10 Was he being targeted?

“Waaah!”

Before Peter’s exclamation could even settle, a mechanical sound echoed, and his vision shifted repeatedly. His entire body was enveloped in a black-and-yellow alien mechanical form. Bumblebee transformed back into a Camaro, and Peter was shoved into the driver’s seat. Just like that, everything proceeded as usual.

Peter was so stunned he could hardly breathe. If this wasn’t an intelligent robot with its own consciousness, then it must be a silicon-based lifeform!

It was his first encounter with silicon-based life, and his tech enthusiast instincts overpowered everything else. Peter didn’t care where it might take him—after all, it had just saved him, hadn’t it?

“Who are you? Are you from Earth? Why are you by my side? Do you have your own thoughts and intelligence? Is someone controlling you? Are you made of nanotechnology—oh no, that can’t be right, your transformation isn’t at the nanoscale, but it’s definitely, definitely cool. I have to say, a mechanical transformation like yours has a certain artistic flair! Oh my god, you really are a masterpiece, just a little old... Oh, of course, I’m not criticizing. If you don’t mind, I could help you patch up those worn spots. You can use Earth’s lubricants, right?”

Peter pulled off his helmet and casually plucked a small gadget off his shoulder, crushed it in his hand, and tossed it out the window. He had to say, Red Hood really didn’t know when to quit—at such a critical moment, he still left himself a tracker.

His words came out like a machine gun, firing off questions and thoughts at a pace that would make Dick reconsider and weep, all in rapid succession.

Bumblebee had never met a human who talked more than someone whose voice chip was damaged. He was utterly baffled, overwhelmed by the barrage of questions, his driving slowed considerably as he even forgot the destination.

Peter finally managed to shed his mud-streaked uniform and change into his own clothes. Looking up, he saw Bumblebee circling a fountain.

“You don’t know the way?” Peter asked gently, placing his hands softly on the steering wheel. “May I?”

The radio crackled incoherently, which Peter took as consent. He carefully turned the wheel, as if afraid a sudden move might hurt Bumblebee, and adjusted course toward Wayne Manor.

“What’s your name?” Gathering his thoughts, Peter decided to start with the basics. “I’m Peter Parker.”

He quickly shut up, wary of talking too much and monopolizing the conversation.

“My name is—” the first half came in a male voice like from a movie, then softened into a female tone, “Bumblebee.”

“Bumblebee,” Peter repeated, finding the name endearing and fitting for his appearance. “Can I call you Bee?”

The radio tuned to a new channel and began playing a nature documentary: “Bumblebees are beneficial insects, playing a vital role in pollinating crops, pastures, medicinal herbs, and wild plants…”

“Looks like you like that nickname,” Peter smiled.

He soon realized Bumblebee couldn’t speak but only answered through prerecorded audio played on the radio. After asking so many questions, with the manor nearly in sight, Peter still only knew that Bumblebee was indeed an extraterrestrial silicon-based lifeform. The purpose behind his transformation into a Camaro to blend in on Earth remained unclear.

If he took him to Wayne Manor, would it endanger the family?

Peter hesitated. But his spider-sense gave no warning about Bumblebee, and after all, Bumblebee had saved him once.

A Transformer of such size couldn’t possibly fit in his room. What if it broke the floor?

After some internal debate, Peter decided to ask Bumblebee’s opinion: “Would you wait for me in the garage at Wayne Manor? I have to drive to school every day, and you might get tired…”

The radio suddenly played a lively tune: “Three days and three nights, dancing nonstop through the night!”

Though Peter didn’t understand the lyrics, the energetic tone told him Bumblebee didn’t feel tired.

Peter sighed in relief, grateful that the car he owed three thousand bucks on was willing to accompany him to school and back.

Bumblebee had been lurking on Earth for years, spending most of his time dormant and bored, growing a bit shaggy.

Most of the time, he lay in a secondhand market, occasionally bought as a means of transport by careless owners. But they never treated him well, and he would escape within days.

Until now, Bumblebee had met Peter, a little human who piqued his interest.

Life ahead seemed full of new pleasures! Bumblebee parked in Wayne’s garage, taking in the array of luxury cars.

Ha. What about these cars, new and expensive? The little human still preferred me. Can they transform? Can they catch a falling child midair? Can they talk through a radio? None of that! Bumblebee wins!

He tore the dust cover off an Aston Martin, draped it over himself, and settled in for a beautiful rest.

Peter climbed through the window into his bedroom, headed to the single shower to wash off the mud. Under the spray, the dried clumps softened and gathered on the floor into a muddy slurry. Peter stared at it, frustration rising in his chest.

He had undoubtedly messed things up—intervening recklessly in the local vigilante’s work had allowed a dangerous criminal to escape.

Mudface was unquestionably the hardest type of supervillain to catch. He could disguise himself as anyone, and if all else failed, hide in the sewers. As long as he didn’t show himself, no one could find him.

Red Hood was right to be angry. Compared to him, Peter’s apology had been insincere.

If that was the case, then the grudge from being kicked off the motorcycle by Red Hood was now wiped clean unilaterally.

Peter cleaned himself up, changed back into his school clothes, and deliberately took the elevator from the garage upstairs, pretending he'd just returned.

His stomach growled wildly. Peter headed to the dining room to scavenge for food, reflecting on everything that had happened today—Mudface, Red Hood, Bumblebee, aliens... Suddenly, a small figure emerged from the kitchen. Peter’s first instinct was to dodge, but he caught himself and collided clumsily like an awkward college student.

The other party, holding a plate, nimbly stepped aside on two short legs and hurried away, tossing back a remark: “Maybe take your eyes off the top of your head and put them in the two holes on your face, okay?”

Peter: “...Sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Maybe he should borrow a deck of cards from the card master and do a reading before leaving the house.

But his frustration didn’t last long.

Because the rude little creature was soon grabbed by the collar. Given the vast height difference, Jason held Damian with one hand and plucked a fragrant roasted white mushroom from his plate with the other.

“Watch your manners, kid.”

“Huh?” Damian glared. “Did I hear that right? Jason Todd knows how to spell ‘polite’? And give that back—it’s for Bruce.”

Holding the food, Jason refrained from a midair spin that might have crushed the insufferable Todd underfoot.

“Don’t think I’ll believe you just because you use Bruce as a shield,” Jason said coldly. “You need to—”

He didn’t finish. Damian pressed his left wrist against Jason’s waist and zapped him. The current was mild, but Jason felt a sharp, tingling pain in his side. He had to pretend nothing happened, hiding the weakness from Peter. His grip on Damian loosened, letting the kid slip away like a slippery fish—still managing to snatch the white mushroom from Jason’s grasp.

Jason rolled his eyes at Damian’s retreating back and turned to the embarrassed Peter. “He’s like that with everyone.”

“No problem,” Peter smiled generously. Honestly, for a moment he thought Damian was targeting him, but it turned out the kid was simply rude.

That made Peter feel much better.

At the same time, he realized Jason had deliberately stopped Damian so he could be rude to him too.

Feeling Jason’s goodwill, Peter smiled gratefully at him.