The library was quiet in the early morning, sunlight filtering through tall windows and casting golden rectangles across the tables. Peter, Liz, Gwen, and Mary Jane huddled around a laptop, their voices low but urgent.
Liz tapped her phone, pulling up a map dotted with red pins. "Oscorp's not the only place hit. There were break-ins at three tech labs and a city power station last night. All the witnesses described a guy with wings."
Mary Jane leaned in, eyes wide. "You're sure it's the same person?"
Liz nodded. "The police think it's a gang, but the pattern's too weird. And get this—every crime scene is getting closer to Oscorp."
Gwen, already sketching on a notepad, suggested, "Let's map out the locations. Maybe there's a pattern we're missing."
Peter, trying to lighten the mood, quipped, "What we need is CSI: Midtown. I'll be the guy who makes bad puns over the evidence. 'Looks like this case… really took flight.'"
Gwen grinned. "You already are. But you're not getting sunglasses for it."
Mary Jane smirked. "If you start narrating in a gravelly voice, I'm leaving."
But as they connected the dots, the mood shifted. The crimes formed a jagged path, all converging toward Oscorp.
Peter's smile faded. "He's circling in. Whatever he wants, it's at Oscorp."
Liz's voice was quiet. "Then we have to stop him before he gets there."
Setting the Trap
Peter's mind raced with Uncle Ben's words—do the right thing, even when it's hard. He looked at his friends, their faces determined.
"We can't just wait for him to strike again," Peter said. "If we know the next likely target, maybe we can stop him."
Liz bit her lip, worry flickering in her eyes. "You mean… set a trap?"
Peter nodded. "There's a tech warehouse near Oscorp. It's the only place left on the path. If he's after more parts, he'll hit it tonight."
Gwen checked her phone. "I can monitor police scanners and city cameras. If anything happens, I'll text you."
Mary Jane added, "I'll keep an eye on social media. If people start posting about weird noises or flying shadows, we'll know. Midtown's rumor mill is faster than the news."
Liz squeezed Peter's hand. "Just… be careful, okay? If anything feels wrong, you get out. Promise me."
Peter smiled, grateful for her support. "I promise. And I'll check in as soon as I can."
Gwen looked at him, serious. "Don't try to be a hero alone, Peter. We're in this together."
Peter nodded, feeling the weight of their trust. "I know. I couldn't do this without you guys."
Mary Jane grinned. "Good. Because if you get yourself killed, I'm writing the world's snarkiest obituary."
Peter laughed. "Deal."
Preparation and Tension
After school, Peter hurried home, heart pounding. In his room, he pulled out his half-finished suit—red and blue fabric, reinforced with flexible padding, and a mask with mirrored lenses. He slipped on the web shooters, adjusting the triggers and testing the pressure.
He cracked a nervous joke to himself. "If this goes wrong, at least my obituary will say I had great fashion sense. 'Local teen found in spandex—neighbors shocked, but impressed by color coordination.'"
He climbed the wall, testing his grip, then fired a web across the room, sticking perfectly to the far corner. "Not bad, Parker. Now let's see if you can stick the landing. Or at least not break your neck."
His phone buzzed—a text from Liz:
Be safe. You're not alone in this.
Peter smiled, replying:
Wouldn't dream of it.
He hesitated, then added:
I'll text you the second it's over. Promise.
Liz replied almost instantly:
I'll hold you to that.
The Stakeout
Night fell, and Peter—now Spider-Man—perched on the rooftop across from the tech warehouse. The city was alive with distant sirens and the hum of traffic. He scanned the shadows, every sense on high alert.
In his earpiece, Gwen's voice crackled. "All quiet on the cameras. MJ's watching Twitter—so far, just cat videos and someone complaining about the subway."
Mary Jane chimed in, "No sign of trouble yet. But there's a guy live-tweeting about a weird shadow on the roof. That's probably you, Pete."
Peter grinned under his mask. "Tell him to rate my superhero landing."
Liz texted:
I'm parked a block away. If you need backup, I'm calling the cops.
Peter replied:
Let's hope it doesn't come to that. But thanks, Liz. Really.
He spotted a flicker of movement on the warehouse roof—a shadow gliding silently, wings catching the moonlight.
"There he is," Peter whispered, heart racing.
Gwen's voice was tense. "Be careful, Peter."
First Confrontation
The Vulture landed with a metallic thud, talons digging into the roof. He moved with inhuman speed, slicing through the skylight and dropping into the warehouse.
Spider-Man swung in after him, landing lightly on a stack of crates. "Hey, Big Bird! You know breaking and entering is a felony, right? Sesame Street's going to be pissed."
The Vulture whirled, eyes wild behind his mask. "Stay out of this, kid. You have no idea what you're dealing with."
Spider-Man dodged a swipe of razor-sharp wings, firing a web that stuck to the Vulture's shoulder. "You're right—I thought you'd be taller. Or at least less grumpy."
The fight was a blur of motion—Vulture's wings slicing the air, Spider-Man flipping and weaving, webs flying. For a moment, Toomes' voice shifted, pleading. "I don't want to hurt you!"
Spider-Man hesitated, just for a second. "Then don't. You can walk away from this."
Then, just as quickly, Toomes' tone turned vicious. "But I will if you get in my way!"
Spider-Man managed to plant a tracker on the Vulture's suit, but the villain lashed out, smashing a support beam. The ceiling groaned, debris raining down toward a pair of night-shift workers.
Spider-Man dove, catching the workers and swinging them to safety. "You guys should really ask for a raise," he quipped, setting them down outside.
When he looked back, the Vulture was gone, a hole torn in the wall.
Aftermath: Regroup and Reflect
Peter ducked into an alley, pulling off his mask and gasping for breath. His phone buzzed—Liz.
Are you okay???
Peter texted back:
I'm fine. Saw him up close. He's… not just a thief. He's dangerous. And he's not in control.
Liz replied:
Promise me you're not hurt.
Peter:
Promise. Just tired. And maybe a little bruised.
Gwen chimed in on the group chat:
Tracker's live. He's heading east, toward the river. I'll keep monitoring.
Mary Jane:
You did good, Pete. We'll get him next time. Also, you're trending on Twitter. #SpiderGuy
Peter:
Great. My secret identity's doomed.
They regrouped at a diner, the neon lights flickering outside. Over milkshakes and fries, they compared notes, Gwen showing the tracker's path on her laptop.
Liz squeezed Peter's hand under the table. "We'll stop him. Together. I mean it."
Peter smiled, feeling the strength of their friendship. "Yeah. Together. I couldn't do this without you guys."
Mary Jane raised her milkshake. "To the weirdest study group in Midtown."
Gwen clinked her glass. "And the bravest."
Peter grinned. "And the best friends a guy could ask for."
Closing Scene: The Hunt Continues
Late that night, Peter sat at his desk, reviewing the tracker's data. The Vulture's signal pulsed on the screen, moving through the city's shadows.
Peter glanced at the photo of Aunt May and Uncle Ben, drawing strength from their smiles.
He whispered, "I won't let you down."
Across the city, in a cluttered lair, the Vulture hunched over his suit, muttering, "They'll all pay. No one will take from me again."
Outside, the city slept—unaware that the hunt had only just begun.