"Nice work, Spider-Man!"
The shout came from above—a kid leaning out of a window. He'd seen the whole fight, watched Spider-Man turn the tide, and couldn't help but cheer.
Peter gave a small hop and landed lightly on the window ledge. "Thanks, kid. Do me a favor—give the police a call, okay?"
"You got it, Spider-Man!"
With a wave, Peter scrambled up to the roof. Time to catch his breath.
Truth was, he wasn't fully healed yet. That last round had been pure grit and adrenaline. Now he needed to relax, let his body finish repairing itself—faster if he kept still.
He slumped in a corner, head resting against the wall, thoughts drifting.
Originally, he'd planned to shadow Captain Stacy, to show off a bit and fix his image. But the fight had thrown him off course—and Stacy was gone.
Now he had to figure out how to find him again.
That's when—
Bzzz—
His phone buzzed in his pocket.
A message from Gwen:
Hope you're okay. Everything good? Something's going down at the Williamsburg Bridge.
"Williamsburg Bridge! Thanks, Gwen." Peter instantly got it—she was feeding him the lead on purpose, afraid he'd lost the trail.
Gwen wanted him to clear Spider-Man's name in her father's eyes just as much as he did. After all, she was caught in the middle: boyfriend on one side, father on the other. Love one way, family the other.
It wasn't just awkward—it was agonizing.
She needed Spider-Man's name cleared even more desperately than Peter himself.
Pocketing the phone, Peter stood, stretching. A few minutes of rest had done the trick—he was back to peak condition.
He'd also figured out the glitch in his web-shooter: a tiny loose screw had jammed the trigger. One quick adjustment and it was fixed.
But he didn't stop there. Tweaking a few more components—an idea from an alternate version of himself—he boosted the shooter from one firing mode to three.
A test shot later, he grinned. "Perfect. Let's go."
That's when he spotted it—a helicopter heading toward the bridge.
"Why not hitch a ride? Man, I'm one smart little spider."
With a short sprint, he leapt high, fired a web, and snagged the chopper's underside. Hanging in the wind, he swung with it toward the action.
"Lost a bit of time just now… let's hope I'm not too late."
---
Meanwhile…
Traffic on the Williamsburg Bridge had ground to a halt.
In one of the cars sat Niels van Rada, drumming his fingers impatiently.
Not long ago at Oscorp, he'd threatened the inept Dr. Curt Connors—ordering him to pass off an experimental serum as a flu vaccine and secretly test it on patients at the veterans' hospital.
Connors had refused.
So Niels was on his way there himself. But now—this cursed traffic.
"Alfred, go see what's holding us up," he said through clenched teeth.
"Yes, doctor." The driver stepped out.
Thud!
Moments later, a heavy jolt rocked the car from behind.
"Oh, wonderful…" Niels muttered.
BANG!
The next hit slammed the vehicle sideways into the bridge's guardrail.
"Hey! What's going on back there?!" he shouted—
Then he saw it.
People were screaming, fleeing toward the far end of the bridge.
"What happened?!"
"Get back in your car!"
"What's going on back there?!"
"Mama!"
"Oh, mother—!"
Panic surged through the crowd, and Niels felt it infecting him. Something was wrong—very wrong.
He decided to join the fleeing mob… but when he grabbed the door handle, it wouldn't budge. Locked.
The rear-end collision had wedged his car tight between another vehicle and the guardrail. He wasn't getting out.
Then—out of the corner of his eye—he saw it.
A towering, two-meter-tall shape, with a long tail dragging along the ground and green, knotted, reptilian skin.
A humanoid lizard.
"What the hell is that?!"
The creature was peering into cars one by one—searching for something.
Then its head turned.
Its eyes locked with his.
"…Niels."
It spoke his name—and started toward him.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Each step shook the bridge… and his chest.
Somehow, he knew—it was here for him.
CRASH!
A clawed hand punched through the car's window. Niels shrank back into the opposite corner.
The lizard raked the leather seat to shreds, missed, then leapt onto the roof.
SHRRRIP!
Metal tore as its claws ripped a hole in the top. Niels scrambled, wedging himself under the back seat.
One slash grazed his suit, shredding the front into dangling strips.
A sour stench began to fill the car.
—End of chapter—
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