The city was alive, breathing in the constant hum of its people, its machines, its secrets. Ethan had become a part of that living, moving entity, a shadow among shadows, moving faster than most could comprehend. He'd spent the past few days honing his skills, pushing himself harder, faster, always striving for that next level. But it was more than just the personal grind that kept him going now. He was beginning to feel something else—a sense of duty, a weight on his shoulders that he hadn't anticipated.
The night after his first real test as a vigilante, the city had already started to buzz with rumors. He'd cleaned up the mess the robbers left behind, leaving the police to deal with the aftermath. His webbing had been messy, his landing a bit rough, but it didn't matter. He'd saved the day—or, at least, the convenience store.
And yet, as he swung across rooftops that night, feeling the wind rush past him, a new sense of responsibility weighed heavily on his chest.
The grind was working. But was he ready?
The next morning, as Ethan sat in his chemistry class, his mind was elsewhere. He could hear the soft murmur of students around him, the clicking of pens, the shuffle of papers, but all he could focus on was the title that was being whispered in the corners of the city. The name that was slowly gaining traction.
WebWarden.
It wasn't much of a name. He had to admit that. It sounded like something out of a second-rate comic book. But the media was starting to latch onto it, and soon enough, the city itself would be calling him that.
When the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Ethan hurried to pack up his things. Peter was still hanging around the front of the classroom, chatting with Mary Jane, and Ethan made his way to the exit.
Gotta keep my distance, he thought. He had to be careful now. The more the city talked about the WebWarden, the closer he'd be to exposure. And he didn't want anyone—especially Peter—to know what he'd been up to.
As soon as he left the building, Ethan pulled his hoodie tighter around himself, moving swiftly toward the alleyway behind the school where he'd stashed his gear. His web-shooters were hidden inside the folds of his jacket, the makeshift mask he'd been wearing tucked into his backpack. It wasn't much of a costume—just some basic gear he'd thrown together—but it had been enough so far. The important part was what he could do with it.
Today, he was headed back to the streets. There were rumors of gang activity in a nearby neighborhood, and he had a feeling that it was time to put his new skills to the test again. But as he reached the edge of the alley, ready to swing out, something caught his eye: a flash of red and blue.
Peter Parker.
He was leaning against a car, his back turned to Ethan, talking to a familiar face. Gwen Stacy. Ethan stopped dead in his tracks, watching the interaction from the shadows. He couldn't hear their conversation, but he could tell they were laughing. Gwen was smiling in a way she hadn't smiled before, her eyes lighting up with something… something more than just friendliness.
No. Don't think about it.
He quickly shook his head and refocused.
This wasn't the time. Ethan knew he had to keep his distance, not just from Peter and Gwen, but from everyone. They didn't need to know about the WebWarden. Not yet.
Sliding into the alleyway, he pulled on his mask, the fabric pressing snugly against his face as he secured the web-shooters to his wrists. His heart began to race, anticipation mingling with a steady rhythm of focus. Tonight, he was going to be something more. Tonight, he was going to make sure the city knew that WebWarden wasn't just some wannabe hero.
He wasn't just playing around anymore.
Swinging across the streets once more, Ethan felt a sharp thrill in his chest as his momentum carried him through the air. The sensation of flying, of being untouchable, was intoxicating. And for a moment, the worries about his secret identity faded into the background. But as he neared the neighborhood in question, the reality of the situation came back into focus.
It wasn't just some small-time gang running around causing trouble. No, this was bigger. Ethan could feel it in the air, like a vibration running through the city's veins. There was danger here. The kind of danger that made his instincts flare and his senses go into overdrive.
As he swung into the darkened street, his eyes scanned the area, watching for any signs of movement. In the distance, he spotted a few figures standing around the corner of a building, whispering in low voices. He could smell the tension in the air—these weren't just petty criminals, they were organized.
Ethan made a decision then. It was time for a little reconnaissance. He landed softly on the rooftop of a nearby building, crouching down low. From here, he could see the gang more clearly. They were talking in hushed tones, glancing around every few seconds as if waiting for something—or someone.
What are they up to? Ethan thought.
His mind raced as he tried to piece together the clues. His gut told him this wasn't just some random street robbery. This was bigger. He needed to get closer.
With one fluid motion, Ethan launched himself into the air, using his webs to swing down silently, landing on the opposite side of the street. His heart pounded in his chest, but his body was a machine, moving as one with the city.
He crept closer, using his webs to stay hidden in the shadows, climbing along walls and moving across rooftops. His senses were alert, and every fiber of his being screamed at him to stay calm, to wait for the right moment. The gang members were still in a huddle, discussing something—something that involved a truck and a whole lot of money.
The leader of the group, a man in a leather jacket, waved his hands impatiently, barking orders. Ethan couldn't hear the exact words, but the urgency in the man's voice told him everything he needed to know.
Suddenly, everything clicked.
This isn't just a robbery. It's a deal. Weapons, money, illegal goods—all of it's going down tonight.
Ethan's mind raced. He could take them out, sure. But if he did, he might alert more people—bigger threats, more dangerous enemies. This was bigger than just a couple of punks with guns. This was something deeper, something that might have its roots in the criminal underground of Queens.
But for now, it was about sending a message.
With a swift motion, Ethan aimed his web-shooters at a nearby streetlight, firing two lines of webbing that wrapped around the metal pole. In one quick motion, he swung down to the middle of the street, landing between the gang members with a soft thud.
They froze.
"Well, well, well," Ethan's voice rang out from behind his mask, the voice of a man who'd finally made his choice. "Looks like your deal's going to have to wait."
The gang leader sneered and pulled out a gun, aiming it at Ethan. "Who the hell are you supposed to be?"
"The WebWarden," Ethan replied, his voice steady but laced with a calm authority. "And you're under arrest."
It felt ridiculous. But the name was starting to grow on him.