Hammerhead

Hammerhead

Even with a tiring study and exercise routine, Peter's afternoon run was almost a moment of leisure. He knew the speed he had to maintain to be really exercising, but after doing this for weeks he had gotten used to it, so it was a lot more comfortable. He used that time to think about different things and to ease his mind.

Peter liked to run through the center of Forest Hills. It was very comfortable most of the time. He knew streets to avoid the crowds and he liked to see the shopkeepers he knew and the brick buildings became familiar to him. It was just after 5:30, so the sun was beginning to set. Around this time, the sun would be in his eyes, so he brought out a pair of sunglasses he carried for these moments..

Now he was on the last lap and passing through a less busy area. Most of the houses were abandoned and while there were a few stores that tried to survive, Peter didn't feel very comfortable there. However, it was the best and most efficient route home. Usually nothing happened here, at most he'd pass some noisy drunk or a cat in the trash. But today, things would be less than normal.

"Where is money, bro!?"

Peter heard someone talking from inside the passing alley. He stopped and looked inside, his eyes quickly get used to the darkness. And Peter witnessed a scene that made him quickly hide behind a pile of garbage.

At the end of the alley, three men appeared to be strong arming an elderly man. Two of them were tall, well muscled, and dressed like they were going to the gym. One was bald with what looked like a big horn coming out of his forehead. The other wore a red ski mask that matched his tracksuit. They spoke with thick, Russian accents. The third man was a bit shorter. He wore a fancy business suit, steel knuckles, and the top of his head appeared almost flat.

"We give you two weeks on payment, bro. Where is money?" Asked the horned man.

"I told you, I don't have it!" The older man argued. "You freaking Tracksuit Draculas are scaring everyone out! The insane rent increases, charging us protection, how am I supposed to keep my business running with no customers?"

"Not our problem, bro," said Ski Mask. "Simple solution: our boss take business as collateral."

"I've run this shop for 30 years! I'm not just gonna hand it over!" The older man argued.

The Tracksuits edge uncomfortably closer to him, "You saw what happen to last guy who talk like you, bro." One turned to the other, "Think he needs reminder of terms?"

The man being threatened was no stranger to Peter, he'd already seen him running a bodega where he sometimes picked up a sandwich. He was dressed like a deli worker, wore a green apron over his white clothes and had plastic gloves still on his hands. He was an Italian gentleman, his few gray hairs were concentrated on the back of his head and slicked back. His skin was full of liver spots and a little wrinkled.

Ski Mask was holding the man by his shirt, lifting him and pressing him against the brick wall, while the dark-haired man visually threatened him by clutching a crowbar in his hands. Ski Mask brought out a gun from the back of his pants.

"Listen, paisan," he says, pressing the barrel of the gun against the old man's temple. "Deal is simple: you pay Hammerhead, Hammerhead protects you. Why do you think nobody robs you?"

The old man glared at the tracksuit, "Nobody was robbing me before you scum rolled in here. You don't own us!"

The man in the suit, the aforementioned Hammerhead, finally speaks up, "Actually, we do. We've been buying up the different buildings in the neighborhood for my employer, and this one's next on the list."

"I'm not selling!" The old man spat at his polished shoes.

Hammerhead sighed, taking out a handkerchief to wipe off his shoes. He then stuffed it into the old man's mouth, "Clearly a more constructive tactic of negotiation is required." He nods to the horned tracksuit wielding the crowbar.

Peter was frantic, he had to call someone! The heroes, the police, Iron Man, anyone! But his phone lost power earlier and even if it hadn't, by the time someone showed up, it would be too late. I've gotta do something myself, I have powers now! But I've got no time to make a strategy. What should I do!?

"Okay, you have three seconds to tell us where the money is," the horned man says, smacking his crowbar against the wall. "1 ... 2 ..."

But before he can even think of swinging the bar again, a thwip echoes down the alley. A web burst from behind and sticks to the tracksuit's horn. Peter ignores the pain in his wrist and notes the target. Man, I was aiming for the crowbar. Oh well...

And in less than a second, he yanks the web back and the man falls over backwards. He lands into a box of crates, one of them falling into his face. The man muttered something in Russian and collapsed into unconsciousness.

"What the hell was that!?" Hammerhead whirled around, looking for the source of the web. His other underling, who was lighting a cigarette while facing the back of the alley, quickly pulls his gun after hearing the crash. However, he sees only a blur in front of the alley moving quickly towards him. He tries to shoot, but the blur was too fast, dodging the bullets before he even pulled the trigger. All too soon, his gun clicked. Out of ammo.

The blur then stuck to the wall near the man. When the man tried to reload, he felt something come in contact with his face. It was some kind of fibrous goo had completely covered the lower half of his face, preventing him from calling out to his boss.

Peter tried to ignore the pain of the second puncture in his forearm, as he dropped down and punched the tracksuit in the face, knocking him down and out. Peter pulls the mask off the tracksuit, checking him to ensure he was still breathing. Surprisingly, his face was covered by another mask, this one white.

"Dimitri! Aleksei!" Hammerhead calls out. "Where are ya!?"

Thinking quickly, Peter puts the mask on over his face and sunglasses as the man comes into view. "What the hell!?" The gangster asked, slightly taken aback at the sight of his men. Then he noticed the boy in the mask, "What're you supposed to be? Some kinda hero? Your costume sucks."

"Yeah well, I have a better one, but your mother's washing it for me," Peter quipped back.

Hammerhead growled in anger, charging full speed at the boy. Peter flipped out of the way, landing behind the man. He throws a punch, but Hammerhead whirls around and drops his head. Peter's fist lands against what felt like solid steel. Even with his enhanced strength and durability, it hurt.

"Yeeoooowwwwch!" Peter yelled, clutching his hand. "I think you broke my hand!"

"Heh, that's why they call me Hammerhead," the gangster grinned, and he threw a punch of his own at the boy.