A dark warehouse near the Moroccan coast smelled of salt and oil. Wooden crates were stacked without care. A single light bulb swung from the ceiling, shifting shadows on the cold concrete floor.
Two men, both large and covered in tattoos, stood near the center of the room. Between them was a young woman, her wrists and ankles tied with thick rope. A cloth gag was stuffed in her mouth, muffling her protests. Her expensive clothes were torn and dirty.
One of the men, bald with a deep scar across his cheek, crouched beside her. "Alright, princess," he said, his voice rough. "Time to talk. Where's the package?"
The woman glared at him, her green eyes full of hate. She shook her head and struggled against her bonds.
The other man, taller and heavier, chuckled. "They always fight at first. Then they beg." He cracked his knuckles. "Let's speed this up."
Before he could step closer, a soft noise echoed through the warehouse. A light sound, like something landing gently.
The two men froze.
Scar-Cheek turned his head, eyes narrowing. "Who's there?"
"...."
Silence
Then, something moved above them.
A shadow detached from the steel beams near the ceiling and dropped down with impossible grace.
Black Widow landed in a crouch, her tight black suit blending into the darkness. Her red hair fell over her shoulder as she slowly straightened, her dark eyes sharp and cold.
"You boys really need to learn some manners," she said, her voice smooth but deadly.
The men hesitated for half a second before laughing. Scar-Cheek pulled a knife from his belt. "Look at this. A little redhead hero."
The bigger man grinned and cracked his neck. "She thinks she's scary."
Natasha sighed. "I don't think. I know."
The fight lasted less than ten seconds. She moved first, stepping into Scar-Cheek's space before he could react. A sharp elbow to his throat sent him stumbling back, gasping for air.
The bigger man swung at her with a heavy, clumsy punch. Natasha ducked under it, spinning behind him. She kicked his knee hard, making him drop to the floor with a pained grunt. Before he could recover, she grabbed his head and slammed it into the nearest crate. He crumpled instantly.
Scar-Cheek, still coughing, tried to rush her. She sidestepped and hit him with a precise strike to the jaw. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed.
Natasha barely looked at them as she stepped over their bodies. She crouched next to the woman and pulled a small knife from her belt, cutting through the ropes.
"You okay?" She asked.
The woman nodded quickly, eyes still wide with shock. Natasha stood and glanced at the unconscious men. "Good. Now, let's talk about that package."
A few hours later, inside a secret S.H.I.E.L.D. base, Natasha stood in front of a massive screen. The face of Nick Fury was visible on it, his one good eye watching her closely.
"That was a clean-up job, Romanoff," he said, sounding amused. "Not exactly a challenge."
Natasha folded her arms. "They were amateurs."
Fury's face became serious. "We've got a different situation now. In Queens. A new player calling himself Spider-Man."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "And you want me to check him out?"
"I want you to assess the situation," Fury corrected. "See what we're dealing with. If he's a threat..."
He didn't finish the sentence, but he didn't need to.
Natasha smirked. "Understood."
Peter swung through the city, moving with effortless speed between buildings. The cool night air rushed past him as he flipped, twisted and shot another web, pulling himself forward.
The first stop of the night was a robbery near Central Park. Two guys, both masked, were breaking into an electronic store. Before they even knew what was happening, Peter had webbed them both to the store's glass window.
"Crime doesn't pay, fellas," he said, dusting off his hands. "Well, you won't be paying, at least. You're kinda stuck."
Next, near Times Square, he found a pair of thugs trying to corner a woman. By the time they noticed him, one was already webbed to a lamppost, and the other was dangling upside down from a streetlight, screaming.
"You're welcome!" Peter called as he swung away.
But the night wasn't all easy. When he reached the Brooklyn Bridge, he noticed a man standing too close to the edge. His hands were gripping the railing, knuckles white.
Peter landed lightly beside him, careful not to startle him. "Hey, man. What's up?"
The man didn't answer. Peter stayed silent for a few seconds before speaking again, softer this time. "You thinking of jumping?"
The man's shoulders stiffened.
"You wouldn't understand," he muttered.
Peter exhaled. "Try me."
There was a long pause. Then, slowly, the man spoke. He talked about his debts, his lost job, how his landlord was kicking him out.
Peter listened. Really listened. When the man finished, Peter finally spoke.
"You're not alone, okay? The city can feel like it's crushing you, but you're stronger than you think."
The man hesitated.
"You looked over the edge, but you didn't jump," Peter pointed out. "That means there's still a part of you that wants to fight. And trust me. Sometimes, that's enough."
The man turned, meeting Peter's masked gaze for the first time. There was a flicker of something in his tired eyes.
Hope.
Peter patted his shoulder. "Come on. Let's get you out of here."
The man nodded slowly. As Peter swung away, a voice murmured in his ear.
["You did well, Sir."]
Peter sighed. "Didn't feel like enough."
["It was."]
But just as he relaxed, the feeling hit him.
The sense of being watched.
Peter's eyes darted across the rooftops, the alleys. Shadows moved where they shouldn't. Cars idled in places they didn't belong.
"Everywhere I go, I see their faces..."
Shady figures. Lingering too long in alleys. Cars that seemed to follow his swings just a little too perfectly. SHIELD was tightening the net.
["You're being watched,"] CELESTE murmured in his ear. ["Multiple angles. One on a rooftop, two from unmarked cars. Different locations each time."]
Peter's lips thinned. They were getting bolder.
The morning air was crisp as Peter sat at the kitchen table, lazily munching on a bowl of cereal. He flipped open the latest edition of the Daily Bugle, expecting the usual nonsense from Jameson. But when he saw the front page, he nearly choked on his food.
"SPIDER-MAN ROBS OLD MAN FOR SOCIAL SECURITY CHECK!"
His eyes narrowed as he read the ridiculous article. Apparently, some elderly man in Queens had been "attacked" by a masked menace and left penniless. The problem? Peter had been on the other side of the city when it supposedly happened.
Another headline caught his eye.
"OSCORP SECURITY FOOTAGE 'MISSING': SPIDER-MAN THE PRIME SUSPECT!"
Peter slammed the paper down.
"This is getting out of hand."
["Correction,"] CELESTE's voice hummed in his ear. ["It has already gotten out of hand."]
Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"Jameson must be losing it. Why would I steal from Oscorp?"
["The probability of Jameson believing his own headlines is… negligible."]
Peter smirked. "So, he just hates me?"
["With a passion. Or someone might be feeding him fake news"]
He exhaled sharply. This wasn't just JJJ's usual slander. What CELESTE said was a possibility. "But there is also a possibility that JJJ is in cahoots with someone worse".
[If it's true, then we should treat him with something like ice cream."]
"Hah! A 'what's-sweet-and-best-served-cold' joke. Nice one." He cracked his knuckles. "Alright. After today's sweet outing with Aunt May and the night's patrol, remind me to find some dirt on JJJ."
-A sweet day out later-
Peter had just finished webbing up another gang of muggers and was only leaving, when he tilted his body slightly as he felt an arrow whizz past him.
He twisted mid-air, flipping onto a nearby rooftop. There they were.
Hawkeye. Black Widow.
No pretense, no hesitation. They were hunting him.
Natasha took a step forward, calm and deadly. "Spider-Man."
Peter put his hands on his hips. "Legolas. Gimly." And he spread his arms. "What can I do for Middle-earth today?"
Clint nocked an arrow. "Surrender quietly."
Peter chuckled. "Not even if you had the One Ring."
Clint loosed an arrow. Peter caught it in mid-air with two fingers. "Legolas, your aim's off. Maybe lay off the mead?"
Natasha lunged, striking fast. Peter webbed her ankle mid-kick, yanking her into a spin before dropping her onto Clint.
"Oops! You two tumble like Merry and Pippin in a pub brawl."
Clint rolled, drew another arrow only for Peter to web it to his forehead. Another web yanked away his bow.
"You have my bow... Oh wait, you don't."
Natasha hurled her Widow's Bite. Peter flipped over it, the electric charge missing entirely.
"Fool of a Took!" he scolded, flicking a web at her wrist, yanking her into a spin before gently placing her down, like a ballet dancer. "Your moves are as stale as Lembas bread."
Clint charged. Peter sidestepped, letting him trip over Natasha.
Peter sighed. "I feel like Gandalf dueling two hobbits."
With a two fingered salute, he shot a web. "I must be going, like Bilbo leaving the Shire. And I must add that in this mission..."
He was already swinging away," YOU... SHALL... NOT... PASS...!"
Then he was gone, leaving SHIELD's best utterly humiliated.
Finally, Clint sighed. "I hate him."
Back in his apartment, Peter cracked his fingers and got to work.
"Hacking into SHIELD should be easy," he muttered.
["It is still a federal offense,"] CELESTE reminded him.
"Yeah, well, so is attacking me for no reason in New York."
It took less than five minutes to get into their system. They had a full file on him.
SPIDER-MAN:
Unknown, Poor, Teenager, Genius.
POWER SET: Possibly related to spiders. Climbing, Enhanced strength(20-25 Tons, blasted a Reptilian Monster's head into smithereen in one punch ), Heightened senses.
LIMITS: Unknown.
THREAT LEVEL: Undetermined.
ALIGNMENT: Possibly Chaotic Good.
Peter frowned. "I feel insulted. And what the hell is this, D&D?"
Then, something else caught his eye. A file labeled KINGPIN.
Peter clicked it open. His jaw tightened as he read the details. Kingpin has been distributing drugs and more importantly... selling kids.
Both related to The Hand.
["Hmmm..."] CELESTE's voice was calm, but Peter could hear the edge beneath it. ["You interfered with his and the Hand's operations. Twice..."]
Peter leaned back in his chair, exhaling. He had stopped a shipment few months ago. That must've cost Fisk big.
Peter's fists clenched. "He shouldn't have involved kids. He's going to pay."
[Sir, Before you forget. You asked me to remind you about a certain Ice cream lover"]
********
Wilson Fisk sat in his massive office, watching the skyline.
His men stood behind him, shifting uncomfortably.
"The Hand is not pleased," one of them murmured. "Ever since the Spider attack, all the other shipments.."
Fisk slowly turned his head.
"Were interrupted."
The room fell silent.
Fisk leaned forward, placing his massive hands on the desk.
"This… Spider-Man," he said slowly, "has been interfering with my business."
His voice was calm. Too calm.
One of his men swallowed. "There are more masked vigilantes, Sir. The Hand..."
Fisk's expression darkened.
"A fortune lost," he murmured. "A valuable partnership damaged."
He stood up. His presence was massive, towering over everyone in the room.
"Find him." His voice was like iron.
"And when you do..." He smiled.
"Make him suffer."
========
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