He strolled into the police station, saw Brilhart turning some paperwork over to the front desk. Brilhart turned to him and nodded. "This way," he said. "To the interrogation room."

"So what's her name?" Peter said.

"Maria," Brilhart said, opening the door. "She'll be here in a minute."

Peter walked into the small room with a table and two chairs. He glanced up at the security cameras. There was only one window in the room, a slot on the door. Peter narrowed his eyes. The door closed behind him.

Suddenly his senses flared to life as he heard the bolt slide on the door.

"Hey," he said. "Brilhart. What gives?"

Brilhart pulled the slot open and looked in at Peter.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"There's no witness," Peter suddenly realized, going numb. "What the hell are you doing, Brilhart?"

"I have to be sure of you, Parker," Brilhart said. "This is for your own good. I'm not charging you, this is protective custody. I can't keep you away from the crime scene any other way, and tonight is important. You'll be moved to a cell shortly." He paused. "I'm sorry." He snapped the slot closed.

Peter stared at the door, feeling rage swell in him. It took all his energy to resist yanking the door from its frame, tossing it at the nearest cop, snatching Brilhart, and suspending him from a flagpole two hundred feet from the ground. Then continuing the investigation.

Then there would be no more Peter Parker. He sighed, and sat down at the table.

"Lunch better be damned good," he muttered. He growled as he rubbed his eyes. "'I'm sorry, mister teacher, I missed the test because I was in protective custody.' And he thought he'd heard it all…"

xXx

Peter paced the narrow cell. He knew everything there was to know about it; the composition of its walls, how thick the paint was and how many times it had been painted, the brand and condition of the mattress on the shelf bunk, the tensile strength it would take to rip the bars clean out of the wall and stroll to freedom.

It had been a long, long night.

The heavy door at the end of the cell block's hall opened, and Brilhart walked in. He was unshaven, ashen faced; he moved like a man twice his age. He walked up to Peter's cell and unlocked it, not making eye contact.

"This has got to stop," he said quietly. "I don't want the details."

He didn't watch as Peter left.

xXx

Peter stopped at the pay phone and called Mary Jane. The phone rang almost through a single ring before it was snatched up.

"Hello?" Mary Jane said.

"This is Peter," he said grimly.

"Peter, where've you been?" she said, trying to be casual.

"Brilhart lured me to the station and locked me up with protective custody so I wouldn't interfere in their efforts last night," Peter said, trying not to sound bitter and failing.

The other end of the line was very quiet.

"I'm headed over there now," Peter said. "To see what I can see."

"Don't you think you should go to school first?" Mary Jane said. "There was a pop quiz in astronomy too, I hear."

Peter groaned. "I'll get over there and see what I can salvage," he said. "But I can't let this go on."

"I understand," Mary Jane said. "Just get it over with, will you? And no more protective custody without a phone call."

"I'll try to avoid that in the future," Peter said dryly. He paused. "You're the first and only person I've called since they let me out. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Smoothie," Mary Jane said. "Bye." She hung up.

Peter hung up too. "Not sure I've been called that before," he said with a sigh.

Then his eyes narrowed and he headed for the campus.

xXx

As Peter ducked under the fluttering police tape line, he noticed a considerable amount of vomit in the bushes by the front door. This was sure to be lovely. As he approached, none of the police noticed him; indeed, even if he spoke to them he wasn't sure they'd notice him. They weren't supposed to. Because he wasn't supposed to be here.

Peter walked in the front door and stiffened at the carnage. The bodies were still in place, a forensics team taking pictures and recording every detail of their gristly deaths. Peter carefully stepped around and over the evidence as he took it in.

First things first.

He headed to the security room. The door had been blasted off its hinges from the inside by a blow from a deeply powerful fist. Peter glanced in. The monitors that weren't smashed were clotted with remains. A gaping hole in the wall told the story. The intruder crawled through the vents to get in the wall of the security center, then started the attack. Those in close quarters, taken by surprise, had no chance. Only a small grouping of shots hit the ceiling. Then three men were dead. Peter's senses played across the room, building a picture for him of how it had gone.

The noise had alerted the others. Peter turned, and in his mind's eye he could see reinforcements running down the hallway when the door blew off its hinges. They would stop. Ready their weapons. Peter looked carefully, picking out details that it would take hours for a normal man to glean from the surroundings. The creature had pulled back, down the hall away from the officers, around the corner, and they had chased it while firing. Peter walked around the corner. It had waited, pouncing at close range. They had hit it, they must have hit it, but its hide could take a few hits and then they were all dead. Peter looked at the ceiling and saw a bloody palm print the size of his chest. Sharp claws had created small holds, the creature had sort of palmed the ceiling and the wall to slowly crawl. It was that strong. Right.

He followed the trail. It had clung to the ceiling and crawled around to the balcony, to the rafters. Securing high ground. Peter walked out to the concourse. Two snipers on the rafters; one had been taken unawares, the other had panicked and jumped. Peter saw a severed line where one of them had leaped off and been killed in the air, and the paramedics were quietly discussing how to get the other down.

As the snipers were killed, the police had pulled back to the concourse, circled up, ready to take him with concentrated firepower. But he had dropped from the rafters in the middle of their cluster, restricting their fields of fire.

Peter stood looking silently at the mound of bodies. One had been bitten through the face and dropped. One had been backhanded to sail twenty feet to break headfirst into a pillar. One's armor vest had been stomped, breaking every bone in his chest. The paramedics had tried to save him, but he had drowned in his own blood. Yes, they had an opportunity to fire. But it wasn't enough.

A few lost their nerve and ran. They were hunted. Peter spent another twenty minutes walking through the building, staying out of the way of the crews recording evidence and removing bodies. He accounted for sixteen bodies, over two squads. Then he returned to the security room.

He peered inside the vent, saw a sloppy bloody smear on the way up, both rust colored blood smears and a darker shade. It was wounded when it crawled up.

So it didn't start here.

Peter glanced around; no one was watching at the moment. He dropped into the shaft, navigated to where the ventilation had been punched through from the sewer access. He hesitated, then dropped into the sewer.

A thin sheet of filth lay across the sewer access tunnel. The acrid tang of teargas hung heavy in the air, and the coppery stink of blood swirled up from where his feet disturbed the surface of the liquid he stood in.

That's when he felt it.

His scalp crawled as he sensed the malignant evil hanging in the air. As he breathed in he was suffused with the stench of the power behind the thing that had done this.

He didn't need to walk through the junction to find where the police had been surprised and mangled. He knew what he faced now. There was no point in trying to trace the creature back to its lair. The tunnels were its home territory now, and the teargas was wreaking havoc with Peter's senses. His jaw tightened as he swiftly navigated the ducts to return to the hall. He didn't have to find it.

He only had to wait. In this hall. Tonight. It would find him.

As he approached the concourse, he saw that the bodies had all been picked up and there were drastically fewer police in the building at this point. He saw the glare of lights and he approached the front of the concourse, where he saw Brilhart's back as the detective talked to the press. Their cameras and lights and microphones were lined up on him as he gave his statement.

"has given his approval," Brilhart was saying. "I have a Special Crimes Unit working on the case now. The regular police have been pulled back, with only S.W.A.T. officers and specialists on hand. The monster that's been killing our police will be dealt with firmly. This spree will end."

"Detective," one reporter said, "you said 'monster.' Can you give us any details?"

"Maybe tomorrow," Brilhart said with a crooked grimace that could be a grin.

"Parker," Vine said, mouthing the word like it tasted bad. Peter turned to see the heavy detective approach. "Brilhart said you'd be here."

"Special Crimes Unit?" Peter asked, eyebrows raised.

Vine shrugged. "Brilhart is bluffing. He thinks you are the Special Crimes Unit. He thinks you can somehow pull this off. And the mayor didn't approve. The mayor is just going to keep his mouth shut in case it works. If it doesn't, tomorrow morning Brilhart is in deep trouble if you screw up. The commissioner is too wrapped up in his battle with Internal Affairs to be much help one way or the other, his authority is shot. If you somehow work all this out, then everybody's a hero."

Peter nodded. "I understand. Can I please have the building to myself tonight? Well, me and a friend of mine."

"No," Vine said, his voice flat. "I insist on having some volunteers in the building. All these guys had pals that were massacred by this thing. They have a reason, and frankly I trust them more than I trust you. Don't you dare argue with me, either. Brilhart just staked his whole career on your goofy claims." Vine scowled at Peter.

"I don't like you," Vine added. "I don't know what's going on here and I don't like it."

"I have this friend," Peter said. "He specializes in stuff like this."

"Then why isn't he here?" Vine muttered, squinting.

"He's shy," Peter said, "and that's all you need to know."

Vine was quiet for a moment. "Brilhart aint gonna be around forever, you snot," he said. "Just remember that." He turned and clumped off.

"Thank you, have a nice day," Peter nodded after him. Peter headed to the back door, where an officer stood guard. The officer let him out.

"Gotta go home," Peter muttered to himself as he headed down the sidewalk. "Get some mesh, get some food. After I've talked to my professors to salvage what I can out of this fiasco." He gritted his teeth. "This would be a lot easier," he murmured, "if the whole thing wasn't my fault."

xXx

Dusk.

"So when do you think this sorry s.o.b. will come get some?" one officer asked another.

"Full dark," the other nodded, his steely eyes glinting, his jaw tight. "It won't wait tonight."

"Think so?" the officer said.

"Oh yeah. It has a taste for blood and mayhem, and it's just getting warmed up."

They stood guard over the front door to the concourse, looking out at the darkening world through the thick glass. They saw Peter Parker walk up the sidewalk towards the building.

"We don't have to let him in," one officer smirked.

"The other scowled. "We'll want him in here tonight," he said. "He knows about blood and mayhem."

"You're kidding, right?" the smaller man said, eyebrows raised.

"It's in the eyes," officer said with a nod. "We want him in here tonight."

"Whatever you say, Petit," the officer said, unlocking the door. Peter stepped in with a nod.

"Gentlemen," he said. He glanced around, then up. "All ten of you accounted for. It's good that you didn't go down into the sewer."

"No need," Petit said. "It's on its way now."

"I have no doubt you're right," Peter nodded. "Where's Vine?"

"Brilhart pulled him off this stakeout," Petit said. "Didn't want him to slow you down. When you do what you do."

"It's not so much what I do as who I call," Peter said.

"Whatever you say," Petit nodded.

Peter let that go. "I need you to do something for me."

"What's that," Petit said.

"When this thing shows up it's going to get ugly," Peter said. "This killer can't be stopped with bullets. Not fast enough. People will die. And there are enough dead cops."

"You swear you can stop it?" Petit said.

"It will be stopped," Peter said, looking straight into the other man's uncompromising stare.

Petit searched Peter's eyes for a long moment, then nodded. "When the monster comes," he said, "we'll pull back while you keep it busy."

Peter slowly nodded. "It'll have to do," he said. "I just came to see how things are set up. I'm on my way out now. I'll send my friend. Could someone unlock the third window from the left on the balcony?"

"I'll see to it personally," Petit said.

"Good," Peter said. "I'll see you all tomorrow, hale and hearty. And don't let my friend get taken out by friendly fire."

"Sleep well," Petit said. He let the door close as Peter walked down the steps, away from the building.

"What do you think of that, Fenwick?" Petit asked the other officer.

"He's nuts," Fenwick said with a shrug. "I have no idea what Brilhart is thinking on this one."

Petit smiled. "I'll go unlock the third window from the left on the balcony, and maybe we'll find out."

xXx

Five policemen were set up in shooting positions in the concourse, the other five patrolled the perimeter of the vast hall. Almost nine o'clock.

A grunting cough rolled through the building, low and deep; it was a sound that chilled the officers to the bone.

"Get ready, men," Petit said into the tac net. "Here we go."

All around the room, M-16s were cocked.

With a dull crunch, one of the shooters on the balcony flew out into open space and slowly fell end for end, missing the back of his head, then smacked down on the floor. He bounced then slid, then was utterly still.

A full minute ticked by.

Then some instinct warned Petit, and he spun--

To see a hellish face, massive fangs, darting down at him--

A sleek black fist crashed into the jaw of the monster, knocking its bite off course and sending it reeling. Petit felt an incredible push in his chest armor as the spider ghost shoved him. He fell and slid twenty feet, then rolled to his feet; he had no shot that didn't threaten his rescuer. He turned and sprinted along the balcony; "Fall back!" he gasped, breathless from the shove. "Fall back to the front door!"

Behind him, the spider ghost squared off with the huge shadow.

It was easily seven foot, maybe taller if it didn't hunch. It's skin was a filthy, mottled gray, tough and leathery and scored with small bullet wounds. It was hairless, its head smooth and its jaw elongated and stuffed with razor sharp teeth. Glittering eyes were set deep in heavy bone sockets. It flexed its claws as it loomed over the smaller man.

"Let's dance," Peter said.

He easily evaded its snap, then it lashed out with its talons. Peter slid around the first swipe, then hopped off the balcony as it swung again. It was fast for a creature its size; faster than a normal man. Not in the league of the spider ghost. The monster bounded off the balcony, landing on the floor of the concourse with a reverberating thud.

It was beginning to grow angry; Peter saw the rage building in its beady eyes. It rushed to him, slashing and snapping, and he ducked and slid out of the way of the attacks. That's it. Wear yourself out. He gracefully backflipped out of the creature's range, and it sprang at him.

He smiled.

He landed on his back, kicking hard, and the spring was met with a precise two heeled kick to the collarbone. The monster's momentum reversed, but it didn't fly back far. It bounced off the spider ghost's feet and landed, slashing.

Peter twirled out of the way. There should have been a snap. But there wasn't.

He scooted back, planning his next move. The massive monster hunched, ready to spring. Then the fully automatic clatter of assault rifles roared out from the doorway to the concourse, and a hail of bullets slapped into the monster. One officer launched a grenade.

The monster bucked and reeled, twitching, as the bullets kicked it back. Then the fragmentation grenade exploded, sending razor sharp bits of metal casing singing along the walls and floor. They stopped shooting into the slow swirling of smoke.

For a moment it was quiet except for the tinkling roll of shell casings. They listened intently, but their hearing was brutalized from the gunfire. Not one of them looked up.

Then the monster crashed to the ground in front of them, the spider ghost riding him all the way to the floor from his ambush spot on the ceiling. "Run, dammit!" the spider ghost shouted as the monster rolled over with a backhand swipe that would have taken his guts out if he had not bounded clear.

Petit saw that its hide was bloody and torn. The bullets had at least penetrated. And now he was point blank. He snarled and opened up with the rifle, blasting away.

It was so fast. The monster rolled, evading much of the fire. Its hide deflected some of the rest, then it slapped Petit's gun away and snatched his vest, arm poised to slash at his head.

Then the spider ghost was behind it again, snatching the wrist. "Go now or die," the spider ghost grunted as he spun, applying all his strength to holding the monster's wrist. It was lifted over his head, slung through the air, and smashed down on the ground. Petit was along for the ride, still gripped in the monster's free hand. He slammed down and everything went dark for him.

The officers piled out the front door of the concourse; only one hesitated. The monster slung Petit as a weapon, swinging the unconscious man against the spider ghost. The spider ghost was out of the way, snatched the body and tugged on the back of the flak vest. It tore, freeing the officer. As part of the same smooth spin, the spider ghost grabbed the man and shoved him at the last officer, knocking them both down. Then he turned to face the monster as it freed its claws from the vest.

"Come on," Peter said to it. "Your fight is with me, not them. Show me what you've got."

Blood trickled down its arms and chest and scalp from dozens of inconsequential wounds, light scratches in its incredibly tough hide. It looked at the spider ghost, then over at the two downed police, then back at the spider ghost. It leaped.

The conscious officer screamed as the vast bulk closed in on him, but then the spider ghost was between them. The spider ghost snatched the monster's wrist and slung it off course. The huge creature crashed into the wall. Peter did not release the wrist; he bounded to the side and tugged hard. The monster was jerked away from the wall and slung around. It pulled its arm in to its chest, trying to catch him in a bear hug, but he was adhered to the wrist now. He gracefully shifted so the momentum of the move carried him over the monster's shoulder. He tugged hard, trying to dislocate the shoulder.

Instead, the monster flexed its legs, torso, and arm to swing its captor over it to crash down on the floor and shatter. The spider ghost arced over it, refusing to let the wrist go, but landed on its feet and squatted, taking the entire force. The spider ghost spun down on one knee, and the monster was wrenched to the side, off its feet, to slide awkwardly on the ground.

"I'm not letting go until you give up," Peter Parker gritted out, staring into the beady eyes of the creature he gripped. It chuffed out a breath. Peter went cold as he smelled his own breath in the breathing of this creature.

Here we go, he thought. The next ten seconds are the most critical.

His world was full of the claws that tore through the air at him, but he managed to whirl out of the way and bounce up as the jaws snapped at him. He screamed as he jerked at the arm, pulling the monster off balance. It was so strong! Stronger than he was. But he had its wrist. This wasn't going to end prettily.

The spider ghost was not about to lose this one.

The monster charged bodily at a pillar, the spider ghost on its wrist a battering ram. At the last possible moment Peter twisted out of the way, letting the monster take the full hit. He spun and yanked on the wrist, and the monster stumbled, then flexed to try to free its limb. The spider ghost was taken by surprise, pulled off the floor; in the air with no leverage he didn't have time to react before the monster spun him to smash into the wall.

Dark lights exploded in Peter's vision; he knew he still had the wrist but he couldn't feel it anymore, and the whole world swirled around him. He saw jaws, he punched; he saw the floor, he twisted. For a disorienting, shocking moment he wasn't sure which way was up. Then he saw a wall, and slammed his feet at it, sticking for all he was worth.

In that moment he realized it was trying to get away from him.

He followed its gaze to see one officer trying to heft the other out of the building. The monster lunged for them.

"No!" Peter shouted, clinging to the wall with his feet and to the wrist with both hands.

It buckled down and exerted itself. Peter howled as he felt like he'd be pulled in two. Then the stonework he was adhered to tore out of the wall and he was carried along in the monster's rush.

"No!" Peter shouted again, twisting the arm as hard as he could. Through his fingers where they clamped down near bone, he felt the joint grind and creak as he twisted. The monster ignored the pain, hellbent on claiming two more lives at least.

Peter suddenly had a very clear choice. He was too shaky to be sure of stopping the monster before the police were killed. The only way he could do it was to kill the monster. Its life or theirs.

He remembered its eyes.

No, there must be another way.

Peter gritted his teeth as he slung his knee into the monster's elbow hinge from behind; he felt a tendon go in the arm. Then he rammed both his feet into the monster's armpit, bucking straight with every fiber of strength he had. The monster screamed and fell, and the two of them slid along the floor towards the police.

"Leave," Peter gritted, twisting, "them," as something in the shoulder crunched, "ALONE!"

With a nauseating rip and pop, Peter's entire strength managed to crack some ribs and dislocate the shoulder, twisting the bone sideways in a way it could not twist. Meat tore, tendons snapped, and the creature made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a scream.

The officers made it out of the building.

The creature lay squalling, a sound mixing hate and pain and fear and rage. It staggered to one knee as the spider ghost backed off, using the useless arm as a leash to control it.

"It's over," Peter said firmly. "Give it up."

It stared at him, absolutely nothing human in its eyes. Then it unleashed a fearsome scream and jerked away from him. He barely had time to stick to the floor, squat, and pull for all he was worth. The monster was unrelenting, the scream building in volume until Peter thought his head would burst.

Then it tore free.

Peter flew over backwards as the arm was pulled entirely away, the last muscle and hide that held arm and shoulder together unable to withstand the pressures they put on it.

The monster stopped screaming, staggered a few steps, and fell heavily to its knees as Peter slowly sat up, looking down in horror at the monster's arm. Its lifeblood sluiced out of its shoulder socket and spattered on the floor; it seemed like there were gallons of it. Then the monster slowly pushed itself to its feet and stumbled away from Peter.

Every muscle in his body screamed with abuse as he shoved the arm to the side and unsteadily stood.

"Give up now and you can still survive this," Peter said, knowing better and incongruously thinking of Connors.

The monster broke into a lope, headed into the hallways behind the concourse. Peter gave chase, still unsteady on his feet. It was still fast! He followed it, down the hall to the security office. He looked down through the hole in the wall. Great.

Just great.

But it was too late to turn back now.

Peter dropped into the hole, slithered along the passages the monster had taken, slicked and running with vital blood. He hit the sewers, the monster's trail easy to follow now that it was gushing like a stuck pig. Time became surreal as Peter followed the fresh plumes of blood in the sewage, plashed along the walls. He felt he was pushing against something more substantial than the smell and the darkness as he continued, a darker presence than the one he followed. After nearly an hour he came to an old pump station, where large tunnels intersected. Out of the tunnel and up on the dias, the dying monster had crawled. By the thin light of weak bulbs set in the wall Peter saw the corpse.

He took a few steps forward. This wasn't quite done.

He heard a rumbling cough in the darkness ahead, and from one of the tunnels waddled a huge crocodile. It was crusted in filth, but its teeth had grown too long, extending over and under the snout. It was blind, and its skin was laced with hardened carapace and disease.

Peter recognized a creature tainted with the Darkstone. "Alright then," he said. "Let's see what you've got."

The creature picked itself up and sprinted at him, moving its tremendous bulk with uncanny speed. Its jaws loomed, and Peter bounded towards it. He planted one foot in its jaw, in the slime by its tongue, and put his two fists on the roof of its mouth. Then he stood up. With a dull crack that echoed in the tunnels, its jaw hinge snapped. The spider ghost hopped out of the floppy mouth and punched a fist down through its eye socket, then kicked it over to the side.

"If that doesn't do it," he said, "come back and I've got some more."

Then he stiffened. Something else was here.

Something hissed in the darkness, a deep hiss that almost echoed with malignance. Peter turned and looked into the pitch darkness; it was aggressively dark, not merely lightless. Something was moving. He saw glittering, and a vast bulk pulled itself towards him. It had nine eyes.

Eight eyes. And a darkstone embedded in its head. The vast bulk of spider hauled itself closer, clacking its unreal mandibles and hissing again.

Peter gathered his strength.

"You have something that belongs to me," he said coolly.

Then he went and got it.