Peter, Mad Spider, cleaned blood from his costume, his laughter sharp but hollow, the Viper raid's violence lingering. His pain burned, regeneration straining, madness clawing. "Another day, another brawl, Gwenny," he quipped, his green eyes flickering with chaos. Gwen stood close, her tablet dark, her blue eyes heavy with worry. "You're losing yourself, Peter," she whispered, her voice cracking, love and fear entwined. She touched his scar, her heart aching—he was her world, but his darkness scared her.
Fisk limped to a window, his cane steady, his scars stark. "You fought well, Spider," he rumbled, but his voice carried pain, memories stirred by Peter's rage. Flashback: At 14, Wilson fought in Brooklyn's alleys, knuckles bloody, stealing for his mother's medicine. "You're a thug!" a cop spat, cuffs biting. Wilson's shame hardened into defiance, his first crime a vow to never be weak. Now, he saw Peter's violence, his own youth mirrored, and felt a brotherly need to guide him.
The next raid targeted a Viper safehouse, Scorpion's mercs guarding stolen Oscorp tech. Peter swung in, webs a crimson blur, his violence fiercer—mercs pinned, bones cracked, laughter wild. "This is my city!" he roared, pain fueling madness. Gwen's EMPs disabled drones, her hack locking the safehouse, but her voice trembled. "Peter, stop!" she pleaded, seeing blood on his webs. He paused, his grin softening, guilt flickering. "I'm trying, Gwenny," he murmured, webbing a merc gently, for her.
At the spire, Fisk's voice was raw. "I killed at 16," he confessed, eyes haunted. "A debt collector, for my mother. It broke me." Peter's heart twisted, his own fights for Aunt May a mirror. "You did what you had to, big guy," he said, loyalty to Fisk a fire, their shared pain a bond. Gwen's worry deepened, her hand squeezing Peter's, fear for his violence a gnawing pain. "I can't lose you," she whispered, tears falling.
Cliffhanger: A Viper signal spikes: "Scorpion's weapon's live—plasma cannon." A shadow looms—Jessica Jones, her eyes on the spire.