Gotham City
Morning light spills over Gotham's skyline as three kids walk down a crowded sidewalk, backpacks slung over their shoulders.
"So who would win in a fight Nightwing or Red Hood?" one of them asks.
"Red Hood," another says immediately. "He's got guns and looks awesome."
The third shakes his head. "Nah, Nightwing would win. He does flips and stuff. He'd dodge everything."
They step into the crosswalk, laughing too distracted to notice the armored money truck barreling toward them, tires screeching as it blows through a red light.
Suddenly a red-and-blue blur swings down from above.
Strong arms scoop the kids up in one smooth motion, carrying them across the street and setting them safely on the sidewalk just as the truck roars past.
The kids spin around, eyes wide.
Standing above them is a figure in a red and dark-blue suit, a black spider emblem stretched across his chest.
"Careful, kids," the masked hero says lightly. "People can't drive in Gotham."
He turns to leave but one of the kids asks. "Who are you?"
The figure looks back, crouching slightly.
"Well, kid," he says, "I'm your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." He pauses. "Oh and Nightwing would totally beat Red Hood."
He fires a web and swings away.
"THAT WAS SO COOL!" the kids shout in unison.
Spider-Man swings through Gotham's streets, catching up to the speeding money truck. He lands on its side, knocking twice on the driver's window.
"Knock knock, Mister Criminal."
The startled thug actually rolls the window down.
Spider-Man sticks out his hand. "Hi! Name's Spider-Man. Or Webhead. Or Amazing. Just don't call me late for dinner. Get it?"
The thug swings a punch. Spider-Man leans back, dodging easily.
"Not a shaker, huh? Or are you more of a hugger?" He glances ahead. "Also, did you have to rob a bank this morning? I've got something really important coming up. Maybe pull over and surrender?"
The thug snarls, pulling a gun. "I'm sick of your mouth!"
He fires.
Spider-Man flips onto the roof of the truck as bullets spark against metal.
On the sidewalk ahead, a man wearing a Wayne Enterprises badge walks briskly, clutching blueprints. People bump into him, and several pages spill into the street.
His badge reads: Max Dillon.
Spider-Man thrusts his arm through the truck's window as the thug fumbles to reload.
"Gun trouble? Let me help!"
He yanks the wheel, forcing the truck to swerve dangerously. "COMING THROUGH!" Spider-Man says.
Then Spider-Man sees that the truck is about to plow straight into the sidewalk into Max.
"Oh that's bad," Spider-Man mutters. "Hang on."
He leaps off the truck, swinging low and grabbing Max just before impact. In one smooth arc, he lands them both safely on the sidewalk.
The blueprints scatter again.
Spider-Man helps Max to his feet, gently fixing his crooked glasses.
"You're that spider vigilante," Max says breathlessly. "The one people have been seeing during the day for the past 2 months."
"The costume gives it away, huh?" Spider-Man says.
He notices the blueprints and webs them neatly back into Max's hands.
"These look important."
"They are," Max says. "But… how do you know my name?"
Spider-Man taps the badge on Max's chest. "It's literally right there." Max lowers his head. "I'm… I'm a nobody."
Spider-Man places a hand on his shoulder.
"No," he says firmly. "You're a somebody, Max. Don't forget that. Gotham needs people like you. I need you okay! Your my eyes and ears out here, alright?"
Max smiles, nodding. "Alright."
"Stay safe," Spider-Man says, already backing away.
He swings off.
Back at the truck, Spider-Man webs the thug straight out the window, hanging him upside down from a nearby light pole. He fires two thick web-lines onto the back of the truck and digs his feet into the pavement.
After a few tense seconds, the vehicle screeches to a stop.
Spider-Man exhales and looks up at a nearby clock tower.
"Still got time." Then he swings away.
Across the street, a man with curly black hair and sharp blue eyes bites into a bagel, watching it all with a quiet smile. He pulls out his phone.
"Bruce," he says, "I've got something interesting to tell you."
Spider-Man lands atop a building overlooking Gotham Academy. He removes his mask, revealing a teenage boy with red hair and bright blue eyes.
"Okay, Alex," he mutters to himself. "First day at a new school. Sure, it's full of rich, snobby kids… but you might make some friends."
He forces a smile. "Positive attitude."
Alex peels off his suit, revealing his Gotham Academy uniform beneath. He pulls his webbed backpack from the wall, stuffs the suit inside, and hops down into an alley.
Then he straightens his jacket and walks toward the school.
Batcave
The Batcave is quiet except for the low hum of machinery.
Bruce Wayne stands before the Batcomputer, arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen. Footage plays on repeat with security cameras, traffic cams, drone angles.
A red-and-blue figure skids across the pavement, webs straining as the armored money truck screeches to a halt.
Spider-Man.
Footsteps echo behind him.
Dick Grayson walks in, already watching the screen. "So," he says casually, "what do you think? I saw the whole thing while grabbing breakfast." He holds out a paper bag. "Oh and this is yours."
He pulls out a half-eaten bagel and hands it to Bruce.
Bruce looks at the bagel.
Then at Dick.
One eyebrow rises.
Dick clears his throat. "I was still hungry after mine."
Bruce exhales slowly, takes the bagel, and eats it without another word.
Dick grins and turns his attention back to the footage. "I'll give him this he's good. Especially for what, two months in? But I don't see any formal training. No structured movement, no combat discipline. Where'd he learn to fight?"
"He didn't," Bruce says.
Dick blinks. "Didn't?"
Bruce taps a few keys. The footage slows, overlays appearing showing impact resistance, reaction speed, lift force.
"No enhanced suit. No external tech augmentations," Bruce continues. "His abilities are internal."
Dick's expression sharpens. "You're saying…?"
"He's a meta."
Bruce brings up a frame where Spider-Man catches a falling car with one hand.
"Strength," Bruce says. "Agility. Speed. Reflexes. All above human limits."
Dick nods slowly. "Okay. So… you going to stop him?"
Bruce doesn't answer right away and the footage keeps playing.
Finally, he says, "No."
Dick looks at him, surprised. "Really?"
"I'm going to watch him," Bruce says. "Closely." He pauses. "And I want the others alerted. School and patrols."
Dick turns fully toward him. "Why?"
Bruce presses a button. Audio crackles through the cave.
'You're a somebody, Max. Don't forget that. Gotham needs people like you. I need you to be my eyes and ears out here, alright?'
The recording ends.
Bruce looks at Dick. "Does that sound like an adult to you?"
Dick's expression softens. "…No."
A beat passes.
"You think," Dick says carefully, "he's the same age as Tim, Cass, and Steph?"
Bruce nods once.
Dick exhales. "Yeah. I'll tell them." He turns and starts toward the exit, then pauses. "He's got a good heart, Bruce."
"I know," Bruce replies quietly.
Dick leaves.
Bruce turns back to the Batcomputer. The screen freezes on a clear image of Spider-Man mid-swing, mask tilted slightly upward.
Bruce studies the image for a long moment.