Smoke and fires rose from the battlefield, bringing chaos and suffering to the city. Cars and bodies alike lay sprawled on the ground, twisted into unrecognizable wrecks beyond any hope of repair. The sound of sirens and wails of despair could be heard in the background as the fight between Rhino and Spider-Man escalated. Rhino's punches landed like sledgehammers, each blow sending shockwaves through the ground. Spider-Man, however, darted and weaved like a shadow, always just out of reach.
"Why are you moving a lot, dammit?! Stop for a second, I just want to squash you like the little bug you are!" Rhino bellowed in anger, a deep scowl plastered on his face as he swung his metallic appendages left and right. There was no rhythm, no grace, it was just pure, unfiltered chaos.
"Come and catch me If you can, Mr. Holmes on steroids... but you're still a lite version!" Spider-Man countered with equal venom as he maneuvered around Rhino, trying to find a blindspot.
'That suit screams Oscorp and the high-tech companies in the game. The guy has a typical villainous manner of speech and a mean look. When are these types of villains going to decrease?' Peter thought as he shot strings of webs at the artillery, specifically targeting the nozzles.
Rhino tried to shake him off; however, Peter was faster, suffocating the high-profile guns with a barrage of webs.
"Oops, no guns for you, for the sake of fairness, Igor!" Peter shouted as he sidestepped Rhino's aggressive attempts at getting back at him. 'Oh, that's getting old.'
"Who's Igor, puny little guy?" Rhino roared, his voice like a thunderclap, reverberating in the air. While being playful as always, Peter lost concentration for a second, and Rhino capitalized on it. He waved his mechanical arm as if he was swatting a fly, and sent Spider-Man flying into a billboard.
'That's gonna hurt like hell. Bracing for impact!' Peter crashed through the LED displays, feeling the jarring impact in every bone. Fragments of shattered screens rained down, while sparks erupted around him, casting an eerie glow over the wreckage. A groan escaped his lips as he struggled to untangle the slithering electric wires, Rhino's blow still viciously gnawing at his intestines.
'This reminds me of that silly garage experiment,' Peter thought, gritting his teeth against the stinging electrocutions as he fired a web toward a nearby lamppost. Pulling himself free from the wreckage, he swung toward Rhino, each arcing motion steadily building momentum.
"Yo, guess who's back?" Peter teased as he used both of his legs to administer one mighty, high-velocity kick that made Rhino lose balance.
"Rhino, confused." Several question marks appeared above Rhino's head, wondering how the little guy could recover so quickly from his super-powered blow.
"Confused? You're just far from Zootopia, bad guy." Peter took that time to coil multiple webs around Rhino, starting from obscuring his vision and going down, all within a few seconds.
Rhino struggled against the superb restraining effect of the sticky and super-durable webs; however, the more he struggled, the more Peter entangled him.
"Phew, that was close. At least, no one was in the vicinity, or else things might have gotten pretty dangerous." Peter exhaled soundly as he landed with a thud near the incapacitated nemesis, his center of gravity low.
Peter then looked around at the ruined landscape, and the scope of the tragedy struck him like a searing brand, scorching his soul. He heavily furrowed his brows at the cruelty done by the new villain. 'I came late again. I could have saved them before they lost their lives, but...'
'...I couldn't.' He clenched his hands in anger and helplessness. The sad truth was he couldn't be everywhere at the same time and it was only due to luck that he had just finished dealing with some notorious thugs and happened to be swinging around.
'Now is not the moment for self-pity. I need to save as many victims as possible before NYPD and medics arrive.' Peter breathed in and out to calm himself, gradually loosening his clenched hands.
Fortunately, he found some survivors. Some were trapped under rubble, some were still locked in their cars while some were still unable to move due to shock. While he was helping the injured and directing them to safer places, away from the massive sinkhole in the middle of Times Square, he noticed a Black SUV. Just like most of the cars in the vicinity, it was battered up horribly. What caught his attention was the deep crimson stain splattered on the cracked window and the ground below.
His spider senses tingled as if they were on overdrive. Tendrils of death loomed over the area yet a weak beat of life still subtly pulsated; there was a survivor. Compared to other victims, Peter didn't know why the unknown survivor made his heart beat in apprehension.
At a distance of about three meters away from the ruined SUV, Peter came to an abrupt halt, his eyes locked on the prone figure lying at that grotesque angle.
Peter opened his mouth, appropriate words failing to escape. He unconsciously stretched out his trembling arm at the seemingly dead figure, disbelief and shock coloring his expression. He then took a hesitant step forward, his own body fighting against him, trying to prevent him from facing the truth. Flashes of Uncle Ben lying on a pool of his own blood appeared in front of Peter's eyes, the images from his past overlapping with the grim present scene.
"No, no, no... No, simply NO!" Peter's voice shook, denial evident in his tone. He hurriedly knelt in front of the dying man.
"T-This isn't him. I-I am just having an illusion. Everything that's happened is all a bad dream!"
"That guy rarely leaves his house, so this can't be him. But why? Why do they look the same?!" Peter's trembling hands moved behind his head and removed the mask. At that moment, he believed that if he removed his mask, he would have a clearer and more defined view of the dead man.
"It-It is him. Oh God, No!" His lips shivered as he found something that only Joe could pull off. A cool and bloody grin even in the face of such life-threatening injuries. How could anyone but Joe pull off such an annoying, goddamn smirk?!
"Why did it have to be you, bro?!" Peter spoke in a low voice, his sadness and guilt so unimaginable to manifest in reality. His vision was blinded with unshed tears as he touched Joe's pale skin, cold and almost unfeeling. Peter didn't care about the blood wetting his hand as he tried to confirm the authenticity of Joe's death.
"His blood is still warm. So it hasn't been that long since..." Peter lowered his head in defeat, fear and guilt eating at him.
'Why wasn't I there? Why am I so damn slow? Why did my friend have to die? Why did I waste time? Why? Why? Why?' Peter clutched at his head, despair spreading on his face.
You could have saved him. You could have saved 'em all. You are useless even with your powers, Peter Parker. You aren't taking your responsibilities seriously!
Peter's enhanced hearing suddenly picked up a distant beep amidst the anguish and regret. Joe, who had flatlined earlier, began showing signs of life, his heartbeat so faint it could be ignored.
"He, he is alive?!" Peter opened his mouth wide, hope glimmering in his brown eyes.
"He is alive!" He clambered to put his ear against his deformed chest. The sight made him wince as if he was the one with the condition.
'He's desperately fighting for his survival, for his life. Damn bastard, won't even let death take his handsome soul away? There's hope. He needs emergency treatment asap.' A serious expression settled on Peter's face, his lips pursed in a thin line. He quickly put on his mask with urgency and scanned the vicinity. The sirens were no longer distant. The medics were nearby.
Peter quickly moved to the ambulances, no longer hesitating as Joe's life hung by a thread that was being held hostage by the fates.
"Here! Emergency!" Peter shouted, his voice cutting through the chaos. "There's a critical survivor who needs immediate treatment before it's too late! Their life is hanging by a thread!"
The group of medics, just arriving from the ambulance, froze. They were partly stunned by the suddenness. Mostly, they were taken aback because the legendary Spider-Man was directly addressing them, his masked eyes burning with urgency.
"Why are you all just standing there like statues?" Peter demanded, his voice cutting through their hesitation like a whip-crack. "Enough of this Medusa act - follow me, ASAP! There are lives on the line, and every second counts!"
The medics, their earlier shock evaporating under Spider-Man's scorching urgency, scrambled into action. Stretchers, oxygen masks, gloves - they hurried to grab the necessary lifesaving equipment.
Soon, they arrived at the place where Joe was lying like a dead person.
The medic leader's voice rang with authority, yet remained eerily calm as she completed her triage examination. "Severe chest deformity from trauma. Multiple rib fractures on the right side. The patient is experiencing paradoxical breathing." Her steely gaze swept over the team. "We need to get him to the ER immediately before it's too late."
With deft yet featherlight movements, the medics secured an oxygen mask over Joe's face, cautious not to exacerbate the grotesque deformity of his chest. Seconds felt like agonizing eternities as they carefully transferred his motionless form onto the waiting stretcher. With urgency, they moved him to the ambulance.
Peter discreetly followed behind. He wanted to make sure that Joe arrived at the hospital in one piece. It wasn't his time to leave the world yet.
'You have to hang on, man. Fight it! You have to refill that health bar like in the games you love!' Peter pleaded in his mind, secretly praying for some miracle from divine intervention. He couldn't let someone close to him die... again!
...
The hallways of NYCMC carried the sterile scent of antiseptic, and an unmistakable song of life and death played like a lullaby. There was a palpable tension in the hospital's atmosphere as monitors beeped incessantly like the grim reaper's bell.
Concealed in a hoodie over his spider suit, Peter paced around the trauma bay, occasionally glancing towards the operating room.
A woman, probably in her late twenties, dressed in dark blue scrubs gently placed her hand on Peter's shoulder.
"He's gonna be alright. Just wait here for the good news," the nurse said in a sympathetic voice.
"Have faith in Dr. Strange. His surgical skills are one of the best in the hospital." She added with confidence, her hand briefly leaving Peter's tensed shoulder.
Peter briefly stared at the nurse's name tag stuck on her blessed bosom. "I-I believe my friend will pull through this crisis. As long as there is hope, even the slightest bit, I will always believe, nurse... Esmeralda."
"Oh, I guess there goes my self-introduction when I have this tag on me..." She arched her brows before briefly pointing at her name tag, a small chuckle escaping her thin lips.
"Haha, sorry. I didn't mean to do that really. I hope it isn't creepy or anything." Peter shook his head with a nervous smile.
"Gee, of course I know, Peter." Nurse Esmeralda waved her hand in dismissal, unbothered. There was a momentary silence, only broken occasionally by the EKG readings.
"So, uh, can you tell me more about this... Doctor Strange? Is he really called like that?" Peter asked after some slight hesitation. He wasn't that good with conversations, especially with strangers. Well, as for Spider-Man, that was a different story entirely. The mask held too much power not known to man.
"Oh, I can debrief you. It's okay," Nurse Esmeralda replied with a friendly smile. "And it's his legit name. Full name's Stephen Strange."
"Ah, his name's really strange," Peter said in an unsure tone.
"I know, right?" Nurse Esmeralda shook her head and added, her voice dripping with humor and certainty. "But I trust his expertise and genius intellect despite his 'strange' name."
"O-Okay." Peter released a harsh breath as he craned his neck to have a better look through the glass windows of the OR. He couldn't see anything, but he could hear them. The sound of the clanks of scalpels and forceps against the trays, the instructions of the head surgeon to the nurses, the beeps...
Peter immediately cut off his auditory senses from that room. He couldn't. It was hell to even listen to the sounds. It only added fuel to his growing guilt, fear, and worry.
What mattered to him was Joe's final run against death!
Bzzz!
Peter looked at his phone. Someone was calling. Looking at the contact's name, Peter ran a hand through his face, his eyes red with emotions.
'How am I going to explain to Gwen? She's...'
"Hello? Yeah. The OR section. Trauma bay. Okay." Peter answered the call before pocketing the phone. It was a brief call anyway since Gwen had already arrived at NYCMC.
...
Meanwhile, Joe's consciousness and soul were stuck in limbo, the in-between, and his destiny unknown. How will he escape from the blankness of oblivion? From the supposed suspended animation?
…
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