"I should intervene. Otherwise, who will work in the office tomorrow?" I thought as my inner capitalise rose which wanted them to work.
"That dark haha. Hey you." As my previous thought made me laugh I gathered the attention of snipers who were hiding and using gangs to bait out the spider trio.
I observed the red dots scattered across the skyline like a disease. Ten of them. Ten distinct locations—rooftops, water towers, skeletal scaffolding. They had turned the entire district into a kill box.
My gaze shifted toward the source of the information. The trajectory of the bullet that had nearly clipped Ghost Spider had betrayed the shooter's position. A rookie mistake, but a fatal one. Once I had one, the others fell into place like dominoes. The geometry of their ambush became transparent.
'Ten snipers,' I noted, watching the Spider-Gang scramble for cover. 'Let's clear the board.'
I vanished.
**Snap.**
**Location 1 - The Water Tower**
The sniper was adjusting his windage, breath steady, eye glued to the scope. He never saw the distortion in the air behind him. I didn't bother with words. My hand wrapped around the back of his skull and slammed his face into the iron grating of the tower platform. The metal groaned, denting inward. He went limp instantly, sliding off the platform like a sack of wet cement.
**Snap.**
**Location 2 - The Crane Arm**
Half a mile away, the second sniper was tracking the movement below. I materialized on the narrow beam behind him. He must have sensed the displacement of air because he started to turn. Too slow. I kicked him in the spine. The sound was dry, like a snapping branch. He tumbled silently off the crane, plummeting into the darkness below without a scream.
**Snap. Location 3. Snap. Location 4.**
I moved faster than thought, a ripple in the fabric of the night. One was garroted with piano wire before he could scream. Another had his rifle barrel crushed around his fingers, bending steel like dough until he dropped to his knees in shock. I didn't kill them all—I didn't need to. I broke their focus, their weapons, and their will.
Within seconds, the symphony of death coming from the rooftops ceased.
**Location 10 - The Final Nest**
The last sniper was the cleverest. He was positioned in a broken window of an abandoned textile factory, covered by shadow and mesh. He had heard the silence. He knew something was wrong. His hand was shaking, his head whipping around, searching for the ghost that was hunting him.
I appeared directly in front of him.
He froze, eyes widening behind his thermal goggles.
"Boo," I whispered.
I punched him in the solar plexus. The air left his lungs in a violent rush. He collapsed, clutching his chest, gasping like a fish on a dock. I dismantled his rifle with a casual twist of my wrist, scattering the bolts into the wind.
Silence reclaimed the district.
The threat from above was gone. Now, it was a show.
I leaned back against the brick of the chimney, crossing my arms, my presence suppressed to a mere whisper. Below, the Spider-Gang had realized they weren't dying anymore.
Confusion turned to fury.
"Clear!" one of them shouted.
They exploded into motion.
It was mesmerizing to watch. Up close, I had questioned their curves, their figures—distractions of the flesh. From here, watching them work, I understood they were living weapons. They moved in a decentralized swarm, covering each other's blind spots with telepathic precision.
The gang members in the lot didn't stand a chance.
One of the Spiders—Ghost Spider, I assumed—launched herself from a shipping container. She twisted in the air, webs firing in rapid succession. They weren't just sticky; they were used as garrotes, as tripwires, as bludgeons. She snagged two gunmen by the ankles and slammed their heads together with a sickening *crack*.
Another fought with brutal efficiency. She used her environment, kicking a dumpster into a cluster of enemies before pouncing on them. Her strength was immense—she tossed a grown man six feet through the air like a pillow.
They were athletic, yes. The way their muscles shifted under their suits was hypnotic, a display of kinetic perfection. But it was the precision that held my attention. They were scanning 360 degrees constantly, moving in patterns that made them incredibly hard to hit.
'They've been trained,' I mused. 'Or perhaps… they share a mind.'
The gang members fell one by one. It wasn't a fight; it was an extermination. The Spider-Gang worked in perfect synchronization, a hive mind of violence. They neutralized ten armed men in under a minute.
When the last gang member hit the ground, groaning in a heap of broken limbs, the Spiders gathered back-to-back in the center of the lot. Their chests heaved. They were scanning the rooftops, looking for the snipers that were no longer there.
They couldn't find me. They couldn't find the bodies I had dropped. To them, the angels had simply stopped firing.
Suddenly, the high-pitched whine of a jet turbine cut through the air.
My eyes narrowed as a shadow swept over the moonlight. Low to the ground, fast and erratic.
A glider.
It weaved through the maze of smoke stacks, performing corkscrews that defied physics. Sitting atop it was a figure in a ragged, hooded costume, the fabric flapping violently in the wind.
Hobgoblin.
He landed atop a stack of containers, perching like a gargoyle. The glider's wings folded slightly, the engine purring with menace.
"Well, well, well!" Hobgoblin's voice was distorted, booming through a modulator, dripping with manic glee. He looked down at the exhausted Spider-Gang. "I expected more… splatter."
In his hands, he held a pumpkin bomb, the fuse hissing softly. He tossed it up and down, catching it lazily.
"My employer paid for a show, ladies!" Hobgoblin cackled, his glowing eyes narrowing. "And you're the main event!"
The Spider-Gang tensed, webs raised, adrenaline surging once more. They were tired, outnumbered, and now faced with a monster from the sky.
I remained in the shadows, the wind brushing against my coat.
'The bait,' I realized.
The gang war, the snipers—it had all been a stage. A stress test to see what the Spider-Gang was capable of. And now, the real executioner had arrived to reap the results.
I didn't intervene. Not yet. I watched Hobgoblin rev his glider, the missile racks on the shoulders glowing a dangerous orange. I watched the Spiders brace themselves, defiance burning in their eyes despite the exhaustion.
Let's see what you're made of, I thought, my eyes tracking the glider's every movement. Show me your worth.