The drive to Wildwood from Philadelphia is a long, tiring one for Cindy Meltzer. Traffic hadn't been too terrible given that it was nearly ten o'clock at night, but it had been an inconvenience to drop everything and venture down that far. She was getting too old for this- too old to keep making these frequent, sudden trips for work, and certainly too old to be working. Most of her peers were retired by now, living like royalty on a timeshare in Aruba, but not Cindy. She had always been the exception to everything since she was small: the other children were obsessed with television, she'd rather curl up with a good mystery novel; she avoided the ocean like it was a plague, opting to visit the Mojave desert instead of the beach with her girlfriends, and worst of all, she actually enjoyed her job. There had been a joke in the office that she would be working until the day she died, and they were probably right.

The FBI was her life. Next year she would be going on thirty-years strong in the force, and honestly, she couldn't imagine her life not being in the bureau. She never married, never had any children, and the only friend- if she could even count him one- was her neighbor who occasionally would ask about her day as she left for work in the morning. Cindy didn't need a traditional family to be happy in life, though. She was perfectly content with her cat, Garfield, her collection of books, and her case files. The apple didn't fall too far from the tree. The old man was surely beaming with pride, wherever the hell he was.

The one downside to her job, besides the horrific shit she had to witness, was the traveling. Especially when it was so late in the night and sudden, such as this trip in particular. Thankfully, Wildwood wasn't too far away from Philly, but she'd have rather have been lounging in bed, falling asleep to Real Housewives.

Salty, fishy sea-air fills into the car through partly opened windows and Cindy groans. She had always hated that smell; it made her sick to her stomach. But, it meant she was getting closer. She can see Atlantic City from across the bay and passes by numerous billboards for one-hit wonder bands performing at the Borgata. If she could go her entire life without seeing the shore again, she would in a heartbeat. It brought back memories. Old, awful memories that still seemed new even after fifty years, and she'd rather not relive again.

Perhaps, if she did retire, she'd move down to Nevada with Garfield. He was a lazy bastard, he'd love lounging around in the sun all day. Besides, it would be nice to get away from the snow. The East Coast was always hit the hardest with snowstorms, and she would never miss living through a polar vortex.

The classic rock station she had been listening to since starting her drive begins to turn to static, and with a groan, she changes the station. Of course, she lets out another exasperated sigh when the generic summer pop hit of the year by Bieber plays throughout the car, and for a moment she's tempted to turn the radio off. Nope, it was probably best to leave it on. She could stay awake out of sheer spite. You know you're getting close to the shore when the radio turns to complete shit.

Thankfully, she's not going to Wildwood, per say, but right outside of it. There had been an accident by the bridge connecting the Woods to Ocean City, and apparently, it fit with the case she was on. She was skeptical. Wildwood was a hotspot for teenagers, and with teenagers came alcohol, and with alcohol came drunk driving, and there would always be accidents. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a disappointment. The officer on the other line sounded shaken up when they last spoke an hour ago.

The bright, flashing lights of police cars and ambulances are the signal that she's arrived at her destination. She turns her head for a second as it burns her eyes, and she pulls over further away to avoid a migraine. Cindy gets out of the car and strolls across the highway confidently. She's in charge now.

A cop calls over, asking in a sarcastic tone what the hell she was doing here, and is silenced when she flipped her badge. She loved doing that. It was probably her favorite part of the job. Nothing made her feel more powerful than watching these cops squirm when they tried anything. He lets her go on her way with a mumbled apology as he lowers his hat, embarrassed.

Most of the other officers are down below the bridge on the shore of the bay. It's a bit of a hike; she has to try not to fall down the steep hill, which was somewhat daunting when wearing heels. She liked looking good when working. But, she's Cindy Meltzer, and she can do anything. At least, that's what her old man used to say. Thankfully, she does make it down without breaking a heel or ankle

Smoke. Cindy could see the smoke from the top of the hill, but it's only when she gets to the bottom does she see just how bad it is. She coughs a bit; it's absolutely suffocating. The source of it is a Toyota Highlander smashed into one of the piers of the bridge. It must have been recently on fire given the small fire crew standing by.

"Ah, you're Agent Meltzer, correct?"

She turned her head to see an older officer with a bit of a beer belly and a salt and pepper mustache. He briskly walked over and held out his hand. "Sergeant John McKinley. Thank God you showed up."

"Thank you for calling me," Cindy replied, shaking his hand. "It was you who called me, right?"

"Yep. Sorry, I know how long the drive is-"

"No, no, it was fine. Traffic wasn't horrible." She looked out at the car. "Is this it?"

McKinley frowned. "Yeah. Listen, I'm just gonna warn you right now that it's bad in there. Like, I got some men here vomiting it's that bad."

"It takes a lot to phase me, Sarge," Cindy replied. "Let me see the crime scene."

McKinley motioned her forward with a sigh. "We got the coroner looking at it now," he began as they made their way over to the car. "She's never seen anything like this before, and she's been on the job for nearly twenty-five years."

"Want to give me some details on who our victims are?" Cindy asked.

"David and Kiera Banks: they're a couple from North-East Philly. At least, that's what we got from their ID's." He paused. "Their bodies are unrecognizable."

"They have a daughter, right?"

"Yeah, they have a little girl named June, but she's gone."

Cindy raised a brow. "Gone?"

"She's not in her carseat," McKinley said. "There's some blood on the sides that they're taking back for testing, but we don't know if it's hers or not." He took off his hat and ran a hand through his balding gray hair. "We got the Coast Guard out here looking for a body. The sun roof on the car is open, though, so maybe she unbuckled herself when they crashed and was washed away-"

"Don't waste their time," Cindy interrupted coolly.

The older man's eyes widen. "Waste of time?" he cried. "How the hell is it a waste of time?"

"It'll be difficult to explain until I talk to the coroner, but trust me, you're not going to find her."

A short Hispanic woman stepped out of the car with an ashen, solemn face and shaking hands. Sergeant McKinley patted her shoulder. "I know, Rosa, it's a rough one for all of us."

Rosa shook her head, causing some loose strands of black hair to fall from her tight bun. "No, no, it's not that," she said. "I'm confused. None of this makes any sense."

"What doesn't make any sense?" Cindy stopped. "Sorry, I haven't introduced myself. Agent Cindy Meltzer."

"Rosa Garcia. I'm the coroner." She meekly smiled, but it came out seeming more like she was fighting back tears. "Here, I'll show you what's going on." She adjusted her glasses, frowning. "Just giving you a heads up, it is fucked in there."

Cindy huffed. "I'm sure it is."

Fucked was not the way Cindy would describe the image she got the second the car door opened. No, when the smoke cleared out and she could see the scope of it, the only term she could come up with was FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition. Immediately, the smell of burnt flesh hit her nostrils, and she gagged. It can be said that a lot of grilled things smell like chicken, but human beings weren't one of them. Sergeant McKinley has to take a step back.

There in the front seat are, or what was, David and Kiera Banks. She can't even tell them apart, that's how charred they are. They're pitch black, burnt to a crisp. Some bits of melted skin plop off an arm of one of the corpses and hit the floor. Cindy can only pray that the coffee she had earlier decides to not revisit. God, she'd need to bleach her eyeballs to unsee that shit.

She leans forward, doing her best to avoid the bodies, and begins to go through the backseat of the car. McKinley's findings about the sunroof being opened is the understatement of the century. Cindy quickly moves her hands away when she feels a shard of glass. It nearly slices her fingers.

The sunroof is busted open. There's some glass still attached barely, but something- or someone- must have crashed down. She knows what could have done this. There's only one thing that could cause this much damage, and she doesn't want to believe it true.

Then, there's the matter of the little Disney Princess themed booster seat. It's unlatched just as McKinley said, so he wasn't wrong about that, and she can see the dried up blood on the sides. Something on the other seat, not too far from June's chair, catches her eye. Cindy goes into her pockets, puts on some gloves, and picks it up, examining it with a small flashlight.

A child's fingernail.

Cindy's brows furrowed. "These have to be June's."

"You think?" McKinley asked.

"Who else's could they be?" Cindy rolled her eyes. "The blood on the seat must be hers."

Rosa nervously coughed in her fist. "The corpses are unusual. I've never seen anything like it before, and that's saying something."

"What's a matter with them?"

"Well, they died of extreme burns," Rosa began. "I think we all know that happened, but here's the odd part: they were dead before the car even crashed."

McKinley blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Given the state of their bodies and the scorch marks on the front of the car, there was some kind of explosion that caused the crash," Rosa stated.

"How?"

"I don't know," she frowned. "We got the arson team on their way, but I can't find anything that could have triggered an explosion. No cigarettes, alcohol, lighters, nothing."

Cindy stood up and walked out of the scene, staring out at the choppy bay waters. She closed her eyes and exhaled as she felt a familiar panic begin to form in her stomach. The cold salty air brings her back to claustrophobic, flooded corridors, terrifying, deformed monsters, and him. It always went back to him. Her knight in shining armor, the man who sparked a love of codes and detective work, and who never gave up on her even after her mother lost all hope: her father.

For fifty years, she thought it had been over.

"Agent Meltzer?" McKinley's voice brings her back to reality and she takes a shaky breath, desperate to maintain composure.

"Yes?"

"You alright?"

She scoffed. "Of course," she replied. "This has just been a hard one."

"So, what do you think happened?"

"I think they were driving," she started. "I think they were driving across the bridge when someone crashed down, broke the sunroof, and killed the parents." Cindy took another breath. "From there, the suspect grabbed June. She was gripping onto her seat, though. She held on for dear life to the point her nails ripped off."

"Who do you think did it?" McKinley asked. "One of them super powered freaks?"

"I don't know."

Boy, was that a lie.

Cindy began to make her way up the hill, back to her car. "Thank you for calling me, Sarge."

"Does it fit with your case?"

"Oh, yes. Yes it does." She went into her pocket and grabbed her keys. "I have some paperwork to file, but if anymore evidence pops up, make sure to give me a call."

"Will do, agent. Take care."

"You too, Sarge."

Her living room was a mess. The whole house looked as if a bomb went off, but her living room got the worse of it. Papers, manila folders, newsprint clippings, and photographs littered her coffee table. Cindy, with her mug of cocoa in hand, sighed and placed it down on the lamp table instead. She really had to organize her work better.

Garfield brushes up against her leg before jumping on the couch to lay beside her. She reached over and petted the orange tabby. "Sorry I was home late, buddy," she murmured. "There was another incident that I had to go check out."

Garfield blinks lazily at her.

"I'm worried. This is the third disappearance this weekend and it's all coming from the shores." She frowned. "It's happening again, and I thought it was over. As much as I try to deny it, I know there's only one explanation. Rapture."

He meows.

"Yeah, I know, you don't give a shit," she chuckled. "I just need someone to talk to."

Garfield flicked his tail and stuck his tongue out.

Cindy picked up the remote and turned on her television. "Must be nice being a cat- not being able to give a shit about anything. I mean, you do nothing all day while I have to work my ass off." She flicked through the channels. "Sure they're talking about the Banks family right now," she said as she switched to Channel 6.

Sure enough, they were. A beautiful, blonde reporter stood outside of Morey's Pier, addressing the camera with a fake smile on her face that would've been wiped off if she saw what was in the car last night. "We're here outside of Morey's Pier in Wildwood, New Jersey, where what was supposed to be a fun night on the boardwalk turned into a nightmare for the Banks family. Thirty-five-year-olds David and Kiera Banks from Philadelphia were found dead in their car by the bridge with fourth-degree burns, their five-year-old daughter June is missing."

The reporter continued on. "Coast Guard is currently on the lookout, but so far haven't found anything. But, that's not the only news that's happened here tonight." The camera turned to two teenage boys, both with eyes like saucers. "Fifteen-year-olds Peter Parker and Ned Leeds from Queens, New York, were out having the time of their life on the boardwalk last night when they saw a monster thought to be just a part of internet lore until seeing a surge in popularity and supposed sightings this summer. The Mariner." She held her microphone out to the larger boy. "You want to tell us what happened?"

He glanced around the pier, swallowing nervously. "W-We were out… We kinda stopped to take a break because Peter got wet on a water ride, and it kinda looked like he peed himself-"

The other teenager, presumably Peter, lightly elbows his arm. "Dude!"

"So, like, we were drying him off, and we were looking out at the ocean," he mumbles, and the microphone is shoved further into his face. "But, like we couldn't see anything because it was night, but we were hoping we'd see some dolphins, and we saw this thing-person running into the ocean, and we think it was the Mariner, and it was scary, yeah." The kid rambles for a moment before grinning, a bead of sweat drips down his forehead. "Hi, mom."

The reporter rolls her eyes as Peter begins to speak. "We were just looking at dolphins." Of course, the first thing he'd do is save his dignity. "It was a person. The thing we saw running into the water was a person, I think." He held his arm up over his head. "It was so tall-"

"Like Slenderman!" his friend chimes in. "Except not!"

"Yeah, yeah, exactly!" Peter cried. "Had to be over six feet tall, with long, creepy limbs, and it was glowing red!"

"What do you mean by it glowing red?" the reporter asked.

"It was wearing a helmet; kinda looked like an old, deep-sea diver, but its porthole was glowing red!"

"Now, you took a picture of this, so we're going to go pull it up here." The screen shifted to a picture of Peter and his friend at a Halloween store dressed up as Captain America and Iron Man, ready to duke it out. "Well, that's not what we're looking for…"

"Oh God, are you on my Instagram?"

Finally, an extremely blurred photo popped up on screen; a dark blob with a red dot near the water. The reporter chuckled. "It's very hard to make out. I kind of don't know what I'm looking at here…"

"That's the Mariner!" the other boy said. "That's what we saw."

"I'm not the best at taking photos."

"You know, you're not the only one who saw this creature. People all the way down in Florida have reported seeing this exact same thing, have provided nearly the same quality as your picture for evidence, or are found just to be teenagers in costume. Seems whenever a child goes missing, there's a so-called 'sighting', but we've got no solid proof of it's existence. I would say there's more evidence of it not being real."

Peter's brows furrow. "Are you saying we're making this up? Because we know what we saw, and that thing was definitely the real deal."

"I'm just saying it's suspicious, that's all." The reporter suddenly went back into her fake grin. "Alright, we're going to cut back to the weather. Thank you so much for your time, say goodbye, boys!" The larger boy waved at the camera while Peter pouted, mad as hell.

"Hi mom!"

Cindy shut off the T.V. and ran a hand through her short, graying blonde hair. This confirmed it, then. That red orb, the diving suit, the lanky, skeletal features, it was all coming back to her. She could remember seeing them peer over her when she was six-years-old, sleeping in bed at her parent's shore house in Long Island. Their long, petite hands snatching her out of bed, covering her mouth before she could let out a scream.

Oh God, it was happening again.

The phone rings. She stumbles over to the kitchen, nearly tripping over her own feet, and picks it up. "Hello?" She cringed at her voice cracking.

"Yes, is this Cindy Meltzer?" a thick German voice comes on the line.

Cindy frowned. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"You may not remember me, but I certainly remember you." There's a harsh cough. "The last time I saw you, you were but a Little One."

This voice… Cindy had heard it before once a lifetime ago. It took a minute, but then it hit her. "Tenenbaum?" she gasped.

"Ah, so you do remember me after all."

"It's been fifty years since I've seen you. I had no idea you were alive," Cindy said.

The doctor chuckled. "Sometimes, I wonder how I am myself." Her tone went grim. "I suppose you know why I called you, correct?"

"Is this about what I think it is?"

"The missing Little Ones? You are working on the case, yes?"

Cindy's brows furrowed. "How do you know about my case?"

"Just as I thought. You are." Cindy could hear the shuffling of feet. "Given the personal connection to it, I assumed you had taken the case as one last hurrah before you retired. You are not exactly a spring chicken, Ms. Meltzer."

"Neither are you," she scoffed. "You got to be in your eighties now-"

"I'm ninety-three."

Cindy's eyes widened. "Damn. Congratulations."

"Someone is making new Little Ones, continuing my sins. After fifty years, I thought it was over… I-I thought no more children would suffer." Tenenbaum sounded on the verge of tears. "I wish I hadn't lived to see it. So many good people I have met left before me. I suppose this is a punishment."

"Does this nightmare ever end?" Cindy asked.

"Not until Rapture is destroyed, I am afraid not. You have seen the news, yes?"

"Photos of those damn monsters are hitting social media. I'm going to go into the hashtag on Twitter later and check it out."

Tenenbaum sighed. "A Big Sister. The ones back in Rapture would be older than you at this point, so they must be new ones. Missing teenage girls, perhaps? This is a mess. One big mess." The elderly woman's no doubt tapping her foot. She always did that when she got nervous, which down in Rapture, was often. "I would go back down to rescue them, but I am too old- too weak to protect them. We had barely gotten out alive before."

"Do you want me to go down? I will."

"You may be good with a gun, Agent Meltzer, but the Splicers will easily overpower you. You will need a whole team down there."

Cindy scoffed. "What, like the Avengers?"

There's silence.

"Please tell me you're not serious here."

"SHIELD is working for the UN now and I doubt they will show any interest in it," Tenenbaum began. "I do not like Tony Stark; he reminds me of men like Ryan and Sinclair, but if he finds out about Rapture, I know he will intervene." She takes a breath. "I have kept Rapture a secret for so long. The only ones who believe it are conspiracy nuts, it is possible to get him to believe."

"How?"

"I live up near Hoboken. It isn't too much of a drive for you, so I hope you can come up to my house tomorrow. I will explain my plan then."

"Wait, what kind of plan are we talking about here-"

And she hung up.

Fantastic.

"Can you believe them? They asked to report anything weird and we did, so what do they do? They make fun of us!"

"Look on the bright side, Pete. Your Instagram is, like, blowing up right now. You got so many new followers!"

"Most of them are porn bots, Ned."

"They're still followers, though."

Peter Parker took a bite of one of his fries. This summer had been exceptionally slow, in fact probably the slowest one yet; which shouldn't have been possible given that he was Spider-Man. Aunt May was coming around to his superhero identity. Okay, he was grounded for a good month after she found out, and she threatened to murder Mr. Stark, but she was coming around. She even let him go out to fight crime on school nights and packed snacks for him with little supportive notes! He had to be back at the apartment by nine on week days and eleven on weekends, but he wasn't going to complain. Aunt May would only take his suit if his grades slipped again, and Peter wasn't going to let that happen. In fact, he was doing even better than ever. Final report card was all A+'s! The school just thought he was going through a rough time as all teenagers did.

Spider-Man did nothing but combat the same petty thieves, rowdy gang-members, and questionable men lurking about in alley ways. He had wanted this, he told Mr. Stark after being offered to join the Avengers, and he was starting to regret his decision. At the time, he had just been so drained from Toomes that he wanted to slow down, but he had forgotten how banal working on the streets could be. After being stuck in Queens for so long, that taste of something more at Leipzig, D.C., and Coney Island gave Peter an itch that helping old ladies across the street couldn't.

But, the last time he tried to do more, it backfired epically, and he'd like to keep his distance from Mr. Stark for the time being. Ned couldn't fathom it. "You got offered to be in the greatest superhero team on Earth, and you turn it down?" he said after choking on his drink when Peter had broken the news to him. He thankfully understood, though. The little guys needed someone fighting for them, and no matter how much Peter earned for duking it out against super-villains, they needed him.

Also, their hero-worship of Mr. Stark was dampened pretty significantly. What did the older man see of him? Was he a mentor, or was he using him for his own gain? After never talking to him for months after Leipzig, giving him such vague advice and Happy never answering his calls or texts, Peter didn't know what to think. Then, he didn't listen to him and took his suit, forced him to fight Vulture alone and then the building came down and…

Would Mr. Stark have even cared if he died that night?

"Peter?" Ned pokes his arm, his brows furrowed in concern. "Peter, you alright, dude?"

He nodded shakily. "Y-Yeah, I-I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Ned says, taking a sip of his soda. Of course, he's not convinced. They've been best friends since kindergarten and he could read him better than anyone besides Aunt May. He was a master at knowing when Peter was full of bullshit.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

The Filipino boy's mouth turned into a thin, straight line. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"

"What?"

"When Toomes dropped the building on you."

Peter's breath hitched and he looked around the tiny pizzeria they were currently at, hoping no one else heard. "N-No! Ned, you gotta keep quiet about this!"

"Sorry, sorry, I got a big, fat mouth, but…" Ned stared down at his slice of pizza with a frown. "You've been, like, zoning out lately- all jittery. Just not being you, y'know?"

"Have you seen me? I'm anxiety personified."

"Dude, you freaked out last night on the Ghost Ship ride. They had to escort you out when you got in the claustrophobia room."

"So?" Peter snapped. "It was tight in there, alright?"

"You loved the Ghost Ship before."

Peter played with his food, his eyes never meeting his best friend. Ned didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be stuck with a complete mess like him for a friend. Didn't deserve to act as his therapist or face suspension for him or risk his life for him. Ned should've had cooler friends; ones who didn't use him as an emotional crutch and give him premature gray hairs.

"I-I just want to forget about it. I want it to stop scaring me, but I can't." he finally mutters.

Ned puts his hand, which is pretty damn greasy from his pizza, on the other's shoulder. "You need to talk to someone about it. Like, an actual adult, though, because this is something I can't fix."

"Like who?" he asked. "A shrink? Because if they find out I'm Spider-Man they could leak it out and if I tell Aunt May she'll have a heart attack-"

"I'm pretty sure there are laws against that," Ned interrupted before pausing. "Sorry. What about Mr. Stark?"

"You think he'll care?" Peter scoffed.

He shrugged. "I don't know maybe?"" Ned took a bite of his pizza. "Listen, I've found out that so many of the people I've liked and admired have been total assholes. JonTron? Can't watch his videos anymore-"

"Oh, yeah."

"Michael Jordan? I don't want to believe the stories because I fucking love Space Jam," he continued with a mouth full of food. "After everything Tony Stark did to you, all signs point to him being a douche-bag, but, like, I don't want to accept he is, you know?" Ned frowned. "Everyone else on the decathlon team was Team Cap and I stood by him even when they mocked me for it. I can't let MJ have the last laugh here."

Peter sighed. "Maybe I'll give Happy a call later. At least he answers my texts, like, twice a week."

"Can you believe we saw the Mariner last night?" Ned asked after taking a sip of his soda. He must have wanted to change the subject; hope to get Peter's mind off of Stark drama. He always did have a bad habit of hyper-focusing on his troubles.

"Too bad we couldn't have gotten a good enough photo. Maybe then those news guys would have believed us."

"Ignore them!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table and getting some stares. "We saw the Mariner with our own two eyes! I thought it was just a creepypasta, but we saw him! Twitter was right!"

"Listen, with the things I've seen, anything is possible," Peter replied.

"He was so tall!" Ned held his arms out. "He was, like, seven foot!" He nearly whacked a waiter. "Oh, sorry!" he apologized, ignoring the waiter's glare.

Peter nibbled on another fry. "Some of those 'sightings', though are definitely fake. I've seen so many where they're, like, short and you can tell it's a cosplay. The light in their helmet is red, not green. Anything for retweets, I guess."

"But, it's so creepy because whenever someone claims they see them, a little girl disappears, and what happened? This couple got murdered and their kid is gone! Just like the original story!" Ned put a hand on his chest. "We saw that around the time they died. I am shook."

"It could be like the killer clown thing again." Peter hummed to himself and put a hand to his chin. "One guy is murdered by a clown, and the next thing you know, everyone and their mother 'bumps' into one. If the Mariner is kidnapping these girls and this is real, no one's going to believe it with all this fake evidence." He scowled. "Like that news lady. Someone needs to investigate this."

Ned's eyes lit up. "Like Spider-Man?"

"O-Oh, I don't know, dude. This might be a little too big for Spider-Man," Peter said, his voice cracking slightly.

"You took down the Vulture-"

He hushed the other. "Dude! The Vulture was an arms dealer," he whispered, "not a creepy monster who lives in the ocean! I don't have a rebreather in my suit!"

"Maybe call Tony?"

"What can he do? Everyone believes it's a hoax and he might, like, need the UN's permission or something to investigate, and they'd all think we're scared kids. Besides, why would he care? It's not an alien invasion or anything, just a bunch of missing girls and a creepypasta like Slender-Man. Didn't seem to care too much about Toomes... said it was below his pay grade..."

Ned's face fell. "T-They're little kids, though. Everyone cares about little kids, right?"

"I do. And if I could, I would find them and bring them home, but I-I don't know where this thing is coming from and what its motives are."

"Maybe so, but these occurrences have a pattern to it." Ned pulled out his phone and went to the Twitter app. "See, the last disappearance was in Ocean City, Maryland on Sunday, and June went missing on Tuesday. The Mariner, well, I think it's the Mariner, was spotted in Ocean City that same night, just as we spotted it the night of the murder!"

Peter's brows furrowed. "They're hitting every other day. Today's Wednesday, so that means tomorrow night…"

"Another girl is going to go missing." The other boy continued to scroll down his feed. "The question is where, though?"

"The first sighting and kidnapping were at Florida, right?"

"Yeah, Miami."

"And then they moved up to Georgia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey…" Peter's eyes widened. "New York! They're hitting New York tomorrow night!"

Ned took a shaky breath. "Oh, thank God my uncle's taking us home today," he murmured.

"Now, if I was going to kidnap a little girl, where would I go?"

"You might want to lower your volume," Ned said, noticing a ginger couple in another booth staring them down intently. "I don't want to have the police on us-"

"Answer the question!"

"Well, I guess i-if I was going to kidnap a child, which I would never do, I would go to Coney Island. It's an amusement park, there are tons of kids there."

"Exactly!" Peter cried. "Okay, okay, maybe Spider-Man can do this after all."

"Think of the children!"

"Yeah, I got to think of the children!"

They high-fived. "You got this!" Ned grinned from ear to ear. "You got this! Watch out Mariner, Spider-Man's going to fuck your shit up."

"You mean, we're going to fuck them up. This wouldn't be possible without my guy in the chair!" Peter jokingly punched his shoulders. "You're a genius, you know that?"

"Oh, stop it!"

"You are, you really are!"

"You're making me blush!"

"It's the truth. I'm speaking the truth-"

They stop their horseplay when they see the waiter standing over them, his eyes narrowed and with an expression that he was completely done with life entirely. The older Italian man sighed as he handed them the check. "Don't have to worry about your bill, boys. It's already been paid for."

Ned gasped. "Paid? By who?"

"Maybe it's your uncle-"

"Those two over there decided to foot the bill, for whatever reason." The waiter pointed over to the ginger couple that had been gawking at them before. "Should thank them."

"Holy shit," Ned beamed. "That was really nice of them!"

"Yeah, they didn't have to do that. We would have paid," Peter said as the two stood up, making their way over to the booth. There were so many people crammed in the pizzeria that they had to dodge several waiters and nearly knocked over some poor woman's drink, but they eventually made it over without accidentally causing a scene. When they could finally get a good look at the Good Samaritans, though, they did a double take.

They looked like something out of the pictures in their history textbook: the man wore an old fashioned suit with his neatly coiffed hair, and she had on a similar outfit with a skirt, shirtwaist, and vest. Her hair was up in a perfect bun, which should have been impossible given how ungodly it was. Seriously, how were they not drenched? Peter only had on shorts and a t-shirt and he was dying. They looked far too fancy to be eating at a pizza joint.

Both the man and woman blinked up at the teenagers with a dull, bored expression; as if they had been here before or were too good for this place. And, yeah, maybe they were. Finally, the woman speaks, her British accent making Peter immediately think of the Queen. "They still haven't said anything."

"Don't worry, they will... eventually."

"I suppose so."

Oh, this was awkward.

Thankfully, Ned stepped forward. "The waiter said you paid for our food…" He twiddled his thumbs anxiously. "T-That was really nice of you guys. Y-You didn't have to do that, but you did, and it made our day!"

The woman scoffs. "I did not pay for your food. My brother did. I see no point in paying."

Ned's smile faltered. "Oh."

"Now, my dear sister, there is always a point in paying forward," the man replied to his twin.

"And what is that?"

"Because they will pay me back."

Ned and Peter glanced at each other.

"Pay you back?" the lady asked quizzically. "Why, there's no point in the good deed then when you are simply getting your money back."

He shook his head. "There is a point. I get the satisfaction of being paid back tenfold." The gentleman watched as Peter dug out his wallet. "Put it away."

"You wanted me to pay you back, though."

"Yes, but not yet. You are both indebted to me, but I will not be satisfied with instant gratification and barely anything in return."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Instant gratification might be the only possible gratification you will get, brother. Who is to say they will be alive to even return the favor."

Ned's lips were pursed. "What?"

"I suppose I will have to take the chance, something you seem to have a problem with."

"There is a difference between taking a chance, and being a fool," she replied. "I choose not to be a fool."

"Am I a fool?"

"You are acting like one"

"Then, is it not fair for me to say that you are also a fool?"

"Everyone is a fool but yourself."

Ned coughed into his fist and grabbed Peter's arm. "Uh, so thank you for paying for our food, and your costumes are really cool, but we're going to go now-"

"Wait!" the gentleman called, causing them to halt. "May we ask you a quick question?"

"Sure?" the teenage boys said in unison.

"Heads-"

"Or tails," the woman finished, tossing a coin to Peter.

Ned answered immediately with "duh, tails," while it took the other a while to come up with an answer. Finally, he exhaled and flipped the quarter, watching it land on the table. "Heads."

The man sighed while the woman chuckled. "Tails. Do not be a sore loser, Robert."

"I am not."

"If anyone has the right to be a sore loser it's me," his sister said. "I never find this as rewarding as I like it to be."

"Chin up, dear sister, there's always next time," he replied as the two friends ran out of the pizzeria, into the busy crowds of the boardwalk.

Ned shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts, glancing back inside as he tried to get one last look at the couple. "Those guys were weird as hell. Sick cosplay, though."

"Ned, hey, I can't complain. They paid for our food."

"That is new."

"What dear, Rosalind?"

"They think of us as odd. Better than the last time, I suppose."

Robert dabbed on his pizza with a napkin. "I do quite like this Peter Parker boy." He picked it up, holding it away from his face with a cringe. "His friend Ned seems to be a nice fit for him. Children need companions."

"We had no friends growing up and we came out perfectly adjusted adults," Rosalind said as she stirred her soda. "Of course, it is hard being a teenager today. The joys of youth." She cocked her head to the side, raising a brow when Robert nearly gagged. "Is there something wrong with your food?"

He dropped the slice; it landed on the plate with squelch, that turned his pale complexion green. "Too greasy."

"I think it's perfect." She took a bite of her own pizza. "In fact, I don't think it's greasy enough."

"You were complaining about the pizza last time."

"Yes, last time. We shall always get pizza, no matter how much I tire of it at this point it is a constant, but the state of which I will receive it is the variable."

"Peter Parker is a constant," Robert began, "but he is also a variable."

She scoffed. "For someone called Spider-Man, he is not much of a spider or man. At least the others had the latter going for them."

"The last Peter pelvic thrusted in the doorway of a tailor shop."

"You're right, brother, but his piano and dance skills were sublime. I think you're just jealous he played better than you." Rosalind winked.

He laughed. "Oh, believe me, I am not jealous of him. I felt more pity… and second-hand embarrassment whenever I looked at him."

"Death was mercy."

"I think everything will work out this time, Rosalind."

"You said that before."

"I said that before Peter made a fool of himself in that godforsaken club. No wonder things ended how they did-"

"For the best?"

"In death and destruction," Robert finished, slightly irritated.

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Young Peter is determined to do what's right no matter how much danger is thrown at him, absolutely foolish. It will bring his premature end. And the girl? Who is to say we will not be dealing with an antichrist instead of a messiah."

"We will just have to wait and see."

"I am bored of waiting. Waiting has caused us nothing but irritation."

"Patience is a virtue, my dear sister."

"A virtue when you know there is a chance of success. There is no chance of success after knowing you have failed so many times."

He wiped his hands with the napkin. "Perhaps, we should debate this over mini-golf."

"You always win."

"Well, if you're going to be a sore loser about this, perhaps we can continue sitting here all day."

"I am not a sore loser, I am a sore winner," Rosalind replied.

"And yet I am also the sore loser and winner."

There's a scream from outside and they both turn their heads. "Ah, there are the gulls."

"It was inevitable for Peter to cross paths with them eventually."

"One of the few things that never gets old, brother."