Peter walked out of the theater and down the row of bumpers towards his car. "Stupid movie," he muttered. "Plot holes you could drop a bus through. Cow actresses with skimpy shirts. That guy never once reloaded his gun." He shook his head. Then he stopped abruptly, and stepped between two cars.

"What?" he muttered as his senses tugged; some little fly, something out of place was buzzing in the web of senses that surrounded him.

He took a moment to sort it through carefully. Listened to himself, rather than to the outside world. What?

Something up. He looked up.

Across the parking lot was a high rise apartment building, pretty posh. And now as he looked, his senses deeply acute, he saw the figures in black stealth suits walking along the ledge. They reached the edge, one of them fired a grapple, and they began to climb. Five guys. Almost to the roof.

His mouth tightened and he frowned. "This is none of my business," he muttered. But the guys! Bunches of them! Doing something naughty for sure!

"Hey," he said, maybe more sharply than he meant to. "Every time, every time the spider ghost comes out to play it gets me," he said, jerking his thumb into his chest, "Peter Parker, in trouble."

So why do you have that patch of mesh sealed to the small of your back, Parker? why bring your travelling clothes? the sly thought came to him. He looked again. No simple robbery, this. Too many, too high. Professional gear. Doesn't make sense.

Atta boy, came his thought.

"For the record," Peter muttered as he ducked down to change, "you suck."

Moments later his clothes were tightly bundled and stowed in his car, and he was bobbing and weaving between parked cars in his dark silky mesh. In under a minute he had reached the building, slapped onto the side of it, and whirled upward. He felt his blood whipping through him, his temperature rising, his joints loosening. He stopped blinking. This is living. This is wildness.

He felt positively elemental as he sprang and dodged up the sheer side of the building, feeling no pain, feeling only the surge of raw energy.

"Lightning for blood," he whispered to himself as the roof came within easy reach and he was not even warmed up yet.

Whoever they were, they wasted no time. As he peeked over the edge of the roof, he saw one of them standing by the open door, propping it open with his feet and keeping a sharp lookout. Then the other four came out, holding between them an occupied black plastic body bag zipped up tight.

No. We are not having this.

Peter stealthily bounded over the edge of the roof and hopped soundlessly up on the stairwell roof over the door they had just exited.

"Bad thugs," he murmured, "no biskit."

They stopped and glanced around wildly, pulling out their pistols. One caught a glimpse of two pale eyes hanging in the darkness over the open door. He lined up and fired.

Silenced pistols. Huh.

The spider ghost whirled over the bullets and landed on the body bag, driving it out of their hands down to the ground. Under his mesh, Peter grinned. Right in the middle. Sometimes it was too easy.

As they reacted, jerking back and pointing their pistols, he dissuaded them. "C'mon guys," he said, "Lotsa internet dating services," as he dropped and lashed out, kicking the leg out from under one so he flew back, leg broken, slapping down on his stomach and sliding back along the roofing.

Peter adhered to the roof and gently poked up with one foot, snapping into the kevlar vest of the thug next to him and sending him popping up into the air, pistol skittering across the roof. The other two thugs squeezed off a couple shots as Peter carelessly spun out of the way and jabbed at the shoulder of one of the thugs; bone splintered in a most satisfying way, sending him crashing into his partner. They both slammed back into the door and collapsed in a heap.

The remaining thug lined his pistol up on the bag. "One move and she gets it," he rasped.

"Yeah," Peter grinned under the mesh, "Cause you're faster than me."

He darted forward, the thug pulled the trigger. The bullet rebounded off the door frame to the stairwell as Peter snagged the gun and passed his elbow across the thug's face with a meaty thud. Fighting thugs was so… relaxing, somehow.

Peter inspected the pistol he still held as the thug slid to the ground, senseless. He noticed that its serial number had not been filed off. The whole gun was a custom job, it never HAD a serial number. Military or paramilitary gear here. He tossed the gun up, caught it by its barrel, and absently thwokked a thug who was struggling to rise. Interesting.

He tossed the gun over his shoulder and crouched over the body bag. Then he zipped a webline out to the side. The thug whose leg had been kicked was lining up with a gun; the web smacked over his face and Peter tugged. The thug sailed through the air towards him, and Peter touched his chest and guided his missile-like flight into a chimney. With a resounding thud, the man bounced off the immovable object and slammed down on the roof.

Peter unzipped the bag. Well, she was still breathing. A middle-aged woman, unconscious. Peter caught a whiff of chloroform. Unkind. He shook his head. She was still alive and the thugs defeated. Job well done.

He squinted and looked a little closer. She looked familiar. Okay, spider brain, do your stuff.

Peter didn't read the papers, but he did watch television from time to time. She was the wife of a big shot city politician, Councilman Perry. Peter relaxed for a moment. And? And… Councilman Perry was being very public and very vocal about removing the Police Commissioner because of graft and corruption. Peter felt a sudden chill as he looked at the stirring, groaning thugs on the roof. Maybe this was even bigger than he thought.

The door to the stairwell was still propped open. He picked her up, freeing her from the bag, and trotted down the stairs into the building with her. Then he returned to the top of the stairs and examined the door; self-locking. Good. It was also armed with a silent alarm, so the cops should be on their way. Peter took one last look around to see if any of the attackers were in any shape to escape under their own power. Well, maybe. Bah. He looked over the side of the building and saw the lights on the approaching police cars flashing, their sirens silent.

Peter tugged the wedge out of the door and let it bang closed, providing a barrier between the thugs and their prize. Damsel in distress safe; check. Thugs bonked; check. Spider ghost exit stage left? He bounded off the roof, sailing towards the ground. Check and mate.

Catching onto the side of the building he propelled his fall's momentum into a leap that carried him into the trees. A few minutes later, Peter Parker started up his car, backed out of his parking spot, and drove away from the movie theater.

xXx

Beck lay motionless, chewing his lip, deep in thought. Across the street, on the roof that was only two stories lower than the one he was on, he saw the footsoldiers stir and help each other stand. Beck glanced down at his digital camcorder's replay, frozen on the shot where the shadowy creature landed in the middle of the group. He rolled over on his back and lay flat, looking up at the dim hazy glow of the sky's reflection of New York's light.

The good news? Sound and moving pictures of this critter. The bad news? It might take Fisk all of two seconds to realize that this film was intended to join Beck's growing collection of evidence linking Fisk's people to illegal operations and then back to Fisk, so when the time comes, Beck will have some protection against Fisk's wrath…

Beck shook off his ruminations and gathered his gear, moving to the fire escape on the other side of the building. One thing at a time.

"Fisk will come to me," he murmured. "I get to be the expert on this thing." He thought about what that meant for a second, then sighed deeply. "Magnificent."

xXx

Harry stood by the window, comfortable in his terrycloth bathrobe, a mug of hot chocolate in his hand. "Wonder where Peter is," he mused. "It's getting late."

"Maybe he doesn't want to interrupt anything," Mary Jane said archly, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah," Harry laughed, "that's probably it." He looked at Mary Jane mischievously. "Maybe he's at a wild party."

Mary Jane laughed out loud. "Yeah. Disco fever or something."

"Do you have a party to go to?" Harry said, half kidding.

She stretched on the couch, in her sweat pants and tee shirt. She took her time, making sure every muscle was stretched properly, like a cat. Then she looked him in the eye. "I noticed you have some eggs and bacon in the fridge," she purred. "I'd love to have breakfast in the morning." She paused. "You tell me. Do I have a party to go to?"

"Whoah," Harry said with most of a grin. "You just made my whole night."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, tiger," she said with a beckoning smile.

They went into the next room.

xXx

Peter stood across the street and watched the lights wink out. Still two cars. He sighed. Then he got into his car. "Yeah," he muttered to himself. "Aunt May won't even know I'm in the building…" He started the car and slipped away into the never-ending glow of the darkened city.

xXx

Beck stepped into the darkened room. "You called for me, sir?" he said.

"Indeed I did," reverberated the rumbling voice from behind the massive desk. "The team that was sent to pick up Councilman Perry's wife was intercepted and defeated by a man in a black suit. A man who was superhumanly fast and strong. He used webbing." Fisk shrugged. "Come closer, Beck."

Beck came closer.

"These men first had some wild tale about a rival team. They were quickly persuaded to be more truthful." He reflected on that for a moment while Beck stood, waiting. Fisk looked Beck in the eye. "Were you involved in this appearance?" Fisk said, his voice low. Beck could feel the power of Fisk's voice in his bones.

"I was not involved," Beck replied. "I have told you everything I know about this guy in a black leotard. I swear it."

Fisk slowly nodded. "So he sticks to things. Shoots out web ropes. He's strong and he's fast and he's mysterious. I believe that you have told me everything you know." He took a moment to light another cigarette. "Know more. As of tonight, your new assignment will be to find out everything there is to know about this person. Cost is not an object." Fisk looked steadily at Beck.

"Understand," he said, "I want him working for me or dead."

"Yes sir," Beck said. "I should have results for you within the week."

Fisk smiled. "That is all, Beck. That is all."