He got there quick. A man was sprawled across the concrete, blood dripping from his lips. He coughed, body shaking violently.
"Sir, can you walk?" asked Peter, walking up to him.
The man looked up, brunette hair blocking the majority of his face. He wore a green jacket and blue jeans. "They took my son."
"Who took your son?"
The man coughed again, spitting as Peter helped him to his feet. "The Russians."
"Is there anything you can tell me about the vehicle they got away in?"
"Yeah," he breathed. "All black van, double doors in the back. Uh, went off in that direction."
He pointed straight ahead. Peter nodded, catching sight of the silver SUV abandoned in the middle of the road.
"Do you still have your car keys?"
The man nodded.
Peter pulled out his phone and opened up his notes.
"Address."
The man gave it to him.
"Get yourself patched up and go home. Wait. There'll be a knock on your window when I get there. Then, to make sure it's me, do not open it until you hear the sound of my voice. Do not call anyone, do not answer any calls, and for sure do not open any doors. Lock everything. Is that understood?"
"Yes."
The man all but ran to his car and Peter's eyes locked on the road ahead. He sprinted. Unbeknownst to him, a man dressed in black watched from the rooftops before taking off in the same direction.
"Oni idut. Dva iz lyudey v maskakh (They are coming. Two of the masked men.)," reported a guard.
"Vy uvereny (You're sure)?" questioned Piotr.
"Da (Yes)."
"Prigotov'tes' (Prepare yourselves)."
Peter's eyes widened as he swung by a warehouse. The black van was parked outside. He landed next to it, examining the area carefully. His spider sense went off and he started to turn.
"Move and I break your arm. Who are you?"
"I'm Spider-Man. A kid was kidnapped and brought here by this van."
"I'm aware of that. Are you here to help?"
"Yes," answered Peter without hesitation.
He turned around, hands in the air to show he was no threat. The man stood still for several seconds, studying him before nodding. He had a black mask that covered half of his face. Looks almost like cotton mesh. He wore black jeans, a black, fitting shirt, military gloves, military boots, and black forearm and wrist bracers. The mask intrigued him. How can he see through that?
"Uh, how do you see through that?"
"I'm blind."
"Then how do you, uh, beat people up?"
"I can sense them. The Russians are inside."
"You're sure?"
Peter swore the man rolled his eyes under his mask. "I've been tracking them. Let's move."
The man moved to a back entrance.
"I'll take them from here. Get up top."
Peter nodded and jumped up, crawling toward a window. The man motioned with his fingers. Three. Two. One. They entered silently. Peter landed softly in the upper levels, locking eyes with the man, who was down below, crouching and observing the area. Empty. The hell? His eyes widened as he came to a realization. The man sensed it too, stiffening. Ambush. Several Russians charged Peter's new ally as bullets burst into the air, aimed at Peter. He dodged, making his way to the shooters. Unbelievable. I can't believe we fell for that. Where's the kid?
His new teammate was battered. He had been sliced several times. His shirt and pants were ripped open, blood dripping openly. Peter noticed the next attack before it hit.
"Watch your throat!" he screamed.
Peter watched, horrified, as a Russian sliced the man in black in the throat. The man managed to move away before it cut anything serious. In the second he lost focus, a burning sensation erupted in his shoulder, spreading throughout his body. Shit. Another in his lower abdomen. He screamed in pain, his vision going blurry. He changed targets while he could still see, heading toward his friend instead of the shooters. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and lifted him up, crashing through a window facing the docks. Before they plummeted into the water, he fired a web-line and pulled them away from the warehouse. Before long, his strength faded and he lost a grip on his ally. The wounded man fell from his arms and landed with a loud thud in a dumpster below. Crashing onto a rooftop, he curled up, breathing erratically.
When he awoke, he estimated he had been unconscious for a few hours. He groaned as he tried to lift himself up from a rather comfortable couch. Wait... His hands flew to his face, touching everywhere. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt the fabric of his mask.
"Don't worry. She didn't unmask you," a pained voice spoke.
Looking toward the sound of the voice, he saw his ally.
"I wouldn't sit up if I were you. Thankfully, the bullets went clean through. Still had to patch up the bleeding though." An African-American woman stepped out of the kitchen, throwing a rag on the table.
"Thank you, Miss…"
"Name's Claire Temple."
"Thank you Claire." He turned toward Black Mask, that's what he was going to call him, and spoke. "The boy?"
The man shook his head. Suddenly, Peter and Black Mask's heads shot toward the door.
"You hear that?" whispered Black Mask.
Peter nodded. "Man across the complex. Going door to door asking about us."
Both of their noses scrunched up.
"Cologne," they spoke at the same time.
"You guys can smell and hear him all the way across the complex?"
Black Mask nodded. "He really loves that cologne. He's at the door next to your neighbor's. On the left."
"What do you want me to do?" asked Peter.
"Get out of here. Go through the window. I can handle this. Will you be okay?"
"Yeah. Didn't expect to be shot this early on in my superhero adventures. Don't worry, I heal fast."
Black Mask nodded, passing him a red flip phone. "It's a burner phone. My number's in it. If you need anything call me."
"What if you need my help?"
"I've got that handled. Now go."
Peter stood up, swaying slightly as he made his way to the window. A knock resounded throughout the apartment.
"Ma'am, this is the NYPD. I'd like to ask you a few questions if you could open up," the voice sounded through the door.
Peter climbed out through the window and shot a web-line, swinging away.
Peter moaned as he walked up the steps to his house. Second day on the job and Aunt May's gonna murder me. Taking out his key, he unlocked the door and stepped inside, coming face to face with his aunt.
"Peter! Benjamin! Parker!"
Peter recoiled as his aunt advanced.
"Where have you been? First, I got a note saying you left early. Then, I got a call from school saying you didn't show up! You always show up! You've never skipped school unless you were sick!" Finally, she took in the sight of him, battered and bruised. "My God Peter. What happened?"
Peter swallowed, mind running through a list of excuses. "I got mugged. I tried to put up a fight but the guy knocked me out. I uh…I woke up a while later in an alley and made my way back here."
His aunt pulled him closer and hugged him. "Oh Peter, why didn't you call?"
"Phone was dead."
She laughed through tears. "Silly boy!"
"I'm gonna head up and turn in early. Goodnight."
"Okay dear, if you're sure you're alright. Goodnight."
Peter walked up the stairs and gently closed the door behind him. Pulling off his shirt, he looked at the rips of his suit where he had been shot. Unbelievable. Being Spider-Man is going to cost me so much money. He set his phone on the night table and pulled out his burner phone. He was about to set it down when it buzzed. Flipping it open, he answered.
"Hello?"
"Spider-Man?"
"Yeah."
"I need your help."
"I'm all ears."
"I'm about to get the kid back. I need you to put the hurt on Kingpin's operations. Drug deals, robberies, executions, anything, okay? I need you to work overtime."
So much for sleep. "Alright."
He grabbed his mask.
"And Spider-Man, be careful. He's got an expert assassin working for him. He's a bald guy in a black tux, blood red tie. His code-name is 47."
Weeks passed as Peter successfully assaulted the Kingpin's operations. His Spider-Man life was going great. He'd put a lot of criminals in the slammer. His uncle's funeral came and went and Peter was still sad, but he understood what he had to do. He couldn't let anything stop him. While Spider-Man's life was great, Peter Parker's wasn't.
He exited the front doors to school, trudging past everyone as he yawned. He was always tired and hungry now. He barely got any sleep, and when he did, it was usually during school. His metabolism and extra-curricular activities were burning through his supply of energy, leaving his stomach growling and body starved. As he exited school grounds, a miracle happened. Gwen ran up to him, newspaper in hand.
"Peter!" she shouted happily.
He turned around. "Hey Gwen."
She frowned. "You look horrible."
He snorted, rubbing his eyes. "Thanks."
"Check this out."
She shoved the newspaper into his hands. Peter's eyes widened as he scanned it. Daily Bugle. Written by Ned Leeds. J Jonah Jameson looking for pictures of The Spider-Man. A dozen photos for six hundred dollars.
"I figured since you liked photography and need a job, you might be up for the challenge."
Peter looked up and smiled widely. "I love you so much Gwen Stacy! This is perfect!"
She blushed and looked down at the ground. He loved it when she did that.
"Can I keep this?" asked Peter.
"Yeah go ahead."
"Alright, see you around."
And with that, he sprinted away.