Web of Lies

"I am not doing that," Felicia says, crossing her arms defiantly, her brow furrowed as she stands her ground.

"Well, how else are we gonna get there? Taking a cab or the subway would be kind of strange for Spider-Man, don't you think? I swing, you know? Thwip, thwip." I say, raising my arms dramatically as if shooting webs, a grin plastered under my mask.

Felicia rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Then I'll take a cab. You go and thiwp, or whatever it is you do."

"It'll take you forever to get there. Trust me, swinging is way faster. At this point, I'm basically a pro. Don't worry, we'll reach their evil lair in like ten minutes," I insist, my excitement bubbling over as I imagine the wind rushing past us, the thrill of the chase just around the corner.

Felicia groans, her expression wavering between annoyance and reluctant amusement. "Okay, but if you drop me to my death, God help me, Peter Parker, I will haunt you."

"Sounds fair enough." I chuckle at the idea of her ghost trailing after me for the rest of my life.

"Make sure you hold tight," she adds, shooting me a playful glare, I raise my eyebrow in confusion.

"Well, yeah? You'd fall if I didn't." I say, positioning myself behind her and wrapping my arms securely around her waist.

Felicia rolls her eyes at me. "You're an idiot."

I wasn't really sure what she was saying, but

I feel the heat radiating from her body, her heartbeat quickening. "Don't worry, it's more fun than you'd think."

"Okay, okay. Let's go already." She urges, her voice tinged with a mix of excitement and apprehension.

With a quick nod, I leap into the night sky, the world falling away beneath us as I shoot a web to the nearest building, launching us into the exhilarating rush of the city.

As we swing through the air, the city lights blur into a colorful stream beneath us, and I feel Felicia's laughter vibrating through me, merging with the rush of adrenaline. "This isn't so bad!" she shouts over the wind, her initial fear melting away.

"I told you it'd be fun!" I shout back, feeling a surge of pride. As I watched her, something I'd never felt before came over me, I'd never been able to share this part of my life with anyone before, I'd always been too afraid, but with Felicia, she wasn't in any danger right now.

In this moment, I felt happy to have someone know my secret.

The buildings soar past us like sentinels in the night, and I navigate expertly, dodging between them and vaulting over rooftops. The docks come into view, and I can see the faint glow of lights ahead, an ominous reminder of the danger that awaits us.

"We're almost there!" I call out, my heart pounding as we descend toward the shadows of the dock.

As we land on the rooftop overlooking the docks, the city's lights shimmer in the distance, but down here, it's all shadows and grime. Dim lamps flicker like dying fireflies outside a rundown warehouse, casting eerie reflections on the wet pavement. Laughter, muffled voices, and the thump of bass bleed out into the night, mixing with the salty breeze from the nearby river. The place buzzes like a hive about to swarm.

"Okay, let's stick to the plan," I whisper to Felicia, crouched beside me, her black leather blending perfectly into the night. Her face is set, eyes glinting with a mix of determination and something I can't quite place. "You get the kids out; I'll deal with the suppliers."

Felicia's gaze locks onto mine. "They're not just dealers, Spider. These guys the ones you wanna look for are—Carl Jones or Herman Schultz—they're dangerous. If you're not careful, they'll drop you before you even get close."

"Carl and Herman. Got it. Sounds like a couple of guys who run an auto shop, not a drug ring," I quip, trying to shake off the tension that's coiling in my gut. But it's more than that. The weight of this whole night feels heavier than usual.

She smirks, but the expression doesn't reach her eyes. "Just be careful, okay? And don't—" she hesitates for a second, then forces out a playful tone, "don't die."

I smile back, even though she can't see it under the mask. "That's the idea."

We exchange a quick nod before we split up.

I leap down silently, landing between stacks of rusted shipping crates, moving low and fast. The bass from inside the warehouse vibrates through the steel, syncing with the beat of my heart. I slip toward the entrance, my senses on high alert. The closer I get, the clearer the scene becomes, and man, is it a mess. Neon lights flicker through cracked windows, painting everything in sickly hues of blue and pink. It's not just a warehouse—it's a twisted party.

Inside, the space is filled with smoke, flashing strobe lights, and bodies dancing to the thumping music. It's like a nightclub mixed with a black-market trading floor. The DJ spins from a makeshift booth at the far end, laser lights slicing through the haze. People sway and laugh, oblivious to the fact they're standing in the middle of a crime scene. My eyes dart around, picking up details: half-drunk cups discarded on crates, cigarettes flicked onto the floor, and the unmistakable glint of guns hidden under coats or tucked into waistbands.

This is their "lair"? Really? I've seen more organized chaos at a high school dance.

I stick to the walls, weaving through the crowd. A few familiar faces glance at me, some of them pointing like, Oh hey, Spider-Man!—but most people are too absorbed in the beat and the buzz to notice I'm crashing their little rave. The smell of sweat and cheap cologne hangs thick in the air, masking something even darker underneath.

Then I spot it. In the back corner, roped off by a heavy velvet cord, sits the VIP section. Because of course there is. Plush couches, overpriced drinks, and a handful of guys dressed way too nicely for this dump. They lounge with that cocky, too-comfortable posture that only criminals who think they're untouchable can pull off. Guards hover nearby, probably packing more heat than the DJ's speakers.

My eyes land on two men in particular. A slick-looking guy with his hair combed back like he stepped out of a 1940s mob movie, and another who's got the mustache of your classic kitten petting villain also from a 1940's mob movie.

Did I miss the memo or something?

But I do know that it's gotta be either of these two guys who are Herman or Carl.

I size up the room. I count about six guards. If this goes sideways, it's going to get ugly fast. I have to play it smart. I'm in no condition for a brawl, not with the bruises I'm still nursing. But it's me or them. Always is.

Taking a deep breath, I stroll toward them, doing my best to look like I belong here. "Hey!" I call out, loud enough to get their attention. "Pizza guy called, said he got lost. Something about GPS and no streetlights. Full refund though, so, you know... silver lining."

A few heads turn toward me, and for a split second, it's silent. Then, one of the guys the one with the mustache—Carl Maybe? I'm guessing—leans forward with a smug grin. "Well, look who it is. Spider-Man. What's the Menace of New York City want with us tonight?"

I step closer, lowering my voice. "You know, the usual. Swing in, knock a couple of heads. But hey, let's skip the boring part. Heard you guys were the ones to talk to if someone wanted to move some serious product. Any of you two happen to be Carl or Herman?"

Carl's grin fades, and his eyes flick to the combed back hair guy, who looks more amused than anything, his fingers tapping the armrest like he's weighing his options.

Carl stands, sizing me up. "You've got a lot of nerve showing up here. You think we're gonna just have a nice chat? I could end you right here."

"Yeah, you could try." I shrug, hands up in mock surrender. "But, I mean... where else are you gonna find a guy who can move faster than a getaway car and won't even need a cut? Heard your shipments keep getting jacked. Doesn't matter how good your product is if you can't keep it out of someone else's hands. But me? I don't have that problem. Nobody snatches stuff from a guy who can stick to walls."

Combback snorts, leaning back. "You really think you can play in our league?"

I nod, keeping my voice low and calm, even though my mind is racing. "I'm already here, aren't I? You need a guy who can handle things discreetly. What I can do—it's not just muscle or guns. You want a real edge, you're looking at it."

Carl exchanges a glance with Combback. The tension in the room cranks up a notch. Behind them, I spot a few kids hanging near the fringes of the VIP area, wide-eyed, nervous. They're caught up in something they don't understand, and it hits me in the gut. I can't let them be part of this

~~~

Felicia weaves through the pulsating crowd, her sharp eyes darting across the faces lit by neon lights and the occasional flicker of a cigarette. The music throbs in the background, but it's all just noise to her now. She's looking for them—kids she knew from before, when the streets were the only place they had, kids who are now caught in the web of this toxic underworld. She spots a few, sitting in a huddle near the back, their faces painted with forced smiles and glazed eyes. It's all an illusion, and Felicia knows it.

"Hey, you guys." Her voice is urgent but low as she moves closer, trying not to draw attention. Jackie, a girl with bleached hair and too many piercings to count, is the first to notice her.

"Felicia?" Jackie squints, her voice a mix of surprise and suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"Jackie, I need you to listen to me," Felicia says, her gaze shifting to a couple of others—Damian, Roman, all familiar faces from a past she thought she'd left behind. "All of you. It's not safe here. Things are about to get ugly. We have to go, now."

Damian scoffs, leaning against a wall, folding his arms over his chest. "Felicia, you bailed on us. Carl's been pissed ever since you disappeared. Said you lost some product." His tone is accusing, but it's the anger of someone who's hurt, someone who doesn't understand why she vanished.

Felicia's jaw tightens. "Not lost, Damian. Stolen." Her voice is sharp, but she steps closer, softening her tone. "But that doesn't matter right now. What matters is that this place is about to become ground zero for something nasty, and I don't want you here when it happens."

Jackie, eyes glazed and half-aware of what's going on, giggles, pulling out a small green tablet from her pocket. "Come on, kitty, don't be so serious. Here—take this and relax." She tries to hand Felicia the pill, her movements sluggish, uncoordinated.

Felicia grabs Jackie's wrist, stopping her. "Did you take this? Is this what you're on right now?" The disbelief in Felicia's voice is palpable as she stares at the pill in Jackie's hand.

Damian steps forward, concern breaking through his tough façade. "Felicia, what's going on?" His voice is quieter now, softer. "You know you can tell me anything."

Felicia bites her lip, hesitating for just a moment. "Look," she says, locking eyes with him, the urgency clear. "Something really bad is about to happen here, Damian. I don't want any of you caught up in it. You need to get out. Take Jackie, get her clear of that crap, and get out of here. Now."

Damian's eyes flick from Felicia to Jackie, who's staring at her hand like it's some kind of magic trick, her pupils dilated. His expression hardens, a mix of worry and resolve. "Roman!" he calls out, snapping his drunk friend to attention.

Roman stumbles over, a dopey smile plastered on his face. "Fel—hic—Felicia, you're back. We missed you, girl. You gotta try this new Goblin stuff, it's—hic—it's amazing. Seriously." He goes in for a hug, but Felicia sidesteps him, her patience wearing thin.

Damian steps in, prying the drink from Roman's hand. "Alright, that's enough. No more drinks for you," he says firmly, ignoring Roman's groggy protests. "We're heading out. Jackie, Roman, we're going back to my place. It's quieter there." He glances at Felicia.

Jackie mumbles something incoherent, still staring at her hand, but she doesn't resist as Damian gently guides her away from the chaotic scene.

Felicia lets out a breath she didn't realize she was holding. "Thanks, Damian, but don't go to your place head over to Mac's old place. Nobody's using it since he got himself locked up. You can all lay low there until this blows over."

"Okay, but what about you?" Damian asks, his brow furrowing as he glances back at her.

Felicia shakes her head. "Don't worry about me." Her voice is firm, but there's a flicker of something in her eyes—fear, maybe? Regret? She doesn't let it linger.

~~~

The tension in the room is thicker than Manhattan traffic. The dealers are giving each other that look — the one that says they're about three seconds away from deciding whether to shoot me or let me keep breathing. I need to play this smart, buy Felicia a little more time.

"I've got more muscle than all your best guys combined," I say, lowering my voice to sound a little more menacing, trying to channel my inner Felicia Hardy-level confidence. "But I'm gonna need more than just a handshake to make this deal work. You want the big leagues? I can get you there."

The dealer across from me, the Combback guy with a suit that screams "I sell drugs but also might run a hedge fund," raises an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"

I glance around the room, pretending like I'm thinking about it, even though I know exactly what I'm doing. "I'm only making this deal with Herman or Carl. If it's not them, I'm walking. You don't waste Spider-Man's time with middle management."

The guy leans back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Alright, kid. Word on the street is that Spider-Man's been making waves. You got power behind that skinny frame of yours. Having you move our product? Yeah, that could be good for business. I've read online about you, you've been causing a little havoc of your own already haven't you?"

Thanks, JJJ. Leave it to Jonah to make it easier for me to get a foot in with every criminal in the city. "Y-Yeah, well, the cops haven't even come close to catching me yet. I'm just trying to step up my game."

That's when another voice cuts in—a gruff guy with scars and an attitude problem. "Kid's lying, Herman. He took out my buddy Mac last week. Broke his suit, handed him over to the cops before we could use the kid as leverage."

Mac Gargan? Oh, great. Scorpion. That whole mess was about leverage? Is that why he went after Harry? But why would he need him for leverage? Could it have been random? Or...

I roll with it. "That was Mac's own fault. I warned him not to take my mark, and he didn't listen. You break my rules, you pay the price."

Herman, the guy the goon so kindly identified, finally leans forward with a greasy smile. "Took down Mac, huh? Maybe you are the real deal. Name's Herman, like the loudmouth already spilled. That over there is Carl." He nods to a the burly man keeping his head low.

So I guessed right? Sweet.

"So, Spider," Herman says, "what's this big game-changer you've got for us?"

I reach into my pocket and pull out the little gadget I'd been tinkering with—a small, makeshift EMP. "This? This baby knocks out any security systems within a hundred-yard radius. Cops won't even know what hit 'em. You want to move your product without getting hassled? This is your golden ticket."

Herman eyes the device with suspicion, weighing his options. "And what's in it for you?"

I give him my best smirk, hoping I look more confident than I feel. "Let's just say, I like a little chaos." Did that sound cool? Probably not. "You give me a taste of your operation, and I'll make sure your runs are smooth from here on out."

Behind me, I catch a glimpse of Felicia through the haze of cigarette smoke and flashing lights. She's coaxing some of the kids away, one by one, they slip through the crowd, nervous but trusting her lead. Nice job, Spider-Girl. I really need to work on that sidekick name.

But I can't lose focus now. Herman's watching me, calculating. Finally, he grins, standing up. "Alright, Spider. You're coming with me."

I follow him through a hidden door in the back of the VIP lounge that leads into a dimly lit corridor.

The smell hits me first—a mixture of sweat, chemicals, and that familiar sharp scent of something toxic. When the hallway opens up, I see the source: a massive sweatshop operation, people hunched over tables, packing up small green pills into plastic bags. It's a scene straight out of a nightmare.

"What... is that?" I ask, keeping my voice steady. Felicia told me about these pills, but seeing them in bulk like this? It's another level.

Herman smirks, clearly proud of the operation. "We don't get paid to ask questions, kid. Just to move the product. But I can tell you this—it ain't like anything else on the streets. Enhances senses, boosts strength, all that good stuff. Makes people feel like gods, but trust me, you don't wanna touch it yourself. Nasty side effects. And also my mama would kill me if I ever touched a drug."

I watch as the workers load the bags into boxes marked with names of legitimate companies. Some of them are even food brands I recognize from the bodega down the street. This operation... it's massive. How deep does this go? And who's the one pulling the strings?

Herman turns back to me, flashing that greasy grin again. "So, Spider, what do you think? Ready to run with the big dogs?"

Before I can respond, the shrill sound of sirens cuts through the air, blaring in the distance. The party outside erupts into chaos. I can hear people shouting, the music cutting off suddenly, and hear the crowd scrambling for the exits.

Herman's expression turns dark, the calm gone in an instant. "What is this, Spider?!" He shoves me back, eyes blazing with fury. "You set us up, didn't you?!"

His men react immediately, weapons drawn, and before I can even get a word in, they've got their guns trained on me.

I hold up my hands. "Okay, so, would you guys still let me in if I told you I totally set you up, and you all fell for it because you're a bunch of morons?"

Not even a smirk? Tough crowd.

"Kill him!" Herman barks, shoving his men forward as he bolts for the exit.

"You know, I'm starting to think you guys just don't appreciate my humor!" I shout after Herman, ducking just as a barrage of bullets whizzes past me. My ribs scream in protest, reminding me just how banged up I am. Okay, great, bullets. That's fine. Not like my body's a mess or anything.

I dodge to the side, barely avoiding another spray of gunfire. Man, that one almost caught me. I flip up onto the ceiling, but it takes way more effort than usual. My muscles burn, and my right shoulder feels like it's been lit on fire. Come on, Pete. You've got this. Just a few guys with guns... and a body that's half-broken. Totally manageable.

I shoot a web at two guys, pulling them off balance and sticking them to the far wall. The movement sends a sharp pain shooting down my side. Yep, that's a cracked rib. Awesome.

I sense another one coming at me from behind, but I'm a split second slower than I'd like to be. I twist, ignoring the stabbing pain in my leg, and swing my foot out, knocking the guy to the floor. He's out cold, but that's gonna hurt tomorrow—assuming I'm still standing by then.

Another guy lunges at me, his fist flying toward my face. I dodge, but not as smoothly as usual. My chest tightens with every breath, and it's getting harder to ignore the ache radiating through my entire body. Focus. Just focus.

I web his hands to his chest and toss him aside. My arm protests with every movement, a dull, pulsing throb in my shoulder now. Stay sharp, Pete. Can't let 'em see you're hurting.

"Come on, fellas, this is getting embarrassing," I say, trying to keep my voice light despite the growing tightness in my throat. I flip over another wave of bullets, my landing sloppy and sending a jolt through my knees. Ugh, that one's gonna bruise.

"You guys can't be this bad at your jobs, right?" I quip, even though each move takes more out of me than I'm willing to admit. Just gotta keep moving. Keep them distracted. Don't let them see how much it's killing me to stay on my feet.

I land with a stumble, just managing to keep myself upright. The pain radiates from my ribs to my legs, every breath feeling like I've inhaled shards of glass. Come on, Pete. You've been through worse. You can handle a bunch of low-level thugs. Just... ignore the fact that your body's screaming at you to take a nap.

A few more goons rush in, guns raised, but I'm already moving—or at least trying to. I duck, the motion slower than I'd like, and send a web-line toward the ceiling to yank myself up. Not as smooth as I'd like but—ouch—gotta make it work. The yank pulls at my sore shoulder, but I grit my teeth and swing down, knocking one of the thugs out cold with a solid kick to the chest. I land awkwardly, my knee buckling slightly under the impact.

"Really starting to miss my bed right now," I mutter under my breath as I web two more guys to the floor, their guns clattering uselessly out of reach. One of them struggles, trying to break free, but I yank him up with another web and slam him into his buddy. Alright, Spider-sense, I need you to keep me from getting shot here, because everything else is a mess.

Another thug charges at me from the side. I twist to dodge, but my ribs protest with a sharp stab of pain, slowing me down. His punch grazes my jaw, knocking me off balance. Wow, okay, now my head's spinning. Great. I stagger, but quickly fire off another web, pulling the guy's legs out from under him before I swing him into a nearby table. He's out.

Okay, I've definitely taken too many hits. This is fine. I take a quick glance around. The room is finally starting to clear. The workers are gone, slipping out one by one as the chaos escalated. Smart move. I web up the last of the thugs to a support beam, his struggles weak and useless.

I let out a shaky breath. No time to rest, though. Sirens blare in the distance, growing louder by the second. The cavalry's here.

Before I can fully catch my breath, the door bursts open, and the NYPD storms in, weapons drawn. "Freeze!" one of the officers shouts, guns pointed directly at me. It was Captain Stacy.

Gwen's, dad and also not my biggest fan.

I raise my hands, wincing at the sharp pull in my shoulder. Not how I wanted to end this night. "Guys, relax! I'm on your side! I'm the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, remember? 'Friendly' is literally in the name."

Captain Stacy doesn't seem convinced, he and his men still have their weapons still trained on me. "Yeah? That's not what the paper says," Captain Stacy snaps. "And I've seen your work too, I know you helped take down those two freaks, but how do I know you aren't just like them?"

I roll my eyes, again, a hand of applause for J Jonah, thanks buddy. "Okay, well, I called you, genius. Why would I call the cops on myself? Think about it. Logic."

Before he can respond, the room rumbles, and the sound of heavy boots echoes off the walls. "Oh, you're in trouble now, Spider," a deep voice growls from behind the cops.

The officers part, and in steps a tall, muscular guy wearing a yellow padded suit, with... gauntlets? Big metal gauntlets on each arm. The air hums around him, a low buzzing like a power tool revving up. Okay, this doesn't look good.

"See that employer of ours made sure we had something to protect our product, Spider-Man, you can call me the Shocker.." The voice who I recognize to be Herman says with a grin, lifting his hands. Before I can even react, he slams his gauntlets together, and a concussive blast erupts from his gloves, sending Captain Stacy and rest of the police guys flying across the room like ragdolls.

"Captain!" I shout, barely managing to leap out of the way, but even that sends another jolt of pain through my ribs. Okay, I was not ready for that.

I stare at him for a beat. "The Shocker? Dude, that's your big villain name? Did you lose a bet or something?" I can't help it; the name's too good. "You know there's a website for better names, right? Like, I dunno, 'The Punch-Quake' or maybe 'Doctor Zappy Fists'? No? Not feeling it?"

His grin drops into a scowl, and suddenly he slams his gauntlets together. KRAK-KOOM! A shockwave blasts out from his hands, and I barely manage to dive behind a stack of boxes before the whole room trembles like an earthquake just hit.

Okay, note to self: don't get hit by that. I peek out just in time to see him fire off another shockwave, tearing through the room. Crates explode, and the walls rattle as the energy surges through everything in its path. Awesome.

I fire a web at his hands, trying to jam the gauntlets, but the shockwave rips right through the webbing like it's nothing. "Oh come on! You're just making this harder for both of us!" I yell, flipping backward just as another shockwave barrels toward me.

"What's wrong, Spidey?" Shocker taunts, his voice buzzing like the energy humming off his gloves. "That suit of yours ain't shockproof, is it?"

"You know, this would be way more impressive if you didn't look like a rejected Power Ranger!" I shout back, darting behind a pillar. Gotta think, gotta think.

Another blast. I lunge out of the way, but pain surges through my ribs, making my vision blur. I'm losing speed, and I can feel it. I'm not gonna last long if this keeps up.

Shocker's getting cocky, walking toward me with those gauntlets buzzing. "Face it, Spider-Man! You're outta juice!"

"Funny, coming from a guy who wears battery-powered oven mitts!" I fire a web at the ceiling, swinging myself up as another shockwave obliterates the floor where I was standing. I land on a catwalk, but I'm still woozy, each breath sending a wave of fire through my chest.

I glance around, my mind racing. I need to take those gauntlets out of the equation, but they're too powerful for my webs to jam. What else can I use? My eyes land on the thick metal support beams running along the ceiling.

That'll do.

I leap down, firing webs to yank a metal beam loose from the ceiling. Shocker's eyes widen, but before he can react, I swing it directly at him. It crashes into his arms, throwing him off balance, but he manages to stay upright.

"Is that the best you've got, Spider-Man?!" he yells, shaking off the hit.

"Actually, no. But thanks for asking!" I leap behind another crate, quickly webbing it to the ground. I glance up at the now-bent beam hanging precariously above. This is gonna have to be fast.

I jump up again, distracting him with a web to his shoulder. "Hey, Herman! Quick question: how do those gloves even work? You know, in case I need to buy some for my next villain costume?"

"Shut up!" Shocker growls, blasting the web away, but he's too focused on me now.

"Seriously, do they come in different sizes? Or are you stuck with the whole 'electro-Michael-Jackson' look forever?" I keep dodging, making sure to stay just out of range.

Finally, when he steps directly under the dangling beam, I pull the trigger. With a flick of my wrist, I yank down the web holding the beam up, and it crashes down, pinning Shocker's gauntlets against the floor.

"What the—?!" he shouts, trying to fire off another shockwave, but the beam holds him in place. The gauntlets spark, but the weight is too much.

"Don't look so shocked," I say, grinning as I approach. "Sorry, couldn't resist."

Shocker struggles, but the beam's too heavy, and with his gauntlets pinned, he's out of options. I quickly web him to the ground, making sure to wrap the webbing extra tight around his arms.

"That was fun, Herman," I say, dropping to one knee because ow, everything hurts. "But next time, maybe invest in some shockproof restraints.

Captain Stacy finally manages to stagger back to his feet, rubbing his heads like he just woke up from the world's worst nap.

"Hey, by the way," I say, waving casually, "there's this guy named Carl Jones. Real piece of work. Helped run this whole shady operation."

"Yeah? Well, why don't we finish talking about this down at the station. If you really wanna help, you can start with that. And ending your vigilantism." He says to me, his voice stern.

"Look, if it wasn't for me that Shocker guy would've killed all of you, so I think that about covers who's side I'm on." I tell him, and I can see that he knows I'm right. "I just wanna do the right thing."

"Running around in a mask pretending like you care about the law isn't the right thing. I can see you wanna help, but this isn't right." He says, and I sigh.

"Yeah, well letting you guys lock me up isn't going to help anyone either." I tell him, making a mental note of where I can escape from.

The other officers glance at each other like they're deciding if I'm pulling their leg, then turn back to me.

"Why shouldn't we arrest you right now?" Captain Stacy asks, squinting like he's ready to play bad cop.

I pause, pretending to think it over. "It's a free country?" I offer, webbing the nearest wall. "But you'd have to catch me first! Also, friendly advice—don't believe everything you read on the internet!"

With that, I fling myself out the door, swinging up toward the roof as fast as my aching muscles will allow.

By the time I land, I'm seriously considering collapsing face-first onto the roof. My ribs feel like they're on fire, my arms are noodles, and let's not even talk about my head, which is currently having its own personal drum solo.

I dig into my pocket, pulling out my phone—only to see the screen is absolutely obliterated. "Great," I mutter. "This is why I don't take my phone on Spidey trips."

I press the power button, half-expecting it to just laugh at me, but—miracle of miracles—it flickers to life. The screen looks like a kaleidoscope of cracks, but it's barely functional. I somehow manage to text Felicia, something like, *Meet me at the rooftop. PLS hurry.*

I glance at the city lights below, a soft breeze hitting my face, trying to ignore the fact that my entire body is screaming at me. Just a few more minutes, Peter, then it's pizza and sleep. Or sleep and then pizza. Yeah, sleep first.

Felicia better hurry, or I'm napping right here on this roof.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few minutes pass, and I'm still sprawled out on the rooftop, staring up at the stars like they might have the answers to why my life is a never-ending series of beatdowns. Finally, I hear footsteps, soft and quick.

"You look like you had a lot of fun," Felicia's voice cuts through the quiet, sounding way too chipper for someone who didn't get tossed around by a human shockwave machine.

"Yeah," I groan, still lying flat on my back, "something like that. Oh, by the way, you could've mentioned your buddy Herman was packing an evil villain suit with shockwave technology. Would've been nice to know before I got turned into a pancake."

She crouches down next to me, smirking. "Didn't even know that. But hey, look on the bright side—we took down a drug ring. On a Monday, no less. That's gotta count for something, right? Nice work, Spider-Man."

"Yay, teamwork," I mumble, trying to sit up but immediately regretting it as pain shoots through my ribs. I flop back down. "You know, I think I'd prefer the most exciting thing in my day to be an Algebra test."

Felicia snorts. "You're a loser."

I try to straighten up, my body protesting with every movement. "Yeah, well... I'm a loser who survived a shockwave beatdown. So, you ready to get back home, or are we gonna hang around here all night?"

Felicia hesitates for a second, her usual cool exterior slipping just a bit. "Hey, before we go... I just wanted to say... thanks." She steps closer, pulling me into a hug. It's a nice gesture, really, but given that my entire body feels like it's been put through a blender, it's a little hard to fully appreciate. "You saved me. And my dad. I don't know what I would've done without you."

I blink, a little taken aback by the sincerity in her voice. "Don't mention it. You know... it's kinda what heroes do."

For the first time, Felicia gives me a genuine smile—not the teasing, playful smirk she usually throws around, but something real. It's... nice.

"Alright then, Spider-Boy," she says, stepping back. "Let's go home."

I nod, wincing slightly as I prepare to web-swing back. "Yeah... home sounds good right about now."

As we launch into the sky, I realize that maybe, just maybe, things aren't so bad. Sure, I'm beat up, exhausted, and failing History—but at least for once I've found someone to watch Spider-Man's back.

That's something, right?