Episode 5: A day to remember Part 2

The Specatcular Spider-Man and the adventures of the Web Warriors

Episode 5: A day to remember Part 2

10:30 AM – Midtown High Rooftop

Peter paced along the edge of the rooftop, hands shaking, mind spinning.

Below, the flashing lights of police cruisers and an ambulance painted the pavement in pulses of red and blue. But Peter barely noticed.

His body felt wrong. Or right. Or... something. Every step buzzed with a new kind of energy. His fingers flexed and twitched, tiny barbs catching the sunlight.

"This isn't normal," he muttered. "This is—"

A flicker of motion caught his eye.

Someone stepped out of the school entrance. A girl.

Peter blinked.
"Rose?"

But something was off. Her clothes were dirt-streaked and torn. No dragon tattoo on her hand. And when she looked up at him, the grin she wore wasn't Rose's.

It was sharp. Calculating.

"Hey, Parker," she called up. "Heard you turned Mac Gargan into a crash test dummy. Nice reflexes."

Peter frowned. "You're not Rose."

She tilted her head, smirk widening.
"Name's Daisy. Daisy Collins. But you can call me Fast Track."

Peter's stomach dropped.
"Wait… Rose has a twin?"

"Oh, she never told you?" Daisy asked, mock surprise dripping from her voice. "Yeah. Turns out I was the family secret. Abandoned. Left behind. While little Rosie got the full Huntsclan makeover."

Peter stepped back from the ledge, heart pounding. "She didn't know about you."

Daisy's eyes narrowed. "Maybe. Doesn't matter. She still chose them. So now... I'm choosing revenge."

Peter clenched his fists. "What did you do?"

Daisy shrugged, casually twirling a duffel bag over her shoulder.
"I've been busy. Snagging phones from lockers, pockets, backpacks. All while looking like dear sweet Rose."

"You want everyone to think she did it."

Daisy's smile turned feral.
"Bingo. When I'm done, she'll be expelled, friendless, disgraced. Just like I was."

Peter's voice hardened. "That's not justice. That's sabotage."

Daisy took a step forward.
"This isn't about justice, Parker. It's about balance."

Then—

WHOOSH!

She vanished in a blur.

Peter ducked instinctively—her fist grazed the air above his head.

His body moved before his brain could. He spun, eyes wide.

Daisy skidded to a stop. "Huh. You dodged that?"

Peter looked down at his hands, disbelief creeping in.
"How…?"

Daisy narrowed her eyes. "Guess I'm not the only freak on the roof."

She shot forward again—
Peter sidestepped. Smooth. Too smooth.

Another blur—he ducked. She missed. Again. And again.

Daisy came from the right—Peter blocked, barely. Her strikes were lightning fast. He was faster.

"What are you?" she asked, circling.

"I don't know!" Peter snapped. "But I didn't ask for this!"

"Neither did I!"

She charged.

Peter didn't dodge. He reacted—grabbed her wrist mid-swing—

WHAM!

He twisted. Daisy flipped over his shoulder, hitting the rooftop hard.

They both froze.

Daisy groaned. "Okay. Ow."

Peter backed up, chest heaving. "I didn't mean to—"

She sat up, brushing her hair from her face, now looking at him with something closer to interest than anger.

"You just tossed a mutant speedster. That's not normal."

Peter's fists clenched. "I'm not trying to be anything. I just want to survive this week."

Daisy smirked. "Too bad. You're officially on the radar."

Then—
WHOOSH.

She was gone.

Peter stood alone, wind tugging at his shirt, the city humming below.

His hands shook. His legs still tingled.

"I kept up with her," he whispered. "How?"

He looked out across the skyline, heart hammering in his chest.

What am I becoming?

12:10 PM – Midtown High, Cafeteria

The buzz of conversation, clatter of trays, and smell of overcooked pizza filled the cafeteria air.

Barbara Gordon sat calmly at a corner table, her guide dog Ace lying obediently at her feet. Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane Watson sat across from her, chatting and eating as if they'd known Barbara for years instead of hours.

"So," Gwen said between bites, "be real—how's Midtown treating you so far?"

Barbara gave a small smile as she unwrapped her sandwich. "Honestly? Pretty chill. No insane hallways, no Joker toxin... low bar, but it clears it."

Mary Jane raised an eyebrow. "You say that like it's normal."

Gwen chuckled. "Babs moved here from Gotham."

MJ nodded, suddenly understanding. "Say no more."

Barbara's smile turned faintly bittersweet. "Yeah. Gotham has... baggage. My dad and I needed a reset."

Gwen hesitated. "Was it Gemma?"

Barbara stiffened, but nodded. "Yeah. Her. She got a suspended sentence—no solid proof it was her who built the device. No cameras. No witnesses. Just me and a... really bad day."

MJ frowned. "Wait, how does a school not have security footage?"

Barbara sighed. "Principal used to turn off the cameras after 4 p.m. to cut costs. Turns out he, the janitor, and the secretary were running a tech resale scam—stealing and flipping school computers."

Gwen leaned forward, eyes wide. "Wait, what?"

"Yep," Barbara said. "And Gemma knew. Took advantage of the camera blackout to set a trap. Her fingerprints were on the detonated phone, but she claimed it was stolen."

MJ crossed her arms. "Let me guess: she also outed you?"

Barbara nodded. "After we broke up. She was spiraling. Her dad had just died in a sting operation—he was working for Rupert Thorne, trying to frame my father. When Batman and company took him down, Gemma blamed me."

"That's not fair," Gwen said quietly.

"No, it's Gotham," Barbara replied. "Justice doesn't always win there."

For a moment, none of them said anything. Then Barbara exhaled slowly. "Anyway, she said I ruined her life. So she took my sight."

MJ's voice dropped. "She really did it?"

"I can't prove it. But yeah. I know she did."

Gwen reached across the table and squeezed Barbara's hand. "I'm really glad you're here, Babs."

Barbara smiled, stronger this time. "Me too."

Just then, Peter Parker approached the table, looking curious and a little lost.

"Hey," he said. "Mind if I—?"

"Pull up a chair, Tiger," MJ said, scooting over. "Peter, this is Barbara Gordon. Babs, this is Peter Parker."

Peter offered a hand, then paused, awkwardly realizing. "Oh—uh, sorry."

Barbara chuckled, reaching out and finding his hand with ease. "It's okay. I'm not fragile."

Peter grinned. "Nice to meet you. And... is this your dog?"

"Ace," Barbara said proudly. "Former K-9. She's mine now."

Peter leaned down to scratch behind Ace's ears. "She's awesome."

Gwen added softly, "She used to belong to Barbara's mom."

Barbara's tone dipped. "Yeah. Officer Eileen Gordon. GCPD. Killed by Joker toxin two years ago."

The table fell silent.

Peter's smile faded. "I'm sorry."

Barbara nodded, her voice steady. "It was ugly. Dad had to keep the casket closed. Joker's toxin left her smiling."

Gwen's eyes flickered. "Is he... still out there?"

"No." Barbara's voice was final. "Two people took him out. One in white, one in black and purple—with a blindfold. They raided his hideout and... beheaded him."

MJ blinked. "Wait—seriously?"

"Batman couldn't ID their fighting style. Stealthy. Precise. But whoever they were... they knew what they were doing. And I'm glad they did."

Peter sat, his mind spinning. "A world without Joker. That's... kind of hard to imagine."

Barbara smiled faintly. "Gotham could use the break."

12:10 PM – The Coil Pawn Shop, Midtown, New York City

The bell above the door gave a tired chime as Daisy Collins—Fast Track— stepped inside.

The shop smelled like old wires, velvet dust, and dreams pawned for rent.

Behind the counter, Francine Fagin didn't look up. Clad in a crisp burgundy suit and black leather gloves, she was busy sorting a tray of gold watches—some still etched with forgotten names and heartfelt engravings.

Daisy strode up and dropped a heavy duffel bag onto the glass counter with a satisfying thud.

Francine finally glanced up, one brow raised.

"What have you got for me?" she asked, voice smooth as silk but sharp as glass.

Daisy unzipped the bag and flipped it open—six laptops stacked with military precision, beside a chaotic snarl of over 500 stolen smartphones.

"Fresh off the halls of Midtown High," she said, resting an elbow on the glass. "All clean. All hot."

Francine picked up one laptop, opened it, and checked the boot screen. No passwords. No student stickers. Wiped clean.

She nodded. "Efficient. You don't look the part, but you've got hustle."

Daisy smirked. "Don't judge a thief by her sneakers."

Francine interlaced her fingers. "How much are you after?"

"A grand," Daisy said flatly. "I know what your network pays. I want in."

Francine chuckled softly. "You've got nerve. I like that."

She reached beneath the counter and slid a thick white envelope across the glass.

"Two grand now. If my techs like what they see? There's more. Think of it as... an audition."

Daisy blinked. "Two now, more later?"

Francine's smile never moved. "Take it or leave it, Fast Track."

Daisy took the envelope without hesitation and slipped it into her jacket.
"You'll be seeing more of me."

"I certainly hope so."

She turned to leave. The bell jingled as the door shut behind her, vanishing into the crowded midday streets.

Francine watched the door for a long beat, then reached for her phone.

"Sir," she said, her voice now clinical. "New player. Speedster. No ties. No scruples. Could be an asset."

A pause.

A deep, cold voice replied on the other end:

"Monitor her. If she shows promise... extend an invitation."

Francine's eyes flicked back to the duffel.

"Already ahead of you, sir."

Back Room – Coil Pawn Shop, Minutes Later

A side door opened, and a man stepped into view—dressed in a darker burgundy suit, a mirrored echo of Francine. Short ginger hair, matching beard. Clean. Precise. Dangerous.

Frederick Fagin.

"What'd you dig up on her?" Francine asked, not looking up.

"She's Daisy Lilly Collins, registered Homo Sapiens Superior. Speedster classification. Operates just enough to survive—never long enough to be caught. Triple-digit warrant count. Gotham PD, Metropolis, Central City. Even worked undetected in Gotham, of all places."

Francine looked up now. "Triple digits?"

"Confirmed. One-hundred-sixteen open warrants. There's also an active double homicide investigation—her parents, Owen and Stephanie Collins, killed by the Purifiers. Plus, a decade-old missing persons case."

"Let me guess," Francine said. "A twin?"

Frederick nodded. "Rose Collins. Disappeared at five days old. Classic Huntsclan mark. They've never reconnected."

Francine tapped her gloved finger on the glass. "Isolated. Traumatized. And faster than most cameras. She'd make a fine X-Viper."

"She's got the profile," Frederick agreed, hoisting the duffel bag. "I'll pass it to Scalpel."

"I don't know why we are trusting a Con," asked Francine

"Oh job is not question the Commander logic just to simple foolow orders," Fredrick.

Frederick entered a reinforced chamber in the back. Cold lighting. Rust-red walls lined with reinforced circuitry. A jeweler's workbench sat in the center, surrounded by broken motherboards and gleaming conversion pods.

He dropped the duffel bag onto the bench.

A metallic eye snapped open.

The microscope on the bench transformed—legs unfolding, lenses reshaping, voicebox activating.

SCALPEL, Decepticon bioengineer, stood to his full height—three feet of compact, mechanical malice.

"Vhat have you brought me, organic?" Scalpel hissed in a thick, buzzing German accent.

"More phones," Frederick said coolly. "Midtown High haul. Turn them into P.E.S.T. drones. You're behind schedule."

"Dummes Bio…" Scalpel muttered, unfolding a scalpel-claw arm and snapping it open. "You help ze Decepticons conquer your perfect little world."

Frederick rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"Wie kommst du darauf, dass ich keine Fernbedienung habe, mit der ich dich zu Altmetall verprügeln kann?"
(What makes you think I don't have a remote to turn you into scrap metal?)

Scalpel's optics narrowed. Then, he chuckled—a high-pitched, metallic laugh.

"I kid, organic. I test your resolve." He scuttled closer to the duffel and began sorting through the phones. "Zese will do nicely. I vill convert them into fully autonomous P.E.S.T. units. And then… we talk about doubling your output again."

He paused, then hissed something in Cybertronian, the words sharp and electric.

Frederick just smirked. "As long as you don't fry the encryption again, we're good."

Scalpel growled softly but returned to work, claws clicking as he began dismantling the first device.

15.30– Batcave

In the dim blue glow of her underground Batcave, Barbara Gordon sat in front of a massive screen wall. Digital panels blinked and whirred as her fingers moved across the custom keyboard with surgical precision.

Ace, her loyal guide dog, lay calmly by her side, head resting on his paws.

Onscreen, security camera footage from Midtown High played in slow motion.

One figure moved like a blur. Lockers opened. Phones vanished. Laptops disappeared.

Then, the speedster paused—just long enough to flash a cocky smirk directly at the camera.

Barbara narrowed her eyes.
"Oracle, run facial recognition. Who is she?"

A flicker of digital static coalesced into a glowing, translucent projection beside her. Oracle—Barbara's A.I. interface—tilted her head as data cascaded down the screen.

"Suspect identified: Daisy Lilly Collins. Homo superior. Enhanced super speed. Active in a string of thefts from Central City to Gotham. Each theft valued under $950 to remain a misdemeanor under local law."

Barbara's jaw tightened.
"Any connection to Rose Collins?"

"Confirmed. Rose Collins is listed as a missing child, abducted at five days old by a rogue cult: the Huntsclan. Biological parents, Owen and Stephanie Collins, were murdered by an anti-mutant hate group—The Purifiers. Case remains open."

Barbara exhaled slowly. "How many confirmed robberies since her X-gene activated?"

Oracle's eyes flickered.
"One hundred ten active arrest warrants out of Central City. Over five dozen linked thefts across state lines. Fifty-two resisting arrest charges filed."

Barbara rubbed her temple. "So, not a new player. Just a mobile one."

Her eyes narrowed at the footage of Daisy speeding past a row of lockers.

"Any update on my phone?"

Oracle nodded toward a blinking red dot on the digital map.
"Your device's last active ping is traced to the Midtown branch of The Coil pawn shop. Records show the business is owned by Francine and Frederick Fagin—former National Guard service personnel. Both going AWOL during the Battle of New York, last seen commandeering a military transport filled with weapons. They claimed it was to 'aid the NYPD' during the Chitauri invasion."

Barbara's expression darkened.
"So they stole military hardware and turned it into a pawn shop front for illegal tech?"

Oracle simply replied:
"Affirmative."

Barbara pushed her chair back, standing slowly as Ace rose beside her.

"Gear up, Ace. Looks like Fast Track isn't the only one due for a visit."

3:30 PM – Parker Residence, Queens

Peter Parker paced his bedroom, his thoughts spiraling.
Mac Gargan. The dodge. The strength. The rooftop fight with Fast Track.

Nothing made sense.

"I need to know what's happening to me," he muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

His eyes landed on a crumpled Daily Bugle on his desk. He flipped past another anti-hero rant from Jameson—until a loud ad caught his attention.

CAN YOU SURVIVE THREE MINUTES IN A STEEL CAGE?
$5,000 PRIZE!
FACE THE REIGNING CHAMPIONS: SABERCAT & SABERKIT!

Peter read it again. Then again.

"This could be it," he whispered. "If I really do have powers… this is how I find out."

He'd heard the rumors—Sabercat and Saberkit weren't normal. Maybe enhanced. Maybe alien. Maybe just brutal.

He folded the ad and stuffed it into his hoodie pocket.
"Time to see what I'm really made of."

4:30 PM – M.W.E. Arena, Manhattan

Inside a private VIP box overlooking the ring, a man stood near the window—clean-cut suit, dark sunglasses, and an ornate cane topped with a pulsing blue crystal.

Rook.

Behind him, three humanoid hyenas lounged—each in sleek tactical bodysuits with accents in red, green, and blue.

Saberkat (blue) leaned against the bar, tail flicking in boredom.
"How much longer do we have to babysit this gig for Cobra, Rook?"

Rook didn't look away from the ring.
"Not long. Once Operation: Money Burns is complete, this charade ends."

Saberkit (red) let out a barking laugh. "These amateurs can't even last a minute. It's getting embarrassing."

Wildthing (green) sipped from a whiskey glass. "We're not here for challenge. We're here for recruitment. And intel."

Saberkit scoffed. "You sound just like Cobra—always three moves ahead."

Rook turned, the crystal on his cane pulsing slightly.
"If one challenger survives tonight, we might finally have someone worth watching."

4:45 PM – M.W.E. Locker Room

Peter stared at his reflection in the cracked locker room mirror. His makeshift outfit—a black hoodie, red ski mask, and athletic tape—wasn't flashy. But it would do.

His muscles still tingled. His mind reeled.

"This is the test," he told himself. "Three minutes in the cage. Five grand. Prove I'm not going crazy."

A gruff event coordinator poked his head in.
"You're up. Got a name for the announcer?"

Peter hesitated. Then smirked.
"Yeah. Call me... the Spider."

The man grinned. "Alright, Spider. Good luck. You'll need it."

5:00 PM – Inside the Cage

CLANG!

The steel cage slammed shut. Barbed wire wrapped around the top glinted under the spotlights.

Rook stood ringside, mic in hand.
"Ladies and gentlemen, watching live from coast to coast—it's time for our main event! In the red corner—John Doe, a.k.a. The Spectacular Spider-Man! And in the blue corner—your reigning champions: Victoria and Vivian Grayston—Saberkat and Saberkit! Survive three minutes… and win five grand!"

The crowd roared.

From across the ring, two figures stepped forward.
Saberkat—sleek, blue fur, eyes like molten gold—smirked.
Saberkit—wild red highlights and a razor-sharp grin—cracked her knuckles.

"You're tonight's meat?" Saberkit sneered.

"Maybe we'll go easy on you," Saberkat purred. "For thirty seconds."

The bell rang.

DING DING!

Saberkit lunged.

Peter's senses exploded.

Time slowed.

Here it comes...

Duck. Pivot. Flip.

He spun under her claws, rebounding off the ropes, and landed behind her.

The crowd gasped.

Saberkat narrowed her eyes. "Okay… maybe not a complete joke."

She struck fast—a palm to the chest like a freight train.

WHAM!

Peter slammed into the cage wall, barbed wire tearing through his hoodie. Pain shot through him—but he forced himself up.

"You hit like a truck," he muttered. "But your breath's worse."

Saberkit's ears twitched. "Oh, you're dead."

They came at him again—fast, fluid, brutal.

Peter ducked under Saberkat's claws and grabbed her wrist—
THROW!

She hit the mat hard.

Before he could breathe, Saberkit drove him into the corner.

"Gotcha."

Peter pushed off the post and backflipped out of her grip, landing light.

The crowd lost it.

Saberkit stared, stunned. "No way…"

Saberkat rolled up, growling. "This kid's got moves."

The clock ticked down.

0:59… 0:58…

Both sisters charged—claws gleaming.

Peter's body moved on instinct. Vaulted off the ropes—FLIP!—soared over their heads.

They turned—Saberkat launched a spinning kick—
Peter Matrix-bent under it, letting it sail overhead.

The crowd erupted.

DING DING!

"And The Spider... SURVIVES!"

The crowd went wild.

Peter panted, barely believing it. He looked at the scoreboard.
0:00.

He'd done it.

Saberkat grinned. "Not bad, Spider."

Saberkit smirked. "We'll be seeing you again."

Peter climbed out of the cage, clutching his prize money.
He wasn't just lucky.
He was changing.

5:10 PM – Backstage

Peter leaned against a concrete wall, sweat cooling on his skin.

He couldn't stop smiling.
"I did it. I actually won."

Then—

Click. Click. Footsteps.

He turned.

Rook stood in the hallway, sunglasses gleaming. Behind him—Saberkat and Saberkit.

"Well done," Rook said smoothly. "No one's ever lasted three minutes in that cage. Until now."

Saberkit scoffed. "Barely."

Saberkat grinned. "Oh, don't lie. You're impressed."

Peter tensed. "Uh… thanks?"

Rook stepped closer. "You fight like someone trained. But you move like someone… more."

Peter shrugged. "YouTube's a hell of a teacher."

Saberkit laughed. Saberkat actually chuckled.

Rook didn't. "Someone like you could go far in our world. There's opportunity in talent."

Peter's stomach twisted. "Not interested."

He turned to leave—

"Think about it," Rook said behind him. "Five grand is pocket change. We could offer you real money."

Peter froze, then glanced back.
"I'm not for sale."

Saberkat smirked. "You sure about that, Spider-Boy?"

Saberkit licked her lips. "Next time—no time limit."

Peter forced a smile. "Can't wait."

Then he walked away—fast.

As the door closed behind him and the night air hit his face, Peter exhaled.

He was something new.
Something more.

And whatever this was turning into—
it was just the beginning.

End of chapter

Voice cast

Rook: Anthony Head

Veronica 'Wildthing' Sinclair: eliza Dushka

Vivian 'Saberkit' Sinclair & Victoria 'Saberkat' Sinclair: Sarah Michelle Geller

Daisy 'Fast Track' Collins Mae Whitman

Fredrick Fagin: James Master

Scaple: John Di Crosta

Oracle: Tara Strong