Capítulo 30: Web 3

James Wolf worked for a private security firm called 'Grey Reigns'. It wasn't the best job in the world, but it put food on the table and he always made it home in time to make dinner for Malena and Lucy. Right now, he was making sure a shipment of Oculus Rafts or whatever they were called got into the trucks the way they were supposed to, with no one nabbing a few for themselves.

"Y'hear the latest on that Spider-Freak?" Jimmy, that fucking moron, said as he handed Tom a box, "Heard he held up a bodega in Jersey."

"Really?" Tom asked. "How'd he do it?"

"He just came in, waving a gun around! One of those Sci-fi the Fantastic Four's got, you know he's dating that Johnny Storm kid."

Oh, that about cut it.

"Okay," James said, raising his voice so his employees could hear him over the sound of their own stupidity, "Let's just assume for the moment that last part isn't some Maskchaser fantasy, right? Let's say Spidey did hold up a store. Why the fuck would he use some laser pistol? The man is a fucking ninja. He can just karate chop the fucking register and pull the money out of the wreckage, and he's going to go around shooting people?"

"Well yeah!" Jimmy said, "That way, no one knows it's him!"

"If no one knows it was him, why the fuck are you going around telling people he did?"

"'Cause the Bugle said-"

The moment the word 'Bugle' was done exiting Jimmy's mouth, James, Tom, John, Ricky and Jose all groaned in unison, with Tom going so far as to wave a hand dismissively and walk away in disgust.

"The Bugle's bullshit," James said. "They just tell whatever the fuck they think is going to fuckin' sell. They've got no, uh..."

He snapped his fingers, and Jose walked over to say, "Journalistic integrity, boss."

"That, yeah, thanks," James said, before turning back to Jimmy, "I don't know about you, but Spider-Man saved my wife from a car crash and stops every other week on my block's basketball court to show some of the kids how to play basketball. So how about you shut the fuck up about things you don't know about unless you can do some goddamned fact-checking, you fuck."

James walked off in a huff, knowing Jose and Ricky would keep everyone working.

Once he was in a smoking space, he looked around and checked his phone. Duke hadn't sent any questions, but even so James opened the chat and sent a simple message.

'shipment for some guy named S. Kravinoff. Checked and it was all machines or some shit. might wanna check it out yourselves.'

Shortly after, Duke texted back a 'thumb-up' emoji and a 'we'll let him know.'

James put his phone away and puffed mindlessly at a cigarette.

He'd been a young man, barely more than a teenager when the first alien invasion of New York ocurred. The creatures that did it were called Chitaros or something like that, James had always felt uncomfortable with all that Cape stuff, so he debiliteraly avoided thinking about it.

He skipped out on college, and insted joined something that was between a cult and a gang. Young men like him that lived with the shadow of life in the universe hanging over their every move, trying to find light in a world that had been suddenly and without warning sunk into the awful realization that came with finding concrete evidence of forces above your comprehension ruled the universe. So they tried to make their own light by amassing power however they could.

Drugs, prostitution, fake businesses and violence. And technology. So much alien technology and insane experiments just lying around waiting for someone to pick it up. Stark tried to put a hand in that, and so did the goverment. But as always, the hungry mutts managed to get some, even if it meant biting some fingers. From there, distributing the tech to people that thought they saw the big picture was nothing but the logical next step.

James wasn't someone important in the organization, but he was famously reliable, something that he carried into the rest of his life. It was because he was so reliable that no one paid attention to what he himself paid attention to. Soon enough, James had enough to sink the organization, though he never used it until he saw the half-charred corpse of a woman his mother's age, who'd been killed in a fucking purse-snatch.

The cops were mostly corrupt, but James knew who was clean enough that it'd take a while for the shit in the soup to get mixed in. He walked away from the whole mess, went to college, and met Malena.

He got out of the underside of New York.

And then Duke, his old drinking buddy, told him that he needed an ear to the ground for a super-hero.

James had been a young man, barely more than a teenager when the first alien invasion of New York ocurred.

He'd been about the same when he joined the gang.

He was a man when he went to the cops and brought it all down so that he could swim out of the shit he'd almost drowned in.

He was old now, but he still remembered the fury that stirred in his heart with another fucking monster or invasion hit his city and only then did the Avengers come out.

Why the fuck was no one out there, making sure people never tried to come here in the first place? How come they were the Avengers instead of the Make Sure No One Dreams Of Fucking With Us-rs?

So he said yes. Because Spider-Man wasn't waiting around before he helped, so James wouldn't either. But that's a story for another time.

Maya Shevade was a student at the Xavier Mansion for Gifted Youngsters, an X-Man (X-Person? X-Lady?), a loving daughter, and a survivor of meeting New York's infamous webhead himself.

She'd discovered her powers the previous day, she could see invisible lines between objects and make them pull or push each other. So, obviously, the first thing she did was to try and pick someone's pocket by making their wallet fly towards her hand.

She'd almost wrapped her fingers around some poor schmuck's wallet when it was suddenly caught in mid-air and tossed with a flourish that sent it back into the schmuck's pocket. Maya didn't have time to turn around and see who did that, because she was tossed into an alley and slammed face-first against a wall, arms gripped behind her back.

"Really?" A gravelly voice asked her, and amusement shone through despite the obvious forced falsetto. "You get powers and you use 'em to pick pockets?"

"Fuck you," she hissed. "You don't know shit!"

Internally, her mind was running a hundred miles a minute. Her power needed line of sight to work, but if she could turn her head a little, she could send this asshole flying and run away.

"Well, I knew that much," the mystery man huffs, tightening his grip on her head and putting a thumb on her line of sight. "So, going by the fact that I'm still holding you here and that you just tried to make a tiny movement of your head with your eyes wide open and trying to look at me, you need line of sight, right? It's a pretty common power restriction, if you're interested in that stuff."

Shit. "Who the hell are you?"

"Oh, me? I suppose I have been rude." Her face was pressed a little tighter against the wall. "Please allow me to introduce myself, I'm a man of wealth and taste."

"I meant your name, dude."

"... you didn't get that? Rolling Stones, Sympathy for the Devil?" When Maya didn't answer, the mystery man huffed. "Spider-Man. I'm freaking Spider-Man."

Double shit. "Oh, that's just perfect."

"Oh, so you got that at least," Spider-Man muttered. "So what's your story, kid? Are you just looking for a thrill, or..."

Maya hesitated, but decided she had nothing to lose. "Mom's hurt and dad walked out. Hospitals are expensive and the Avengers don't take interns, so this seemed like my only choice."

"Ah, I think I see..." the grip loosened slightly, but Maya was still very much inmobile. "You mean that if you weren't forced to pay for her health, you'd have been a hero?"

Maya wasn't sure about that, but she had a feeling that wasn't the right answer. "Definitely."

"I hear your heartbeat, buddy. I'm a human lie detector." Maya didn't have time to panic before he continued. "But I like the idea. How'd you get your powers, Maya?"

"They just showed... Wait, how do you know my name?"

"I just grabbed your wallet," Spider-Man said.

"... but you have both hands pinning me in place?"

"I do yoga and stick to stuff, so I just used a foot," Spider-Man said casually. "In any case, you say your powers just showed up one day?"

"Y-yeah?"

"I can work with that." He let her go. "Be good, Maya. I'm watching."

When she turned around, no one was there. But her walllet was on the ground, and the terrible photo of her on her I.D. was staring up at her.

For the next week, Maya had daily nightmares of Spider-Man coming into her room and attacking her in the middle of the night. On the eight day, she found out someone had arranged a payment for her mother's treatment. On the ninth day, she found a pamphlet for the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters on her bed, next to a note that said 'I did my part'.

Once mom was back on her feet, Maya told her everything, and they both agreed she should at least check out the school.

A month or so later, and Maya was surrounded by friends, fighting for her people's rights and for justice.

She still had nightmares sometimes, about the Spider. But sometimes they ended with her fighting him off with proof of her heroism. She only hoped to meet him again for real some day. To punch him and/or thank him, depending on her mood. But that was a story for another time.

Peter Parker was a student at Midtown High, an intern to the Reed Richards of the Fantastic Four, and the brother of the one and only Spectacular Spider-Man, who for some reason insisted on 'spectacular' being their 'hero adjective'.

He was also thought about Capes a lot, as he was doing one night before Jake left for Jersey. Peter had been adding some of the latest modifications to Jake's equipment while his sibling sat on the roof.

"So, explain it to me again?" Jake asked, holding the blueprints Peter had handed them upside-down (from their perspective, from Peter's they were upside-up).

"Mr. Richards and I are working on a mix of unstable molecules and kinetic goo, so we can make stuff like something that looks like a regular t-shirt but can stop a tank shell."

"Okay..." Jake turned the blueprint 90°, and somehow managed to look even more confused. "And what's this?"

"The machine that'll let us do that," Peter asked, "Okay, you're not dumb, why are you asking all this?"

"Because this isn't a blueprint, this is a shockingly detailed drawing of your girlfriend and Black Widow without their shirts on," Jake turned the drawing again, "Or any other article of clothing, come to see it."

Peter had never moved quite as quick as he did getting up from the chair and running across the basement to jump and take the drawing from Jake's hands.

It was the real blueprint.

"You're an asshole," Peter said, balling up the paper and tossing it at Jake's grinning face.

"So, you do have a drawing like that, huh?" Jake said, catching the ball effortlessly and tossing it to Peter's desk. "Oh my."

"Fuck off, man."

"Not a man."

"Fuck off anyways."

Jake chuckled and sat there in silence. Eventually, they said, "So, what's up?"

"What's up with what?"

"You look stressed."

"I'm not."

"Concerned?"

"Nope."

"Constipated?"

"I shit like a garden hose."

"Oh, great. Love to hear it." Jake dropped from the ceiling and poked Peter in the forehead. "What's up? I know something's on your mind."

"... The New York Daily posted an article on you," Peter said, before turning around and facing the wall.

"Huh, I forgot people besides the Bugle talked about me. What'd they say?"

"That you're unstable."

"... ouch? The fuck did I do?"

"Broke more bones than a professional wrestler," Peter stared dead ahead. "Other people's bones, before you say anything."

"Wasn't going to."

"Sure. The point is, this got me thinking... Jake, I know that despite being an insuffrable asshole you're a mostly tolerable person. Your family knows that. Your friends know that. But if you don't start being more careful... no one else is going to know that."

"I don't need-"

"Yes, Jake. You do need others to know that." Peter slammed a hand against the table, but never rose his voice. "I agreed to help you because I wanted my family to be safe. I can't live with you putting Ben and May in danger. The more attention you bring on you, the bigger the odds that someone looks at us. You mentioned you had a 'genius friend' when fighting Kingpin. You told Ben to get the copyright on Spider-Man. You keep getting your identity revealed to fucking everyone."

"I won't let them-"

"YOU CAN'T BE EVERYWHERE, JAKE!"

Jake stared at Peter, took a deep breath, and closed their eyes.

"I should go."

Peter didn't have a chance to speak up before they vanished.

And the two hadn't spoken once since then. Jake had called and spoken to May, Ben and Laura, but neither they nor Peter had made any move to talk to the other.

It wasn't that Peter was truly angry with Jake, but they were both stubborn in their own way, and Peter knew Jake was more likely to chew glass than to admit they were wrong about something.

When it came down to it, Peter would keep supporting his sibling. He just hoped it didn't end with it all blowing up in someone's face.