Web of Lies

DR. OTTO OCTAVIUS sits patiently in the dimly lit, cavernous room beneath New York City—a forgotten facility from the early days of Oscorp.

His fingers drum rhythmically on the desk as he waits. His eyes, beneath the thick glasses, gleam with intelligence tinged with something darker. Something fractured.

Adrian Toomes enters the room, his heavy boots echoing against the metallic floor. He crosses his arms, appraising the man in front of him. "So, you're the one who sent for me. Gotta say, Doc, I've heard a lot about you. Not all of it good. And breaking into Oscorp?" He pauses, his lips curling into a smirk. "I don't need that kinda heat right now. Not with all the extra security after... well, after your little incident."

Octavius's mechanical arms twitch at the reminder.

The doctor keeps his gaze steady, but his fingers briefly stop their tapping. "Indeed, Oscorp's... unfortunate triple security measures have made infiltration quite the task." He leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "But I wouldn't call on you, Mr. Toomes, unless I knew you were more than capable of handling such matters. I've heard about your work, it's not like it'd be the first time you've stolen from the rich. There's an invention that I believe would be perfect in assistin—"

Octavius pauses, his eyes losing focus, his voice dropping to a murmur. The mechanical arms attached to his spine hum ominously, as if responding to his thoughts.

Whispers. You are not alone.

No... I am... I was...

"Stop it," Octavius mutters, his voice quivering. His gaze darkens, staring off into the distance, as if caught in a battle within his own mind.

Toomes raises an eyebrow, his usual swagger faltering as he notices Octavius's distant mumbling. "Hey, Doc. You with me?" Toomes asks, cautiously eyeing the metal appendages, their movements growing erratic.

The good doctor snaps back to reality, clapping his hands together, regaining composure with a startling abruptness. "Yes, yes, forgive me. Now, where were we? Ah, yes." Octavius stands, motioning for Toomes to follow as they proceed deeper into the bowels of the facility.

Toomes keeps his distance as they walk, eyes roving over strange sights—shattered glass cases, remnants of failed experiments, and a tank filled with eels, their faintly glowing eyes following the pair as they move past. "What is all this?" he asks, voice low with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

Octavius turns, his face twisting into a bitter smile. "Potential, Mr. Toomes. Potential that Norman Osborn foolishly discarded. This facility was once the center of a grand vision—until Osborn decided it was a waste of resources. A vision sabotaged by his arrogance." His voice seethes with contempt, every word dripping with venom. "He sabotaged my life's work. Cast me as the villain, while he walks away unscathed, the unsuspecting victim. Because of him, these things, they...they have implanted themselves into my mind."

Toomes smirks at that, folding his arms again. "Yeah, that sounds like Osborn. Always did have a way of making himself look squeaky clean while the rest of us do the dirty work." His gaze falls on something ahead, something encased in glass. "Speaking of... what's that?"

Before them sits a suit—sleek, dangerous, with metallic wings folded against its back. Toomes steps closer, eyes narrowing. "Some kind of bird suit?"

Octavius places his hands behind his back, the mechanical arms mirroring the gesture, looming like silent guardians. "The Vulture Mk III. Refined. Agile. Stronger than anything Oscorp's ever dreamed of. And, with it, you'll be able to infiltrate their little fortress and retrieve something very important for me."

Toomes scoffs, turning away from the suit to face the doctor. "You've got those big metal arms of yours. Why not just storm the place yourself? You'd be halfway in by the time they even realized something was happening."

A flicker of frustration crosses Octavius's face, his arms twitching behind him. "If it were that simple, I would have." His voice tightens, the bitterness clear. "But Osborn... he knows me. He's prepared for me. There are countermeasures in place, and I—" He pauses, his mechanical arms twitching again, the whispers in his mind growing louder. "I must perfect them. Gain...control. In the meantime, you will retrieve what I need. The suit will make sure of it."

Toomes leans in closer to the glass, eyeing the suit more intently. "And if I run into trouble? Say someone decides to take a few shots at me, what's stopping them from putting me in the ground?"

Octavius's lips curl into a knowing smile. "You'll find the Vulture Mk III is more than capable of defending itself. And, once you're inside, you'll be untouchable."

Toomes chuckles, placing a hand on the glass. "Untouchable, huh? I like the sound of that." He glances back at Octavius, the gears in his mind turning. "Alright, Doc. Let's give this thing a test run."

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

Flash's voice echoes through the lunchroom as he dramatically recounts my fight with Dr. Octavius. "And then Spider-Man swings in, all like 'Show's over, Doc!' and bam, starts laying into him!" His arms flail wildly, illustrating a version of events so exaggerated, it'd make anyone think I'd walked away without a scratch.

But I can still feel every bruise from that fight. Thank god for Felicia and her makeup skills. As long as no one looks too closely—which they usually don't—I should be in the clear.

"I still can't believe all of that happened," Harry says, his voice quiet. We both watch as Flash continues his one-man performance. "Mr. Octavius never seemed like the kind of guy to turn into some psycho and try to kill my dad."

I nod, my stomach twisting at the memory of that night, and my failure to stop Dr. Octavius. "Yeah... How's your dad holding up?"

Harry scoffs, the bitterness clear in his voice. "He's fine. Like nothing even happened. What about you?"

I shift in my seat, forcing a smile. "I'm okay. I mean, as okay as someone can be after getting trampled by a crowd." It's the excuse I gave Harry when he couldn't get ahold of me that night. Told him I got knocked down, whisked away by some good Samaritans to a hospital, then released the same night. Not a perfect story, but it worked.

"I don't know how I lost you in that chaos," Harry says, frowning. "I'm sorry. Things just went south so fast." He's clearly thinking about his dad. "And now Mr. Octavius is still out there, wanting to kill the only family I have left, besides you."

I put a hand on his shoulder, trying to sound as reassuring as I can. "That's not gonna happen, Harry. Your dad's tough, and besides, Spider-Man's got his back."

Harry scoffs again. "If Spider-Man's even still alive. You saw what happened, Pete—he got crushed by all that debris. He's probably dead."

Before I can respond, Flash suddenly points across the room, his voice loud as ever. "No way! Spider-Man's not dead! He's the toughest guy out there! He had to save all of us! If it wasn't for that, he'd have wiped the floor with the Doc!"

Ironic that Flash has become one of my biggest supporters, especially considering how much he loves making my life difficult.

"Spider-Man saved all of our lives," Gwen says, sitting down at our table. There's a quiet confidence in her voice that makes me glance up, feeling a little lighter. "Thank god he was there."

But then Charlie, my second favorite bully, speaks up. "Hey, don't you guys think it's kinda weird?" he says, glancing around the table. "I mean, that's the second time Spider-Man's shown up at our school when some supervillain attacks. You don't think maybe... I dunno, he goes to our school?"

The lunchroom goes silent. Sweat forms at the back of my neck. My heart starts pounding.

"Actually, that's not a bad point," Liz Allen adds, leaning in. "I mean, he does kinda look like a scrawny kid. Who do you think it could be?"

Flash grins as he walks over to me. "I know who it's not." His hand lands heavily on my head, gripping it just a little too tightly. My muscles tense, but I keep my cool.

Harry stands up, his voice cold. "Back off, Flash."

Flash sneers. "Or what? You gonna tell your daddy? Or is he still hiding somewhere, hoping that big, bad tentacle guy doesn't come for him again?"

I feel the tension between them like a spark waiting to ignite. Harry glares at Flash, fury burning in his eyes.

Gwen speaks up before things escalate. "Come on, Flash. Leave him alone. It was a bad night for everyone. Harry's dad could've gotten hurt."

Flash raises his hands, backing off with a grin. "I'm just messing around. No hard feelings, Osborn." He extends a hand for Harry to shake, but the bell rings, and Harry just walks away, scoffing.

"Come on, Pete," Harry says, heading toward the exit. I grab the rest of my pizza and follow, but before I can catch up, Gwen calls out.

"Hey, Peter, wait up!"

"I'll see you after school," Harry says with a knowing grin before leaving us. I can practically hear him teasing me in his head.

"Hey, Gwen," I say, trying to sound casual. As we walk to class, she gives me a look that feels... inquisitive, like she's reading me.

"I'm surprised you came to school today after everything," Gwen says. Her voice is soft, concerned. "You can try to cover it up with makeup, but I can still see the bruises on your face."

My heart skips a beat. Does she... know?

I fumble for an excuse. "Oh, this? Yeah, well, it's my aunt's... and, uh, I got—"

She laughs, cutting me off. "Don't worry, Harry already told me what happened. How you went to the hospital? We were both really worried."

My face heats up, and I try not to stammer. "Oh, you were? About me? Don't be, really. I'm fine."

She frowns slightly, then changes the subject. "Fine enough for our History test today?"

I manage a smile. "Yeah, I think so. I mean, I've got the best tutor in the world, right?"

Gwen returns the smile. "So do I."

We've been tutoring each other for the last couple of weeks, sneaking in study sessions when I wasn't swinging around the city as Spider-Man. But every time I look at her, I freeze up. She gave me her number, but I've never worked up the nerve to actually text her. What if she figures out that I like her? What if things get awkward, or worse, she ends up mocking me like Flash does?

No. Gwen would never do that.

But still... is it crazy to think that a guy like me could have a chance with someone like Gwen Stacy?

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

"Pencils down. Pass your papers forward," Mr. Baldwin announces, and I let out a deep sigh, finishing my last answer just in the nick of time. I pass my paper to the front of the class and turn around to catch Gwen giving me a thumbs-up. I grin and return the gesture.

"Tomorrow marks the official end of the first semester," Mr. Baldwin drones on. "If you didn't pass your final, you'll have to repeat the semester to get full credit. Grades will be posted tonight. Also, I've been asked to remind you about the homecoming dance is next weekend. If any of you plan on attending, Liz Allen or Gwen Stacy are your go-to reps."

Homecoming. The last school dance I went to was... well, a disaster. It ended with me spilling juice all over my pants, and Flash telling everyone I'd wet myself. Good times. Definitely not looking to relive that experience anytime soon.

The bell rings, and everyone rushes to pack up, the day finally coming to an end. I'm supposed to meet Aunt May tonight—she's been away for a while, and the house has felt pretty empty without her. Still, no curfew has been helpful when it comes to, you know, my other life.

"Hey, Pete," Gwen calls out, walking over with Liz beside her, tapping away on her phone, barely paying attention. "I passed my final for Algebra, and it's all thanks to you. Now all that's left is for you to pass this, which I'm sure you did."

I rub the back of my neck, smiling awkwardly. "Yeah, I actually felt pretty confident about it, which is weird. Thanks, Gwen. I would've been toast without your help."

Gwen laughs. "Sure, Pete. You picked it up so quickly, you might've even beaten my score."

I chuckle, even though there's no way I did better than Gwen. "No way. You're the Spock when it comes to this stuff."

Did I just make a Star Trek reference? I can feel my face turning red. Was I always this lame?

But Gwen just smiles and raises her hand in the Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper."

My eyes widen. "Wait—you watch Star Trek?"

I try to hold back the tidal wave of excitement (and nerdy fantasies of a Star Trek marathon with her) bubbling up inside. Gwen nods. "Yeah, my dad and I used to watch it every Sunday. Kind of a family tradition."

I'm pretty sure my face is doing something awkward right now because I feel like I'm about to explode.

"So did Uncle Ben and I," I say, though my voice catches for a moment. "We used to watch it together all the time."

Gwen's expression softens, and her voice drops a little, like she can sense the weight behind my words. "Well, if you ever want to have a Star Trek marathon of our own, just let me know."

Before I can recover, Gwen smiles and walks off with Liz, heading toward the door. I stare after her, my mind buzzing. I'm not sure if I believe in soulmates, but—

"Gwen!" I call out before I can think twice.

She turns, eyes bright. "Yeah, Pete?"

"Let's... hang out. If you're not busy or anything," I say, trying not to trip over my own words.

Gwen tilts her head and gives me that smile again. "Sounds great. I'm not busy right now. Want to check out the new comic store that just opened up on 39th?"

—if soulmates were real, I'm pretty sure Gwen Stacy would be mine.

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

"This one's called Miss Fury," Gwen explains, kneeling as she flips through the comic, her eyes lighting up. "She's this detective superhero who wears a catsuit and fights Nazis. It's set in the 1940s—it's pretty cool."

Watching Gwen Stacy, the queen of the school—captain of the volleyball team, star debater, most likely to become student body president—geek out over a comic book?

Yeah, that stirred something deep inside me. Gwen Stacy, the girl every guy dreams about, was sitting in a comic book shop like it was her second home.

I think I'm living the ultimate nerd fantasy.

I remember the smug look on Harry's face when I told him I'd be with Gwen at the comic book store, and now I think I'm starting to understand why he declined my invite.

"You must've read a ton of comics growing up. I've never even heard of Miss Fury," I say, grabbing another issue off the shelf and kneeling beside her. "Looks like it was printed a long time ago."

"Yeah, she's one of the first female superheroes ever. But they stopped printing her stuff. Guess it didn't catch on—comics were mostly a guy thing." Gwen raises the comic to cover her face for a second. "You must think I'm weird, huh?"

Wait—was she being shy?

"What? No way! I think you're totally awesome," I blurt out, gently pulling the comic away so I can see her face again.

She glances away with a small smile. "It's not really the kind of stuff I can talk about with Liz or the others. So, I never get a chance to nerd out like this."

"Hey, Gwen! Got that new issue you were looking for—the one with the Space Queen?" One of the store workers calls from the counter, his name tag reading "Davis."

Gwen stands, heading over to him with a grin. "You saved it for me? Thanks! How much do I owe you?"

"For our best customer? It's on the house," Davis says with a smile before disappearing into the back room. Gwen thanks him, already flipping through the pages.

"Wow, you really are a nerd," I tease.

She laughs, her eyes glinting with a bit of mischief. "Yeah, I am. But that'll be our secret, alright?" She presses a finger to her lips with a wink.

I smile, but my phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down, and a message pops up: All units, 10-38 at EastBank on 183 Center—"

Really? Now?

I look up at Gwen, who's engrossed in her new comic. I hate to cut this short, but duty calls.

"Hey, Gwen... something came up," I stammer. "I've got to head out, you know, get the place ready for Aunt May—she's coming back today, so, I've got a lot to do," I finish, fumbling for a believable excuse.

Gwen looks up from her comic with an understanding smile. "No worries, Peter. Tell May I said hi, and that I'll stop by sometime. She makes the best pies."

"Yeah, she'll love that," I say, trying not to sound too rushed. I shoot her a quick smile, already planning how fast I can change and make it across town.

"See you around, Gwen," I say, turning to head for the door.

"Bye, Peter!" she calls, waving. "And hey—don't forget to let me know how you did on that history test!"

I nod, trying not to trip over myself as I exit the store. A part of me is thrilled she's into stuff like that, but right now, I've got to focus on more immediate problems. The second I'm out of sight, I slip into an alley and change into my Spider-Man suit.

"Alright, EastBank," I mutter to myself, webbing up to the nearest building. "Let's see who's stupid to ruin my—not date—hang out with Gwen Stacy."

Within minutes, I'm swinging through the streets, the familiar rush of wind in my face. But even with the city buzzing below me and my senses sharp for trouble, I can't stop thinking about Gwen.

She's not just this untouchable popular girl anymore; she's real, down-to-earth, and surprisingly... nerdy. Maybe—just maybe—there's a shot for someone like me with someone like her.

Focus, Parker. Bank robbery first, romance second.

I spot the flashing lights of police cars surrounding the EastBank building and drop down onto a nearby rooftop. The scene below looks chaotic—officers are barricading the entrance.

Time for Spider-Man to make an entrance.

I leap down, landing right in front of the bank's entrance, drawing a few surprised looks from the officers. One of them, a burly guy I recognize from past encounters, steps forward.

"Spider-Man," he grunts, his arms crossed. "So you're not dead?"

"Yeah, lucky for you guys I can still keep doing your jobs for you," I say with a smile. "What's the situation inside?"

The officer gestures toward the glass doors. "We've got some guy inside holding up the place. Says he's got hostages."

I crack my knuckles, about to leap into action when I hear a stern voice behind me.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

I turn, and of course, it's Captain Stacy. My heart skips a beat as he strides over, all authority and no nonsense.

"Oh, uh..." Why am I saluting? Seriously, Parker, get it together. "Captain! Just here to, you know, help."

Captain Stacy narrows his eyes, his hand instinctively moving to his holstered gun. "Not this time, Spider-Man. Look, I know what you did for my daughter and her school the other day. Believe me, I appreciate that. But I can't have a vigilante just waltzing in here."

I deflate a little, but I'm not ready to back down just yet. "Sir, I get it, I do. And despite what that J. Jonah Windbag at the Bugle says, I'm just trying to do the right thing. But we've seen each other enough times to where I feel like you don't need me to tell you that." I pause for dramatic effect, flashing the Vulcan salute. "And besides, Captain—live long and prosper, right?"

That throws him off for a split second. I see it in his eyes. He's trying real hard not to smile.

Before he can respond, I shoot a web at the door. "I've got this covered, Captain! I promise not to break anything too expensive!" Then I'm inside, webbing it shut behind me.

The bank lobby is dead quiet, save for a few hushed murmurs from terrified hostages. I cling to the ceiling, my body tense, senses heightened.

The bank is eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that makes my spider-sense tingle.

I step cautiously through the shadows of the vault room, the hostages are nowhere in sight, but something feels wrong. Really wrong.

I freeze as I hear the faint sound of metal scraping against tile. Then I catch a glimpse of something in the far corner—a figure standing motionless, wings folded tightly against his back.

He's facing away from me, but there's no mistaking the metallic gleam of the wings or the mechanical hum that fills the air.

I don't know who or what this guy is, but I'm willing to bet he's jerk behind all this.

"Guess you didn't get the memo about robbing banks in broad daylight being a really dumb idea," I quip, trying to keep my voice light as I inch closer.

The figure doesn't respond at first, but then, with an almost unnatural smoothness, he turns to face me. I get my first real look at him—the wings, sharp and angular, almost like a bird of prey's. His suit is armored, sleek, with glowing green eyes behind a vicious, beaked mask. It's not just some guy in a Halloween costume; this guy's got serious tech.

"You're late," he rasps, his voice cold and metallic. "I was hoping you'd show up sooner. But no matter. This'll do."

Before I can even fire a web, he lunges at me, faster than I expect. I barely manage to flip backward, dodging his talons as they slice through the air with a sharp, metallic shing.

"Okay, so you're fast. Great. But I still don't know who you—whoa!" I jump out of the way as he dives again, this time ramming into the marble floor where I had been standing just moments before. The ground shatters under the impact, sending cracks splintering through the tile.

He's not playing around.

I fire off a web to the ceiling, swinging up to get some distance. "Not much for conversation, huh? That's cool. I can talk enough for the both of us."

I launch another web at his wings, but the moment the webbing makes contact, he twists mid-air, using the momentum to pull me toward him. My spider-sense flares, but not fast enough—I'm yanked straight into his outstretched talons.

The impact is like getting hit by a truck. I crash into the ground, skidding across the bank floor, my suit tearing as sparks fly from the scuffed tiles.

I try to catch my breath, the pain radiating through my ribs. This guy isn't just fast—he's brutal.

"Not what I expected, Spider-Man," he growls, his voice echoing through the bank as he hovers above me. "But you are still just a kid."

I stagger to my feet, wincing at the pain shooting up my side. "Yeah, well, your suit's compensating for something, right? Like, I dunno, a really weird bird fetish?"

The insult barely leaves my mouth before he's diving at me again.

I leap to the side, but this time, he catches me mid-swing, grabbing me by the arm and throwing me through one of the bank's windows.

Glass shatters as I'm hurled into the street outside, landing hard on the sidewalk.

I groan, my body aching, but there's no time to rest. I can hear the distinct whir of his wings as he follows me outside, a dark shadow swooping through the sky.

I fire a web at a nearby lamppost, using it to slingshot myself back toward him. I aim for his wings, shooting another web to tangle them up, but he anticipates it, twisting in mid-air. His talons flash, slicing the web.

Crap.

Before I can react, he grabs me by the shoulders, talons digging into my suit, and we're airborne. He drags me up, higher and higher, the city streets shrinking beneath us as he climbs. The wind whips around me, and I struggle to break free, kicking and thrashing, but his grip is like iron.

"You're out of your depth, Spider-Man," he sneers, voice like the grinding of steel. "This isn't some street punk you're dealing with."

He releases me, and I'm free-falling, plummeting toward the rooftops below. I twist mid-air, barely managing to fire a last-minute webline that stops my fall. My ribs scream in protest, but I swing myself up to the nearest rooftop, landing hard.

Before I can catch my breath, he's on me again, slamming into me from above like a missile.

The force knocks me off my feet, sending me tumbling across the rooftop.

"I don't care about the money," he snarls, looming over me as I try to push myself up. "This was a test. And now I see exactly what this suit is capable of."

He dives again, talons outstretched. I roll to the side, trying to avoid him, but my body's slowing down. I'm taking hits, and I'm not bouncing back as quickly as I need to. He's stronger, faster, and every time I move, he's right there to counter it.

I swing a punch at him, but he catches my fist mid-air, twisting my arm and sending me crashing to the rooftop. The pain's blinding. I can barely focus, my vision swimming as I try to get to my feet again.

"You're not ready for this," he says, his voice cold and final. And then, with a powerful flap of his wings, he sends me flying off the edge of the roof.

I crash through the side of an abandoned building, the brick wall crumbling around me as I hit the ground.

Everything hurts. I try to stand, but my legs won't hold me. I can barely move, let alone go after him.

Through the haze of pain, I hear the faint sound of his wings fading into the distance.

He's gone.

I cough, tasting blood as I pull myself up onto my knees. The fight is over, and he got away.

Did I just lose? I hate it when that happens.

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

I sit perched on the edge of the rooftop, the city stretching out below me, a patchwork of lights and noise. The weight of my bag hangs off my shoulder as I unzip it, rummaging through the mess to find my phone. A few messages pop up—one from Aunt May, and another from an unknown number.

Oh crap, Aunt May. I completely forgot.

I swipe open her message:

Hey, Peter. Plane got delayed, so I'll be home either tomorrow night or Saturday morning. Sorry, I know it's been a while. You must be lonely out there, but I'll be back soon. I'm sure you've been taking great care of the house!

I let out a long, tired sigh. Part of me is relieved—at least I won't be grounded for missing her, which, knowing her, would have been wrapped in that disappointed tone of hers that I hate.

But another part of me feels the weight of loneliness settle in a little deeper. The house has been so quiet without her around, and now it'll be another day or two before she's back.

And it's not like I can talk to anyone about it. Spider-Man doesn't get to be lonely, right? He just swings through the city, saving lives and taking punches from guys dressed like birds.

I sit down on the edge of the roof, letting my legs dangle over the side. My ribs throb with each breath, and my muscles feel like they're on fire from the fight with... whatever that guy was. Some weird flying villain who nearly tore me apart.

He said something about this being a test.

What for? Why me?

I don't know what the deal was, but he got away, just like Dr. Octavius did last time. Two major screw-ups in one week. I couldn't stop them, I can't keep up.

Am I even cut out for this?

My phone buzzes again, pulling me out of my thoughts. It's the message from the unknown number.

Had to grab your number from Harry since I didn't think you'd ever text me. It's Gwen, btw. Stacy.

For a second, I just stare at it. My heart does this weird flip, and I can't help the stupid smile that creeps onto my face. Gwen Stacy—the girl who could have anyone in the school—texted me? Out of the blue?

I lean back, letting the rough surface of the rooftop cool my aching back. The bruises still sting, but for a moment, I don't care.

I forget about the fight, about the bird guy, about everything. Gwen's message makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, today wasn't a complete disaster after all.

I type back:

Hey, Gwen. Sorry, I've been so busy lately, I would've definitely texted you though! Today was great, thanks for showing me some other cool sides of you. And don't worry your nerd secret is safe with me.

I hesitate before sending it, wondering if it sounds too lame, or maybe I typed too much? But before I can second-guess myself, I hit send and drop my phone beside me.

The city's still buzzing, even though my world feels quieter tonight. I look out at the horizon, where the last streaks of daylight are fading, replaced by a darker sky.

As much as I want to just lie here and forget about everything, I know I can't. There's always another fight, another threat. Whoever that bird guy was, he's not done. And something tells me... this was just the beginning.

I sit up, stretching my sore limbs, and stare down at the streets below.

Spider-Man doesn't get breaks. Not for long, anyway.