CHAPTER 3: A FIGHTING CHANCE
June 5th.
I headed down the hall, keeping my head down low; a habit of mine. The corners of my eyes painted a picture of shuffling feet and a dirty floor. I shifted my focus back down to my feet and watched as they trudged on without any sense of direction behind them.
Where am I…?
I lifted my head, looking around the hallway. My classroom was about 10 feet behind me to my left. A mass of students began to circle around me, trying to get to class as quickly as possible. A few grunting and complaining under their breath that I had stopped in the middle of the hallway.
Clear your head, Peter. You're only two periods into the day.
I headed backwards my class but stopped mid-turn as I spotted Mary Jane at the far end of the hall. I figured a friendly face would cheer me up. I started toward her direction when I noticed she was talking to someone else. A tall, thin guy with blonde hair. I vaguely recognized him as a junior, a year older than me or Mary Jane.
What's his name again? Derrick? Dillon? Dillon! Was that his last name or his first name...?
I looked back at MJ, her bright smile beaming at his as the two shared a laugh together, her gorgeous red hair trailing beside her head. With a disappointing sigh I turned my back and headed towards my class.
I entered my classroom, took my seat in the back of the room, and dropped my backpack to the floor, rolling out my shoulders. The speaker screamed a single jolt of static; a warning to the students that class was starting in a minute. Kids began to pour into the classroom and I watched as each one took their seat, wondering what they were thinking, what was going through their head. Whatever it was, it was most likely more pleasant than what was going through my head.
Flash Thompson entered, cradling his backpack over his good shoulder, laughing at his friend, flaunting his good looks and pearly-white teeth. His right arm hanging limply at his side within his cast and sling. I watched him, my eyes unable to remove themselves from the painful reminder of days better left in the past.
That cast…
I bared my teeth.
Stupid, stupid moron.
My fingers clamped, knuckles turning white.
Go to hell.
CRACK!
Agh! What the-?
The desk beneath me cracked subtly and I slowly removed my hands from the edges of the desk, staring at the bent wood and cracked splinters, bits and pieces of it stuck to the underside of my hands. I looked side-to-side, making sure no one had seen my bout of superhuman strength. The teacher had his back to me, preparing the lesson on the computer, and the class was still chatting about their weekend. I tore off the loose slats of desk, still dangling by strands of wood, and pressed them up against my wrists. Pressing my middle and ring finger into my palm, I let out a silent, thin strand of webbing, damping the broken edge of the desk piece and stuck it back onto the desk. I did the same to the other side. The webbing would deteriorate in about an hour, but there would be a new student in that seat which means I was free to go.
Oh, God. That was awkward…and stupid. Awkward and stupid.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Flash taking his seat and turning to speak to the student next to him. I stared at him for a while, unable to take my eyes of his finely cut hair and tan skin. My eyes bore through his forehead and I wished that, somehow, his stupid little head would explode. He looked back at me and his smile dropped. He turned away almost without thought and ignored me.
Coward.
The desk cracked again.
I can't be here. I need to leave.
xXx
The air rushing past my face, whipping my air, and flooding my ears was calm, relaxing. It brought a strange sense of serenity. My next jump sent me up thirty feet, the maze of suburban streets rolling back into the horizon, the bright, warm sun beaming high above the ground.
Too high, Peter.
The buildings in Queens were low, too low, and so I had to limit my free-run session. It pained me, but I figured it was better than not running at all. I dove across the gap between two buildings, rolled across the roof, and onto my feet. The time on my phone read 11:01 AM. I kicked at the gravel on the roof.
God dammit. I'm Peter Parker! I don't skip school. What am I doing here? I should go back…
I thought back to Flash, his arm cradled in that cast and suddenly I was outside school, landing blow-after-blow on his stupid smile. The uncomfortable warmth of his blood on my fists, the crack of his shoulder.
I looked down at my hands.
Should have worn gloves. Having his blood on my hands was gross.
I pulled out my wallet and counted the money. Thirty-four dollars in cash. The building across the street was a family-owned deli, the lights on, a man at the cashier.
Well, I am kind of hungry.
xXx
The clock on the computer glared a depressing 8:55 PM. I dropped the pencil, and my jaw, when I saw the time.
There's no way it's that late.
I extended my right leg and slid my phone out of my pocket. The phone read the same time and I sighed, exasperated. I looked down at the paper work on my desk and massaged my right hand with my left, shifting through the papers with the side of my palm. Tons and tons of crime reports, evidence reports and other police crap.
One, two, three, four…and a half. Out of nine. Not too bad…I guess.
I shook my head, running my hand through my hair and decided to call it a night. I picked up my papers, squaring them off and placed them in my briefcase. I shut my computer off and locked my desk. My shoulder knocked into the stapler as left my seat. I put the briefcase back down and dropped down to my right knee to pick up the stapler, sighing, once again. As my hand found the stapler, my eyes picked up a pair of feet stepping into my field of view.
High heels.
My eyes followed upwards as I brought myself to my feet.
Smooth, tan legs, a black skirt, an equally dark suit top wrapped tightly around a thin female frame. My eyes finally met hers and I forced myself to stay concentrated. Full lips and vivid, green eyes attached to a tan face with flowing dark, brown hair. Her make-up was light, but helped distinguish her light cheekbones and straight nose. My hand with the stapler searched blindly for the desk as I smiled and gawked at my visitor. Her whole body seemed to pop against the back-drop of yellow walls and a gray rug.
She held out her hand. "Jean DeWolfe."
I shook her hand and smiled brighter. "George Stacy."
"I know." She grinned. "New guy."
"That's me."
"What are you doing tonight?"
xXx
I pulled myself up to the window, peering into the building with the moon as my only source of light. I grasped the edge of the window and swung my legs over the edge, dropping onto a group of crates pressed up against the wall. I managed to smile at the familiar smell of the grime and rotted wood, the particles of dust dancing in the moonlight. My eyes made their way over to the garage-styled door and the embroidered steel sign nailed to the wall above it.
Warehouse 2B.
Once used as a storage garage for a man named 'Silvermane' years ago, the warehouse had been long abandoned and was now just a wasted shell of itself. Despite this, I picked it up as my own personal study spot after stumbling upon it one day after school. God only knows how many hours I spent in that dusty building, reading textbooks, doing homework. It was a 'home away from home' for me. I had assumed I would use it as a quite place to collect my thoughts after Uncle Ben died, but I never did get around to it.
I dropped from the window and onto a stack of empty crates lined up against the wall. As I jumped from the boxes to the floor, I spied my jacket sitting on a worn down table near the far wall. It's brown, felt exterior hidden beneath a silver layer of dust and dirt.
There you are.
I made my way to the jacket and picked it up, weighing it in my arms.
Why did I even get this stupid thing? It's June.
I studied the jacket, from the slightly worn sleeves to the stain on the left breast. My lip began to shake as I remembered why it was here. I remembered yelling at Uncle Ben and running from home, leaving the car next to some pharmacy that was being robbed. The look in that guys eyes as he looked at me, holding the gun to the cashiers chest. He had his life in his hands. And I just walked away. I left that man to possibly die just to hang out here and read a freaking book.
But he didn't take that man's life.
He took Uncle Ben's.
My fault.
I looked back down at the jacket, my mind recalling the final moments I shared with Uncle Ben as he lay dying in a pool of blood, the car he had come to collect long gone. The thief's filthy hands gripping the wheel at that moment. His bullet lodged in Uncle Ben's chest.
I looked down at the jacket. At the stain on the breast.
What was I thinking?
And I lost it. I spun on my heel, striking the nearest box with my kick. My foot broke straight through the rotted wood and made contact with the opposite side. I took a moment to collect my thoughts, removed my foot and dropped my jacket to the floor. Without thinking, I picked up the box with one hand, my fingers using the newly-acquired hole as a grip, and spiked it into the ground, the wood splintering into each and every direction. I took satisfaction in the rattle of wood raining from the sky, the rise and fall of my chest, the anger coursing through my veins.
Felt good.
As I straightened my back, I noticed a burned out car pressed up against the corner of the warehouse.
Could I…?
I looked down at my hands and slowly formed fists.
I ran over to the car and took a step back, admiring the rugged shape and texture of the metal. The soot and rust that had claimed it home. I took one more breath and dropped to my left knee, gripping the bottom of car frame.
One.
I tightened my grip, the metal beginning to bend beneath my fingers.
Two.
I bounced on my heels to regain my balance and warm up my legs.
Three.
I used my entire upper body, pressing my chest upward and raising my hands as high as they could go. I strained my legs to stand up as much as possible. I could feel the burning begin in my arms and my legs and to balance the weight, I slid in beneath the car, pressing my back against the bottom of it and gripping the opposite side with my free hand. My arms were now fully burning and my legs were ready to snap in two. My back was aching and my lungs were becoming unbearable. I could hear the blood rushing through my head, drowning out the world around me.
Don't pass out. Don't pass out!
I shifted on my feet again; grunting as the car suddenly felt a lot heavier and with one last effort, tossed it over my head, to my left. The car spun through the air, dirt and filth dropping from its crevasses. It landed on its roof, the sound rattling the warehouse, the broken light on the ceiling shaking. A wheel came off and rolled across the cement floor. Dust dispersed from where the car landed, clogging my throat and eyes. I coughed and sputtered-my throat trying to get rid of the dust, my lungs trying to get air-and wiped off my face. As the dust cleared, I lifted my arms slowly, flexing my biceps. They were numb, limp.
I'm going to feel that tomorrow…
Despite the aching and the fatigue, I felt good. My whole body felt lighter and the lump in my throat was smaller than before. It was relaxing.
As I began to pull myself to my feet, the click and hiss of gears started behind me. I snapped my head around, slightly startled by the sound, and noticed that the garage door to the warehouse was being rolled upwards by way of electronically controlled gears and wires. The metal sheet door disappeared, letting the late-night moon stream into the building. A short, squat man stood in the doorway, leaning in slightly. He was wearing black pants and a brown button-up shirt.
"Hey! Who's in here?" He shouted, voice echoing throughout the room.
Security. Oh, man.
I ducked behind the flipped car and looked over at my jacket lying by the open window and back over at the security guard. He was reaching for something on his belt, grunting and cursing under his breath. When he finally got it loose, I noticed it was a flashlight. I ducked slightly more behind the car.
Hiding behind a car? C'mon, Parker. Run!
The flashlight snapped on, a stream of bright white flooding the center of the building, creating a divider between me and my jacket.
"One more time! Who's there?" He shouted again, taking a step into the warehouse.
I jumped the car, using my arms to get me across and sliding my feet between them. I bolted across the warehouse, covering my head with the side of my sweatshirt and dashed across the guard's view. He shouted, but I ignored him, my eyes trained on my jacket. I tilted my body to the left as I neared the jacket and, letting go of my sweatshirt, I snatched it off the ground and jumped up to the open window from which I entered. Without looking back, I leapt from the open window and out into the moist air of Queens. I landed perfectly balanced on the top of the chain-link fence surrounding the warehouse and dropped behind the dumpster.
Oh, man…oh, man! That was…that was too close.
My mind wasn't working. It was too tired, too scared and too guilty to think straight. Despite this, I still couldn't ignore how satisfying flipping the car was. It was new for me. A sign that 'Puny Parker' didn't exist anymore. A newspaper flipped along the ground next to me as the wind picked up and got pinned against my foot. I picked it up, opened it, and examined the page.
It was a cover to the Daily Bugle from months ago. The picture on the front was of 'Romita's'; a bar not far from my home. It detailed the grand opening and the piss poor reviews the establishment received both before opening and after. Despite this, the place was still standing. Most people knew why, cops too. It wasn't a secret, but in New York, as long as your secret pays the NYPD, you're safe. That's what 'Romita's' was doing. As my eyes scanned the newspaper, a feeling of hope raced through my body. I had found an outlet for my anger and frustration in 'Romita's.' All I needed was a costume.
I was going to enter the world of underground cage fighting.
xXx
"So tell me, George…" She began, sipping her coffee and letting it go down slowly, letting her body warm from the inside out. I watched her lick her lips for a moment, the saliva making them glisten in the dim light of the cafe. I held onto my cup tightly, letting the warmth seep into my fingertips. "What brought you here?" She eventually finished, bringing her eyes from the coffee to me.
"Here? As in New York?"
She nodded.
I sighed. "Uh, well…the pay, probably."
"Yeah, that's what I assumed."
"Why?"
"Why?" She repeated, furrowing her brow.
"Yeah."
She took a moment to answer, tapping on the sides of her cup with her fingernails. "Look, I'll be honest. You seem…clean, so I feel like I can trust you."
"I'm listening."
"The department isn't secure. Not one bit."
Yeah, I figured as much.
"In the five years I've been here, I've seen more cops go bad, go missing or go out of town. That's why I assumed it was pay."
"Well, it's not like they tell you that when you apply for the job."
"No, but I figured the rumors would have reached your neck of the woods. Which is…?"
"San Diego."
"Ah, a beach babe." She laughed, taking a swig of her coffee.
I laughed back. "You're not far from the truth, actually."
I looked down at my ring finger.
"Got family there?"
"As of now, yes. My ex-wife, Helen, and my daughter, Gwen."
"Gwen." She repeated. "That's a nice name. Is it short for something?"
"Yes, Gwendolyn. Nobody really calls her that except her grandmother." I smiled at myself. "She's a stickler for that stuff."
"What did you mean by 'As of right now'?"
"Helen and I were talking the other night. Gwen's going to come up here and live with me. God knows why. Probably that time of the month for Helen…"
"Oh, that's nice."
"Time will tell."
The image of Gwen's body raped and tortured entered my head again. My grip on the mug got tighter.
"What's she like?"
I shook myself awake. "Who? My mother-in-law?"
"No." She giggled. "Gwen."
"Oh, well…" My mind froze in time, trying to piece my final moments with Gwen together into a single word, at the very least. "Uh-"
"Not an easy question, is it?" She interrupted, giving me a cute half-smile.
In my eyes, that tight shirt had just gotten tighter.
Don't think of that. Not now. Not ever.
"No, I don't think it is." I licked my lips and looked down at the table. "She's smart…not to brag…really big into science, actually."
"Really."
"Yeah, I don't know where that came from. I've always hated science. English was my thing. She's a nice girl. I know that sounds weird coming from me of all people, her father, but she surprised me. Pleasantly, of course."
"That's good. My niece is a real pain in the ass. My brother keeps threatening to auction her off."
"Wish it was that easy. Would've gotten rid of my ex-wife a long time ago."
She laughed.
I smiled at her.
The waitress came over to me, her skin nicely tanned, a thick accent on her lips. "Would ya like mo' couffee?"
"Ah, no thank you. I'm good."
She smiled, nodded and left. I looked back down at Jean.
"Who's you're partner?" She asked, pushing the empty coffee cup into the center of the table.
That was a quick change in subject…
"Frank."
"Frank?"
I nodded, gulping down the rest of my coffee, as well.
"Frank Castle?"
"Yep. That Frank."
"You poor son of a bitch." She shook her head.
"Yeah, he's not the most pleasant person I've met."
My eyes wandered over to the clock by the corner of the building. 11:15 PM.
"It's already past eleven." I noted, pointing to the clock.
"Wow. I should get going."
"I'll give you a ride."
The two of us slid out of our seats. Jean put on her overcoat as I placed the thirteen bucks for our coffee on top of the check. Jean put another five on.
"The bill was only thirteen." I reminded.
"Yeah, I know."
She turned her back and began heading towards the front door. I looked down at the five dollars. It was to the side of the check, two or three inches off. I reached into my pocket and put another five on top.
xXx
June 10th.
I angled my hair to the side so that it wouldn't fall into my face and reached over to the passenger seat for the sunglasses. The air conditioning hit me in the face as I crossed in front of it, my jaw tightening. I slid them on and made sure they fit tight. I had just cleaned them an hour before and so the lenses were near perfect. I burrowed into my pocket, pulled out my mask, and slipped it on. I leaned over to face the rear-view mirror of the car, adjusting my mask so that I could see no problem, using my fingers to outline the eye-holes I had cut out of the red, mesh-like material. I tucked the bottom of it into the red t-shirt I had beneath the leather jacket I had received as a 'gift' earlier that month.
I knew I would have some use for this jacket.
I rolled out my shoulders, the leather wrinkling, and looked out the side window to 'Romita's.' The lights were dim and faded; the 'O' in the name 'Romita's' was busted. A few stragglers were sitting on the steps outside the bar, swaying and laughing at each other or nothing. The part of 'Romita's' I was looking for wasn't in plain sight. It was in the side alley, out of view. I shut the car off and locked the door behind me as I crossed the street, ignoring the loud, obnoxious drunks to my left, and ducked behind the alleyway. The streetlights didn't reach this far from the street and so the alley was dark and quiet, the only light coming from a single lightbulb above an alcove at the end of the alleyway. I made my way over, passing wet cardboard and knocked over trash cans.
I looked back to make sure no one was following me and descended the steps to the steel door within the niche in the brick and mortar wall. The door was rusted and banged up. What looked like bullet holes littered the center. I hesitated before knocking, the bullet holes making me cautious.
I rapped on the door with the back of my hand and took a step back. The slide in the center of the door snapped open, a pair of bright, green, snake-like eyes staring back.
"What do you want?" The eyes hissed. The background noise almost drowned his voice out. Golden light, screaming voices, a rattling fence.
"You know why I'm here." I stepped forward, trying to be intimidating.
They narrowed off and held their gaze. "Did anyone follow you?"
"No."
The door's lock unlatched, gears spinning and twisting. It slid open a few inches, a shaven head with the same green eyes peering around the corner. "Get in. Quick."
The door slid open all the way and I pulled myself through, the door shutting behind me. The room was all concrete, a single light dangling on a thin, silver line above a black chain-link fence that created a box. A layer of smoke clouded the room, the smell of alcohol to go along with it. A mass of people, easily thirty or forty, crowded around the cage. I turned to face the person who greeted me at the front door. He was fairly large and wearing a tank top with cargo pants. His head was shaven, stubble for facial hair. The crowd behind me cheered as something got pushed up against the fence.
"What's your name?" He grunted, facing me.
My mind flashed back to the night I received the leather jacket I was wearing.
"Ben-"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" He yelled, holding out his hands. "We don't take real names here."
It wasn't.
"We don't need to know that shit. For example, I'm Scorpion."
An alias…
"Uh…The Scarlet Spider."
He rolled his eyes. "Cute."
I turned towards the cage, the crowd going wild again. "When do I fight?"
Scorpion gave me a surprising look. "You?"
"Yeah…why?"
His scanned me from top to bottom. "Well-"
The crowd behind me exploded, someone yelling "Stop!"
"You're next." Scorpion smiled.
I gave him a dirty look and walked over to the cage. The door swung wide, three or four people piling in. A large man, wearing a bandana with multiple sharp teeth stitched on and a black t-shirt left the arena, sweat dripping from his short-cut, blonde hair. Several of the men crowded around him, patting him on the back. I looked into the arena, blood and sweat pooling up around the concrete floor. A few people were dragging an unconscious man by the collar out the opposite door, his nose crushed, shoulder smashed.
Damn.
"You're up, kid." Scorpion laughed, pushing me into the cage. He shut the door quickly behind me.
One of the guys turned towards Scorpion. "I'm putting two hundred on Ox."
"You don't have two hundred."
"Does it matter?" The man laughed. "You'll just have to give me double once this runt loses. I figure it's easier to just say how much I'm putting up."
Ox?
I stretched out my shoulders, waiting for this 'Ox' guy and readjusted my glasses one more time. The crowd on the opposite side of the cage began to cheer, the enthusiasm spreading like wild-fire until the only thing I could hear was the crowd. The door opened and my opponent entered slowly. Ox was a beast. He was easily seven foot and probably somewhere around four hundred pounds. Each arm was the width of my head, his chest protruding outward. Scars lined his torso, tattoos decorating his arms. He was bald save for the handle-bar mustache.
Maybe he looks bigger because he has no shirt…
He cracked his knuckles and rolled out his neck.
Oh, crap.
Padlocks were put on each door, the crowd chanting Ox's name. My legs began to sway slightly and I could feel myself already doubting my ability.
"What's wrong? Couldn't get anyone bigger?" I joked without thinking.
He ignored me.
Someone rang a bell. The crowd exploded. Ox charged at me.
I ran at him, keeping my eyes trained on his. He raised his fist and I took that as my cue. I dropped to my side, and slid along the dirt-covered concrete floor beneath his legs and out behind him. He snarled, fist cutting through the air. I spun on the balls of my feet and leapt onto his back. Thankfully for me, his arms were too big and he was unable to reach me. I landed a few blows to the top of his head, my knuckles stinging as each punch hit their mark. Suddenly, I felt like I was beginning to fall. I looked at the ground and noticed that Ox was purposely falling backwards.
Whatever happened to big guys being dumb?
I released my hands and leaned backwards, keeping my feet pinned to his upper back. My hands hit the ground and I used all my strength to keep them up, tucking in my head. Ox's weight crushed in on me and my knees came up against my chest.
But I had thrown a car. Ox wasn't going to slow me down.
I took a deep breath and kicked my feet and arms out. Ox lunged forward and landed face-first on the floor, his nose breaking on contact. He snarled. I landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to snarl this time. I went for his head again, hoping the tactic of punching at the back of his skull would work, but this time he rolled over, slapping me away with the back of his fist. I skipped across the ground, the skin around my ribs stinging from the hit.
"Ow…" I moaned, picking myself up.
The crowd was still going and my heart was racing, but I felt relaxed, especially since Ox wasn't quite as difficult as I had made him out to be. Ox pulled himself to his feet and I raced at him. He swung another strike at me, this time lower to prevent me from sliding beneath him. I went the opposite direction this time. I jumped at his arm and used it as a spring board for me to leap again. In mid-air, I shot out my webbing at his eyes, the silver liquid spreading across his face, and I drove my knee in after it, his lip splitting, that broken nose twisting. He grunted as the two of us fell to the ground. He landed on his back. A second later, I landed on his chest, knocking him out.
The crowd went silent. Someone screamed. "Ox lost!"
And they lost it. The screamed and shouted out of both excitement and astonishment. I tried to ignore them and left out the same gate I entered. I received strange looks and awkward congratulations from the men surrounding the cage. I didn't blame them, I would have reacted the same way. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. 10: 32 PM.
Better get home.
I pushed through the mob of people who were preparing for the next fight and headed towards the door. An older man with his head hung low and his arms crossed was next to the door, leaning against the wall. I ignored him and headed for the exit.
"Nice job, kid." The old man commented, not looking up at me, his eyes hidden beneath the fedora on his head.
"Uh…thanks."
"You plan on coming back?"
"The thought had occurred to me."
"Well, don't." He stated bluntly.
"Why not?" I shot back, slightly insulted.
He turned towards me, showing his eyes. One was a sea-blue, the other clouded over. "You won't live."
"I don't know if you saw, but I just took down that huge son of a bitch, Ox."
"Yeah, you did. That was an interesting fight. The only reason you won is because you're fast."
"Yeah? And?"
"Ox is slow. Not everyone here is slow. Fancy Dan would have had his fist through your throat right about now."
"I think I can handle myself."
"No, you can't." He pushed off the wall and faced me. He must have been slouched because he was a few inches taller than me standing up. "You're going to die and I don't want that."
"What does it matter to you?"
"I have to clean up the bodies."
"Really?"
"No."
"Oh."
"I'm not a fan of 'The Enforcers', is all."
"'The Enforcers'?" I repeated dumbly.
"You're new, that's right. 'The Enforcers' are the best of the best here. I'm not jealous. They're just pricks. If they feel like they have any chance of losing, they'll rig the fight."
"Who are 'The Enforcers'?"
"Fancy Dan, Montana and Ox. The only unofficial member is Venom, the guy who fought before you. He thinks he's better solo."
"I took out Ox, though. Why can't I take out Fancy Dan or Montana?"
"I already told you. You won that fight because you're fast. That tactic won't work on Fancy Dan or Montana. You need to use every part of your mind and body to be a capable fighter. Speed, strength, intelligence, and skill. You have the first two down."
"So what do you propose?"
"I can train you. Form you into a better fighter than you ever imagined. No one will beat you when I'm done."
"OK, yeah. I can do that."
"Meet me in that alleyway every Monday night at nine. Name's Ezekiel, by the way."
He extended his hand for a handshake. I took it hesitantly. He smiled and nodded and I did the same before turning towards the door.
"Oh, before I forget, what was that shit you sprayed all over Ox's face?" He spoke out suddenly.
"Oh…that's…webbing."
"Webbing? Like a spider?"
I nodded.
"Guess that explains the name. Are you like a mutant?"
"Not really, no."
"What do you mean 'Not really'?"
"It's a long story."
"Ah...What can you do with it?"
"Not much. It's only accurate for a few inches before it develops a mind of its own."
"See if you can do something about that web of yours. Could come in handy."
"Yeah…I was thinking about that."
I looked down at my wrist.
What's a spider without his webs, after all?
