Chapter 13: Truck
"You really sure you're alright?" Ben watched Peter closely, worry tugging at his voice.
"Thanks for checking on me. I'm feeling much better now." Peter answered with a steadier tone.
Seeing that Peter had made up his mind to leave, Ben chose not to hold him back.
"Let me walk you out," Ben offered.
They moved together toward the door.
"Can I… give you a hug?" Peter asked quietly just before heading off.
"Of course." Ben opened his arms at once.
Peter stepped in and pulled him into a firm embrace.
"Thank you. You're the one who taught me how to choose my own path," he murmured.
Ben blinked, puzzled. "You're giving me too much credit. I didn't do anything special."
He truly didn't understand why the boy would say that. A few comforting words hardly counted as teaching someone how to be themselves.
Peter soon let go. He still had work ahead of him.
"Wait, I never got your name," Ben called after him.
"Spider-Man," Peter replied.
"Spider-Man? That's hardly a name," Ben muttered.
Peter didn't respond. His figure melted into the darkness before Ben could say anything more.
"What a poor kid…" Ben whispered under his breath.
…
Queens, New York.
A speeding truck tore through the streets with more than a dozen police cars chasing hard behind it.
"Vehicle ahead, pull over right now!"
"Vehicle ahead, pull over immediately!" an officer shouted from the cruiser tailing the truck.
"These useless New York cops are really getting on my nerves," the truck driver growled.
"Just drive faster! You know what the boss will do if we're late," the middle-aged man in the passenger seat warned coldly.
"I know, I know."
Just hearing the boss mentioned made the driver pale. He had no desire to experience the boss's torture methods.
"How much farther?" the middle-aged passenger asked.
"One more block."
That answer finally let the passenger exhale.
"This is all Joe's fault. Who told him to start shooting?" the driver snapped.
The only reason the NYPD had locked onto them was because Joe had fired recklessly into a crowd.
"That junkie is going to pay for that when we get back," the middle-aged man muttered, face twisted with anger.
"Damn it. The guy up there has no intention of stopping," the officer with the loudspeaker fumed.
"Relax, John. Our units already set up a roadblock ahead. They're not getting out of this," the cruiser's driver replied.
"George, these maniacs are tearing through Queens like it's nothing. What are they even after?" John complained.
"Probably another turf fight between the underground crews. Been happening a lot these past few weeks," George replied.
"I just hope one day we can drag those scumbags into court where they belong."
"Into court? You're kidding me. Those 'scumbags' could wipe out small-time cops like us with a flick of a finger," George scoffed. In his eyes, John was dreaming.
John couldn't argue. He knew full well it was impossible for officers like them to take down the big underground players.
"Officer John, what's going on with that truck ahead?" a voice suddenly rang out.
"A bunch of lunatics hijacked a truck and are plowing through the streets. George, you already know all this—"
John paused halfway through his sentence, realizing that the voice he had just heard wasn't George's.
"Thanks for the update, Officer John," the unfamiliar voice chimed again.
John snapped his head up. He had heard it clearly this time.
It came from the roof of their car.
"Who's there?!" He drew his service weapon on instinct.
"Relax. It's just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man," a voice answered through the window beside him.
"Get off our car! Now!" John aimed the gun straight at the masked figure.
"No need to panic, Officer. I'm here to help. We're on the same side," Spider-Man replied with both hands lifted.
"Help? Same side?" John eyed him suspiciously.
Some masked guy in a spider suit suddenly appearing on their car roof and claiming to help?
No sane person would buy that.
"You think I'm stupid?" John snapped.
New York might have its share of powered individuals, but most of them robbed, burned, or killed. Good ones were rare.
"Knew you wouldn't believe me…" Spider-Man sighed.
He climbed back onto the roof, then vaulted high into the air. A line of webbing shot out, sticking to the top of the speeding truck. In one fluid swing, he landed right on the moving vehicle.
John and George watched the whole maneuver from their cruiser, stunned.
The two officers stared at each other, both at a loss.
"John, George, report! Who just went from your roof to the truck?" their radio crackled.
"Sir, we… don't know who he is. But he claims he's with us," John replied into the mic.
"With us?" the commanding officer echoed in confusion.
Meanwhile, Spider-Man had already crawled toward the truck's cab.
Neither the driver nor the middle-aged man in the passenger seat noticed him creeping along the window.
"You're speeding. I'll need you to pull over, step out, and show your license," he tapped on the driver's window as if conducting a routine traffic stop.
"What the hell!" both men yelled in shock.
The driver jerked the wheel in panic, trying to shake him off. The truck swerved hard in an S-shaped skid, nearly tipping over.
"Whoa! Easy there. Plenty of innocent people on these streets. Hurt someone and you'll be adding years to your sentence."
Before he even finished speaking, Spider-Man yanked the door open and dragged the driver out in a swift motion.
He slammed the man onto the truck's cargo container and webbed him down tight.
"One down," he said, hopping back toward the cab.
"You're dead!" the middle-aged passenger snarled as he pulled a gun from his waistband.
But before he could raise the gun, a white web shot out with incredible speed, precisely sticking to the weapon.
"That thing's not a toy. You might hurt yourself. More importantly, you might hurt me," Spider-Man said, flicking his wrist.
The gun jerked upward and stuck to the ceiling of the cab.
The man, panting in fury, drew a knife instead and lunged.
Spider-Man caught his wrist and squeezed lightly.
"Aaaaahh!"
The knife slipped from his grip as a sickening crack followed. His wrist bone snapped.
Spider-Man stared, startled. He hadn't meant for that.
"Sorry. My strength's doubled recently. I'm still getting the hang of it," he apologized earnestly.
"Monster… monster!" the man shrieked, stumbling back until the back of his head slammed hard into the window.
He slumped over, unconscious.
"Monster? Seriously? First time anyone's called me that," Spider-Man said, pointing at himself.
"Alright… let's stop this truck first."
He slipped into the driver's seat, hit the brakes, and pulled the handbrake firmly.