that I got my own hands up  in time, catching his hands and barely keeping them off of my chest as  he bore his full weight down on me. For some reason, I focused on all  the dirt he had on him. I hadn't even realized before, but he still had  grave dirt on him, and it was falling on me. Would have gotten in my  mouth if not for my mask.

"Kkh," The marble floor was cracking under me, the  pressure kept building and my arms hurt so much and little bits of the  marble floor were digging into my back and it was getting so hard to  breathe and for some reason all I could really focus on was the dirt  falling off his shoulder onto my face and how grateful I was that,  thanks to the mask, it wasn't getting in my mouth.

Wait. Grave dirt falling off of his shoulder. His shoulder.

Hah, I'd totally forgotten about that power. And that movie. Amazing what you think of in your last moments.

Motivated by a faint idea of how not to die, I put everything into  pushing back, lifting him inch my inch as the ground cracked more and  more under me, and I managed to force out a few words. "Y'ever hear... 'bout the shoulder touch?"

I threw my hands out to the sides, Grundy's hands going with them, then  brought mine back and pushed out just as he was about to crash on me.  And with my hands I sent a full-power Venom Sting into his left  shoulder. The shock of electricity sent him flying to my left, and I  rolled to the right and forced myself to my feet, while Grundy groaned  on the floor.

I looked at my hands, and noticed the webs I'd wrapped around had been  blasted straight off by my Sting. My hands ached, and I shook them out  to get some feeling back on them.

Okay, that worked. Bullets and machete didn't, but weird lightning did, because of course it did. I rolled back my shoulders, took a deep breath, and started approaching. I gotta get used to fighting like a cape.

"Grundy Doesn't Feel Good." The behemoth groaned, pushing himself onto his knees while I walked up to him.

"Grundy's about to feel a lot worse, man," I said, cutting  the distance between us and kicking him right in the head, sending him  back to the floor. Unlike with the Venom Sting, he didn't seem to  actually feel that aside from the change of position.

As soon as he was down, I walked up to him, grabbed him by hair, and  dragged him towards the wall, landing a blow with Venom Sting any time  he so much as twitched. Once we were near it, I pulled and tossed him  onto his feet against the wall.

While he shook his head dumbly, more grave dirt falling off of him, I shook out my hand.

I hadn't really tested out the limits of my powers, figuring I knew what  they could do from my memories and from the few tests I carried out  while I was learning to control my strength.

Fact is, I'd never even used more than one Venom Sting an hour, figuring  it was a bad idea from how much my hand hurt after using it. And if the  way my glove was starting to look a little melty and my hand stung were  any indication, it was probably the right move from my part.

But Grundy was stronger, maybe faster, and at the end of the day, while I  had superior technique I couldn't use it against a fucking zombie  juggernaut. I'd knew Grundy, as much as you can know someone you made  every effort not to talk to whenever you were on the same job. It took a  lot to break him down, no matter the incarnation.

So I had to hit him with a lot.

"Thoo' ill on Thu'sday," he slurred, jaw partially broken.

"How 'bout we skip to Sunday, bitch?"

Another thing I just realized I'd never tried was a Venom Sting through a  kick. As it turned out when I kicked the side of Grundy's knees,  shattering it in a burst of electricity, I could do that.

"GRAAA-" He started screaming in pain, barely staying standing on  one leg by leaning aganst the wall, before I slammed an elbow into his  jaw. I put my right leg back for stability, and shifted my whole body  behind a right cross into Grundy's neck, again empowered by a Sting.

I took a miniscule step back, fully fell into a boxer's stance, and went  to town. Boxing had a special place in my heart, as the first martial  art I ever learned, and by now the movements were ingrained into my  muscles on a level so deep that thought barely figured into it.

I ducked under a swing, then counter with a left jab at his eye. When he  tried to punch me, I batted down with my left hand and nailed him in  the eye again with the same hand, then connected an uppercut to his jaw.  Back to position, then a one-two, then uppercut again, I leaned to left  to avoid another hit and nailed a right cross into shoulder as a cross  counter. All of this with painful Venom Stings attatched that made me  want to scream as my gloves started steaming and melting around my  fists.

I kept hitting him, trying to stay in control of the rythm of the fight.  With his back against the wall and me so close when his arms were so  big, I was keeping him from getting any acceleration behind his punches.  His body kept trying to slump, but I just slammed lightning-wreathed  punch after punch, keeping him standing through pure violence.

After a while he wasn't even moving, and I didn't realize it was because  he was dead until his body finished dissolving into grave dirt and  exploded around one last punch, a lot of it ending up covering me.

"HOLY-" I flinched back, falling on my ass, before I got my cool back. "R-right, right, Solomon Grundy. Zombie. Right."

I sat there, staring at the dirt mound, breathing heavily. Adrenaline  went down, and I groaned through grit teeth. I felt like I was holding  my hands under boiling water, and no matter what I did they just  wouldn't stop shaking. I tore what was left of my gloves off almost with  my teeth, and barely kept myself from throwing up when I saw the burns  all over my hands, or the weird branch-lookin' lightning scars wrapped  around my fingers.

"Fuck me," I sighed, seeing my hand shake. "That can't be good."

"Spider?" Weaver's voice was in my ear. "How you holdin' up?"

"I'm- I'm fine," I said, still kinda breathless. "Just never was in a fight with a meta before. Took me by surprise. I'm good to go, though."

"Take a second; Huntsman and Golden are doin' fine," Weaver said, and when I tried to get up anyways just on principle of not doing what I was told, she spoke up, "You're not gonna be of any help if you break your arm doin' somethin' stupid, Spider."

... shit, that was a good point, wasn't it?

Despite myself, I huffed and let my body drop on its ass. "Fine. Just a second."

"Oh, you actually listened," I shot an annoyed look at a nearby camera at her surprised tone, but she ignored me. "So... 'how 'bout we skip to Sunday, bitch'? Really?"

"Sounded better in my head," I grumbled. The soft  chuckling that came over the comms was unwelcome, and no, I did not grin  back behind my mask. It wasn't even a soft fabric like Batgirl's, so  you couldn't even tell, and if Farah says otherwise she's making shit  up.

Still... I gave my torn-to-shit hands a dismayed look. I thought fights involving superpowers would be just... fights.

I thought I'd have to fight unnaturally strong enemies eventually, but I  hadn't truly realized just the overwhelming power that Grundy had at a  disposal. And I didn't even know if that was the fool's strongest  incarnation. I'd just gone in and thought 'yeah, I can take this guy with my SpideyMusclesTM, gun and knife' like a fucking moron.

... I gotta get better at this, I decided. Trainin' with Billy ain't enough. I gotta be good enough to look after my crew.

During the next minute, as I watch my hands fail to stop shaking, I hear the sound of gunfire drop by half. "Did something happen?"

"Uh, yeah, Golden just dropped her gun and started hitting tentacles with knives. She's... weirdly good at it? Like holy crap."

"Yeah, we should ask her what her deal is later."

"Probably." I was gonna go back to sulking, but weaver interrupted that again. "Cops are getting closer and our muscle is just about done. If you think you can-"

"Going," I said, forcing myself to my feet.

My hands weren't doing too hot, but I wrapped them up in webs and kept  them in fists as a momentary solution. I jumped over the stairs and got  ready for a fight.

The scene I arrived to was... kind of a mess. I saw that all the Very  Important People were cowering under their tables, including Cobblepot,  while the battle raged around them. A few had wounds, probably linked to  the broken tables, but I didn't pay it any mind as I watched my crew  finish the other bodyguard.

Golden had apparently discarded her smaller knives and was now holding a  tomahawk, stained in gooey red blood. Her shine was even brighter now,  and I thought I could see the hint of a feral smile in the crinkles  around her eyes, which were wide open and drinking in every detail as  she chopped and severed anything that came in range. There were a few  bruises littering her skin, and a couple cuts here and there, but most  of the blood covering her seemed to come from Tentacles.

Huntsman, for his part, had apparently ran out of ammo for his AK-47 and  Desert Eagles, as he was firing upon the main body with his sawed-off.  He too was covered in the meta's weirdly gooey blood, but he had a lot  more wounds on him than Golden did, and he was holding an arm to his  chest and only moving it to hold the shotgun while he reloaded. He  approached to fire, quickly took distance to reload, then approached  again, trying not to catch a hit from Penguin's bodyguard.

Said bodyguard was clearly on his last ropes, wounds littered every limb  and a few were blown straight off. Some of the eyes that popped up were  bloodshot and teary, and I saw more than a few mouths missing teeth.

As I watched, it tried to lift itself on a few tentacles, only for  Huntsman to finish reloading and blow them out from under him. As he  dropped, Golden slunk in between his appendages and drove the pointy  back of her weapon straight into the body, then dragged it down, carving  a wide opening across its flesh. It parted under the weight of several  gallons of shit-smelling liquid who-fucking-knows-what-the-fuck, and  from it dropped the normal form of the middle-aged man.

Who was now naked.

Awesome, love to see it.

"Y-You fucking parasytes," he spat. "You come in here, you take what isn't-"

Golden knocked him out by kicking him in the face, and I announced myself by speaking up, "Good job."

"Thanks," Huntsman said, turning towards me while I approached. "I saw your stuff during the fight, it's a little over there."

I took a detour to the chunk of ruined floor he nodded at, took my shit  back and broke the nose of some rich dude whose hand was inching towards  my revolver, then approached them. "So, Goldie, what was that about?"

Golden took a moment to realize I was talking to her, then she bowed her head a little at me, "Family secret, sir."

"... A'ight," I shrugged. "We gonna talk about what exactly you can do later. But for right now, we gots priorities."

I looked around, and grinned under my mask when my eyes settled on a certain villain.

I'd only done a few jobs for Penguin, since Billy started the Goonion  shortly after we started getting jobs with A-List villains. He paid  well, but the job tended to be demanding and high-risk, in great part  because Cobblepot didn't take anything that even looked like mockery well. We all knew the story of the cook that was laughing in his general direction while Penguin was on a date with his best gal.  In every interaction with him, he'd been dismissive and mocking,  forcing me to kiss the ring if I made too much eye contact. Mocking my  background. My history. My people.

There was kind of a satisfaction in finding him there, on his knees  under a table, looking up at me with dread even as he grit his teeth  spitefully.

I walked over and threw the table away with ease. "What's poppin', Oz?"

"... do you have any idea of what you are doing, you fucking child?" He  asked, sounding honestly baffled. "Do you know just who you're fucking  with here? I'm Oswald fucking Cobblepot! You think you can come up to  me, in my own demesne, and just steal from me?! Assault me?! Disturb my guests?!"

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I thought I was doin'." I nodded, "Why, did we interrupt your dinner plans?"

Cobblepot stared at me for a moment, then he started talking, "I'm going  to kill you. I'm going to find out who you are, and you will never know  a moment of peace. I'm going to tear apart your families, torture your  friends, burn down your homes and salt the earth behind me. I will make  your life fall apart around you and pick you up from the ashes so that I  might spit on you again. I'm going to flay you alive, debone you, chop  you in little pieces and feed you to a fucking parakeet!"

"... Why would you say that, man? I thought we were friends!" I chuckled at the look he gave me, then pulled out a revolver and put it to his head. "Anyway, if that's the attitude you're gonna bring to the table, then I ain't got much incentive to let you live here, do I?"

His eyes got very wide when he realized that he wasn't slinging threats at another superhero with a no-kill rule. "W-Wait-"

I interrupted by aiming my gun down and unloading the last two bullets I hadn't shot yet on his leg, making him scream.

"A'ight," I said, turning to my team. "Golden, give  Huntsman your bag and stay here to guard the room. If Ozzie here says or  does anything remotely annoying, I want you to break something of his. I  recommend starting by the jaw."

"Understood," she said, handing over her empty dufflebag and walking over to pick up and reaload her AK.

"Huntsman, with me. Let's go take Penguin's shit."

My friend nodded and followed me up the stairs. He chuckled when he saw  how I opened the door, then we stopped inside the office.

"Weaver?" I asked.

"One second, I'm looking over the footage from his security camera..." she said, then after a small moment. "Safe behind the big painting of the family. To your right?"

"The one in a Modernist, Ed Hopper kinda style? I see it,"  I said, walking over and removing a painting twice my size from the  wall, revealing a similarly-sized safe behind it. The painting seemed to  be pretty high-quality, depicting a family around a table facing the  viewer. Probably some of the last wealthy Cobblepots before Oswald, if  the noses were any indication.

The safe, by its part, was big, black and had a wheel at the front, surrounded by a few keyholes and smaller wheels.

"It'll take me a few minutes to crack it," Bill commented, tilting his head. "Good model, Cobblepot's got taste."

"He doesn't, he just figures the more money he shells out for something the better it is," I dismissed as I ran my fingers over it, the shaking having diminished by the smallest margin. "Anyway, a few minutes is too long with the cops comin'."

"Then what's the move?"

I hummed, then put one hand through the wall to the right of the safe,  used my Stick 'Em Powers to, well, stick my hand to the side. Then I did  the same to the door with my other hand, took a wide stance, and  started pulling.

"Are you fucking seri-" Billy started, but stopped when the door made a groaning noise. "No fuckin' way."

My jacket strained a little as I flexed, and bit by bit, the door bent where I was pulling until it flew open with a 'BANG!'

I stared at the rows and rows of stacks of cash, jewelry and (swear to  God on this one) actual gold ingots stacked neatly on the safe. Billy  stared at the warped door.

"Okay," he said. "Golden got there first with her glowy crap, but next time powers are up for grabs, I call dibs."

"Dude, focus, money," I gestured. "Like, so much money."

"Right," he dropped the duffle bags and opened them. "I take it we're burning everything we can't take?"

"Yup. Which means we should mostly take the stuff that can't burn, since gold melts at one thousand sixty-four celsius." I said, putting my backpack with the bags then heading straight for the gold bars and starting to carry them back.

"Do you just know that off the top of your head?" Weaver asked, but Huntsman stopped and looked at the gold.

"How much is that in Farenheit?" he asked.

"Uh... 'bout one thousand nine hundred eighty-somethin', why?" I looked at him.

He reached back, and pulled out a wrapped up package. "I brought the Scorched Earth Special."

Oh, not this shit again, I thought, staring at Billy, "Motherfucker, did you fight with napalm on your back again?"

"You said 'better safe than sorry' was a good call for this fight!" he complained. "Besides, you're the one that likes to burn shit behind him!"

"I- A'ight, that's fair," I put the four ingots I'd grabbed on my backpack and headed for the cash. "Take only some gold, then fill the bags with cash and the lighter, better jewelry. Then you can set the explosive on the back. Napalm only burns up to a  thousand celsius, but if we close the door it'll probably build up in  the small space with all the kindling and reach melting point soon  enough."

"Seriously, why do you have that shit memorized?" Weaver asked, but we ignored her.

"Got it," he said.

We worked quickly and with easy synchronization, long used to working  together. In no time at all, the bags were full, the bomb was set on the  back and we were leaving.

"Weaver, you 'bout done?" I asked while webbing the warped  door into a mostly closed position. I tried to punch it back into its  original position, but I didn't wanna waste much time so I contented  myself with just sending a message if I couldn't render the material  wealth totally useless.

"Camera footage for the last five years has been erased, made to look  amateurish, hid my back door into his servers and I'm about to leave  through the kitchens." She answered. "Focus on yourselves."

"A'ight, good job," I said, then I walked up to Billy and  forced him to give me my backpack and one of the bags, since he was  trying to take them all. "Don't be dumb, I've got super strength. Let me carry the extra weight."

He grumbled, but we made our way down the stairs and met up with Golden, who took her duffle bag from me.

"How are we getting down the stairs?" She asked. "They're a bit destroyed."

"My bad," I said. "You guys mind if I carry you down?"

"I do not mind," Golden said, but even through her mask it  sounded a bit strained. Huntsman, for his part, just walked up and put  his bagless arm around my shoulders. She copied him much more  reluctantly from the other side, and I wrapped my hands around them and  jumped down.

The landing was a bit unsteady, but we were on our way to the door. Just a few more steps, and we were home fucking free.

"Leaving so soon?"

Naturally, that's when everything went wrong.