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There's a lot of stories.
***
An office in the centre of New York City. Twelve hours after the warehouse incident.
- What the hell happened in there! - At this moment, being on his turf, the Big Boss of New York City could care less about reputation and peso the gang of hired Thugs with all the emotions bubbling up.
- That was just awful, boss. At first we thought we'd take care of that punk, and at first we did.
- Then how the fuck did you let seventy per cent of your highly trained mercenary squad go to waste?!
- He's not human, boss. Strong, fast, agile. But the real hell started when we exhausted him," Montana's right, the bandaged Bull shuddered. - It seemed like we were going to close the contract, but it was like he'd opened a second wind.
Montana stroked his bandaged hand.
- I was the first one out of the game. Really, Mr Thompson, he was inhumanly fast and agile. Look at Bull, he's all bandaged up. Handsome Dan's still in intensive care. Fifty fractures. There's no telling if he'll ever get back in shape.
- But still, that Spider, dead?
- They finally got him. The remaining mercenaries surrounded him. Even God himself wouldn't have got out of that fire, I saw several bullets hit him myself!
- Then where's the body, Montana?
The cowboy hesitated.
- I don't care about the mercenaries, but the guys in my squad got hurt. As leader of the thugs, I demand double pay for the work done.
Suddenly Tombstone jumped up and with an outstretched arm dragged the barely resisting cowboy across the table, lifting him by the throat above the ground.
Bull, who had tried to rush to Montana's aid, was taken at gunpoint by two guards at the end of the room.
- Anything you "demand," Montana, I don't give a damn. The way I see it, you lost Spider. You can claim all you want that he's dead, but until you and your posse provide proof, you're getting nothing.
Lincoln let go of the cowboy, who fell down coughing.
- All right, by the looks of it, you gave him a good beating. I'll give your troop time to recover. But don't let me down again. Dismissed.
The remaining members of the Thunderbolts left in silence.
***
The basement of the Parker house. It's night. Two hours after the warehouse incident.
That hurt. Lucky none of the bullets were lodged in his body.
Peter Parker, pulling out the first aid kit he'd prepared a month ago, tried to stitch up the damaged skin.
Apparently, he'd have to take a first aid course.
Okay, jokes aside.
I leaned against the wall and looked at my hands.
My gloves are torn, and there's blood all over them. Not all of it is mine.
I plant my feet, sinking to my knees. That guy's dead. I covered myself with him like a human shield. It was my fault he got shot up.
Of course I'm no angel, I've maimed all those blokes. But I never killed!
You can make excuses for yourself: "You didn't shoot him yourself" or "Come on, it's a mercenary who wanted to kill you, it's not your fault".
But try explaining that to my humanist side.
On the other hand, my more rational part tries to somehow settle this point in my mind.
And really, why should I be sorry? This mercenary took the job himself, his only goal was to kill me. Plus I wasn't the one pulling the trigger.... But his blood is still on my hands.
I jump up sharply, hissing at the tugging pain in my ankle.
God, if my aunt or uncle saw the state I was in, I dread to think what would happen.
I can only hope that the wounds I've treated will heal overnight and they won't catch me like this.
I sighed and pulled off the suit, which had been pretty badly damaged.
I still had some spare materials from my first occupation, but it would take a long time to repair it. And I'm so tired.
I pass out on the couch in the basement.
***
What?
I look round, but the next thing I do is dodge a jet of fire.
Jumping back against the wall of a room, I see that I'm in my spider suit.
Before I can make sense of the situation, I have to dodge again at the call of Sense.
This time a stick was thrown at me....?
- Give up, Spider-Man, you can't get away this time," Daredevil emerged from the shadows, grabbing the stick that ricocheted back.
- WHAT?!
- That's right, Weaver. This time we're going to put you so deep into the RAFT that you won't escape again," the one shooting fireballs was Torch Man.
- Guys, I don't know what happened, but someone is controlling you, I'm a good guy," raising my hands I approach the duo, "let's just talk.
- No, you're a criminal and a murderer! - The man without fear sent me flying with a kick from his foot.
As I landed, I shattered the mirror with me. In the shards, I discovered I was wearing a Superior Spider suit with black lenses.
YOU'RE A MURDERER!
NO!
I jump up off the couch.
- This is a dream, just a nightmare....
Trying to get away from the unpleasant awakening, I stare at the ruined suit.
- I'm not going to sleep anyway.
In a few hours I managed to tidy up the suit a bit, although I still have to work and work.
I decided to sleep for the remaining three hours to stimulate my regeneration a little.
I didn't have nightmares this time, and I felt much better.
I look at my watch, it's 5:30 in the morning.
I should get a mirror in here. I hope I look as good as I feel. Better.
After getting up and crawling into my room, I decide to sleep for at least another hour.
I was awakened by a sharp knock on the door.
- Peter, you're late for school! - came Aunt May's worried voice. - Is everything all right?
- Yes, Aunty, I just overslept!
I jump up and start getting ready. Honestly, school is the last thing on my mind right now.
I quickly go down the stairs and drop a quick line to May.
- I'm in a hurry, no breakfast, love you! - I run out the door, pulling on my trainers as I go.
I hop on the bus as it's about to leave.
- Thanks for waiting, Lewis," I said to the driver, who grinned.
- Hela, Pete, over here!
I catch a glimpse of Harry, Gwen and Miles. The whole team's here.
It's been six months now, and I'm still not used to the fact that everyone on the bus isn't trying to trip me or close my seat, but instead smiles at me, and the girls even invite me to sit with them. Even some of the cheerleaders.
That's what reputations do.
- Hey, guys.
- Wow, Pete, you okay? You look a little banged up," Miss Stacey asks in a concerned tone.
- I've been better, Gwendy, but that's all right, I'm a tough bloke.
- You know, if you're not feeling well, don't play the hero, but stay home and get better. Study will not go anywhere, - inserted his five penny Morales.
- I'll keep it in mind," I cut the topic off at the root.
- Um, well, actually, guys, how about we get together at my place tomorrow?
- I don't mind, I've always wanted to go to the penthouse of a New York City residential tower.
- I agree too," Gwen nods, "Peter?
- If suddenly do not need help at home, in principle not against.
Although I would like to reduce the possibility of crossing with Norman Osborn to zero. Although knowing his workaholism, maybe we will not meet.
- That's great.
***
The day followed a pretty standard pattern: Class, circle of friends, goodbye and walk home.
Although there were exactly two changes: the good, the life-saving headphones, and the bad, the terrible hunger.
Not only had I not had breakfast, but I hadn't even taken lunch from Aunt May. I didn't even have the cash to buy anything in the cafeteria.
I could have snatched an extra sandwich from Miles, but good thoughts, as you know, come afterwards.
Right now, I've got bigger things to worry about than hunger.
I fucked up, and I fucked up big time.
Yesterday was almost the day I died. Just a little bit more.
An unprepared, cocky idiot, that's what I am.
Did you think it was gonna be like in the comic books? Fighting dorks in colourful suits and being rewarded with awesome powers, girls and good decisions?
Only this was the real world. The harsh reality.
You saved your uncle and that's it? We're in the clear from now on? No mate and yesterday successfully confirmed that I tried to swallow too big a piece of this pie.
When I got home, the first thing I did was go to the kitchen to grab something.
Family was at work as usual, but that was for the best.
After grabbing a bite to eat, I headed to the lab.
Once downstairs, I once again chastised myself for being careless.
Suit, equipment, all left in plain sight.
I went to put everything away, and my eyes caught on the camera. I take the device and open the pictures. Standard images. Surprisingly, the auto zoom function even worked. But it was random.
A few of the photos came out pretty good. We could sell it to Jameson.
Fingers are frozen on the image of a mercenary's dead body being shot. The same mercenary.
As if in a mockery of fate itself, this is the clearest photo.
No. I'm not going to let this get me down. If he hadn't died, I would have died. It's simple, the mercenary wanted to kill me and I paid with his life for mine.
Would I do it again if it happened yesterday?
Definitely.
Problem is, I was too early to dive into the New York crime spree. My gut warned me of the danger, but I thought I could handle it.
From now on, I'll be more cautious and more serious about assessing danger.
I'm confidently erasing the picture of the dead mercenary.
And now, only die if I let them.