Chapter 17: Walk in the Park
The city stretched out below me like it always did after a night that nearly killed us all—lights flickering back to life one block at a time, the hum of Manhattan waking up again after Electro almost cooked the entire grid.
I sat on the edge of the rooftop of the Oscorp Tower annex, legs dangling over sixty stories of nothing, the black suit clinging to me like a second skin that never quite felt like mine anymore.
The cool dawn air brushed across the exposed parts of my face, carrying that weird metallic tang that always lingered after big electrical storms. Or after Max Dillon tried to become the power plant.
Hell of a light show last night, Harry. Almost made us miss the part where the whole city nearly went dark forever.
‘Yeah, no kidding,’ I thought back. ‘We were one bad feedback loop away from Manhattan becoming a blackout zone for the next decade. Max didn’t even want any of it! Are superpowers actually a curse?’
Probably. The symbiote shifted under my thoughts, a restless ripple across my shoulders. Still say we should have eaten the parts of the grid that fought back. Would have been faster than all that talking. Bleh.
‘Venom. We talked about this. You can’t eat electricity.’
You’ll never know if you don’t try.
‘Curiosity killed the cat.’
Dead cat?! Where?! Let’s eat it!
‘Oh, you’re impossible.’
A soft rustle behind me pulled my attention away from the internal debate. Gwen dropped down lightly onto the rooftop ledge, her white-and-black suit still on but the hood pushed back, blonde hair a little messy from the night’s chaos and the wind up here.
She’d stayed over after everything settled—crashed in the guest room like she sometimes did now when things ran too late and her dad was on night shift. Legally, we couldn’t even drive, and here we were sneaking around rooftops after saving the city.
Our lives were ridiculous.
She settled beside me, close enough that our shoulders brushed, and for a second neither of us said anything. Just watched the sunrise paint the buildings in soft oranges and pinks. It felt… normal. Or as normal as anything got these days.
“You’re thinking loud again,” Gwen said, her voice carrying that teasing edge I’d fallen for months ago.
The one that reminded me of sharp wit wrapped in warmth, the kind that called you on your bullshit but offered a hand up right after. And here I am getting all sappy, again.
“I can practically hear the gears turning from here.” She pressed. “Spill, Osborn. What’s the morning-after verdict on almost dying at ESU?”
I let out a breath that turned into a small laugh. “Verdict is we got lucky. Really lucky. Peter’s quick thinking with the capacitor core, your calculations on the rerouting, Max actually trusting us enough to let go… If any one of those pieces fell apart, we’d still be down there trying to contain a living lightning storm.”
I glanced at her, catching the way the rising sun caught in her eyes.
She looked tired but alive, that spark of competence and compassion that made her Gwen Stacy shining through even after a night like that.
“You were incredible, by the way. The way you talked him down when he started spiraling—you’ve got this way of making people believe they’re not monsters.” I should know. I’m speaking from experience.
Hey! We’re not monsters!
‘Look, it’s the cat.’
Where?!
Gwen bumped my shoulder with hers, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Flattery this early? Careful, or I’ll start thinking you’re going soft on me. But seriously… you showed up when you were supposed to be grounded. Norman’s going to lose it if he finds out.”
“You mean when he finds out.” I scoffed. The mention of my dad tightened something in my chest. His threat had been hanging over me since the Scarecrow mess, that security footage of me sneaking into the Oscorp lab still a sword over my neck.
But after last night—after feeling the suit move with me, after Venom’s hunger mixing with my own drive to actually do something—I couldn’t pretend anymore.
‘Let him lose it,’ I thought, and Venom echoed the sentiment with a low, approving rumble.
Norman thinks he owns us. We are done being leashed.
‘Easy there, buddy. We’re playing this smart.’
You just said to let him lose it!
‘We really need to work on your temper.’
We were literally just following your lead!
‘We really need to work on your temper.’
Gwen watched me, reading the silence the way she always could.
“Hey,” she said softly, reaching over to lace her fingers with mine. Her hand was warm, steady. “I know that look. The ‘I’m not sitting this out anymore’ look. Responsibility winning over fear again?”
“Something like that,” I admitted, squeezing back.
The city below us kept waking up—cars starting to clog the streets, distant sirens already picking up their daily rhythm.
“I can’t just watch from the sidelines while you and Peter run into danger.” I admitted. “The whole reason I took the grounding in the first place was to protect you guys. Kind of a moot point if you guys die because I wasn’t there.”
She nodded, leaning her head against my shoulder for a moment. “I get it. I mean, I would have charged out in my underwear if I thought you needed my help.”
“Really?” I blinked. “Huh… What constitutes ‘need’ again? Just you know… hypothetically.”
“Down, boy.” Gwen rolled her eyes playfully, before giving me a look. “Though I have to admit, you coming to the rescue last night? Kind of hot. In a ‘my boyfriend defies his evil megacorp dad to save the day’ way.”
I chuckled, the sound genuine despite everything.
Boyfriend.
That was really going to take some getting used to.
Gwen’s phone buzzed before she could reply, and mine followed a second later. I pulled it out, the screen lighting up with the group chat.
Peter: Stan’s Subs in 30? Need to celebrate properly. Got shots that are gonna pay the bills for once. Jonah’s head might actually explode this time.
MJ: I’m in. Actually, can we make it 15? There’s something we should probably talk about. Soon.
Oh wonder of wonders could that be about?
Gwen glanced at me, her expression shifting from light to that focused protector mode she wore so well. “Looks like normal teenage life is on hold again. You ready for this?”
I stood up, the suit already adjusting around me as I helped her to her feet. The defiance settled deeper in my bones, pushing against the weight of Norman’s rules and the fear of what came next.
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s go see what fresh chaos the day’s bringing. And Gwen?” I smiled. “Thanks for staying. Makes the mornings after feel a little less like the world’s ending.”
She grinned, that bright, teasing spark returning. “Wouldn’t miss it. Now try to keep up, honey. Last one to Midtown buys the subs.”
“Hey, don’t tempt me with a free breakfast.” I playfully argued. “I might be rich, but that doesn’t mean I’m not cheap.”
We moved toward the edge together, the city sprawling out like it was waiting for whatever came next. My resolve hardened with every step. Grounded or not, Norman or not, I wasn’t stepping back anymore. Not when people needed us.
…
Peter slid into the booth at Stan’s Subs with the kind of grin that only came after you’d helped stop a city-wide blackout and lived to brag about it. The smell of fresh bread and grilled meat hit him like a warm hug, and for a second everything felt almost normal.
Just four fourteen-year-olds crammed around a tiny table instead of swinging through chaos or rerouting enough electricity to power half of Manhattan. He dropped his camera bag on the seat beside him like it was made of gold.
“Best shots I’ve ever taken,” he announced, already pulling the memory card out like he needed to show physical proof before anyone could doubt him. “Electro lit up the whole sky and I still got clear frames. Clear!”
He couldn’t emphasize how amazing that was… oh, he guess just did.
“Jonah’s gonna hate them,” Peter admitted. “But he’ll print them. He always prints the good ones even when he’s yelling about it.”
Gwen slid in across from him, bumping MJ over a little so Harry could squeeze in on the end.
She raised an eyebrow at Peter, that classic mix of amusement and “I told you so” that always made him feel like he was one step behind her brain. “You mean the shots I specifically told you not to take of us for money? Those shots?”
Peter winced but didn’t back down. “Hey, the ESU internship doesn’t exactly come with a paycheck, Gwen. Dr. Connors has us running gels and cleaning beakers for the ‘experience.’ Experience doesn’t buy new web fluid cartridges.”
Harry snorted as he stole a menu even though they all knew his order by heart. “Tell me about it. My so-called internship with Jessica was basically ‘here’s a couch that smells like regret and coffee, go file these papers that are definitely not legal.’”
Peter worries about Harry sometimes.
“Never saw a dime.” Harry complained. “I figured she was just cheap because her office is literally her apartment, but now I’m thinking maybe all internships are just a fancy word for free labor. It’s a scam. The whole system is rigged.”
“Finally, someone gets it,” Peter said, pointing at him with a fry he hadn’t even ordered yet. Stan always brought extra anyway. “I’m out here risking my neck for photos and the Bugle pays me in peanuts and angry voicemails. I hate this job. I really do. But it pays better than unpaid. Unemployed? Whatever, you know what I mean.”
“What’s your grade in English, again?” Gwen leaned back, crossing her arms with that bright, teasing spark in her eyes that Peter had known since they were kids geeking out over science fairs… which come to think of it, wasn’t that long ago.
“Not relevant.” Peter didn’t need his Spider-Senses to know there was no right answer to that question.
“You two are unbelievable.” She giggled. “I’m over here actually earning a scholarship through the Connors program and you’re both crying about pocket money. Cry harder. Maybe the tears will fund your next spider-tracer upgrade.”
Now there’s an idea…
MJ hadn’t laughed with the rest of them. She kept glancing toward the door every few seconds, fingers twisting the straw in her drink until it bent. Peter noticed immediately—MJ didn’t do anxious quiet.
When she was worried, she usually got loud or sarcastic. This version was new, and it made his stomach twist in a way that had nothing to do with hunger.
He reached over and gently bumped her knee under the table. “Hey. You’ve been weird since we sat down. What’s going on?”
MJ let out a long breath and finally looked at all of them. “It’s Mark. Liz’s brother. He was supposed to meet us here this morning. Like, actually supposed to be here before any of you showed up.”
Peter spit-taked. “You invited a supervillain to our hangout place?!”
“Liz told me he wanted out.” MJ defended. “For real this time. He’s done being Molten Man, done letting Tombstone pull his strings. She convinced him to talk to Peter—to talk to Spider-Man—about getting help. Real help. A way to fix the whole burning-up thing or at least control it so he doesn’t have to work for that psycho anymore.”
The table got quieter. Peter felt the hype from his photos drain away fast. He’d seen Mark in Times Square during that mess with Electro—just another terrified kid under all that magma, not some willing villain.
“He really said that?” Peter checked. “He wants our help?”
“Yeah,” MJ nodded, pushing her hair back. “Liz has been texting me nonstop since last night. Mark promised he’d come straight here this morning. Said he was done making excuses. But he’s not here. So, where is he?”
Harry’s expression hardened, the easy smile from a second ago gone. Gwen’s hand found his under the table without looking, a small supportive squeeze that Peter pretended not to notice even though it made him happy for them.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, already calculating worst-case scenarios in his head. “Maybe traffic? Or he got cold feet? Changing your whole life isn’t exactly easy when a guy like Tombstone has his hooks in you.”
“Or maybe he never got the chance to change it,” MJ said quietly, voice tight. “Liz was held up at home this morning—stupid stuff, makeup and school assignments. By the time she got free, Mark had already left their apartment.”
Gwen’s teasing energy had shifted into full protective mode, the same look she got right before calculating the perfect web angle during a fight. “We need to find him. If he’s trying to go straight and Tombstone caught wind of it…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t have to.
Peter stared at the table, the celebratory subs suddenly not sounding as good. He’d been so pumped about the Electro pictures, about finally feeling like they’d won one clean. But nothing ever stayed clean in this city. Not for long.
“Yeah,” he said finally, voice lower. “We’ll look for him. Just… not right now? We don’t know what’s up, and if it is something stupid, I don’t want to scare him by popping up out of nowhere. Here’s hoping he didn’t change his mind… or that somebody didn’t change it for him.”
The four of them sat there as the normal morning rush moved around them, the easy laughter from five minutes ago already feeling like it belonged to someone else.
Peter hated how quickly things could flip. One night saving the grid, the next morning wondering if another kid was already in too deep to pull back out.
…
Mark Allan sat rigid in the back of the sleek black limousine, the leather seat cool against his back even as heat constantly simmered just beneath his skin. The tinted windows turned the passing city into a muted blur, but he could still feel New York pressing in on him, heavy and unforgiving.
Every bump in the road sent a flicker of flame racing through his veins, a reminder that the fire was always there now, waiting for just one passing moment of weakness to spill out.
Tombstone filled the opposite seat like a statue carved from pale stone, his massive frame somehow making the spacious limo feel cramped. The Big Man’s face stayed impassive, that eerie albino grin never quite reaching his eyes as he studied Mark the way a collector might examine a fragile new acquisition.
“I have to say, I’m pleased with how things are progressing with your sister,” Tombstone said, his voice low and smooth like gravel rolling under tires. “Family reconciliation. Nothing more precious than that. You two fixing things up after all the… unpleasantness. It warms the heart.”
Mark swallowed hard. The praise landed like a threat wrapped in silk. He knew what Tombstone really meant: I see you have something worth protecting now. Don’t forget it.
“Yeah… Liz and me, we’re figuring it out,” Mark muttered, staring at his hands. He kept them clenched so the faint glow under his skin wouldn’t show. “She’s been good to me. Better than I deserve, probably.”
Tombstone’s smile widened by a fraction. “Smart boy. A man who understands what he has to lose is a man who can be trusted. Which brings us to today’s errand.”
The limo glided through traffic with unnatural smoothness. Mark’s stomach twisted as Tombstone laid out the details in that same calm, terrifying tone.
A summit in Central Park. Three major players meeting to move product—Kitchen Irish with their guns and muscle, the Mexican cartels pushing their powder and product, and the Dogs of Hell roaring in on their bikes with whatever violent nonsense they brought to the table.
A big exchange, the kind that could shift power in Hell’s Kitchen and beyond if it went smoothly.
But Tombstone wasn’t interested in the drugs or the territory lines.
“The man who called this little get-together,” Tombstone continued, leaning forward slightly, “goes by the Blacksmith. He’s the one who matters. Everyone else is just set dressing. You go in as my representative. Watch. Listen. Find out what the Blacksmith is really after, because it sure as hell isn’t just moving his weight around the park.”
Mark’s mouth went dry.
He could already imagine it—the heat, the tension, the moment someone looked at him wrong and his powers decided to answer for him. “You want me to walk into a meet between three gangs that hate each other and just… ask questions?”
“I want you to use those certain talents of yours.” Tombstone’s pale eyes locked onto his. “The ones that make persuasion so much more… memorable when words aren’t enough. Find out what the Blacksmith is building toward. Report back. Simple.”
Simple. The word burned worse than the fire in his blood.
Mark thought about Liz’s face that morning, the way she’d hugged him before he left, whispering that this was his chance to get out, to meet Peter and actually ask Spider-Man for help. He’d meant it when he agreed.
He was so tired of being someone else’s weapon. Tired of waking up with burns on his own clothes because the molten core inside him had leaked during the night.
But here he was, riding in Tombstone’s limo like a good little attack dog, the promise of family turning into another chain around his neck.
“I… I don’t know if I can keep it under control if things get heated,” Mark admitted, voice cracking slightly. “Last time it got bad, I nearly—”
“You will control it,” Tombstone cut in, cold and final. “Because if you slip and draw the wrong kind of attention before I get what I need from the Blacksmith, well… accidents happen in this city.”
Right.
‘Accidents.’
That was definitely what he meant with that foreboding tone of his.
“Especially to people who disappoint me.” Tombstone continued, as calm as a monk. “And wouldn’t that be a shame for poor Liz, just when you two were getting close again?”
The threat hung in the air, unspoken but crystal clear.
Mark felt his resolve crumble a little more, the brief spark of hope from his conversation with Liz flickering weaker. He wanted out so badly it hurt. But wanting wasn’t the same as being able to claw his way free when the Big Man had his claws this deep.
The limo slowed to a stop near one of the Central Park entrances. Tombstone gave a single nod toward the door.
“Find out what you can,” he said. “Make yourself useful, Mark. For your family’s sake.”
Mark stepped out into the morning light, the door shutting behind him with a heavy final click. The limo pulled away smoothly, leaving him standing on the sidewalk with his heart hammering and heat crawling up his arms.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward the park, trying to ignore the way his skin already felt too tight, like the fire was pressing right against the surface.
He was supposed to be meeting Peter right now. Supposed to be asking for a way out.
Instead he was walking straight into another nightmare, doing exactly what Tombstone wanted.
Just hold it together, he thought desperately. For Liz. Just a little longer.
But even as he thought it, the resolve felt thinner than ever.
…
Gwen leaned against the locker beside Peter’s, half-listening to him ramble about some new web-shooter calibration idea while the hallway noise of Midtown High swirled around them.
The bell for the next period hadn’t rung yet, but the energy already felt restless, everyone eager to escape for lunch or just be anywhere else.
She caught Harry’s eye across the small circle they’d formed with MJ and smiled despite herself. Even after the morning rooftop talk, it still sent a little flutter through her chest knowing they were doing this—actually dating, in public, like normal teenagers for five whole minutes.
That normalcy shattered the second Liz Allan came barreling down the hallway.
Liz looked wrecked. Her usual put-together vibe had cracked wide open—eyes red, makeup slightly smudged, hands clenched tight around the strap of her bag like it was the only thing keeping her upright.
She made straight for Peter and stopped right in front of him, voice cracking before she even got a full sentence out.
“Have you seen him?” Liz asked, the words tumbling fast. “Mark. He was supposed to meet you this morning at Stan’s. He left early, said he was going straight there to talk to you—to Spider-Man. I haven’t heard anything from him since.”
So much for traffic…
“Not a text, not a call, nothing.” Liz spat with a teary glare. “Where the fuck is he, Peter?”
Peter froze, mouth half-open, clearly stunned. The easy post-victory glow from earlier vanished from his face. “Liz… I— we waited. We did! It’s just, he never showed up. I’m really sorry, we thought maybe, I don’t know—”
“He didn’t come, Liz.” Gwen stepped in smoothly before Peter could spiral into more apologies. He meant well, but him panicking was not going to help Liz.
This was a delicate situation, so she kept her voice calm and steady, the way she did when calculations were falling apart and someone needed to keep the team focused.
“MJ told us he was planning to meet Peter about getting help, but he never made it to the subs place.” She took a breath, getting Liz to do the same. “We were actually hoping he’d just changed his mind and needed more time. That this was him being scared, not… something worse.”
Liz’s face crumpled.
She tried so hard to hold it together—Gwen could see the effort in the way her jaw tightened and her eyes darted around like she was searching for something solid to grab onto. But the dam broke anyway. Tears spilled over, and Liz wrapped her arms around herself, shoulders shaking.
“I got held up this morning,” Liz whispered, voice thick. “Stupid stuff. Turning in homework assignments, that I should have gotten done before the blackout. I told Mark I’d be right behind him. I promised. If something happened because I was late…”
Gwen moved without thinking, pulling Liz into a hug while Harry and MJ closed ranks around them, shielding her from the worst of the hallway stares.
And on the inside, Gwen’s mind raced.
This isn’t cold feet.
Not after everything Liz said about him wanting out. Tombstone doesn’t let people walk away that easily. The thought sent ice down her spine. Mark had been trying so hard, and now he was missing in the same city where gangs were always one wrong look away from exploding.
“You did everything right,” Gwen said softly, rubbing Liz’s back. “He knows you’re on his side. We’re on his side too. We’ll find him, okay? Peter, Harry, and I—we’ve got this.”
Harry stayed quiet, but Gwen knew him well enough now to read the shift in his posture. That quiet, decisive set to his shoulders. He’d already made the call. They weren’t sitting through the rest of the school day while Mark was out there alone.
Liz pulled back after a moment, wiping at her eyes furiously like she was angry at herself for breaking. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I just… I need a minute.” She turned and hurried toward the bathroom, trying to keep her head high even as fresh tears threatened.
MJ shot the group a quick look—equal parts worry and determination—before following right behind Liz. “I’ve got her. Go.”
The hallway felt suddenly too loud and too empty at the same time once they were gone. Peter ran a hand through his hair, looking sick. “This is bad. Really bad. If Tombstone found out Mark was trying to flip…”
“He probably did,” Harry said under his breath, voice low enough that only the three of them could hear. “We’re not waiting around to find out how bad this is. We’re skipping the rest of the day. This is a Spider Squad problem now.”
Gwen met his eyes and gave a small nod, the responsible part of her brain already calculating excuses and exit routes.
She hated cutting class, but her conscience won out easily. Liz’s broken expression kept flashing behind her eyes. Mark was just a kid too—scared, powerful, and trapped. They’d pulled each other out of worse spots before.
They could do it again.
“We’ll probably need to track him down first, but yeah. Obviously,” Gwen added, bumping Harry’s arm lightly, “we’re doing this. Let’s move before someone notices we’re gone.”
The three of them slipped toward the side exit together, the familiar rhythm of urgency settling over them. Between classes, no one paid much attention to kids heading out early.
Gwen’s mind kept turning, already mapping possibilities—where Mark might have gone, what Tombstone might do if he felt betrayed, how fast they could suit up once they cleared the building.
We’re not losing anyone else to this city, she thought fiercely. Not today.
…
We slipped out of Midtown and made it across town in record time, the three of us sticking to alleys and rooftops until we reached the Oscorp-owned building that held our penthouse. My heart was still hammering from Liz’s breakdown, and the guilt mixed with that familiar rush of “we have to fix this now.”
Peter and Gwen changed fast once we were inside the lab wing—Peter ducking behind one set of server racks while Gwen took the other side. I just stood there in my normal clothes for about two seconds before willing the symbiote to shift. The black suit rippled over my skin like liquid shadow, cool and ready in a heartbeat.
No changing needed when your costume literally lived on you.
I politely turned my back anyway when Gwen called out a quick “eyes front, boys,” keeping my gaze locked on the far wall of monitors. Peter did the same on his side. We might be vigilantes who regularly punched bad guys together, but we were still fourteen and trying not to be weird about it.
“Done!” Gwen announced, stepping out in her white-and-black with a little bit of pink suit, hood down for now. She immediately zeroed in on the workbench where the microbot project sat under a clear protective case.
Her whole face lit up the way it always did around cool tech.
“God, these little guys are still the coolest thing I’ve ever worked on.” She practically dropped onto the case, tracing a finger against the glass longingly. “Look at them—perfect swarm cohesion even after we had to rush the last batch.”
Precious babies… talking about the bots, not my friends.
Okay, them too.
“I swear, if your dad would just let us take a few to ESU we could refine the neural link and get them doing actual precision work instead of just sitting here looking pretty.” Gwen bemoaned.
“Yeah, well, Norman’s not exactly in a sharing mood these days,” I muttered, already moving to the main terminal. My fingers flew across the keyboard, pulling up the Oscorp security suite I definitely wasn’t supposed to have backdoor access to anymore.
Maybe I’m actually lucky and dad doesn’t know I went out last night? Maybe I can convince Peter not to turn in his photos to the Bugle… at least not the ones I’m in.
“You don’t think you can talk him into making an exception?” Gwen coyly asked, as she gave me puppy dog eyes. “For me?”
“For you? Anything… except this.” I sighed, forlornly. “Pretty sure he’d rather melt them down than let us play with them at school. Especially after last night.”
“We can still work in them here though, right?” Peter emerged fully suited, red and blue standing out against the sleek lab lines. “Better than nothing. Maybe if the photos pay well enough, we can see about recreating more of them with what we learn here. What do you think?”
I didn’t answer right away.
I was already deep into the tracker interface. Every Oscorp-brand phone came with a built-in locator. Super convenient for worried parents, super illegal if you actually read the fine print. Or didn’t read it and just clicked “agree” like every normal person.
Mark’s phone pinged almost immediately.
“Got him,” I said, zooming in on the map. “Central Park. Moving slowly near the southern end, but he’s been stationary for a bit now. That can’t be good.”
Finally. Hunting time.
‘Easy, Venom. This is a rescue, not a buffet.’
Still. Lots of bad men in parks lately. Maybe a snack or two?
‘No eating people.’
Gwen leaned over my shoulder, close enough that I caught the faint scent of her shampoo under the suit.
She studied the screen with that focused, brilliant look that always made my brain short-circuit a little. “He ditched us to go to the park? Is that suspicious to you guys, or is it just me?”
The tension in the room ratcheted up as we moved through hurried prep. I grabbed a couple of spare web cartridges for Peter and checked the microbot controller one last time, even though we couldn’t risk taking any out.
Gwen ran a quick diagnostic on her suit’s comms while Peter tested his shooters. Every second felt stretched thin. Mark was out there alone, probably terrified, and we were the only ones who actually cared enough to go after him instead of using him.
We will find the ones who took him. And then—
‘And then we help him. Not eat them.’
You’re no fun anymore.
I cracked a small smile despite everything. The suit felt tighter than usual, like Venom was leaning into the hunt vibe harder than normal. My mind kept flashing back to Liz’s face in the hallway, the way it had crumpled when she realized her brother might be gone.
We couldn’t let that happen. Not after we’d promised her.
“Tracker’s locked,” I said, pulling up a secondary window with live traffic and police scanners just in case. “We swing low and quiet until we have eyes on him. No big entrances unless it goes bad.”
Peter nodded, already bouncing lightly on his toes the way he did when adrenaline started kicking in. “Got it. Let’s bring him home.”
Gwen gave my hand a quick squeeze before we headed for the balcony access, her touch warm even through the suits. “We’ve got this. Just another group assignment, just like old times.”
They’re the only ones I ever liked doing those with, anyways.
The city waited outside, bright and busy in the late morning light. I could feel the storm coming—Norman was going to lose his mind when he found out we’d been here, suited up, ignoring every rule he’d laid down.
But right now that didn’t matter. Mark needed us, and that was louder than any lecture waiting in the wings.
“And where the hell do you think you’re going?” My father’s voice called out from behind me… apparently that lecture was not waiting in the wings. It was waiting about five feet behind me.
“Hi, dad…” I sighed.
I turned slowly, the black suit already feeling heavier under his stare. Norman Osborn stood in the lab doorway like he owned the air itself, arms crossed, that cold, calculating expression locked firmly in place. He didn’t even look surprised to see Peter and Gwen fully suited up next to me.
Of course he wasn’t. He probably had cameras I still hadn’t found.
“Last night wasn’t enough?” Norman’s eyes flicked over all three of us, lingering on the black suit that clung to my frame. “ESU nearly burned because of your little adventure, and now you’re dragging your friends into another one the very next morning? I thought I made myself clear about the grounding.”
He talks like he still controls us.
‘Not now, Venom.’
“Not to mention skipping school. Are you trying to break your mother’s heart? Mine?!”
Peter shifted awkwardly beside me, clearly unsure whether to web up and bail or stand his ground.
Gwen stepped forward half a pace, protective instincts kicking in even though her voice stayed measured. “Mr. Osborn, this isn’t what it looks like. A friend’s in trouble. Real trouble. We’re just trying to help—”
“Save it, Miss Stacy,” Norman cut her off, voice like ice. “I know exactly what this is. Another night of you three playing heroes while the city watches. I have eyes everywhere, Harry. Especially in my own home. You think I wouldn’t notice you defying a direct order the second I turn my back?”
The words landed hard. No doubt about it. He knew.
I felt my stomach twist, but the defiance that had been building since the Electro fight pushed back harder. No more shrinking. Not when Mark was out there alone.
I lifted my chin and met his stare head-on. “Yeah, I went out. And I’d do it again. I am doing it again. If we don’t move, a girl loses her brother the same way a lot of kids in this city lose people. And you want me to sit here doing nothing? Not happening.”
Norman’s expression didn’t change, but something colder flickered behind his eyes.
“You’re fourteen years old. You have a condition that will kill you without the symbiote, and you’re risking everything I’ve built to keep you alive. Exposure is not an option. For any of you.” He looked at Peter and Gwen.
He sighed, as grounded himself, and I hated that I learned that from him.
“I don’t make empty threats, Harry.” Norman insisted , his eyes refusing to look away from Peter and Gwen. “If you go out with them again, I will tell the world who they really are.”
Gwen’s hand found mine again, squeezing tight. I could feel her tension through the suit. “Harry, maybe we can talk about this later. We really need to—”
“No,” I said, cutting her off gently but firmly. My voice stayed steady even as my pulse hammered. “If you expose them, Dad—if you tell anyone that Peter and Gwen are Spider-Man and Ghost-Spider—then I’ll tell the world who I am. And we both know what’ll happen if they take the symbiote away from me.”
Mutually assured destruction… my destruction.
The silence that followed felt like the whole building held its breath.
Norman’s jaw tightened. For the first time in a long time, I saw real uncertainty flash across his face. He could buy lawyers. He could spin stories. He could probably keep me out of jail. But losing the symbiote? That meant watching me die slowly and painfully while he desperately hunted for another cure that might never come.
And he knew I knew it.
Peter looked horrified. “Harry, dude, you can’t—”
“I can,” I said quietly, eyes never leaving my dad’s. “I’m done being leashed. You saved my life with this thing, and I’m grateful. Really. But it doesn’t give you the right to decide who lives and who dies in this city. I will keep going out there, and I will keep saving everyone I can.”
That’s our boy.
‘Shut up.’
Norman stared at me for a long moment, the power struggle crackling between us like live wires. Finally he exhaled through his nose, a sharp, controlled sound.
“Fine,” he said coldly. “You want to play this game? Then there will be consequences. Hand over the lab keys. All access revoked. Effective immediately.”
I reached into the suit’s storage pocket, pulled out the keycard and physical keys, and tossed them across the floor to him. They skittered to a stop at his feet. “Take them. Doesn’t change anything. We’re still going after Mark.”
Norman bent down and picked them up, slipping them into his jacket without breaking eye contact. “You’re playing a dangerous hand, Harry. I hope you’re prepared for what comes next when this blows up in your face.”
He stepped aside from the doorway, but his presence still filled the room.
“Go, then. Save your friend. Be the hero. But remember this moment. All of you.”
Gwen gave my hand one last squeeze, her eyes wide with a mix of awe and worry. Peter looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. We didn’t wait for more. The three of us moved past Norman and out onto the balcony, the wind whipping around us as we fired webs and launched into the air.
My heart pounded the whole way, adrenaline and defiance mixing into something electric. I’d just gone toe-to-toe with Norman Osborn and hadn’t backed down. The consequences were coming, sure.
But right now, Mark needed us more than I needed my dad’s approval.
We are done asking permission.
‘Yeah,’ I thought back as the city blurred beneath us. ‘We really are.’
…
We launched off the balcony together, the wind whipping past as the three of us swung low and fast across the city. My web lines shot out on instinct now, the black suit feeding me just enough extra strength and stickiness to make every swing feel smoother than it had any right to.
Peter kept pace on my left, Gwen on my right, her white-and-black suit cutting clean lines through the air. For a minute it almost felt good—the rush, the teamwork, the familiar burn in my shoulders.
But the urgency chewed at the edges of it all.
“Mark really picked the worst day to try going straight,” I called out mid-swing, voice raised just enough to carry over the wind. “If Tombstone sniffed out that he was coming to meet us, this whole thing could be a trap. Lure him in, make an example, send a message to anyone else thinking about flipping.”
“It’s possible. But Liz sounded sure he was done.” Gwen flipped neatly over a rooftop water tower and landed another perfect line. “Really done. People don’t usually fake that kind of breakdown in a school hallway. If he’s trying to get out and Tombstone caught wind…”
“Then we’re walking into a powder keg,” Peter finished, sounding grim even while webbing between two buildings. “Mark’s powers make him useful until he’s not. Guys like the Big Man don’t do second chances.”
We should eat the Big Man first. Problem solved.
‘No eating mob bosses. We’ve talked about this.’
You’re getting boring in your old age, Harry.
‘Aren't you like over a few millennia old?’
Shut up.
I ignored Venom’s grumbling and focused on the skyline ahead. Central Park was coming up fast, a big green rectangle cutting through the concrete. The tracker on Mark’s phone still blinked steady, but something felt wrong. Too quiet for a normal afternoon.
That’s when the first distant crack of gunfire split the air.
We all tensed at the same time. More shots followed—sharp, overlapping, the kind that meant automatic weapons and panic. My stomach dropped.
“Shit. It’s already started,” I muttered, angling lower. “Stay high until we have eyes on Mark. We’re not dropping straight into the middle of—”
The park opened up beneath us and the scene hit like a gut punch.
Chaos. Full-blown chaos.
Near the open clearing by the carousel, three—no, four—separate groups had turned what was supposed to be a tense sit-down into a shooting gallery.
Kitchen Irish guys with their green accents and shotguns traded fire with Mexican cartel enforcers in tactical vests. Dogs of Hell bikers roared around the edges, laying down cover fire while trying to grab crates of weapons and product that had spilled across the grass.
And threading through all of it were harder-looking men in dark tactical gear—special forces or something? Probably not. I hope. Definitely trouble. I knew.
A weapons exchange gone completely nuclear.
We landed on a thick cluster of trees overlooking the mess, crouching low in the branches. From up here the whole thing looked like someone had kicked over an anthill and then set it on fire. Bullets zipped between trees.
Someone screamed. A cartel guy went down clutching his leg while a Dog of Hell revved his bike straight through a pile of dropped rifles.
Lots of bad men here, Venom purred, way too excited. Can we eat the ones with guns? Pretty please?
‘You have a real one track mind, you know that?’
We do. It’s your mind. Not a lot of space up here.
‘Jerk.’
Bitch.
Peter’s voice came tight through the comms. “I see Mark—over by the statues, trying to stay low. He’s glowing a little. Looks like he’s barely holding it together.”
Gwen’s eyes scanned faster than mine. “There’s civilians too. That family by the carousel—they’re trapped behind the benches. Kids and everything. We need to move now.”
My gaze snapped to where she was pointing and everything inside me froze for half a second.
A man, a woman, and two small kids huddled behind one of the ornate benches near the carousel. The dad had a pistol out and was returning fire, trying to shield his family. The mom clutched the little girl tight while the boy—maybe ten—looked terrified but determined not to cry.
Bullets chewed up the grass around them. The carousel’s painted horses spun lazily in the background like some sick, ironic backdrop.
Christ. Was this the moment? The one from the Sacred Timeline where Frank Castle’s family was supposed to get cut down in the crossfire? How many people did I have to save in one damn day?
“I’m going after the family,” I said under my breath, the meta knowledge hitting like ice water. “We cannot let them get hit. Priority one—get those kids out. Then Mark.”
They didn’t question my motivations. Kids were always a priority. Even if they weren’t very significant characters I still would have saved them first. Good thing I had friends to pick up the slack.
Gwen just nodded sharply, already calculating angles the way only she could. “I’ll take left flank, pull Mark toward us. Peter, take as many photos as you want, but webs first. Harry, you’re the heaviest hitter—draw fire and get to that family.”
Peter fired a web line. “On it. Let’s do this fast.”
I dropped from the tree first, the black suit rippling as I landed hard enough to crack the pavement. Gunfire immediately swung my way—some Irish guy yelling something about another masked freak before opening up with a shotgun.
I dodged left, webs snapping out to yank the weapon from his hands and stick him to a nearby tree.
Ah. Real combat. We missed this…
‘Focus.’
More shooters turned toward me.
Good. That was the plan. I charged forward, flipping over a bench as bullets whizzed past, the suit absorbing a couple of grazing hits that stung but didn’t penetrate. Venom hummed with dark delight in the back of my head.
The carousel loomed ahead, horses still turning while the Castle family tried to stay small behind their pathetic cover.
I could hear the little girl crying now.
My resolve hardened into something sharp and angry. Not today. Not on my watch.
The gang war raged around us, but the real fight—the one that actually mattered—had just begun.
…
Gwen dropped from the tree line like a white shadow, zeroing in on the glowing figure trying to hide behind one of the larger statues. Mark Allan looked like a walking disaster—his skin already cracking with orange-red light, heat rippling the air around him as small patches of grass blackened beneath his feet.
He was right on the edge of melting down, both literally and in every other way that mattered.
She landed lightly a few yards away, careful not to startle him into exploding. “Mark! It’s me—Ghost Spider, remember? Liz sent us. We’re here to get you out.”
Mark’s head snapped up. His eyes were wide and terrified, flames licking at the corners. “You shouldn’t be here! Tombstone—he knows. He knows I was going to meet Peter. He sent me here anyway. Said if I didn’t play nice and get him information on the Blacksmith, Liz would pay for it.”
His voice cracked as another wave of heat rolled off him, melting the edge of the statue’s base. At which point Gwen paid a lot more attention to her spidey-sense.
“I can’t hold it back much longer.” Mark shamefully admitted. “Everything’s too hot. Too loud. I just wanted out. I told Liz I was done being his weapon.”
Gwen’s heart twisted hard. She stepped closer anyway, keeping her hands visible and her voice steady—the same tone she used when Harry got too deep in his own head or when Peter started spiraling over grades and responsibility.
“I know. I know you’re scared, and I know it feels like there’s no way out. But you’re not a weapon, Mark. You’re a person who got handed something terrifying and unfair. Tombstone is the one using you. Not the other way around.”
She offered a hand, even despite the fact that his own was on fire.
“It’s not too late. We can make this right.”
A bullet whizzed past them.
Gwen spun and fired a web at the shooter without even looking, yanking him into a tree where he stuck with a thud. Peter was a blur of red and blue nearby, webbing up gunmen left and right while somehow still managing to snap photos with that ridiculous little camera attachment on his wrist.
She knew exactly what those shots would look like on the front page tomorrow—probably something about masked vigilantes escalating gang violence. Jonah would have a field day. But that was a problem for later.
Mark sank to one knee, the glow intensifying as cracks spread further up his arms. “You don’t get it. Every time I get angry or scared, it gets worse. I almost burned Liz last week just because she hugged me too tight. How am I supposed to have a normal life like this? How am I supposed to be her brother when I could kill her by accident?”
Gwen crouched down in front of him, close enough to feel the heat coming off his skin but refusing to back away.
“Because you’re choosing not to.” She said, simply. “Right now, in this moment, you’re choosing. That’s what separates you from what Tombstone wants you to be. You’re not a monster, Mark. You’re a kid who’s been through hell and is still trying to protect his sister. That counts for a lot more than you think.”
She reached out slowly and placed her hand on his shoulder. The suit’s material handled the heat better than anything else could, but it still stung. “Breathe with me. Slowly. You don’t have to shut it off completely—that’s never going to work. Just… redirect it.”
Her mind searched for the perfect metaphor, and found one almost immediately.
“Like venting pressure in a reactor.” Gwen offered. “You did it before when you helped contain things in Times Square. You can do it again. For Liz. For yourself.”
Mark’s breathing hitched, tears hissing into steam as they hit his burning cheeks. “Tombstone said family was everything. Then he used it like a leash. I was supposed to meet Peter today. I was supposed to ask for help. Instead I walked straight into this because I was too scared to say no.”
“You’re saying no now,” Gwen said firmly, compassion bleeding into every word. “That’s what matters. We’re getting you out of here. We’ll figure out the rest—control, safety, a real way to live without hurting people. We aren’t going to let Tombstone keep using you. You have friends now. Real ones.”
Peter swung overhead, webbing two cartel guys together in mid-air before they could fire on a group of bystanders. “Little help over here!” he shouted, but kept moving, giving her space. More photos clicked. Gwen could already imagine the Bugle headlines twisting everything.
Mark let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob. The glow dimmed a fraction, the cracks in his skin starting to cool at the edges. “You’re all insane. You know that, right? Running into this for me.”
“Probably,” Gwen replied with a small, warm smile. “But we’re your kind of insane. Now let’s get you somewhere safer before you turn this whole park into a crater. Can you stand?”
He nodded slowly, letting her help pull him to his feet. The heat had backed off enough that the grass stopped smoking under him. His shoulders stayed slumped, but there was something new in his eyes—relief mixed with exhaustion and the tiniest spark of hope.
“I really do want out,” he whispered as they started moving toward better cover. “I’m so tired of being scared all the time.”
“I know,” Gwen said softly, keeping one arm around him for support. “And we’re going to help you stay out. Promise.”
Around them the gang war still raged, but for the first time since they’d dropped into the park, Gwen felt like they might actually pull one person free from it.
…
I broke away from the others the second I saw the Castles pinned down, legs pumping hard as I charged straight through the crossfire. Bullets whipped past like angry hornets, but the black suit absorbed the worst of it and Venom kept feeding me extra speed and strength.
My meta-knowledge screamed in my head the whole time—this was the moment. The one where Frank Castle’s wife and kids were supposed to die in a hail of bullets, turning a decent Marine into the Punisher. Not today. Not in my city.
“Hey! Get down!” I yelled, voice distorted slightly through the suit as I vaulted over a bench.
Frank Castle was already moving like the soldier he was—off-duty but still carrying, pistol barking as he returned fire from behind the flimsy cover.
Maria clutched little Lisa tight against her chest while Frank Jr. crouched beside his dad, wide-eyed and shaking but trying to be brave. The carousel kept spinning stupidly behind them like the universe had a sick sense of humor.
Disgusting, Venom growled, way angrier than I was expecting. Even we would never go after children. Far too small. They need time to grow, and develop, to become worthy meals.
‘That’s your reasoning?!’
Take it or leave it.
A Dog of Hell biker roared past on his motorcycle, firing wildly toward the benches. I webbed his front wheel mid-turn, sending him crashing hard into the grass. Another cartel guy swung a rifle my way—I ripped it out of his hands and slammed him into a tree so hard the branches shook.
“Stay behind me!” I shouted at the family as I skidded to a stop right in front of their bench. I spread my arms wide, the suit rippling as I made myself the biggest target possible. “I’ve got you. Just stay low!”
Frank’s eyes locked onto me—hard, assessing, the kind of look that said he’d seen masked people before but didn’t trust any of them. Blood already trickled down the side of his face from a grazing wound, but he kept firing with steady, professional shots. “Who the hell are you?” he barked, voice rough.
“Someone who’s not letting these kids get hurt today,” I answered, webbing up two Kitchen Irish guys who tried to flank us. “Name’s Venom. Just hang on. Help’s coming.”
Maria looked up at me, terror and desperate hope mixing on her face as she shielded Lisa. “Please… my babies…”
A fresh burst of automatic fire ripped across the grass. I felt the impacts thud into my back and shoulders—painful but not enough to drop me. Venom drank in the adrenaline like it was candy.
I spun and launched a wide web net, catching three shooters at once and yanking them skyward to stick them high in a tree.
Frank Jr. whimpered as a bullet sparked off the bench near his head. That sound hit me harder than any of the gunfire. Like I said.
I was very protective of children.
I dove forward, tackling all three of them down behind better cover as another wave of bullets chewed up the ground where they’d been standing. Maria gasped, Lisa started crying louder, and Frank kept shooting over my shoulder with grim determination.
“You’re bleeding,” I said to Frank without looking back, voice tight. “Head wound. Stay conscious, Marine. Your family needs you.”
He grunted, reloading with practiced speed even as blood ran into his eye. “How do you know what I am?”
“Let’s just call it experience.”
We are very good at protecting little ones, Venom added, almost softly for once. No one touches them.
A cartel enforcer got too close, spraying wildly. I felt Frank take the hit—a nasty one to the side of his head that dropped him hard. Non-lethal, thank God, but he hit the ground with a groan, eyes fluttering as blood poured from the graze along his temple.
He stayed conscious though, just barely, staring up at me as I stood over his family like a living shield.
“Maria… kids…” he rasped, trying to push himself up.
“I’ve got them,” I promised, voice thick. I webbed the shooter so hard he flew ten feet before sticking. “All of you. You’re getting out of this alive. Your family stays whole today. I swear it.”
Lisa was sobbing into her mother’s shoulder. Frank Jr. looked at me with this mix of fear and awe that broke something in my chest.
I scooped the little girl up with one arm while helping Maria to her feet with the other, keeping my body between them and the ongoing gunfight. Peter and Gwen were handling the rest of the chaos, but right here, right now, this was mine.
Frank reached out weakly and gripped my wrist for a second, eyes locking with mine through the suit’s lenses. He saw the black-suited spider standing guard over his wife and children while the park burned around us.
Something passed between us in that moment—gratitude, confusion, that unbreakable Marine will that refused to quit even with a head wound.
“Take… care of them,” he managed before his eyes started to glaze.
“They’re safe,” I repeated quietly. “All of them. You just hold on.”
Maria whispered thank you through her tears as I started moving the family toward the tree line where Gwen was waving us over, Mark in tow and looking mostly stable. My arms felt full in every way possible—carrying a scared little girl, supporting a terrified mother, protecting kids who were never supposed to survive this day.
Family, Venom said, quieter than usual. It’s strange… we’ve never had one. We have no idea what it’s like. But it looks… nice.
‘Yeah, it is.’ I thought back, throat tight. ‘The best reason to fight.’
The gunfire was starting to thin as sirens wailed in the distance. We’d done it. The Castles were alive. Frank was hurt but conscious, and he’d seen the black suit save his world.
One family saved.
Now we just had to get everyone out before the real storm hit.
…
Peter swung down from the last cluster of trees as the wail of sirens grew louder in the distance, the familiar sound both a relief and a warning. The gang war had mostly collapsed in on itself once the three of them hit it from all sides—most of the shooters were webbed up, unconscious, or running for their lives.
The park looked like a war zone: scorched grass, bullet-riddled benches, and crates of spilled weapons and drugs scattered everywhere. But the Castles were alive. That was what mattered most.
He landed near Harry, who was still crouched beside Frank Castle. The man lay on the grass with his eyes closed, blood streaking the side of his head from the graze wound. Maria sat beside him, clutching both kids tight, tears streaming down her face as she whispered to her husband.
“He’s breathing steady,” Harry said quietly, voice tight with something heavy. “Headshot was a graze, but it knocked him out. He’ll live. They all will.”
Peter saw the guilt flash across Harry’s face even through the black suit.
He knew that look. Harry carried the vigilantism like it was an extension to his costume, and right now it looked like it was crushing him. “We got here in time,” Peter offered, trying to sound sure. “That’s what counts.”
Gwen approached with Mark in tow. The older boy looked exhausted but stable, the glowing cracks in his skin faded to a dull orange. He kept glancing back at the chaos like he expected Tombstone to appear any second.
Sirens were close now. Too close.
“We can’t stay,” Gwen said, her voice calm but urgent as she gently touched Harry’s shoulder. “Cops will be here in under two minutes. We need to move.”
Harry nodded but didn’t stand right away. He looked down at Frank again, then at Maria and the kids. “I know. Just… give me one second.”
Peter pulled a cheap burner phone from one of the pouches on his suit and pressed it into Mark’s hand. “Here. Keep this on you. It’s untraceable. Text the number I programmed in when you’re safe. We’ll get you real help—control, protection, a way to stay with Liz without being anyone’s attack dog. You’re not alone anymore.”
Mark stared at the phone like it was something fragile. His voice came out rough. “I almost lost it back there. If you guys hadn’t shown up…”
“But we did,” Gwen cut in gently, giving him that warm, steady smile she was so good at. “And you held on. That’s what we’re going to build on. Now go—head north through the trees. Blend into the crowds on the street and get somewhere safe. Call us when you can.”
Mark hesitated, then surprised them all by pulling Gwen into a quick, careful hug before nodding at Peter and Harry. “Thank you. Tell Liz… tell her I’m trying. For real this time.” He turned and jogged off, disappearing into the thicker trees just as red and blue lights started flashing at the edges of the park.
The four of them—three suited, one still carrying the weight of what they’d just done—moved toward a thick cluster of trees for better cover. Peter’s mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.
He could picture the Bugle headlines now: Masked Vigilantes Fuel Gang Massacre in Central Park or something equally ugly. His photos would probably make it worse, even if they showed the truth. Jonah would spin it. He always did.
Harry still looked troubled, staring back toward where the Castle family was being swarmed by the first arriving officers. “How many more people are going to get hurt because I wasn’t good enough?”
Gwen stopped them all with a firm hand on Harry’s arm, turning so she faced the group. Her expression was that perfect mix of compassionate and no-nonsense that always grounded them. “Hey. None of that. We did good today. Really good. Mark is out of Tombstone’s grip, at least for now. The Castles are alive— all of them.”
“And the head of the house took a bullet to the skull.” Harry hissed. “Because of me.”
“That family gets to go home together tonight because of us.” Gwen was unrelenting. “Yeah, it was messy. Yeah, the Bugle’s going to be awful tomorrow. But people are safer because we showed up. That’s what we do.”
Peter felt some of the dread in his chest loosen. Gwen had that effect. She made the impossible feel manageable. “She’s right,” he added, bumping Harry’s shoulder. “We saved more than we lost. And we’ve got a direct line to Mark now. We’ll help him stay out.”
Harry exhaled slowly, some of the tension bleeding out of his posture. “Yeah. Okay. You’re right. We did good.”
The sirens were right on top of them now. Red and blue lights painted the trees around them as more police cars poured in.
“Time to go,” Peter said, firing a web line up into the canopy. “Swing low and split up once we clear the park. Meet back at the usual spot later?”
They launched upward together, the wind catching them as they left the chaos behind. Peter glanced back one last time at the flashing lights and the family being helped by paramedics. A small, tired smile tugged at his lips under the mask.
Messy as it was, they’d won this one.
…
I slipped back into the penthouse through the balcony access, the adrenaline finally starting to bleed out of my system as the suit relaxed around me. The lab door was locked tight just like Norman had demanded—no keycard access anymore.
I didn’t even try it. I just collapsed onto the big leather couches in the main living area instead, still in costume, staring at the ceiling like we’d run a marathon and fought a war at the same time.
My shoulders ached. My back stung from all the bullets that had actually landed. But the Castles were alive. Mark had a burner and a real shot at getting out. That had to count for something.
The elevator dinged softly. I sat up just as Mom stepped into the living room, dressed to kill in a sleek black evening gown with her hair swept up elegantly. She looked beautiful, but there was that familiar tightness around her eyes—the one she got when she was worried but trying not to show it.
“Harry,” she said, voice warm but edged with concern as she crossed over to me. “You’re home. I was hoping I’d catch you before we left for dinner.”
Her gaze flicked over the black suit I hadn’t bothered shifting out of yet, then to the faint bruises and scrapes visible on my arms.
“You look… tired. Have you been resting at all since last night? Your father mentioned the ESU incident. I know things have been tense, but you have to take care of yourself. We can’t have another flare-up.”
I forced a small smile, sitting up straighter. “I’m okay, Mom. Really. Just a long day. You look amazing, by the way. Big dinner with Dad?”
She nodded, brushing a hand gently over my hair like I was still ten years old. The gesture was soft, but I caught the subtle worry underneath it—the way she always hovered a little more since my condition had woken up.
“Yes, Norman booked that new place downtown. He insisted we talk through some things.” Her smile faltered just a fraction, the tension between her and Dad flickering through for a second before she hid it again. “I’ll make sure he doesn’t stay out too late. Try to get some actual sleep tonight, sweetheart. Text me if you need anything.”
She leaned down and kissed the top of my head, then headed back toward the elevator with one last concerned glance over her shoulder. The doors closed behind her, leaving the penthouse feeling quieter than before.
I let out a long breath and flopped back against the couch. Mom’s nice. We like Mom.
‘Yeah, we do.’
My phone buzzed in the suit’s pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from Jessica.
Jessica: Saw the ESU blackout on the news. Then some gang shooting in Central Park with “masked figures” mentioned. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, kid? Adult supervision is still a thing. Don’t make me come over there.
I snorted and typed back quickly.
Me: Just helping a friend. Everyone’s okay. No need for the Jones special interrogation. Yet.
Jessica: We’ll see about that. Stay out of trouble for five minutes. I mean it.
I set the phone down, a tired grin tugging at my lips. Jessica never really let go once she decided someone needed watching.
The grin faded as I heard a faint sound from the direction of the locked lab. A soft scrape. Then another. Definitely movement.
Norman? Venom asked, suddenly alert.
‘How? Mom just left to meet him for dinner downtown. He’s nowhere near here.’
I stood up slowly, the symbiote already rippling across my skin and shifting me fully into the black suit without me even having to think about it. The mask slid into place over my face. My heart picked up again, that familiar mix of adrenaline and suspicion flooding back in.
Who the hell was in my lab?
The locked lab. The one Norman had just cut me off from… he did lock it, didn’t he?
I moved toward the lab entrance on silent feet, every sense on high alert. The sounds were subtle—drawers opening, careful footsteps, the faint clink of something being moved. Definitely not a random break-in. Someone who knew what they were doing.
Intruder, Venom purred, dark excitement bleeding into my thoughts. Can we eat this one?
‘Let’s find out who it is first.’
Whoever it is. They better have a damn good reason for being in our home.
…
Felicia Hardy moved through the darkened penthouse like she belonged there, which was half the trick. The balcony door had been left just a fraction ajar—careless, really. Almost like an invitation. She slipped inside on silent feet, the black catsuit hugging every curve as she padded toward the lab entrance.
Poor little Osborn heir. It was almost bad taste to rob the kid whose shoulder her father had put a bullet in. Almost. But then, it was also extremely poor taste for Norman Osborn to get her dad shipped off to the Raft like some kind of supervillain.
Fair was fair. She’d take her shiny new toys and call it even.
The lab door opened without a sound under her lockpicks. Felicia allowed herself a tiny, satisfied smile as she stepped inside. The microbots sat right where her research said they would—neat little containers glowing faintly under the emergency lights. So small. So clever. So very, very useful.
“Hello, gorgeous,” she purred softly, running a gloved finger along the edge of the case. “Mommy’s come to take you home.”
She worked quickly but elegantly, disabling the remaining security sensors with a few precise taps from the gadget on her wrist.
These little swarming wonders were going to be perfect for her own plans.
Her mysterious employer had offered her a small fortune to deliver them, of course. The man clearly had deep pockets and even deeper ambitions. But Felicia Hardy had never been very good at following instructions she didn’t like.
No, these cute little things were hers now. She had much more interesting ideas for what they could do in the right—well, wrong—hands. Her hands.
She carefully packed the containers into the sleek black bag slung across her back, moving with the graceful efficiency of someone who’d been dancing across rooftops since she was barely a teenager. The weight felt delicious. Promising. The kind of prize that could change the game if she played her cards right.
Thank you, generous benefactor, she thought with a sly internal laugh. I really must send you a fruit basket or something. Or maybe not. Can’t have you getting too attached.
One last sweep of the lab to make sure she hadn’t missed any stray prototypes, and she was done. Time to disappear into the night like the good little cat she was.
Felicia turned toward the door, already imagining the satisfying leap from the balcony and the freedom of the city lights below.
She froze mid-step.
There, silhouetted in the lab doorway, stood a tall figure in a sleek black suit that seemed to drink in the light. The white spider emblem practically glowed against the darkness. Venom. Up close, he looked even more dangerous than the rumors suggested—lean, powerful, and currently staring right at her.
For half a heartbeat, even Felicia’s usual confidence wavered. Then the corner of her mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
“Well, well,” she purred, voice low and velvet-smooth as she tilted her head, letting her white hair fall just so. “Hello there.”
The black suit rippled slightly, as if the thing wearing it had opinions. Felicia didn’t move, but her eyes sparkled with mischief and challenge. This night had just become far more interesting than she’d planned.