July 4, 2009
The towering monstrosity of the transformed float rose high above the crowd, its metallic limbs extending as panels snapped into place with mechanical precision. The Statue of Liberty model twisted grotesquely into a humanoid war machine, its face now a cold, glowing visor scanning the chaos below. Civilians screamed as they scrambled to get away, some tripping over the scattered debris of parade decorations.
"Alright, big guy," Spider-Man muttered, flipping onto the top of a nearby streetlight. "What's your deal? Giant robot? Parade crasher? Or just compensating for something?"
The machine's response was a thunderous, synthesized voice: "Target acquired. Eliminating obstruction."
A blinding pulse of energy fired from its chest. Spider-Man launched himself off the streetlight just in time, the beam obliterating the post and carving a smoking scar into the pavement.
"Okay, not compensating—definitely overachieving," he quipped mid-swing, landing on a nearby building.
He scanned the area below, his heart sinking at the sight of terrified families pinned between the machine and the blocked-off streets. His spider-sense flared again as the machine pivoted, its massive arm shifting into a cannon aimed directly at the civilians.
"No, you don't!" Spider-Man shouted, firing two rapid weblines. They hit the arm cannon, yanking it upward just as it discharged, sending a blast harmlessly into the sky.
The crowd cheered faintly, but Spidey had no time to bask in their gratitude. "Everyone, move! Get out of here now!" he yelled, his voice carrying over the noise.
The civilians began to scatter, but the machine wasn't done. Its legs shifted, revealing hidden compartments that deployed a swarm of hovering drones. Each one glowed with the same ominous yellow energy as the machine, their sharp, buzzing movements homing in on the fleeing crowd.
"Oh, come on!" Spider-Man groaned, flipping over a drone as it fired an energy blast. He shot a web at another, slamming it into the ground before yanking another drone into its path.
"Hey, FYI, drones are so last year," he quipped, using the momentum of his swing to smash two drones together. "Maybe try a classic villain move next time, like... I dunno, a giant lizard or a guy in a goblin suit."
The war machine roared, its massive fists slamming into the ground, shaking the street and sending debris flying. Spider-Man flipped onto its shoulder, clinging tightly as it swiped at him with a clawed hand.
"Looks like you don't take constructive criticism well!" he said, attaching a web bomb to the machine's shoulder joint. It exploded in a sticky mess, jamming the arm's movement temporarily.
The machine staggered, its systems recalibrating, but Spider-Man wasn't done. He leapt onto its back, firing another webline to its exposed power core, a pulsing yellow orb embedded in its torso.
"This looks important," he muttered, pulling at the core with all his strength. Sparks flew as the core resisted, the machine thrashing wildly.
But his victory was short-lived. The machine's other arm slammed into him, sending him hurtling through the air. He twisted mid-flight, firing a webline to slow his descent and landing on a traffic light with a wince.
"Okay, note to self: don't poke the giant murder-bot," he groaned, clutching his side.
His spider-sense flared again as the machine charged toward him, its massive feet pounding the pavement. He swung away just in time, its fist smashing into the traffic light he had been perched on.
"Alright, Spidey, think," he said, dodging another barrage of blasts. "It's big, it's mean, and it's got more gadgets than I do. Gotta use its size against it."
Spotting a construction crane nearby, an idea sparked in his mind. He swung toward it, leading the war machine on a destructive chase.
"Come on, big guy," he taunted. "You want me? Let's see if you can keep up!"
The machine followed, its bulk smashing through parked cars and street barricades. Spider-Man reached the crane, firing several weblines to its base and swinging to the top of its frame.
"Hey, you ever see how much damage one of these things can do when it falls?" he called out, attaching more webbing to the crane's pivot point. With a mighty pull, he yanked the crane forward, sending its massive arm crashing down onto the machine.
The war machine staggered, its systems sparking as the crane's weight crushed its shoulder and exposed the power core further. Seizing the moment, Spider-Man swung back, firing a web directly into the core's seams.
"Let's see if this short-circuits your big plans!" he shouted, pulling the core free with a final, desperate tug.
The machine froze, its glowing lights dimming before it collapsed in a heap of twisted metal. The drones dropped lifelessly to the ground, their connection severed.
The crowd, now safely gathered at a distance, erupted into cheers. Spider-Man landed on the wreckage, catching his breath as he waved weakly to the onlookers.
"Just another day at the parade," he said, his voice laced with exhaustion.
Spider-Man swung his way to the edge of a rooftop, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. Below him, the remnants of the mechanical monstrosity lay scattered across the street, its smoking, sparking parts surrounded by police and emergency responders. The Fourth of July parade was in ruins, and though Peter had managed to stop the immediate threat, his mind raced with unanswered questions.
He reached for his communicator, hoping for updates from the authorities or any leads on AIM's next move. Instead, his fingers hovered over the device as the sound of a nearby outdoor television caught his attention.
Turning, he spotted a large screen on the side of a building, usually reserved for advertisements but now broadcasting a breaking news report. The vibrant images of the parade shifted to footage of chaos at Midtown Science Labs, the scene a stark contrast to the celebration Peter had just left behind.
"This is Mary-Jane Watson with an urgent report," the news anchor said, her voice steady but tinged with emotion. "An explosion at Midtown Science Labs has resulted in catastrophic damage. Dozens are confirmed dead, with many more injured. Witnesses report seeing AIM operatives on-site just before the blast. Authorities believe this may be part of a coordinated attack."
Peter froze, his heart dropping into his stomach. The camera panned over the devastation: blackened rubble, shattered windows, and emergency crews scrambling to pull survivors from the wreckage.
"The explosion occurred during what appears to have been a mass abduction," MJ continued. "Reports indicate that both humans and mutants were forcibly taken by AIM operatives. The scale of the tragedy is overwhelming, and the city is left reeling."
The screen switched to a shaky video recorded by a bystander. It showed AIM soldiers in their distinctive suits, loading struggling civilians into armored trucks moments before the explosion. A child's scream cut through the recording, the sound chilling Peter to his core.
"No," he whispered, stepping closer to the edge of the roof as if getting closer to the screen would change what he was seeing. "No, no, no…"
His legs felt weak, and he sank into a crouch, his hands gripping the ledge tightly. The images on the screen blurred together as his mind raced. How had this happened? He'd been so focused on the parade, on the mechanical monstrosity, that he hadn't even considered AIM might be running multiple operations at once.
"This attack comes just days after Spider-Man dismantled an AIM facility in Queens," MJ continued. "While authorities have yet to confirm a connection, the timing suggests a larger, more coordinated plan by AIM. The true scope of their intentions remains unknown."
Peter's breath hitched. He thought back to the Fourth of July float, the drones, the towering machine he'd just fought. It had all been a distraction—a cruel, calculated diversion to keep him occupied while AIM executed their true plan.
The camera returned to the smoldering wreckage of Midtown Science Labs, the bodies of first responders draped in white sheets, barely visible among the debris.
"Casualties are expected to rise," MJ said, her voice faltering. "Our thoughts are with the victims and their families tonight."
Peter's fists clenched, his gloves creaking under the strain. A surge of guilt and anger flooded through him, his mind replaying every decision he'd made over the past few days. Had he missed something? A clue, a lead, anything that could have tipped him off to AIM's larger plan?
His spider-sense, usually so reliable, had given him no indication of the horror unfolding just miles away. And now, dozens of lives had been lost, more abducted, all because he hadn't been there.
"They knew," Peter muttered, his voice trembling. "They knew I'd be at the parade. They wanted me there."
The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. AIM had played him, using his own dedication to protecting the city against him. The scale of their ruthlessness was staggering, and for the first time in years, Spider-Man felt utterly powerless.
He pulled his mask off, letting the cool night air sting his face. His eyes burned with unshed tears as he stared at the screen, the weight of his failure pressing down on him like a physical force.
With great power comes great responsibility.
The words echoed in his mind, a mantra that had guided him since Uncle Ben's death. But tonight, they felt like a cruel reminder of his limitations. He couldn't be everywhere at once. He couldn't save everyone.
And yet, the thought of giving up was unthinkable.
Wiping his face, Peter stood and pulled his mask back down. His voice was low, steely, as he spoke to himself. "This isn't over. I'll find them. I'll stop them. Whatever it takes."
He fired a webline and swung into the night, the faces of the abducted haunting him with every move. The devastation at Midtown Science Labs would leave scars on the city—and on Peter's heart—but he wasn't done fighting. AIM had declared war, and Spider-Man wasn't about to let them win.
The wreckage of Midtown Science Labs still smoldered under the pale moonlight, the acrid scent of burning chemicals and charred debris thick in the air. Emergency lights from police cars and fire engines bathed the scene in red and blue flashes, casting shifting shadows across the rubble.
Betsy Braddock crouched behind the remnants of a collapsed wall, her violet hair concealed beneath a dark hood. She moved with calculated precision, her every step soft and deliberate. The voices of firefighters and EMTs carried over the crackling flames as they worked tirelessly to search for survivors.
Betsy's heart clenched at the sight of the devastation. Even from her hidden vantage point, she could feel the weight of the tragedy—the lingering echoes of pain and fear that hung over the site like a suffocating fog.
She closed her eyes, focusing inward. A faint violet glow emanated from her temple as she extended her psychic senses, delving into the fractured remnants of the minds that had been here. The process was delicate, like piecing together a shattered mirror.
The first wave hit her like a jolt of electricity: sheer terror. Screams of civilians, the thunderous roar of the explosion, and the panicked confusion as AIM operatives stormed the labs. Betsy flinched but held her ground, pushing deeper into the psychic echoes.
Fragments of thoughts and emotions danced before her like fleeting shadows.
"Get to the trucks!"
"They're taking us—please, someone help!"
"The experiment… it's happening now!"
Her breath hitched as a clearer image formed in her mind—a psychic imprint left behind by one of the abducted mutants. A young man, his face pale with fear, was being dragged toward an armored vehicle by two AIM agents. They wore their signature yellow hazmat suits, their movements methodical and unrelenting.
"Focus," Betsy whispered to herself, grounding her emotions as she sifted through the chaos.
Her psychic probe latched onto a stronger thread: one of the AIM agents issuing commands. His voice was cold, detached, but with a hint of urgency.
"Priority targets secured. Prepare for Phase Two. Leave nothing behind."
The scene blurred, the echoes fading as the agent's mental trace dissolved into the static of the site.
Suddenly, a nearby shout jolted her back to the present.
"Over here! We've got another survivor!"
Betsy ducked further into the shadows, her body tense. She couldn't afford to be seen—not here, not now. The authorities were doing their best to manage the crisis, but they wouldn't understand her involvement. A lone figure with psychic powers would raise too many questions.
She moved silently toward the edge of the wreckage, her focus shifting between her surroundings and the psychic traces she was tracking. The threads she had uncovered pointed to AIM's presence, their methods disturbingly clear. They had abducted mutants and humans alike, prioritizing individuals with specific genetic markers.
Why?
The answer eluded her, but she knew one thing: AIM wasn't done. The explosion had been a smokescreen, a distraction to cover their true intentions.
Betsy climbed onto a crumbled section of wall, her psychic senses flaring once more. Her mind brushed against another lingering echo—this one sharper, more recent. It was filled with determination and guilt, a combination so potent it almost took her breath away.
Spider-Man.
She didn't know him personally, but his psychic footprint was unmistakable. She had heard about him, seen reports of his heroics on the news. His thoughts left an impression like a ripple in a pond: frantic, driven, and burdened by the lives he hadn't been able to save.
For a moment, Betsy hesitated. Their missions were intersecting, their paths crossing in the aftermath of this horrific event. She considered reaching out to him but decided against it. Not yet.
"This isn't the time," she muttered, leaping down to the ground and slipping further into the shadows.
She had what she needed for now: a psychic trail leading to AIM's next move. The threads she had unraveled pointed to a location in the industrial district—a warehouse where AIM had been consolidating their resources.
As she vanished into the night, Betsy's resolve hardened. She couldn't undo the devastation at Midtown Science Labs, but she could make sure AIM's plans didn't progress any further.
And if her mission brought her closer to Spider-Man's path? So be it. For now, she would work in the shadows, uncovering the truth one psychic fragment at a time.
July 5, 2009
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when the insistent buzz of Peter Parker's phone cut through the silence of his small apartment. He groaned, reaching blindly for the device on his nightstand, his muscles still sore from the previous night's battle. The faint scent of coffee drifted in from the corner where his maker sputtered away on a timer he had forgotten to cancel.
Finally grabbing the phone, Peter squinted at the screen: Aunt May.
His heart twinged with a mix of love and hesitation. He swiped to answer. "Morning, Aunt May," he said, forcing cheer into his voice.
"Peter, did I wake you?" Her voice was warm, tinged with the gentle concern that always felt like a hug through the line.
"Nah," he lied. "I was already up. Sort of."
"I wanted to check on you, sweetheart. You've been so quiet lately. I saw the news... about that awful explosion at the science labs. It's just terrible."
Peter froze, gripping the phone tighter. The image of Midtown Science Labs, still smoldering, flashed in his mind, along with the countless lives lost and the ones he hadn't been able to save.
"Yeah," he said after a moment, his voice quieter. "It's... it's been rough."
"I thought so," May said softly. "You've always carried the weight of the world on those skinny shoulders of yours, even when you were little. I just wanted to remind you that you're not alone, Peter. You can talk to me about anything, you know that."
Peter sat up, rubbing the back of his neck. He wanted to tell her everything—that he had been there, that he had fought so hard but still failed to stop the worst of it. But how could he? Aunt May didn't know he was Spider-Man, and he wasn't ready for her to bear that weight.
"I just..." he began, the words sticking in his throat. "I feel like... I should've done something. Like I could've stopped it if I'd been there sooner."
"Oh, Peter," she said, her voice heavy with sympathy. "You're a good person, but you're not a miracle worker. There are things none of us can prevent, no matter how much we wish we could."
"But I could've, Aunt May," Peter blurted, his emotions breaking through. He clenched his fist, his knuckles turning white. "I wasn't fast enough, or smart enough, or—"
"Peter Benjamin Parker, you stop that right now." Her tone was firm but gentle, the way only Aunt May could manage. "Heroism isn't about being perfect or fixing everything. It's about trying, even when it feels impossible. It's about standing back up when the world knocks you down."
Peter let her words sink in, staring out the window as the early morning light spilled across the city skyline. The knot in his chest loosened, just a little.
"I just... I don't know if it's enough," he admitted quietly.
"It is," she said firmly. "You're enough. You always have been. And I know you'll keep trying, because that's who you are. You're my nephew, and I've never been prouder of you."
Peter swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in his eyes. "Thanks, Aunt May."
"Anytime, sweetheart. Now, why don't you come by for dinner this weekend? I'm making pot roast."
Peter smiled, the faintest hint of warmth breaking through his guilt. "Yeah. I'd like that."
"Good. And Peter? Take care of yourself, too. The world needs you, but I do, too."
"I will," he promised.
As the call ended, Peter sat in silence for a moment, staring at his phone. Aunt May's words echoed in his mind: Heroism isn't about fixing everything. It's about trying.
He let out a long breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. The weight of the Midtown Massacre still pressed on him, but now it felt a little more manageable. He didn't know how he was going to stop AIM or make up for what had happened, but one thing was certain.
He would keep trying.
Peter sat at his desk in his dimly lit apartment, a tangle of maps, notes, and photos scattered in front of him. The only sounds were the hum of his laptop and the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his chin as he stared at the mess. The Fourth of July disaster was still fresh in his mind, its weight pressing down on him. But now wasn't the time to dwell on guilt—he had a trail to follow.
"Okay, Parker," he muttered to himself. "What do we know?"
He reached for a map of Manhattan pinned with red pushpins marking AIM's recent activity—labs raided, suspected warehouses, and locations of known disappearances. The Fourth of July parade route was outlined in marker, with Midtown Science Labs circled in bold red.
"AIM's been moving assets around the city," he mused, tracing the lines with his finger. "They hit Midtown hard, but they've been careful to avoid leaving obvious patterns. Except…"
Peter grabbed a photo from the parade, one he had taken while perched on a rooftop earlier that day. The towering mechanical monstrosity AIM had unleashed was front and center, but his focus was on the background—a nondescript truck bearing a faint, faded logo partially obscured by debris.
He zoomed in on the image on his laptop and enhanced the logo. The letters "MPX" were just visible.
"MPX Freight," Peter said, snapping his fingers. "A shell company tied to AIM. They've used it before to move equipment."
He pulled up a spreadsheet he had compiled, cross-referencing known AIM activity with MPX Freight's routes. One address stood out: an unassuming warehouse in lower Manhattan, officially listed as a storage facility.
"That's too convenient," Peter murmured. "Especially since MPX trucks were spotted there last week."
He flipped through a series of police reports and eyewitness accounts from the parade disaster. One statement stood out—a bystander mentioned seeing AIM operatives retreating toward the east side of the city after the explosion.
"East side... lower Manhattan," Peter muttered, his mind clicking into place. He grabbed a notepad and scribbled a timeline of AIM's movements, starting from their attack on the labs to their use of MPX Freight.
Then there was the psychic echo—a faint lead he hadn't entirely understood when Betsy Braddock had unknowingly brushed past him during the chaos. Her residual presence lingered in his memory, and while he didn't know exactly what she had been tracking, it had aligned suspiciously with his own observations.
Peter leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. "So they clear out the labs, set up the distraction at the parade, and use the chaos to smuggle… what? More experiments? Supplies?"
He stared at the map again, his eyes narrowing.
"This warehouse isn't just a storage site," he concluded aloud. "It's a staging ground for whatever AIM's planning next."
The thought chilled him. AIM's experiments weren't just theoretical—they had already proven their willingness to unleash dangerous technology on civilians. If they had something even bigger planned, it couldn't wait.
Peter stood, stretching and grabbing his Spider-Man mask from the desk. "Guess it's time for a late-night visit to Manhattan's shadiest storage unit."
As he suited up, he glanced once more at the evidence strewn across his desk. This was the clearest lead he'd had in weeks, and while he didn't know exactly what AIM was up to, he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't let them finish it.
A moment later, Spider-Man was out the window, swinging into the city's twinkling lights, the coordinates of the warehouse seared into his memory. The hunt was on.
The X-Men's jet, the Blackbird, was parked in a hidden corner of a private hangar at JFK Airport. Inside its dimly lit briefing room, Psylocke stood with her arms crossed, her expression tense as she stared at the holographic map projecting the New York area. Red markers highlighted several facilities—Midtown Science Labs burned brightest among them, a grim reminder of their failure.
Cyclops stood at the head of the table, his visor reflecting the glowing map as he addressed the team. "We have to face the facts. AIM outmaneuvered us. The massacre at Midtown shouldn't have happened, but we were too spread out trying to cover their decoy sites."
Storm nodded solemnly, her white hair catching the faint blue light. "We followed every psychic trace, every lead they left behind. AIM has been meticulous in masking their true intentions. Even with Cerebro's scans, it was almost impossible to pinpoint their endgame."
Psylocke's voice cut through the room, sharp and measured. "They wanted us distracted. We were chasing ghosts while they were setting up the real operation under our noses."
Beast, seated at the table with his usual composed demeanor, interjected. "Indeed, AIM's tactics suggest they anticipated our presence. Their use of mutant and human victims alike indicates a broader strategy—one that's as much about experimentation as it is about terror."
Cyclops tapped a command into the console, and the map shifted, zooming into upstate New York. "We've narrowed AIM's operations to three possible locations based on their logistical needs and their MO: two industrial facilities in the Adirondacks and one in Hudson Valley. These sites are remote enough to evade scrutiny but well-equipped for large-scale operations."
"Three sites, one team," Wolverine growled from his corner, his arms folded. "Ain't exactly great odds."
"We don't have the luxury of taking them one at a time," Cyclops said. "We need to split up and hit all three simultaneously."
The room fell into a tense silence.
"I'll take the Adirondacks," Storm offered. "I can use the weather to cover our approach."
"I'll lead a team to Hudson Valley," Cyclops said, his tone resolute. "It's the most fortified location, and we'll need firepower to breach it."
Psylocke stepped forward, her violet hair glinting in the dim light. "That leaves the remaining Adirondack facility to me. I can handle it."
"Are you sure?" Cyclops asked, his voice softer but still firm.
Psylocke met his gaze, her eyes unwavering. "I'm sure. If AIM has anything to hide there, I'll find it."
Beast nodded thoughtfully. "Your psychic abilities could prove invaluable. If AIM has any psychic shielding or mutant-based defenses, you're uniquely qualified to handle them."
Wolverine smirked, his claws extending briefly before retracting. "Careful, Betsy. Don't go getting yourself killed solo. AIM's been upping their game lately."
"I'll manage," she replied curtly, turning back to the map.
Cyclops took a deep breath, glancing around the room. "Alright. We've got our assignments. Remember, the goal is to secure intel, disrupt their operations, and rescue any captives. But if things go south, regroup and call for backup. We can't afford another failure like Midtown."
The team murmured their agreement, though the weight of their recent loss lingered in the air.
As the briefing ended, Psylocke lingered by the map, her gaze fixed on the Adirondacks facility. She reached out, touching the glowing marker with her finger, her mind already racing through potential scenarios.
She felt the familiar pressure of guilt and determination warring within her. Midtown had been a tragedy, and while the whole team shared the blame, she couldn't shake the feeling that she should have done more.
"This time," she whispered to herself, "I won't fail."
Minutes later, Psylocke boarded one of the Blackbird's smaller transport pods, preparing for her mission. Unbeknownst to her, another lone hero would be making his way to the same facility—a web-slinger whose path was about to cross hers for the first time.
Author's Note: Hello everyone, I hope you all enjoyed the action in this chapter and some of the investigating everyone had to do that had to going to everything. I know I haven't gotten around to the paired characters meeting up just yet, but I felt like I needed to do more establishing in order to make it work the best. Especially since I thought Aunt May and the rest of the X-Men since they are going to be crucial characters as well. Spider-Man and Psylocke will be meeting up in the next chapter though, so I hope you are all looking forward to that.