They will see hell

# Uncle Ben's Perspective

The crisp autumn air nipped at my face as I stepped out onto the bustling New York street. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the weathered brownstones and busy sidewalks. I knew it wasn't entirely Peter's fault, and that May shouldn't have tried to get the last word in, but I still needed to find my nephew and ask him an important question.

My mind raced with possibilities as I scanned the faces of passersby, hoping to catch a glimpse of Peter's unruly brown hair or hear his familiar laugh. I figured he might have ducked into one of the nearby convenience stores to cool off, so I made my way to the closest ones, my shoes clicking against the concrete as I walked.

In each store, I approached the cashiers—some young and distracted, others older and world-weary—and asked about my nephew. Each time, I was met with a shake of the head or a disinterested "No, haven't seen him." Frustration building, I realized I should have gone to the one place Peter was most likely to be all along.

The bell above the door chimed as I entered Mikey's store, a quaint little shop with shelves stocked full of colorful snacks and household essentials. The familiar scent of coffee and newsprint filled the air.

"Hey, Mikey, you seen Peter around here?" I called out to the portly, balding man behind the counter. His round face creased with concern as he replied, "No, what happened?"

I leaned against the worn linoleum counter, sighing. "Peter used to work here for a couple of weeks, so I thought he might have come by. My wife said something, and Peter didn't take it well."

Mikey let out a snort, his thick mustache twitching. "Teenagers, am I right?"

I was quick to correct him, feeling a surge of pride for my nephew. "No, he was actually pretty mature about the reason and was willing to accept punishment. It's just that May said something that didn't seem to sit right with him."

Mikey nodded sagely, reaching beneath the counter. "Then go out there and find him. And take this beer on me—it'll keep you warm." He handed me a cold bottle, condensation already forming on its surface.

As I turned to leave, I called out, "Bye, Mikey!"

"That's not how you spell my name!" he retorted good-naturedly.

I couldn't resist one last jab. "Even your mother doesn't know how to spell it," I quipped, letting the door swing shut behind me.

The streets were quieter now, the day's bustle giving way to the calm of early evening. Streetlights flickered to life, casting pools of warm light on the sidewalk. As I walked, I found myself wasting time, not truly looking for Peter. Deep down, I knew he wasn't angry enough to run away, and I had spotted him earlier on the rooftop across from our home. He'd likely still be there when I returned.

Just as I was about to head back, a cry for help pierced the air. My head snapped up, searching for the source. A bus had stopped nearby, and I watched as an elderly man stumbled off, looking shaken. To my horror, I saw someone forcibly pushing the black bus driver away from the vehicle.

Heart pounding, I approached the bus and peered inside. A group of rowdy teenagers had surrounded a young girl, blocking her exit. Their laughter echoed off the metal walls, a chilling sound that made my blood run cold. Without hesitation, I stepped onto the bus, determined to put an end to this situation.

# Peter's Perspective

The wind whipped through my hair as I stood on the edge of the building, my heart pounding in my chest. I had wasted twenty precious minutes up here, lost in thought, before remembering the pivotal moment in Spider-Man's origin story. Now, time was of the essence.

I knew I needed to conceal my identity, but a ski mask seemed too cliché. Instead, I opted for a more unconventional approach. Using my newly acquired powers, I carefully webbed up my head, leaving small slits for breathing and vision. To complete the makeshift costume, I snagged a black and white hoodie that was drying on someone's balcony nearby, pulling it on over my t-shirt.

As I approached the ledge once more, an overwhelming fear gripped me. The last time I'd attempted something like this, I'd been running on pure adrenaline and desperation. Now, with a clear mind, the reality of what I was about to do hit me full force. The memory of my previous death flashed before my eyes, paralyzing me with terror.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. "I can do this," I whispered to myself. "I have Spider powers now. If I can't do this, how can I face anything else in life without fear?"

Yet, each time I tried to take that crucial step off the ledge, I found myself freezing up. Frustration and self-doubt began to consume me. "FUCK!" I shouted into the empty air. "Just because I have a new life doesn't mean I've actually changed. I still can't do anything!"

The panic of potentially losing Uncle Ben to a robber, just like in the original timeline, threatened to overwhelm me. My vision began to blur as I spiraled closer to a full-blown panic attack. But then, a memory pushed its way to the forefront of my mind.

In this hazy recollection, I saw myself standing on a bridge, pleading with someone who was contemplating suicide. I heard my own voice saying, "Listen, whatever you're afraid of, the closer you are to it, the less you fear it. So please, don't do this."

The man in my memory smiled sadly and replied, "Well, I'm afraid I'll die soon, kid. So I'm getting closer to it... just as you said." Then he jumped, and all I could hear was my own anguished cry of "NOOOOO!" as I rushed to the edge.

Snapping back to reality, I found myself staring out at the dimming city lights and the few cars passing by below. With newfound determination, I turned and walked toward the stairwell entrance. But before I reached it, I spun around and dropped into a runner's stance.

My heart pounded as I sprinted toward the edge of the building. With each step, I felt my fear diminishing, replaced by a surge of exhilaration. As I reached the ledge, I planted my foot so hard that the concrete crumbled beneath me. Then, I launched myself into the air, soaring high above the city.

The wind rushed past me as I flew between buildings, my momentum carrying me further than I thought possible. As I began to lose altitude, I fired off a web, attaching it to a nearby skyscraper. The web went taut, and I swung downward, plummeting nearly ten stories before the arc of my swing sent me climbing back up into the sky.

I didn't release the web until I was sure I could slingshot myself with maximum force. Then, I let go, catapulting myself through the air toward Mikey's store, where I suspected Uncle Ben might have gone looking for me.

As I approached the area, my enhanced vision caught sight of a bus, and my blood ran cold as I saw Uncle Ben fall out of a broken window. Time seemed to slow as I pushed myself to swing faster, landing near the scene just moments later.

A young girl knelt beside Uncle Ben, her hands pressed against a stab wound as she tried desperately to stem the bleeding. Tears streamed down her face as she pleaded for someone to save him. I gently but firmly moved her hands aside, assessing the damage.

Uncle Ben's nose was bleeding, and a nasty cut marred the left side of his forehead. I quickly removed his jacket and was relieved to see that the stab wound, while serious, wasn't as deep as I'd feared. Still, I applied a small amount of webbing to the injury as a precaution.

With shaking hands, I retrieved Uncle Ben's phone from his pocket and activated the emergency service. I held the phone out to the girl, who looked at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Do you want me to tell them?" she asked, her voice trembling.

I nodded, unable to trust my own voice, and focused on monitoring Uncle Ben's vital signs. His heartbeat was faint but steady, and his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths.

As the girl spoke with the 911 operator, providing details about the attack and Uncle Ben's condition, I strained my enhanced senses to listen to the activity inside the bus. The sounds of groaning and grunting reached my ears, followed by chilling words that made my blood run cold.

"Let's kill the old geezer and book it," one voice said.

Another replied, "Fucker's gonna die today."

Their callous words felt like daggers piercing my heart. If I hadn't been here, their brutal intentions might have come true, and it would have been all my fault. But now that I was present, I was determined to ensure their words remained nothing more than empty threats.

Rising to my feet, I began walking toward the bus with purposeful strides. I could hear the 911 operator asking the girl if she was alone, and her response mentioning me and the bus driver. As she looked up, she realized I was no longer by her side.

Her eyes widened as she caught sight of me clinging to the top of the bus, peering through the broken window from which Uncle Ben had been thrown. I studied the faces of the attackers, committing each one to memory.

Although Uncle Ben was unconscious and not in immediate danger, the cruel words of these thugs had awakened something within me. A fierce determination took hold, and I knew that I had to dismantle every shred of power these criminals thought they possessed, right down to the very root.

As I prepared to confront the assailants, I couldn't help but feel that this moment would define my journey as Spider-Man. The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders, and I knew that from this point on, every choice I made would have far-reaching consequences. With a deep breath, I steeled myself for the battle ahead, ready to face my fears and protect those who couldn't protect themselves.