Hello my dear reader friends! I apologize for the unusual delay, I've recently gone back to work and don't have that much time anymore, but I promise I'll continue to be as frequent as I can. Thank you to everyone who has read this far, thank you so much for the kudos!

Really, you guys are wonderful!

Enjoy!

Peter staggered through the busy streets of the city. He gasped with every step, sweat dripping from his face and a few strands of his hair sticking to his forehead. His hand was on his stomach, where he had been stabbed... the pain wouldn't go away.

Usually, by now, he would be feeling his healing factor doing its job, minimizing the pain, however slowly. But that didn't seem to be the case now. It hurt just as much as before.

His uniform was in his backpack, and his baggy clothes did a good job of not being stained with blood. Not that it was possible with the webs he'd shot over his wound, but still.

He stopped at one point, his hand resting on the concrete of the wall of the building next door and he tried to focus on breathing. But breathing was a challenge. The air didn't seem to get into his lungs properly, and each inhale came with a twinge that made his legs wobble. He almost fell to his knees as he turned a corner, but managed to pull himself together and just mumbled "sorry" to the person he'd bumped into.

He was terrified. He was scared... he couldn't go to a hospital, no, they'd know right away who he was. But he couldn't leave that wound like that either, not when the pain only seemed to increase... Aunt May would realize something was wrong right away.

He was beginning to think... that maybe he really could die there, and that terrified him.

Peter closed his eyes and tried to focus, fighting back the tears that threatened to fall and trying to calm down, to clear his thoughts. First, he needed to clean the wound and close it up. It had to be something homemade... he could do it.

He looked around, trying to think of where to find the materials he needed. Alcohol. Needle. Thread. Compresses. Anything he could use. His hands were shaking as he pulled his phone from his suit pocket, bloody fingers leaving marks on the screen. He quickly looked for a nearby 24-hour pharmacy and started walking.

After a few minutes of walking, trying not to bump into anyone else and noticing one or two curious glances cast in his direction, he finally found the place, his eyes lingering for a few moments on the bright blue and white sign.

Peter took a deep breath and entered, adjusting the hood that now hid half his face. The clerk didn't even look twice, just another teenager with an oversized sweatshirt and probably a bad day... probably.

Peter walked through the corridors, picking up what he needed. Isopropyl alcohol, gauze, medical tape, water, protein bars and a cheap sewing needle with thick thread. He hesitated in front of the shelf of painkillers before grabbing the strongest one he could buy without a prescription.

When he reached the counter, he placed the items on the counter and avoided looking at the attendant.

He paid, left and started walking as fast as he could to a random alley.

When he finally arrived, he concentrated quickly to make sure there was no one nearby, looked around to make sure no one was looking at him, and started climbing the wall as fast as he could to the roof.

His movements were considerably slower than he would have liked and clumsier, the pain didn't seem to be getting worse, but it was there... he felt his body acting up, the same strange sensation of the healing factor working, but curiously, not working as effectively as he wanted.

Whatever that toxin was, it was strong.

Once on the roof, he fell to the ground, breathing heavily. He carefully took off his shirt, and groaned slightly as he tore his webs over his wound. The hole in his abdomen wasn't very pretty to look at, jagged edges and still oozing blood.

He opened the alcohol, wet a gauze pad, and pressed it against the wound. He gritted his teeth again... no wound ever hurt like that, ever... not even when he fought that giant, Rhino. What the fuck was that?

After cleaning it as best he could, he picked up the needle and thread. Blood was still flowing, and it didn't look like it was going to stop any time soon. He took a deep breath, holding the needle with trembling fingers.

The first puncture was... curious... he didn't feel anything at first, just a burning sensation. But then the pain came, and he almost vomited, but he kept going, stitch by stitch, each movement drawing a grunt of pain. He finally finished and gasped heavily, wiping away the sweat that was running down his face.

Peter looked up at the sky, trying to ignore the constant throbbing in his stomach. He picked up the bottle of water and drank it with the painkiller.

He let himself lie down, his eyes still glued to the sky... damn, what a day.

He swallowed some saliva. Some time passed, he didn't know exactly how much... his healing factor seemed to be working overtime, the painkillers did what they could for the pain, but he still felt the poison in his system. He hoped that a good night's sleep would improve his situation.

He picked up his phone, noticing two calls from his aunt. It was already evening, and he should be heading home to watch the movies.

He returned the call to his aunt, putting the phone to his ear as he devoured the last protein bar he had bought.

"My God, Peter. Where are you?! Why didn't you pick up?!" She asked on the other end of the line, and the boy closed his eyes, feeling guilt rush through his chest as he heard her worried tone.

"I'm sorry, Aunt May. I didn't hear the phone ringing with all the noise. I just left Bea's house, I thought I'd buy something for tonight, some drinks. But Spider-man fought someone nearby this afternoon, so it took a while." He made up an excuse, gasping softly as he sat down.

"My God, Peter... I was so worried, I saw the news. Why didn't you call me?!" He stood up and looked around. It would be smarter to go down the fire escape than to try to walk down the wall.

"Oh, I forgot my phone at Bea's, I went back for it when everything calmed down. Anyway, I'm fine, Aunt May. I was just on my way to the market to buy the sodas." He said, climbing down carefully. His shirt was stained with a little blood on the front... it was likely on the back too.

Good thing he had his jacket on.

"No, Peter... no need, I ordered a soda with the pizzas. Just... come home soon." She said. Peter ran his eyes around after reaching the sidewalk, and soon he started walking after putting his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

"Okay, Aunt May. I'll be right there." He said, putting his phone in his pocket. He felt bad... even after saving so many lives that day, he felt bad.

For now, he just tried to focus on getting home soon.

Somehow, he managed to get home without any problems. Somehow, he managed to hide his injuries from his aunt, and somehow he managed to watch the movies without giving in to the pain.

Peter lazily opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few moments. He arched an eyebrow and looked at his clock. It was still very early, not even five in the morning.

He laid his head back on his pillow with a heavy sigh. Honestly, he would take that day off for himself. He took a deep breath and stood up, feeling a twinge in his abdomen.

The boy suppressed a sigh as he sat down. The pain was much less than the day before, but yes, he needed a rest. It was a bit worrying that it was taking so long for that stuff to leave his system... he would need to go to a laboratory to analyze that toxin further.

If only he had the equipment... maybe he should start building one.

He headed out of his room, did his hygiene, prepared breakfast for his aunt and returned to his room again with two plates of food. One with banana pancakes dipped in honey, the other with two huge omelettes filled with shredded chicken. Peter leaned back in the swivel chair in front of his computer desk, a sigh escaping his mouth without him realizing it.

His left side throbbed as if it were being corroded from the inside out. If he were a normal person, he'd say he wouldn't be alive right now... what luck.

Or bad luck.

Or maybe neither, that guy in the green suit seemed to know what he was doing, and that was scary. How? Who? What? Why?

Questions he knew he wouldn't be able to answer, and frankly, he wasn't in the mood to think about it at the moment.

He turned on his computer and was surprised to see the steam screen appear.

Ah... Assassin's Creed and Far Cry 4 on sale! Oh, fuck! I need to save money for my camera...

He grumbled, running a hand over his head in frustration.

The boy shook his head and decided to open his e-mail. He picked up his fork and spooned a large portion of the pancakes into his mouth as he scrolled through his inbox. An email from someone saying they had compromising photos of him... ignored. Really? Did they really think that would work on someone?

He was tempted to trace the email and meet this person face to face.

An e-mail from Liz. He opened it and stumbled across a photo of a concert hall they were hoping to play one day. It hadn't been long since he'd started exchanging "professional" emails with her.

It was curious how she behaved in messages and in person. It was like night and day.

A few ads, advertisements, more spam... what do you mean he had a 5,000 dollar fine to his name? He didn't even have a car... until, finally, "Daily Bugle - Hiring" appeared among the messages.

His eyes widened for a moment.

"Peter,

We received your photos and liked the material. We bought the images attached to the previous email and want to discuss a permanent job. We can't promise you'll become a reporter, but we'd love to have you on the social media team. We need someone young who understands digital media well and has a good eye for photos. We'll send a message to your number with more details."

Peter let out a sigh, closing his eyes for a second. That was good. This was great. Money coming in. New camera. Assassin's Creed on the account... wonderful! He smiled to himself, momentarily forgetting the pain he was feeling, he even put the soundtrack of Halo Two on while he continued to check his inbox.

Peter kept scrolling through his inbox. An email from Raph's Corner with homemade recipes, ignored. Another automatic notification from a bodybuilder he's never seen posting a selfie from the gym, what the fuck? Ignored. Some more dubious ads promising millions in cryptocurrencies, a discount coupon for a pizzeria he'd never heard of and-

"Internship Opportunity - Octavius Laboratory"

His eyes scrolled over the subject of the email again, his brain taking an extra second to process what he was seeing. He clicked quickly.

"Dear Peter Parker,

Octavius Laboratory is looking for young talent interested in the field of neurotechnology and biomedical engineering. We are developing state-of-the-art neural prostheses and are looking for bright minds to help us take this technology to the next level. Your application caught our attention, and we'd like to schedule an interview.

If you're interested, please get in touch to arrange a time.

Sincerely,

Dr. Otto Octavius"

Peter blinked, once, twice, until he laughed softly to himself. Damned if he'd been attacked and almost killed by an unknown green figure the day before, that day had started off amazingly!

In all honesty, he had almost given up hope of achieving anything. He remembered filling in a form and presenting some of his inventions a while ago, but considering it had been months, he had almost forgotten.

Working with Otto Octavius? One of the brightest guys in biomedical technology? Creating neural prostheses?

That was big.

Very big.

Not only that... he looked down, where a faint, almost imperceptible red stain had formed on his shirt. If he could make it, it would be a laboratory where he could analyze that toxin in his blood.

Maybe even find ways to withstand that toxin for future encounters with that figure. He sighed.

Was there any chance that he could take his blood... Spiderman's blood, to be analyzed in a hospital? Pff, of course not... but he could dream a little.

The problem was: how long did he have before the toxin degraded? He got up and hurried down to his basement, quickly and quietly so as not to wake Aunt May.

When he arrived, he turned on the light and removed his shirt as he walked to the corner of the room. The basement was full of improvised parts and tools scattered on the floor.

He pulled out one of the cupboards and took out a small kit of syringes that he used to collect samples of his web. He placed the syringes on the table and sighed, feeling sick at having to use them.

Ordinary syringes didn't go through his skin and broke easily. That was until he managed to get hold of a few pieces of that guy's armor, Rhino, made predominantly of experimental titanium alloy with reinforced carbon.

It was a bitch of a job to create those things, but in the end, he did it.

He sat down and put his arm on the table, "gently" piercing his forearm with the needle. He arched an eyebrow in concern, the blood rising thick and dark, slightly thicker than it should have been.

It wasn't a good sign.

Now he needed to preserve the sample. He looked around the basement.

He picked up a small glass tube he'd kept from old experiments, sealing it with a makeshift rubber stopper. To make sure there was no contamination or oxidation, he added a little web fluid inside the cap, creating a kind of seal.

If he managed to preserve it in the right way, that blood sample would last for months. He would have to freeze the sample. An ordinary freezer would work, but May might find the sample unintentionally. Besides, constantly opening and closing the freezer would cause the temperature to fluctuate too much.

He walked over to the pile of discarded items and picked up an old thermal cooler from when he used to go on picnics with his aunt and uncle.

He walked over to another cabinet, which he used for recent creations. At the bottom of the cabinet, he found a packet of Peltier cells, small devices that cool when they receive an electric current. He dismantled an old USB fan, connecting the wires and creating a small makeshift cooling system.

He plugged the system into the socket, placing a thermometer inside. The display flashed: -5°C... -10°C... -15°C.

Good.

He slid the sealed sample into the cooler and closed the lid, letting the motor run.

Now... Daily Bugle... Doctor Octavius... damn...

Of course, he also had finals at school, but that was far from being a concern.

DAYS LATER

Peter stopped in front of the Daily Bugle building, a modern skyscraper with glass panels that reflected more than Peter wanted, burning his eyes. The big red sign was flashing electronically, and there was intense traffic at the entrance. Journalists, photographers and media technicians hurried past, headsets plugged into calls as they typed on tablets or ultra-thin laptops, the smell of fresh coffee in the air. He had never worked in such an environment, but somehow it seemed... nice.

He took a deep breath and walked in.

He walked across the office to reception and said his name. A few minutes later, an assistant editor called him in for a quick chat about his job. The deal was simple: he would manage some of the paper's social networks, post photos and cover occasional events. Nothing too intense at first, just a test to see how he would do.

"Have you met the boss?" The editor asked, standing up.

Peter frowned, slightly confused.

"The boss?"

"Jonah. He wants to talk to you."

...

What?

Jameson wanted to talk to him?! The infamous J.J. who was more than against Spider-Man? Well, that was a surprise.

He followed the editor across the floor to an office where a coarse, intense voice was already ringing out before the door was even opened.

"I DON'T CARE IF THE MAYOR WANTS AN EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW! I WANT PICTURES OF SPIDER-MAN!"

Peter grimaced... part of him thought that the way Jameson acted in front of the screen was some kind of character. But as it turned out, that wasn't the case.

J. Jonah Jameson was standing behind his desk, holding a folded newspaper as if he was ready to throw it in someone's face.

Man, that moustache looks even more cartoonish up close.

When he saw Peter, he narrowed his eyes.

"Are you the kid from the photos?"

"Uh... yeah?" Peter shook his head. "Yes, sir, yes, ahm..."

Jameson reached into one of the files on the table and pulled out some old photos of Spider-Man. He threw them on the table, and Peter grimaced a little.

Those photos... they were terrible. Shaky, badly framed, some even with a thumb showing in the corner. They seemed to have been taken in desperation, or in a hurry... well, it made sense, it's not often that people expect to see Spider-Man fighting a giant in armor or a madman in a glider.

"Wow, they're terrible." He muttered to himself, but his cheeks soon heated up when he realized that he had spoken too loudly. However, to his surprise, Jameson just snorted out a loud laugh.

"You see! Even a boy his age knows they're horrible!" He said, alternating his gaze between the two men standing behind Peter before focusing his gaze back on the boy. "It's garbage! This is what I've been getting! I need someone to get a decent photo of this masked bastard!"

Peter scratched the back of his head. What did this have to do with him?

Jameson stared at him for a second, then pulled out one of the envelopes next to him, where there was a photo showing a group of birds next to a train, near the railroad barrier. The angle made it look as if the birds were racing the train.

Peter remembered posting that photo on Instagram. He received over seven hundred likes. 25 times more likes than he used to get.

"That was you. You're talented. The quality is great, almost professional." The man next to Peter said, and Peter smiled in his direction. The man was tall, dark-skinned. Robbie Robertson, his name.

Jameson let out a grunt of approval. "Finally, someone who knows which side of the camera to point!"

He sat down, crossing his fingers on the table.

"You must have already been briefed. Your job is to manage some of our social networks, post some of the photos and news we have. Do you have a camera?"

"No, sir, I-"

"Then buy one!" He interrupted him, taking his cigar out of his mouth and leaving it in the ashtray beside him. "You'll have times when you'll need to take pictures of some kind of event, and maybe we'll even need you for news pictures." He said, standing up and pointing to the door.

Peter's eyes widened slightly.

"So I'm going to get a job?" Peter asked at the same moment that Jomeson touched his shoulder.

"No, I never said I'd give you a job. Freelancing, the best thing in the world for a boy like you. Do a good job and maybe you'll get some recognition." He followed him rather hurriedly to the door. "Meat. I'll send you a nice big piece of meat for Christmas, it's the best I can do, now get out of here."

He was practically thrown out of the room, and the door behind him closed with some force. Well... that was certainly interesting.

He sighed and walked to the elevator.

"I DON'T WANT A CUTE POST, I WANT SPIDER-MAN! AND WHO THE HELL APPROVED THIS ARTICLE ON WINTER FASHION TRENDS?! ARE WE DOING A NEWSPAPER OR A TEEN MAGAZINE?!"

Peter bit his lip to hold back a laugh. He could hear it loud and clear even with the elevator already floors away.

"AND SOMEONE TELL ME WHO WAS THE IDIOT WHO PUBLISHED THAT POST ABOUT ARTISANAL COFFEES ON THE WEBSITE!WHO APPROVED IT?! WHO? AND I HOPE YOU'RE READY FOR AN EXPRESS DISMISSAL WITH THE RIGHT TO AN INCOMPETENCE STAMP!"

"Sir, your wife called to remind you of your blood pressure."

Peter adjusted his backpack on his shoulders and stopped in front of the building where Dr. Otto Octavius' laboratory was located. The place was large, a modern research center with glass that reflected more light than Peter would have liked, that's for sure. His heart was beating a little faster than usual, but who could blame him? He was about to meet one of the brightest scientists in the city. If not the whole country.

It was hard to know, given that Norman Osborn existed.

Entering the building, he was guided by an assistant to a large, well-lit laboratory full of advanced equipment, holograms of projects in progress and mechanical prototypes scattered around the tables. The air smelled faintly of metal and hot electronics, but just like the Daily Bugle, it smelled strongly of coffee. In the center of the room, a man in a lab coat was concentrating, adjusting components in one of his inventions.

Otto looked up when he heard Peter's footsteps. He smiled slightly and wiped his hands on a cloth before holding out his hand.

"Peter Parker, right? A pleasure to meet you." Peter tried his best to stop the broad smile from appearing on his lips, but to no avail. He was face to face with one of the greatest minds he had ever met. How cool was that?

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Octavius!" Peter shook the doctor's hand, trying not to show his excitement at being there and, above all, not to squeeze the doctor's hand too tightly.

"Please, Otto is fine." He said, gesturing for Peter to sit down. "So, tell me a bit about yourself. I know you applied for the internship, but I have to confess that your CV... caught my eye. There's not much on it, but what there is, is surprising."

Peter laughed humorously, running a hand down the back of his neck.

"Yeah... it's kind of hard to get work experience when you're fifteen. But I love science, technology, physics, engineering. I kind of... play around with some inventions in my spare time." He said, and Otto shook his head.

"I've seen it. Tell me, do you have any kind of 'inventions' that you focus on? Any particular taste?"

"Well, I like creating compact electronic devices and testing new materials. I wouldn't say I have any particular taste, whatever I feel like doing, I do. Oh, I even brought one of my latest inventions and... well, if you don't mind..." Otto nodded, and Peter opened his backpack somewhat excitedly.

"What I've brought is something I call a Regenerative Energy Cell." Otto arched an eyebrow.

"Regenerative? Sounds a bit ambitious, doesn't it?"

"Maybe." He said with a small smile as he placed the materials on the table, Otto just watched in silence, curious. Peter, having picked everything up, turned a small knob on the side of a cylinder and immediately the core glowed with a pulsating blue light. Otto frowned as Peter took a small electric motor and connected the device's wires to it. The motor spun for a few seconds and then stopped.

"Not very surprising, I know, but now comes the fun part." Peter said after grabbing a pair of pliers. He then cut the wires that powered the motor.

Otto watched, confused. The engine should have shut down completely. But, to his surprise, it kept spinning. The cell's glow became more intense and, as if it had a life of its own, the wires that had been cut reconnected themselves, rebuilding the connection perfectly.

Otto's eyes widened and he slowly rose from his chair. "... That's... ha. Fifteen years?" He asked, frowning and smiling in disbelief as he stared at Peter, who just smiled back and shrugged.

"I've developed a conductive material with nanostructures that regenerate automatically when damaged. This means that, in theory, energy can be transmitted continuously without loss."

Otto leaned over the device, his eyes shining with excitement. He touched one of the wires and felt the pulsation of the electric current flowing through it, without any resistance. "That's... that's incredible, Parker. How did you manage to solve the thermal resistance problem?"

"I realized that conventional metals always degrade as the temperature rises, so I made a hybrid composite of conductive polymer and self-repairing metal alloy. The inner layer is what rebuilds the connection when cut. The core's magnetic field does the rest."

Otto stared at him for a few seconds, then laughed quietly, completely disbelieving. "You're 15 years old and you've created something that scientists with decades of experience are still trying to understand."

Peter laughed again shyly, running a hand through his hair in nervousness. "Well... it kind of happened..."

"What happened?" Otto took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as if processing the information. Then he looked at Peter with a genuine smile. "Parker... that's not just impressive. That's revolutionary."

Peter cracked a huge smile, as Otto went back to examining the device with even more interest.

"And tell me something." Otto continued. "Have you thought about what you could do with this technology if you scaled it up?"

Peter shrugged. "Well, I've thought about applying it to electrical circuits and networks. Maybe even smart clothes that can repair internal wiring. But I know the potential of that, which is why I was looking forward to it and hoping you could help me with it."

I thought of that after having to patch up my suit so many times over the last few months.

"But, you know... I'm just a guy who likes to play with scrap metal."

Otto laughed. "Scrap, huh?" He walked around the table, stopping right next to Peter, who, when he saw the man approaching, also stood up. "Peter, you have a gift. A genius like that comes along once every generation or so. I'd love us to work together on this. We can develop this technology and take it to a level the world has never seen before."

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but hesitated momentarily. He would love to dive into this project headfirst, but he still had school, his responsibilities as Spider-Man and, of course, his double life. He could quit school, but unfortunately, he needed the diploma.

"I know you're still at school, and it's a lot of responsibility. That's why I'm making you an offer. Finish school, and as soon as you leave, you'll already be employed with me. For now, we can meet two or three times a month so that I can explain a few things to you and you can get used to the lab."

The idea of working with Otto was exciting. Imagine working with him on a revolutionary project? He smiled, shaking the scientist's hand.

"Okay. If you want, I'm available today." Peter said, and Otto nodded, circling the table again and picking up one of his clipboards.

"Good. Come along then, I'll show you around."

Man... that was a good day.

WEEKS LATER

Spider-Man swung between the buildings at a speed that wasn't too fast, enjoying the feeling of freedom. The night was rather quiet, in fact, and he allowed himself to relax. Nothing but a few cars running red lights and some drunks arguing outside a bar.

Nice, but at the same time, a little worrying. Why? He didn't know, but as his instincts weren't alerting him to anything, he wouldn't worry too much for the time being.

At one point, he landed on the edge of the roof of a building and picked up his cell phone. He was listening to music the whole time, but a screen showed an interview that was now taking place and he became interested.

The image showed a well-known city politician, one of the council members, surrounded by reporters. A journalist's microphone was held out to him.

"Mr. Halpern, considering the latest police reports, what do you have to say about the 40% drop in crime in recent months?"

The man straightened his tie, looking pleased with himself.

"Well, it's undeniable that there has been a significant improvement in security, both here in New York and in Manhattan. But the reason for that? Spider-Man himself."

The vigilante arched both eyebrows in surprise and whistled to himself. "Wow, that's a new one. Are they thanking me?"

"Whether you like him or not, the numbers don't lie. He's been acting as an unofficial force against crime. Robberies have decreased, gang operations have been disrupted and, according to sources within the police, even drug dealers are reconsidering their business because... well, they don't want to be hung upside down from a pole." The reporters laughed, but Halpern soon resumed a more serious tone.

"That said, the question remains: should we continue to accept a masked vigilante doing the job that should be the police's? I'd say it's too complex a subject and one that hasn't been talked about as much as it should have been."

"So you think he should be stopped?" Another reporter asked. Halpern held up his hands.

"That's not what I'm saying. But there are rules. There are laws. Not to mention, we've seen how he attracts attention from equally... special individuals. We've seen the havoc and disaster that these encounters have wrought. What guarantees that Spider-Man will stay on the right side? We already know that we don't have much to work against, if that's really the case."

Spider-Man sighed to himself. Seriously, after so many months, he had hoped that this doubt would at least have eased a little by now. Not that he blamed the people for having this question in their minds, these fears, because really, if he wanted to rob a bank, for example, who would stop him?

But still, he would never do it. Never. Perhaps... he should consider a kind of partnership with the police.

As much as he was against it on the inside, Captain Stacy was a man of integrity... he could talk to him.

At one point, a buzzing sound cut through the air. Spider-Man's eyes widened, he barely had time to react before he was hit with brutal force by something coming from the sky. The impact was so violent that the air was knocked out of his lungs, and he was thrown against a neon sign, shattering the bulbs in an explosion of sparks. He spun in the air and fell onto the top of a building, sliding to a stop near the edge.

He gasped in a mixture of surprise and irritation, not even caring about the pain. Seriously, what was wrong with the people in that city? He was getting used to being violently attacked and thrown who knows how far somewhere.

What now?! A drone?! Another crazy person in a costume attacking me?!

It was then that he heard the sound of mechanical wings cutting through the wind.

He stood up quickly, his eyes fixed on the figure hovering above him.

The man was wearing a reinforced black metallic suit, with aerodynamic wings folded over his back. Unlike the rudimentary version of ordinary criminals, this armor looked like high-level stuff. The green helmet's eyes glowed brightly, and sharp claws extended from its gauntlets.

"Hello, Mr. Spider-man. It's a pleasure to meet you." The man said, his voice sounding clear and clean despite the helmet.

"Look at that. The pleasure's all mine, man. What a nice way to greet someone." Spider-Man said as he stood up. "Forgive the disbelief and the rude words, I'm not used to being greeted in such a... polite way." He was serious, people usually called him very... exotic names.

"We haven't gotten to that part yet."

"Wait a minute!" Spider-Man shouted when he saw that the man was already moving towards him again. The man with the mechanical wings stopped. The hero almost made a comment, seriously, he wasn't used to such politeness... it was kind of nice. "Two little questions before we start killing each other. First, you know me, but I don't know you."

"Oh, pardon my rudeness. You can call me vulture." Vulture... what a curious name.

"Right. Secondly, are you together with that guy from the glider, or are you here for a... supposed reward?"

"I don't know this glider guy you're talking about. Yes, I'm here for the reward. Whoever you pissed off definitely doesn't like you. There's six million on your head."

Without warning, Vulture shot forward like a projectile.

Spider-Man tried to dodge, but the attack was too fast. That guy's suit seems to have been designed to overcome his speed and/or agility. The impact came like a freight train, throwing Spidey backwards. He rolled across the concrete and barely had time to recover before Vulture dived in again.

This time, Spider-Man turned his body at the last second, narrowly escaping. He countered with a kick in the air, aiming for the mercenary's chest. His blow hit, but instead of sending the enemy flying as he had hoped, Vulture only slid a few meters backwards in the air, quickly stabilizing himself.

The hero frowned. The suit was tough too... as tough as Rhino's.

Vulture advanced once more, and Spider-Man tried again, punching harder this time. The impact was loud, but Vulture didn't fall. He returned the blow, and the hero felt the pain spread through his abdomen as he was thrown backwards.

Before he could even hit a structure, he felt himself being grabbed by the leg and thrown upwards. He tried to turn his body, only to be hit with a strong blow to his stomach, which caused him to grunt in pain and be thrown several more meters into the air.

The vulture quickly flew to his back and tried another blow. However, Spider-Man turned his body again and grabbed his enemy's hands, landing a headbutt on his helmet, hard enough to shatter the glass and apparently stun the man.

He then shot a web into the vulture's chest and another into the nearest building, and threw his enemy violently towards the building.

The vulture hit the concrete hard, but the thrusters on his back activated and prevented him from being thrown a few more meters. The vulture raised his head towards Spider-Man, and swerved to the side when he saw that the hero was advancing towards him at high speed.

Spider-Man hit his knee on the concrete, destroying a large section of the wall. He turned towards his enemy, only to grunt once more as the vulture's claws sliced through his chest.

Spider-Man shot webs at the vulture's helmet and pulled him towards him, landing a kick to his stomach and a hammer blow to his back, sending him violently to the ground.

The vulture turned his body and recovered while still in the air. He advanced again. This time, Spider-Man planted himself firmly and, at just the right moment, threw a punch at the mercenary's helmet with more force than before. The blow knocked Vulture into the air for a moment, but he still remained in the fight.

This time, when Vulture came up, Spider-Man not only counterattacked, but increased his force even more, striking more aggressively. He grabbed the mercenary by the arm and threw him against the floor of the building with a thud, cracking the concrete.

He didn't need to hold back against these enemies. No, he'd learned that from Rhino, and he'd thought long and hard about the words of that green figure from before. He had so much untapped potential. Holding back made no sense when he had the opportunity to let himself go.

Vulture stood up, his helmet dented at one point.

Spider-Man advanced again, but soon, his eyes widened once more and all his instincts screamed.

Spider-Man turned at the last second, only to see a vibrational pulse shoot straight into his chest. He should learn to follow his instincts as soon as possible.

The blast of force threw him like a rag doll. The impact shattered the parapet of the building, and he was thrown against the glass façade of the building next door, cracking and shattering the glass around him before plummeting. His body spun wildly in the air, and the only thing that stopped his fall was the line of webbing he managed to shoot out at the last moment.

His chest was burning. His suit was torn, exposing the bruised skin where the vibrational pulse had hit.

That... hurt.

When he landed, he felt his legs wobble for a second. His vision blurred a little and a metallic taste spread in his mouth. Blood.

He raised his mask above his mouth, spat on the ground and looked at his new attacker.

"I told you not to come, shocker." He heard the vulture say. Great, another nutter after his head.

Spider-Man straightened his posture and observed his newest attacker. He wore a costume similar in color to the vulture's, probably made of the same materials, but with some clear changes. He wore vibrating gauntlets that seemed to be embedded in a support system that covered his arms and part of his torso, with reinforced plates protecting his body.

"If I hadn't come, he would have knocked you out right here on this roof." Shocker said, and in a matter of moments, his gauntlets seemed to vibrate again. Ultra-high frequency waves began to be emitted. Spider-Man put both hands on his head, his eyes closing automatically.

His senses... what the fuck?!

Vulture swooped down like a missile and dug his claws into the hero's shoulder as he saw him disoriented, pulling him violently upwards.

Spider-Man tried to break free, but Vulture spun him around in the air, propelling him downwards at high speed.

The impact was devastating. The hero crashed into the concrete of the roof hard enough to crack the surface. He felt the air escape from his lungs, his ears ringing as his body processed the overwhelming pain.

Shocker came soon after, carrying another vibrational pulse.

Spider-Man tried to roll to the side, but he wasn't fast enough. The shot hit his leg, and he heard - felt - something crack inside him.

The pain was excruciating.

He screamed involuntarily as his leg failed him, and his body tumbled to the side.

Now he was vulnerable.

The vulture advanced towards him and kicked him in the stomach, throwing him violently into the other villain, who hit him with one of his gauntlets. The punch was so strong, mixed with the vibrational pulse, that the ground beneath his feet cracked, and the hero was thrown violently away.

The world revolved around him as he was thrown for miles, tearing through the air, crossing avenues, flying over entire neighborhoods until his body crashed violently into a building.

Glass shattered.

The structure shook.

He went through floors like a human projectile, rolling across the concrete and falling from an absurd height until he collided with the asphalt below.

Silence came for a second.

And then the pain.

Deep, cutting pain. Every fiber of his body screamed, every bone shook under the impact. The taste of blood spread in his mouth, and his vision flickered between light and dark.

His chest rose and fell heavily as his mind struggled to process the situation.

He was being hunted. He was... truly... being hunted. This was an execution.

He was scared, once again, but at the same time elated. This was the fourth time he had met highly special individuals, and who knows how many more of these people there were out there, how many more were coming after him.

Frankly, he was irritated by this thought. Why was he the one being hunted? Spiders are extremely efficient predators. Perhaps, even just a little, he should act more like one.

His heart was pounding. His blood ran hot. His pupils dilated as if they could see every tiny vibration in the air. His two enemies were closing in fast. He was cornered.

Nothing wise, predators are more dangerous when they have no way out.

He shot a web at the vulture's ankle, who, surprised, only screamed involuntarily as he was violently pulled towards the hero, who, in turn, couldn't help himself as he landed a powerful punch on the mercenary's face.

The helmet shattered into several pieces, and the vulture was thrown like a bullet towards the shocker, who opened his eyes wide and used his gloves to jump up. This time, it was the vulture's turn to be thrown away.

It wasn't a very smart decision for Shocker to jump up. Spider-man seemed to anticipate that he would do it, and in an instant, he was above him. His hand wrapped around Shocker's wrist and squeezed.

The suit made to withstand unimaginable things didn't do much to protect him. The sound of metal creaking and bones being compressed echoed through the night.

Shocker screamed. His scream was cut short when Spider-Man kicked him downwards. The impact was strong, and the mercenary's body shattered the concrete of the floor.

Vulture tried to get up, but Spider-Man didn't give him a chance.

In one mighty leap, he fell on top of the mercenary, grabbing his armor and punching him.

Again.

Again and again.

And again and again.

Each blow was dry, brutal. Each impact destroyed more parts of the suit, and the ground beneath them sank.

His instincts screamed again, and once more, his body moved before his mind could even process the sensation.

He dropped the vulture to the ground and turned towards Shocker after dodging the energy beam shot in his direction.

He leapt towards the mercenary, hitting him with a knee to the head, cracking his helmet and sending him crashing to the ground.

The mercenary raised his other arm, but Spider-Man grabbed him and hit him in the elbow, breaking it. Shocker screamed once again, unable to use both of his broken arms.

He then kicked the mercenary in the stomach, grabbed him by the leg and threw him repeatedly against the ground, staining the whole area with blood.

Spider-Man grabbed him by the neck, ignoring his bloodstained hands. But before he could continue punching the mercenary, the high-pitched scream of Shocker's vibrational pulse exploded into the air.

It was no ordinary attack.

The sonic wave spread like living thunder, not only hitting the hero physically, but entering his senses, burning his nerves as if they were being ripped out one by one.

Spider-Man's mind screamed.

His ears buzzed as if they were going to burst. His balance turned to dust.

He staggered backwards, trying to process what was happening, but it was as if the world was spinning out of control.

His body acted on its own.

His muscles contracted, his arms and legs arched unnaturally. His back arched, and he crawled backwards with jerky, inhuman movements, as if he had just been exposed to too much light.

The vibrations echoed through his skin, his bones. He felt everything shattering inside him.

Shocker saw his chance.

He didn't think twice.

He spun on his heels and dashed.

He ran through the wreckage of the fight, jumping over debris, kicking open doors and leaping through the dark alleys of New York. His heart was pounding. His body ached.

He just had to get away. But the world was spinning. His body heaved. He staggered as the adrenaline wore off and exhaustion overtook him.

His steps became slower.

Slower.

His breath became short.

The corners of his vision darkened.

And then... everything blacked out, and the mercenary collapsed in the middle of his escape.

Spider-Man, still panting and with his senses on fire, raised his head slowly. Shocker had fled, his senses too scrambled and confused for him to even try to hear his heavy footsteps moving away to at least know which direction he had gone.

He turned back, the vulture was knocked out, so it wasn't a complete loss.

He removed his mask as he stood up, spitting a certain amount of blood onto the ground and seeing a few more drops of blood run down his face. His vision was still blurred, and his senses weren't much help. He was dizzy, but little by little, he felt better.

He just wished he could get better faster.

"Peter?!"

He heard, a voice so familiar, so close and so far away at the same time. Muffled, but he was sure it was said right next to him.

Ah, shit...

"Bea..." He sighed the girl's name, while staring defeatedly into her incredulous eyes.