"You've got to be kidding me. I already swore to start fresh, and these two guys still want to walk straight into trouble?"
Spider-Man rolled his eyes. He'd already decided not to reveal his identity unless these two thugs pushed him too far.
The rougher one, Michael, stepped right up to him, making no effort to hide his intent as he reached forward.
"Kid, hand over anything valuable. Save yourself the pain."
Spider-Man shook his head. His pockets were emptier than a beggar's bowl. Aside from a company-issued laptop and a phone in his backpack, all his money had just gone toward paying New York transit fare.
He shook his head again, signaling that he had nothing.
"Don't know what's good for you, huh? What's in that bag? Hand it over!"
Michael tugged at the backpack, but Spider-Man held on tight.
"You little punk, got a death wish?"
Michael lifted his shirt, revealing a shiny dagger.
"Let go, or I'll gut you right here."
Spider-Man remained silent and simply shook his head once more.
Two robbers. One armed with a knife, the other a gun. Both looked desperate and clearly dangerous. But Spider-Man didn't view them as a real threat. The only issue was the crowded bus. There wasn't enough room to move freely.
Then came a voice from the back.
"What's going on, man? What's happening?"
It was Reggie, calling out after hearing the commotion.
Michael turned and replied, "Just some stubborn kid who won't give up his bag."
But as he turned his head, the young man sitting on the aisle seat nearby suddenly stood. In a flash, he grabbed Michael's wrist and locked an arm around his neck. With a quick, practiced chokehold, Michael lost consciousness and dropped to the floor like a rag doll.
Spider-Man silently nodded this guy's moves were clean, fast, and efficient. Not even a hint of hesitation.
Then his expression tensed. Just a meter away, the second thug was already reaching for his gun. But the blonde who had just handled Michael was separated from him by two people. No way he'd get there in time.
In one fluid motion, Spider-Man sprang into action. Grabbing the bus ceiling for leverage, he shot across the aisle with lightning speed. Twisting midair, he seized the gunman's arm.
Then came the sound.
Crack!
A sharp, clean snap.
Reggie's arm the one reaching for the gun had been broken.
A scream followed, sharp and piercing. Spider-Man, irritated by the noise, punched him in the head. The cry was cut short as Reggie slumped unconscious.
"Yeah!"
The bus erupted in applause. The passengers cheered the two young men who had stood up for justice.
The driver quickly pulled over. After watching the takedown, he whipped out his phone and dialed 911.
But Spider-Man wasn't sticking around. He still had class.
"Driver, open the door."
Maybe it was the heroics he'd just witnessed, but the driver didn't ask questions. He simply opened the door.
Spider-Man stepped out of the bus and exhaled.
Then he noticed the blond young man getting off as well. The guy walked over with a grin.
"Hi, I'm Peter. Peter Parker. That was seriously badass back there."
Even if you've trained a bit, facing a knife-wielding thug isn't easy. But this guy had jumped in without hesitation. His sense of justice was off the charts.
"Hey, I'm Watson."
But Watson cut the conversation short and hurried away. Spider-Man tilted his head, puzzled. He didn't like attention because he was, well, Spider-Man. But this guy? He seemed to avoid it too.
They'd just taken down two armed thugs and saved an entire busload of people. That kind of move usually earned some spotlight. Yet the guy just walked off?
Could he also be a masked vigilante?
Forget it. Everyone's got secrets. No point poking around.
Spider-Man glanced at his phone.
Crap!
It was already 8:40. He had just twenty minutes before he'd be marked late.
He tightened his backpack and dashed toward school.
Across town, Watson, wearing sunglasses, entered an office building and took the elevator to the 18th floor.
As the elevator slowly ascended, his mind drifted back to his police academy days.
"27149, this is a long-term undercover mission. Your academy records will be erased. Only I and George Stacy from Major Crimes know your true identity. You're taking on an extremely dangerous assignment. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Sir, I can't take this anymore. Every day I'm either hassled by cops or getting jumped by gang members. You think this is sustainable? Why don't you give it a try?"
Ding.
The elevator stopped at the top floor.
Watson stepped out, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.
The New York sky was overcast, but golden beams of sunlight still broke through the clouds.
He sat on the rooftop edge, letting the winter wind sting his face. He lit a cigarette, dragging the bitter smoke deep into his lungs. The sensation filled him with a jittery energy.
"You tell me just this month, how many times have you been arrested for hurting people? I had to beg the prosecutor to believe you were mentally unstable so they'd send you to therapy. And then what? You go right back to beating people. Are you actually unhinged?"
George Stacy, dressed in a black suit and dark sunglasses, stepped up beside him.
"Have you forgotten whether you're a cop or a criminal?"
The tall figure blocked the sun. Watson stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette and stood up abruptly.
"We agreed, three years! Then another three! Then another! It's been nearly ten years now… boss!"
George frowned.
"Could you show some respect? I'm the only one in New York who knows your identity. I could wipe your file and let you be a gangster for good. It'd make my life easier."
Watson flared up, jabbing a finger at his blond hair.
"What more do you want from me? You want me to remind myself I'm a cop every day? Shout it in my sleep? 'Drop the gun! Don't move! I'm the police!' Is that what you want?"
He let out a scream of pure frustration.
George sighed and asked calmly,
"When's Tony's next shipment?"
Watson turned away, leaning on the railing.
"No idea."
George shook his head. This guy was his most reliable agent, yet he was a live wire. And George understood why.
A young cop forced to live a double life in the shadows, stripped of joy or identity it was a soul-crushing existence. Without strong mental discipline, anyone would eventually break.
(End of Chapter)
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