◉◉◉◉◉
Stark Tower, Late Night
"Decision made," Tony said, flicking holograms into place. "Ten micro-cams in Queens alleys. If we get nothing in a week, we yank them."
He took a sip of something that had definitely gone flat. "JARVIS, print me ten micro rigs."
"With pleasure, sir," JARVIS replied as robotic arms began assembling thumb-sized cameras silent, low-light, mesh-networked, and nearly invisible.
---
Parker House, Queens
"Wait—picnic tomorrow? That's awesome!" Peter burst through the door, mask nowhere in sight, grin everywhere else.
Aunt May smiled. "It's been a while since we did a family day."
"So good," Peter said, already buzzing. "I can pack water, sandwiches, we can map a trail—"
Sylas and Uncle Ben stepped in from the garage.
"Uncle Ben! May said picnic tomorrow—"
Ben winced. "Sorry, kiddo. The old car's done, We might have to skip the day trip."
Peter deflated. "Oh. Right."
Ben clapped his shoulder. "Chin up. We can still hit the boardwalk, grab corndogs, and argue about roller coasters."
Peter forced a smile. "Yeah. That works."
He hesitated thinking of the $5,000 he could put toward a replacement. But how would he explain it?
Across the room, Sylas was caught in the same bind. He could cover a car outright but Ben would want receipts, a story that didn't unravel.
"Alright, no long faces," Ben said, settling in. "Both of you—couch. Game's on."
"On it," Peter and Sylas said at the same time.
May peeked in, charmed by the sight of the three of them. "Who wants dessert?"
"Me," Ben said, hand up. "Cookies. Obviously."
---
Oscorp R&D — Night Shift
"Status on the subject?" asked Dr. Curt 'Kurt' Connors, voice even but tight.
A technician watched jagged lines scroll across the monitor, then glanced at the mouse in the plex tank. "Vitals normal… no heart rate spiking subject's down. Time of death—"
Connor swallowed, eyes dropping to the empty sleeve pinned at his side. Another failure. Another step that wasn't the last.
He exhaled, composed, and reset. They'd been here before. Progress was incremental until it wasn't.
He'd started this work in his own lab on limb regeneration, but Norman Osborn had found him, made a pitch: join the human-enhancement serum program at Oscorp.
Better equipment, bigger budget, faster breakthroughs. Connors could work on both projects in parallel.
And Norman? Norman needed results.
"How goes it, Professor?" Norman's voice cut through the lab, smooth as a razor.
Connors answered plainly. "Close, A few more trials."
"Your 'few' is four days," Norman said, eyes cold. "Our product launch is set for Wednesday. I've bought the week's headlines. Don't make me refund them."
He didn't say why he needed the serum. He didn't have to. The way he gripped the doorframe said enough: time was after him.
Connors nodded. "Understood."
Norman left. The lab returned to the rhythm of fans, pumps, and quiet desperation.
Hours later, when the day crew had gone, Connors slipped three labeled vials into his bag and headed for his private lab.
Click.
Lights up. Another plex tank. Five jumpy lab mice each missing a tail.
"Entry: Experiment 326," Connors dictated, pulling on gloves with his teeth. "Revised serum: altered protein scaffold, reduced inflammatory cascade, stabilized vector."
He opened a small hatch, gently restrained a mouse, drew an exact dose, and pressed the needle to its neck.
The mouse shrieked, spasmed then stilled.
Connors stared, then tried the second vial. Then the third.
Ten minutes later, he slammed a palm against the bench and hissed through his teeth. "Why isn't it taking?"
He killed the lights, trudged upstairs, and grabbed the first thing on his desk the evening paper.
A splash photo: a red-and-blue blur, web lines stretched between two rooftops.
SPIDER-MAN SAVES HOSTAGES.
Connors frowned. Spider-Man? He knew Iron Man. A spider-themed vigilante was new.
He tossed the paper aside, sat at his computer, and typed. In minutes he was watching shaky phone footage: a lean figure dropping from a cornice, webbing a car thief to a light pole, then slinging away on a thread of silk.
Another clip security cam angles Spider-Man dismantling a half-dozen thugs in seconds.
He paused, leaned closer.
"Spider."
Across the wall, a gecko skittered into view.
Connors lifted the little lizard gently—no fear, only awe. The gecko's tail dropped cleanly into his other hand; the body twisted, alive and escaping.
He held the tiny severed tail like a crown jewel.
"Of course," he whispered. "Of course."
---
At the Dinner Table
Peter shoveled in pasta, trying not to grin at Uncle Ben's commentary on the sports highlights.
"Check the local," Ben said, flipping the paper. "This guy's something 'Spider-Man.' Big heart. I like him."
Peter nodded dutifully. "Me too. I, uh… Hope I can be like him one day."
"I don't," May said instantly. "I want you safe, no chasing lunatics."
Ben nodded. "Your aunt's right. Help folks when you can, sure, but don't go courting trouble."
Peter opened his mouth then closed it as Ben shot him The Look.
At the end of the table, Sylas tried not to laugh. He's going to pop if he can't tell someone.
---
Manhattan Skyline — Later
Tony hovered in the Mark suit, invisible high above Queens, tapping micro-cams onto brick, under fire escapes, along shadowed alley mouths.
"Grid online," JARVIS reported. "Low-light enhancement active. Motion heuristics set to non-intrusive thresholds."
"Good. If our shadow friend pops, we want a front-row seat."
Across the river, a subway rumbled. A breeze tugged neon into ripples.
Beneath a streetlamp in Forest Hills, a shadow stretched just a hair too long shivered then settled.
To most, it was nothing.
To one who knew what to look for, it was older than tech and sharper than magic the quiet pull of the Shadow Khan wherever the light gave up its ground.
And after the bus? It felt closer, Hungrier.
◉◉◉◉◉
~Support with 200 PowerStones = 1 Bonus Chapter
◉◉◉◉◉
Thank you so much for your support and for reading!