Neon rain streaked Earth-731's underdistrict, 2030, as red drone lights slashed through the haze, locking onto Wilson Fisk's opulent spire. Inside, Peter Parker, Mad Spider, crouched on a gleaming balcony, his blood-red costume frayed, spider-powers—strength, agility, regeneration—humming despite the electroshock torture's lingering burn. His Joker-like madness surged, a wild laugh erupting as gang drones buzzed closer, lasers charging. "Party crashers already, Gwenny?" he quipped, Deadpool-sharp humor cutting the tension. Gwen Stacy, blonde hair tied back, hunched over her cracked tablet, fingers dancing to hack the enemy's signal. Her blue eyes blazed with focus. "They're from the Iron Vipers," she muttered. "Low-tier thugs, but armed." Fisk, massive and scarred, limped forward, cane tapping, his suit pristine despite old wounds. "Defend our home," he rumbled, eyes fierce. "They fear you, Spider."
Flashback: At 15, Peter dodged bullies in a Queens lot, Gwen tossing him a makeshift EMP to fend them off. "We fight together," she grinned. That bond fueled her now, her tech skills a lifeline in chaos.
The spire's alarms wailed as Iron Viper thugs—cyber-augmented, wielding plasma blades—breached the lower levels. Peter swung into action, webs snapping like crimson whips, his violence a chaotic storm. He slammed a thug into a wall, bones crunching, his laugh chilling. "Bad day to pick a fight!" he taunted, dodging a blade that grazed his arm. Regeneration sealed the wound, but pain flared, his madness teetering. Gwen's tablet sparked, her hack infiltrating the Vipers' comms. "Got their channel," she said, voice steady. She broadcast static, disorienting the drones, which crashed into neon signs. A thug lunged at her, but Peter's web yanked him back, his fist cracking the man's jaw. "Hands off my Gwenny," he growled, eyes wild.
Fisk watched, unflinching, as Peter's chaos unfolded. A Viper aimed a pulse rifle at him, but Gwen's redirected drone fired first, saving Fisk. "You're welcome," she said, smirking. Fisk's scarred face softened, a rare warmth in his gaze. "You're both warriors," he said, stepping forward, cane steady. The last thug fell, Peter's webs binding him, his laughter echoing. Fisk placed a heavy hand on Peter's shoulder. "You fight like a brother, Peter." The word hit hard, stirring something raw in Peter's fractured heart. Gwen's eyes met his, her love a quiet anchor, her ritual's absence a pang—they'd need it soon.
The spire's defenses rebooted, but Gwen's tablet pinged: a Viper signal, deeper in the slums, rallying more. Peter's pain pulsed, his grin sharp. "Round two?" he asked, webs taut. Fisk's cane tapped, resolute. "They'll learn to fear us." But Gwen's hack caught a name—Scorpion—leading the Vipers, a ghost from Fisk's past.
Cliffhanger: As they prepare to strike, a holo-screen flares: Scorpion's venomous silhouette vows to burn the spire down. "Welcome home, Fisk," he sneers.