Chapter 30: Spider-Man's Commemorative Event
Bruce said nothing. He simply looked at the kid. Of everyone here, he had the clearest understanding of Miles's original trajectory. Without Bruce's interference, Miles would have still struggled, but he would have found his way, embracing his responsibility in his own time.
"Should... should I go to school now?" Miles mumbled, unable to meet Bruce's gaze, focusing instead on his own untied shoelaces.
Bruce didn't answer. He turned and walked out the door.
For the Spider-People, this was the signal. The plan was in motion. They looked at the dejected Miles, wanting to offer comfort, but words failed them. One by one, they filed past him. But as they left, almost every one of them reached out to give his shoulder a firm, reassuring pat.
When Gwen passed by, she opened her mouth several times, but ultimately swallowed her words. Nothing she could say right now would feel like true comfort. She could only offer a soft, "Bye, Miles."
Miles lifted his head, watching her slim figure walk away. His mouth opened, then closed without a sound.
"I know you, kid," Peter B. Parker said, crouching down to Miles's level, his voice earnest. "You can handle this. All of it. You just need to step through one door. One leap of faith."
Miles looked into Peter's eyes and gave a heavy, solemn nod.
With that, Peter stood. He could delay no longer. He turned and jogged to catch up with the others. Tonight's plan couldn't afford any mistakes.
Miles watched the retreating backs of the heroes, a deep yearning in his eyes. He wanted to be part of the mission, to be like them. Not like the Bat, but like a Spider-Man.
"Why? Losing confidence?" Aunt May's gentle voice broke his reverie. She sipped her coffee, watching him with kind eyes.
"Of course not!" Miles said, turning to her. "I promised Spider-Man I'd be like him. It's just... the job he gave me... now someone else is doing it. Isn't that... bad?" As he spoke, he remembered the Peter Parker of this world, broken and dying on the concrete. With great power comes great responsibility. But how could he be responsible when he couldn't even control his basic powers?
"Then why not train some more?" Aunt May suggested lightly.
"How?" Miles sighed, frustration returning. "I was trained all night by a really experienced Spider-Man. It didn't help." The thought crept in again: maybe he wasn't meant to be Spider-Man.
"Spider-Man," Aunt May said, setting her cup down with a soft clink, "sometimes, what you need isn't training from someone else. My Peter... who could have trained him?"
Her words were simple, but they struck a chord. A spark, faint but real, flickered in Miles's eyes.
Seeing the renewed fight in him, Aunt May smiled and walked toward the back door leading to the Spider-Cave, not saying another word. Miles, after a moment's hesitation, followed.
The sun sank below the horizon, its last light fading. But the city's own lights ignited, transforming New York into its true, sleepless self.
Their target, the Fisk Tower, was particularly magnificent tonight. Blazing with light, it stood as a brilliant beacon, the brightest point for blocks. No one looking at it would ever guess its owner was the kingpin of New York's underworld. They saw only Wilson Fisk, celebrated philanthropist.
Crouched on the arm of a distant construction crane, the Spider-Team surveyed the scene.
"The Kingpin has a private elevator that goes straight from the penthouse down to the collider level," Peni Parker reported from inside her spider-mech, her cockpit screen displaying a schematic of the building's internal layout. It sounded straightforward: get in, go down, shut it off.
"I didn't expect an audience," Spider-Man Noir noted dryly, looking down at the base of the tower. A red-carpet event was in full swing. Flashing camera lights and recognizable celebrities were streaming toward the Fisk Building's grand entrance. Wilson Fisk was hosting some kind of gala.
"What's our play?" Gwen asked, looking toward the far end of the crane arm where Bruce stood, a stark silhouette against the city glow, like a demon surveying its domain.
"The perimeter security cameras have been under my control since we arrived," Bruce stated, his voice flat. "I've mapped a path. A route of minimal blind spots. Follow me."
Without another word, he fired his grapple gun. The line shot out, and he swung in a silent, graceful arc toward the upper floors of the Fisk Tower.
For the Spider-People, tracking his precise path was easy. Their enhanced dynamic vision and rapid learning abilities—small perks of the spider-package—allowed them to instantly memorize the complex route of ledges, vents, and darkened windows he used.
Gwen was the first to follow, launching a web-line. The others swung after in quick succession.
But when they all gathered on a shadowed ledge high on the tower's side, overlooking a massive interior atrium through one-way glass, they were met with a sight that left them stunned—all except Bruce.
"You have got to be kidding me," Gwen breathed, her voice a mix of disgust and disbelief.
It was a sick joke. There, in the heart of his empire, Spider-Man's greatest enemy was hosting a lavish memorial gala... for Spider-Man. The event was opulent. And among the gathered mourners and socialites, they could see a face that shouldn't be here: Mary Jane Watson. Her presence made a twisted sense. While she knew her husband was Spider-Man, she was far less involved than Aunt May. She had never known the monster behind Wilson Fisk's public mask.
On a raised stage, Kingpin himself was addressing the crowd, a handkerchief held delicately in his massive hand.
"Thank you... thank you all. I am honored to share in commemorating our fallen hero tonight," Fisk said, his voice thick with what sounded like genuine, trembling sorrow. "We were... good friends. He was like a—"
The Spider-People couldn't listen any longer.
"What a pig," Gwen muttered, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"I can hear you, you know," Spider-Ham grumbled, slightly offended.
"Wait," Noir interrupted, his detective mind working. "Look at the wait staff." The servers moving through the crowd were all dressed in cheap, replica Spider-Man suits, a tasteless but thematic uniform for the event. "Tacky. But it can't be a coincidence. Is that our way in?" He looked to Bruce.
Bruce merely glanced at the scene below, his expression unreadable behind the mask. Then he turned, moving away from the window. "Not that way. We go from here." He pointed to a nearly invisible maintenance hatch set into the wall above them, leading deeper into the building's superstructure.
(End of Chapter)
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