Peter Parker, Mad Spider, crouched on a rusted rooftop, his blood-red costume glinting under flickering holo-billboards. His spider-powers—strength, agility, regeneration—surged, but the electroshock torture's pain gnawed, fueling his Joker-like madness. He laughed, a wild cackle, webs taut as he eyed the Iron Vipers' convoy below—cyber-tanks and mercs massing for Scorpion's war. "Time to crash their party, Gwenny!" he quipped, Deadpool-sharp humor hiding the burn. Gwen Stacy, perched beside him, her blonde hair tied tight, tweaked a makeshift EMP device, her tablet synced to Fisk's drones. Her blue eyes burned with focus. "Vipers' tanks are shielded," she said. "My EMPs will crack them." Wilson Fisk, massive and scarred, limped forward, cane steady, his suit dark against the neon haze. "Hit hard, Spider," he rumbled, voice like thunder. "Show them we're family."
Flashback: At 18, Peter webbed a bully's bike to a lamppost, Gwen cheering from the shadows. "We're unstoppable," she laughed. That fire drove them now, their bond a shield against Earth-731's scorn.
Fisk's plan was brutal—ambush the Vipers in the slums' choke point, cripple their advance. Peter swung down, webs snapping, slamming into a merc with bone-jarring force. His violence was chaotic, a whirlwind of punches and crimson webs, laughter chilling. "Bad day, buddy!" he taunted, dodging a plasma bolt that singed his arm. Regeneration kicked in, but pain flared, his madness teetering. Gwen triggered her EMPs, a pulse frying the tanks' circuits, their turrets sparking uselessly. "Now, Fisk!" she shouted, redirecting drones to strafe the mercs. Fisk charged, his strength monstrous despite his limp, smashing a Viper's rifle with his cane. "This is our city!" he roared, inspiring Peter to fight harder.
A merc lunged at Gwen, but Peter's web yanked him into a wall, his humor masking a wince. "Hands off my tech queen!" he growled, eyes wild. Gwen's hack jammed the Vipers' comms, sowing chaos, her EMPs dropping another tank. Fisk's fist felled a merc, his scars gleaming with sweat. "You're my brother, Peter," he said, voice raw, his strength a beacon. Peter's pain pulsed, but Fisk's words steadied him, a spark of trust in his fractured heart. Gwen's tablet pinged—Viper reinforcements inbound, Scorpion's venomous signal clear.
The ambush succeeded, Vipers retreating, but as Peter webbed a final merc, a shadow moved on a distant spire—a sleek figure, red and black, watching. Daredevil.
Cliffhanger: The hero's silhouette vanishes, but his presence lingers. "Trouble's sniffing us out," Peter laughs, webs ready, as Fisk's gaze hardens.