Chapter 1: Stark's Graveyard

"If anything, it's kinda your fault that I'm here…"

"Alright, Ned, so what've we got?"

Today'd started off just like every other day. I'd gotten up, gone to school, aced an AP Physics pop quiz, and headed home with Ned to celebrate with one of Aunt May's 'famous' pot roasts. Today was going to be the day; the day we finally finished the Lego Death Star — or it was, right up until Ned's police radio lit up like a Christmas tree. A silent alarm had been triggered in one of the old warehouses down in Sunset City, and from the rushed chatter it sounded like something pretty serious was going down. Two minutes later, I was suited up and swinging across the streets of New York…

"It's like the police said; someone's broken into one of the old warehouses down in Sunset Park. It's weird, though…"

"What's weird?"

"Well, I looked it up. It's that one on 39th Street that's been abandoned, like, forever."

"Wait, really?" I said. A billboard proclaiming 'MAKE YOUR SMILE AN EVERBRITE SMILE!' flashed by in a noisy blur. "The one with the smashed up windows?"

"That's the one!"

"What's so special about that place?"

"Beats me — but get this; that warehouse is apparently owned by a Mr. A. C. Guffin. Has been since 2012."

"MacGuffin? Really?" I rolled my eyes. "Hey, Ned. Who do we know that has enough money to buy a warehouse and would find something like that funny?"

"Um…Stark?"

"Got it in one."

"That's cause you never stop talking about him."

"Yeah, well…" I coughed. "At least it explains the silent alarm. You got a look yet?"

"Well, uh…"

"C'mon, Ned; it'll be fine! I'm an Avenger now, remember?" I reassured him. "And listen; if Stark didn't want me using his satellites, he'd never have given me access in the first place!"

"I…yeah, I guess. Logging in now," Ned said, and added. "But if one of his suits busts through the wall, I'm blaming you."

I landed on a roof, rolling gracefully to a stop in the shadow of an old, rusting water tower. "Nobody's busting through anywhere, Ned. 'Sides, what's Spider-Man without his 'guy in the chair'?"

He chuckled. "Hey, just doing my part to make New York a safer place to live— oh, crud."

I frowned. "Crud?"

"These aren't normal criminals, Pete. I can see some of 'em staked out on the roof, and…"

"...and?"

"They look like…bikers, I guess. Y'know, Black leather, tattoos, big hair? Kinda cool, but…intense," he said. "They've got guns, too."

"Seriously, dude? Maybe lead with that next time!"

"Sorry — but are you sure you're up for this? I mean—"

"Ned, I helped take down Thanos; I can handle a couple of bikers," I pointed out. "'Sides, now I'm really curious. I mean, a silent alarm, goons—"

"—SWAT on its way…"

"Right! Whatever Stark's got hidden in there, we can't let these guys get their hands on it! What if it's some Chitauri tech leftover from the Battle of New York?"

"It'd be like Toomes all over again," Ned said, and sighed. "You're gonna be careful, right?"

"Hey," I protested. "It's me!"

"Yeah, dude, I know — that's why I asked! Also…" he hesitated. "Have your Avenger buddies ever mentioned a guy called 'Tombstone'?"

"Nope. Why?"

"I think he's leading those goons. Whoever he is, he's gotten the police pretty spooked. So just…y'know—"

"Be careful. Yeah, I got it," I grinned and took aim at a nearby rooftop. Just a couple more swings, and I'd be right on top of them… "Thanos, remember?"

"The way you keep bringing it up? It's not like I'm gonna forget."

I dropped in on the next roof over. I knew this part of Brooklyn like the back of my hand, known it even before I'd become Spider-Man. It was gritty and grimy, sure, but there was something I loved about these old warehouses, with their faded brickwork and crumbling friezes. Mr. Harrington'd told us that some were over a century old, built during something called the 'Gilded Age', and I had to admit that they really looked the part.

Unfortunately, I had to admit they also had nearly no cover. Right now, the only thing between me and the next warehouse over were a couple of old AC units, struggling with the heat. I quickly ducked behind one and took a peek around the side. There they were; three men, decked out in black biker jackets and riding leathers. Between them, they were brandishing an impressive selection of assault weapons; a rifle, a shotgun, and what looked like some kind of anti-materiel sniper rifle. A collection of long, sleek knives completed the look, held within easy reach in rather garish sheaths.

"Yikes," I ducked back into cover. "You weren't kidding about the 'intense'! Sure there's only three of 'em?"

"Hold on…" there was a pause. "Yeah. Three."

"Okay…" I paused to think. Ned was right; these guys were far more heavily armed than the street gangs we normally took down. Taking them head-on was probably suicide. "So what're they doing now?"

"It kinda looks like they're watching the road. Think they're waiting for the police?"

"Probably. Reckon they'll be here soon?"

"Nah; can't see 'em on the satellites," Ned said. "Actually, it's kinda quiet all over Sunset Park. Figure there'd be more traffic this time of day."

"Glad there isn't; less chance of anyone getting hurt," I said, with a shudder. "Well, if they're watching the road, I'm gonna swing down the back of the building and jump 'em from behind. You cool with that?"

"You could just sneak into the warehouse, y'know."

I shook my head. "If the police arrive and that big gun's still around, someone's going to get killed. We've gotta take it out."

"Well, that's why you're the guy who defeated Thanos and I'm just the guy in the chair," Ned snorted. "Get going, Pete; I'll let you know if they turn around."

Keeping low and out of sight, I snuck away in the opposite direction and slipped off the roof onto the wall. My fingers slipped on the dusty, decaying brickwork and I scrabbled for purchase, before crawling nimbly around the building to approach the warehouse from behind. Luckily Ned was right; there was almost nobody about — and while that was pretty odd, right now I was counting my lucky stars. The last thing I needed was a crowd of onlookers giving me away.

"Hey, Pete, I was wondering…" Ned said, a touch hesitantly. "Did MJ talk to you this afternoon? Only she looked pretty spooked at lunch, and I was wondering if she'd said anything…"

"You think MJ tells me anything? C'mon Ned, you know what she's like," I said wryly. "Maybe she flunked that pop quiz."

"I dunno; this is MJ we're talking about. When I asked she played it off like she was just 'people watching'—"

"Yeah, that's MJ."

"—but I'm pretty sure there's more to it than that. You think Spider-Man should pay her a visit?"

"I dunno. You think she'd think that's cool?"

There was a weary sigh, and I could practically hear Ned shaking his head over the mic. "You know what? Maybe it should be plain old Peter Parker. 'Reckon he can free up some time in his packed social calendar to see what's up?"

"He might have to juggle a few things around, but I'm sure he can find a slot," I said, and stopped as the back of the warehouse came into view. It was further away than I'd first thought, across a gully filled with brackish, algae-covered water, but nothing I couldn't handle.

"Those guys still facing the road?"

"'Haven't moved an inch."

"'Good," I said confidently. "Quick and quiet, right?"

"Yeah. You got this."

I threw myself out into open space, and as gravity reached up to claim me I flung my hand out towards the warehouse wall. A jet of fluid shot from my web-slinger, gossamer-thin and glistening in the sun. It hit the wall with a quiet splat and hardened to form a silken strand, strong as steel at a fraction of the weight, and I swung gracefully across the foetid ditch and clung tightly to the wall just below the roof.

So, three goons, all with firearms…I took a deep breath and poked my head above the parapet. All three were intently watching the road, just like Ned'd said, and completely unaware of my presence. I scrambled onto the roof and crept softly towards them on silent feet, watching for any sign they were about to turn around.

"I see you," Ned whispered in my ear. "You going to take 'em out or what?"

"Ned, I—" I began, and my foot caught the edge of a discarded beer bottle. It flew across the rooftop, spinning like a top, and against all odds shattered as noisily as possible on a roof cowl barely two feet from the staked out soldiers. With a cry of alarm they spun around to face me, weapons raised to fire. I froze in their crosshairs. "Well, darn."

"Hey!" one barked. He had long, flowing hair and a carefully manicured beard, and I figured he was probably the leader. "Who're you? How did you get up here?"

"I was gonna ask you guys the same question," I said. "Also, what's with the matching jackets? You all going bowling later? Can I come?"

"Hold on—" the sniper gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "Shit! You're Spider—"

I flicked my wrist and a glob of webbing shot through the air, hitting him square on the mouth. He cried out in shock, his voice muffled by the hardening goo, and he dropped his gun and pulled desperately at the sticky mass with both hands. It was barely a distraction; his buddies' eyes only flickered in his direction — but it was all I needed. With another flick more webbing snaked out, coating their guns in a thick layer of spider silk, and I yanked the guns clean out of their hands and off the roof. A loud clatter came from far below.

"You're gonna pay for that, Spider-Man!" the leader lunged, unsheathing his knife in a single smooth motion. I swayed to one side as steel flashed through the air and danced backwards, just out of reach of a particularly vicious backwards stab.

"Now c'mon, don't you think you're jumping to conclusions?" I protested as he advanced, swinging his blade in short, controlled slashes. "I mean, sure, I've got the spider-themed suit and yeah, I may have gotten here by crawling up the side of the building, but that doesn't mean I'm Spider-Man!"

"Oh yeah? If you ain't Spider-Man, then who are you?"

"…yeah, you got me," I said. He growled and lashed out once again, but I knocked his arm to one side with a bone-jarring blow to the elbow and hurled him to the floor with an arm-bar throw. His knife shot from his hand and skittered away across the concrete. "But I gotta admit; I love your hair! How'd you get it so long and silky?"

The biker grunted and spat as he struggled in my grip, but I held firm and sprayed him with a fine mist of web fluid. It coalesced into a tight, sticky cocoon; the perfect present for the police who were (no doubt) rushing to the scene to take him into custody.

"Hey, can you do me a favour?" I asked, as I hopped to my feet. "While you're being processed, see if you can write down your hair care routine for—"

"Look out, Pete!"

Acting on pure reflex, I dropped down low as another knife hummed over my head, barely an inch from my ear, and kicked out blindly towards my attacker. There was a loud crack and a cry of pain as he staggered back, clutching at his knee, and in that opening I spun to my feet, found my footing, and drove my fist through the side of his jaw. He crashed to the floor like a sack of cement, whimpering in pain, and two seconds later I had him cocooned as tightly as his boss.

"Pete!" Ned's voice drilled sharply into my ear. "The last guy's trying to run! Roof door!"

I looked. The third biker, face still covered in webbing, was bolting for a white door set into a small brick enclosure. With a weary sigh I aimed and fired at his feet, wrapping his legs together in thick ropes of nigh-unbreakable silk. He struggled on gamely for a few more feet before he stumbled, fell, and hit the ground with an eye-watering crunch.

"Not your day, is it buddy?" I asked cheerfully, as I caught up. "But since your friends aren't talking; do you think you could let me in on how you get your hair to shine like that? I bet you use organic shampoos, right? How about conditioners? Do you give it fifty brushes before you go to sleep?"

Whatever his response was, it was thankfully muffled by the glob still covering his mouth. Still, there was no mistaking that look impotent fury in his eyes; I'd seen it a hundred times before.

"That's all of 'em, Pete," said Ned. "Awesome!"

I held out my hand and rocked it back and forth. "Kinda. If it hadn't been for you, that other guy would've got me."

"I got your back, buddy," he said encouragingly. "Now, can you find that guy's mic? I've got an app for your suit that I'm dying to try out."

"Near his mic? Uh, sure," I knelt down beside the still-struggling biker. After a brief search, I plucked a tiny receiver from inside his left ear. "Do you need me to do anything—"

There was a quiet buzz, and then a muffled, distorted voice echoed through my ears. It was bad enough that I couldn't even tell if it was a man or a woman, but their tone was calm and even. "—en keep looking. We had a deal, Lincoln."

"Funny; I was just thinkin' the same thing," said a baritone voice. It was quiet, barely above a whisper, but an implicit threat hung on every syllable. "'Cause our deal didn't say nothin' about raiding a Stark depot—"

"That isn't a Stark depot, Lincoln; it's a blacksite. I thought I'd made that clear."

"Hey, as long as you come through for me and my boys, we're cool," 'Lincoln' said evenly. "But if you try to cross us—"

There was a sigh. "I know the drill. You'll make a brutal example of me so that everyone else knows you shouldn't be tangled with. After all, I assume you're called 'Tombstone' for a reason, yeah?"

"Just so long as we're clear," said Lincoln. "We'll get your gear, Mason. Just make sure you're ready with our gear. Out."

With another buzz, the line went quiet.

"Huh. How about that?" I muttered. I let go of the mic and padded towards the door, checking it for any signs of booby traps or reinforcements. Bitter experience had taught me that ambushes were a whole lot less fun on the receiving end. "Whaddaya think?"

"I think we were right on the money," said Ned. "What do you think they're after?"

"Beats me, but something tells me that Mr. Stark didn't want anyone getting their hands on it," I said. "What I don't get is why he'd even have a place like this. He's got high-security warehouses all over the state!"

"Yeah, and people keep trying to break into them. Maybe he figured it was too risky," said Ned. "Or maybe it's some dirty little secret he wants to keep that way."

"Like what?"

"Like something from when he used to be an arms dealer? I know you look up to him, dude, but he wasn't always Iron Man."

I exhaled hard and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Okay, I'm going in."

"You sure? That Tombstone guy sounded like the real deal."

"Which is why we can't let him leave. Stark hid this stuff here for a reason, Ned; we can't just sit here and let it walk out the door!"

"Hey, you're preaching to the choir. I just want to hear that you've got a plan that's better than 'run inside and web everyone in sight'!"

"Hey, that works great!" I said, and then added sheepishly. "...sometimes."

"This doesn't feel like a 'sometimes' to me, Pete," he said seriously. "'Way I see it, you got two ways in. The door, or down the side of the building. What's it gonna be?"

"Door? C'mon, dude," I said, with a cocky smile. "When did Spider-Man ever use the door?"

I jogged across the rooftop to the waterfront side. It seemed pretty clear to me Tombstone and his men had planned to repel a SWAT team, so any other sentries'd probably have their eyes (and guns!) trained on the doors. All I'd need to do was climb down the side, get in through one of the many, many broken windows, and then…well, I'd work out what I'd do next once I was inside. Whatever it was, I was sure it was going to be awesome.

At the edge of the roof, I stopped to drink in the view. Before me stretched the expanse of the Upper Bay, the one thing standing between civilization and New Jersey. It licked gently at the shore, blue-green water sparkling in the afternoon sun, and in the distance the skyline of Jersey City wavered in the haze. Normally, the air would be filled with the sounds of the city; traffic, sirens, even airplanes streaking overhead, but right now it felt quiet and peaceful. Strangely quiet, at that—

"Hey, Pete! Stop lollygagging!" Ned said sharply. "Starkian Doomsday device, remember?"

"Oops, sorry," I said, and dismissed that last thought. "Seriously, though: 'lollygagging'? You sound like Aunt May."

"It's a good word! Anyway, just remember that while you're inside I won't be able to see you on the satellites. Stark's satellites are cool, but I'm pretty sure even he hasn't made one that can see through several yards of concrete."

"Bet you he has. He just doesn't want to share it with us," I chuckled. "Alright; switch to the suit cam. I'm heading in."

"Gotcha."

Now this was Spider-Man's bread and butter. With a quick peek to make sure nobody was watching, I slipped off the side and scrambled down to the first row of windows. They were filthy; so filthy I barely see through them, but there were no broken panes or loose fittings that I could use to get inside.

"You ever been in here, Pete?"

"Not this one," I said. "Flash swears it's haunted, though. Spooky lights at light, noises…"

"Huh. Maybe Stark did that to keep people away."

"What, in Brooklyn? If people really thought this place was haunted they'd be queuing 'round the block to get in. It's just Flash being Flash, and besides—" I snorted. "—can you really see him coming down here? With his butler?"

Ned laughed, shortly. "Yeah, that's a pretty hard sell. So how're you going to get in?"

I looked down. The next row of windows looked in pretty good shape, but there were a couple of shattered panes here and there. Maybe one of them would be more helpful…

"Just a sec—" I pushed myself away from the wall, dropped past the window, and grabbed the simple concrete sill. I heard Ned's sharp intake of breath. "What? I do that all the time!"

"Yeah, but you just do it way too casually. You almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Sorry, Ned; I'll try to warn you next time," I said, and took a closer look at one of the broken window panes. "Hey, does that look like a catch to you? Just on the inside?"

There was the briefest of pauses. "Yeah, actually. You gonna give it a go?"

"Well, I don't see us getting in any other way…" I said. Moving slowly and carefully, I reached between two pieces of broken glass, flicked the catch, and gently pulled at the bottom of the window. With the slightest squeak of unoiled hinges, the window swung outwards and upwards, giving me just enough room to squeeze inside before swinging shut behind me.

"Nice work, Pete!" Ned enthused. "Now, let's see what's going on in Flash's haunted house…"

At first look: not a whole lot. As best I could tell, I'd broken in right at the top of the main warehouse, but it was so gloomy that it was hard to be sure of anything. Sunlight streamed in weakly through the dirty windows, revealing row after row of old, heavy duty racks stretching off into the darkness. They were old, rusting, and groaned under the weight of mouldering crates and decades of neglect. The stench of rot and decay filled the air.

"Creepy," Ned remarked, as I wrinkled my nose. "Kinda reminds me of the end of the Raiders of the Lost Ark. Y'know, when they hide the Ark by sticking it in that big ol' warehouse?"

"I remember those melting Nazis gave me nightmares for weeks," I shuddered at the memory. "But if I wanted to hide something, I could definitely think of worse places than an old, collapsing place like this."

"Right — and whatever Tombstone's looking for, it didn't sound like he'd found it yet," said Ned. "But maybe that's 'cause he's not here."

He was right; I could see a thick layer of dust covering every surface; crates, racking, even the floor. Aside from the occasional trail of tiny pawprints, there was no sign that anyone or even anything had been around here in a very long time. Had I somehow broken into the wrong warehouse? Was this all an elaborate feint? It didn't make sense!

"Yeah. I wonder—" I stopped as a dull metallic clatter rang out in the oppressive silence. It was coming from somewhere in the darkness, and if I strained my ears I thought I could just about make out the faintest of murmurs. "Hold on, Ned. I think I heard something."

He chuckled. "That's a relief. I was starting to think we'd broken into the wrong warehouse! That'd be pretty stupid, right?"

"I was just thinking the same thing," I said wryly, and looked around for ways to get a closer look. These racks looked too old and fragile for my liking, but overhead I could just about make out what looked like the silhouette of some kind of gantry. It looked old; possibly older even than the racks, but it looked like it'd been built to last and spanned the full length of the warehouse… "Hey; you see that gantry? Whaddaya think?"

There was a pause. "It'll do. Beats just wandering in there, right?"

"Yeah, that's what I figured," I said. "Okay, I'm gonna swing up and go check out that sound. Let's see what we're dealing with."

"Sounds good to me. I'll keep my eyes peeled."

The gantry creaked and shivered as I swung from the window to its underside, throwing out a fine cloud of dust. Beneath my fingers I could feel pitted iron and flecks of rust, and as I crawled forward there was an ominous ping somewhere in the darkness.

"You, uh, sure about this?" Ned asked anxiously. "That thing sounds like it's in pretty bad shape…"

"Ah, it'll be fine," I said, with a confidence I definitely didn't feel. "It used to haul around literal tonnes, right? I'm sure it can handle little ol' me!"

"If you say so, buddy."

"I—" I stopped. Up ahead, between two large crates, I saw the brief flicker of an electric lamp. It was dim; probably barely enough to see by, but in the darkness it shone like a star. "Hold on; I think I've found them!"

"You sure?"

"One sec and I'll be right on top of 'em," I inched forwards, grimacing at every squeak and scrape from the protesting gantry. Far below, I could see the faint beams of torches cutting through the dust-choked air. So far, none of them were pointing upwards… "Pretty sure they've got no idea I'm here."

"Doesn't look like it. You worked out what you're going to do?"

"Watch and wait. Like Aunt May always says, good things come to those who wait," I said. "Plus, I kinda want to see what they're after."

"You sure about that? Stark was involved in some pretty nasty stuff, Pete. I've seen videos."

"Yeah? Well…" I floundered a little. "That was years ago. Before he was, y'know, Iron Man."

"I'm just sayin', dude. I know how much you look up to him."

"Yeah, I know," I said, and with a quick scuttle I got myself in position just above the lights. I counted five of them, as well as a pair of larger floodlights that still struggled to penetrate the murky gloom. They were all trained on the same section of racking, where there were several crates that looked suspiciously free of dust. A shadow stepped forward, crowbar in hand. "Hold on, Ned; I think they've found what they're looking for."

"'Looks like it. Can you hear anything?"

I listened. Up here, even the sound of the crowbar working at the crate sounded dull and muted, as if it were being swallowed up by the darkness. "Nothing. I'm going to get closer."

"You sure that's a good idea?"

"We're not gonna stop them just by watching, Ned," I pointed out. "Don't worry; it's gonna be fine."

There was a faintly annoyed sigh from the other end of the line. With a grin, I fired a web into the gantry and silently lowered myself towards the silhouettes, paying out more and more silk as I went. As I drew closer, the shadows became five individuals, all dressed like the bikers I'd webbed up on the roof. Was one of them 'Tombstone'? Maybe, but from the name and who I'd heard on the radio, I'd kinda expected someone more imposing.

With a grunt of exertion, the man holding the crowbar pulled down hard. The crate splintered and bucked, but held despite his best efforts. With a shake of his head, he stepped away and beckoned to his buddies, and as one they gathered around and lifted the box carefully off the rack. As they were lowering it, it slipped and hit the floor with an ear-splitting bang. One of the bikers swore and clutched at a vicious cut on the palm of his hand.

"Idiot," said a voice, deep and dripping with menace. The bikers drew back as an hulking figure emerged from the darkness. He towered over the other men, lip curled in a contemptuous sneer, and his muscles rippled under his fine leather jacket as he stared them down. Under the cold light of the electric lamps, his smoothly shaven scalp glowed with an almost ethereal sheen.

"That's gotta be Tombstone!" Ned gasped, and I nodded. "Christ, dude; he's huge! And…albino? Is he an albino?"

Tombstone struck. In a blur, he snatched the injured man up by the neck and brutally slammed him against the rack, hissing, "You had one job to do, Jones; one goddamn job, and you couldn't even do that right."

The biker known as Jones struggled weakly in Tombstone's enormous grip. "Sorry, boss! I'm really sorry! I just didn't think it'd be that heavy!"

"You're a screw-up, an' I got no use for screw-ups," Tombstone intoned, and tightened his grip around Jones' throat. The other bikers looked on in horror as Jones gasped and choked, legs kicking futilely in the air—

"Boss!" he croaked. "Please—"

—and then Tombstone squeezed. A horrific crack echoed across the warehouse, and Jonas spasmed once before going limp, his strangled pleas dying on his lips. The crime boss regarded his lifeless victim with a look of deep disdain before turning back to his men.

"Y'all best remember this," he rumbled. "It's like I tell everyone who joins up; I only ride with the best. There ain't no room my gang for fools like this—" he said, and cast Jones to one side. The dead biker crumpled to the floor, his head lolling at a grotesquely unnatural angle. "We clear?"

"Holy crap, Pete! He just killed that guy! He just…and then he…" Ned trailed off. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

There was a horrified silence, and the surviving bikers exchanged long, fearful looks. Finally, one swallowed and stepped forwards. "Yes, boss."

Tombstone smiled, revealing two rows of glimmering teeth. Every one, I realised, had been filed to a needle sharp point. "Good. You know me; I ain't complicated. Do what I say, when I say it, and we'll all come out on top."

"But, uh…"

The smile vanished. "But what?"

"The roof team, boss; they're not picking up. I've tried all three of 'em, but…" his lackey trailed off nervously. "You think the police got 'em, boss?"

Tombstone shook his head. "Nah. Mason said he'd called off the police. Made 'em think this was all a false alarm."

"Wait, what?" Ned exclaimed, and there was the sound of distant tapping. "Crud! Pete; he's right! They were recalled three minutes ago!"

"But if it's not the police, who else is it gonna be?" asked the biker. "You thinkin' Stark?"

"Stark ain't around right now," Tombstone said shortly. "Nah, I reckon this's someone else."

"Who?"

Tombstone's eyes flashed dangerously. "Well, I guess you've just volunteered to go find out, Rodriguez. You and…you—" he pointed at another hapless member of his crew. "—Schwartz. Get up there and find out what happened."

Both Rodriguez's and Schwartz's eyes flickered towards Jones' broken body. In unison they straightened, nodded, and darted off into the darkness before Tombstone could change his mind.

"Huh, I guess your aunt was right; good things really do come to those who wait!" Ned said. "Just two of 'em left now. And Tombstone."

"Yeah…" I nodded. "Guess we'd better get started."

"Are you serious?" Ned said. "That Tombstone guy just snapped a man's neck with one hand! He could pulverise you!"

"Vulture could've pulverised me, Ned! Hell, Thanos could've wiped me and you off the face of the universe! This might be the only chance we get to stop 'em before those two come back with reinforcements!"

"Sure, but let's think about this for a sec! How're we gonna even the odds?"

"Well—" I hesitated. Below, Tombstone was examining the crate with a calculating expression. He stooped to retrieve the crowbar, and then with terrifying ease drove it between two planks of wood. The crate cracked and buckled, and as he pulled it fell apart in a shower of wooden shards and broken planks. His two remaining flunkies looked taken aback.

"Uh, boss?" one of them began. "What're—"

"Gotta see what we're handing over to Mason," said Tombstone, roughly shoving the remains of the crate off its contents. "You never know; it might be worth even more than what he's payin'."

With a final sweep he cleared away the wood, scattering it across the floor. I looked down, eager to see what they'd gone to all this effort to get, and my stomach lurched violently. Inside the crate, secured tightly to a pallet with thick steel cables, a golden gauntlet shone brightly in the light. It was enormous; far too big for any human to use, with six empty sockets across the knuckles and the back of the hand.

"What is that thing?" Ned asked. "Pete?"

"It's…" I whispered, and the world spun around me. "It's—"

…a desolate world, covered in the shattered husks of a long-dead civilization…

…a throat-ripping scream, filled with anguish and unutterable grief…

…Stark, staring in shock and numb disbelief…

"Pete? Pete! Are you okay?" Ned's voice shook me back to reality. "Your vitals are spiking!"

"I'm…" I grit my teeth and forced myself to focus. "I'm good, buddy."

"That's not what this screen says! What is that thing?"

"It's…" I hesitated. "It's the Infinity Gauntlet."

He gasped. "You're kidding, right? That's the thing Thanos was gonna use to erase us?"

"...yup."

"What's it doing here?"

"Hell if I know! I always figured Stark brought it back from Titan, but…huh," I found myself smiling slightly. "Maybe you're right; maybe this really is a Raiders of the Lost Ark situation."

"You think?"

"I know Mr. Stark loves his movie references — but we can worry about that later," I added firmly. "Right now, we've gotta stop 'em getting away with the Gauntlet."

"Agreed! So… how're we going to do that?"

There was a grating noise from below as Tombstone wrenched at the thick restraining wires with his crowbar, snapping both in half with intimidating ease. He beckoned to the last two members of his crew, and after some cursing and swearing they managed to heave the gauntlet off its pallet.

"Alright," said Tombstone, as they staggered under its weight. "Get this to the van. We'll get it over to Mason and—"

"Now or never," I muttered.

"Pete, wait—" Ned's strangled cry faded into the background as I flung a strand of spidersilk at the gauntlet. It hit the back of the golden palm with a very satisfying splat, and the bikers cried out in surprise and alarm as I yanked their prize clean out of their hands.

"Gotcha—" I began, but Tombstone lunged like a snake and caught the gauntlet's cuff in a single enormous hand. We struggled for dominance, pulling back and forth while the spidersilk thrummed with the strain and the gantry groaned and shivered, but then Tombstone seemed to relent. He kept a firm grip on the gauntlet, as solid and unmovable as a mountain, but I could see the gears turning in his head as he stared up into the darkness.

"'Figured I was being watched. Always figure I'm being watched," he rumbled. "Nice try, though. I'm guessin' you're the 'someone else'."

"Just your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man!" I called down. "You know; 'does whatever a spider can'?"

"Tony Stark's pet Avenger, huh?" Tombstone snorted. "You take out my boys on the roof?"

"I didn't kill them, if that's what you mean."

He shrugged. "Wouldn't have cared if you had. Cullin' the weak means that only the best survive, an' I only ride with the best."

"Yeah, I heard," I said coldly. "So what're you doing haunting a place like this? I figured that someone called Tombstone'd be more into…I dunno, cryptocurrency?"

He smiled a shark-toothed smile. "If you wanna know that, you're gonna have to come down here and beat it out of me, and—" he flexed his free arm menacingly. "—I ain't about to get beat down by some kid."

"You know, I hear that a lot. Would it kill you guys to come up with some new threats?"

"Not a threat, just the truth," Tombstone said evenly. "Now why don't you be a good boy and run along before you get hurt, huh? Don't wanna bite off more than you can chew."

"You know I can't do that," I declared. "There's no way I'm letting you walk out of here with the 'Gauntlet!"

He laughed. "Oh, you ain't gonna 'let' me do anythin', kid — but you know what? Maybe I'll bring you with me. Word on the street is that the Tinkerer's got a bone to pick with you."

"The Tinkerer? Never heard of him."

"Really? He used to roll with Toomes — y'know, before you clipped his wings," Tombstone smiled broadly, his needle-sharp teeth glinting in the light. "I bet Mason'd be willing to give us something extra special if we handed you over."

"Well, I'm flattered, but if he really wants a Spider-Man collectible he should go visit Chen over on 7th; some of his stuff is actually pretty good!" I said. "Just make sure he stays away from the Spider-hoodies, though; I've heard they run in the wash."

"Cute," Tombstone said. His eyes narrowed and hardened, and I felt a sudden chill thrill through me a split second before he hurled his crowbar at me as hard as he could. I swayed casually out of the way as it scythed past and vanished into the darkness above.

"Ooh, nice try!" I called down, but if anything Tombstone's grin only broadened further. "You want me to hook you up with Hawkeye? I'm sure he could teach you a thing or—"

There was an almighty bang as the crowbar hit something in the rafters. I felt the gantry shake and shudder warningly, and with a scream of tortured metal it came crashing down, smashing through the racks like a sledgehammer. Wooden shards sprayed in all directions, and as I swung clear a long piece of rusty, jagged metal pinwheeled through the air, missing me by inches, and shattered on the side of a particularly sturdy crate.

"Pete! Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Ned! I'm f—!" a nearby crate detonated with a brilliant blue flash and blasted me clean out of the air. I hit the floor, rolled, and dove for the safety of a pallet as a shower of glowing splinters rained down on the ruined racks, smoking and smouldering. "Christ; what's Stark keeping in here?"

"You wanna know what Stark was keeping in here, kid?" said Tombstone, and I scrambled backwards as an enormous fist shattered the pallet in a single blow. He towered over me, a menacing silhouette peppered with needle-sharp shrapnel. "Truth is, kid, this is his graveyard. Everyone's heard about it; the secret building where Stark hides all the things that're too dangerous to keep around, but too valuable to destroy. The kinda stuff he thinks he might need in the future. Bad stuff."

I threw myself to one side as another punch hammered into the ground hard enough to crack concrete. Thinking quickly, I surreptitiously aimed a webslinger at his feet and sprayed a weak, wispy mist across the floor. In the darkness, the cloud was almost invisible amongst the dust and grime…"Oh yeah? If everyone's heard about it, why aren't they all over it?"

"'Cause only a couple of people know where it is, an' only a fool'd set foot in here unless they knew exactly what they were looking for," he said. "One of my boys made the mistake of openin' the wrong crate. Must've activated somethin', cause whatever was inside pulled him through a quarter-inch crack in the top. Didn't even have time to scream."

"Oh, is that what happened to you? You open the wrong crate too?" I asked mockingly. I had to keep his attention on me just a little bit longer! "'Cause honestly, you look like death!"

"Believe me, kid; you don't wanna know what happened to me," Tombstone's eyes narrowed. "But luckily for you, it ain't something you're gonna have to worry about too much longer."

He lunged, and as he lunged the mist coalesced into a solid mass around his feet. For a brief, glorious moment I saw his eyes widen in surprise as he fell, and as he fell I sprang to my feet and drove my knee into his face as hard as I could. There was a brutal crack as the two connected, and then I grabbed the back of his head and slammed him face-first into the concrete. The nearby racks trembled with the impact.

"Nice work, Pete!" Ned exulted. "That'll show him!"

Tombstone laughed, menacingly, and I danced away as he shouldered his way upright with surprising speed. Despite my best efforts, he wasn't sporting so much as a black eye. Just what was this guy made of?

"Or…not."

"Respect, Spider-Man," said Tombstone, and as he stepped towards me the webbing around his feet ripped and fell apart in fibrous fragments. "I gotta say, I don't feel much anymore, but I felt that."

"Yeah? Well, there's plenty more where that came from," I said, with a confidence I really didn't feel. "I took down Thanos, y'know; do you really think I couldn't handle someone like you?"

Tombstone stared at me, and burst out laughing. "You? You really think you defeated Thanos? That's your best joke yet!"

"Well, I…" I hesitated. "I helped!"

"I like you, kid; you got moxie," he said, still chuckling. "But you're living in a dream if you think that's what happened!"

"And how would you know?" try as I might, I couldn't help but feel a little stung by his mockery. "You weren't there!"

"Let's just say I have my sources," he said, with a nasty, pointy smile. "And I don't reckon that the Mad Titan is the kinda guy you can beat just by tyin' his shoelaces together. Compared to him, people like us're small time."

"That's not true!"

"No? Then are you gonna stop playin' around or what?" he said, and swung a giant, meaty fist. This time, however, I was ready for him and as it came around in a giant, unstoppable arc I swayed out of the way and kicked him in the solar plexus. He staggered backwards against a badly damaged rack, looking more surprised than actually hurt, but before he found his footing I webbed up the frame and pulled down hard. The rack collapsed spectacularly, burying him beneath a pile of wood and twisted steel.

"Okay, that's gotta hold him," said Ned. "Now get out of there before he recovers!"

"What about the Gauntlet?"

"The Gauntlet's gone! You've gotta get clear before that building comes down!"

"But—"

"Pete!"

"Right, right. Man, I'm not looking forward to explaining this to Mr. Stark," I sighed, and looked for the nearest open window. "Or, y'know, the whole of New York—"

There was no warning; the pile shifted once, almost imperceptibly, and then it all but exploded. Tombstone surged forwards, bursting from beneath the collapsed racking with murder in his eyes. I jumped back, throwing my hands over my face in an attempt to protect myself, and as I landed I slipped on a piece of wooden wreckage and hit the floor hard. In a flash Tombstone was upon me, his knee on my chest and his arm against my throat, pinning me painfully against the ruined concrete.

"You ain't got it yet, have you?" he hissed, and I choked as he pressed down on my windpipe. Bright glowing dots and flashes flickered across my vision. "Truth is, you ain't gonna beat me. Hell, you're barely slowing me down! How do you reckon you stopped Thanos when you can't even stop me?"

"You think…I'm done yet?" I gasped, and carefully balled my hand into a fist. I was only going to have one shot at this… "I'm only just getting started!"

He laughed a particularly nasty laugh. "I'm gonna give credit where credit's due, Spider-Man; you've done a whole lot better than anyone else I've dealt with, but you ain't ready yet. Truth is, you ain't ever gonna be ready until you stop ridin' on Stark's coattails."

"I'm…not!"

"You're lyin' there, wearing his suit, using his tech, and you're claiming that you ain't? C'mon, kid," Tombstone snorted. "But that ain't something you're gonna have to worry about too much longer. If I were you, I'd be worryin' more about what Mason's gonna do to you and your precious Stark suit after I hand you over. I reckon he's really gonna enjoy himself."

My vision swum, and what little colour there was drained to a light, foggy grey. I had to focus; I had to stay conscious! I had to—

"Relax, Peter Parker."

"Goodnight, Spider-Kid," said Tombstone, and as he raised his fist to deliver the final blow it felt as if the entire world shivered, and the hair on the back of my neck stood up on end. Tombstone must've felt it too; he paused, hand still raised, and stared at me in confusion. "What the—"

He stopped. Between one moment and the next, the air around us was suffused with a ruby glow. It was dim at first, even in the gloom of the warehouse, but with every passing second it grew brighter and brighter until the devastation all around us was picked out in a hellish red light.

"What…what is this?" Tombstone looked about wildly. "How're you doing this?"

"I'm not doing anything!" I protested.

"Bullshit! You know, I was gonna leave you for Mason to enjoy, but this…?" his lips pressed together in a thin, determined line. "If you don't put a stop to this, I'm gonna put a stop to you!"

"I don't even know what 'this' is!"

"Wrong answer," Tombstone struck, and as his fist arced downwards the light flared like a sun. For a single, mind-melting moment my world became a coruscating haze of ruby-red energy, a brilliant, pulsing inferno that reduced him and the entire warehouse to hazy shadows. I threw my hand over my face in a last desperate attempt to shield myself from his punch; there was a brilliant flash…

The punch never came. The light vanished, as quickly as it'd arrived, leaving darkness and a dreadful silence in its wake. I lay on the hard warehouse floor, gasping for breath while I worked up the courage to open my eyes. When I finally did, Tombstone was nowhere to be seen; just a cloud of sparkling red motes that faded as they drifted across the warehouse floor.

"What…what just happened?" Ned asked eventually. "One moment he was about to clean your clock, and then…poof!"

"Yeah. Poof," I repeated numbly, and stared after the little stars. What had just happened? There'd been that strange voice, and then that light — that chillingly familiar light…

"Hey, you feeling okay? You're not about to poof out on me, are you?"

"I'm good, buddy," I said, and watched as the last mote winked out. The more I thought about it, the more I was absolutely certain I'd seen that light somewhere before. I just wasn't sure where!

"Good, 'cause I wasn't kidding about that building coming down. You'd better be making tracks, Pete. Get back here, and we can…decide what to do next, I guess."

"I already know what we're going to do next. We're going to get to the bottom of this," I declared. "Sorry, buddy, but your Death Star's going to have to wait."