The Amazing Spider-Man
Livin' on the Edge 2/???
Mini-Arc: The Faces of the Chameleon 2/4
Chapter Eight: Tangled Strands
"Welcome back to Just the Facts with J. Jonah Jameson — the only podcast telling you the truth about the so-called Spider-Menace terrorizing our city!"
Perched upside down beneath a billboard above Midtown High, Peter Parker groaned, adjusting the settings on his web-shooters while Jameson's gravelly voice blared in his ear.
"Let me tell you folks what the mainstream media won't. This so-called Spider-Man isn't just a freak in tights — he's a criminal. A vigilante who thinks he's above the law. First, he cheats at wrestling — yes, I have it on good authority that he was cheating. Then he goes around punching hard-working citizens in dark alleys. And now—get this—he's allegedly in cahoots with the Kingpin of Crime! You know, the man whose name terrifies actual criminals? Yeah. That Kingpin. Coincidence? I think not!"
Peter muttered, "I punch one mugger, a copycat steals my identity, and suddenly I'm the mascot for organized crime."
But Jameson wasn't even the worst problem. The fake Spider-Man was. Every day, the copycat chipped away at the fragile goodwill Peter had built. People were starting to see a menace, not a hero.
"And just this morning," Jameson thundered on, "another victim came forward — a local businessman who claims the Kingpin threatened to send Spider-Man after him if he didn't pay up! Authorities need to act! And I don't mean, now or tomorrow — I mean yesterday!"
Peter's earpiece buzzed as Jameson launched into a fresh theory involving radioactive spiders and a secret lizard army.
"Yeah, that's enough," Peter mumbled, cutting the feed with a sigh. "Time to actually do something useful."
He launched forward, swinging effortlessly between glass towers, scanning alleys and rooftops near Midtown. Somewhere out here were the web nests people had reported. They weren't his—but they were close enough to wreck his reputation.
As he prepared to cut across a narrow side street, a shout echoed from below. A kid was sprinting after a man pedaling away on his stolen bike.
Peter dove, fired a webline, and with perfect timing snagged the bike right out from under the thief. In the same motion, he cocooned the man to a lamppost before he even hit the pavement.
The bike clattered harmlessly to its side. Peter set it upright and rolled it toward the kid. The boy—no more than twelve—froze, eyes wide. "T-Thanks…"
Before Peter could answer, the kid hopped on and sped off without a backward glance. Peter let out a long breath, the sound swallowed by the rush of traffic.
---
Minutes later, Peter crouched on the edge of a low-rise building, eyes narrowing. There it was—something like an oversized spider's nest, about the size of a beanbag chair. Sticky, reinforced, threaded with thick white strands that definitely weren't his custom formula.
He stepped closer and poked it with a gloved finger.
"Yep… definitely not mine."
Thwip!
Something hit his back and yanked him off the ledge hard. In an instant, he was hanging upside-down, webbed from shoulders to ankles in strands stronger than his own.
Peter gasped. "What the—?!"
No warning. No spider-sense.
From the shadows, a figure emerged, walking a taut web-line between buildings as easily as a sidewalk.
A girl—slim, agile, confident—dressed in a suit woven entirely from spider silk. A simple mask of white strands covered her nose and mouth. Black hair spilled from behind her lenses, framing sharp, focused eyes.
"So," she said, voice muffled but steady, "you're the famous Spider-Man."
Peter squirmed. "Okay, first—love the entrance. Second—maybe don't start with the whole tying-me-up thing? Feels a little rude."
She studied him for a long beat. "Tell me why you went from stopping criminals to working with them. And maybe I won't sell you to the cops—they're paying pretty well."
Peter blinked. "Wait—what? You think that was me? No way! I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, not the… Kingpin's intern! I'm actually offended you would think that I would—"
She released the web-line. Peter dropped, twisting to land in a crouch. She sat on the strange web pod like it was a beanbag throne.
"I believe you," she said. "The guy in the paper didn't use real webs. But you…" She flexed her fingers—webbing spun from her fingertips in smooth, silvery strands. "…you make your own. Don't you?"
Peter frowned. "How are you—?"
"Because I make mine too." She tilted her head, eyes sharp. "Which brings me to my second question, how do you have the same powers as me?"
That voice. Those sharp Asian features. They were familiar—just out of reach—until his eyes locked on her stern, unwavering gaze.
"…Cindy?" he blurted, his voice slipping back to its unmasked tone.
The girl froze mid-step. "How do you— Wait a second. I know that scrawny teen voice." She yanked down her mask. "Motherfreaking Peter Parker?!"
Before he could react, she rushed forward and wrapped him in a hug.
Peter stood there, stunned, face heating. She was only a couple of years older than him—maybe two or three—and her long black hair was tied into a tight braid. Her face was all sharp lines and focus, but now it softened with familiarity.
"I—You remember me?" Peter stammered.
Cindy rolled her eyes. "Obviously. The nerdy freshman who spilled orange soda all over my science fair model. Second place was way too generous."
Peter chuckled, pulling off his own mask. "Yeah, yeah. I deserved that."
They lingered for a beat, awkward but smiling—until something strange passed between them. A sudden, tingling jolt, like static electricity, the instant their hands brushed again.
Both of them flinched. They felt it. But neither said anything.
"Anyway," Peter said, shaking it off, "how'd you get your powers?"
"I think it was the same day as you," Cindy replied. "Oscorp field trip. Same spider. Bit me right after you screamed like a baby. Actually makes a lot of sense now that I think about it."
Peter narrowed his eyes. "Hey."
Cindy smirked. "You screamed."
They both laughed.
Peter sat back on one of the web bean bags like it was a chair. "Later, you've gotta tell me how you make those. I had to develop my own web fluid and shooters—it feels like I got the short end of the stick when it comes to spider powers."
Cindy tilted her head. "Wait—you don't make them yourself? Whoa, Parker. I knew you were smart, but not that smart."
Her gaze swept over his costume. "Gotta admit, though… that suit's pretty slick. Beats mine by… oh, maybe just a tiny bit."
Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Worth every penny. Using the junk I wore during my short wrestling career wasn't gonna cut it." He winced. "Please tell me you didn't see that."
Cindy grinned. "You beating the living hell out of Crusher Hogan? I think the entire school saw it. And yeah, that old getup was tragic. How much did this one set you back, anyway?"
"Do you want the name and address of the shop I used?" Peter asked. "I can text you the design files."
"Sure," Cindy said. "I don't mind wearing webs, but a real suit would be nice. This one gets itchy."
Peter's smile faltered.
"You okay?" Cindy asked, catching the shift in his expression.
Peter exhaled. "It's this fake Spider-Man. Whoever he is, he's wrecking everything I'm trying to build. If I go to the police, they'll arrest me. If I go after Kingpin, it's probably a trap. I feel… stuck."
Cindy was quiet for a moment. Then she put a hand on his shoulder. "Then we unstick it. Together."
Peter looked at her, hesitant.
"You and me," Cindy said. "We find this fake. We stop him. Two spiders are better than one, right?"
Peter considered it.
Working together.
It was risky. He barely knew her. But something about her—her instincts, her calm, her confidence—felt right.
"…I'm in," he said.
And for the first time in days, Peter felt a glimmer of hope.
To Be Continued…