The middle of September had already started to cool the city, the kind that made everyone just a little crankier or a little more refreshed than usual. In a modest apartment on the East Side, Peter A. Parker was hunched over his coffee maker,which he had paid way too much money for,staring at the dark liquid like it held the secrets of the universe.
"Alright, universe… give me something good today," he muttered, swirling the mug. He lifted it to his lips and took a careful sip, savoring the warmth.
The city stretched out below his balcony in a patchwork of brick, glass, and asphalt, bathed in golden sunlight. He leaned over the railing, letting the crisp wind ruffle his hair.
"Good morning, New York," he said softly, like the city might actually respond. For a fleeting moment, it felt peaceful, normal. The kind of normal he'd been missing lately.
Then he glanced at his watch.
"Oh, come on."
Peter downed the rest of the coffee in one gulp, nearly choking, and shoved the mug into the sink. Shirt? On. Tie? Somewhere on the floor, probably plotting against him. Glasses? Check. He grabbed his messenger bag and practically flew out the door.
By the time he reached the Daily Bugle, the elevator ride alone had smoothed exactly zero wrinkles out of his hair. He sprinted through the lobby, apologized to the security guard about a dozen times, and punched the button for the top floor.
Phones rang. Printers spat out paper like they were angry. Reporters shouted over each other. Peter waved at a few coworkers, muttering "Morning" in all the right tones of distracted politeness. Then he froze.
The mural.
His uncle, immortalized in heroic brush strokes, stood next to J. Jonah Jameson, whose expression looked like he'd just smelled a bad idea and was now forcing the world to acknowledge it.
Peter looked to his side and Jona was already aproaching.
"Always knew it was a stupid idea. Who even issued it?" Jonah said.
Peter turned. "You did."
Jonah didn't reply. He just kept walking back toward his office, his scowl practically radiating authority. Peter followed, taking long strides to catch up.
"So… Mary Jane," Jonah began, leaning back in his chair once Peter closed the door. "Still seeing her? Or has she realized she can run away and never look back?"
Peter smirked. "She's still with me. Mostly because she hasn't figured out she can leave yet."
Jonah grunted. "Mm-hmm. Figures. And Allan Biotech?"
Peter leaned against the desk, arms crossed. "Definitely not a good thing. They've got a whole 'we're hiding something shady and hope no one notices' vibe going on. The kind of company you want to avoid unless you're into corporate horror stories."
Jonah rubbed his temple. "I've got a bad feeling about them. Labs full of who-knows-what, disappearing employees… and I don't trust a word these bought-out officials say."
"Exactly my thoughts." Peter slid a folder across the desk. "Seventeen people—gone or ruled dead—since that Oscorp subsidiary opened. The public? Clueless. Oh, and bonus points: they've been dumping chemicals into the bay and docks."
Jonah grimaced. "Damn it. Bought-off officials… all of them. Shame is apparently obsolete."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "Also, Fisk has been making rounds recently. Something tells me he's connected somehow."
Jonah leaned back, voice low. "Wouldn't be the first time he's worked with the Osborns. Careful, Parker. You poke at this, it bites back."
Peter straightened. "I have a journalistic duty to poke at it." He grabbed his bag.
Jonah's voice softened, almost reluctantly: "Parker… Ben's death anniversary is coming up. Don't… forget."
Peter nodded. No reply needed. He slipped out into the city streets.
---
The docks reeked of salt, oil, and decay. The brutalist structure of Allan Biotech rose like a gray sentinel, harsh lines reflecting the morning sun. Peter raised his camera, snapping pictures. "Something about this place… is off," he muttered.
Movement drew his attention. A group of kids were surrounding another, shoving and laughing. Peter didn't hesitate.
"Hey! Knock it off!" He landed in front of them, knees slightly bent. "Unless you're auditioning for the 'Juvenile Delinquents of the Year' award, I'd recommend stopping."
Most of the kids scattered. Only the biggest one and the girl he was tormenting remained.
Peter crouched. "Alright, let's talk. Hurting people because you can? Terrible look. Seriously. Not stylish at all."
The bully puffed up, arms crossed, chest out. The girl stayed silent, glancing at the ground.
Peter pointed at the boy. "You know, Uncle Ben used to tell me something important. Something I only fully understood after… well, messing up a few times. Ready? With great power comes… great responsibility."
The boy raised an eyebrow. "That's Voltaire, right?"
Peter froze. "Uh… wow. Really?"
"Yeah. Big fan."
Peter chuckled. "Smart cookie. Didn't think you'd know that one."
The boy flipped him off and ran. Peter shook his head, laughing softly.
He extended a hand to the girl. "You okay?"
She nodded. "Thanks."
Her sneakers squeaked as she ran off.
Peter ducked into a quiet alley, the smell of salt and diesel mixing with the city's usual chaos. He fished his phone out of his pocket.
[Jackpot]
"Hey, MJ," he said, trying for casual, but the tension in his chest made it impossible.
"Hello,Tiger," she answered immediately, her voice warm but carrying that edge of worry he knew too well. "Are you okay? You sound… rushed."
"Rushed is the polite word. Late is more accurate. You know me, still chasing deadlines and dodging exploding coffee cups," he said with a small grin, though it didn't quite reach his eyes.
MJ chuckled softly. "Classic Parker. But seriously… how's the dockside investigation going?"
Peter glanced back at Allan Biotech's looming tower. "It's… creepy. Gray concrete, suspiciously clean windows, ominous vibes—you know, your standard supervillain aesthetic."
"Mm-hmm," MJ said, her tone sharp now. "Peter… a friend of mine… worked there. She's… she hasn't shown up lately. Just… gone."
Peter froze mid-step. "Gone? As in… no call, no text, just vanished?"
"Exactly. And it's not like her to just disappear. Something's off, Peter."
He ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah… I was thinking the same thing. Look, I'll check it out, MJ. I promise. I've got to see what's going on inside that place anyway."
"You better be careful," she said, softer now, almost pleading. "I don't want to lose you to some… secret lab horror story."
Peter smirked, though the humor was strained. "MJ, you wound me. You think I'd let a bunch of test tubes and lab coats get the better of me? I'm trained for this… sort of. And besides…" He paused, letting the weight of the next words hang between them. "…you know I can't stay out of trouble. Not when people disappear."
Her sigh was audible. "Just… be smart, Peter. And don't do anything too reckless. I mean it."
"I will. Scout's honor," Peter said. He took a deep breath, letting her words sink in. "And MJ? Thanks… for letting me know. I'll handle it. I always do."
There was a short pause. Then she said softly, almost hesitating, "Just… come home in one piece, okay?"
Peter's chest tightened. "Always do. Always will."
He ended the call, staring at the brutalist building in front of him. The shadowed concrete, the sharp edges,the secrecy. It all pressed against his gut like a warning.
"Yeah… something's very wrong," he muttered to himself.