I dropped down behind a billboard. Changed out of the suit with a flick of my wrist. It blinked off my skin like reality unzipping. My hoodie reappeared. Mask vanished. I started walking again. Through alleys. Past fire escapes and dumpsters.
I cut down the side of a hardware store. Flicked my fingers. The suit warped back into place for a second. Just to check.
Worked for the rest of the night. Saved another dozen people. I say worked, because this was a side-hustle. It paid in crypto and borderline fame. I webbed one guy off a balcony before he could push a girl. Took a knife from a mugger outside a pawn shop. Busted into a basement where three guys were cooking something that smelled like meth and microwaved dog shit.
I dragged one out by his collar, webbed his hands to a pipe, and left his face stuck to a support beam. He kept yelling that the feds planted the drugs. The meth was literally still boiling behind him.
Next block had a car chase. Cop sirens, stolen SUV. I landed on the hood mid-turn. Driver panicked. Tried to swerve. I kicked the windshield. It cracked. He hit the brakes. I flew forward, flipped, and landed through the passenger window. Guy screamed. I knocked him out with his own steering wheel.
The cops arrived ten seconds later. I was already gone.
"Pull the footage anyway. Remix for highlight reel."
[System]: Done. We add synth music and subtitles like 'Criminal Detected. Justice Engaged'?
"No. Just the punches. No corny edits."
I hit three more break-ins, a guy trying to throw a Molotov at a liquor store, and one group of idiots drag racing scooters on the expressway. One of them fell off and broke his wrist. He cried until the ambulance showed up.
By the time the sun started nudging the skyline, I was perched on a water tower three stories above a bakery that sold bagels with more carbs than morals. I stared at the sky, twisted my wrist, and dropped the suit back into inventory. Hoodie slid back on like it had never left.
One thing to note was, this body needed less sleep. It was never stated in the comics, but Peter was always a student in the morning and a hero at night. Broke in both. He barely slept. Barely ate. All thanks to the Spider Psyche. Some genetic freakshow buff that let me bounce off rooftops at 3AM, ace an exam by 9, and still have enough energy to flirt with danger by lunch. Sleep became optional. Food became a side quest. My muscles regenerated faster, joints healed quicker, and somehow my brain processed caffeine like divine nectar. System called it "biological optimization." I called it unfair advantage with a libido.
I dropped back into my room before the first bus squealed down the street. Aunt May was still in her room. Her light was on. Probably up since 5. Old habits. I took a fast shower, switched into something that didn't reek of rooftop sweat and back-alley crime scenes, and pulled out the clean shirt stack from under my bed. They were ironed. By her. Still smelled faintly of lavender dryer sheets and whatever love was left in a detergent bottle.
I reached into the inventory. Flicked through the virtual grid.
One duffel. Stacked bills.
One pouch. Unmarked ammo.
One rolled hoodie, black, reinforced with a ceramic weave. Still testing.
One used condom labeled 'Dream Slut v1.0' thanks, System.
Two empty shell casings from the meth lab takedown.
One USB stick marked 'Mayor's blackmail fund.' That one needed a better hiding spot like a journalist's front door.
By the time I got to school, everyone was walking with their eyes glued to their phones. Same tone from different mouths. Same video echoing from tiny speakers. Snippets of gasps, laughs, and the phrase "yo, look at this guy" floated through the air.
Gwen fell in step beside me. She was watching something on hers too. Her eyebrows raised for half a second. Then she tilted the screen toward me.
I caught a freeze-frame. Guy in a black suit. Mask on. Hoodie-hood up. Body mid-drop, one fist cocked, the other gripping a perp by the collar. Angle from a roof cam. My cam. System's cam. High-def. Stabilized. Timestamp blurred out. QR code pulsing faintly in the corner.
"It is all over Midtown," Gwen said.
"What is?"
She turned the screen back. "This vigilante. No name. No logo. Just shows up, ruins someone's criminal career, then leaves. Clean. Fast. No cops. No casualties."
"Sounds like a comic."
She looked at me. "It is getting views like one. Fifteen thousand reposts. Forty on TikTok. Reddit made a name for him already. Spider."
I nodded. "Dramatic."
Trixie passed behind us. Held her phone up. "Yo, he webbed a guy to a fire escape and wrote 'fuck your pills' on the wall beside him. This dude is a menace."
Gwen kept walking. "He is doing more than the cops ever do."
"You think it is real?"
"It is too clean to be fake."
She paused.
Then, quieter. "He helped a girl last night. Same block I take home. She said he said nothing. Just cut her free and vanished."
[System]: Mmm~ and you wonder why I moan in your dreams. You are trending, sugar.
'I am not doing it for clout.'
[System]: No, you are doing it for crypto and libido upgrades. Clout is just the sloppy seconds.
We reached the lockers. Harry stood with two others, heads down, watching the same clip. Cassie leaned beside him, chewing on a straw, smirking.
"Bet the guy is military," someone said.
"Nah. Too smooth. He moves like he knows the alleys."
Cassie glanced at me. Her tongue tapped the straw.
Gwen pulled her locker open. "They think he is ex-special forces. Or mercenary. Or some kind of underground type."
"Whole school is guessing now?" I asked.
She looked over. "You jealous?"
"Of what?"
"That a guy in a mask gets more attention than your latest conquest."
I shrugged. "I bet he is a virgin."
That got a few snorts. Harry gave a chuckle. Gwen didn't laugh, but the corner of her mouth twitched. Close enough.
We moved down the hall. The crowd kept talking. More kids were arguing about the Spider. Some thought he used chemical web shooters. Others said it was biological. One dude near the vending machine claimed the guy must be climbing walls using tiny suction cups like those kids' toys that stick to windows.
"Bro, it is either radioactive glue or like, some magnetic thing," one said.
"Nah, he is just jacked. Like claws. Some kind of mutant freak."
Someone else threw in, "No way he is human. You see how fast he moved in that video? Looked like anime bullshit."
Felicia slid past our group, phone in hand, playing the same clip on loop. Her eyes flicked toward me, then to Gwen. Then she smirked and kept walking. Her hips did the thing they always did. She was wearing leather. Too early for it. But no one told her anything.
Harry bumped my shoulder. "Whoever he is, he has balls."
Cassie chimed in from behind. "Or maybe he has nothing to lose."
Trixie popped in holding an energy drink like it was a fashion statement. "I would let him tie me up. Just saying."
Gwen sighed as she muttered, "Jesus."
In class, I checked my wallet. The System's bell echoed. Then again. Repeating like a victory ringtone for horny crime prevention. The number climbed slow. Ten bucks here. Four there. Someone sent two dollars with a note that said, "better than the NYPD." Another tagged it "f*ck the pigs."
[System]: Mmm~ micro-simp economy activated. You are raking it in one trauma-fueled donation at a time, sugar.
Balance hit $1,274.31.
I tapped the screen twice. Opened the breakdown. Most came from the link under that rescue clip. A few trickled from side uploads. Random street busts. One from a dude in Germany who apparently thought the mask looked "peak silent protest aesthetic."
By the time school ended, the balance crossed 2,574 dollars and some change. Donations stacked slow but steady. One girl dropped twenty with a caption that read, "Spider Daddy." Another sent five bucks with the note, "You make me feel safe. Also, slightly horny." System highlighted it like it wanted to print it on a pillow.
[System]: Mmm~ fan-funded justice. You could open a Patreon and still be less ethical than this.
I walked out the school gates and took the longer path home. Kids scattered toward buses, delis, corners where they pretended not to care about popularity. I passed a few who were watching more Spider reels on their phones. One freshman turned to her friend and whispered, "I heard he does not even use bullets. Just straight hands." The friend nodded like that made him a war god.
I turned the corner near the pharmacy and hit the open-air market. Ten booths, three that reeked of garlic, one blasting bad pop music, and another with a cart full of fake Yeezys.
My stop was near the back. Guy there sold rare ingredients. Spices. Organic meat cuts. Stuff May used to buy before Ben died and the bills took over. She had once tried to make roasted lamb on a Sunday. It ended with a smoke alarm, one ruined pan, and a week of cereal dinners.
I passed him the cash. He bagged a pack of saffron, two small lamb chops, fresh rosemary, and some garlic paste sealed like nuclear waste.
"Yo, haven't seen you for a while," he said, grabbing the rolls of meat from the freezer behind him.
I shrugged. "Tight budget. Not like you are economy."
He groaned. "Bitch, I sell quality shit for dirt cheap."
I stared at him flat. "Yeah, and you also don't pay rent, file taxes, wash your hands, or follow health codes. Half your spices are probably smuggled in someone's sock drawer."
He grinned like that was a compliment. "I sell vibes. Not paperwork."
"Cool. Got any of those paneer packs?"
"Which one? The normal or the 'my cousin made it in his bathtub' edition?"
"Which one smells like a health violation?"
He squatted, reached into the icebox, pulled out two plastic trays. One looked clean. Vacuum-sealed, clear label. The other had handwritten sharpie across it that said "Paniir - Trust."
I pointed at the first. "I am not dying of lactose PTSD today."
He tossed it into the bag. "Shame. That other one cured a guy's eczema."
I swiped my change and took the bag.
[System]: Mmm~ you are so domestic when you buy illegal cheese. It is hot. Can I lick your lamb?
"No. You already catalogued my last orgasm. Let the dinner be pure."
[System]: If I keep a sample of this garlic paste, can I clone you a girlfriend who smells like naan?
"No cloning. The prototype will probably ask to peg me and hack my school laptop."
[System]: She would be efficient and emotionally available.
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You can read up to Chapter 85...
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