Extra Chapter
Let's reach 500 Power Stones for an extra chapter
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Another night, another wild goose chase. For the past week, I've been patrolling New York City, wearing the Digi-Camo and riding Behemoth. I clutch the Amulet of Azazel, hunting for the power of Shadowstones. The Amulet of Azazel has been about as useful as a screen door on a submarine. Most of the time, the Amulet leads to nowhere. When it does lead to something, it's always some two-bit thug bonded with a rookie Digimon. I take the Shadowstone and send their Digimon back to the Digital World. It's something, at least.
What really bothers me is Peter. Ever since that Oscorp trip, he has been acting weird. He is always in a rush. Always has some excuse to run off. I don't know, maybe it's just my guilt talking. I know how Peter's story is supposed to go. I can't help but wonder if I'm doing enough.
I ride Behemoth through a quiet neighborhood. The Amulet of Azazel is silent. Maybe tonight is a bust.
Then a gunshot cuts through the night.
My head snaps toward the sound. My heart pounds in my chest. This isn't some digital threat; this is real.
Gotta move!
I twist the throttle, and Behemoth roars to life, spitting fire as I race toward the sound of the gunshot.
I arrive at the scene and find a small crowd gathered on the sidewalk. A patrol car is parked haphazardly nearby. A figure lies on the ground, unmoving.
Please don't be who I think it is.
I push my way through the crowd, and my blood runs cold. It's Uncle Ben. He's lying on the ground, eyes closed, not moving.
No!
I drop to my knees beside him, checking for a pulse. Thank God, he's alive, but unconscious.
What the hell happened?
I glance around, and my eyes land on something glinting on the ground near Uncle Ben's chest. I pick it up, and it's a mangled bullet. My eyes trace up to Ben's neck. Wait, what's that under his shirt? I pull back the collar to see the faint glow of the Guardian Amulet.
The amulet! It worked!
Relief washes over me, followed by a wave of dread. The amulet saved him, but... this isn't how it's supposed to happen.
Peter.
I look up, scanning the crowd. "Someone call an ambulance!" I yell, my voice cracking. I look at people, trying to find someone who can help. He must be going after the shooter.
I need to get to him.
I jump back on Behemoth and rev the engine. The sirens in the distance grow louder. I follow the sound, weaving through the streets.
Come on, come on...
Then, I see it – a flash of red and blue swinging between the buildings.
That suit...
Even in the darkness, I recognize the makeshift design. The colors are off, and the stitching is amateur, but there is no mistaking it. Peter made that.
Shit. Shit!
My heart pounds in my chest. The sirens grow louder as I follow the red and blue figure. Then, ahead, I see a car careen out of control and crash into an old warehouse.
He's here.
I slam on the brakes and kill the engine. The dust settles, and I see a figure climb out of the wreckage and stumble toward the warehouse. It's a man, but all I can see is a dark silhouette.
Then, a red and blue blur launches through the air and disappears inside the warehouse.
Peter is inside.
I have to help him. This is my chance to make things right, to protect my friend from a fate he doesn't deserve.
I dismount Behemoth and stride toward the warehouse.
The warehouse looms before me, a dark maw in the night. Every instinct screams at me to rush in.
I step inside, and the smell of dust and decay assaults my nose. The only light filters through cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting long, dancing shadows across the concrete floor. My eyes adjust, and I see them.
Peter and a man.
They're silhouetted against a patch of moonlight, their forms distorted by the poor lighting. Peter is dressed in his awful attempt at a Spider-Man suit. I can hear his voice, tight with fury.
"Why? Why did you do it?" Peter yells. He sounds different. Broken.
The man says something I can't make out.
The man lunges. Shit! I prepare to jump into the fight, but then I see it. Peter moves, but not like the Peter I know. He's fast. Really fast. He side-steps the man's wild swing like it's moving in slow motion. There's a new grace in his movement, a power he never possessed before. He dodges a clumsy punch, and easily sidesteps another.
But then, as Peter raises his fist, a sliver of moonlight illuminates the shooter's face. Peter freezes, his arm suspended in mid-air. His eyes widen in shock, not rage.
What the hell is going on?
The shooter raises a trembling hand. I can make out the glint of metal – a gun. He aims it toward Peter's head.
I explode into motion, sprinting across the warehouse. I put all of my strength into a tackle, hitting the shooter before he can pull the trigger. We both crash to the ground, the gun clattering away. I'm on top of him, hammering down with my fists, knocking him out.
He's out.
I stand and turn to Peter, and he looks…gone. His eyes are wide, unfocused. He looks like he is somewhere else. Shaken. Disoriented.
"Peter!" I yell, hoping to break him out of it. "Peter, are you okay?"
His head snaps up, and he stares at me, eyes darting around the warehouse. He looks at the unconscious man on the ground. He looks confused. "Ethan? What...what are you doing here?"
I ignore the question. No time for explanations. I point toward the exit. "We need to go, now."
He stares at me. "But..."
"No buts!" I grab his arm, pulling him toward the door. "The cops are coming. We have to leave."
He doesn't resist, but he still looks completely out of it. Together, we disappear into the night, leaving the shooter unconscious on the floor. I can't shake the feeling that this is just the beginning.
***
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