Feeling his body drop, Peter quickly shot out his other hand.
Thankfully, the web shooter on his left hand was still working. But out of habit, he had aimed for an anchor point on his right side earlier, which didn't make sense if he was using the left-hand shooter.
So now, in the middle of freefall, he had to quickly find a suitable anchor point on his left side.
Freefall was fast.
Even with Peter's quick reflexes, there was no time to think. He just picked a spot that was "good enough" and fired.
Thwip!
Feeling the solid tension coming from the web, Peter finally relaxed a little.
"Nice… this is exactly—ah, nope, not quite enough to actually change my angle!"
Because of the slight miscalculation in direction, his body almost slammed into a car below.
In a split-second reaction, he grabbed the web with both hands, swung his legs up, and folded himself nearly in half at the waist.
Whoosh—
Cold air brushed against his butt.
He could feel the faint scrape of metal as his rear skimmed the roof of the car.
Not that he had time to worry about that right now.
"Watch out! Express delivery, Spider-Man coming through!" he shouted, joking even in danger.
"Waaah—!"
The web reached its highest swing, and Peter slammed right into the third-floor ledge of an apartment building, bounced down to a second-floor fire escape, and finally tumbled off the edge, hitting the ground hard.
"Ow! My back!" he groaned, lying flat. His body's fusion with the spider genes still hadn't reached its peak, so he wasn't as tough as he could be.
That hit just now might have smacked his spine, leaving his body momentarily weak.
"Sorry, buddy. Not my fault this time. Who knew your fancy web shooter would decide to fail at the worst possible moment?" he muttered, apologizing to the other consciousness inside him.
Even on his second trip through this reality, Peter still wasn't sure about his exact situation.
Was he just borrowing another Spider-Man's body?
Or had he fused with one temporarily?
Eh, either way—an apology never hurt.
Just then, a few figures approached from down the street, walking quickly toward him.
As they came closer, each of them pulled out a white mask, followed by metal rods, pipes, and other weapons.
The leader said, "Someone go get the boss. Tell him we've caught the masked clown!"
Peter's spider-sense jolted him awake. He forced his head up, night vision showing him the masked figures clearly.
"You guys… who are you?"
The leader didn't answer, just stepped up, looking down on him. "Let me guess—you're that little 'Spider-kid' who's been making trouble around here lately? Doesn't look so impressive now."
"Wow, is wearing masks trending these days?" Peter quipped, feeling his body healing from the earlier impact. This injury had actually sped up the genetic fusion process.
Maybe a minute more?
No… thirty seconds should be enough.
"Beat him up!"
They didn't want to give him a chance to recover.
Four of them surrounded him and began kicking and punching—a true case of the tiger fallen to the flatlands, bullied by dogs.
At least they didn't try to pull off his mask, Peter thought grimly.
As for their hits? Sure, they hurt, but not much. The damage they did wasn't keeping up with his healing rate.
Still, this wasn't ideal.
If his healing capacity was "1," then originally all of that "1" was focused on fixing his spine—done in a minute, thirty seconds to move again.
Now, thanks to their attacks, about 0.3 was going to repairing fresh damage, leaving only 0.7 for his spine—slowing his recovery.
And there was no telling if they'd hit harder the longer it went on.
"If I just had something to distract them, I could heal all at once," he thought.
"Ow—you guys—this is… all you got?" he taunted between blows.
"I heard this guy likes to talk trash," the leader said.
"How about we throw him in that trash pile over there? Plenty of 'trash' for him to talk to!" one thug snickered.
"Good idea. On three—one, two, three!"
Thud!
Peter landed in a heap of black garbage bags.
"Ah, home sweet home," he chuckled.
"What's so funny, kid?" one thug growled, stepping forward.
Peter grinned. "Oh, nothing. Just… this!"
He shot a web upward with his left hand, pulled himself partway up the wall, then used his wall-crawling ability to cling there, back against the bricks.
"Think you're safe up there, bug-boy?" the leader sneered.
"No, no, I don't doubt your skills, sir," Peter replied. "But I do have one question."
The thugs stared at him, probably plotting how to drag him down.
"Why the outfits? Are you guys cosplaying Friday the 13th? Don't you think that's a little… outdated?"
The Friday the 13th killer Jason—hockey mask, machete, chopping up teenagers—was a horror icon alongside Freddy Krueger, Michael Myers, and Leatherface. But the movie had come out in 1980—ancient history by now.
"Shut up, punk! If you've got the guts, come down here!" the leader barked.
"Sure thing," Peter said cheerfully—and actually jumped down.
"You… you actually came down?" the leader blinked.
Peter shrugged. "What can I say? My greatest strength is that I listen to advice. Unlike you guys—"
Before the thug could respond, Peter burst into motion.
Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam!
Four quick hits, four bodies on the ground.
"See? Told you it was outdated. You wouldn't listen—now look what happened."
He shot out some webbing, tying them up individually, then binding the whole bundle together.
"There. Much more fashionable. Like hogs trussed up for market—timeless style."
—End of chapter—
Author's Note:
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~ Tenacious Hare 🥕❤️