Deep in the shadows of the warehouse crossbeams, Peter held his breath, the shutter of his camera perfectly muffled by the din below.
He snapped dozens of photos in quick succession, locking down hard evidence of the Grass Stain Gang’s drug deal with Kingpin’s men onto his memory card.
He wasn’t ready to tangle directly with Kingpin’s underground empire just yet, but if these gangsters got raided by the cops thanks to an anonymous tip, all the better.
He peered down from his high perch.
It was Sunday night, and tomorrow was the day the Grass Stain Gang’s new leader, Babs, was set to hand off the drugs to Kingpin’s crew.
Peter had spent an entire week stalking them to find this warehouse, even staking out a strip club until he could sing every song on the playlist by heart.
Below, the goons finished tallying the shipment.
Most of the muscle pulled out, leaving only a few lookouts posted outside and one idiot wandering around inside with a flashlight.
Peter silently slid down the wall and slunk over to the main office door.
He pulled a makeshift lockpick from his pocket.
Back at school, dealing with bullies like Flash constantly changing his locker combination had maxed out Peter Parker’s lockpicking skills long ago.
*Click.* The lock gave way.
Slipping inside, he locked the door behind him.
The office was deserted, save for mountain-high piles of folders.
He flipped through them rapidly, searching for paper trails of cash flow like the ones he’d seen Babs logging before.
He tore through every cabinet and desk to no avail.
Just as he was about to give up, a floorboard beneath his feet let out a near-imperceptible creak.
Peter pried up the loose board.
Tucked beneath it was a combination dial safe.
An old-school lock like this was child’s play for him.
He pressed his ear against the cold metal, holding his breath as he relied entirely on tactile sensation in his fingertips and hyper-acute hearing to pick up the click of the tumbler pins inside.
*Click.* With a soft click, the safe swung open.
Peter did a quick sweep of the interior, bypassed a tripwire connected to an alarm, and successfully extracted the core ledger detailing every shipment and financial transaction.
He couldn’t just snap photos—if they noticed pages had been tampered with, they’d realize immediately.
He had to take the physical ledger with him.
After escaping the warehouse, Peter ducked into a dark, secure alley and pulled out a burner phone.
He dialed a number he’d gone to great lengths to hack out of the police database.
The phone rang twice before someone picked up.
“Detective Barnes?” Peter lowered his voice, feigning absolute terror.
“Who is this?” “I-I’m with the Grass Stain Gang.
I need to talk,” Peter panted heavily.
“These lunatics are killing people left and right!
I never signed up for this!” “Calm down.
Where are you?
What’s your name?” “I can’t give you my name!
I’ve got kids to feed—if they find out, I’m a dead man!” Peter talked at a manic clip.
“But I can give you the address!
Pier 827 in Manhattan—blue roof, yellow walls.
Their entire month’s worth of product is sitting there.
There are only four guns inside.
You can bust the whole place tonight!” “I need more than that—names, buyers…” “Babs is running things now!
He’s about to meet a major buyer.
Damn it, they spotted me!
Remember, Pier 827!
Don’t use sirens!” Peter hung up immediately, tossed the burner into a storm drain, and leaped into the night.
He knew Barnes all too well.
The detective’s son had nearly been shot by the Grass Stain Gang years ago; with a lead like this, he’d secure a warrant overnight and lead the raid himself.
Now, time to find a lawyer.
Peter swung into Hell’s Kitchen and expertly jimmied the window to Matt Murdock’s apartment.
Having trailed Matt before, he knew the layout by heart.
“Is someone there?” Matt’s seemingly unsuspecting voice came from the bedroom.
“Matt, we need to talk,” Peter said, disguising his voice.
Matt walked into the living room tapping his white cane, his unseeing eyes fixed slightly above Peter’s head.
Though blind, the slight twitch of his ears betrayed his readiness for battle.
“If this is a robbery, please don’t hurt me.
I can barely protect myself,” Matt offered a harmless smile.
Peter scoffed.
“You’re not blind, Matt Murdock.” Matt paused.
“What?
Of course I am—” “You’re not blind.
You can see.
It’s just that to you, the whole world looks like it’s on fire.” The charade shattered instantly.
Matt hurled his cane and pounced like a panther.
“I’m not here to fight!” Peter sidestepped, snatching the cane mid-air.
Matt pressed the offense, his strikes whistling past Peter’s cheeks with terrifying precision.
Relying on superhuman reflexes and a bit of combat training, Peter ducked and wove until he found an opening, grabbing Matt’s leg and flipping him onto the sofa.
“Help me take down the Grass Stain Gang for good,” Peter said, pinning him down.
“They supply Kingpin’s drug trade.
Nail them in court, and you cut off six months of his supply chain.” Matt broke free, his eyes sharp.
“How do you know my secret?” “I read your medical records,” Peter lied with a straight face.
“I know your other senses became hyper-acute after losing your sight.
I deduced you use a sonar-like perception to navigate the world.
Scientists once mapped human forms using ambient noise, and the resulting renders looked like flaming figures…
I just put two and two together.” Matt went quiet for a moment, then stood up and straightened his clothes.
“You’re a sharp kid.” “Thanks.” “And a terrible liar.” Matt tilted his head slightly.
“I can hear your heart rate.
It’s racing.
Whether that’s adrenaline or lies, I couldn’t say.
But I don’t trust you.” “I don’t care,” Peter said, slapping the ledger onto the coffee table.
“Those are all the Grass Stain Gang’s transaction records.
Soon you’ll hear Detective Barnes raided that warehouse.
Use this evidence to push for prosecution.
It won’t just hit Kingpin where it hurts—it’ll put your law firm on the map.” Matt reached out and felt the ledger.
Without opening it, he tilted his ear slightly.
“No Braille edition?” “Foggy isn’t blind,” Peter shot back.
Matt set the ledger aside, listening intently.
He was committing the rhythm of this uninvited guest’s heartbeat to memory.
“What’s your angle?” Matt asked.
“The Grass Stain Gang is running wild on the streets.
They need to be swept away.” “Why you?” “Why not me?” Peter walked over to the window and pushed it open.
“Enough people are dying out there.
If I have the power to change things, why shouldn’t I try?
Do you have to be a cop or a superhero to save lives?” Before Matt could respond, Peter leaped out into the night sky.
“I’m Spider-Man,” his voice floated up from below.
“Catch you later, Matt.” “Wait!” Matt rushed to the window and shouted, but only the thrilling howl of the night wind answered him.
He couldn’t help muttering, “This city is getting crazier by the day.” The next morning, Peter sat glued to the TV, completely ignoring Aunt May calling him for breakfast.
“Breaking news,” the news anchor said solemnly.
“Late last night, police raided and dismantled the Grass Stain Gang, a major drug trafficking ring operating in eastern Queens.
Detective Barnes stated he acted overnight on a tip from a former gang member, seizing over a thousand pounds of narcotics and an extensive arsenal.
Meanwhile, Matt Murdock of Nelson & Murdock has taken charge of the prosecution…” Peter clicked off the TV, a massive grin spreading across his face.
*A masterstroke.* No suit, no brute force—just raw intelligence and strategy to dismantle a gang, while dragging Daredevil onto his bandwagon in the process.
*That* was how a mastermind played the game.
His good mood lasted all the way until the end of the school day.
During English class, Mary Jane and Liz noticed his unusual glow and asked out of concern.
Peter brushed them off with a made-up excuse about Marcus’s gang being busted.
Later, the teacher called on Harry to summarize the plot of *Oedipus Rex*.
The guy stammered for ages, managing only to remember the trashy twist that the protagonist “married his own mom.” Peter couldn’t help letting out a snide remark on the spot, earning a glare from Harry that could kill.
After class, as soon as Peter reached the parking lot, Flash grabbed him by the collar and hauled him aside.
Harry and a few members of the varsity football team surrounded him.
“Think you’re real smart, don’t you, Parker?” Harry gritted his teeth.
“Making a fool out of me in front of Mary Jane?” “Osborn, I’m warning you.
Keep your mouth shut,” Peter said, his eyes darkening.
Harry scoffed and spouted a volley of crude, vulgar remarks disrespecting Mary Jane, even boasting about how he’d shoved his tongue down her throat within a week.
Peter’s fists clenched hard.
But Norman Osborn’s cold, sinister face flashed through his mind.
If he laid a hand on Harry now, the spoiled rich kid would go running home to complain, triggering swift retaliation from his supervillain father.
Taking a deep breath to force down his rage, Peter shoved Flash out of his way and walked off without looking back.
Harry screamed “Get him!” behind him, but Peter easily shook off his pursuers with his superior speed.
He headed to the dojo to meet Marcus, where they chatted briefly about the fall of the Grass Stain Gang.
But on their walk home together, a sudden, sharp pain throbbed at the back of Peter’s skull.
His Spider-Sense flared wildly in warning.
“Get down!” Peter tackled Marcus to the pavement.
The next second, a sedan sped past, submachine guns bristling from its windows.
Bullets chewed up the sidewalk, blasting shrapnel and concrete into the air.
“Long live the Grass Stain Gang!
You bugs are gonna pay!” the shooters roared with maniacal laughter as the car tore away.