What happened

Well, that was unsatisfying.

Having a target escape, although rare, always left an uncomfortable feeling in Cass's body. It was a bit like a conversation abruptly cut off, when you knew you had more to say. It tensed her up, made her cranky. She would definitely need to find someone to take it out on. But first things first.

Any unexplained metahuman in Gotham, acting suspiciously or not, had to be reported to Batman. He didn't like them in his city. And even though Cassandra wasn't really supposed to take them on herself, she would still have to tell him about the bug-man. Hopefully he would make her help with this new guy's database file.

"Batman."

Nothing but a static-y hiss on her radio, which was odd in itself. It was usually perfectly silent. She widened the frequency a little, wary of anyone else listening in.

"Batman?"

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Peter had successfully wrestled his press pass from someone he didn't recognize (but seemed to know exactly who he was) at the offices of the City Voice. He had managed, though it'd taken some doing, to sew himself a new costume, from scratch, though by the time it was done, he was exhausted and swore up and down that once he found Aunt May, he'd thank her over and over again for somehow managing to help him out.

The mousy looking camera-man slipped out of his apartment at half past eight in the evening, his backpack slung over one shoulder (costume and spare rolls of film tucked safely inside). He had been lucky - in his apartment, he'd found plenty of cartridges of webbing, which left him slightly nervous, but for the most part, relieved that he didn't have to mix any more up. Some of the materials were expensive and, well, hard to get.

Peter was snooping around. One thing that his press pass did was give him a perfectly viable excuse to go scoping out places or people, no matter how dangerous.

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