Covered in dust, Peter climbed to his feet, his expression livid.
“The cops didn’t lock them all up?” “The big bosses were definitely taken in, but the low-level thugs weren’t charged and got released right away,” Marcus said, still shaken.
“I didn’t think they’d retaliate this fast.
I need to tell my crew to stay inside.” Standing there and staring at the bullet holes scarring the pavement, Peter felt his stomach drop.
He had assumed knocking off the leadership would solve the problem, overlooking just how unhinged these desperate crooks were.
People were inherently irrational.
Innocent bystanders had nearly lost their lives—all because of the chain reaction triggered by his righteous crusade tonight.
They were retaliating because of him.
This was on him.
Peter offered Marcus a few words of reassurance before heading home alone and slipping down into the basement.
He dug out a black bodysuit, light sneakers, a black compression shirt, red gloves, and a mask.
Sneaking back to Marcus’s neighborhood, he discovered the remnants of the Grass Stain Gang were actually throwing a wild party in the local park, flames roaring from fuel drums and casting a flickering glow over the armed maniacs.
Rushing in head-on was suicide.
Peter doubled back and slipped into a trashed convenience store nearby.
He left a hundred-dollar bill on the counter and cleared out all the spray paint cans, hammers, wrenches, a nail gun, and a few knives.
Passing a looted leather shop, he scavenged a crisp red leather jacket from the rubble—a perfect fit.
With black spray paint, he crudely stenciled a huge spider symbol onto the back of the jacket.
The look reminded him of Andrew Garfield’s Spider-Man costume, but it was maximum practical.
Returning to the perimeter of the park, Peter lobbed four spray paint cans with deadly accuracy straight into the burning fuel drums.
Pressurized aerosol plus open flame equaled a perfect directional explosion.
*BOOM!* A deafening roar echoed as fire spewed skyward.
The powerful shockwave and sudden blackout plunged the party into utter chaos.
“Light it up!
Get some lighters!” the leader bellowed frantically.
The second a flickering flame sparked, Peter dropped from the trees like a phantom.
A web-line shot out, snagging a goon and hoisting him upside down from a branch.
What followed was a brutal, one-sided hunt.
Using the darkness and terrain to his advantage, Peter darted through the shadows.
His webbing sealed gun barrels tight, causing firearms to explode in the gunmens’ hands; wrenches and hammers whistled through the air, knocking goons cold one after another.
As the last few stragglers huddled together in terror, Peter hurled a punctured paint can into the middle of them.
Thick black fumes ballooned outward, swallowing them whole.
Moving through the smoke as if it weren’t even there, he dragged the remaining thugs into the shadows one by one.
“What the hell are you?!” the leader screamed in a complete breakdown, firing wildly into the haze.
As the smoke slowly cleared, a figure clad in a black bodysuit, a red jacket, and a red mask hung upside down from a tree branch.
“I’m Spider-Man.” Terrified, the leader pulled the trigger, but Peter’s Spider-Sense let him dodge effortlessly.
With a flick of his wrist, Peter hurled a wrench, knocking the gun out of the man’s grip, then delivered a heavy right hook to the chest, knocking him out cold.
The cleanup was just as swift.
Peter pinched a few bills from a guard’s pocket, comforting himself with the thought that *stealing from thieves isn’t really stealing*, then used the man’s phone to dial 911 before crushing it into pieces.
After confirming everyone was still breathing, he swung up to the rooftop and watched the police cars pull up with sirens blaring.
Satisfied, he melted away into the night, stashed his suit in the hidden floorboard compartment at home, and pretended he was just getting back from staying over at Marcus’s house, fooling Aunt May and Uncle Ben.
Late at night, Peter examined the red jacket again in the basement.
The outfit reminded him of Spider-Man from *Last Stand*.
It kept him warm, sure, but it definitely caught the wind while swinging at high speeds.
Maybe he could line it with Kevlar armor later and hide a few pocket weapons—shuriken or something similar.
He suited up and slipped out the door.
Just as he was getting ready to start his patrol, he spotted Harry’s car parked outside Mary Jane’s house.
Flash and Liz were sitting in the back seat.
Peter was about to tail them to see what these teenagers were up to when he heard Harry promising not to pick on Peter anymore.
Only then did Mary Jane agree to go with them to the “Sweet” bar—using fake IDs, no less.
Peter shook his head at their teenage drama.
Just as he decided to cut them loose, wailing police sirens in the distance prompted him to pivot immediately.
Sirens meant action.
Following the noise to an alleyway behind a jewelry store, he caught a dark figure tumbling out of a window.
Peter dropped from above, sweeping the figure’s feet out with a kick and snagging the brown paper bag full of jewels in midair.
“Pro technique, but carrying jewels in a brown paper bag?
A bit retro, don’t you think?” Peter quipped.
Without a word, the shadow sprang up and threw a sharp spin kick aimed straight at his face.
Peter ducked beneath it, but before he could counter, the intruder used his momentum to grab his arm and executed a clean shoulder throw, slamming him onto the pavement.
Dazed and seeing stars, Peter pushed himself up, looked up, and froze.
Bathed in moonlight, a girl wearing a domino mask looked down at him.
Long silver hair cascaded like a waterfall, her emerald-green eyes shining bright in the dark, her form-fitting outfit accentuating every curve.
Peter’s brain short-circuited.
“I think I just fell in love with you,” slipped out of his mouth.
The girl paused.
“Excuse me?” Peter blinked.
“Honestly, I have no idea why I said that.” She appraised him.
“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” “Spider-Man.” “Spider-Man?
What a dumb name.” “Still better than yours—Black Cat?” Sensing her hand sneaking toward the paper bag, Peter flicked his wrist and shot a glob of webbing right over her mask.
He deliberately lowered the tackiness so as not to hurt her pretty face.
“What is this gross stuff?!” Black Cat ripped at the webbing.
“Well, you know…
when a guy reaches a certain age, white sticky stuff just comes out,” Peter cracked a dirty joke.
“Disgusting!” Black Cat spat, unclipping a meteor hammer from her belt to strike back.
They sparred back and forth.
Peter pulled his punches entirely, treating it like an exhibition of her martial skills.
After a few exchanges, he caught an opening and pinned Black Cat beneath him.
“Come on, Cat, we just met and you’ve already tried to mount me twice,” Peter panted with a grin.
“At least buy me dinner first.” “Sure thing, Spidey—right after I get my loot back!” Black Cat drove a knee into his side to shove him off, vaulting up onto the brick wall in one fluid motion.
“We’ll settle the score next time!” Watching her graceful figure vanish into the night, Peter chuckled, making no move to pursue.
*Wait, where’s the loot?* He glanced down; the paper bag in his hands was completely empty.
Realization clicked—when he had pinned her, she’d picked his pocket and swiped the stash right under his nose.
Peter burst out laughing.
He couldn’t even bring himself to be mad at getting tricked—her sleight of hand was top-tier.
Swinging back toward the bar district, he flipped his red jacket inside out, packed away his mask and web-shooters, and smoothly transitioned back into Peter Parker.
As soon as his feet touched the ground, he caught the sound of a heated argument coming from a back alley behind the bar.
“Mary Jane, I said I’m sorry!
I didn’t mean to!” Harry was still making excuses.
“Sorry for what?!
For shoving your filthy hands under my skirt?!” Mary Jane exploded.
Peter rolled his eyes and stepped out from the shadows.
“Harry, I used to think you were just obnoxious, but I didn’t realize you were a sex offender too,” Peter interrupted coldly, grabbing Harry and yanking him back.
He turned to Mary Jane.
“Are you alright?” “Parker?!
What the hell are you doing here?” Flash and Liz looked like they’d seen a ghost.
“Stopping Osborn from committing a crime, obviously,” Peter shrugged.
“Get lost, Parker!” Furious and humiliated, Harry charged forward and grabbed Peter by the collar.
Peter could have dodged easily, but he forcibly suppressed his muscular instincts and took a hard punch straight to the face, going down with the hit.
“Harry, stop it!” Mary Jane gasped in horror.
Harry stared at Peter sprawling on the floor, suddenly looking like a deflated balloon.
As Flash yanked him back, he scrambled into the car and drove off in shame.
“Are you crazy?
Why didn’t you dodge?” Mary Jane knelt beside him, tenderly examining the corner of his eye.
“Because Harry isn’t a supervillain,” Peter rubbed his cheek and sat up.
“He’s just a flawed, regular guy.
Taking a punch lets him blow off steam, and now the whole thing is over.” As they walked toward the bus stop, Peter shared stories of his past with Harry.
Back in middle school, they were two outcasts keeping each other warm; in high school, Harry started buying friends with money, and they drifted apart.
Hearing this, Mary Jane’s eyes dimmed.
“I’m sorry, Peter.
I never realized…
I was abandoning you too.” “I told you, I’m fine, Mary Jane,” Peter said in a flat tone.
“Liar.
You hate me.
You never just call me MJ—you always use my full name.” Peter froze for a second, surprised by how sensitive she was.
He sighed.
“I’m used to flying solo.
I’m just not great at getting too close to people.” Mary Jane fell silent, and the bus arrived amidst the quiet.
Late at night, Peter lay in bed staring at the ceiling, his mind racing.
So much had happened today.
He’d officially stepped into the underworld as Spider-Man, encountered a rookie thief who made his heart race, and reevaluated his relationships with Harry and Mary Jane.
As for whether Harry would go completely off the deep end because of today?
No, he didn’t think there was any need to worry.
At the end of the day, Harry was an asshole, but at least he was an asshole with a conscience.