Peter Parker stared at the picture in his hand.
Crazy. Just crazy.
Crime was down. While in the circumstances he would usually be glad that Spider-Man, Daredevil, The Fantastic Four, The Avengers and numerous other back alley heroes were doing their jobs (the X Men didn't go out of their way to fight actual crime that much, so they didn't count) those guys didn't have incomes that depended on meta humans beating the hell out of each other and the surrounding buildings.
The Sinister Six was mostly in jail or lying low, and Dr Doom and Magneto were either six feet under or pretending to be on the seventh foot. And he was taking MJ to dinner.
Probably not the best thing to do on below a shoe string's budget (not that bad, but exaggerating made him feel better). While Robbie would be tolerant if not sympathetic, Jameson needed little in the way off smearing Spider-Man's ass across the menace themed front page, but more than jewel store robberies to pay top dollar. Figured. Peter couldn't blame him though.
Who in the hell robbed jewellery stores anymore? That and Spider-Man wasn't even in half the pictures. Not doing anything exciting anyway. Robbing the place by the gospel according to Jameson, yeah, but mainly just crouching there, looking at the thugs. Who had been slightly more cut up than bruised. Not total Wolverine style bloodshed, but one guy had a definite tear in his shirt too clean to come from any dirty fighting.
And the cause of it was staring him in the face right now. All four of it. Caught when his auto camera panned to the left a little further than it should (Note to self, get some decent materials soon, peanut butter does not a good webbing substitute ingredient make). He'd thought he'd seen something bolt out of the alley around the side as he'd come down, even looked around for a while before snapping the quick pics and webbing the thugs from a streetlight as per regulation Spidey/cop procedure before they started shooting at him for doing their job and in a better uniform to boot.
He'd kept this one, feeling a little guilty about that, but putting this on the front page made him feel a little bit more guilty at what he might do than what he had done. His career hadn't seen many mutants outside of Xavier's circle, but those that did preferred to be left alone. These guys had their reasons.
The scientist in Peter noted the reptilian qualities, the armour (Is that natural? Maybe some kind of growth rather than actual material? ), the leather padding (Ditto.) ,the eyes ( That's meta human style blank, probably the result of more muscle development in the limbs if Reed Richard's latest paper is to be believed…), the toned muscles (Again, natural or developed? Are they in the car over the head capacity or just Olympic level?), and the shells(Enough for a serious coffee addict. Bullet proof? The plating looks tight enough, although it seems to be different for each one. Hard to tell. Maybe if I had a better light source. Or an actual specimen. Maybe ultra sound could determine the density…).
The New Yorker in Peter noted the weapons (Hate to be the turkey at that thanksgiving party.).
So…what? Friends or foes?
Did it even matter? Freaky or not, Manhattan island was only so big. Million to one chances of there being million to one chances of him seeing these guys again. Superheroes were one thing, if he hadn't heard of these guys before it was because the mother ship had just touched down or they didn't want to be heard of at all.
Coming to it, Peter didn't want to hear the cry of the great blue Mrs Muggin's and all this rent he supposedly owed her. MONSTER STALK SEWERS! was hardly a page turner, page seven at best and worth as much unless the Skrull or the Kree invaded soon, but money was money. A quarter of what he'd need, yeah, but hey, food and heat weren't that great, right?
He'd think about it later. Right now, a shower with the last of his warm water, fresh clothes, a dab of that aftershave Aunt May had sent over last Christmas and then off to have dinner with a beautiful woman. Provided bread and water were free.
Spider Sense.
He hated when it went off and no one was there. Ever since the whole Hobgoblin affair it made him edgy. And it should to. The damn thing wouldn't stop buzzing until he found the reason. Then there were other things to consider.
Probably armed…dosen't feel hostile but that can change…feels like watching..
Pins and needles ran down his spine and up his brain, inside, outside, up, down…
Too many different directions…too big to be one signal…fells like…four?
The lights going out surprised him so much he only realised the photo had still been in his hand when it wasn't there.
"Got it!"
A Spider Sense buzz, incoming, fast. Peter's hand darted out, and he caught the small plastic whatever it was.
This turned out to be a mistake. Because when the smoke capsule did go off, it went off in close proximity to his face. By the time his lungs were clear the lights were back on and the apartment was empty. He couldn't open the closet door fast enough.
--
"We got it! We got it!"
Leonardo held off rolling his eyes until he had successfully completed his leap from one rooftop to the other. Raphael didn't.
"A little louder Mike, don't think they heard ya in the village."
"Easy Raph." he muttered, arms looped around a drain pipe to the lower roof, already beginning the slide down to the roof alive with steaming air vents and bulky air conditioning units just begging to be used as cover. Don followed, flanking him as Raph opted simply for lunging for the bone thin aerial bolted to the adjacent chimney. He took the lead, shell scraping roof gravel as he rolled with the reduced impact of his slowed descent. He checked the semi busy intersection running alongside the series of roofs ahead, motioned the all clear, and flipped over the ledge, checking over his shoulder as he ran. Leonardo returned his nod, slowing to take up position behind Mike. He gave his brother a proud smile, motioning for him to keep his head low. Excitement threatened to overrun caution, fate having been kind enough to make the excitable turtle the one to grab the photo (still clutched tightly in his right hand like the Ark of the Covenant itself), but they were unused to the low Chelsea apartment roofs. In early evening light no less. Making the news after actually going to the trouble of tracking down a photographer who got lucky and who they'd never have known about if Don hadn't turned to check on that thumping sound over the sirens and seen the flash, hours of arguing over whether to not tell Master Splinter (his idea) or just find the photographer who lived closest to the area and hope (Raph's much better idea), trawling through an hour of computer records, and actually stealing the photo back? Not good for the ninja track record.
Now? A stop over near April's for some sewer access, the trip home to get their faces straight, order out for some well deserved dinner, and what the old rat didn't know wouldn't have the opportunity to beat them up side the head.
"Ease off Raph." Don cut in, a little late. "Nice work Mike. That Parker guy never saw you coming."
Mike's grin faltered a little, like a fading pond ripple.
"Y'know man…I keep thinking I've heard that name before…"
"Chopped sushi…ho!"
An impossibly limp, primary colored figure arced overhead, landing in front of them with alien grace but definite force. Lithe but definite muscle straightened up, white lenses unsettling neutral and scarlet in the evening glow, as the second most recognised superhuman on the planet stood up in front of the mutants. With swords and nunchucks. Who had just broken into somebody's apartment. Looked like Pizza Hut would have to wait.
Mike gulped. Really.
"Now I remember."
Raph drew his sai.
"Oh good, the peanut gallery."
Spider-Man rolled an arm experimentally, almost jovial.
"Cut to the quick. And here was going to give you guys a ten second head start. Y'know, because for turtles you guys move pretty fast. Are you turtles? I can't tell, the masks are in the way. Gotta say the Lizard's got a weird sense of timing to be springing for henchmen. So what are you guys anyway? Aliens? Mutants? Out of work actors? Come on tell me your secret origin, I'll tell you mine."
He took a step forward. Leonardo unsheathed both weapons, placing the right hand one at an angle that stopped Raph doing something stupid, waiting for the familiar wooden clatter as Mike and Don drew their own weapons. Now maybe they could do something stupid.
"Oh, you're a street theatre group, I get it! Say do you guys do barmitsphas? Cause I know this one guy…"
The young, up beat voice died out slowly as if the batteries had suddenly been removed, head fixed on something facing away from them. Each head turned to take in the electronics store window, the large blinking neon numbers of the tacky giant clock.
5:45
A gloved finger pointed.
"Is that accurate?"
Don checked the customised watch under his wrist strap.
"Uh…yeah?"
Spider-Man looked at them. Then looked at the clock. Them. The clock. Them. The clock. Them. The clock. Then…
"You know what…no. No. I don't care. Just…no."
A thin wrist thrust in the direction of a high rise just above them, silver unfurling through the air with a Thwip! Muscles hauled down on something flexible as rubber but taunt as an iron bar, and Spider-Man was gone, a blue shape with a giant red spider squatting on it's back in the distance.
The brothers stared at one another. Mike broke out of it first because someone had to ask the question.
"Did that just happen?"
Leonardo sheathed both weapons.
"Don't care. We're going underground. Now."
A suitable alley presented itself, a manhole glinting amidst the grim like a fifteen year olds first pimple. Leonardo kept watch as his brothers vanished, one after the other. Mike dithered around as he followed down the ladder.
"Think I could get him to sign this?"
He held up the photo.
"No." Leonardo said, dragging the cover back into place, and that was the end of that.