Yay, violence!

No one checked the skies. It was a thought I muttered to myself on more than one occasion, and even now it held true. It galled me to not step in whenever Tombstone's followers enacted on their orders, but tonight I was on a hunt. If I gave away my position, the prey I was tracking wouldn't lead me to their nest, and that poor soul I'd put the fear of me into would have been for nothing. Even so. Every bullet fired, every window shattered; every act I let slide in the name of future justice burned at me like alcohol on a fresh wound.

Years in the future, it was my hope that I wouldn't have to stand idly by while something like this happened. That I'd have the resources and connections to have others do this kind of work while I helped where I could. Right now, the cold comfort of justice was all I could offer myself.

I leapt forward, legs kicking underneath me as I fought to keep my balance. The leap was farther than the ones I'd usually made, spanning the width of a proper main street, and so my landing was rougher than normal, but landed I did. The rumble of the vehicle I was following continued onward, spurring me forward with leaps and webs. Finally, after what had to have been three hours of focused but needless violence, I'd found my mark.

No one might have ever looked up, but a shadow on the ground was a clear give away. I waited until everyone's eyes were away from the beam of light peering down that the moon created, crawling through the opening of the glass skybox. In the back of my mind, it suddenly occurred to me exactly what I was doing. A whole warehouse of guns and drugs, hidden underneath a veneer of car repairs, manned by exactly as many people needed to field all of that material. And here I was, sixteen going on seventeen.

I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. I wasn't even in a suit of any kind, still wearing the combinations of reds and blues kitbashed from actual usable clothing I'd picked up over the past few months. But that was fine. Like everything, perfection could come later. What mattered now was that I was here. I was acting.

"Think we'll be all done with this crap by Christmas?" One of the minions said, speaking over the booming radio.

"Christmas dinner, for sure," one of his buddies responded, tossing in a few chips. The man beside him tsked and moved some cards in his hand around before laying them all down.

"Girl's not gonna be too happy about that one." He tapped a chip on the table a few times before tossing it and another into the pile.

The man who had answered shook his head. "The way I see it, it'll just be a great celebration. Celebrating a success, celebrating Christmas, celebrating another year with your gal."

The first guy rubbed his neck. "Yeah, but, she's been getting on my case for constantly missing all these holidays. Don't get me wrong, I love what we do, but between this and work I feel like I ain't giving her enough time."

His conversation partner snorted. "Look at it this way, Tom: once this is all over, you ought to be free for a couple 'a months. We get new blood, get a chance to settle down and secure our lines; basically celebrating the end of another quarter."

"If'n you say so, Frank."

I slowly crawled my way across the rafter, attaching a web to the underside of the beam once I got to the other side and slowly lowering myself closer within range of a group who had just split off.

"Tombstone really ain't gonna be here for this?"

One of the four stared incredulously. "Weren't you paying attention, Donny? He's off smooth talking all the other families and keeping them occupied while we prepare. M'telling ya: this time tomorrow, whole city's gonna know what we did."

"Still think it ain't right," another grumbled, shuffling slightly. "I joined Tombstone 'cuz 'o my cousin and working on all these cars. M'not trying to get pinged for crime."

"Ah, shut it, Micheal."

I waited for a peal of laughter to break out before I fired a line back up, pulling my old line up with me as I ascended back to the rafter. For not the first time, I thanked my past self for spending so much time crawling all around those construction lots. No matter how strong my sticky was, I still needed the muscles to stay perched up in a corner. The strain was minimal, but compared to a few months ago it could have been so much worse.

Another car drove in, the garage door they pulled in from closed manually by one of the bottom run mooks. Before the driver turned it off, two others separated from their conversations and greeted its occupants. I narrowed my eyes. While all the members of Tombstone's gang carried some muscle, these ones specifically looked and moved like they actually trained some form of martial art. It was them I was most concerned about, barring the small armory worth of small arms I needed to deal with.

For a moment I cursed my lack of preparation. Being able to listen in to a specific conversation was beyond my current skill set, and between their location in nearly the center of the warehouse and all the chatter going on, I wasn't even able to get an eye on their lips and pretend I read their words. As the quartet walked through the warehouse, heads turned to greet them, and it occurred to me that these four were the leaders of this current group.

Twenty eight people, including the four who had just sequestered themselves into the office. That meant Twenty four people, who probably all had guns, that I had to take care of before they got a crippling hit on me. No big deal. It wasn't as if I had practice webbing someone from this distance and pulling them up without a sound. It wasn't as if I was so confident in my web lines that I could drop down like a bungee cord, grab someone by the torso, and pull them up within a matter of seconds.

It wasn't as if this entire warehouse was almost entirely open space with minimal shelving or piled crates to speak of.

I closed my eyes and let out a slow breath. Getting directly into a fight wouldn't be ideal. I'd need to start taking people out one by one. When I opened them back up, I realized that so long as I was willing to take a more physical approach, in much the same way that these mobsters would be more than willing to physically harm me, I could probably win this. The quartet from earlier were all still hiding in their little corner of supplies; the shelving there didn't seem to be bolted down and would be more than readily pulled down by way of a web line.

The lighting here were all single cords, and so long as I was quick and strategic about how I handled it, they could all serve as perfect distractions. My webs, too, would also serve as something to pull someone's attention.

There was a part of me that rankled at the idea of embracing the aspect of terror again. But this early on, psychological attacks were going to be as important as martial or spatial awareness. I just sorely hoped this wouldn't be how the rest of my career went.

I moved quickly, setting myself where I could hit as many targets as possible. "Now or never, Pete," I murmured to myself. To my right, I shot two quick spurts of webbing, each of them landing near two separate groups of people. As I turned to my left, I could hear each of them whirl around and comment on the sound. After three quick counts, I leapt forward two beams before firing out another twinned line of webbing, yanking on the lines and pulling the shelving I identified earlier down and causing it to come crashing down on the four still talking.

With only an idle thought as to their safety buried in the back of my mind, I shot two more lines of webbing to the light fixtures closest to me, yanking on the lines and causing the chains and wiring to snap with a crackle of electricity. As the lights began to fall I pulled myself forward another series of beams, firing out some more spurts of webbing at crates and tools at the ground before sending another handful of other light fixtures crashing to the ground. The warehouse wasn't as dark as I wish it was, but some quick web shots at various other fixtures sent beams of light dancing across the building. I slingshotted myself to a beam on the other side of the warehouse, leapfrogging from the beam and onto the wall.

They were looking up, now. A shame I was no longer up. I crept along the ground, haunched over slightly ready to burst off into anywhere should somebody glance my way. With everyone's eyes at the ceiling, no one noticed as I grabbed a guy from behind, my limbs working on pure instinct rather than premeditated thought as I webbed up his mouth and limbs before securing him to the floor behind a car.

Five down.

Six and seven went much the same way, their isolation secured through quick web shots sending lights flailing once again or causing poorly stored tools to clatter on the ground. Eight and ten were trapped by their attempts to check on the original four, though my inability to safely web them up heralded the start of the fire fight.

I webbed myself atop a free standing shelf, arms shooting out and tearing away the handguns from two mooks. "Hey, guys, don't you know those things are dangerous?" The lid of a box near me was sent spinning out, buying me time from three mobsters while I dealt with another two, globs of webbing sent to their hands and locking them in place. A firing position was still a firing position though, and after sending out a few spurts of webbing I knew wouldn't land, I webzipped my way over to them and secured them to the side of a car, their arms pinned between the metal and their body.

Some brave soul went for a punch but ended up with an arm webbed to his side for his efforts, and in a whirl of momentum I honestly didn't expect from myself, number thirteen was secured to the floor, my heart pounding in my ears and a grin spread across my face.
"Wuh oh." I dove to the side, rolling to my feet relatively safe behind an obviously bullet proofed vehicle. "Mr. Spider-Man doesn't like this game, can we go back to playing patty cake?" I called out.

"Mr. Spiderman needs to come out with his hands up!" Someone shouted back.

"Okay!" I shot a quick web to my left, bullets chasing after the glob. With a quick grunt I hefted the car up, tilting it onto its side. Another web line sent another light fixture crashing down, and I tugged myself into the air, aborting my web line to the ceiling with a line that brought me towards one of the minions at the back. In another flurry of movement I didn't really know I could pull off, I had the man firmly webbed up and secured to a chair. Sixteen and seventeen were temporarily taken care of by shelving they were near; eighteen and nineteen shared a quick paintball battle that was lethal in only one direction before I had them disarmed and used as a brief meat shield before twenty was webbed to the wall. With only four people left (had the other four not come out yet?), taking them down was a breeze, and I had just secured the last mook to a shelf when I heard clapping come from the office.

"So you're the Spider-Man everyone keeps talking about." The man reached up and loosened his tie a little, casually walking down the stairs while the other three trailed behind him. "That's a lot of property damage you did to our workplace, bug."

"Spiders aren't a bug," I shot back conversationally. "They're actually—"

"You interrupted our work, that makes you a bug, kid."

I frowned and leapt onto a table, lowering into a stance that would let me leap wherever I needed to. "It's Spider-Man," I emphasized, "not Arach-Kid."

He snorted. "Right, sure."

Instincts took over, a quick leap and a tug on a line sending me out of the way of a six shooter's load. "Not bad, slick. Got any more tricks or should I show mine?"

The man behind who I presumed to be their leader snorted and began reloading his gun.

"Mark, Jimmy." The leader raised a hand and lowered his fingers in my direction.

Maybe it was just because I was fresh off a fight with mooks, but as the two gunman (and occasional shot from the six shooter) worked at pinning me down, it occurred to me that there was a significant difference between actual training and simple 'this end toward enemy'. My approaches at either of them were continually halted by different angles of gunfire, and even when I tried to use projectiles they simply dodged out of the way because of the distance.

"You know you're going to run out of bullets eventually, right?" I called from behind a vehicle.

"And that's where I shall step in, Spider," their leader said as the sound of weapons being reloaded sounded out.

"How about we just get to that part?"

"Humph." He said something quietly, and under the beating of my heart I couldn't hear the name of the six shooter. Unhurriedly, the three ambled back into the office, the door closing behind them with a loud click.

I peeked my head over the car. There, with his tie loosened even more and a top button undone, the man waited for me with his arms crossed. There was something to be said, I thought, about how I was a head shorter than him and still sauntered up with all the casualness of a novice. In my head I wanted to imagine that he was overestimating me because of how nonchalant I was being, but in reality I was sure that he was estimating me a standard amount for all my dodging. "So, we go on a count or just start throwing hands?"

He humphed once again and reached into a pocket, pulling out a poker chip whose sticker I loosely recognized from one of Cindy's friends. "When it clicks against the floor, Spider." He took a few steps back and settled it on his hand, thumb ready to flick it into the air.

"Hey, before we start, how about a name? There's a decent amount of honor and respect going on here right now, so it feels right."
He raised a brow. "Blackwing." His hand tensed. The coin flicked into the air.

The moment it clacked against the floor, I surged forward, my arms in a loose approximation of a boxer's stance. Over the past few months I'd had no trainer to correct me; no rival or companion to beat mistakes away and leave behind tempered metal; but it wasn't so hard to remember to protect your head and chin.

I threw out a punch at a level I knew the goons could handle. It wasn't as linear as it should have been, and even as my body twisted into the punch I could tell I hadn't pushed off my back foot properly, but it was still a punch. Still a punch that garnered widened eyes. Still a punch that had Blackwing bobbing to the side and throwing down a retaliatory punch that similarly missed.

And thus our back and forth continued. With my Spidey Sense, no matter what kind of feints or tricks Blackwing pulled, he just wasn't fast enough to outpace me or trap me in any kind of corner. With his experience and my yet-to-be-minimalized telegraphs (and terror at accidentally turning him into a cutaway cadaver), nothing I did was able to do more than ruffle his hair or clothes.

"Tell me, Spider-Kid," he grabbed hold of my wrist as I whiffed another punch, my Sense only activating when he tried to throw a punch at me by way of having me leap up and kick off securely against his gut, the first real hit either of lasted over the past forty odd seconds. Blackwing frowned thoughtfully and rubbed his armored torso. What exactly he had on I wasn't sure, but I didn't want to assume it meant I could punch harder slash faster than I currently was. "Why exactly are you still here?"

"To stop you guys, of course," I answered without hesitation.

He snorted. "To 'stop us'? From doing what?" He crossed his arms, and even though the distance between us was still an easy lunging range for me, I still relaxed some.

"From continuing to hurt New York."

Blackwing, still keeping an eye on me, moved to lean against a still standing table. Incidentally, there was a goon webbed atop it, all of his movement having ceased the moment Blackwing approached. "By what? Minorly inconveniencing us? Neither of us can land a real hit on each other without making trades, and don't tell me you think you can stop the others from freeing anyone while I keep you busy."

I stilled. He had a point. We were essentially evenly matched, and I still had major reservations against moving at a higher level than I currently was. When I'd discussed this with Cindy, we'd arrived at the goal of 'tie everyone up, make an anonymous phone call'. I'd gotten the first part mostly done, and the second part I could technically do as soon as I left. My webbing took time to cut through unless you had a cleaver or heavier duty scissors/shears, so even if there was four people who could try and free the others, I was sure that some people would have to be left behind.

"Go home, Kid. If you keep this up, you'll give us a reason to actually try and hurt you, or worse."

I looked around the warehouse. Whether because of some sort of respect for the fight or because they got tired of voicing their complaints without anything changing, the goons who were still conscious had fallen silent at some point, and even now they kept themselves quiet. Blackwing was staring at me, and though I couldn't see inside the office, I knew the three others were waiting for some kind of signal. I shook my head. "I can't, Blackwing. If I leave now, that's only twenty four people I'll have dealt with. I don't know how many people that is compared to the rest of your organization, but by the time the police get here, there might only be half webbed up. I can't leave until all of you are stuck."

He sighed. "Figured you'd say that, kid."

If my life were a movie, this would have been the part where time slowed. Where transparent ripples in the air ballooned out as bullets tore through it. But my life wasn't a movie, no matter the fact that I was a teenager who could stick to walls. Splinters of wood exploded into the air as I twisted my body to avoid the bullets. The entirety of the warehouse became non-existent as I hyperfocused on Blackwing, rushing into his guard and webbing his gun hand to the table. Lights shimmered off the metal of his butterfly knife as he tried to cut me with his right hand, only to be webbed to his torso as he completed the swing.

Blackwing immediately let out a piercing whistle, the door to the office opening even as I neared it. I landed heavily, lowering myself into a crouch. Jimmy (at least I figured he was Jimmy) let out a whuff of air as I uncoiled myself, hands connecting with his chest and pushing him and the six shooter back into the office. I slammed the door shut, rapidly firing out a burst of webbing to seal it shut, only to hurl myself into a flip over the railing as my instincts screamed at me.

I idly noted the shower of rubble that rained down where I once was, before leaping forward with my arms at my sides, ready to yank me away from the next shot. Twice a bullet tore through the air. Twice a line of elastic black and white pulled me into a new position. For better or for worse, I let go of conscious thought, fully embracing my Spidey Sense. Another bullet was dodged by way of crouching spin, a simple stool picked up and I whirled back to my feet and hurled towards Blackwing like a horrendous shot put.

In that brief moment where he was forced to look away from me lest he receive a stool to the stomach, I ziplined myself into the air, aborting the line and pulling myself into an aerial dropkick. For a brief moment, as we crashed into a round, empty table, my mind held the image of reaching down and hurling him over me, slamming him into the table once more. Instead, I kicked off lightly, shooting out multiple spurts of webbing to secure him to the table. "Don't make me do it again," I muttered to him, my head shooting up as the sound of shattering glass began.

From one of the office windows, Jimmy and Mark vaulted through, landing on the ground with a roll and a crouch respectively. The six shooter had yet to peek his head, and I rushed forward, no desire to be in an easy line of fire spurring me on. Once again bullets cracked through the air. Once again, web lines pulled me too and fro, though this time I returned fire with my own messy globs of webbing. I wasn't precise enough to pull a weapon and only that, but the suddenness of being yanked by a spider-enhanced teen was more than enough to have Mark stumbling against a wall and secured.

"Stay!" I shouted suddenly, firing a quick spurt at the window. The six shooter screamed out in surprise as his eyes were blinded by white and black, his shot going off wild in reflex. A sharp pain along my side went ignored as I lunged at Jimmy, contorting midair as he fired a round at me. "Bad!" I reprimanded, webbing his hands and head to the pillar in that order.

A chill ran up my spine. This time, time really did slow. One of the goons I had webbed to one of the tables had managed to wiggle his gun hand free, and was aiming right at me. Right behind me was Jimmy. A normal guy who unlike Blackwing and the six shooter, wasn't wearing any sort of protection. What felt like a thousand thoughts ran through my head all at once. A hand could be healed but not hidden. My forearms and their web organelles were far too important to risk. A bicep couldn't be explained away easily and a thigh held too many important veins and arteries to put on the line.

The muscles in his forearm began to flex.

If I moved, Jimmy would be shot. No one here was free, and after a whole fight of web shooting, I knew for a fact I didn't have enough fluid in my arms to manage myself and a grown adult. I could have just stepped out of the way. My muscles were screaming for me to step out of the way. But if I did... if I did—!

His finger began moving. Clinically, I wondered if this was just the sheer amount of adrenaline coursing through my veins or if I actually had some sort of temporal ability. I shifted slightly. I could take a hit to the torso. A direct one. The side of my abdomen, where my vital organs wouldn't be at much risk. I raised my right arm and fired out a heavy glop of webbing. A shot rang out. Time resumed. I bit back my scream and I stumbled back into Jimmy. Clenched my teeth and began breathing short, tight breaths.

"Oi, kid..."

"Discipline him later," I ground out, stumbling forward a step. "I'm sure friendly fire isn't exactly looked up in your group." Breathe deep, Pete. You just got to get out of here, make a police report, and then get chewed out by your sister while she digs a bullet out of your body before it heals over. No big deal.

Next chapter will be released December 25th.