The spire's penthouse was a fortress of shadows, Neon rain a relentless drum. Peter, Mad Spider, sat on a console, his costume bloodstained, his laughter brittle, the safehouse raid's violence a weight. His pain pulsed, madness teetering, but Gwen's touch—her hand on his—kept him grounded. "I'm scaring you, Gwenny," he said, his voice raw, green eyes heavy with guilt. Gwen's blue eyes glistened, her love fierce but strained. "I'm scared for you, Peter," she said, her voice breaking. "Your violence—it's not you." Her fear was a knife, cutting deep.
Fisk limped in, his cane tapping, his scars a map of pain. "You're fighting a war, Spider," he rumbled, his voice warm but heavy. "But wars cost." Flashback: At 15, Wilson watched his father beat his mother, his fists too small to stop it. He stole a knife, his first weapon, shame and rage forging a criminal's heart. Now, he saw Peter's struggle, Gwen's fear, and felt a fatherly ache to protect them, his loyalty to them absolute.
The raid hit a Viper lab, Scorpion's tech cache humming with stolen quantum cores. Peter's webs snapped, his violence a whirlwind—mercs slammed, servers smashed, laughter chilling. "Burn, snakes!" he roared, pain driving him. Gwen's hack fried the lab's systems, her drones strafing, but her voice shook. "Peter, enough!" she cried, tears streaming. He stopped, blood on his hands, guilt crashing. "I'm sorry, Gwenny," he whispered, his madness retreating, love anchoring him.
Back at the spire, Fisk shared more, his voice raw. "I ran with gangs at 17," he said, eyes distant. "Blood for respect. It's a trap." Peter's heart ached, his own fights for survival a mirror. "We're family, big guy," he said, loyalty to Fisk unyielding. Gwen's worry was a storm, her hand gripping Peter's, fear for his soul a personal wound. "I need you, Peter," she said, her voice a plea.
Cliffhanger: A Viper comm warns: "Scorpion's cannon's aimed at the spire." A shadow moves—Iron Fist, his glow nearing.