Chapter 4: First Night Out
The city at night was alive in a different way. Streetlights glowed in long rows, car headlights cut across avenues, and neon signs flickered against the dark sky.
And through it all, a red-and-blue figure swung.
Thwip!
The webline snapped taut, launching Peter high above the traffic.
For the first time, it felt like he could finally have fun.
"Woo-hoo!" he shouted, the sound echoing across rooftops.
He let go of one line, twisted mid-air, and flipped forward before catching another web. He swung clean through a giant donut sign above a coffee shop, tucking his knees and kicking out the other side with a laugh.
Thwip—flip—thwip!
Each swing stretched Peter's grin wider, adrenaline sparking through him. He spun in a corkscrew, launched skyward, then crashed down into another perfect arc. The air cut sharp and cold against his face, exhilarating in every breath.
I could do this forever.
He bounced off a billboard, swung wide on another web, then sliced sideways through the frame of a construction crane. With every trick, his blood pumped faster.
To the people on the ground, he was just a blur — a shadow slipping between skyscrapers, a streak of red and blue across the skyline.
"Give me all your money, you old hag!"
As Spider-Man was about to try another trick, he overheard a mugger threatening an elderly woman.
Spider-Man landed on the roof beside them and looked down.
Peter crouched low on the rooftop edge, peering into the alley. His breath still came quick from swinging, chest rising and falling, but now his eyes locked onto the scene below.
The alley stretched narrow between two buildings. A man in a dark jacket had one arm clamped around an elderly woman's wrist, the other hand pointing a knife at her purse.
"Please," she stammered, voice trembling. "I don't—don't hurt me—"
The mugger yanked harder. "Shut up and hand it over!"
Peter's fists clenched inside his gloves as he mentally bashed himself, forgetting why he was even doing this.
While I was having fun, people's lives were being ruined.
Thwip!
A line of web shot out and slapped the knife clean from the man's hand, yanking it up into the shadows.
"What the—?!" The mugger spun, eyes darting. "Who's there?!"
Peter dropped down, using his momentum to boost his speed. As he swung past, Spider-Man fired a web straight into the mugger's chest and yanked him into the darkness.
He hauled the man upward, slammed him against the rooftop door, and plastered him to the wall with webbing.
The mugger thrashed against the sticky bonds, cursing. "You freak! Let me go—I'll call the cops!"
Spider-Man crawled down, putting his face inches from the man's.
He leaned in close, the white lenses reflecting the thug's face. "Great. Saves me a phone call."
"What do you want? I don't got any money!" the thug stammered, eyes darting.
"Money? Please. If I wanted cash, I'd be driving Uber, not swinging rooftops." Spider-Man tapped the man's cheek with two fingers. "I want information. Word on the street. Big deals, big players. Where's it happening?"
The mugger swallowed hard. "I—I don't know!"
Peter held up a picture — web-snapped evidence of the thug holding a knife on the old woman. His voice dropped, cold and steady.
"You really wanna test me? Because if I have to come back, I'll hunt you down, break every one of your fingers, then your joints, then your shoulders — and drag you to the police station with all the evidence of you attacking an elderly woman. And I bet that won't go over too well in prison."
The mugger's face went pale. His eyes flicked from the picture to the glowing white lenses inches from his own.
"I—I swear, I don't know anything big! Just small stuff—pickpocketing, hustling. That's it!" His voice cracked, strangled by fear.
Spider-Man tilted his head slowly, like a predator studying prey. "That's a shame. I was really hoping you'd be useful."
He reached up, pressing two fingers against the man's hand pinned in web. The thug flinched.
"Wait! Wait, okay, okay!" the mugger cried. "There's talk—down by the docks. Pier Seventeen. Tomorrow night. Big shipment coming in. I don't know what it is, but everyone's saying it's huge."
Spider-Man paused, letting the words hang in the cold air. Then he gave a small, mocking pat on the thug's cheek. "See? That wasn't so hard."
The mugger tried to look away, shame and terror battling across his face.
Peter's voice dropped to a growl. "If I find out you're lying, I'll come back. And trust me…" He leaned close enough for the thug to feel his breath through the mask. "…next time, you'll be begging the cops to save you from me."
The man whimpered, sagging against the webbing.
Spider-Man straightened, lenses narrowing. He turned to leave, then paused and glanced back.
"Oh, by the way…" he said casually, tapping the webbing that held the thug to the wall. "That stuff dissolves in about an hour. So… have fun hanging out up here."
The mugger's eyes widened. "Y-you can't just leave me like this!"
"Sure I can." Peter tilted his head, a smirk hidden behind the mask. "Call it… a time-out."
Before the thug could spit out another word, Spider-Man fired a webline and launched himself into the night, leaving the man to struggle and curse against the sticky bonds.
Peter soared across the city once more, the wind rushing past his mask as the skyline unfolded beneath him. His heart was still pounding, not from the swinging — but from what he'd just said, what he'd just done.
He landed on a water tower, crouching against the cold metal frame. The city lights flickered below, and for the first time tonight, the excitement was gone.
Did I go too far?
His hands shook as he flexed them. He could still feel the mugger's fear, still hear the crack in his voice when he begged.
Peter looked down at his gloved fingers, curling them into fists.
"I'm not supposed to be the scary one," he muttered under his breath.
"But scary is what I need to be if I'm going to clean up the streets," Spider-Man whispered.
He straightened, shoulders rolling back as the last trace of playfulness drained away. His hands tightened into fists at his sides, every muscle rigid with purpose. The glow of the city lights reflected off his mask, turning the white lenses into cold, unblinking eyes.
"With great power," he whispered, voice low and steady, "comes the responsibility… to make them afraid."
He crouched at the edge of the tower, body coiled like a predator in the dark.
He wasn't Peter Parker anymore.
He was Spider-Man — and Spider-Man was the shadow the criminals of New York would never escape.