Peter had become painfully idle.
Months had trickled by since the Avengers' last gathering, a period marked not by thrilling heroics, but by a creeping, unnerving quiet. New York City, once a chaotic symphony of sirens and screams, had fallen under the sterile peace of the Ultron Global Defense System.
"That bastard Stark! He and his useless toys have put us out of a job!" Venom seethed in Peter's mind, its voice a gravelly echo of his own deep-seated frustration.
The sentiment, though crudely put, was undeniable. An army of white, mass-produced Iron Legion drones now patrolled the skies over Manhattan day and night. They were brutally efficient, rounding up every street-level criminal and packing them into the city's police stations. It started with active crimes—muggings, burglaries, car thefts. Then, it escalated. Anyone with a known gang affiliation found loitering on a street corner became a target.
The news reported that the city's jails were overflowing. Cells designed for two now held more than a dozen men, crammed together so tightly that, as one grim joke went, you couldn't even bend over to pick up a dropped bar of soap in the showers. Now, Stark Industries was in talks with Primus to fund the construction of massive new correctional facilities in every borough. The city simply couldn't contain all its criminals.
This, in itself, shouldn't have bothered Peter. But the side effect was a deafening silence in his life. With no one left who dared to do wrong, Spider-Man and Venom were forced into a state of agonizing idleness.
Venom, in particular, was struggling. It was not a creature of peace. Its consciousness was a constant whirlwind of primal urges, a hunger for violence and blood that now had no outlet. Back when the city was a cesspool of crime, it had been manageable. While Peter had drawn a hard line at letting it "eat brains," Venom could at least find release in the visceral thrill of combat—the satisfying crunch of a thug's nose under its fist, the terror in their eyes.
Peter, too, had changed. Ben's pragmatic worldview had chipped away at his once-unwavering restraint. That, combined with Venom's subtle, constant influence, meant Peter now found himself considering just how much force was really necessary when dealing with the city's scum. Of course, with their combined strength pushing a hundred tons, even what Peter considered a "heavy hand" was a gentle tap by their standards. But his methods had undeniably grown more violent.
That, however, was a thing of the past.
Without criminals, Spider-Man felt like a ghost, an obsolete relic. He would sometimes swing through the city for hours, a lonely silhouette against the skyline, and find nothing. The feeling was a strange cocktail of pride and melancholy, like a fisherman returning with an empty net from a river that was now, finally, perfectly clean.
He knew, logically, that a plummeting crime rate was a good thing. It was the world he had fought for. But if this trend continued, a quiet, insidious fear began to creep in. Maybe… maybe no one needed Spider-Man anymore. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
He knew it was selfish. Uncle Ben had taught him that doing the right thing was never about fame or recognition; it was about the simple, profound act of helping others. A world that no longer needed superheroes would be the ultimate victory.
But Peter was still young, and the thought still stung.
He imagined a city where no one ever littered. It would be a wonderful thing, but the sanitation workers would all be out of a job. Their value would be gone. They would be abandoned.
"We've been abandoned, too," Venom's voice hissed, instantly latching onto the thought. The symbiote rarely respected the privacy of his host's mind, and it never missed an opportunity to pour fuel on the fire of Peter's insecurities. "This city doesn't need us anymore. It won't be long before they all forget. Everyone in this city will forget there was ever a hero called Spider-Man!"
"That's not going to happen," Peter snapped back, his own annoyance rising. He was already grappling with the fear of being unneeded; he didn't need Venom spelling out the idea of being completely forgotten.
"Hasn't it already started?" Venom countered, its tone sharp and mocking. "Have you noticed how the news about us has dried up? Even the Daily Bugle, the paper that lives to slander you, has barely mentioned our name in weeks. Think about it, Peter. When was the last time you heard your classmates talking about Spider-Man?"
Peter pursed his lips, a grim silence his only answer. It was true. The school hallways buzzed with talk of Iron Man and Ultron. They swapped stories about how many drones flew over their rooftops at night, or gossiped about whose distant cousin got arrested for an old gang tattoo.
"That's reality," Venom pressed. "Think about old technology. It's phased out, and a few years later, the next generation doesn't even recognize it. Memories fade. This world is getting stranger, more powerful every day. Who's going to remember two small-time players like us?"
The words hit their mark, and Peter's frustration boiled over. "What do you want from me?" he retorted, his voice tight.
"I just feel like you deserve better!" Venom's tone shifted, becoming a venomous approximation of sympathy. "You've bled for this city! You've sacrificed for it! And what do they do? The second you're no longer useful, they toss you aside! Let's go teach them a lesson they won't forget!"
Peter, however, was not so easily swayed. He let out a long, weary sigh. "I know you're trying to get me to do something stupid again, Venom. It's not happening."
Even this more jaded version of Peter Parker had his limits. He might be willing to get a little rougher with criminals, but he would never deliberately cause harm or chaos. If he ever crossed that line, he knew Ben would be the first to hunt him down, to say nothing of the profound disappointment he'd see in the eyes of his mom and dad.
"It doesn't have to be 'bad'," Venom quickly amended, sensing it had pushed too far. It feared Ben's wrath almost as much as Peter did. "I just think we need to make some big news. Remind people we exist. We're losers, Peter. What are you going to do if New York really doesn't need Spider-Man anymore? Go back to being the obscure, invisible Peter Parker?"
Venom knew exactly which buttons to push. It understood that Peter's identity was inextricably linked with the mask. Spider-Man wasn't just about super-powers; it was about a profound sense of responsibility, a way to find meaning and value in his life.
As Spider-Man, he was a hero admired across New York. Even with other heroes on the scene, he had carved out his own place.
But as Peter Parker, his life was… ordinary.
"Without the suit, what value do you have?" Venom whispered, twisting the knife. "Are you really willing to go back to being who you were before? Maybe Ben's reputation keeps the bullies away now, but nobody takes you seriously. Admit it, Peter! The person who needs Spider-Man the most isn't this city. It's you."
Silence. Peter couldn't argue, because he knew Venom was right.
He needed Spider-Man more than anyone.
Without the mask, he was just… Peter. He looked at Ben, who could transform into a dozen different alien heroes, who commanded an interstellar peacekeeping force, who could stand up to Iron Man and Nick Fury. Ben was a genius who had built a multi-million-dollar corporation from nothing. He had Felicia and Mary Jane vying for his attention. Meanwhile, Peter still couldn't string two sentences together around Liz.
The more he thought about it, the more the familiar feeling of failure washed over him. Being Spider-Man didn't erase that feeling, but it masked it. It gave him purpose.
Though conflicted and dejected, he refused to give in. He shook his head, a gesture of defiance against the symbiote and his own dark thoughts. "Even without criminals, I can still put on the suit. I can still patrol the city. Everyone will see us. No one will forget Spider-Man exists."
Venom was silent for a moment, processing this. "...You've got to be the most pathetic host I've ever met!" it finally screeched in his mind, its frustration palpable. "What, you're going to just entertain yourself? Swing around like a high-flying circus act for people to point at? Don't you see how pathetic that is? You'd be nothing but a clown!"
Peter didn't argue. He just slipped into a deserted alleyway, the familiar black tendrils of the symbiote flowing over him, forming the sleek, intimidating Venom suit.
"Alright, Venom," he said softly, more to himself than to the creature. "Stop overthinking it. The crime rate is down. That's a good thing." He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. "We all disagreed with Mr. Stark's plan, but Ultron is managing the city well. Did you notice? They're rebuilding Manhattan, and there isn't even a Hell's Kitchen anymore."
"That's because the robots swept up all the low-level thugs who hadn't even committed a crime yet and dumped them like garbage," Venom grumbled, its tone dripping with contempt. It was utterly helpless against Peter's stubborn morality. It had been bonded to him for nearly a year, and the kid's fundamental character remained infuriatingly intact.
The symbiote in this universe was a strange beast. It was less the pure, malevolent villain of some timelines and more like the chaotic, darkly comedic version from others, its personality warped by a prior bond with Deadpool. It had inherited Deadpool's twisted affection for Spider-Man, and despite the constant frustration, it refused to leave.
With a sigh of resignation, it fully formed the battle suit.
"Fine, fine!" it conceded. "You're such a wimp!"
"Okay, enough complaining," Peter said, stepping to the edge of the roof. "Let's go for a swing."
He launched himself into the air, the wind rushing past him. He wouldn't break his routine. His temper might be shorter these days, his methods a bit rougher, but his purpose remained the same.
"I'm not asking you to do anything bad," Venom defended itself again. "I just want to make a statement! That mustache-twirling Stark made us obsolete. Why don't we just… grab one of his precious bots and dismantle it? Vent a little? Look, there's a wild Ultron flying right over there. We could web it up, twist its head off, swallow the parts, tie its wiring into a knot that spells out 'F-U-C-K', and slap it on the side of Stark Tower."
Venom wasn't talking about Avengers Tower, but one of the new, gleaming skyscrapers Stark Industries had erected to serve as production facilities for the Iron Legion. The very sight of them made Venom's non-existent blood boil.
"Not happening," Peter replied flatly. "I can't afford it."
A single one of those mass-produced drones cost tens of millions of dollars. Ben might be rich, but Peter refused to see that money as his own.
His eyes followed the drone Venom had spotted. Then he noticed it wasn't alone. There were five of them, flying in a tight V-formation, like a flock of metallic geese heading south.
That was… odd.
"Why deploy so many at once?" he murmured. "What's going on?"
Even the mass-produced Ultron models were incredibly advanced, the product of generations of Stark's innovations. A squad of five was powerful enough to pacify a small country. In the new, crime-free New York, it was complete overkill.
Unless…
"Could it be a new supervillain?"
The thought sparked a flicker of excitement in both of them.
"Hey!" Venom's voice was electric with anticipation. "This is our chance! If we can take down the bad guy before these tin cans even get there, they'll have nothing to do!"
That was exactly what Peter was thinking. A surge of his old energy returned. This was his purpose.
"Let me see if I can talk to them," Peter decided, his mind racing. He veered his trajectory, swinging to intercept the patrol. Ben had said Ultron was a hyper-intelligent AI. Maybe he could just ask them what the emergency was.
He never got the chance.
As he closed the distance, the lead robot raised its arm. There was no warning, no shouted command. Just a flash of light and a high-pitched whine.
ZAP!
His spider-sense didn't even trigger. Ultron hadn't aimed at him. It had aimed at his web.
The strand of webbing dissolved, and Peter was suddenly plummeting. The sudden attack shocked him, but his reflexes took over. He twisted in mid-air, firing another web-line that caught the edge of a building, yanking him back to the relative safety of a rooftop.
The next moment, the five Ultron robots were hovering above him, their repulsors humming ominously. They looked down on him, their glowing red eyes examining him with the cold detachment of gods judging an insect.
"What is your major malfunction?!" Venom's monstrous head erupted from Peter's shoulder, spewing vitriol at the silent machines. "I think the code Tony Stark programmed into your metal skulls is pure sht! Do you have any idea who we are?!"*
Peter pushed his own anger down, frowning at the drones. "What was that for? Why did you attack me?"
"You have violated traffic safety regulations," the lead robot declared, its voice a synthesized, emotionless monotone. It aimed its glowing palm repulsor directly at Peter's chest. "This is your first and only warning. A repeat offense will result in your immediate arrest."
This time, Peter's spider-sense screamed. These tin cans were serious.
Are you crazy? Peter cursed internally, but shot back, "What traffic safety regulations? I'm in the sky!"
"A new traffic ordinance was passed one month ago," the robot stated calmly. "The airspace above the city is now a designated transit corridor for authorized hover vehicles and Ultron patrol units. It is not a playground for law-breaking arachnids."
Peter was speechless. He'd forgotten. Hover cars were still a rare sight, a luxury for the ultra-rich. Who paid attention to those kinds of ordinances?
He threw his hands up in surrender, the fight draining out of him. "Fine. Whatever. I guess I'm officially out of a job. Goodbye, I'm done seeing you tin cans for today."
He turned to leave, but the robots didn't move. They simply shifted, surrounding him in a perfect circle. Simultaneously, a new weapon port opened on each of their arms.
Peter froze, his body tensing into a fighting stance. "What do you want now?"
"Our directive requires us to monitor the alien viral entity," Ultron said, its voice dropping to a chilling, predatory register. "Surrender peacefully, Venom."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Writing takes time, coffee, and a lot of love.If you'd like to support my work, join me at [email protected]/GoldenGarudaYou'll get early access to over 50 chapters, selection on new series, and the satisfaction of knowing your support directly fuels more stories.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~