After 1 day since that incident
The base buzzed with quiet urgency metal clinks of rebels rearming, distant murmurs over radios, the low hum of generators working overtime.
But in a quieter corner of the operations wing, Peter Parker stood beside Harry Osborn, the air between them unusually heavy.
"Mary is coming," Harry said suddenly.
Peter blinked.
"What?..."
"Yeah," Harry nodded, glancing at the entrance. "She's on her way here. Tonight."
Peter's mouth went dry.
"Did you... tell her?"
Harry shook his head.
"No. I didn't tell her... It's better if you do that yourself."
(She's coming here? Mary? After everything?)
Peter looked away, his hands curling slightly at his sides.
"She'll probably be shocked if she sees me."
Harry gave him a crooked smile.
"Yep. Big yep."
From a few steps away, Gwen Stacy arms folded, silver rebel badge glinting caught the end of the conversation.
"Mary's coming?" she asked, stepping in.
Harry nodded again.
"Yeah. She finished her sector's medical operations and wants an update on the field. Figured she'd check on things personally."
Gwen looked at Peter for a second, unreadable.
Then she said, "Okay... Hmm. Can I talk to Peter alone?"
Harry blinked.
"Alone?" He glanced between the two of them, then raised an eyebrow at Peter.
Peter looked just as confused.
"Okay…" Harry said, stepping back slowly. But then he smirked.
"Hoh... Parker, you are…"
Gwen raised a hand. "It's not what you think."
"Hoho… okay, I'll leave you two be."
With a low chuckle, Harry walked off, muttering something under his breath that Peter couldn't catch.
Peter furrowed his brow.
"What… was that about?"
Gwen rolled her eyes.
"Nothing. He just talks nonsense."
Peter folded his arms.
"Okay… so what's this about?"
Gwen looked at him—really looked. The way her eyes lingered told him this wasn't casual.
(She's been thinking about something. Something serious.)
She stepped closer, her voice soft.
"When she sees you... it's going to break her, Peter."
Peter's throat tightened.
"I know."
Gwen continued, her expression hard to read.
"You're walking around in his face. His voice. His body. And Mary… she mourned that face. Every night. For a year."
Peter lowered his gaze.
(I'm not him. Not really. But I have to be—for them. For her.)
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
Gwen took a single step closer, her voice lowering warmer now, but still heavy with truth.
"Well... she's engaged to Harry now. They both love each other. You know that."
Peter didn't flinch.
"Yeah, I know," he replied, eyes locked on the metal floor beneath him. "I won't ruin that. I swear. Heck—we were never even dating. And I don't even love her."
Gwen raised an eyebrow, just slightly.
"Are you sure?"
A beat passed.
Peter didn't answer right away.
Then he looked her in the eye and said clearly:
"I'm sure."
But inside, something pulled.
(But the Peter Parker you knew… loved her so much. He died with her name in his heart. He gave everything. But me? Drake American? I just inherited his burdens. His memories. His regrets… not his love.)
He let out a slow breath.
(This isn't about romance. It's about responsibility now. And respect.)
Gwen studied him a little longer. Maybe looking for cracks. Maybe hoping for them.
But there were none at least not on the surface.
She finally nodded.
"Alright then… Just be careful what you say when she walks in. Words cut deeper when they come from a ghost."
Peter gave a short nod, his lips pressed into a thin line.
..
Meanwhile
The storm clouds rolled above the skyline—gray, oppressive, rumbling like the breath of something ancient.
Mary Watson walked briskly across the cracked asphalt of the southern path that led to Nick Fury's base, flanked by two seasoned rebels—Boppy and Bon, rifles slung tight and boots crunching over broken glass and debris.
"Let's move. We're almost there," Mary said firmly, eyes scanning ahead.
"Yes, ma'am," both rebels echoed behind her.
The ruins around them whispered with unease. This district had been quiet for weeks… too quiet.
They passed the husk of a burned-out APC. A crow croaked above on a leaning lamp post.
Then—
Skittering.
Fast. Sharp. Metal scraping on concrete.
BOP. BOP. BOP.
From behind an overturned car, a swarm emerged.
Dozens of mechanical arachnids small, jagged spider-shaped drones—skittered into the open. Their glowing red eyes blinked in unison. Each one had needle-like legs and tiny ports on their backs pulsing with blue venom tanks.
Mary's heart dropped.
"I recognize this…" she whispered, pulling the rifle from her shoulder and raising it. "These are Skorpia's."
She fired.
BANG! BANG!
The first spider exploded in sparks.
More kept coming—crawling from cracks in the walls, the shadows, the air vents. Hundreds.
Boppy fired to the left. Bon unleashed a burst to the right.
"Ma'am Watson, this—there are too many of them!!" Boppy shouted, swinging his rifle in panic.
Bon cursed. "We need backup! I repeat—WE NEED BACKUP!"
Mary ducked behind a cement barrier, slapped her walkie to life, and shouted over the static.
"This is Mary Watson! Southern approach—ambushed by Skorpia's drone spiders! I repeat: Requesting immediate backup!"
Static buzzed… until it clicked.
…
Meanwhile, at the base…
Peter was pacing near the armory, speaking with Harry and Nick Fury when the alert hit.
Harry burst in, pale.
"Pete!!"
Peter spun.
"What?!"
"It's Mary—she's been ambushed. She just called in—Scorpia's spider bots. Her squad's pinned down near the outer eastern corridor."
Peter's eyes widened beneath his mask.
(Mary's in danger—right now.)
Harry stepped forward, voice firm.
"Pete, you're the only one fast enough to get there in time. With your suit, with the webbing—you can reach her before they're overrun."
Peter didn't hesitate.
"Give me the coordinates."
Harry handed him a tablet with a flashing red dot.
Peter scanned it, his brain calculating routes, swing points, elevation drops.
(Okay. Twenty blocks out. Five minutes by web. Three if I push it.)
He turned toward the exit, activating his comms.
"Spidey on the move. Tell her to hold out just a little longer."
Then he was gone—a blur of red, black, and white streaking across the broken skyline, rising on web-lines, swinging hard into the night.
..
[Back to Mary Jane]
CRACK!
Another bullet rang out, Mary's rifle smoking hot in her hands as she ducked behind a crumbling barrier.
Sparks flew overhead.
"These damn things won't stop!" she hissed, ejecting the mag and slamming in a new one.
The mechanical arachnids swarmed like angry wasps—climbing over wreckage, across abandoned cars, dropping from rooftops like metal rain.
Dozens turned into hundreds.
The red glow from their eyes painted the smoke in crimson streaks—like demonic fireflies.
Bon kicked one away, only for two more to leap toward him. He shot them mid-air, but—
"ARGH!"
One of the legs pierced his shoulder. He screamed, rolled, and smashed it with the butt of his gun.
"BON!" Mary shouted.
Boppy grabbed his arm and pulled him behind a rusted truck.
"They're flanking! East side! They're learning our positions!"
Mary gritted her teeth. Her jaw clenched.
(Tactical AI… adaptive behavior… these are Skorpia's elite models. Not just scouts—these are killers.)
"Burn them down!" she roared.
"Focus fire! Keep moving! Don't let them corner us!"
She lobbed a flash grenade.
BZZZRRR!
The flash burst in a dome of white light—blinding some of the spiders—but the rest kept coming.
From the rear, one drone unfolded its legs into razor saws, spinning like a drill as it launched toward Boppy's head.
SLASH!
Boppy ducked, but the edge scraped his cheek—blood splattering the ground.
"GRAHHH!" he fired back, his face lit by muzzle flashes.
Bon, panting, leaned against the truck, blood soaking through his shirt. "I can't… hold much longer…"
Mary grabbed her knife and slashed through a spider crawling toward her thigh, its needle just inches from stabbing.
Then she looked up and froze.
On top of the nearby building, something bigger moved.
Skorpia's Control Spider.
A massive, eight-legged command unit—five feet tall, with pulsating red veins of plasma running along its metal limbs.
Its eyes glowed with runes coded orders streaming from Skorpia herself.
"NO!" Mary breathed.
(This was a trap. A coordinated strike. They knew we were coming.)
It jumped down.
BOOOOM!
The street cracked as it landed. The others began circling. The three rebels—cornered. Surrounded. Hunted.
Mary raised her rifle for a final stand—
…
Meanwhile, overhead…
WHHHSSHHHH!
(Almost there. Hang on. Just hang on!)
He spotted the red flare smoke.
He dove down—freefalling through broken billboards, then launched a web line and snapped forward, slingshotting himself toward the chaos.
Below—red eyes. Explosions. Shouting.
Peter twisted in mid-air, pulled two web grenades, and chucked them down.
BOOM—FLASH!
A white web-dome exploded over a chunk of the spider swarm—trapping half of them in a sticky tomb.
He landed.
Hard.
THUMP.
Kneeling. Fists down. Head up.
The Control Spider turned to him.
White web-dome exploded over a chunk of the spider swarm—trapping half of them in a sticky tomb.
The ground shook.
He landed.
Hard.
THUMP.
Kneeling. Fists down. Head up.
The cracked pavement steamed beneath him. Wind kicked up the dust. The Control Spider, glowing red like the eye of a storm, rotated its head slowly toward the new threat.
Its scanning lens locked onto him.
TARGET: Spider-Man
DANGER LEVEL: UNKNOWN.
Its limbs flexed—eight titanium legs twitching—plasma veins pulsing along the joints.
Mary blinked, her voice trembling as she took a step forward.
"Who… are you?"
Peter stood.
Straightened his spine.
The white spider on his chest flickered. His cracked visor caught the firelight.
"I'm Spider-Man."
To be continue