Chapter 3 - GATHERING SHADOWSThree days had passed since that fateful, rainy night.
Peter Parker’s apartment had never been so filthy or desolate. Trash, dried blood-stained bandages, and empty instant ramen cups littered the floor. Peter sat huddled on his bed, his stubble growing rough, his eyes sunken and hollow as they stared blankly at his dead phone screen.
He had tried going to the theater where MJ rehearsed, but the security guard stopped him at the door, handing him a note with a look of pity: "MJ doesn't want to see you, Peter. Please don't make this harder for her." He had also stood beneath her apartment window for hours in the pouring rain, but the curtains remained tightly drawn, completely shutting him out.
Thanks to his spider physiology, the wound on his side had closed, but the wound in his heart only festered. He felt like a criminal, a man who had personally destroyed the most precious thing in his life.
Tap.
A faint sound at the window didn't even make Peter look up. He knew who it was.
Felicia Hardy stepped inside, bringing a gust of cold wind with her. Today, she wore her signature Black Cat suit, her domino mask failing to hide the deep worry in her emerald eyes. In her hand, she held a bag of warm food.
"Peter... you haven't eaten a real meal in three days, have you?" Felicia walked over softly, placing the food on his cluttered desk. She reached out to touch his shoulder, but Peter coldly brushed her hand away.
"Why are you still coming here, Felicia?" Peter’s voice was raspy and devoid of life.
"I care about you," Felicia bit her lip, her voice softening, stripped of her usual flirtatious edge. "About what happened... I’m truly sorry. I didn't think she would show up out of nowhere. But Peter, she couldn't handle the pressure of being with you anyway. Sooner or later, this would have—"
"Enough!" Peter snapped, standing up abruptly. His eyes, bloodshot and fierce, glared at Felicia, making her involuntarily take a step back. "Don't you dare talk about her like that! You got what you wanted, didn't you? MJ is gone. We are over. Are you happy now?!"
"Peter, I only want what's best for you..."
"What's best for me?" Peter let out a bitter, weeping laugh. "You love Spider-Man, Felicia. You love the superhero who swings freely across rooftops. But the man standing in front of you right now is Peter Parker—a broke, jobless loser who just lost the only person keeping him tethered to humanity. Do you love him? No! You're disgusted by my mediocrity!"
Peter’s words cut like a knife straight into Felicia’s chest. Her mask suddenly felt incredibly heavy. Her red lips pressed into a tight, trembling line. She wanted to scream that she cared for him far more than that, but a master thief's pride forbade her from showing weakness.
"Fine. You're right," Felicia took a deep breath, slipping her haughty mask back on, though her voice shook. "I love Spider-Man because he is never this pathetic. Keep wallowing in your mediocrity then, Peter Parker."
She turned and vanished through the window into the night, leaving Peter alone in his silent room.
But New York never gave Peter time to grieve.
When a hero's resolve falters, the monsters in the dark smell blood.
A few hours after Felicia left, Peter's phone rang. It was an unknown number. When he answered, there was no voice, only the familiar jazz music of Bella Italia playing in the background, accompanied by the roar of a car engine.
Then, a gravelly, menacing voice spoke:
"You're heavily distracted, Little Spider. We've been watching you for three days, and guess what we found? A pretty red-headed girl crying all by herself in her Brooklyn apartment."
Peter's heart stopped. Every nerve in his body tightened like a piano wire.
"Who is this?! Don't touch her!" Peter screamed into the receiver.
"I'm the guy holding your debt," the man chuckled darkly. "My boss, Hammerhead, didn't appreciate you ruining our weapons shipment last week. He wants payback. Tonight, midnight, Warehouse 9 at the Brooklyn docks. Come alone. If I see a single cop or a web line out of place... your theater girl plays her final scene."
Beep... beep... beep...
The line went dead.
Peter gasped for air. A torrent of rage and sheer terror surged through his veins, washing away his physical exhaustion. He rushed to the old chest under his bed, ripped open the lid, and pulled out his Spider-Man suit.
"MJ... please, just be safe..." Peter muttered, his hands shaking as he pulled the red mask over his face.
May you like
He leaped out the window, tearing through the New York night in a desperate, frenzied swing. But Peter had no idea that from the roof of the adjacent building, a slender shadow had quietly launched herself after him the moment his call ended. Felicia had never truly left. She knew he was in danger, and she knew she couldn't just watch him fall.
The greatest storm of their lives awaited them at Warehouse 9.
