The first week of school had begun, and they would be rushing right through the subject because of the lateness of the schedule and would try to make up for the three weeks of recess.
Peter didn't go to class then. No, he had other things to worry about. Besides, he was only in that school because his aunt had asked him to, and she wanted him to make the most of his time at school. Otherwise, he would have skipped a few years and graduated a while ago.
In those days, things went the way he thought they would. The newspapers were talking about nothing else. Since the anonymous disclosure of the incriminating information, a shockwave had spread through New York. At the center of it all was Marvin, and a corruption scheme that was eating away at the police force from the inside.
At the moment, there was no talk of anything different in the city. Television, radio and social media were awash with the news: systemic corruption within the NYPD.
The protests began timidly that morning, few people, still hesitant, afraid. However, when Marvin's past victims began to come forward, things started to pick up steam and rolled downhill so fast that there was no stopping it. Citizens gathered in front of the police stations, wielding placards with phrases like "No justice, no peace!" and simpler ones like "Pigs!". The noise echoed through the streets, mixed with the sound of news broadcasts on television sets in store windows.
It was a bit of a surprise. Usually, protests on this level didn't start out so big. But now it made sense that it had taken Betty days to publish the news. The woman went after the victims first, interviewed them, pulled out old, hidden files that proved what they said.
She first checked the integrity of the information, and only then took action. She was good.
Another journalist, also from the Daily Bugle, was on the screen at the time. Behind her, a crowd was protesting, waving banners and chanting slogans. "The information released shows a scheme that casts doubt on the credibility of the New York police force. Documents reveal that Major Marvin, regarded in reports and by fellow police officers as a 'good officer', has accumulated a record of abuse, bribery and excessive use of force." The screen switched to old recordings showing Marvin assaulting a prisoner who was later proven innocent.
"Internal reports point to a protection network that includes high-ranking officers, people who were supposed to protect the integrity of the police, but who instead betrayed the public trust." The screen changed again to some men on a stage in front of a crowd. Not of protesters, but of reporters and other public officials, in a place far from the police station.
The auditorium was packed - cameras pointed at the stage, reporters crowded into chairs, eager for answers.
"The police station is facing an internal investigation following allegations involving Major Marvin and other officers. The charges are serious: corruption, extortion, abuse of authority and... well, a few more." Captain George Stacy. He sounded tired. No, maybe that wasn't the best way to describe it... he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else but there.
He was probably dying of shame that his own force was so corrupt.
He should feel happy not to be in the middle of it...
"I want to be absolutely clear. These allegations do not represent what we stand for. They do not represent the men and women who risk their lives every day to protect this city. Major Marvin is a man... who valued his privacy very highly. Many had no information about his actions, and he was very selective in his teams." He said. He was telling the truth. It was written in the documents, the information, the group was very selective between various police stations around the city, and even stricter outside them.
A journalist at the front quickly raised her hand.
"Captain Stacy, Amanda Brooks from the Daily Bugle. Why have these practices gone unnoticed for so long? And how can the public trust that there are no others involved besides Major Marvin?" There were quite a few Daily Bugle reporters there. They probably used everyone who was available. Well, it made sense, since the information appeared right on their doorstep.
"Those are valid questions, Amanda. The truth is that we are reviewing all the cases and records associated with Major Marvin and any officer who may have participated in these activities. Unfortunately, I didn't have the power or permission to check on my own superiors, orders are orders and so I had to follow them, that's how they managed to do what they did. Trust is earned through transparency, and that's what all the departments under my command promise you." He replied.
"So the police station admits negligence?" Another reporter asked immediately afterwards, and George rolled his eyes, a gesture almost imperceptible to inattentive eyes.
"We admit there were faults, which is why we're not hiding anything. We've already started an external audit and we're cooperating fully with the federal authorities in their investigation." He said, his voice firmer this time, his eyes focusing on another reporter who hurriedly raised his hand.
"Daniel Frost, NBC News. Captain, what about the anonymous informant? Is it suspected that he's part of the department itself? Do you intend to investigate this?" George pressed his lips together for a moment before answering.
"The identity of the informant remains unknown, but what matters now is that the information has been verified and is legitimate. Whoever it was, they knew what they were doing." A new wave of questions exploded in the room, but George raised his hand again.
"I know there are many doubts. And, as a citizen and as a captain, I understand the indignation. I share it. My commitment, and the commitment of this precinct, is to restore public faith. This will take time and action. Unfortunately, I can't stay much longer."
He said, and a louder voice cut through the commotion.
"Captain Stacy! Jennifer Hall, New York Post. Can you guarantee, unequivocally, that the officers under your command are honest?"
George stared at Jennifer for a long moment. He didn't look offended or annoyed, but he did look a little thoughtful.
"I can assure you that the vast majority of the men and women in this police station have integrity and dedication. But, and I'll be honest, I can't guarantee that there aren't other guilty parties. What I can guarantee is that those who have betrayed this badge will not continue to wear it." Again, another wave of questions began, the chaos from before erupting like a volcano. George just glanced at the watch on his wrist before raising his head again.
"I appreciate everyone's presence and questions. We'll keep you informed as the investigations progress." He took a step back, ending the press conference. The flashes were back in full force, and the journalists were already organizing themselves to send updates.
The screen changed again, returning to the journalist from before.
"High-ranking officials are being mentioned, and the documents reveal a network of protection that allowed these acts of corruption to be buried under piles of bureaucracy. This raises an important question: how many others are involved? How many more benefited from a system that was supposed to protect citizens, but instead served to protect itself?"
As Betty spoke, other television networks were also following the unfolding scandal. Social media was equally inflamed. Hashtags like #CorruptionNYPD and #JusticeForNewYork dominated the trending topics. Users shared excerpts from the documents, theories about the extent of the scam and clips of Stacy's statement. Some posts were angry, others sought to organize protests and vigils in support of victims of police abuse.
Even public figures began to speak out. Celebrities used their platforms to demand justice, while local politicians made speeches promising reforms and investigations. The mayor, pressured by public opinion, announced at a press conference that an independent task force would be formed to investigate the accusations.
The man was sitting in his large living room, his hands crossed in front of him, resting on his refined wooden desk. City light streamed in through the panoramic windows, giving a beautiful view of the Manhattan landscape. Benefits of being at the top of one of the city's most luxurious buildings.
His eyes were fixed on the screen in front of him, where the headlines flashed one after the other, exposing the network of corruption that he had long cultivated and manipulated for his own ends.
He felt himself growing irritated, which caused him to sigh uncomfortably. He switched channels for a while, calmly analyzing everything. After all, Wilson Fisk was not a man known for losing his temper easily.
"Those idiots left too many traces." He muttered to himself, leaning back in his chair as he watched Captain Stacy's statement. The captain would investigate further, and although he wanted to say that he wouldn't find more than was already known, Fisk no longer had much faith in that claim after the leak.
He rose from his chair, adjusting his perfectly aligned tie as he walked towards the window... perhaps he should let Stacy find out a little more, just enough. As much as the man was limited by his own force, he respected the captain. He followed his principles to the letter, wasn't easily manipulated or bribed, had integrity and was loyal to what he believed in. That was very rare nowadays, and Fisk knew that more than anyone.
Marvin and the others were useful but expendable tools. Although their reckless actions threatened to compromise him a little more than he would have liked, it wasn't something he hadn't prepared for beforehand.
"Jameson." Fisk called out, and within seconds, his personal assistant entered the room, a slim, meticulous man wearing a suit similar to his own, with a serious expression and a clipboard in hand.
"Yes, Mr. Fisk?"
"I want you to start the containment process. Find the loose ends, all of them. We don't need to keep them around anymore."
"Understood, sir. What about the casino operations?"
Fisk turned to face him, his eyes cold as ice. "Reduce activities for the time being. Don't suspend them completely, but keep movement discreet." Jameson nodded in understanding, and after a brief "excuse me", he left the room and gently closed the door behind him.
Marvin wouldn't say anything... no, the man might be a piece of shit, but he was a piece of shit who knew it was better to keep his mouth shut about some things. He probably thought that if he didn't say anything, at some point Fisk would help him. An erroneous and misguided thought, but one that would be of some use.
Fisk cracked the bones in his neck and picked up the tablet on his desk. He wasn't that worried about the whole situation, at least not now, it wasn't what had caught his attention.
He wanted the rumors to start circulating. Nothing big, just enough to divert attention. The focus should be on the rivalry between the internal police departments, as well as the suggestion that the investigations are being motivated by power struggles. Let doubt erode public confidence. That's what they needed now: confusion.
But that was just child's play. His fingers dragged across the tablet screen, until he came back to the camera images of the building of one of his affiliates. He knew he should have done something about security earlier, if only they had listened to him...
No matter. What mattered was this person, this man, responsible for that mess.
He pressed play on the video footage while some body camera images of some of his guards appeared on the side. The man wasn't very tall, he had a slim build, but he was much more than met the eye.
He replayed the image again, his eyes following the moment when he simply ran up the wall. Not like a simple parkour move, there was no technique that allowed him to walk along the wall.
And as far as he knew, no human could dodge bullets, especially not at that distance. On the screen, this masked "vigilante", slender and agile, moved along the walls of the building like a damn spider. Fisk frowned. He rewound the video, pausing at the moment when the individual seemed to defy gravity.
No matter how much he thought about it, hanging from the ceiling with his fingers was not something ordinary humans could do.
"Technology, perhaps? Some kind of exoskeleton?" He muttered to himself. It seemed to make sense, but as far as he knew, the only companies in that city capable of making such technology, probably for military use, were his own, and Oscorp.
He leaned on the table. He knew that nothing had happened in his own laboratories, so that option was out of the question. But he also doubted that it was Oscorp. Norman Osborn wouldn't allow that, especially not something like that in a building affiliated to him.
Norman was careful, and although they were rivals, he and Norman had never been aggressive towards each other... perhaps someone on the inside had stolen a new prototype?
Or sold it to someone?
... It didn't make sense, he'd find out if that was the case.
He shook his head, displaying the images of the bodycams of the guards who had found the intruder. The angles were erratic, the guards clearly confused and outmatched. The masked man disappeared and reappeared, moving too fast for most cameras to capture him in detail.
Whether it was new technology or not, he didn't know. What he did know was that this "vigilante" grabbed a grown man and threw him as if he were nothing more than a cardboard box.
He analyzed the scene several times. The only thing that served as any kind of identification were the spider symbols on his chest and back. But that alone didn't mean anything, there were several pieces of clothing with similar symbols.
"If it's technology, I want to know where it came from. Obviously, it didn't come from any company in this city. But if it's someone with innate abilities... well, that's even more intriguing." He muttered to himself. The ability to walk along a wall, a kind of super strength and advanced reflexes.
He knew that Oscorp had once had a project to develop a serum as part of a government-funded military project. Norman had accepted the request, but as far as he knew, the project was running into difficulties, and was in danger of no longer being funded since the subjects experienced extremely dangerous side-effects.
There had been no progress... but what he saw there was precisely what the military was looking for.
... Perhaps they had decided to do their own hidden experiments and decided to test their newest creation? Somehow, he doubted it, however plausible it sounded.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers interlaced in front of his chest. He would scan it, see if there was any connection to Oscorp, Alchemax or any other company experimenting with technological advances. If it was technology, he wanted it under his control. If it was something else...
Norman Osborn walked through the corridors of Oscorp. His eyes moved slightly to the side, taking advantage of the glass walls to enjoy the breathtaking view of New York. He never got tired of it. Especially since he had built that company from the ground up.
State-of-the-art equipment was scattered around the laboratories, each one more advanced than the last. Engineers and scientists worked in silence, concentrating on their tasks, while holograms floated in the air, displaying formulas and advanced engineering projects.
Norman stopped in front of a meeting room, glancing quickly at the reflection in the glass before entering. He was visibly tired, with deep circles under his eyes and his tie slightly loosened. He sighed before opening the door, greeted by the sound of fervent discussions.
"Mr. Osborn." He greeted a man in a dark suit, a representative of the Department of Defense. Osborn just nodded at him. There was no point in asking "what's up?" or "how are you?" or anything like that, with these people, it was always a matter of work. "We were expecting a more concrete report on the progress of the project we asked you for. We're investing billions, and the results are... delayed."
Norman held up a hand, asking for silence, internally rolling his eyes. Parasites rushing his work and criticizing his company just waiting for a moment of weakness was all he needed on a morning like this. "We're talking about science, not magic or an assembly line. These advances take time."
Although he sounded rude, he said it gently. It didn't matter how he addressed that kind of person, they didn't care about that, only about results.
The representative snorted, crossing his arms. "Time is a luxury the government can't afford, Osborn. Other companies have already shown due interest in such a project. Unfortunately, if the deadline isn't met, we'll move your funding to them."
Norman felt the weight of those words like a knife at his throat. Oscorp depended on that contract to finance more noble projects. Medical technologies, advanced prostheses, clean energy. But the government was only interested in weapons. War here, war there used as a pretext for "defense".
"We're making progress." Norman said, trying to sound confident. "Our tests on biological models indicate that we are only a few steps away from stabilizing the serum. Cellular mutation is still a problem, but..." He paused, reluctant to share the next detail. "We can solve it. We just need to avoid external pressures that could compromise the integrity of the process."
The representative gave him a cold stare. "Without concrete results, there will be no more contracts." He stood up, followed by other members of the team. "You have one month, Osborn."
Norman watched as everyone left, leaving the room in silence. He rubbed his temples, feeling a slight headache coming on. It wasn't the first time he'd been pressured like this, and he was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. He hadn't started that company by accident.
However, it wasn't just the government that was pressuring him. Internally, he knew that some shareholders were questioning his leadership. But what troubled him most was the serum project.
He didn't like what he was creating. Although he knew that the government was justifying it as a "military advance", Norman saw the implications. The serum was dangerous. The cellular mutations in the initial tests were unpredictable, and he feared what would happen if something went wrong.
However, he would be playing ignorant if he didn't say that he saw the serum's potential for medical purposes, improving the quality of human life. Diseases such as cancer could be no more than a distant dream with what he had in his hands... he just needed...
Now? Sleep.
Deciding to clear his head, Norman walked to one of the medical technology laboratories. There, a young scientist presented a new clean and affordable energy project. Norman smiled genuinely. This was the reason he had founded Oscorp. To create something that would improve people's lives. "Excellent work." He said, putting a hand on the young man's shoulder.
As he watched the demonstration, Norman's smile slowly disappeared. He knew that these projects would be the first to be sacrificed if the government cut funding. Although it wasn't certain bankruptcy, the pressure was still great.
When he got back to his office, he sat down in his leather chair and looked out over the city. The television was on, and he listened to the news about police corruption and how it was shaking society. It was really quite an impact... but he wasn't really surprised.
He knew that Oscorp wasn't so innocent either.
He stayed there sorting things out for a while, until he got up and left his office. Norman went down to the most restricted level of Oscorp, where the laboratory dedicated to the super-soldier serum project was located. The sound of the man's footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor until he reached a door reinforced with biometric locks. After placing his palm on the scanner, the door opened with a pneumatic squeak.
Inside, Dr. Mendel Stromm was leaning over a microscope, adjusting a small vial of a dark green substance. Stromm was a middle-aged man with thinning hair and deep-set eyes, always meticulous in his work. He didn't even turn around when he heard Norman enter.
"Ah, Mr. Osborn." Stromm greeted him, his voice slightly slurred with fatigue. "Time for another report, isn't it?" He adjusted his microscope before straightening up and turning around.
"Doctor Stromm. Not really. It's more like a... conversation." He said gently, nodding to the doctor, who just looked at him for a few moments, seeming to relax a little more. It was no surprise to anyone that Norman was very easy to talk to. Often praised by his own scientists, staff and almost everyone who worked with him.
"Good, good. You look tired sir." Stromm said, sighing as he walked over to a table to get some coffee.
"You're not far behind." Norman said, snorting a slight laugh.
"I decided to stay a while longer." He replied, handing Norman a cup of coffee which he readily accepted. "The serum is still unstable. Cellular mutation occurs with every attempt, and unfortunately we haven't been able to stabilize the side effects."
Bad news... Norman kind of expected it.
"We've made a little progress. Although not yet stabilized, the side effects have subsided. Well, at least the physical damage. The anger, violence and aggression are still the same."
Norman sipped his coffee and watched the computer screen with a faraway look. "What if we reduce the doses? Perhaps a smaller amount could avoid the worst side effects."
Stromm shook his head, picking up a tablet to display the data. "We tried that. The mutation occurs even with microdoses. There's something in the chemical compounds that alters the DNA in an unpredictable way. We were lucky not to have lost any more subjects. There is a decrease in physical attributes, but the rest remains unchanged."
Norman rubbed his face with one hand, the stress slowly catching up with him. He walked over to a table where several vials were lined up, each containing slightly different variants of the serum.
"If the government cuts funding, all this goes down the drain." He said, almost to himself. "And with it, our other projects. The neural prostheses, the medical technologies... everything. We won't go off the map, we might get back on our feet over time, but we'll lose a lot, we'll never get back to what we once were." He looked at Stromm, who moved closer to him.
"I understand the pressure. The point here is, it's completely possible, we just need time. Unfortunately, we're dealing with science, not magic." Norman snorted out an amused laugh.
"I said the same thing to the representative from the defense department." He said, and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixed on the vials. He seemed to be hesitating over what to say next. "... We have to start testing on humans. A volunteer. Someone who could withstand the effects and give us the data we need."
Stromm narrowed his eyes. "You know what you're suggesting, right? Testing an unstable serum on a human being? That's... that's almost insanity, Norman. It's almost guaranteed that this volunteer will end up like most of the other subjects."
"Insanity would be to let the whole thing fall apart." Norman replied, his voice low. He took a step closer to Stromm. "If there's no progress next week, I'll test the serum on myself."
Stromm's eyes widened in disbelief. "Do you hear what you're saying? Mutations can be irreversible. You could lose your sanity, your control..."
"I'd rather risk that than watch everything I've built be destroyed. The department has given me a month. Do you know what a month is for science? The blink of an eye. This project is the future of Oscorp."
Stromm tried to argue, but Norman held up his hand, ending the conversation. He approached one of the vials, picked it up carefully and held it at eye level.
"One week, Stromm... you, as a fellow scientist, know how things are." Without waiting for an answer, Norman left the laboratory, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the empty corridor. Stromm stayed behind, staring at the vials for a few moments.
The shrill sound of the bell echoed through the corridors of Midtown High, announcing recess. Gwen Stacy dropped her pen on her notebook with a relieved sigh. She liked teacher Alice, she really did, but the subject was so boring sometimes.
She smoothed her blonde hair with a quick movement and looked at Mary Jane, sitting next to her.
"Shall we go to the schoolyard?" Gwen asked, putting her books away in her backpack.
"Sure." MJ replied, a gentle smile on her face. She pushed her chair back in a hurry and stood up.
The two walked together down the busy corridor, dodging groups of students chatting animatedly. Gwen took advantage of the moment to bring up a subject that had been on her mind.
"Have you thought about the name of our band?" She asked, casting a curious glance at Mary Jane. The redhead, in turn, looked at her with eyes slightly wide in surprise and a broad smile began to appear on her lips.
"Really?! So you're in?!" She asked a little excitedly, and Gwen just shrugged.
"I don't know yet. It depends." She replied.
"Come on, Gwenzilla! I dream about it!" Mary Jane laughed.
"I thought you were interested in being an actress. Weren't you doing a theater course?" Gwen asked, making way for a group of first-year students.
"I've finished, I've even been nominated for a few small plays. I still want to do some theater here and there, but it's never bad to have a second option. And in my defense, I thought about being an actress before I ever touched a drum set."
She said, looking around after they reached the schoolyard. With that, she turned her gaze to Gwen again. "We just need to decide who's going to play what. We know you're good on guitar, but someone will have to handle the vocals as well."
Gwen shrugged, a shy smile appearing on her face. "Maybe we can share. What about the other instruments? Maybe someone on bass, even a keyboard player?"
"I've thought of that." Mary Jane said excitedly. "Maybe Bea will play something? I heard Liz say she knows a bit of keyboard."
"Bea? Ah, her friend who transferred this second semester due to an accident at her school, right?" Gwen asked, and MJ just nodded.
The open space was crowded with students scattered around the benches and picnic tables. In the far corner, under a tree, was Flash's group. Liz was sitting next to Bea, a girl with brown hair in a ponytail, whom Gwen was still getting to know. Danny and Kong were leaning on a table, chatting quietly with Harper and Flash.
Gwen and Mary Jane exchanged glances before approaching. As soon as they arrived, they noticed the sudden silence in the group. Liz tried to disguise it by adjusting her position at the table, and Bea looked a little uncomfortable. Even Flash looked a little uncomfortable. Harper, on the other hand, put on his usual smile, but Gwen didn't quite buy it.
"What's up, girls?" Harper said casually, leaning his elbows on the table.
"Hi." Gwen replied, raising an eyebrow, but deciding not to press. "What were you talking about?"
"Oh, nothing much. Danny hasn't done his homework in three weeks." Harper said, turning her attention to Danny, who just shrugged and pointed his middle finger at him.
"... Right." She said, not very convinced, but if they didn't want to say it, then so be it.
She looked at Mary Jane, who just shrugged.
"So, Liz." Gwen began, changing the subject. "Mary Jane and I were thinking about that band. And she mentioned that you might know if Bea plays keyboards?" She asked, alternating her gaze between Liz and Bea, both surprised by the sudden subject.
"You interested in the band idea? Mary Jane, what did you do?" Liz asked in a tone of surprise mixed with mild amusement.
"This time, I didn't do anything."
"Bea plays, and very well, by the way." She turned to the said girl. "What do you say, Bea?"
"Ah... that's... quite out of the blue. I play keyboards and bass." Bea replied, a little shyly. "A band, huh? That would be fun. Do you have a name for the band yet?"
"Not yet." Mary Jane said, taking a bar of chocolate from the small bag she had brought with her.
"We'll need money for instruments. And at least the basics for the stereo." Gwen said, sitting down next to Harper, who immediately wrapped his arm around her waist.
"My mom said she'd even help me buy some instruments, but only if I got higher grades." She said with a sigh. Liz wasn't the worst student in the class, far from it. But her grades were only just above average.
"Next year I think I'll start my internship at Oscorp, if I manage to pass. I think I can convince my dad to help me with a few things." Gwen said.
"Oh, of course, it must be so nice to be perfect at everything." Liz said with a certain sarcasm in her voice, rolling her eyes dramatically.
"She came top of the class in the test, again." Mary Jane said, crossing her arms after sitting down next to Liz.
"No, not top of the class." She sighed and rolled her eyes. "Second place... again." Despite her displeasure, she wasn't as outraged as she would have been weeks ago.
"Oh, of course, even though he's not here, Peter still takes first place." Liz said, only this time with a certain care in her voice.
News of Benjamin Parker's death spread quickly, it wasn't exactly a secret within the school either.
Teenagers were a bunch of cruel assholes, and murmurs started right at the beginning of the week. Vicious comments about Peter's uncle losing his temper with the cop, Peter being suspected of theft, no matter how innocent he was in the end.
It was something that had been running all week, especially after the news of the police officer broke.
"... What do you think happened?" To the curiosity of everyone there, it was Liz who asked. Not that it was surprising, after all, Peter wasn't exactly the kind of person who would do something like that. In fact, it was nearly impossible.
"Oh, Parker must have just been being a twerp, as usual." Harper was the one who replied, and Mary Jane grimaced briefly, wondering when either of them had called him into the conversation. "Or maybe I'm wrong. Who knows. Maybe he didn't show up this week because he's busy planning the next robbery. I wonder who's going to die in that?"
Harper dropped the sentence with an acid tone, breaking the buzz of conversation.
The group was silent for a moment, staring at him for some time.
"Are you serious, Harper?! What's your fucking problem, dickhead?!" Liz said, looking at him with an indignant expression. Harper, for his part, gave her a sharp look for the insult, but she didn't care. If he tried anything, there were plenty of people there who would knock him to the ground faster than he could think.
"What did I say wrong? Didn't you see the news?" Harper asked, trying to defend himself. Of course he would try to defend himself, the fact that Peter had been suspected of something and had been involved with a cop who had shot his uncle made him think that all the bullying he had done was completely justified.
Of course, no one but him knew about it.
"We all saw the news, and that's why we know he was innocent. And the cop was corrupt. What part of that don't you understand?" Mary Jane asked, rolling her eyes.
"Hey, why are you talking to me like I'm in the wrong here? Parker's smart, I don't doubt that he thought he could get away with it, so calm the fuck down. I'm not the one who got my uncle killed." He defended himself, more rudely than before, leading to wide-eyed stares.
"Dude, what the fuck is your problem?!" Flash asked with an indignant expression.
"Too far, man." Harper snorted.
"Kong, don't talk to me about 'too far', not after what we've done." Harper retorted.
Gwen frowned and moved away from Harper, who just gave her a sharp look, but didn't say anything.
What did they do?
"... What's wrong with you? What did Peter do to you?" she asked, her expression clearly incredulous.
"Gwen-"
"No, stop. I don't want to hear any excuses. That was so awful, Harper. Just... leave." She interrupted him. He stared at her with a certain intensity, clearly in disgust, and after seeing that there wasn't really anyone by his side there, he stood up in a loud grumble, put his hands in his pockets and walked away.
"What's wrong with that guy?" Liz asked no one in particular. Gwen just sighed at the question and sat down again. She didn't say anything, but glanced at Kong. What was that about what they did?
"Gwen, I love you, I really do. But your taste in boys sucks." Mary Jane said, and Gwen snorted.
"Yeah... I can see that." You're not that far off.
... She wouldn't say that.
The first thought that entered Peter's mind was a kind of dream, and his body felt as if it had been asleep for centuries. He blinked several times as he woke up. Something was wrong... Not necessarily "bad wrong", more like "different". The air around him felt stuffy, and the texture of what surrounded him was strange - sticky, but incredibly strong. He tried to move, but something prevented his arms from fully extending.
He looked around, his heart beating faster. The walls of his room were intact, his room itself was intact, but he was trapped inside something... something that felt like a cocoon. It wasn't like a messy bed or a rolled-up sheet. It was like being wrapped in a giant web... literally a giant spider's web.
"What the hell is this?" He whispered, confusion evident on his face.
With effort, he pulled on an arm. The fibers gave way, but not without resistance. He grunted, applying more force than he thought necessary, and, with a snap, managed to free one of his hands. The material around him was strange. Resistant like nothing he had touched in recent weeks, but elastic, flexible. He tore off a few more pieces, and the cocoon slowly began to unravel.
When it came off, he fell to the ground with a soft thud, still wrapped in pieces of the sticky webs. He took a deep breath, the cold air of the room invading his lungs. His gaze fell on the partially destroyed cocoon.
He ran his hands over his face, trying to process what was happening. Then he felt something strange on his wrists.
With a frown, he raised his left arm and examined his wrist. There was a small, almost imperceptible hole, surrounded by a slight discoloration of the skin. He frowned and, almost instinctively, flexed his arm muscles. A strand of web shot out of his wrist, sticking to the ceiling.
Peter jumped backwards, his heart racing. "What...?"
He stared up at the thread of webbing swinging gently from the ceiling. Slowly, he pulled his arm down. The thread stretched out with great elasticity, he blinked in surprise. He pulled harder, the thread didn't unravel, and he only stopped pulling when he heard a slight crack coming from the ceiling, as well as a slight deformation.
Holy shit...
Okay...
Then he woke up wrapped in a cocoon that, bizarrely, was made by himself, with the ability to release webs from his wrists, so strong that they were capable of ripping the ceiling out of his room...
What the fuck?
Peter looked at his hands again. "That came out of me..." That was both disgusting and incredible.
Peter took a step back, sighing slightly as he looked at his latest creation. In the center of the basement, illuminated by a single hanging lamp, was his new costume. The fabric shone in the dim light, he had liked the red and black.
He cracked the bones in his fingers as he approached the suit again. The material was light but sturdy. He had used a special high-elastic fabric he had found in a sporting goods store, with textures that simulated carbon fiber in some areas. He had thought about a bit of protection for the suit, like a thin layer of Kevlar, but he didn't have the money to buy such a material after paying so much for the previous materials, not to mention that he didn't have a way of modifying the layer for the suit yet, he would need machinery and equipment that he didn't have and was too expensive to buy.
He touched the base of the suit's long sleeves. He had left strategically placed holes in the wrist areas. A last-minute modification, since it was still a bit... surreal that he could shoot webs from his wrists.
The costume was predominantly black, with red details. The spider symbol on the chest was white, stylized and extending to the shoulders and sides, creating a more dynamic and aggressive appearance. There were also red lines running down the arms and sides of the body, emphasizing the athletic shape of the costume.
He also modified the mask. The design of the lenses remained the same, with the same aggressiveness, but now the mask was red, matching the details of the costume, and, as with the rest of the costume, there were lines running along its length, forming spider web patterns.
The lower part of the costume was mainly black, with red details on the sides and ankles, protrusions that didn't detract from the aesthetics of the costume that was used for his gadgets and creations. The boots had a modern design, with red soles and details that created a visual contrast.
That day he discovered some interesting things. The first was that his webs would dissolve after a while. He left his room in the morning, greeted his Aunt May, had his coffee and went to the market to do some shopping with her. When he returned, his webs had no sign of having existed in that room.
Which was... good? He still didn't know.
The second thing was that, depending on how he did it, his webs came out in different shapes and for different uses. Earlier he had shot them out as a kind of sticky rope, but that afternoon, he had accidentally released a kind of web ball which, when it hit the wall, opened up into a huge web trap.
He had no idea how he'd done it, he tried again a few times that day, he didn't manage to recreate that trap, but he did manage to make some web balls bounce off the walls and hit some target with enormous force, to the point of doing some damage to the concrete.
Now that was interesting.
And finally, he discovered that his organic webs were related to his diet. After a whole afternoon "playing" with them, he felt very hungry. Not unlike everyday life, but right after eating, he noticed that they were a little tougher, and they came off a little faster than before.
Something incredibly interesting that piqued his curiosity... but there was a limit to what he could do in his own home. His aunt didn't go down to the basement very often, but it wasn't as if he could forbid her if she decided to go down there.
He shook his head, turning his attention to another subject. He ran his hand down his neck and removed his clothes.
Peter looked in the mirror soon after, putting on his new outfit for the first time. The fabric adhered perfectly to his body, it was light and gave him the feeling that he wasn't really wearing anything. It was perfect for his movements, as the suit didn't hinder him at all.
He jumped up to the ceiling and began to move around, doing some acrobatics... yes, it didn't get in the way of anything, not even movements that would be humanly impossible.
He climbed down from the ceiling and positioned himself in front of the mirror again, putting on his mask. With that, he raised his right arm and shot a line of web towards the corner of the basement. The thread caught on a wooden bar, and he pulled, rising into the air. He swung awkwardly, almost hitting a shelf full of boxes.
He looked around for a few moments... he still hadn't got the hang of it.
He spent the next hour testing the webs, firing in various directions and practicing pulling objects towards himself. He tried different types of shots: long lines, quick shots to snag things, and even a makeshift net he created to catch a fallen chair.
Well, just as after he was bitten, he felt he had made progress there... now it was time for the real test.
Peter climbed to the top of a building in Brooklyn. He wished he'd moved a little further away from his house, but it was the middle of the night, there wouldn't be that much risk... he hoped.
"Okay... just point and shoot..." He muttered to himself, raising his arm and shooting a strand of web at a building up ahead. Peter pulled his arm back, testing the strength of the web, trying to mask his slight hesitation.
This would be very different from simply jumping from building to building.
He took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment before leaping into the void. The cold night air enveloped him as he plummeted towards the ground. Before he hit the asphalt, he shot out another web, which caught on a metal structure. He swung through the air, spinning awkwardly, almost hitting a lamppost.
He got back on his feet just as clumsily and let out a surprised cry as he grazed one of the metal beams of a water tower. He shot another web at another building as he saw that he was about to hit the side of a condominium, and he gritted his teeth, suppressing another scream as he saw the street below him approaching at great speed.
The more he swung, the more confident he became, the less that chill in his stomach he felt, and the more natural it seemed to him. With each new swing, he began to understand the rhythm, feeling the physics of the movement. He shot webs more confidently, pulling himself up, swinging from one building to another, faster and faster. The wind whipped through his suit, and he laughed, fear becoming excitement.
He passed a park, "flying" relatively close to the ground, where a few people pointed at him, dumbfounded. Peter tried to ignore it. It was hard not to attract attention, but he wasn't doing this crazy thing for that reason.
After a few minutes of practice, he began to move more fluidly. His swings became graceful, almost instinctive. He climbed the side of a tall building, stopping at the top to look out over the city. Down below, he saw police cars with their lights flashing, parked in front of an alley.
Truth be told, he wasn't doing it because he wanted to become some kind of vigilante, or because he wanted some kind of fame with his new powers. He was doing it because he simply couldn't look away anymore. His uncle was just the tip of the iceberg. And he didn't feel like he could feel "normal" with this incomplete affair.
The police were still investigating the case of that murdered woman, Miss Angela, but he wasn't very confident that they would follow through, not really. He was genuinely surprised that they had continued for so long, but he suspected that they weren't making enough of an effort.
If they wouldn't, he would.
He raised his hand and shot out another web before leaping into the abyss below. He rose, too high to attract the attention of most people. In a pause between swings, Peter landed softly on a radio antenna on top of a commercial building. He removed his hacking device from the back pocket of his suit. The small device glowed in shades of blue and red, with lights pulsing as he turned it on.
He looked around, enjoying a sight that most people there wouldn't dream of appreciating as he connected the device to a police frequency.
The device began scanning the radio waves, looking for the right channels. He manipulated a small touchpad on the side of the device, filtering out frequencies until he heard choppy voices.
"Every unit, we get a report of another murder case on the West Side..." Peter tilted his head, focusing on the transmission. The device amplified the frequency and, with a quick adjustment, he began to hear the conversation more clearly.
West Side... was where Angela had been murdered.
"Suspect identified as a known member of the 'Spectres' gang. White male, approximately 5'10", short brown hair, snake tattoo on right arm. Last seen in the Hell's Kitchen area. Often seen in a bar called the Iron Pit. The victim was a middle-aged man called Terry-"
He typed the name into his device, which quickly accessed public information about the location. Iron Pint... was a notorious bar, known for being a meeting place for low-level criminals.
Peter already knew that the police probably wouldn't go there, not until there was at least one more report. They wouldn't risk starting a firefight, since the place was dominated by the gang.
That's what he thought... but he didn't rule out the possibility that the police might be collecting money from the gang so as not to get involved in matters there. That would explain the low level of police activity there.
Peter launched himself into the air again after putting the device away and soon made his way to hell's kitchen. As much as his goal there wasn't a stroll in the park, he found himself enjoying the view of the city from this new angle.
As much as everything had happened, even though he found himself on his way to gang territory... man, that was incredible.
He landed quietly on the roof of the building next to the bar, crouching down as he watched the movement of the place. The neon lights glowed faintly, highlighting the bar's main entrance. Men came and went, exchanging suspicious glances and cigarettes. A few luxury cars stopped from time to time, indicating that important people might be there.
Well, that was curious. Who with that kind of car would go to a shabby bar like that? It can't be because of the booze.
From his elevated vantage point, he watched the building's entrances and exits, memorizing escape routes and identifying security cameras.
He waited, patiently, for minutes that soon became hours. But despite having remained in the same position for so long, he didn't feel any discomfort, he barely felt the uncomfortable feeling of waiting.
Then, finally, he saw him. A tall, burly man with short brown hair and a visible snake tattoo on his right arm. He had a cigarette in his hand and was walking around greeting other gang members with nods. He turned his head slightly to the side when he heard one of them call him by name, Edward.
He could theoretically attack now. But it wouldn't be wise to attack while he was surrounded by so many armed allies. So there he was, once again in that little waiting game.
Time passed slowly. Peter remained motionless, analyzing every detail, the entrances, the exits, the movement patterns of the other gang members as a way of passing the time, and also as a way of getting rid of the anxiety he felt in his chest.
Eventually, the group began to dwindle. Some members left, others went to the back or upstairs. Finally, the target was alone with two companions, chatting in a relaxed manner as they walked down the now deserted street.
He followed them for a few meters, and after making sure they were alone for a good distance, he acted quickly.
He released a web on the building he was on and let himself fall. As he approached the first man, he pulled himself up against the web, slowing him down, and hit him hard against the back of the head, knocking him out right there.
The other two men were startled by their friend's sudden fall, but before they could even do anything, Peter shot a web towards the man next to his target and pulled him towards him, landing a powerful punch on his face that practically threw him to the side.
"Hello, Edward... may we have a little chat?"
"What the fuck?!" The man shouted, grabbing a gun from his waistband. Peter merely advanced towards him, kicking the gun away and shoving him hard in the chest. Edward was thrown against the wall of the building behind him, and Peter just watched him with a cold countenance.
"I said chat." Peter continued, his voice now more serious, and even deeper with the voice modulator. "But if you prefer, we can do it the hard way."
He walked over to him, holding him tightly by the arm. The man tried to resist, but Peter caught his arms easily. He looked scared, but not scared enough to give up. With a shout, he tried to knock Peter down with the weight of his own body, but the boy merely remained in the same place, motionless.
"Okay, the hard way it is." He said, while using webbing to pin the man's wrists and ankles to the ground. Before the suspect could scream for help, Peter used more webbing to cover his mouth.
As he did so, he heard the man he had punched curse lowly as he stood up. He made a mental note to use a little more force on his fists and less on his legs.
The man raised a pistol in his direction, and simply fired. Peter dodged, moving his body sideways at great speed. The bullets ricocheted off the walls, some passing dangerously close.
"You know you're going to have to pay for these holes, right?" He teased, shooting a web towards the man and pulling his gun towards him. Peter caught the weapon with ease and simply threw it somewhere random.
The man screamed and lunged forward with a pocket knife. Peter just shook his head at this. He dodged the first attack and closed his fist, landing a powerful hook on the man's chin.
He cringed inwardly as he heard the sound of the man's jaw breaking, just as he saw some of his front teeth being knocked out of his mouth.
Okay, less force next time...
Eventually, all the men were unconscious or trapped in webs, except his original target, who was still pinned to the ground, groaning desperately. Peter jumped beside him, bending down to look at him closely.
"Now that we're alone again, let's try this one more time." Peter said, grabbing the man and putting him over his shoulder. With that, he jumped up and started climbing up the side of a building. It was slower than with his own two hands, obviously, but it wasn't exactly difficult; the man weighed nothing on his shoulder.
Edward, on the other hand, wasn't as calm as Peter, his wide eyes staring at the ground that became more and more distant, and his limited mind wondering how such a thing was possible.
Peter reached the top of the roof after some time. He held Edward in front of him and removed the webs from his mouth. "Don't say anything other than what I ask. You've been killing some people recently, haven't you, Edward? There's a report about a man called Terry-"
"Fuck off, you freak!" Edward shouted, trying to get away, but he fell due to his bound ankles, which didn't stop him from trying to crawl away from Peter. "Don't come near me, leave me alone!"
"Look, how ironic... I'm sure your victims asked for the same thing, didn't they?" Peter asked, slowly walking over to Edward, who couldn't react. He crouched down slightly beside the man, and with one hand, lifted him into the air. "If I remember correctly, I just told you not to say anything other than what I ask, didn't I?"
Peter walked to the edge of the roof, and Edward shouted a shrill cry as he found himself dangling dozens of meters off the ground.
"Holy shit! Okay, okay! I'll talk!" He shouted.
"That's more like it. You see, if you'd said that before, your blue pants wouldn't have had to turn brown." He joked. "A few days ago a woman called Angela was murdered, days after almost being mugged by members of your stupid gang. Do you know anything about that?"
The man swallowed, looking at the floor and Peter's mask with a fearful look.
"Look... I didn't do anything to that woman, okay? Jace gave the order. And it was Tim who shot her, not me! He said we needed to send a message, not accept disrespect. You can't disobey the gang's orders, you know? It wasn't personal, dude, it was just... work."
Just work... somehow, that was even worse.
"And where do I find these two?" Peter asked, his voice low but laden with menace.
"I don't know where they are right now, I swear! But I have their contact information on my cell phone, and they always go to that warehouse on the corner of 34th Street and Broadway." The man answered quickly. "The basement there, that's where we meet."
Peter looked at him for a few more seconds, then took a few steps back, letting him fall to the ground without much delicacy. He wasn't going to drop the man from up there regardless of the outcome, but it was good to cause fear. It guaranteed less chance of them lying.
"... Thank you for your cooperation." He said, throwing another punch at Edward's face, this time more controlled, knocking him out.
He crouched down and picked up the man's cell phone. After that, it was only a matter of minutes before he hacked into the cell phone and sent messages for both men to meet in this shed.
With that, he turned and got on with his mission.
After a while, he arrived at the aforementioned warehouse. The place exuded decay, with graffiti-covered walls and broken windows, surrounded by an oppressive atmosphere of abandonment. It was the perfect hiding place for illicit activities.
He positioned himself on the roof of the warehouse, watching intently as the gang members began to arrive, and some left the warehouse, exiting through the area that led to the basement, meeting up with the others in front of the place.
They entered little by little, talking in low tones, carrying weapons and suspicious bags. The sound of motorcycle and car engines stopped at the entrance, and each new vehicle that arrived brought more of the gang.
As soon as the last of the members entered, Peter shot his webs to the ceiling and slipped silently into the warehouse, hiding between the upper beams. He watched from above, counting the enemies and mapping the exits. One of them, with a scar on his face, seemed to be in charge, giving orders while the others organized weapons and boxes.
"This brand sucks." Jace said, grimacing as he brought the cigarette to his lips again.
"Your taste sucks." Another member, unknown to Peter, said with a slight laugh.
Peter positioned himself above the men and took out his hacking device. He used it to overheat the power box, which exploded after a few seconds, leaving the entire place in darkness.
"Holy shit, the wiring in this place sucks!" Jace shouted angrily, seeing smoke rising from the power box.
Peter attacked quickly. A gang member who was near the entrance was the first. Peter grabbed him and webbed him to the top of a beam before he could react. He let out a single scream before being wrapped in webbing, which drew the attention of the other members on the scene.
Peter continued to move through the shadows, using the darkness to his advantage. He disarmed a man by pulling out his weapon with a web, then knocked him down with a well-placed kick.
"Who the fuck is that?!" One of them shouted after turning on a flashlight. Another tried to attack him with a baseball bat almost immediately, but Peter dodged with a leap, landing behind him, knocking him down and pinning him to the ground with webs.
A few gunshots were heard soon after, Peter's eyes widened slightly but he let his body act, dodging the bullets as best he could.
He threw himself to the side at the same time as he shot a web at one of the men shooting at him. He pulled him violently towards him, making him "fly". Peter quickly grabbed him while he was still in the air and threw him to the ground, knocking him out with some violence when his head hit the concrete.
It was at least a mild concussion.
Peter leapt upwards again and shot a web into the ceiling. He swung himself towards another member, hitting him with a high kick to the chest, which expelled all the air from his lungs and threw him violently backwards.
The bullets were fired with a certain frenzy as the few that remained retreated. They couldn't see very well for a figure moving so fast in the dark, and dodging the bullets became easy for Peter as the shots became more and more erratic.
He shot a large amount of webbing at the entrance to the warehouse and the only way down to the basement, preventing them from getting out. With that, he threw another web at the last armed man and advanced on him, hitting him with a hook to the jaw that knocked him out instantly. At least it didn't break his jaw, although it did loosen a few teeth.
Finally, all that was left were the two imbeciles Edward had mentioned. Imbeciles that he had dealt with by simply pinning them to the wall with his webbing.
Peter sighed when he saw that he had dealt with the last of them, and looked around to make sure everyone was incapacitated. The warehouse was now a mess with gunshot marks, fallen men, weapons on the floor, and lots of cobwebs, as if several giant spiders had made the place their hunting ground.
He made his way to the makeshift office at the back of the warehouse. There, he found a computer connected to a system. He quickly hacked it, copying everything onto a USB stick: transaction records, photos, messages, and most importantly, direct links to other criminal groups and the names of police officers. Probably the ones who received the bribes.
Bingo...
George Stacy was sitting at his desk, running his tired eyes over yet another endless report. The hours had already stretched far beyond his normal hours... well, although overstaying his time there was already becoming his new normal, and the police station was almost deserted, with only a few officers on duty and the occasional sound of the telephone echoing in the silence.
He hadn't slept much in the last week.
Corruption. Murders. Crimes he should have prevented. How could he sleep with a clear conscience with all this?
With a heavy sigh, George closed his folder, leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He knew he had to get home. Gwen was probably already asleep, and he had barely managed to exchange a few words with her over the last few days. He had promised to help her choose a new guitar. She said she'd save up the money, but he'd take the opportunity to give it to her as a gift for Christmas or New Year... he'd see.
He picked up his coat from the back of his chair, switched off the office light and started walking down the empty corridor of the police station. When he reached the main entrance, a rookie police officer, who was half asleep at the counter, quickly got up to greet him.
"Good evening, Captain." The young man greeted him, trying to disguise his yawn.
"Good evening, Walker. Go and have some coffee. You'll need it." George replied with a tired half-smile.
As he pushed open the heavy glass door of the entrance, the cool early morning air hit him like a relief. He took a few steps along the sidewalk, adjusting the collar of his coat against the growing chill, but stopped abruptly as soon as something unusual caught his eye.
Right in front of the police station, hanging from webs that shone in the yellowish light of the streetlamps, were several men. They squirmed and grunted in an attempt to scream, caught like helpless prey in an elaborate trap. Next to them, glued together with a silk-like substance, was a large envelope with something bulky inside.
George's eyes widened. For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. Several pedestrians around pointed at what looked like a giant cocoon, some took photos.
He approached cautiously, his shoes tapping against the sidewalk as he took a closer look.
"What the hell is this?" he muttered, incredulous.
Other police officers began to leave the station, called by the growing murmurs and the movement that was beginning. They pointed, confused, while the sirens of a parked car illuminated the surreal scene. George bent down to pick up the envelope, pulling it with great difficulty from the sticky substance, almost tearing it in the process. He opened it carefully, finding a USB stick and a handwritten note.
A gift from your friendly neighborhood...
The handwriting was simple, a nice, neat style, but apart from that, nothing that could serve as identification. George looked again at the hanging men. He recognized some of the faces, members of a well-known gang that the police had arrested on more than one occasion, but who always somehow managed to escape and the evidence suddenly disappeared. Even in unlikely situations.
"Walker, take this to the digital analysis lab. I want everything on that USB stick in my hands before dawn." He ordered, handing the device to the rookie cop who now looked more awake than ever.
"Yes, sir!" Walker replied, running back inside.
George stood there, watching the controlled chaos as his colleagues worked to get the criminals out of the webs.
...What in the fuck was going on...?