Chapter Text
The note in Keith’s locker was unexpected. He didn’t exactly have a lot of friends at school, not since Shiro graduated and went off to college. The only note he’d ever gotten before had been Lance’s “it’s on, mullet!” aggressively scrawled on a torn-off corner of notebook paper. That had been confusing, considering Keith didn’t learn who Lance was until a week later.
This note was different. It was written on crisp stationary with Keith’s name elegantly inscribed on one side. Like Lance’s note, the message inside was brief and enigmatic. Unlike that note, which had inspired only confusion, this one turned his stomach cold. The message was innocuous enough - “Meet me in the lot behind the cafeteria after school.” - but beneath it the author had drawn a perfect replica of the spider symbol from Spider-Man’s costume.
Keith’s costume.
Fuck.
He thought about skipping out and ignoring the anonymous sender, but if they did know something, that could lead to trouble later on. Besides, Keith had never been one to back down from a confrontation.
The lot itself was nothing impressive, just an ugly patch of ground mottled with weeds, cigarette butts, and stacks of wooden pallets and rusted piping. There’d been some kind of construction planned years ago that got scrapped, and now it was just a place kids went to smoke or make out. There were at least a few stacks of weathered materials tall enough to hide behind.
It made the guy standing there seem even more out of place, all dressed up like he was going to a job interview: button-down shirt, slacks, nice shoes, and posture like he was carrying a stack of books on his head. Keith recognized him vaguely as a mid-year transfer student who was supposed to be a big deal. Rich parents, or something. Keith mostly knew him as “that competitive guy from gym class” and “that guy who always dressed way too nice for no reason.”
What’s his name again? L-something?
“I’m glad you decided to come,” he greeted.
Louis? Lawrence? No, it’s something unusual.
“What do you want?” Keith asked bluntly.
“Not much for conversation, I see.”
Keith glared. This guy had the nerve to call him out and then expected a conversation?
“If you have something to say, then say it.”
Damn it, what’s his name?
“Very well,” the young man conceded. “I know you’re Spider-Man.”
And there it was. Not exactly a shock, but it still twisted Keith’s insides to have it confirmed. He tried to school his expression into something casual and incredulous, though he wasn’t sure he succeeded.
“Spider-Man? No way. That’s ridiculous…” Lotor! “…Lotor.”
Lotor looked at him assessingly.
“You just remembered my name, didn’t you?”
“Uh… no?”
Lotor chuckled.
“You’re a terrible liar, do you know that?” He shook his head in mock despair. “It’s a wonder you’ve maintained a secret identity as long as you have.”
Keith bristled.
“What makes you think I’m him?”
“Aside from that lackluster denial?” Lotor arched an eyebrow. But then, oddly enough, he crouched down and started picking through the gravel. It felt weird to see someone so casually elegant rummaging in the dirt.
“I’ve studied fencing since I was eight years old,” Lotor said without bothering to look up. He lifted a stone, weighed it in hand, and discarded it. “I’ve also practiced several forms of hand to hand combat almost since I could walk.”
He picked up another stone and straightened up, tossing and catching it a few times.
“I’m quite familiar with the capabilities of the human body and its limits. You, Keith…”
Keith’s spider senses flashed a warning as Lotor whipped the stone at his face. Instinct moved him, and a fraction of a second later he held the stone neatly in his hand.
Lotor smirked.
“…do not seem to have those limits.”
Keith grimaced, caught out. He dropped the stone and crossed his arms over his chest.
“I have good reflexes. So what?”
“Good reflexes indeed,” Lotor mused, eying him the way one might eye a lab specimen. “You also never break a sweat in P.E., and I’m quite sure that if I looked in your bag right now, I’d find a familiar outfit.”
Keith tensed.
“You’re full of shit.”
“Am I?” Lotor advanced. “Then you won’t mind me checking your bag to allay my suspicions.”
Lotor reached out, and Keith jerked back reflexively. Lotor tutted.
“Honestly, you give yourself away so easily.”
Keith growled.
“I don’t have to let you go through my stuff just to prove some stupid point.”
“So stubborn,” Lotor lamented. He backed up a step, but Keith’s relief didn’t last. “Suffice it to say, I know who you are, and I have adequate evidence to be believed should I choose to make that information known. I imagine that’s something you’d rather avoid.”
It was blackmail, then. Shit.
“What do you want?” Keith asked, hoping it wasn’t anything too crazy. He’d made plenty of enemies running around as a masked crime-fighter, and if his secret identity got out to any of them, he could say goodbye to what little peace he had in life.
“Access.”
“Access?” Keith echoed, baffled.
“To you,” Lotor clarified. “To your mutation. You are a mutant, aren’t you? I want exclusive rights to document the genotype and gene expression of Spider-Man.”
That was… not what Keith had been expecting, but at least he wasn’t asking for money or protection or something.
“Are you seriously that into genetics?” he asked, still incredulous.
“Does the root of my interest matter?” Lotor countered. “You'll benefit as well, I'm sure. How much do you truly know about your mutation? About its more subtle effects on your physiology? You could have weaknesses or health risks that typical humans don't.”
He had a point, though Keith was loath to admit it. Everything he knew about how his body had changed, he’d had to figure out on his own, often by accident or through sheer trial and error.
“I could go to a real doctor for that.”
“Please.” Lotor huffed derisively. “You’re an emancipated minor living on welfare and whatever’s left of your father’s estate. You can’t afford a doctor who would keep their mouth shut.”
Had this guy been stalking him or something?
“And if I say no?” Keith asked, mustering what defiance he could.
Lotor grinned slyly.
“Then I find the next most profitable use for this information and act accordingly.”
Keith’s composure faltered.
“You’d sell it to the papers?”
“Or whoever’s willing to pay more.”
There were mob bosses in the city who could outspend news organizations ten-to-one and not even feel it. If one of them found out where Spider-Man slept, Keith was as good as dead.
Trapped, but hesitant to admit it, Keith was distracted from his growing agitation by the notification buzz on his phone. He pulled it out and saw a live news notification: a robbery at a jewelry store, meta-human suspect.
“Look, I don’t have time for this,” Keith said, vainly hoping he could give Lotor the brush-off.
“Oh?” Lotor seemed unperturbed. “Well, I suppose it would be rude of me to keep you if you have somewhere to be. Go on. Be a hero. You can get back to me about my offer later.”
He said “hero” like it was some absurd vocation, like an Elvis impersonator or a dog food taste-tester. Keith bristled, but he had a job to do and an opportunity to postpone this uncomfortable conversation. Both were more important than replying to some implied insult.
He turned to leave, but only made it two steps before Lotor’s voice stopped him.
“And Keith?”
He looked back reluctantly, and Lotor grinned like a man who already knew he’d won.
“Don’t keep me waiting too long.”
Keith nodded curtly, knowing he had little choice, before running off to find somewhere hidden enough to change. Lotor was a problem - a big one - but he was a problem for another time. Right now, he needed to get his head on straight so he could catch a bad guy. He’d figure out what to do about Lotor later.