The nights in New York never lost their edge. Each rooftop leap sent the wind slashing past my face, city lights beating below like a million frenzied stars—it was intoxicating. My homemade suit hugged tight, black and red panels flexing with every move, reinforced for protection, streamlined for speed. The white spider emblem on my chest caught the streetlights, a bold reminder of my calling. My boots landed on fire escapes with almost no sound; my gloves locked onto brick and metal with engineered accuracy.
The organic webbing felt alive in my grip, responsive in ways no synthetic line ever matched. I shot it on instinct—vaulting gaps, swinging from lampposts, catching moving cars to slow them or grab tumbling debris. Every strand carried my strength, intent, and creativity. Messy, chaotic sometimes, but always effective. Most importantly… It was mine.
Summer vacation had just begun, but it wasn't lazy park days or endless gaming. This summer belonged to the city. My calendar overflowed: rooftops at dusk, alleys at midnight, patrols mapped by Arachne for maximum coverage. I moved with a rhythm—a system. One notification from my AI, and I predicted trouble before the cops. Bank heists, muggings, fires, accidents—whatever the threat, I arrived quickly.
Some nights were simple, almost mundane. A cat stranded on a fire escape, a kid locked out of their apartment, a purse snatched in a crowded subway station—routine. I swooped in, webs flying, heart racing, adrenaline surging. Yet my mind stayed clear. Each rescue was a practice. Each encounter is a rehearsal for the bigger stakes.
Other nights demanded every ounce of skill I'd developed in my past life. Every lesson learned in stealth, combat, and strategy mattered. A car dangling from a bridge? I calculated angles, tension, and velocity. At the same time, I kept a terrified driver calm. A fire in a high-rise apartment? I plotted a route to reach trapped families while avoiding smoke inhalation, collapsing floors, and panicked neighbors. I learned to trust my instincts. And I learned to trust Arachne.
The NYPD had been, predictably, skeptical at first. Most cops are—until you prove you aren't a menace. But Captain Stacy and the others quickly realized Spider-Man wasn't just another wannabe vigilante. I had a direct line to Arachne. That linked me to live city data, street cameras, and crime alerts. I could respond in seconds. Sergeant Davis and Officer Ramos called it "the most coordinated backup they'd ever seen." I smiled at the praise. But really, it was just preparation, planning, and a lifetime of past mistakes distilled into action.
And yet, even with all this power, life still had its little moments. Swinging past rooftops, feeling the wind whip through my hair, watching the sunset over the East River, texting Cindy in between patrols to check if she'd finished adjusting her latest suit prototype. Sometimes, I'd stop mid-swing to snag a rooftop pigeon or break a gang fight that hadn't escalated yet, just to see if my reflexes were sharp.
I had learned quickly that being Spider-Man wasn't just about the fights, the flashy rescues, or the thrill. It was about responsibility—watching, thinking, predicting. Protecting people who didn't even know they needed protection yet. And summer was the perfect time to master it all: long nights, endless opportunities, and no school to interrupt my experiments with webs, suit modifications, or patrol strategies.
The city was alive in a way that matched the rhythm in my veins. Every honking horn, every shout, and every distant siren was part of a living organism. I was learning to navigate it—and protect it. As I perched on a gargoyle overlooking Queens, the wind tugged at my boots. I couldn't help but grin beneath my mask.
This was my city now. And I wasn't planning on letting anyone—or anything—take it from me.
It was during one of my routine patrols that the idea first occurred to me. I'd just chased off a would-be mugger and untangled a bike messenger's wheel from his own chain. Right after that, I saved a college kid from being flattened by a runaway delivery truck. She stood trembling, clutching her phone like a lifeline.
"Thank you—oh my God, thank you!" she gasped. "Wait! Can I take a picture?!"
I hesitated, crouched on the fire escape, one hand braced on the railing. "Uh… sure?"
She snapped a photo, her grin bright even though she was still shaking. "You should totally have an Instagram or something. That way people can see you're real—not just some rumor."
I blinked. An Instagram. Out of all the ideas—"That's… actually not bad."
The next night, after patrol, I sat cross‑legged on my bed, still in my suit, mask off, scrolling through my phone. "Arachne," I muttered, "think of a name."
"Parameters, sir?" the AI asked softly through my earpiece.
"Something catchy. Something that's me without being me. Not 'Spider-Man.' Something less obvious."
"Processing…"
I chewed the inside of my cheek, tossing out ideas under my breath. "WebWatcher? SpiderCam? No. Too weird."
Then Arachne chimed in through my earpiece. "Sir. May I suggest 'TheSpiderman_NYC'? It's both location-specific and evocative without directly using your moniker."
I grinned. "TheSpiderman_NYC… I like it. Keeping it simple, alright, please create an account for me."
Within minutes, Arachne had spun up the account. I uploaded my first picture: me silhouetted against the Empire State Building, one hand mid-swing, the other flashing a peace sign. Caption: "Keeping New York safe, one swing at a time. #StaySilkyNYC."
It blew up faster than I expected. Within an hour, hundreds of likes turned into thousands. Comments poured in, some heart-melting—thank yous from people I'd saved. Others were frantic, with tips, rumors, and people tagging me in every imaginable crime headline. And some were just kids, asking if I could web‑sling at their school or do a backflip on TikTok.
At first, I tried replying to a few. Then ten. Then a hundred. By day three, my phone buzzed nonstop.
"Sir," Arachne said politely, "you're receiving an average of three thousand direct messages per hour. Would you like me to handle the bulk of them?"
I rubbed my temples. "Yeah. But even then… this isn't working. Half of these are pranks, fake tips, or spam."
"Agreed," Arachne replied. "A more streamlined interface would optimize your response capabilities."
I froze mid‑scroll, then slowly lowered my phone. "You're right. We need something else. Arachne—what if we build an app?"
The AI's interface pulsed on my laptop screen. "Specify parameters, sir."
I leaned forward, ideas spilling out faster than my hands could type. "Okay. We make an app—a direct line to me, but smarter. People can report emergencies in real time. It sorts them by severity, verifies them, and alerts me instantly. No spam. No prank calls. Full GPS integration. Optional photo or video evidence. It has to be dead-simple to use."
"Understood," Arachne said. "Initiating design protocol. Cross‑platform compatibility, encryption for anonymity, and real‑time verification. I recommend deploying a secondary AI: Spiderling. It will screen and triage reports. Spiderling will handle verification and notify you of legitimate, high-priority events."
I smirked. "Spiderling, huh? I like it. Make it happen."
Three nights later, the app was live. The Emergency Web : The App. Simple interface, bold colors, a giant "Report Trouble" button. Within hours of announcing it on Instagram, thousands of New Yorkers had downloaded it. Verified emergencies appeared on my HUD mid-swing, like mini-maps, complete with routes and live updates from Spiderling.
I even showed it to Captain Stacy during a rooftop meetup. He stood there in his windbreaker, hands stuffed into his pockets, looking like a dad who'd just been shown how to stream Netflix.
He whistled low. "You're telling me this little app filters emergencies before they even hit 911?"
"Yup," I said, perched on a ledge. "It's faster and way harder to abuse than a regular phone tip line. Think of it like… a digital neighborhood watch."
He shook his head, a grin tugging at his lips. "Kid, this is—this is actually good. I might even download it myself. Maybe it'll tell me where my detectives keep disappearing to."
I chuckled. "Should download it, never know when you will need a rescue."
Stacy laughed at that, then gestured to my patched-up suit. "Now if only you'd fix that before your next public appearance…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, glancing down at my fraying gloves. "Working on it."
"Good," he said, turning to leave. "Because at this rate, you're gonna be more famous than the cops. Try not to make us look bad, Spider-Man."
As the Captain disappeared down the stairwell, my phone buzzed—Spiderling alert. Another emergency. I smirked under my mask, fired a web, and launched into the night.
This was the new normal. And for the first time, it felt like I was finally ahead of the game.
Over the next few days, Cindy and I threw ourselves into the project. Well… mostly I did. Cindy had been… distant lately. She'd been busy with school, and I understood that. But it gnawed at me every time I realized she hadn't stopped by in a while. The pheromones weren't a problem when she was absent, but there was this lingering thought: the tension wasn't gone. I shoved it aside, focusing on the app.
By the end of the first week, we had a working prototype. Spiderling would receive reports from civilians, verify them through live camera feeds or geolocation data, and then prioritize them based on threat level. I could see everything in real-time on my custom laptop, with holographic overlays of the city streets, traffic patterns, and potential escape routes. Arachne had even established a secure link to the NYPD, allowing verified crimes to be communicated immediately without compromising identities or locations.
I tested it one night while swinging through the East Side. A report popped up: "Building fire, 5th Ave, 22nd Street. Potential trapped residents." Spiderling verified the report, highlighting the building in red on my holographic map. I altered my course mid-swing and arrived at the scene in under thirty seconds. Residents were panicking, a few people waving from the windows. I webbed ropes to the fire escape and windows, guiding everyone to safety. No civilians were hurt, and no firefighters were impeded. Another successful night logged in my mind.
And yet, the app brought in more than just emergencies. Messages popped up, asking for minor favors, reporting strange sightings, and even heartfelt confessions from people inspired by Spider-Man's heroics. Some were annoying, sure. Others, like a terrified kid reporting bullies, reminded me why this role mattered. My city was messy, chaotic, but it was alive—and I was here for it.
I started running small patrols every night, refining my movements, testing new webs, and learning the optimal angles for swinging between skyscrapers. My strength and agility allowed me to push further, faster, and higher than I ever thought possible. I experimented with different web patterns, testing the tensile strength and elasticity, even trying variations that would allow me to block bullets or restrain multiple criminals at once.
I found myself thinking more strategically about crime. A mugger in an alley? Easy. But patterns… patterns were important. I began to notice areas with higher crime rates, streets where more fires occurred, and intersections where accidents happened regularly. My app could log all this. With Arachne analyzing the data, Spiderling could suggest patrols, hotspot monitoring, and early intervention strategies. I felt like a combination of hero, detective, and strategist all at once.
And then, there were the people. I began to see the impact Spider-Man had on the city—not just on crime statistics, but on the city's morale. A bus driver waved from the corner. Kids pointed and cheered. Even adults, initially skeptical, began to nod, smile, and wave. They knew I wasn't just a vigilante; I was their protector, a symbol of hope. And every time someone recognized me or mentioned me online, my heart swelled with that same strange pride I'd always read about in comics. This—this connection, it was different from the movies, from the comics I'd memorized. This was real.
The NYPD grew more accustomed to working with me. Officer Ramos texted Spiderling, "Two people trapped on the roof of the building at 43rd Street, potential gas leak. Recommend immediate intervention." I swung into action, thinking about the safest entry points, avoiding civilians, securing the roof, and diffusing the hazard. It was exhilarating. They trusted me. I trusted Spiderling. I trusted myself.
Some nights, when I returned home, I stared at Cindy's empty seat at my desk. She hadn't stopped by, hadn't come over to check on the suit modifications, the app, or the patrols. I knew she was busy with school, but a small pang hit me. I couldn't let it affect my focus, not now. My mission was bigger than that. My city, my responsibility.
I did my best to keep my mind off her—the kiss, the pheromones, the confusion. I reminded myself constantly that her actions weren't… real, not in the emotional sense. The spider-bite complications. My brain tried to rationalize it, but part of me… part of me just wanted it to mean something. I shoved it down, turned my attention to the streets.
Over the weeks, my popularity surged. Reports from Spiderling, data from the app, and my patrol logs showed a clear trend: Spider-Man was becoming a household name. I helped stranded commuters, stopped thefts, rescued animals, defused minor explosions, and even coordinated with fire departments during emergency drills. Every action, no matter how small, contributed to the growing mythos of Spider-Man. I was careful, deliberate, making sure no one got hurt while still impressing onlookers.
One evening, while swinging across Manhattan, Spiderling pinged with a more unusual alert: "Potential civil disturbance reported at 5th Avenue and 50th Street. Verified by three separate civilian sources. Low-level threat, high crowd density." I adjusted my trajectory and arrived just in time to see a large street protest that had gotten slightly out of hand. No violence yet, just tense pushing and yelling. I dropped down silently, webbed a barricade to redirect the crowd, and started talking to key organizers to calm tensions. The crowd parted slowly, and I left them in the hands of the local authorities.
Through it all, the FNSM app became a sensation. Kids, adults, and elderly people relied on it for help, updates, and even reassurance. Spiderling filtered reports, flagged potential threats, and provided a constant stream of situational awareness. The AI wasn't just an assistant—it was my eyes and ears across the city. And me? I was more confident, more capable, more connected than ever before.
At night, back in my room, I'd sometimes just sit at the window, looking out over the city, the glow of neon reflecting off glass skyscrapers. I thought about how much had changed in just a few weeks. I was stronger, faster, smarter. I had Cindy, even if she was absent. I had Arachne and Spiderling running logistics, keeping me informed. I had a city that was slowly learning to trust me. And somehow… I felt ready.
But the thought of Cindy lingered. A faint reminder that this wasn't just about saving people or building an empire of good deeds. There were complications, distractions, and… feelings. Things I couldn't entirely ignore, no matter how much I rationalized the pheromones or tried to shove the memory of that kiss into the back of my mind.
I sighed, adjusting the mask. The city was alive below me, and I had a job to do. Whether she showed up tonight, tomorrow, or not at all… Spider-Man had work to do. And I wasn't going to let anything—no threat, no distraction—stop me.
The nights blurred together, a montage of webs, rooftops, and adrenaline. Reports came in, emergencies were handled, and every day, the city began to recognize the name Spider-Man not just as a myth, but as a protector, a constant presence. And through it all, Spiderling hummed in the background, filtering chaos into manageable tasks, and Arachne's voice reminded me that I had not just power, but resources—more than I ever could have imagined.
I smiled beneath my mask. The first step was done. I had established myself. But the city… It was only the beginning. And somewhere, out there, Cindy was also part of this story, whether she realized it or not.