Free Gods of Manhattan by Al Ewing

strange and terrifying undersea animal, the blazing twin gas lamps on either side forming its eyes. It looked delicate in its majestic complexity, but Marlene had been in the driving seat when the agents of E.R.A.M.T.H.G.I.N. - that strange reverse-organisation, a gang of madmen existing to mock, détourn and destroy all symbols, the futurehead ethos gone wild and rabid in the streets - had roared out of an alleyway in their own patchwork auto, looking like nothing so much as a squat metal slug, and raked the Silver Ghost with machine-gun fire.
    " Us am vigilantes! Am us not men?" they'd howled, a terrifyingly accurate parody of the Blood-Spider's hiss, distorted as if played through a sped-up gramophone, the bright red clay headgear they wore to signify their 'de-evolutionary status' refashioned into crude, cruel mockeries of the Spider's signature mask. " Us use violence to effect social change! Am us not men? Us bring terror to underclass, make streets safer for overclass! Am us not men? Am us not men? "
    The Blood-Spider had turned, bullets missing him by inches, and dispatched each of them with a single shot, shattering the clay helmets and painting the fragments a different shade of red. A final shot had smashed through the slug's bonnet, bringing forth an explosion of hissing steam and sharp metal fragments and sending the auto careening into a nearby gas lamp, a charnel-display of rotting meat left as an example to any others who might consider impeding the Blood-Spider in the performance of his terrible duty.
    The Silver Ghost, meanwhile, had suffered barely a scratch. It was built to last.
    Marlene parked the auto near the mouth of a secluded, seemingly deserted back alley, filled with shadows and scurrying rats. As she opened the door, one shadow detached itself from the others, uncoiling like a snake, pitch darkness suddenly assuming form and substance. Marlene smiled.
    "Darling."
    Eight blank lenses gazed back at her as the Blood-Spider took his seat.
    " The Atlas building. West thirty-eighth." He opened the glove compartment of the sleek silver machine and withdrew a large grappling hook, connected to a loop of strong steel wire. " I have a personal call to make. "
    "Yes, Sir." purred Marlene, gunning the engine and sending the Silver Ghost on into the New York night.
     
    The hard part had been getting to the roof without being seen.
    After that, it was a simple matter of placing his hands on the smooth stone of the wall and then vaulting over the roof edge, letting the intricate network of suction-cups on his gloves and the soles of his shoes affix themselves so he could climb down the wall to the window. This was his great secret - how he appeared and disappeared without warning, how he could strike from everywhere at once. The powerful suction of the rubber allowed him to cling expertly to any surface and reach the highest and most inhospitable nooks and crannies, there to watch and wait, as the spider waits in cracks and crevices for his prey.
    The Blood-Spider clung, like a spider clinging to a wall, over a drop that would not only shatter and pulverise his bones but liquefy his very flesh if he fell - and he thought no more about it than a normal man would if standing upon the edge of a high kerbstone.
    Danger was meaningless. The risk of death had been weighed, judged and found to be acceptable. All that remained now was the task at hand.
    The cause.
    Slowly, patiently, the Blood-Spider used a glass-cutting tool from his belt to carve a circle in the window large enough to gain him entry, pushing gently with his palm until the circle of glass popped into the room, landing almost silently on the deep plush carpet. He disliked compromising the crime scene in such a manner, but the police department had taken their turn with it. His job now was to find those things they had missed, in the places they had not bothered to look.
    As he crossed the threshold of the window, he looked to his left, at the dried