What da haps, playas?

I want to persue this idea, just for the fun of it. Basically, Arkham Origins, combined with Spider-Man. Should be fun, right? Also, pairings ideas are greatly appreciated. No slash, though, please.

Also, Killer Croc is not one of the Ten Assassins. Yes, Ten. Come on, it was too easy to add a few more. From Spidey's rogues gallery, no less.

So, enjoy! And I'll be continuing my Ultimate Teen Titans story alongside this one.




Peter Parker's spider-sense went off.

He rolled out of his bed quickly, landing on the floor, clad only in his boxers, his body instantly tense and prepared for attack. But it had been a false alarm. There was no danger. He was completely alone, in his hotel room…

"Wait a sec," Peter said out loud. "Where am I?"

He looked around, realizing that he was not in his apartment in Manhattan, New York. He was in clearly a hotel room, and the only reason he knew it was his was because it looked cheap.

Peter walked to the window and looked out. He was relatively high up, on the sixth floor of whatever building he was in. But the street was completely unfamiliar to him. He, Peter Parker, who had grown up in Queens, knew every single street, alley, and walkway in the city. He spent quite a lot of time, after all, traversing the city with his web-slinging.

He was, after all, Spider-Man.

Glancing up, he saw high skyscrapers, with archaic gargoyles on some of the buildings. It was bleak and forbidding. The architecture of the city was changed… different.

Peter became aware of how cold he was. He closed the window, seeing the snow on the street.

That's right… it's Christmas Eve today. But where am I? What happened last night?

As far as he could remember, last night had been an ordinary, last-minute before the holidays villainy by some crooks that he had taken care of. Nothing major. He was planning on spending the evening with Aunt May, Mary Jane, and Harry. In fact, he and MJ were planning an intervention for Harry. They were afraid his drug use was getting out of hand.

Gotta worry about that later. First, figure out where I am. No, first, get dressed, 'cuz it's cold.

Peter found out the hotel he was staying in was called the Park Row Hotel, which confused him because he had never heard of Park Row before.

But one thing he had ascertained. He wasn't in New York City. He was still in the state, but in a city he had never heard of before.

GothamCity. Home of the worst kind of crime in the nation. And, to Peter's knowledge, a city which had never existed until now.

All the newspapers say Gotham Gazette, or Gotham Daily. The people are talking about it. I'm here. Why? Is this a trick? A hoax?

The last, unpleasant alternative was that Peter was not in his universe. This mind-bending choice was plausible to him because he'd done it before. Admittedly, he had usually stayed within New York City or Manhattan. But this was new, unreal.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He looked at it, and answered.

"MJ?" he said.

"Hey tiger. How's the black-hearted city?" came the voice of one of his best friends. He gaped.

"What?" he asked, his mind racing.

"Oh come on. Even though you just got there, you must have seen some horrific crime, right? That's what you're there for, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Peter said, walking for the subway. "Yeah, it is. No, uh, I haven't seen much. Yet." He decided to not say much, and let MJ do the talking. Maybe he could figure out what was going on, and why she knew about Gotham.

"Oh jeez. Your boss isn't going to be too happy. I mean, that's why you aren't spending Christmas with your family…"

"Boss. Jameson. Yeah, I know," Peter said, latching onto something he could discuss. "But you know… I need the money."

"So you volunteered to go and try to take pictures of a guy no one even knows exists?"

"Yep, that's me," Peter said, growing more and more confused. "Doing the odd jobs. Listen, I gotta go, but tell Aunt May I love her. Harry too. Sorry we can't do the… thing."

"That's all right. I'm hoping the general atmosphere might lift his spirits and make him forget about his dad."

"Right. Well, I need to get going. Talk to you later."

"Merry Christmas, Peter."

Peter hung up, then went to his texts. He scrolled through them until he found the ones with Jameson's assignments. The editor of the Daily Bugle usually printed his pictures he took of himself as Spider-Man(to smear and besmirch him), but sometimes sent him on odd jobs that took him away from the city. He had even gone so far as Ryker's Island as Peter Parker, where he was able to stop a breakout from happening as Spider-Man.

He found the specific text.

Pictures, evidence of the "Batman." On my desk Boxing Day or you're fired. –JJJ

Peter frowned. It wasn't the threat of unemployment that worried him. He was freelance anyway. No, it was the reference of the "Batman" that gave him pause.

Who is this Batman? Well, that explains what I'm doing in this… Gotham City. Maybe he's a new superhero. Or villain. But the papers never send guys like me if they're villains, because villains usually make their presence known by themselves. So, is he a vigilante? I better do my homework.

Suddenly, a police siren wailed past, and Peter looked up. The police Crown Vics, emblazoned with the insignia "GCPD" on the side, all screeched to a stop in front of a building that housed a lot of offices. Peter glanced up to see the logo "Wayne Tech Corporate Offices" at the top. Apparently, someone had decided to take some hostages.

Peter placed his phone back in his pocket, and ducked into a back alley to change.

Spider-Man crawled through the vents from the top of the building to one of the lower floors.

Inside one of the big rooms, he saw seven men, all dressed in heavy snow gear, with ski masks on, and penguin logos on their jackets.

How stupid is that. But they're spread out. Maybe I can take them out one by one, quietly, and then we can call it good.

And so he went to work.

One man had stepped behind a cubicle wall. Spider-Man descended on him and pulled him up to the ceiling, webbing him in place, covering his mouth before he could protest. He struggled, but the bonds were too tight.

Another was by the door, guarding it from the cops. He sent some pot shots every once in a while, not knowing that the cops hadn't entered the building yet. But Spider-Man had. He got him from behind in a sleeper hold, cutting off his air until he passed out. Spider-Man left him where he lay.

One by one, they fell. Finally, there was only the two in the center of the room, watching the hostages. They became aware of the silence around them.

"Hey, Joey? Tom? Rick?" one of the thugs called out. "Guys? This ain't funny."

"Oh crap, man," the other said, and there was a note of panic in his voice. "It's the Bat. It's gotta be. I told you."

"Shut up!" the first snapped, shifting his feet. "The Bat don't come out in the day time. The boss had the time planned perfectly. Do it in the daytime, and we'll only have to worry about the cops. Besides, Brandon's in charge, in't he?"

"There's that Gordon guy," the second said. "I'm telling you, this isn't going good for us."

"Joey!" the first called out, and there was a definite strain in his voice. "This isn't funny, dammit! Go look for 'em," he told the second man. He started walking forward, slowly, aiming his automatic rifle. His grip was shaky.

Spider-Man waited until he was out of sight of the first crook. Then he webbed him up in a cocoon, splattering him up against the wall.

"See anything?" the last man called. Spider-Man leapt up to the ceiling again, crawling until he was right above the guy. "Hey, come on man, this isn't cool…"

Spider-Man webbed the gun, yanking it out of the guy's hand. He screamed in terror, but it was too late. In one swift movement, Spider-Man slammed him to the floor, where he lay unconscious.

"We all good?" he asked in a general inquiry. "Former hostages? Is everyone fine?"

There was a general murmur of consent from the previously silent office workers.

"Good," he said. "Looks like a job well done. Someone wanna let the cops in?"


The name, when uttered by the Penguin in a questioning, are-you-serious tone, took on a whole new menace. The informer, a cop on Cobblepot's pay, gulped.

"Yeah, I guess he's from New York. He's been around a couple of years."

"Four years," Tonya, Cobblepot's female assistant said. "Somewhat of a loon, in fact."

"And this concerns me… why?" Penguin asked the cop.

"Because we just had to arrest some of your guys, the ones who tried to take the Wayne Tech building. He got them all. Broad daylight, too." The cop wiped the sweat off his upper lip.

"He what?!" Penguin bellowed, knocking over a picture frame on his desk. "Bloody hell!"

"He's the blighter who's been giving the Kingpin all that trouble," Tonya added, looking in her files. "Dunno why he's in Gotham now…"

"Doesn't matter!" Penguin spluttered, pointing his umbrella at the dirty cop dangerously. "He's a goner! Bastard thinks he can just waltz all over me like he does Fisk? Well, we'll show 'im. Put a price on 'is head! Fifty million quid! Uh, dollars. Now! And tell your friends who are sympathetic to us that the deal goes out to them too."

"Got it, sir," the cop said. "That's a lot of money. Thanks."

"It's 'ow much Black Mask is putting on the Bat tonight," Tonya said. "Give the boys on the streets double incentive. And for the man who gets 'em both…"
"He's gonna be famous… and rich," Penguin finished, chomping on his cigar. "But 'e's got to get 'em first."

Night was starting to fall on Gotham City. By now, Peter had more or less figured out what was going on.

Granted, he still didn't know how the hell he got here, or even why. The universe he knew(and loved) and this new strange environment seemed to have merged, seamlessly.

Christmas Eve. There were several gangs on the streets tonight, so much so that a mandatory curfew was in effect. Black Mask was one, Penguin, whose men Spidey had taken out earlier in the day, was another. Then there was the Mafia, Falcone and Maroni families. But also…

Hammerhead. He's operating here too. Someone I know. How is this? Why him? Well, makes sense, if I think about it.

His head was beginning to hurt from thinking about it. But as night fell, he began to feel a sense of anticipation.

The Batman comes out at night. Criminals hate him. Cops hate him too, but then again, most of the GCPD are crooked. No one has seen him, and very few have heard him. But the stories…

Which explained why Peter Parker was here. Find evidence of the Batman.

Peter leaned his head back on the wall he was perched on. He was in North Gotham, he found out, separated from New Gotham was south of the Pioneers' Bridge. Farther south, past the city's borders, was the prison Blackgate, which seemed to be the Alcatraz or Rykers of Gotham.

His spider-sense went off, and he let himself drop from the building. An instant later, a bullet thudded into the wall where he was. It ricocheted off to a water tower, turning sharply to come at him a second time.

What the-!?

He twisted, dodging it again, but only just. He swung a web-line where the bullet had come the first time, and pulled hard, yanking himself over.

A man, clad in snow gear and mask, was running across a rooftop. Spider-Man shot another web-line, which missed barely. He used the momentum to catapult himself in front of the man, who had large gauntlets on his forearms.

Spider-Man realized these were guns when the tips of them exploded in fire.

He wove this way and that, barely keeping ahead of the bullets. Some of them, if he was seeing this correctly, were sparking slightly. Then he realized the bullets were bouncing off each other, to come back to him.

"Whoa!" he shouted, still dancing. "That is some impressive skills! Have you met the Punisher? I know he'd love to meet you!"

The man, shocked at how Peter was avoiding everything, let his guard down. Spider-Man got in close, and landed a blow on his jaw. He crumpled, dazed, but not out.

"Okay, then," Spider-Man said, pulling him up by the collar after webbing the gauntlets. "Who are you, why were you shooting me, and is that Gucci I smell? Really?"

The man coughed, still in shock.

"I never miss," he mumbled. "Never. Who are you?"

"I asked first," Spidey pointed out. "Come on now, don't make me shake you…"

"I'm… Deadshot. I'm trying to collect the bounty… on your head," the man, Deadshot said. Spider-Man frowned beneath his mask.

"Seriously? I'm in town for barely twelve hours and I've already got a price on my head? Wow. That just completely makes my Christmas. Who ordered it?"

"Penguin," Deadshot said. He was volunteering the information, because he was still stunned anyone could have dodged his shots. "He's put up a price matching the one Black Mask put on Batman. Fifty mil. One night."

"Wow," Spidey said, impressed. "I could use that kind of bank. Shoulda let you wing me, split the fee."

"Really?" Deadshot said, lifting his head up.


Spider-Man slammed his head into the concrete rooftop, knocking him out instantly. He webbed him up and dropped him off the edge, letting him hang on a web-line.

Well, this should get interesting…

Back in his hotel room, Peter's ears perked up as he heard something on the radio…

"…just in that Blackgate prison was broken into, and Commissioner Loeb has been killed in the struggle that ensued. Eyewitness reports that the Batman was present can be substantiated, as I myself saw him defend our crew from escaped inmates…"

"Wonderful!" Peter said loudly, throwing his hands up. "Merry frickin' Christmas, Charlie Brown!"

This should be fun. Maybe. Possibly. Oh, and Deadshot will appear again.