Spider-Man: High School Rules

9: Enforcers, Assembled


Two men fought in the middle of the ring. The rest of the gym was fairly quiet, empty; two others were training using punching bags while, on a bench built into the walls of the gymnasium, three men sat, watching the fight unfolding. Despite the quiet and timid atmosphere outside, the inside of the ring was intense and heated.

There was a loud thud as one man got pinned to the floor, grimacing and struggling before tapping out. His opponent let him go.

"Not bad," the winner patted him on the back, "But we have more to work on in our next session."

Showing his student out of the ring, Daniel glanced momentarily at the three well-dressed individuals sat on the bench.

Hours would pass and the gym would go quiet, all the students being well on their way home, yet the three men remained. The teacher, now realising he was finally alone, left his office to approach them.

"What do you want?" the teacher spat, "Coming here while I'm doing lessons – seriously?!"

"Easy, Danny," Hammerhead stood up from in between the two men, not much shorter than the man in front of him, "Just thought we'd stop by – come watch a master of his craft at work."

"Yeah, what-fucking-ever," Daniel pointed at the door, "Don't show your face in daytime hours again."

"Woah, woah, woah," Hammerhead exaggeratedly put his hands up and motioned to calm down, "I just thought you'd be interested in makin' some money is all!"

Dan calmed down. "You got a job for me?"

"That's right," Hammerhead slyly smiled, "'N' as a matter of fact, this ain't the one-time jobs I typically give ya. We're talkin' long-term employment."

"Employment?" Dan repeated, "What do you want me to do?"

"You'll be workin' in a team," Hammerhead explained, "Just makin' sure that our business goes smoothly, lookin' out for anyone who might be causin' trouble. That sound okay to you?"

"How much?" Daniel asked abruptly.

"I need to know if you're in."

"Fine, but how much?"

Hammerhead chuckled, motioning for his two henchmen to get up. "Meet at the usual spot tonight. The others'll be there. We'll explain the financial side of things then – but, Daniel," he pointed, "I assure ya it'll be enough for your family."

Daniel nodded. "Fine. What time?"

"11. No show, you can forget it. That clear?"

"Got it."


The elevator doors opened and Doctor Mendel Stromm abruptly stepped out, still wearing his white lab coat. He marched down the hall; just moments earlier, he was requested urgently for a meeting with Norman Osborn. It was nothing out of the ordinary – Osborn frequently met with Stromm to discuss how recent projects were coming along, and Stromm felt no sense of anxiousness or stress as he approached the door to Norman's office. Tapping his knuckles three times against the office door, he waited for Osborn's approval to enter.

"Come in," Norman chimed from the other side. Stromm opened the door, smiling and nodding.

"Mr Osborn," Stromm greeted, closing the door behind him. Norman sat at his desk, twiddling his fingers nervously before motioning to the seat opposite him, inviting Stromm to sit. The doctor felt concerned as he took the seat.

"I've just had a call from the director of the Defence Advanced Research Projects Agency," Norman announced to Stromm, "He has requested that we submit our formula for the Super Soldier Serum earlier than we anticipated."

"Earlier?" Stromm twitched, "How early?"

"By the end of next month," Norman sighed, leaning back in his leather chair. Stromm's jaw dropped, looking around the room hopelessly before scoffing.

"The original deadline was months from now!" Stromm exclaimed, flailing his hands.

"I know, I know," Norman said irritably, "Just... how far along are you, exactly?"

Stromm anxiously ran his hands over the top of his bald head. "I – I don't know, but I can't guarantee that it will be finished in the time DARPA has provided – anyway, what's all the hurry for?"

"Who knows?" Norman sighed again, "Maybe they're worried China or Russia are beating us to the punch."

The two shared a moment of silence before Norman spoke up again.

"It's not the only thing DARPA are harping on about," Norman sat up, "They aren't particularly happy with the speed of our Advanced Flight program."

Stromm looked at him, expecting an explanation.

"Too many designs," Norman waved his hands, "Too many things to consider. They're expecting miracles."

"And what if we can't submit any of this in time?" Stromm reluctantly asked; he was not expecting that his department would be able to replicate the Super Soldier Serum to safe standards in just a few weeks.

"The military pull their funding," Osborn fiddled with a pen, spinning it between his fingers, "They look to another company to make their toys."

"I'm sorry, sir," Stromm spoke bluntly, "But this serum – only one copy of it was ever used, in the 1940s. Its creator was paranoid; if it were to be discovered by a Nazi spy, America's greatest secret weapon could be mass produced among their enemies. No copy of the formula exists – we've had to start right from scratch."

"Yes, I know, Doctor," Norman interrupted, leaning over the desk, "I know what I'm asking of you seems impossible, but... it needs to be done, you understand?"

Stromm shook his head.

"I'm just asking that you and your team do your best. Perhaps if I can rush out something from Advanced Flight, DARPA will get off our backs."

"Right..." Stromm stuttered under his breath. The task seemed impossible; it was unlikely their formula would even be suitable for testing by the end of the month, let alone for widespread use. However, he could tell by Norman's mannerisms that he was stressed and, not wanting to press him further, he took his one request to heart; to do as much as he could.


The wind blew harsh, cold air outside Midtown High, yet Peter and Gwen refused to yield, though they couldn't hide their shivering. They were both wrapped up; Gwen pulled a purple, knitted beanie over the top of her head, while Peter pulled the zip up all the way to the collar of his fleece jacket. They huddled together; not quite hugging, but sticking close to one another like two penguins.

Peter and Gwen weren't the only ones battling the cold; behind them, the jocks still occupied the football field, jogging on the spot to keep themselves warm. The shorts had been replaced by joggers and they wore their letter jackets zipped up.

"When are they gonna give it a break?" Pete chuckled as he watched Flash, Jason, Kong and the others in a friendly game of football.

"It'll rain soon," Gwen's teeth chattered, "And then they won't be able to use the pitch."

Not speaking again, the two quietly enjoyed each other's company, Gwen leaning in to Peter a little. Neither were particularly good at displaying intimacy just yet; it wasn't like either of them had much experience.

That was something that had surprised Peter; even though he had known Gwen for years, even though he knew that she had never had a boyfriend, he was still surprised at how someone so great could have gone so long without a boy falling for her like he did.

He looked down at her, leaned in to his shoulder and shivering slightly.

Now is, like, the perfect time. Come on, Parker.

"Gwen?" Peter asked, still looking down at her. She looked up in response and the two locked eyes.

Do it.

Peter slowly leaned in, feeling Gwen shift closer to him. Then, all of a sudden, danger – something was flying their way, straight towards them.

Shit.

Peter ducked his head and pulled Gwen down with him. She yelped as a football darted just over their heads, bouncing off the ground behind them and rolling until it bumped the curb. Peter raised his head, looking over to the football field where he saw Flash and Jason snickering.

"Sorry, Parker!" Flash waved while Jason ran over to retrieve the ball.

Gwen caught her breath, still shocked by the sudden turn of events. "What the hell?!" she whispered to Peter.

"I... sorry," Pete chuckled, "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Hope I didn't interrupt anything, Parker," Jason sneered as he ran back past them, ball in hand.

Fuck you, Jason – that was my chance!

"Be careful," Peter chuckled lightly, hiding is disappointment. Now he'd have to wait until the next time he could pluck up his courage to just make the first move – and hey, he hadn't had any shit from Flash or his cronies for weeks now! Maybe they just couldn't hold it back any longer; then again, Flash never needed much of an excuse to target Peter.

Looking to his side, Pete saw Gwen looking at him, her eyes slightly wide.

"What?" Peter chuckled, trying to shake off the whole situation while becoming aware that he had used his powers.

So what? One side of him thought, You've used your super strength in front of her to fight Flash, this isn't the first time.

Yeah, but you weren't Spider-Man then – and besides, anyone can beat up their school bully; split second reaction times are a whole different thing.

Hey, snap out of it, dipshit. You were supposed to kiss her.

"Peter?"

Coming to his senses, Peter looked Gwen in the eye, still waiting for him. Full of confidence, he closed his eyes, leaned in and tilted his head.

A few seconds later, the two instinctively pulled apart. Opening his eyes, Peter looked into those of the girl beside him, sparkling with joy. Gwen's smile spread across her face before resting her head on Peter's shoulder, Peter resting his head on top of hers.

First kiss. Finally.


Spider-Man whooped and hollered as he swung through the streets. The civilians on the street below, who watched in awe as the vigilante flipped through the air over their heads, would never tell what was bringing such joy to the man beneath the mask.

But Peter Parker knew – as he swung low, narrowly dodging trucks and ducking under street lights, the memory of that lunch break looped over and over, driving him forward. He felt on top of the world; finally, after all the turmoil he had experienced over the last few weeks, his life had took a positive turn.

Deep down, even if he hadn't acknowledged it, Peter was in love. He felt a feeling in his chest, one he had felt before whenever he had hung out with Gwen since they got together, only this time it was stronger; like his heart was beating out of his chest. Right now, Gwen was all he could think about as he climbed the walls of an apartment block, sitting on the edge of the rooftop.

It was cold, but Peter acknowledged that his new Spidey outfit, with its multiple layers, would help warm him up better than his first makeshift costume. The sun was shining visibly in the sky, only a few clouds scattered across the light blue – perfect late-afternoon weather.

Something was off about this scene, though. Looking directly ahead of him, he saw clouds of black smoke, a few blocks away. They rose up into the air, though where exactly they were coming from wasn't clear – too many buildings were in the way, obstructing Peter's view of the source.

Whatever it is, it can't be good.

Pushing himself off the edge, Spidey let himself freefall a couple of stories before firing a web out in front of him, swooping low onto the street, so low that he could feel the heel of his foot catch against the sign on a taxi. Recognising the risk he was putting himself in, Peter quickly raised his position, pulling himself higher up as he swung along.

Before long, he found the source of the smoke – sticking to the building opposite, he saw black clouds flowing out of the windows of an apartment above an electronics store. On the sidewalk below, Peter saw who he assumed to be the owner of the shop; his ear was to the phone, no doubt calling the fire department.

Shooting a web onto the building, Spider-Man leaped off the wall and flung himself across the road, landing beside one of the windows. Fortunately, his mask should help him breathe easier.

"Hey!" the owner shouted, "Hey, what the hell're you doin'?! It's dangerous in there, you'll get yourself killed!"

"Is there anyone inside?" Spider-Man shouted back, leaning off the wall, ready to move in at any second.

"The tenant, yes!" the owner shouted back.

"Hello?!" Peter heard from inside, "Hello?! I need help!"

Not waiting another second, Spider-Man swung around and in through the window. He struggled to see – the smoke clouded his goggles – but he could just about make out where everything was. Making sense of his surroundings, Peter saw that the fire appeared to have started in the kitchen, where smoke and flames crackled out of the doorway and in front of the main exit.

"Where are you?!" Spider-Man called out, squinting through his goggles to see if he could make out the outline of a figure.

"The bedroom!" he heard the woman shout, followed by a painful cough, "In here!"

Looking to his left, Spider-Man found the tenant; curled up on the floor beside a cot, holding her baby tight in her arms, its face pressed into her shoulder to protect it from the smoke. By doing so, she sacrificed her own ability to breathe as she lay spluttering on the floor.

"It's okay," Spider-Man entered the bedroom, holding his hand out to the woman to help her off the floor. He wasn't sure how long she had been in this condition, but her coughing sounded bad – bad enough that the inhalation could cause serious damage to her lungs, if not suffocate her. Looking at the baby in her arms, its cries muffled, he thought of an idea – it would put himself at risk, but he felt that it was the right thing to do.

"Here," Peter pulled the goggles off his eyes and let them slide down his wrist. He squinted as the smoke irritated his eyes before pulling his balaclava off, handing it to the mother. "Put this over your mouth – trust me!"

The woman nodded, tears running down her face as she held the red balaclava over her face, covering her nose and mouth. From outside the room, the flames roared.

"I'm gonna get you out of here!" Peter reassured her. Seeing her rescuer's face seemed to put the woman more at ease as she nodded again, taking Peter's hand and tightly clutching her baby as he guided her out of the room over to the window.

How do I get her out?

Pausing at the window as he tried to think of a way he could lower the woman and her baby out of the apartment, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Looking at the woman, she handed him her baby, holding Peter's balaclava over the lower half of its face.

"Take her!" the woman struggled to speak, "Get her out of here!"

Nervously taking the baby into his arms, Peter looked back up at her mother.

"I'll come back for you," he reassured her. The woman nodded as Peter perched on the window frame. He pulled the hood of his top over his face, doing the most he could to conceal his identity, before leaping down onto the sidewalk, tightly clutching the baby. He looked down as he approached the owner of the shop before, holding the baby out.

"Take her, I'm going back in."

"What?"

"I need to get her mom, I'm going back in – TAKE HER!"

Finally, the man obeyed, taking the baby from Peter's arms before he watched him leap back onto the wall, climbing up the brick and back through the window to the last survivor, keeled over beside the windowsill.

"You're gonna be okay," Peter reassured her, helping her to her feet and wrapping her arms around his neck, holding her with one hand as he positioned himself in the window frame. Again, he leaped down, the landing a little more painful as he carried the weight of a full-grown woman. He felt her gasp before sighing in relief as Peter helped her onto her feet, the owner hurrying over to her with her baby.

"Oh, thank you," the woman cried, taking her baby into her arms, "Thank you so much..."

Looking down with his hood still covering his face, Peter saw the owner hold something out to him.

"You'll need this," he said, handing over Peter's balaclava. Nodding in gratitude, Peter pulled it over his face before sliding his goggles back on.

"Thanks," Spider-Man cleared his throat. Sirens suddenly blared as a fire truck turned the corner. Peter took this as his cue to leave. Running and leaping into the air, he fired a web and swung away from the scene, leaving the fire department to do their job in recovering as much of the apartment as they could.

He let out a sigh of relief. The woman was safe, the baby was safe. Hopefully, if the woman hadn't inhaled too much smoke, a child would still have his mother.


Peter swung all the way home, stopping off at his usual spot to change into his regular clothes. Looking at himself in the reflection of his phone, he realised his face was dirty from the smoke. Reaching into his school bag, Peter pulled out his bottle of water and squeezed it quickly into his other hand before putting it down and washing his face.

"You're out of breath!" May remarked as she met Peter on the porch of their house.

"I was worried it was getting late," Peter breathed heavily. Not that you've just been in a blazing, smoke-filled apartment.

"Well, I've just started preparing dinner," May lead Peter in through the front door, "It should be ready soon. How was studying?"

"Oh, it was good," Peter shrugged, kicking his trainers off.

"Make sure you do as much as you can," May wagged her finger, "If you want to get in at Empire State, you'll have to work hard."

"I know, May," Pete chuckled, "I mean, I've wanted to go there practically all my life – I'm gonna put loads of work in."

"Good," May nodded before hesitating, "Your parents went to Empire State University, you know. That's where they met."

Peter paused; it wasn't often he heard May talk about his parents. "Really?"

"Yes – your father did, anyway. When he got his job, he met your mother at work."

Peter reflected on his earliest childhood memories, when his parents were still alive. He could vaguely remember his mother; a round face with black, shoulder-length hair. Memories of his father were less clear, although Peter had seen pictures of him with Ben, who was a few years his father's senior.

"What is it they did?" Peter asked out of curiosity, "For work, I mean. You've never really told me."

"They worked abroad," May said ambiguously after a pause, "That's why they would often leave you here, when you were a baby."

Peter quietly accepted May's answer, not wanting to pry any further than he already had. Peter was somewhere between the ages of two and three when he started living with May and Ben full-time. His memories of his parents were distant – he remembered virtually nothing of his life with them – so of course he was curious; however, May seemed somewhat tense when answering the questions. Maybe it's a difficult subject for her.

"Anyway," May turned around from the kitchen counter, clapping her hands together, "You've got Homecoming tomorrow – you must show me how to work that camera of yours; I can never quite seem to work it."

"Alright, May," Peter smiled, remembering Homecoming and excusing himself to check his phone upstairs, wondering if Gwen had messaged him about it. Opening his phone, he read through the texts she had sent him.

Gwen, 5:12pm: So Homecoming starts at 7, if you get here at like 6:30 then you can properly meet my family and we should still be able to get there in time – sound good?

Peter, 5:37pm: Sounds good to me! Can't wait :)

Gwen, 5:38pm: Me neither! I'm so excited lol – I hope you like my dress!

Peter, 5:38pm: I'm sure you'll look great!

Lying back on the bed, Peter crossed his arms behind his head and relaxed, smiling to himself. Tomorrow could be his best Homecoming by far – at least he had a proper date this time, not just a friend or group of friends to go with. Imagining what Gwen might look like tomorrow night, Peter felt like nothing could ruin tomorrow – that no one could come in between him and her.

As Montana turned the corner up the ramp of the parking lot, his car's headlights illuminated a dodgy scene; one group of men he recognised, Hammerhead and his goons, alongside two unfamiliar men. The difference in size between the two was almost comical; one was lean and small enough to the point that he barely towered over Hammerhead, while the other was a large brute of a man who Montana estimated would easily be taller than himself.


Parking up, Montana stepped out of his vehicle and approached the scene, Hammerhead delivering his uneasy grin as he presented the two men.

"Montana," Hammerhead introduced, "Meet Fancy Dan and the Ox."

"Which one's the Ox?" Montana joked at the man he assumed to be Fancy Dan, who scowled in response.

"Hey, no need to be all snappy," Hammerhead warned, "You're my team – my Enforcers. You work together; I ain't got time for bickerin'."

"What's our job?" the Ox spoke up, with what Montana detected to be a slight German accent.

"I need you to oversee future deals and meet-ups," Hammerhead responded, "We've been interfered with – vigilantes, messin' up my business. I can't be seen lookin' weak in front of competitors, you understand?"

"Vigilantes?" Dan asked, baffled, "Just shoot the fuckin' guys, what do you need all three of us for?"

"We aren't talkin' your everyday do-gooders," Hammerhead shook his head, "We're talkin' the likes of Spider-Man."

"Hmph," the Ox grunted, "Easy. I could crush him like a twig."

Hammerhead paused to look at Dan and Montana. "Ox is in. What about you boys?"

"How hard can it be?" Dan sighed, "Alright. I'm in."

This left Montana. He could sense that all eyes were on him.

"Fine. Count me in."

"Excellent," Hammerhead clapped his hands together, "Now remember, bring the web-head to me alive, or you can forget about gettin' paid. Got it?"

"Alive," Dan nodded, "Got it."

"I suggest you don't screw this up," Hammerhead waved his finger at the three as he walked back to his car, accompanied by his bodyguards, "For your own sake."

The three Enforcers watched Hammerhead's car drive down the ramp to the parking lot. There was a sense of awkwardness between them; Ox didn't feel the need to be accompanied by two dead weights – he felt perfectly capable of bringing down Spider-Man on his own. After all, he'd seen the pictures of him; the wall-crawler's physique was no match for his own.

Montana recognised that his comment towards Dan upon his arrival may have rubbed him the wrong way. "So, how exactly do we plan on catching this guy?"

The Ox stomped away, finding his pick-up truck and climbing in. "Leave it to me," he grunted confidently before igniting the engine and leaving. After a few seconds, Dan, too, found his way back to his vehicle.

"Hol' up," Montana called to him, forcing Dan to stop and face him, "Are we really goin' at this without a plan?"

"What are you gonna do, exactly?" Dan sneered before turning around. Suddenly, as Dan raised his hand towards his car door, the air cracked and he recoiled as he felt something wrap around his arm, the force burning his skin. He quickly turned around, seeing Montana with one hand on his Lariat, the other end wrapped around Dan's forearm. Chuckling, Montana flung his arm back, sending Dan tumbling forward as Montana recollected his Lariat.

"Once I get this 'round him," Montana proudly announced, wrapping the leather rope back up and fitting it onto his belt, "He's as good as dead."

Dan chuckled, rubbing his forearm. "I'll see you around."

Montana waved him off as he watched Dan climb into his vehicle before unlocking the doors to his own. While he was still unclear on what exactly Dan would be providing to the team – it was obvious what the Ox, a mountain of muscle, could provide – he left the parking lot feeling less sceptical than when he entered.


Author's Note: Sorry it took longer to post this chapter - anyway, I'm looking forward to writing/planning the next ones!

In the meantime, if you could vote on the poll attached to my profile I'd appreciate it :)