Peter leapt out his apartment window, aggressively swinging towards the deafening boom that had interrupted his tussle with Felicia. His red jacket and black trousers clung to him as he ripped through the air, a stark contrast against the night sky. The suit's bold spider emblem on his chest blazed with fury.
"You think you can just stroll into my city and start knocking down buildings?" Peter growled, each web swing fueled by pure rage and precision.
The cacophony of helicopters and police sirens grew louder as Sable's armored trucks sped towards the disaster. Peter blended into the night sky, his silhouette a fleeting phantom against the moonlit skyline.
"There," Peter spotted the attacked area—a large block of apartments engulfed in flames and chaos. Civilian homes under siege made his blood boil.
"Going after civilians now? You're gonna learn your lesson," Peter hissed. He yanked another web, moving faster, a blur of red and black streaking through the night.
Peter reached the area, smoke and fire covering his lenses. Undeterred, he shot a webline into a gaping hole of an apartment building. "COME OUT AND I'LL MAKE IT QUICK!" Peter shouted into the building, his voice echoing through the smoke-filled hallways. He sensed the fear emanating from the hidden mercenaries.
"How is he already here? Search the perimeter and put a bullet through his head!" one of the men shouted. Peter pinpointed his location instantly, his Spider-Sense tingling.
Barging through a crumbling wall, Peter grabbed a merc by the head and hurled him out the window. The man's bones cracked as he met the pavement below with a sickening thud.
"It's him! Shoot him down!" one of the larger men barked. The mercenaries sprayed bullets into the smoke and fire, their aim erratic and panicked.
"Idiots," Peter muttered. He yanked a web, pulling another merc through the floor, the man's head smashing against solid concrete. Peter swiftly kicked the merc's jaw, feeling the bone fracture under the force.
Another mercenary began, "How th—" but Peter was on him in an instant. A flurry of punches and kicks left the man incapacitated, his jaw hanging at an unnatural angle.
"Please, don't! I'll give you any—" the man pleaded, but Peter silenced him with a brutal smash of his head against the concrete counter. The merc's skull dented visibly, and he slumped to the floor unconscious.
Peter's eyes darted around, spotting an injured civilian huddled in the corner of the kitchen. He moved over, grabbing the man by the collar. "Where did they go?" Peter hissed. The man remained silent, his eyes wide with terror.
"If you don't tell me where they went, you're finding your own way out," Peter growled, tightening his grip.
"I—I don't know exactly. They mentioned something about the warehouse district," the man stammered.
Peter released him with a shove, moving through the building with calculated precision. The building groaned under the stress of the fire and destruction. He spotted a group of mercenaries huddled near the stairwell.
Peter swung down, landing silently behind them. "Boo," he whispered before attacking. His fists flew, each punch landing with bone-crushing force. The mercenaries crumpled one by one.
Peter turned on his police scanner, searching for their next location. "Fucking NYPD, report something already," he mumbled.
"We have located the terrorists. They have armored trucks heading towards Hell's Kitchen, 47th Street."
"Finally," Peter shot another web towards Hell's Kitchen. This time, they weren't getting away.
"C'mon, go faster! Spider-Man already knows our location!" one of the men shouted, firing at the trailing NYPD officers with a turret.
"That's rich coming from you, Clay. You nearly shitted your pants when you saw this redhead we captured," a man at the back of the truck joked, holding a middle-aged woman with reddish hair.
"Look, if you let me go, I won't tell anyone about this," she blurted out.
"Nah, we got much better ideas for you," the man whispered into her ear.
"You freaks!" she shouted, trying to fight back.
"AGH!" The man's taunt was cut short as Peter punched a hole through the window and yanked the driver out, webbing him to a nearby wall.
"It's that fucking Spider-Man!" the man holding the woman shouted, aiming his gun at Peter.
"Where is he?" the man on the turret shouted.
"Right here," Peter whispered into his ear, having slipped behind him. He opened the truck's rear doors and threw the man out, watching him crash into a police car's window.
"Fuck you!" the man holding the redhead yelled, firing wildly. The bullets missed as Peter dodged them effortlessly.
Peter swiftly tossed the man aside and began untying the woman. "This truck's about to crash! We need to get out now!" he shouted.
Paralyzed by fear, she didn't respond. Peter grabbed her and leapt out of the truck, shooting a web line to a nearby rooftop. They swung through the air, the truck careening out of control behind them.
Peter landed on the rooftop, setting her down gently. The truck crashed into a building and burst into flames. The NYPD swarmed the area, securing the scene.
"Pete, is that you?" a familiar voice cut through the noise. Peter turned around, ready for another fight, but stopped when he saw her—MJ, covered in dust, her blue eyes and red hair unmistakable.
"MJ?" Peter's voice was a mixture of surprise and relief.
"Yes, MJ," she confirmed, her voice steady but cautious.
"Where do you live? I could take you home, to safety," he offered, touching her shoulder. But MJ quickly moved out of his grasp.
"Just drop me off home. I live in the penthouse a few blocks from here," she said, her voice lacking the confidence he remembered.
"Alrig—alright," Peter responded, grabbing MJ and shooting a web line towards her penthouse.
As they swung through the city, Peter's mind raced back to their last conversation. Four years ago, MJ's words, "I don't ever want to see your fucking face again," had left a scar.
Peter tried to stir up a conversation. "How's life been?" he asked awkwardly.
"Just don't talk, Pete," MJ replied flatly, not looking at him.
"Wh— Sure, sure," Peter stammered, falling silent.
They landed on MJ's penthouse balcony. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she turned to him, her face hard. "Thanks. You can go now."
Peter was about to respond but decided against it. "Fine then, MJ," he replied, his voice edged with bitterness. He gave her one last look, searching her face for any sign of warmth, but finding only a hardened resolve.
With a heavy heart, Peter jumped off the balcony, the city's neon lights reflecting off his suit as he descended. He shot a webline towards a nearby building, swinging off into the night. The wind whipped past him, but it did little to clear his mind.
As Peter swung through the city, his Spider-Sense suddenly tingled violently. He flipped in mid-air, narrowly avoiding a hail of bullets. "What the—?" Peter growled, realizing he was under attack from a helicopter that had been tailing him.
"Ambush? Really?" Peter muttered, his rage intensifying. He shot a webline at the helicopter, propelling himself towards it at breakneck speed. The helicopter's gunner aimed a turret at him, but Peter was too fast, dodging the bullets with ease.
Peter landed on the helicopter's side, punching through the metal to grab the gunner. With a brutal yank, he pulled the man out and tossed him into the night sky. The gunner screamed as he plummeted to the ground below.
Peter climbed into the helicopter, grabbing the pilot by the neck and slamming his head into the console. "You think you can mess with my city?" Peter hissed. He repeatedly smashed the pilot's head against the controls, each impact causing the helicopter to jerk wildly.
Bloodied and barely conscious, the pilot tried to reach for a sidearm, but Peter snapped his wrist with a swift, ruthless motion. "Not today," Peter growled. He grabbed the pilot's arm and twisted it behind his back, nearly breaking it.
The pilot whimpered in pain. "Please, I was just following orders."
"And now you're gonna follow this," Peter snarled, smashing the pilot's face into the windshield, shattering the glass. With a final, powerful punch, Peter knocked the pilot out cold, his body slumping over the controls.
Peter guided the helicopter away from the city, setting it on a collision course with the river. At the last moment, he leapt out, webbing himself to a nearby building and watching as the helicopter crashed into the water and exploded.
Peter swung back through the city, his heart still pounding with adrenaline. He had dealt with the immediate threat, but he knew there were more out there, and he wouldn't rest until they were all brought to justice. His city was under siege, and he would protect it at any cost.
As Peter continued swinging towards his apartment, another helicopter roared into view, guns blazing. Peter dodged the bullets, but one clipped his arm, drawing blood. Ignoring the pain, he shot a web at the helicopter, yanking himself towards it with a fierce determination.
Landing on the helicopter's landing skids, Peter quickly scaled up to the cockpit. The pilot, realizing the danger, swerved the helicopter violently, trying to shake Peter off. Peter clung on with iron determination, feeling the wind and force battering against him.
"Nice try," Peter muttered. He smashed his fist through the side window, grabbing the pilot by the collar. The pilot struggled, but Peter yanked him out, tossing him into the sky. The pilot screamed as he fell, disappearing into the darkness below.
With the pilot gone, the helicopter started to spiral out of control. Peter swung into the cockpit, grabbing the controls. He pulled the helicopter up just enough to stabilize it. As he did, he saw more mercenaries in the back, their eyes wide with fear.
Peter moved swiftly, ripping the door open and entering the cabin. The mercenaries opened fire, but Peter dodged the bullets effortlessly, his movements a blur. He grabbed one by the throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into the wall. The force of the impact dented the metal and knocked the mercenary unconscious.
Another mercenary lunged at Peter with a knife. Peter caught his arm, twisting it until he heard a snap. The mercenary screamed in pain, but Peter silenced him with a brutal elbow to the face, shattering his nose.
"Next?" Peter snarled, his eyes blazing with fury. The remaining mercenaries hesitated, their confidence shattered. One of them tried to reach for a radio, but Peter was on him in an instant, ripping the radio from his hand and crushing it underfoot.
Peter grabbed the last mercenary, slamming him into the cockpit controls. The helicopter veered dangerously close to a building, its blades narrowly missing the structure. "Tell me where your base is!" Peter demanded, his voice a low growl.
The mercenary, bloodied and terrified, stammered, "W-we have a hideout in the old warehouse district! P-please, don't kill me!"
Peter's grip tightened. "Thanks for the info," he said coldly, before throwing the mercenary out of the helicopter. The man's scream was cut short by the rush of wind as he fell.
Peter turned his attention back to the helicopter, guiding it away from the buildings and towards the river. Just as he was about to jump out, the blades of the helicopter clipped the side of a building, sending shards of metal flying. One of the blades slashed across Peter's arm, a searing pain shooting through him.
"Dammit!" Peter growled, clutching his bleeding arm. He leapt out of the helicopter, shooting a webline to a nearby building and swinging away just as the helicopter crashed into the river and exploded in a ball of fire.
Peter landed on a rooftop, breathing heavily. He glanced at his arm, the cut deep and bleeding profusely. Ignoring the pain, he tore a piece of his suit and wrapped it around the wound to staunch the bleeding.
"This isn't over," Peter muttered to himself. He had the information he needed. The old warehouse district was his next target. He swung off into the night, determined to put an end to the mercenaries once and for all.
Peter moved through the city with relentless speed, his mind focused on the mission ahead. The pain in his arm was a constant reminder of the brutality he had faced, but it only fueled his determination. He wouldn't stop until every last one of the mercenaries was brought to justice.
Arriving at the old warehouse district, Peter landed silently on a rooftop overlooking the area. He could see the mercenaries below, moving equipment and preparing for their next attack. "Time to end this," Peter whispered, his eyes narrowing.
He leapt down, crashing into the middle of the group with a force that sent them flying. The mercenaries scrambled, trying to draw their weapons, but Peter was faster. He grabbed one by the leg, swinging him into another with bone-crushing force. The two mercenaries crumpled to the ground, unconscious.
Another mercenary charged at Peter with a crowbar. Peter ducked under the swing, delivering a powerful uppercut that sent the man sprawling. He then turned, webbing two more mercenaries to a wall before they could even raise their guns.
Peter's movements were a blur of rage and precision. He fought with a ferocity that left no room for mercy. One mercenary managed to get a lucky shot, the bullet grazing Peter's side. Ignoring the pain, Peter grabbed the shooter by the throat, lifting him off the ground and slamming him into a stack of crates.
"You picked the wrong city," Peter growled, his voice filled with cold fury. He webbed the man's mouth shut before moving on to the next target.
The last mercenary tried to flee, but Peter wasn't letting anyone escape. He shot a webline, yanking the man back and slamming him into the ground. Peter stood over him, his eyes blazing. "You're done," he said, webbing the mercenary to the floor.
Peter surveyed the scene, his chest heaving with exertion. The warehouse was a mess of broken bodies and smashed equipment. He had done what he set out to do. The mercenaries were defeated, and his city was safe for now.
But Peter knew this was just one battle in a larger war. He swung off into the night, his mind already focused on the next threat. He wouldn't stop until every last one of his enemies was brought to justice. His city depended on it.
Peter swung through the city, the adrenaline slowly ebbing away as the familiar sights of New York passed beneath him. The night's events replayed in his mind, the rage and brutality of his actions weighing heavily on him. He had won, but at a cost.
Reaching his apartment building, he landed silently on the fire escape. His muscles ached, the cuts and bruises he had sustained throbbing with each movement. He crawled through the window into his apartment, the warmth and quiet a stark contrast to the chaos he had just left behind.
Peter moved through his apartment, each step feeling heavier than the last. He made his way to the kitchen, his body demanding rest. He leaned against the counter, his head hanging low. The fight had taken everything out of him.
Without bothering to change out of his suit, Peter sank to the floor, his back against the kitchen cabinets. His vision blurred, and he felt the warm stickiness of blood seeping from the wounds in his suit. He closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh.
The events of the night still lingered in his mind, the faces of the mercenaries he had fought flashing before him. He had been ruthless, more brutal than ever before. But he had to be. His city was under threat, and he would do whatever it took to protect it.
As his thoughts drifted, his exhaustion overwhelmed him. The sounds of the city outside became a distant hum, the chaos of the night giving way to the peace of slumber. Peter's breathing slowed, his body finally giving in to the rest it so desperately needed.
His eyes fluttered shut, the edges of his vision dimming. The last thing he felt was the warmth of his own blood, soaking through his suit. The darkness of sleep enveloped him, offering respite from the turmoil of the night. Peter Parker fell into a deep sleep, still clad in his suit, the weight of his responsibilities momentarily lifted from his shoulders.