Hello, I'd like to thank everyone who's taken an interest in my story! I wish you a happy new year (I don't know if I'll post another chapter before then!) and I thank everyone who commented! Feel free to comment too, if only to say hi!
Anyway, I started writing this story in the middle of the year. Just something rough, the script itself is finished, and some parts already written, so some chapters will come out faster than others!
Thanks again. Post your thoughts, ideas or anything else in the comments, enjoy!
The light from the lamp did little to illuminate the abandoned basement. Not that this was a problem for Peter, he could see clearly even in the dark, which was a useful skill.
He leaned back in the old wooden chair and pulled out a length of sewing thread. He was holding a black cloth and doing what he could with his amateur sewing skills. He had tried it on 24 other pieces of cloth before, and he would either accidentally tear the fabric or break the needle... anyway, he was getting better at it now. On the table in front of him, there were some scribbles showing drawings of spiders and some mask concepts. He was going after Marvin, and he absolutely could not be recognized.
It would be suspicious enough for him that something would happen to Marvin shortly after a major incident like his uncle's death and the accusations. But that he could handle... as long as they had no proof that it was him, he had nothing to worry about. That's if they even had the courage to appear in the media.
Peter bit his lower lip hard and sighed heavily. He didn't know how, or rather who, but his uncle's case had been... covered up. They had the gall to say in the report that his uncle was the aggressor, and this was reflected in the media.
The old television in the corner of the room emitted a low hum, in a news report that made him want to destroy the entire police station.
"...this happened last Friday, where Edwards Rodrigues robbed a convenience store..." Peter pulled out the thread again and spread out the fabric in front of him, taking a quick look at his work. Soon, he picked up the scissors and began a few touch-ups while paying attention to the news.
" Sources claim that Benjamin Parker assaulted the officer before being shot. Major Marvin Hughes was finishing up some cases with a team in a nearby building when he heard the screams..."
Peter clenched his teeth, the words running through his mind like blades. He dropped the scissors hard on the table, the drafts flying from the impact. His eyes burned, not with tears, but with anger.
Fucking liars...
Wasn't the job of the police to serve and protect? Where was the protection in assaulting a teenager and shooting an innocent man?! And above all, unarmed?! Marvin and his friends, his colleagues... the police were rotten.
Taking a deep breath, Peter picked up one of the sketches that had fallen to the floor. It was a drawing of a spider, a crude but striking sketch. He looked at the mask that was beginning to take shape in his hands. The design was practically ready, now he needed lenses... sharp lenses that would give a more "violent" look.
Peter put on the mask and moved to a nearby mirror. He took measurements of his face before turning and focusing on creating the lenses.
He drew a few sketches of lenses, and when he had finalized one he was happy with, he took the scissors and cut the paper, transferring the cut pieces to a transparent acrylic plate. With that, he picked up his precision scalpel and began to cut the acrylic with precise cuts. Precision was something he had mastered since gaining his attributes.
Once he had finished, he began to sand the edges of the lenses, sharpening them and making them look more aggressive, and then polished them to make them smoother.
He then took a spray bottle of mirror paint to the inside and outside of the lenses. The good thing about spending a lot of time down there was that neither his aunt nor his uncle found it so strange. At least, not after a while, he could spend hours there without being disturbed. In addition to the various creations he had made over the years, he had a lot of materials down there.
He applied a smoked film to the inside of the lenses and brought one of them up to one of his eyes. He could see clearly without revealing his eyes. With that, he put some brackets inside the mask for the lenses and glued them with epoxy glue.
He put the mask on his face and looked at himself for a few moments. Black with sharp, aggressive lenses... it didn't exactly exude a "friendly" aura.
Good.
He turned around and picked up the rest of his clothes. A black sweatshirt that he hadn't worn for a long time. It was his uncle's, so it was too big for him. Well, for the Peter of a few weeks ago. It didn't fit him too tightly, but it wasn't so loose anymore.
There was the symbol of a white spider in the center of the chest. He didn't think much of it, but he'd say it didn't look that bad. He turned around, pleased with the huge spider symbol that stretched across almost his entire back.
Simple black jeans, black boots.
He was pleased with his look. No one would recognize him, and it was dark enough to blend in with the darkness of the night, discreet and easy to camouflage.
"Peter... darling... dinner's ready." He heard his aunt shouting for him. He didn't answer, she knew he heard her. They were both dealing with grief in their own way. Since the funeral, he'd locked himself away in the basement, he hadn't had much time to talk to her.
And as much as he felt guilty about it, he couldn't look her in the eye until he did what he had to do.
Peter was studying the schematics of an old router, dismantled in front of him. He picked up a notepad and began to scribble, creating a detailed sketch of his new device.
Small, quiet, efficient, and able to adapt automatically to different systems...
With that, he began to collect the items he needed. He dismantled an old laptop he found in the dumpster of a local school. The motherboard was small but robust, perfect for being the basis of his project.
Next to the motherboard, he placed on the table an Arduino Nano that he used for experiments at school.
A Wi-Fi antenna, removed from a discarded last-generation router. Peter carefully soldered the connectors, ensuring maximum signal efficiency.
A fiber optic cable, obtained from a technology recycling center.
And finally, a housing. He reused the cover of an old external hard disk, which would be light, discreet and easy to hide.
He cracked his knuckles and began his project. He used a small precision drill to cut the motherboard to a size that suited the housing. With the soldering iron, he reconnected the cut points, ensuring that the main tracks were intact. He tested the connection, watching the LED light flash, confirming that it was functional.
He turned around and picked up another device from the table. Peter attached the Arduino Nano to the motherboard, connecting it to the power and data points. He connected the Wi-Fi antenna to the Arduino, creating a perfect input for capturing network signals.
Putting the components aside, Peter turned to the computer. He opened his favorite development program and started writing the scripts in Python:
Brute force attack script: To crack passwords for protected networks.
Automatic exploit script: To browse servers and collect data without being detected.Self-destruct system: A command that would delete everything if captured.
Peter tested the software on an old router. The device blinked, processing the commands, and seconds later...
It worked!
Smiling to himself, he fitted the components inside the repurposed casing, adding a small LED screen that showed the hack's progress. For power, he connected a compact rechargeable lithium battery, soldering the wires securely.
He added a camouflaged switch, designed to turn the device on and off quickly.
"Okay... test time..."
Peter climbed onto the roof with the device in hand. He chose the Wi-Fi signal of a nearby building, activated the device and typed the commands into his phone, which acted as a remote control.
The smile on his lips didn't disappear, it only widened as he looked at the device's screen.
A day or two passed, he couldn't say, he didn't care. It was dawn and his aunt was already fast asleep. He was in his suit, and at the moment, he was opening the window of his room.
He closed his eyes and concentrated... there was no one around, and the steady heartbeat and calm rhythm indicated that all his neighbors were already asleep, except for a few who were either watching television or playing video games in their rooms... no one was looking in his direction.
With that, he put his backpack on his back, positioned himself at the window and, with a controlled thrust, leapt upwards towards a nearby rooftop. He landed as quietly as he could... he could already consider it a victory that he hadn't jumped too far. He was getting used to it, things felt more... natural to him.
He crouched on the edge of the roof, his knees bent and his fingers digging into the rough concrete. He wrinkled his nose at the strong smell of gasoline and cigarettes that came with the wind.
He looked down. The dark alley looked like the mouth of a monster, he was dozens of meters up, but he felt no fear. Instead, his eyes scanned the surrounding support points - fire escape ladders, pipes and beams. Everything was a mental map in his mind, as if he saw routes where others only saw objects.
With a firm push, Peter jumped. For a moment, he felt emptiness in his stomach, but soon his feet touched the roof of a lower building. He rolled over the parapet, landing on his feet with a feeling of euphoria in his chest.
He ran across the roof and jumped again. This time, it was a larger gap. He felt the icy air tear at his face as he crossed the open space, and for a second he doubted he would make it. But his feet touched the surface of the next building, and he rolled to cushion the impact... not that he needed to at that height, apparently.
He adjusted the mask on his face, looking around. The view of Manhattan at night was a tapestry of lights, and for a moment he allowed himself to admire the city that would seem small from that distance to an ordinary person... but he saw it all so vividly.
He turned and ran again, this time towards a building twice the size. He took off and jumped, the building and at least one avenue away. Fear was forgotten, euphoria took over.
He jumped so high that he almost reached the top, for a few moments he despaired, but when his hands touched the side of the building, he remembered... he started climbing the wall, still relatively slowly because he was completely new to it.
He was high up, at least hundreds, maybe even thousands of meters above the ground. But it felt so free, so him... it felt so right. As if he was made for it.
He reached the top of the building, pleased to see that there was no one there, and then he walked to the edge. His eyes immediately focused on the police building, kilometers away.
He jumped again, running across the rooftops at top speed without hesitation. Perhaps he had been too excited, because the last jump ended up breaking the concrete beneath his feet due to the momentum, he went up, high, strong, the wind seeming to cut his face even behind the mask.
He gritted his teeth as he realized his mistake, grunted low as his body crashed into the side of another building. The windows shook, and the noise was loud enough to wake anyone sleeping in the nearby apartments. He climbed as fast as he could, taking care not to fall.
Well... it's a good thing no one saw, that was embarrassing...
He continued running until he reached his goal. With smooth, calculated movements, Peter jumped and scaled the side of the police station building. The cold texture of the concrete was almost comforting now. He reached a window on the third floor, where the dim light of monitors illuminated the room.
Basic security, surveillance cameras in strategic locations... it wouldn't be hard to avoid with his powers.
He looked around, neither seeing nor hearing anyone nearby. He placed his hand on the window... it was strange to control, whatever he had in his hands was retractable. He felt a certain control, it was just... hard.
He forced the window to the side, breaking the lock in the process, but to hell with it, the noise wasn't loud enough to alert anyone.
He entered... the police station had that characteristic smell of stale coffee, sweat and yellowed paper. The fluorescent lights buzzed, creating a monotonous yet claustrophobic atmosphere.
He focused his gaze on a camera near the door... his eyes fell on his hands stuck to the wall for a few moments, and then went to the ceiling... he could climb walls, why wouldn't he be able to?
With some hesitation, he stuck his fingers to the ceiling and moved, one hand after the other, one foot after the other, and there it was, he was crawling across the ceiling. Honestly, he shouldn't have been so surprised anymore, but he was. He had thought he would feel some kind of discomfort, dizziness, anything.
But it just felt normal, natural. He moved over to where the camera was and pulled it away. He could have taken more time, finished a hacking device he had designed. But he was tired of waiting.
It might have been impulsive of him, but screw it.
He could hear muffled conversations downstairs, the sound of fingers tapping on keyboards, and even the click of a pen being closed. Each sound formed a mental map of the police station because of the direction the sounds were coming from.
Peter continued crawling along the ceiling until he reached the corridor, where he found an empty room that seemed to be used for meetings and ducked behind a table, taking out from his backpack that makeshift device, but one he was proud of.
Peter had programmed Python scripts to hack into networks protected by weak passwords and a decryption system based on brute force and phishing attacks. It was small, fitting in his hand, with a small LED screen that displayed the stages of the hack's progress. The fiber optic cable allowed direct connections to terminals, and the device also had wireless capabilities for remote intrusions.
He connected the device to the police station's router. The screen flashed, displaying lines of code that seemed to dance under Peter's nimble fingers. He quickly typed in commands. The device identified the police station's main servers, including criminal records, incident reports and internal files.
He carefully read the information that flashed across the screen and was transferred to his drive. Time passed quickly in the meantime, and soon he noticed the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. He quickly switched off the device and stowed it in his backpack.
The sound of boots against the ground echoed with a cadence that seemed to hammer his mind. Apparently, a silent alarm had been activated, or someone had become suspicious of the broken camera. He admitted, it hadn't been his best plan.
Peter saw, through the gaps in the ajar door, a group of armed cops searching the main corridor. Since they didn't see anything, they weren't that alert. They probably thought it was a camera malfunction or something.
Carefully, he got down and began to crawl along the floor, taking advantage of the poor lighting. When it was safe to go, he jumped up to the ceiling and continued through the police station.
Peter found an adjoining room, full of metal shelves packed with boxes and folders. It was an archive. He slipped inside and closed the door, leaving just a crack to look down the corridor.
Footsteps approached.
Peter looked around and saw a solution: the shelves were high and the lighting wasn't strong. He climbed up quickly, using his skills to grab onto the top corner of the metal structure. With his body stuck to the wall and his legs bent, he looked like an indistinct shadow.
The door opened with a creak, and two cops entered.
"... That's why he lost. I told you, Merryweather only didn't knock him out out out of pity." One of them said, walking through the shelves, while the other stood in the doorway, absent-mindedly fiddling with the radio.
"You don't know anything, McGregor just wasn't having a good day. I can assure you that Merryweather didn't fall by sheer luck." The one near the door said, and the other cop snorted. Peter held his breath as he watched the first cop's footsteps pass directly beneath him.
A folder on top of the shelf slipped when Peter moved. He widened his eyes and tried to catch the folder with his hand, but it was too far away. The sound of something falling to the floor made the cop look up.
Peter reacted sharply, throwing himself to the opposite side with great speed and force.
"What fell there?" The cop near the door asked, and Peter almost sighed in relief when he saw the first one walk over to the folder. Good, he didn't see him.
The cop near the door approached the first one. As soon as the cops were distracted, Peter slid down the wall silently and was out of the room before they knew it.
Now he was in a narrow, dimly-lit corridor, apparently less busy. He could hear footsteps in the distance, the sound of doors opening and closing, as well as footsteps approaching.
Peter noticed a ventilation system above his head. He climbed up with ease, tearing off the grille and entering the duct.
The ducts were claustrophobic, but they felt so comfortable that it was even weird. With every movement, he stopped for a moment to listen to his surroundings. Super-hearing was a double-edged sword: he could hear enough to anticipate footsteps, but it was also almost deafening with the echoing metallic sounds of the ducts.
To his surprise, he had come out in the police station's weapons room. Weapons of all kinds were locked away in showcases and cabinets. He wouldn't have needed it... but he picked up a training smoke grenade that was labeled and kept for testing.
You never know... normally, he wouldn't touch anything in there. But honestly, he felt they deserved it.
He put the grenade in his backpack and continued crawling along the ceiling. After a while, he found a side exit that seemed to be used for deliveries.
Good, he was getting fed up with the place.
He took his backpack off his back and crouched down on the floor. From there, he took out his laptop, which was old but still worked fine. The laptop turned on and he tried to ignore all the noises around him. It was getting easier with time, he hardly bothered anymore.
His fingers moved quickly across the keyboard, and he accessed the public records on Marvin that he had just obtained. Photos of the officer appeared on the screen, along with files on his background. Nothing incriminating at first glance.
While the computer was working, he pulled out a bundle of crumpled papers from the side pocket of his backpack - copies of documents he had obtained from the town hall. It wasn't much, just what the civilians could read, nothing really out of the ordinary apart from his work history.
His eyes then turned to the screen, he focused his attention on the information he had obtained. There were unpaid fines, closed complaints and, most importantly, some reports of excessive use of force that had been ignored.
The complaints were old, some dating back years. Marvin had started his career as a promising young man, but was soon racking up warnings for aggressive behavior. One particular charge caught Peter's attention - a case where Marvin had been accused of assaulting a handcuffed man during an arrest. The report stated that the victim was hospitalized for weeks, but the case was dropped for "lack of evidence". Another report showed an internal investigation after Marvin was filmed intimidating residents of a poor neighborhood. Once again, the investigation came to nothing.
Peter felt a knot in his stomach when he read about a domestic abuse case against Marvin's ex-wife. The complaint included photos of bruises and cuts, but the woman withdrew her complaint a few days later. Coincidence...?
He must have threatened her... that or she thought it was stupid to report the Major...
Peter was more confident about the first option.
He also found suspicious financial records. Deposits of thousands of dollars... and always after a major seizure or police operation. He also found frequent transactions in casinos, a pattern that suggested money laundering.
The laptop kept uploading more information, and Peter found a pattern. Marvin was a man used to getting away with things. He was the kind of person who used the system to his advantage, manipulating witnesses, intimidating victims, and disappearing with evidence.
He was untouchable... because no one really dared to do anything, and those above him used him to their advantage. Everyone won, the population lost.
Marvin was protected, he had alliances within the force... he could incriminate more than just him. Get to the root of the problem.
Which meant he had to go after more information. He could simply go to Marvin, record a video of him confessing after he breaks his other arm. Send it to the media anonymously... but how long would it take for another "Marvin" to take his place? Days? Weeks?
Peter sighed. It would take a balance between information gathering and controlled exposure. The central police station is the hub where much of the information circulates. Internal files, email exchanges and recordings from internal cameras could contain evidence. The plus was that the data was detailed and official and could be collected directly from the source.
On the downside, more police movement.
Peter could use his new device to access managerial computers, focusing on financial transfer records and internal communication. He would need better equipment for this, disabling the cameras, high-powered hacking...
He could also spy on Marvin... in fact, he SHOULD spy on Marvin. What better way to get information about the man if not from himself?
He and his superiors are less likely to expect to be investigated outside the police station. Peter could search for evidence in personal locations, such as private homes or offices.
He opened a writing application on his laptop.
1st (debatable) Return to the police station to access the contact list, meeting records and messages exchanged between Marvin and his accomplices. This could include work schedules, work orders or even manipulated internal reports.
2nd (must do) With the initial data in hand, identify the leaders of the network. Then monitor their movements and follow them to private locations to look for complementary evidence. This could include photographs of secret meetings, recordings of conversations or records of suspicious activities.
Peter sighed and closed his eyes. He was breaking laws to expose corruption... was that the right thing to do?
...
I'd better go...
He would think about it later. The boy stood up after putting his laptop in his backpack and turned around. It was still early in the morning, but it wouldn't be long until dawn.
He jumped to the next building, and continued on to a lower one. The moment he landed, however, he heard a muffled scream.
That same strange sensation at the base of his neck alerted him again... this time, the sensation was different. There was something bad going on... but it wasn't directed at him.
He turned and walked to the edge of the roof. His eyes soon focused on the scene below. The alley was narrow and dark, but he could see well. Two men, one with a knife, the other with a pistol in his hand. They both reeked of drink and cigarettes and... weed? A faint smell, probably from a long time ago.
In front of them, a woman. From the short, tight clothes and the smell, a prostitute... she was fighting one of them for her purse, probably full of the money she'd gotten that night.
They threatened her. The one holding the knife struck her in the face more than once, her lip was bleeding.
Peter felt a cold sensation run through his chest, anxiety spreading as his heart raced. The gun in the man's hand, the defenseless woman being unjustly assaulted.
He could ignore it... but he couldn't even if he wanted to. He ignored it once...
She screamed again, the man raised his pistol, and that...
It filled him with rage...
He left his backpack on the roof. Part of his insides screamed at him to just turn around and walk away, not to get involved. As far as he knew, he wasn't bulletproof, and he didn't want to test the contrary. But he just... couldn't, not again.
He jumped. The wind tore at his ears as he descended, the impact echoing loudly through the alley as he landed. He felt no discomfort as he landed on his feet, no pain, nothing.
The two men turned around immediately after hearing the noise, startled.
"What the fuck is this?!" The man with the knife said when he saw the white lenses of Peter's mask. He raised the knife and took a single step back, while the second man just pointed the gun at Peter.
The boy, for his part, didn't know exactly what he was doing, but his body seemed to know. His hands were shaking, but it was more adrenaline than fear.
"... Leave her alone..." He just said, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. Both men looked at each other, and the one with the gun just snorted a mocking laugh and took a step closer, gun still raised.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, kid? Playing superhero at this hour? Go home before your parents mourn you." The man said, his finger lightly pressing the trigger.
Peter didn't know what was worse, the fact that the man didn't care about shooting an apparent "child", or the fact that his voice gave away his age. Peter didn't exactly have a deep voice, he hoped that by the end of his puberty that would change.
... Maybe a voice modulator wouldn't be such a bad idea.
The man took another step forward, Peter's instincts screamed, and the world seemed to go into slow motion. Before Peter could think of what to do, his body moved.
He lunged forward. Too fast for the man with the gun to react. Peter's hand grabbed his wrist, twisting it hard. There was a dry snap followed by a cry of pain as the gun fell to the ground.
It was all so fast, so light... he didn't even feel he was moving.
The second man advanced. Peter turned his body and kicked him hard in the knee. Another snap. The man screamed, tumbling to the side. The knife fell from his hand, sliding across the alley floor.
The first man, still holding his twisted arm, tried to react. Peter turned as he felt his instinct warn him. He still didn't know how to react or obey, and turned just in time to receive a punch to the face. He had never been in a real fight, and he recoiled, more from surprise than pain.
He just shook his head, without any significant damage. He pushed the man away, punching him in the face. The impact was too strong, more than he expected. The man fell to the ground, groaning and spitting blood.
He looked down at his hands covered in dark gloves... there were a few drops of blood now, and he watched them for a few moments... he had just struck two grown men, who were now on the ground.
His eyes went to the woman, who was leaning against the wall, her eyes staring at him in surprise and her chest moving heavily due to her heavy breathing from adrenaline. She didn't seem too shaken or scared... maybe it wasn't the first time.
"... Are you all right?" He asked, not moving any closer. The woman didn't answer him, just made a confused face, probably because of his voice. She nodded slowly after a while, still staring at him.
He's just saved someone from being mugged...
What exactly was he supposed to feel?
Peter turned to the two men, who were groaning on the floor. He picked up the bag that was lying next to them and handed it to the woman.
"You'd better go..." She hesitated for a second, but then ran off down the alley.
"Thanks." She thanked him as she passed him. Peter looked at her for a few moments, feeling... good. He stood there for a few moments, watching the two attackers.
He'd done it... they were on the ground because of him.
He could do it.
If only he had done the same to Marvin, his uncle would still be alive.
Peter focused his eyes on the man who had previously been holding the knife, he was gritting his teeth in pain... his leg was turned in a direction that indicated it was broken. He wouldn't walk very well for the rest of his life, not with that knee.
It made him feel... bad. Not to the point of regretting having saved that woman, but he could have... held back more, been more careful. Well, maybe that would serve as a lesson.
He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head and turned around, heading out of the alley as fast as he could. When he saw that he was safe, he climbed back up to the roof of the building.
Peter closed his closet after hiding his new suit. His mask was at the bottom of the closet, under a pile of clothes.
He sighed and walked over to his bed. He didn't lie down, he just sat and stared at the wall in front of him. Strangely, he didn't feel tired. Well, more than once he had stayed up all night, whether tinkering in the garage or studying a topic that caught his interest.
But he always felt exhausted in the morning. Now, however, he felt as good as when he had just woken up.
... Another benefit of his new body, probably. He still had to know how far his body would go. How many days could he go without sleeping? How long could he run without getting tired? What kind of movements could he make with his new flexibility?
Peter was still growing, still in his puberty. His body was still growing, still developing. Perhaps this also applied to his "powers"? Was his body still developing and adapting to his new attributes? It took some time before he was able to climb walls, for example.
In a month, what, maybe he'd develop poison glands?
In six months, maybe he'd start shooting webs?
... In a year... he could grow four more limbs? That wasn't a very nice thought...
He sighed and leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his thighs. That night had been... busy.
He could still feel the impact his fists had made on those two men. He could still see the faces of the officers walking around the police station.
It was a lot. Too much.
... And just as it was frightening, it was exciting. The impact that his information would make in the hands of the right people. What he could do, the people he could put in jail...
Bad, corrupt, arrogant, selfish men.
He had no illusions. He was still a teenager, so part of him wondered if he should really go through with it. If he should go beyond Marvin and go after those at the top.
It could be risky...
His thoughts were interrupted when the door to his room suddenly opened. He raised his head and blinked a few times at the sight of his Aunt May. He was so immersed in his thoughts that he didn't hear her, didn't even notice her coming.
Hm... so there were gaps for his instincts... he had to work on that later.
"Aunt May...?" The woman seemed to stare at him for a few moments, her expression unreadable. She entered the room with slow steps, leaving the door open.
"I heard a loud noise... I came to check on you." She said, sitting down next to him on the bed.
"Oh, I... woke up and couldn't sleep. I think I closed the window too hard. Don't worry." He said, his gaze now focused on the floor. He felt nervous. He couldn't face his aunt.
The sweet woman with the frail body.
And the wife of the man who died because of him.
"... Peter. I... I know that..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "You're sinking into that basement, you spend hours without coming out. Some days I don't even see you."
He knew. He was avoiding her. How could he look at her after the things he said when Ben was still alive?
Or after hearing his uncle let out his last breath in an stupid situation...
"I know you're suffering. I am too. Take your time with your grief, but... you can't just hide, Peter. It's been almost two weeks, and-"
"And why not?" He interrupted her. Not firm, not rude, not harsh, just... sad, his voice trembling. "He shouldn't have died. It was my fault. I shouldn't have run... I should have done something."
May touched his hand gently, but Peter pulled back, his shoulders shaking.
"Don't say that." She urged sweetly. "Don't blame yourself."
"But it's the truth!" He said, his voice slightly altered. Every night his uncle's eyes appeared in his mind, every night he heard the air leave his lungs, the bullet penetrate his body. He could sleep, but only for a few hours.
He couldn't even consider it anything more than a nap.
"I... I saw... that... he tried to help me, that's all. He didn't attack him, Aunt May. He didn't have to die..." He said, trying to control his voice, control his anger. It was getting harder and harder, and the doubts he had felt before disappeared almost immediately.
The silence between them was suffocating. May took a deep breath before speaking.
"That guy... Marvin... he shot because he wanted to... he almost shot me too." He clenched his fists, his gaze now almost boring a hole in the floor, so intense was it. "If I hadn't run away from home... if I hadn't yelled at you..."
He sighed.
"... The last time I saw him... the last thing I said to you both..." He murmured. He wouldn't complete the sentence, he knew she had already caught his meaning.
May placed a hand gently on Peter's shoulder. He wasn't looking at her, but he knew exactly what kind of expression she was making.
"Peter... I love you, he loved you. And he knew you loved him back. A few words wouldn't change that. He knew you, and-"
"If you could repay, would you?" He interrupted her. Perhaps it was rudely, in a way that his aunt didn't deserve, but he needed to know. He didn't want a conversation like the one he'd heard over and over again in movies, it wouldn't help, not now.
"What?"
"I hate that guy, Aunt May. I see his face when I go to sleep, and I feel... I want him to pay for it so badly." Her face contorted in restrained anger. "If you had the chance, if you could make him pay for what he did... would you?"
May was silent for a moment, and Peter almost believed she wouldn't answer. Her heart raced slightly, skipping a beat. She probably couldn't believe she was hearing her nephew talk like that.
But she wasn't there at the time either... she didn't see what he saw.
"No." She answered, simply and firmly, and Peter blinked in surprise.
"No?"
"No, Peter." She put her hand over his, this time holding on tightly when he tried to push her away. "That wouldn't bring Ben back."
He couldn't quite understand. Wasn't she angry?
"How can you say that?" The question was genuine, because no matter how much he thought about it, no matter how much he reviewed the scene in his mind, he couldn't imagine just letting it go. "He's rotten, Aunt May! He deserves it!"
"Maybe he deserves it." She admitted. "That doesn't mean you're the one who has to do it. We don't have the right to decide who dies or who lives." That sentence was meant to perhaps teach him, guide him... maybe even comfort him, but it only served to make him even angrier.
"What about him?! Did he have the right to shoot Uncle Ben?!"
"... Your uncle once said..." Her voice faltered for a moment before she pulled herself together. It was as difficult for her as it was for him. "He said that you have to give the person every chance to do good... but, in the end, it's entirely their choice."
He snorted.
"What, do I have to hope and pray that he'll grow a conscience and repent? Aunt May, he'll never do that, it would be like ending his life."
"Maybe not, but what about you, Peter?" The sudden question made him look at her in confusion. She sighed and settled down on the bed. "I don't want you to do something you'll regret later. Marvin will deal with the consequences of his choices. The same will happen to you depending on your choices. You do what's right, not what you want."
He turned around again. It wasn't the answer he wanted... Marvin was responsible, he was the problem...
"That's not fair... it's not fair!" Peter's voice broke.
"No, it's not." May said, and pulled Peter close, and even as he struggled against the embrace, he eventually gave in. "The world isn't fair. People are horrible... don't let them pull you down."
She said. Peter remained silent, no longer wanting to talk. He didn't think he would get the answer he was looking for, or an answer that would satisfy him. So he just pretended, and closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy her caressing his head.
During that time, Peter's basement had become something between a makeshift laboratory and a graveyard of abandoned electronics. Piles of old motherboards, tangled cables and broken monitor casings occupied every corner of the space. A lamp hanging from the ceiling cast a yellowish light on the worn wooden table where Peter worked.
He went out at night, always at the same time, getting what he could while continuing his little mission. Aunt May didn't know anything, he hoped, and considering that he always spent a lot of time in the basement, it wasn't anything that really worried May. He even started to get out of there more, as much as he wanted to finish all his projects.
He wore goggles and held a soldering iron in his right hand. On the table, an old circuit board taken from a burnt-out amateur radio shone under the lamp.
Peter was improving his hacking device - the small box he had used at the police station. Originally, it consisted of a modified Raspberry Pi, taken from a school robotics kit, and a USB Wi-Fi adapter for hacking into networks. Now he needed to make it faster and harder to trace.
He started by removing the plastic casing from the device and separating the parts.
He dismantled an old broken router, taking advantage of the long-range antenna. He soldered the connection to the USB adapter, creating a more robust antenna that could pick up signals over longer distances for more efficient Wi-Fi.
Removing the motherboard from an old laptop he found in the trash, Peter reused the RAM and processor. With patience, he adapted the components to be soldered onto the Raspberry Pi board, maximizing efficiency without increasing the size of the device.
Soon after, he connected a lithium-ion battery taken from an old tablet and added a controller circuit to prevent overheating. Now, the device could run for hours without recharging.
He tested the software running on the embedded Linux system by typing lines of code into the terminal of the connected computer. He smiled as he saw the device invade a test network he had created.
With that, he got up and placed the device on the table in the center of the basement, right next to where his suit had been, now clean, and then turned his attention to his new project.
Peter needed something that didn't rely on his cell phone to access security cameras. He wasn't keen on running the risk of being tracked. Sifting through the remains of security cameras and smart doorbells, he found useful components:
Wi-Fi Signal Receiver - He removed wireless sensor boards and Wi-Fi modules from old IP cameras.
Mini Display - He took an OLED display from a broken smartwatch to create a compact interface.Compact Controller - He used an Arduino Nano to intermediate the signal and show images on the display.
He carefully soldered the components onto a perforated board and connected them with thin, well-organized wires. He then programmed the Arduino to intercept signals from nearby Wi-Fi cameras and display them in real time.
With that, he turned and went upstairs to the kitchen. His aunt was upstairs. Quietly, he walked to the back door and passed through the yard. The neighbor in front, the Witakers, had some security cameras. He tested the device by pointing it at the signal from a camera above the door. The small viewfinder glowed and displayed a grainy but clear image.
It works!
He smiled to himself, quickly returning to his small makeshift laboratory. Another part completed.
On to the next step... to deactivate alarms or confuse sensors, Peter needed something portable and effective. He started by dismantling old radios and remote controls.
He took an FM transmitter circuit from a broken radio. He modified it to transmit waves at specific frequencies, capable of interfering with Wi-Fi networks and wireless sensor signals.
He paused shortly afterwards, chewing with a certain ferocity on a protein bar from the stock of food he had brought downstairs.
As the protein bar dangled in his mouth, he created a copper coil wrapped around a plastic tube, connected to a capacitor taken from a discarded microwave. When activated, it released a short pulse, enough to temporarily switch off small electronic devices nearby.
He mounted the devices in repurposed plastic casings, small enough to fit in his pocket.
He grabbed another protein bar and a sports drink soon after. At his desk, he had a disassembled old headset in front of him, next to microphones, small speakers and a pile of repurposed circuit boards. His eyes were fixed on a schematic scribbled on a notepad.
A voice modulator needs three main components: audio input, processing and output. Sounds simple on paper...
Peter began by dismantling the microphone from an old gaming headset he had found in a dumpster. He removed the electret microphone capsule, a small, circular piece, hoping it would still work while testing the electrical resistance with a multimeter.
The microphone was operational. Peter soldered two thin wires to the capsule's terminals and connected them to a prototyping board. To amplify the signal, he added a small LM386 amplifier taken from an old portable radio.
The most complicated part was processing the voice to change the pitch and timbre. Peter reused an Arduino Nano, which he had already used for other projects. He programmed it to use a frequency-shifting algorithm using wave modulation.
He connected the Arduino to the perforated board, inserted a small potentiometer (also salvaged from a broken radio) and set it up as a manual pitch control.
Now all that was left to do was code...
#include Audio.h
AudioInputAnalog micInput(A0); / Microphone input
AudioEffectGranular pitchShift; / Voice change effect
AudioOutputAnalog speakerOutput(A1); / Output to speaker
void setup() {
AudioMemory(12);
(0.2, 2.0); / Pitch control: 20% to 200%
}
void loop() {
float pitch = analogRead(A0) / 1023.0 * 1.8 + 0.2; / Controllable pitch
(pitch);
(
(
}
He loaded the code into the Arduino and connected the wires.
Peter dismantled an old portable speaker for the output. He reused the audio driver, soldering wires directly to the Arduino board. He also used a small 3W amplifier to reinforce the sound.
Using hard plastic taken from a broken video game casing, Peter molded a small housing for the modulator. He cut spaces for the buttons and the microphone, fixed everything with hot glue and screws, and left room for the removable rechargeable battery.
To test it, he turned on the device and spoke into the microphone:
"Test." His voice came out low, almost robotic. He turned the potentiometer and tried again. "Test." This time, the voice sounded higher-pitched, distorted.
Well... it worked... great. Peter adjusted the wires, tested the controls one more time and then snapped the housing cover back on, sealing the device.
He then connected the devices to the computer and ran tests to make sure they worked. He pointed the interference transmitter at his own router and activated it. The Wi-Fi went down instantly.
On one of his evening outings, he used the OLED display to check the cameras on the block. They were all visible, even without using his cell phone.
Finally, he tested the electromagnetic pulse on a police radio once... pleased to hear the officers confused that the device had gone off.
Great...
Even though he had a few good devices, every time he came home he went down to the basement, inventing a few more things... just in case.
He didn't try to enter the police station again in the meantime. For the time being, he just decided to follow and intercept Marvin's calls, until he finally got what he wanted.
It was late at night and Peter moved through the shadows like a specter, concealing his presence as he approached the indicated building. He had followed Marvin and the others for days until he finally spotted them entering a discreet building in the city center, surrounded by high walls and security guards.
The building was large, located on a discreet street in Manhattan. It was beautiful, its glass façade reflected the lights of the city, and a discreet corporate logo at the top implied that the place belonged to a private security company. The place was immaculate, with perfectly pruned bushes and small lights embedded in the ground that highlighted the smooth stone path that led to the main entrance.
Seriously, who needs all that...?
From the roof of a neighboring building, Peter surveyed the scene. The main entrance was monitored by cameras, and two guards patrolled the inner courtyard dressed in uniforms and equipped with radios and holstered pistols. They exchanged few words as they monitored the movement around them. Further away, a surveillance camera rotated slowly from side to side, covering much of the perimeter.
Peter made his way around the building in silence, jumping from roof to roof, moving from wall to wall as he patiently observed the perimeter, avoiding the beams of light. He found an emergency staircase, hidden between two decorative panels on the side. The structure was chrome-plated metal, well cared for, with no signs of rust. He boosted himself up and jumped carefully, landing with a thud.
On the second floor, he found an open window, which led to an internal corridor illuminated by soft lights. The woody smell was strong, and he had to control himself not to sneeze.
Peter entered with an agile movement, landing silently. He kept his head down as he scanned the corridor. A camera was positioned above the far door, but he realized that the corridor in front of him was free of surveillance.
He took one of his devices from his pocket and pointed it at the camera ahead. He ran his fingers across the screen for a few moments until he nodded to himself. He now had thirty seconds of a looped image.
Moving slowly, he approached a staircase leading to the lower floor, from where muffled voices were coming. Lying on the floor, he peered over the edge and saw a large meeting hall, surrounded by walls of tempered glass. Inside, Marvin and four other men were sitting around a long shiny black table. They were all wearing suits, with laptops and briefcases scattered around.
Peter activated his makeshift recording device, which was connected to the directional microphone built into his hacking device. He carefully positioned the device at a strategic point on the staircase and adjusted the audio focus.
"The contracts with the city are guaranteed. We're free to continue with the detour." One of them said, not recognizing him, not from the files, not from the photos, not anything. "Kingpin says we can get 40% with this new shipment."
Kingpin? That's a weird ass name...
"The last inspection was archived. We bought the auditor, so there's no risk." That voice was impossible not to recognize or confuse. Marvin said, a glass of drink in his hand... whiskey, by the smell of it.
"Good. What about the councillors?" Another man asked. This one Peter recognized. James Thomas, lieutenant colonel. He and Marvin were almost best friends, from what he'd read.
"Everything has been divided up and sent to the accounts as agreed. No transactions will be traceable." Marvin replied. Peter almost snorted.
A meeting about money laundering and bribery... the councillors accepted? Why wasn't he surprised?
He adjusted his device and began to record everything: the faces, the voices, the information.
While Peter was adjusting the angle of his device, he heard heavy footsteps coming up the opposite staircase. One of the guards was making his rounds. Peter pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath.
"Everything all right? You left the post." One of the guards asked quietly over the radio. The man approaching answered briefly. The man glanced quickly down the corridor, his eyes passing dangerously close to where Peter was hiding. He started to turn around, but stopped when he noticed something: the open window through which Peter had entered.
He just arched an eyebrow and walked towards the window to close it. At that moment, Peter leapt towards the ceiling, clinging to it silently.
The man closed the window and turned around. Peter watched him walk away with some trepidation. And as the man moved away, he heard Marvin and the others start to say goodbye.
Oh, damn... well, that was enough for now...
Peter moved quickly across the ceiling, avoiding the approaching guards. He entered a nearby room after making sure there was no one there. Peter entered the room with light steps, closing the door behind him without a sound. It was a neat office, with a modern glass and dark wood desk in the center. There were documents stacked in one corner and an open laptop with the login screen displayed.
Everything was still normal, nobody even suspected he was there... he started with the papers. Moving quickly, he found suspicious contracts, forged invoices and reports that had clearly been manipulated. He photographed everything and put the documents back the way they were.
Then he turned his attention to his laptop, plugging in his hacking device. The screen flashed a few times, and the program he had developed began to bypass the system's basic defenses. The process seemed to take forever, but he finally managed to access the files.
He found what he expected: spreadsheets of illegal payments, lists of names - many of them of influential policemen and businessmen. As he copied the data to his drive, he felt that same sensation at the base of his neck.
The data was transferred, voices were heard, footsteps echoed, getting louder and louder. With a nervous sigh, Peter unplugged the device and put the drive away.
A silent alarm?!
He looked around for an escape route. The window was only a few meters away. He ran to it, opened it, and froze at the sight of red lasers cutting through the air.
There were snipers positioned in the neighboring buildings, their sights trained directly on him.
"Hands up! Now!" He heard one of them shout.
Peter backed away from the window, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard the sound of a radio:
"We have a target on the second floor. Don't let him get away." The door to the room was kicked in, and two guards entered with guns drawn. Peter had no choice. He jumped over the table. His instincts screamed, and he turned his body instinctively while still in the air.
The sound of the gun going off echoed through his mind, his eyes went wide... they were shooting at him.
He hadn't given this situation much thought. The last time he was shot at, he was half out of his own body, but now... the shots, the smell of gunpowder... it was all frightening.
The first guard tried to grab him, but Peter spun around in one swift movement, using the man's weight against him and throwing him to the ground. The second tried a blow with his baton, but Peter, still instinctively learning his limits, ducked and pushed him away in desperation.
He was beginning to feel overwhelmed. Too many shots, too many people, too many smells... too much everything.
Two more guards appeared at the door. Peter grabbed the fallen guard's baton and threw it, hitting one of them in the chest. He jumped to the side of the room, running along the wall for a few meters before throwing himself at the other guard, knocking him down.
"Did he just run through the wall?!" He heard one of them shout, but Peter didn't care, he just focused on getting out of there as soon as possible.
Peter went back to the window. The lasers were still there. He knew that jumping would be a huge risk, but he had to act fast. They were probably very good at shooting... but he was faster. He had to be. If he tried to get further into the building, he simply wouldn't be able to get out, no matter what he did.
But there were too many snipers... too many guns pointed in his direction... he grabbed a chair from the living room and threw it through the window. The instant the glass shattered, the snipers opened fire, believing he had jumped. Peter used the chaos to sneak down the corridor.
The second floor was a maze of impeccably clean offices and corridors. Peter moved like a ghost, sneaking along the ceiling, walls, hiding in shadows, but the guards were everywhere. He heard heavy footsteps and voices approaching from all directions.
Entering another office, he quickly closed the door and looked around. There was no way out, except for a ventilation duct in the top corner. With no time to think, he scaled the bookcase and forced open the duct, shoving himself inside.
Outside, he heard some male voices.
"Check all the rooms! He can't have gone far."
Inside the duct, the air was stifling. Peter crawled with difficulty, the metal creaking softly under his weight. He heard the muffled voices of the guards everywhere, each sound amplified by his super-hearing.
He stopped at one point, hearing a strange noise. It was low, it could have been imperceptible, and it sounded... like... the noise of a drone?
Suddenly, a bullet went through the duct near his head, leaving a hole in the metal.
"We're picking up the heat signal coming from the ventilation system."
Heat signal... who the fuck were these guys?!
He hurried, moving faster, hearing shots being fired and several holes being punched in the ventilation duct, until he found a grille that led to a dark room on the lower floor. He kicked the railing hard, falling to the ground in a clumsy movement, but managed to cushion the impact with a roll.
Before he could recover, two guards rushed in. Peter dodged one blow, but was hit by another. He grunted low and grabbed the man's arm. In desperation and without really being able to control his own strength, he literally spun the grown man around and hurled him at his friend with some violence. The two bodies collided, and they fell to the ground with a loud thud.
He ran for the door, but a third guard was blocking the way.
Peter slid across the floor, ducking under the guard's blow, and used the strength of his legs to push the man against the wall.
Finally, Peter found an exit to the building's garage. He ran towards the street, but the snipers were still in position. He heard the shots passing dangerously close, the deafening sound echoing in his ears.
He increased his speed, too fast for them to hit him. Gathering momentum, he sprinted towards the building ahead, where he quickly crawled up the wall until he rounded the corner and out of the guards' line of sight.
When he reached the top, he kept running until the sounds of guards and gunfire disappeared. He only stopped when he reached a distant rooftop, panting, his body trembling.
He looked down at himself, running his eyes over his own clothes and body. No bullets had hit him, but the holes and rips here and there in his pants and sweatshirt indicated that it had been close.
Too close.
He leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, feeling his legs go slightly limp. He made it out alive... holy shit...
Well... he got what he wanted, so it was a great victory. He could use that... it would be proof enough.
Marvin was guaranteed to go down... and as for the others, even if they somehow managed to get away with it, it would be enough to arouse suspicion, maybe even some withdrawals...
He had enough... but he wanted more.
The night was quiet, and the cold New York air enveloped Peter as he watched Marvin's small apartment from a nearby rooftop. The living room light was on, and the crooked cop was alone, sitting in his armchair with a beer in his hand and the television on for a soccer game.
Peter adjusted his mask, the voice modulator in his throat and took a deep breath, his knuckles clenching with an anger he could barely control. He crept silently down the side of the building, his habit of crawling along the walls getting him almost completely used to it... he was still nowhere near being completely comfortable with it, but he was getting there.
When he reached the apartment window, he observed his surroundings. There were no alarm bells and Marvin was completely distracted.
Peter used a simple tool, made of wire and a lever, to unlock the window.
When he managed to open the window sufficiently, he slipped inside with the lightness of a cat... or a spider.
Inside the apartment, the smell of cigarettes and beer filled the air. The living room was a reflection of the man: disorganized, with piles of papers and clothes thrown in random corners. Peter walked calmly and silently over to Marvin, who hadn't noticed him.
"Good evening, Marvin." Peter said loudly. He was already inside the apartment, he had nowhere to go now.
Marvin startled, almost knocking over his beer. He stood up suddenly, reaching for something in his waistband.
His gun...
Peter was quicker. With one agile movement, he kicked Marvin in the hand, knocking the gun away. In the process, Marvin's arm was violently thrown back, and he staggered with a grunt of pain.
"Who the hell are you?! What do you want?!" Peter didn't answer. He lunged forward and punched him in the stomach, causing the man to fall to his knees.
"What have you been up to, Marvin? Have you assaulted any women lately?" Peter calmly walked around, running his eyes over the apartment. The punch was strong enough that Marvin couldn't even get up. It was by sheer luck that he didn't pass out right then and there.
"Maybe you've been laundering money? Oh, I know, you've been killing innocent people in the street?" Peter turned to him, hardly able to contain his anger. "What a naughty boy."
He lifted him up by his shirt collar and threw him against the wall. Marvin tried to react, but Peter just let his body react on its own, and dodged the blows thrown at him. Each unsuccessful blow was punished with a precise counterpunch. A punch to the chin. A kick to the knee.
He was trying so hard not to break every fucking bone in that piece of shit's body... or worse, kill him.
Marvin fell to the ground, coughing and moaning in pain. Peter lifted him up again, his eyes burning with hatred. He threw him hard into the armchair, panting. Peter raised his fist, ready to deliver the final blow. He could feel the blood pulsing in his temples, and all he wanted was to end it. End him.
"... You... bastard..." Marvin grunted, looking at him with the same anger that Peter was looking at him.
The boy gritted his teeth... how dare he...?
"You know... who you're messing with?! Huh?! Do you know... what you've just done?!" He continued, and Peter let go of him, trying his best to calm down. His mind heard his aunt's words again, and he began to find himself in an internal conflict. "What do you want, eh?! What's this?! You want money?!"
"You have no idea what you've done, huh?" Peter asked coldly. "The various things you've done, the people you've robbed, hurt..."
A gleam of understanding seemed to run through Marvin's eyes, and an expression of debauchery mixed with anger appeared on his face.
"Did my ex-wife send you? That dumb bitch! I knew she'd do something stupid at some point." He said, and Peter lowered his head slightly, closing his eyes tightly.
"... You moron." He landed another punch on Marvin's face. Blood splashed out of his broken nose.
Peter turned around, clenching his fists so hard that he bruised the palm of his hand.
"... I wanted to see you... I wanted to believe her words." He said, his voice breaking, but not apparent because of the modulator. "I wanted... to know if I... could control this... growing anger in my chest. And you want to know what I found out?"
He asked, caring little whether Marvin actually answered or not. He suddenly turned around, staring fiercely at that piece of shit.
"You... are a selfish bastard. A cruel man who doesn't mind stepping on others to get what he wants..." His voice was low, and he said it with such venom... he was tired of trying to control himself.
And much to his chagrin, Marvin just snorted with derisive laughter.
"Oh, really?" He laughed some more, clearly enjoying it. Soon, he stopped laughing and his countenance became serious. "And?"
Peter gritted his teeth and lunged at him again.
"And I really can't forgive you!" He practically screamed, punching the armchair so hard that it broke into several pieces. "I want to kill you... so badly! I can't stop shaking!"
He threw the man against the wall again, gasping even harder than before. He should smash this asshole's head in with his foot, break his neck, it would be so easy, he could probably do it in the blink of an eye.
He would probably regret it bitterly if he did.
He hesitated. His body trembled. He slowly lowered his head, feeling consumed by a mixture of frustration and relief.
Peter took his device from his pocket, setting it to record audio and video. He positioned the device next to Marvin's face, still groggy and panting.
"You're going to confess. All of it. Starting with that little meeting of yours."
"You're crazy... I'm not going to say anything!"
"You're going to..." Peter paused the recording momentarily and turned around. He bent down at one point and walked back to where Marvin was standing.
As he did so, he slowly raised his arm, pointing Marvin's gun at his head.
"Confess..." He lowered his arm slightly, aiming for a spot that would hurt... a lot. "Or I guarantee you'll feel more pain than you've ever felt in your entire life."
His threatening voice through the voice modulator made the man shiver, the menacing appearance of his mask making him swallow dry. Typical of people like him. They would do anything to save their own skin.
Marvin gave in. Between tears and moans, he began to speak, confessing his crimes and detailing the alliances with his superiors. Every word was recorded.
Peter left the apartment before Marvin could pull himself together. Or before he changed his mind and put him out of his misery right there. He ran across the rooftops to a safe place and reviewed the recordings. Satisfied with the material, he transferred everything to a USB stick and anonymously left the envelope in the mailbox of Betty Brant, a journalist from the Daily Bugle.
There was a simple note that said "The police may not be as reliable as you thought."
He disappeared into the shadows, a mixture of sensations rushing through his chest. Had he done the right thing by leaving Marvin alive? Should he have killed him? Should he be happy with that justice? Or would revenge be what satisfied him?
Whatever the answer, it was done... he didn't have to deal with Marvin anymore. Now he should just move on...
Of course, it wouldn't be that easy.
Peter entered the house quietly, his breathing heavy after a night like that. Jesus...
He was exhausted, not so much physically as emotionally. When he entered his room, he took off his mask and threw himself into the chair next to the table, grabbing a piece of the cake he had left there earlier. The TV, which he had left on before leaving, was showing a news report in an urgent tone, the volume almost at a minimum so as not to risk waking Aunt May.
"The body of a young woman identified as Angela Rivera, known to be a sex worker in the area, was found today in an alley near 45th Street." Peter stopped eating as soon as he heard that, his eyes turning to the television.
There it was... the photo of the woman he had saved days ago...
"According to the police, the victim was brutally murdered by two as yet unidentified men. Angela had previously filed a police report, claiming that she had had a confrontation with two men a few days ago, but had escaped thanks to the intervention of a masked vigilante. The police suspect that these as yet unidentified men have connections with the men from that confrontation."
Peter's world stopped. He rose slowly from his chair, staring at the screen.
It couldn't be... he... no...
Peter switched off the TV with a sudden movement, the noise having long since become muffled. The reporter's words kept echoing in his mind. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hands covering his face.
Did I do that? If I had... if I hadn't left those guys alive...
Or maybe...
He remembered the moment when he had confronted the two men. They were already unarmed on the ground, no longer a threat. Or so he thought at the time. But now, he knew they hadn't been.
Peter stood up, starting to pace back and forth in the small room. His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of the tragedy.
I managed to save her that night. Not just from being robbed, but from something worse. I made a difference, I did the right thing! So why? It wasn't enough. There's no point in helping someone for a moment if they're still in danger afterwards.
Peter went to the window and opened it, feeling the cold night air hit his face. He watched the city, the lights twinkling like little stars on the horizon. Down below, he knew that there were other people like Angela, others being mugged at this very moment, others being murdered for ridiculous reasons.
He could do something... he did! He faced an entire police station. An army of guards on his tail...
He went back to his desk and picked up his notebook, scribbling down ideas for improving his tools and skills. He wasn't just a teenager who was bullied at school. He wasn't just a boy whose uncle had been murdered. No. No more.
He was more...
Much more...