"Alright, let's do that again."
In the afternoon sunlight of New York, rays streamed through the shattered skyscrapers onto the ruins below. Stark Industries' sponsored Department of Damage Control was busy clearing up the aftermath of the alien invasion. Heavy trucks rumbled, dragging Chitauri remnants from the building debris. Stan Lee, sweeping the street, suddenly felt a shadow fall over him. He looked up, adjusted his hat, and mumbled, "What the—"
It was a figure in red and blue, lightly soaring through the New York sky.
"My name is Peter Parker. A few months ago, at the Oscorp Tech Expo, a radioactive spider bit me and changed my life. And now, I'm the world's only Spider-Man—I mean, it's 2012, where else would there be another Spider-Man?"
His suit was primarily red, with blue on the sides of his waist and lower body. Fine black nylon threads wove a relief-like web pattern. The black spider emblem on his chest was fierce and realistic, a stark contrast to the round, cute, plump spider on his back. The slender black eye lenses on his mask looked sharp and, at the same time, conveyed a hint of ferocity.
"And now, I'm New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man!"
Just then, an angry voice blared from a street corner electronic screen, echoing through the ruins.
"Spider-Man is undoubtedly the greatest threat the Avengers should be concerned about! This masked criminal has repeatedly appeared at uncleared alien battle sites. He's absolutely linked to the recent alien weapon smuggling incidents in New York!"
"Enough, Jonah Big Mouth! Your conspiracy theories need a rest!" With a flick of his wrist, Spider-Man shot a web that accurately plastered itself over the presenter's mouth on the electronic screen. However, the TV station owner, who bore a striking resemblance to Omni-Man, continued to babble.
"There's no doubt that this masked bug is the mastermind digging up these weapons from the ruins and selling them on the black market!"
"Why can't you praise me like you praise Captain America? Even just a little bit?" Spider-Man shrugged helplessly. "Okay, I admit I'm not as good as Captain America, but can't you praise me a little less exaggeratedly? And Daily Bugle Media? Seriously? Doesn't sound as good as the Daily Bugle. Where were we?"
"Oh, right, you all know the rest of the story—with great power comes great responsibility. Then, be everyone's friendly neighborhood hero. Everyone knows that, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking. But Uncle Ben isn't dead. If he were, it'd be too embarrassing for me, a transmigrator reborn into the Marvel world. Anyway, some fated things happened, some hesitations, some confessions..."
"And the best Spider-Man!"
No sooner had he spoken than Spider-Man executed a magnificent somersault, landing gracefully in front of a hot dog stand amidst the ruins. This was the breakfast spot for Damage Control employees. He pulled some crumpled bills from his pants pocket (yes, this suit had pockets), bought a hot dog, took a bite, and continued:
"Then, it's another happy day for New York's friendly neighborhood. Fighting crime, checking if anyone's secretly stealing alien tech, and listening to J. Jonah Jameson's 'annoying reports,' blah, blah, blah."
"Sorry..." The hot dog stand owner looked confused. "Were you talking to me?"
"Uh..." Spider-Man was momentarily speechless. "Actually, I don't know, maybe someone's listening, right?"
To avoid awkwardness, he flicked his wrist, and a web shot out. After a quick greeting, he used the web's pull to swing lightly into the air.
"All in all, I'm the happiest Spider-Man, no doubt about it."
"After all, what other Spider-Man can calmly finish an entire hot dog?"
However, the peaceful New York City didn't give Spider-Man the chance to calmly finish his hot dog.
He landed on the glass facade of a building, pulled back half his mask, and, chewing his hot dog, stared at the activity in the ruins. A shaky van drove into the base of a severely damaged building. Spider-Man's super vision clearly saw that the van had no Department of Damage Control markings.
And half a Chitauri biological mothership still lay on that building.
"Okay, it seems even the happiest Spider-Man can't comfortably finish an entire hot dog." (Chew)
He haphazardly shoved the rest of the hot dog into his mouth, pulled his mask back down. With a web attached to the edge of the skyscraper, he swung, let go, and, arms tucked at his sides, gracefully dove through a broken window, landing steadily among the smugglers.
The people inside the building hadn't reacted, still busy with their own tasks: protecting staff, guarding the main entrance, excavating Chitauri corpses from the debris, collecting their alien weapons, and piling them onto a handcart.
"Seriously? I mean, that's alien tech that humans haven't even figured out yet, super cool! And you're really just putting them on a handcart and piling them up?"
Spider-Man complained as he used a web to snatch a guard's assault rifle. Before anyone else could react, several people were webbed up, and the two at the door were plastered to the wall with webs. He clapped his hands lightly.
"I guarantee you gentlemen don't have Department of Damage Control clearance. So, your weapons are now confiscated by me—wait, why is my spider-sense tingling?"
With a graceful backflip, Spider-Man dodged a blue energy beam. Immediately after, a wad of web splattered onto the face of a clean-up worker holding a Chitauri weapon.
"Hey, don't just mess around with alien tech! This stuff is dangerous!"
"When I blast you, you won't be so talkative!"
"Spiders aren't insects, they're arthro—"
Dodging a laser that grazed his head, Spider-Man glanced around and saw that these "clean-up workers" had all picked up Chitauri weapons.
"Alright, I wanted to finish that sentence. Speaking of which, are the things in a clean-up worker's hands better than a security guard's these days?" The clean-up workers immediately made the correct judgment.
"Shoot! Shoot quickly!"
Continuous blue beams shot out, and Spider-Man flexibly used his webs and speed to weave and dodge between them. At the same time, his mouth wasn't idle.
"Where were we?"
Webs continuously shot from mid-air with enough force to knock down these armed thugs and then plaster them to the ground. Immediately, some clean-up workers chose to slide and hide behind rubble or fallen ceiling panels.
"Oh right, spiders aren't insects, they're arthropods. My goodness, why is science education so bad these days? Shouldn't you guys be getting 'no child left behind' education at your age? Is this why you're out here smuggling alien weapons? Bad grades? How about learning to fix cars or something? I know a few mechanics, they're pretty good..."
The clean-up workers hiding behind cover listened in despair as the spandex-clad freak rambled on. One of them, unable to bear it any longer, poked his head out and roared, "Shut up!" then fired wildly.
As a result, he was webbed in the chest, yanked directly into the air, and then punched into the wall.
"Ha, just like a hero, beating up a bunch of villains! Oh, I'm sorry, only you came out."
The others honestly stayed hidden behind cover. One clean-up worker despairingly looked at his companion holding an alien gun on the other side: "When will he stop talking?"
"I don't know, I really regret not wearing headphones..."
"Perhaps you should regret committing crimes, gentlemen."
A sudden, familiar voice sounded. A lean red and blue figure hung upside down from the ceiling. Webs snatched their weapons, and before they could even stand up, they were pinned to the rocks.
"Alright, should be no one left... Oh, is that your car trying to run?"
Then, they watched as this spider freak shot a thick, white web from his wrist, sticking to something. Then, he gripped the web with both hands and yanked hard.
They seemed to hear the desperate scream of the van's engine, and then something flew.
The entire silver-white minivan flew into the air. Spider-Man executed a synchronized backflip, landed first, then caught the entire vehicle from its undercarriage, gently placing it on the ground.
"Knock, knock, knock."
Spider-Man walked to the astonished driver's side, tapped on the driver's side window: "Dangerous driving, sir, may I see your license?"
He used a web to retrieve a phone someone had dropped on the ground, dialed 911, and then opened the car door and pulled the driver out.
"Hello, NYPD? I'm reporting an illegal smuggling operation here. Talk to customs? Does customs handle alien weapon smuggling? Uh, the location is... A lot of people, bring more police cars."
Ten minutes later, several police cars arrived in front of the dilapidated building. The officers who got out raised their caps and looked up at dozens of people whose arms and bodies were bound by webs, suspended outside the building.
The van and a car full of alien weapons were thoroughly wrapped in webs.
"Sergeant, this is the message left by the caller."
The burly, efficient police sergeant took the piece of paper and read it: "Webs will degrade automatically in two hours, please be prepared to receive. – Your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."
"Sergeant, they..."
"Have someone watch them. They'll probably fall in two hours. A two-meter fall won't kill anyone."
The sergeant said, then spoke into his walkie-talkie requesting backup: "This is George Stacy, need more vehicles to transport suspects, over."
Sergeant Stacy narrowed his eyes and looked at the note again.
"This handwriting... feels a bit familiar."