After coming clean to Uncle Ben and Aunt May and revealing a sanitized version of his secrets, Peter felt a massive weight lift off his shoulders.
After a day of "controlled slacking" at home, he headed back to reality the next morning, backpack in tow, to catch the school bus with Gwen.
As they stood side-by-side, their hands surreptitiously linked, a police cruiser streaked past them, sirens wailing. George Stacy was at the wheel, looking so intensely focused he didn't even notice his daughter and Peter's public display of affection.
"What's up with my father-in-law?" Peter asked, genuine curiosity in his voice.
Gwen didn't even catch the "father-in-law" label—or if she did, she was too flustered to correct it. She tilted her head, recalling the morning's breakfast table chatter.
"I heard a major leader of a massive organization was killed in Hell's Kitchen. His—or her—sudden death caused the whole district and the surrounding blocks to explode.
Since last night, every gang in the Kitchen has been at each other's throats, trying to grab a piece of the dead leader's territory."
"Between that and the big police sweep a couple of nights ago, the city's holding cells are overflowing. The entire NYPD is on double overtime. Dad says it'll take weeks to clean up the mess..."
Gwen paused, looking at Peter with a complicated expression. "Peter, because of this sudden chaos, we might not be able to 'come clean' to my dad this weekend. We'll have to wait until things quiet down."
Peter's expression turned subtle. So, my midnight impulse to punch out a couple of legendary villains indirectly screwed over George?
Then again, it wasn't all bad. If George was going to be busy for the next two weeks... that would coincide perfectly with Tony Stark's upcoming public revelation.
Having a high-profile billionaire act as the "superhero icebreaker" would make George much more likely to accept a vigilante daughter and her super-powered boyfriend.
Peter leaned in closer to Gwen, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Actually, that's great news. If your dad is stuck in Hell's Kitchen, you won't have to worry about running into him while you're out being a hero. And..."
He leaned in further, his breath tickling her ear. "Since he's working late every night, doesn't that mean we could..."
"T-that kind of thing is absolutely not allowed!" Gwen interrupted, her face turning a deep shade of crimson as she tried to shut down whatever "rated-R" suggestion she thought was coming.
"Huh? Why can't I come over to your roof and help you practice your combat experience?" Peter asked, feigning total innocence.
"Eh? Just... combat experience?" Gwen froze, her blush intensifying. He just wanted to help me train? Dammit, I misunderstood him again!
She prayed he wouldn't notice her dirty mind. She really didn't want her nickname to change from "Little Spider" to "Little Pervy Spider." But Peter wasn't about to let her off the hook. He stared directly into her eyes, leaning in even further.
"What exactly did you think I was suggesting?"
"I... I obviously thought you meant training," Gwen stammered, her defense crumbling. "I-I was just worried that if we made too much noise, we might wake my grandmother..."
Her voice trailed off into a tiny mumble. She realized that even that excuse sounded incredibly suggestive.
"I see. Maybe we should head to the woods? Forest Park? Or maybe the roof of the Empire State Building?"
As Peter "seriously" weighed the pros and cons of different "battlefields," Gwen's imagination went into overdrive, fueled by a certain "secret website" her friend Gloria had shared with her recently. Her face was now the color of a ripe tomato.
"N-no... let's just stay on my balcony. We can just... be quiet. Then we won't wake anyone."
I'm doomed, she thought. Why does everything I say sound so wrong? Am I actually a Little Pervy Spider?
While Peter was busy teasing the poor Ghost-Spider, the atmosphere at the top of Fisk Tower in Hell's Kitchen was decidedly grimmer.
Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, looked down at the burning chaos of the streets below. On paper, he was the winner of the night. Using his previous partnership with Madame Gao as a pretext, he had already moved in to absorb her most profitable chemical labs.
But Fisk wasn't smiling.
Madame Gao was dead. Vanished without a trace. Who's next?
After a long silence, Fisk finally spoke. "The cause of the old woman's death. Have you found it?"
Bullseye knelt at Fisk's feet, his voice low. "We know the casualties are Gao and a Japanese man. Gao was completely incinerated, leaving no evidence.
The Silver Samurai—had a hole punched straight through his chest, with heavy electrical discharge patterns surrounding the wound."
"The scene was a mess. Explosions, lightning, blades... the elements are too complex. Even the best forensic experts can't reconstruct what happened."
Fisk turned around, his massive frame casting a shadow over the room. "It's the Arbiter."
"He killed the Green Goblin and took his Glider. Then he publicly executed Electro. Now, Gao is dead, and the scene is covered in lightning. That monster isn't just a hero—he's a predator. He's stealing the powers of those he kills."
Fisk's face contorted with a rare flash of raw, nervous energy. Even a titan of crime felt the cold hand of mortality when facing a god-like being that grew stronger with every kill.
"We can't wait! If we don't end him now, who knows how powerful he'll become? If I don't kill him today, he'll be standing in this room tomorrow!"
Fisk's eyes burned with a manic intensity. "Speed it up! I don't care how—kidnap, bribe, or blackmail—get those scientists to the lab immediately! And what did Obadiah Stane say? We need the Stark weapon systems now!"
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