Chapter 9

[Peter's POV]

A group of boxes was swept out of the way by another wave.

"Listen, Shocker, I was planning to storm your base tomorrow. How about we call it a day and pick this up in, say, eighteen hours? We're fresh and full of energy for a proper rematch?"

"You're quite the amusing insect, but sorry, it all ends today," 

Shocker retorts, launching another energy ripple.

"Spiders are arachnids, actually!" 

I joke, dodging and clinging to the ceiling.

"Come out, bug. You can't hide forever!"

"I'm not planning to, my anxious friend!"

I lunge from above, grabbing a pile of boxes along the way.

Shocker knocks down every falling object heading his way, completely forgetting about me sneaking in from the other side of the warehouse. 

I close in, poised for a perfect strike against him.

However, Shocker noticed me and started to aim his gloves in my direction, but that wasn't part of my plan.

I sprint toward him, grab his right arm, and, darting behind him, break the glove along with his wrist, disabling the mechanism.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" 

Naturally, Shocker starts screaming in agony.

Judging by the sound, I probably gave him a double fracture of the radius with displacement.

Not giving him a chance to recover, I disable the second mechanism, sparing his other arm for now.

The thugs watching this scene are left dumbstruck, frozen in place, and unsure of what to do next.

"You saw what I did to your boss. Now get out of here and tell every piece of criminal scum in New York that there's a new sheriff in town! And Spider-Man is coming for every single one of them!"

After casting one last desperate look at their strongest fighter, the criminals bolted for the warehouse exit at full speed.

A few minutes later, no one was left in the room except for the bandits knocked out and immobilized by the web and Shocker, who was still daze.

"Y-you b-b-broke my arm!" 

Shocker finally managed to regain some composure, "I'll kill you, you hear me?! I'll bury you!"

Completely ignoring his emotional outburst, I approach him, securing his legs to the floor with webbing.

Stopping in front of him, I give him a light slap across the face.

"Shut up and remember—you still have one good arm. For now." 

The clear threat made him quiet down a bit.

"What do you want?" 

He finally mustered the courage to ask after a moment, glancing at me from under his brow. 

By then, I had calmly been inspecting the warehouse, making sure I'd tied up all the remaining thugs.

I turn around suddenly, speaking in a deadly serious and icy tone.

"Listen closely, you filthy scumbag. From now on, all drug trafficking goes through me! You'll tell your boss that he's to pay me fifteen percent of all revenue, or I'll start dismantling his entire criminal network piece by piece!" 

By the end, I'm shouting, ripping Shocker's mask off for effect.

"W-w-what?" 

He stammered, utterly confused and terrified.

I stare at him silently for several long seconds, then burst into wild laughter.

"Pfft, sorry, sorry—I just wanted to see your face after that words. Pretty scary, right? You've gotta admit!"

"You're completely insane, you bastard! I'll take you down!" 

Shocker yelled, trying to cover his fear with rage.

Stepping closer, I grab Shocker's broken arm, making him scream in pain.

"Now, let's be serious. You've got a fracture, and every second of stubbornness or empty threats takes you further away from medical help. Nod if you understand."

Through gritted teeth and obvious effort, Shocker finally nodded.

"Wonderful. Now, who do you work for?"

He stayed silent.

I grab his good arm and firmly bend his index finger back.

"Let me remind you—your second arm is still intact for now, and so are all those delicate little fingers. One careless move, and they'll snap like twigs."

"I'm no rat! I won't betray the boss!"

"Then that's unfortunate for you," 

I reply, breaking his index finger.

The warehouse echoes with another scream of pain.

"What do you think? Will the pinky hurt more?" 

I ask, taking hold of his trembling hand and isolating the smallest finger.

"Wait, wait! Please, I'll talk! I'll talk!"

"Fantastic," 

I say, releasing his hand, "And don't even think about lying. If you do, I'll hear it in your heartbeat!"

I'll admit, I was bluffing. I'm nowhere near Matt Murdock's level of hypersensitivity, but Shocker doesn't know that.

"Got it. I... the Big Boss. I work for him."

"I need a real name, not some alias!" 

I snap, reaching for his hand again.

"Please, they'll kill me!" 

Shocker squeals, trying to scoot away from me as much as he can.

Did I go overboard? 

The guy's pale as a ghost, drenched in sweat and gasping for air. He's probably spiking a fever from the pain.

"Where do I find the Big Boss?"

"He contacted me through Hammerhead. I swear, I don't know where the base is!"

Interesting. 

However, this complicates figuring out who "Big Boss" actually is. 

Just now, I can think of four different people Hammerhead has worked for in various scenarios.

"Where can I find this hammer-headed thug?"

"Hammerhead. Ice Eight Club, in Manhattan. His girlfriend's the manager there. He's there almost every free evening."

"What operation was going on here?"

"Drugs, in those crates."

"Who was that guy in the suit? The one who looked like an accountant?"

"He's… from the other partner's side. This is their warehouse. We pay them a cut to distribute our product on their turf."

"So, your 'Big Boss' isn't such a big deal after all?"

Shocker stayed silent.

"And who are these mysterious partners?"

"N-n-no… I can't…"

Hmm, this is a pivotal moment. 

I can finally establish myself as a guy who is not afraid to get his hands dirty. But if I do, there's no going back to being the "Friendly Neighborhood" Spider-Man.

"Alright, hang in there, Shocker. I'll call in some guys in uniform and medics while I'm at it. They'll patch you up." 

I say, patting him on the shoulder and using webbing to stabilize the broken arm. 

"This will help until the pros arrive."

After leaving the warehouse, I searched for the nearest payphone, but on the way, I ran into a police patrol car.

"Hey, guys, message from your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man: there was a drug shipment unloading at a warehouse in Forest Hills, on Leith Avenue that I prevented. There's no need to thank me. A couple of guys are still there, personally packed and please go grab them. Also, call medics. Have a good shift!"

I bid them farewell, and before they could process the fact that some guy in a suit just jumped on their car, I grabbed onto a building and swung off toward home.

It's already midnight, and I haven't even slept! 

...

[3rd POV]

James Wesley ascended to the top of the "Main Tower," his boss's office.

"Wesley, you're early. How did the operation go? Did our partners come through?" 

The towering, two-meter-tall man asked while pounding on a punching bag.

"Actually, things didn't go as planned, Mr. Fisk."

Wilson stopped, removed his gloves, and turned to face his subordinate.

"Report."

James Wesley had been Kingpin's right-hand man ever since the boss earned the title of the king of the criminal world. 

Wesley had earned his place due to his fanatical loyalty to his boss and reputation as Fisk's organization's most reliable employee.

"Everything went as planned, but then, at the final stage of the operation, some guy in tights showed up."

"Daredevil?"

"No, he called himself Spider-Man."

"Hmm. What about the products?"

"It was partially destroyed, and he tipped off the cops, so the operation failed."

"Can they trace it back to us?"

"No, all the men were working for Thompson, including Shocker."

"So, problems for Mr. Lincoln. But Shocker knew whose orders you were following."

"Believe me, Mr. Fisk, that empty-headed mercenary fears you more than his own boss, so..."

"I'm safe. Good. Contact Tombstone's people. We need to discuss the next steps. Also, find out everything you can about this Spider-Man."

...

[1st POV]

"Mr. Parker? Mr. Parker!?"

"Huh?"

"I understand that English is the language you speak, but that's no excuse to sleep during my class. This is your first and last warning, Mr. Parker."

"Sorry, Miss Ditman."

Well, I was hoping that an hour of sleep would be enough. Next time, I'll have to plan my time better.

"Hey, Pete, what's up? You didn't sleep all night?"

"No, Miles, it's just that when I hear Miss Ditman's voice, it knocks me out immediately."

"Got it, Mr. Grumpy. So, what kept you up all night?"

"Nightmares."

"Terminators?"

"No, a pack of unicorns."

"Now that's terrifying."

After joking around, we made our way to Gwen's locker.

"Wow, Pete, you look tired."

"Mr. Parker couldn't sleep all night because of the unicorns!"

"Yikes! But seriously, spend less time in your basement, Pete, and get more sleep."

"It's a lab…"

"Yeah, whatever. By the way, did you hear the news?"

"Go ahead, Miss Stacy."

"Seriously, you haven't heard? Everyone's been talking about it all morning."

"I was kinda busy drooling on my desk."

"I don't really care for rumors."

"It doesn't matter. After a year of studying in Europe, Norman Osborn's son is coming back—yes, that Osborn."

"Harry?"

"You guys know each other?"

"We used to hang out when we were kids."

Hmm. 

The Web of Fate seems to be pulling in more "Spider" characters. 

I guess it's time to stop being surprised.

The question is, unlike many alternate versions, I haven't spoken to Harry in years. 

Does he even remember me? The much more important question is: Do I really want that?

Overall, Harry's a pretty normal guy, but he has one major flaw: his father. Norman "Green Goblin" Osborn. 

The issue is that whenever Peter Parker interacted with Harry Osborn, he inevitably ended up meeting Norman Osborn. 

Norman sees potential in Peter and even treats him like a son he never had. 

This only made Harry angry and disappointed, and somewhere deep down, he likely harbored a grudge against Peter who had no relation to Norman's tendencies.

Honestly, the father-son dynamic there could be the subject of a psychological thesis.

However, I'll go with the flow. 

I'll ignore him back if he does. After all, a long time has passed. We can talk if not, but just in case, no hangout invites.

"It's cool to have a millionaire's son as a friend."

"As I said, we hung out as kids, but that doesn't mean we're still friends."

"Whoa, easy there, Pete. I'm just joking."

"Sorry for snapping, Miles. I really didn't get enough sleep."

....

The day at school went pretty boring. 

It's still strange that whenever I run into Flash, he's not trying to hit me but instead gives me a high-five. 

He actually treats me like part of the football team. 

That feels a little weird.

"Aunt May, Uncle Ben, I'm home!"

Oh, right, they're both at work.

I take off my shoes and head for the kitchen.

On the fridge door, there's a note: "Hey, champ, we'll be late. Work shifts. Dinner's in the fridge. Have a good evening. – Uncle Ben."

They both work a lot.

I was thinking, maybe I should pick up a side gig and work for that tightwad Jonah Jameson?

This will actually be quite useful.