The air in the alley was thick with the smell of ozone, scorched brick, and the coppery tang of blood. Gwen stood poised on the ledge of a fire escape, her breaths steady and controlled, even as she cataloged the fresh burn across her ribs and the shallow claw marks on her thigh. Her chi hummed within her, a deep, untapped well of power she was consciously restraining. Below, the two goons—Vi, with her bone-like claws, and Kyle, clutching his pulsating energy shard—were untangling themselves from the last barrage of her enhanced webbing.
Vi pushed herself up from the pile of trash bags, wiping a smear of blood from her split lip with the back of her wrist. Her claws, slick with grime and her own blood, caught the flickering neon sign of a nearby noodle shop.
Vi : You think sticky strings are gonna stop us, bug? Wilson Fisk owns these streets now. You're just… target practice.
The raw, snarling confidence in her voice was undercut by the way she favored her left leg. Kyle scrambled for his shard, his hands trembling as the blue energy within it pulsed erratically, like a dying star. He clutched it to his chest, his face pale beneath his hood.
Gwen tensed, ready to launch the next volley, to end this before their backup—if they had any—arrived.
She never got the chance.
A sound cut through the cacophony of distant sirens and Kyle's panicked breathing. Not a roar, not a crash. A low, resonant CLANG that seemed to vibrate from the very bones of the city.
A disc of polished, midnight-black metal, rimmed with a hair-thin line of cyan energy, hurtled down from the rooftops like a meteor. It wasn't thrown; it was guided. It smashed into the cracked asphalt of the alley with the force of a tactical warhead, embedding itself halfway into the street.
The impact wasn't just physical. A visible shockwave of distorted air a concussive blast of pure kinetic force rippled outward from the point of impact.
It hit Vi and Kyle like an invisible freight train.
Vi was lifted off her feet, a look of utter shock erasing her snarl. She was flung backward, a ragdoll in mid-air, before crashing through the corrugated metal side of a dumpster with an ear-splitting shriek of tearing steel. The dumpster rocked on its foundation, belching out a cloud of fetid vapor.
Kyle fared no better. The force lifted him and sent him skidding on his back across the rough asphalt for twenty feet, a shower of orange sparks spraying up from where his body armor scraped the ground. The energy shard flew from his grip, clattering and spinning like a demented top before coming to rest against a curb, its light flickering weakly.
From the shadows above, a figure descended.
He didn't jump. He dropped, a controlled, weighty fall that ended in a deep, three-point crouch beside the now-quivering shield, one hand resting on its center. The impact of his landing was a soft thud that somehow carried more finality than the shield's explosive arrival. He rose slowly, the adaptive polymer of his Vector suit absorbing the scant light and reflecting none, making him a living silhouette. With a casual, powerful wrench, he pulled the shield free from the street. The sound of grinding concrete was unnaturally loud in the sudden quiet.
Vector : Agents of the Hellfire Club… and general thuggery. You have failed this city.
His voice was amplified, modulated to carry a bass-heavy, theatrical weight. It echoed off the alley walls.
In the privacy of their mental link, born of shared chi and deep familiarity, Gwen's thoughts shot to him, laced with affectionate incredulity.
Gwen (mindlink) : Peter Benjamin Parker. Don't tell me you actually say that out loud. Every time.
Peter's mental voice came back, a mix of pride and sheepishness.
Peter (mindlink) : It sounds cool! And it works! It's an intimidation thing. Lets me aura-farm a little, set the stage. You know, presentation.
She had to physically bite the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing out loud. The image of him practicing in front of his workshop mirror, maybe with his hair slicked back, was too vivid.
Gwen (mindlink) : It's the single cringiest thing I have ever heard. And I've heard Harry try to rap.
A pulse of mock-offense came through the link, but it was quickly overridden by his focused attention on the two villains struggling to their feet.
Vector took a step forward, the shield held loosely at his side. He looked from Vi, who was extracting herself from the dumpster with a murderous glare, to Kyle, who was crawling desperately toward his shard.
Vector : A discount Wolverine and a guy who needs a glowing paperweight to feel special. Emma Frost must be really scraping the bottom of the barrel for talent.
The insult, delivered with such dry, audible disdain, was the spark that reignited the fight.
Vi's roar of pure, unadulterated rage drowned out all other sound. Her eyes glowed with feral yellow light.
Vi : I'M GONNA WEAVE A RUG FROM YOUR INTESTINES, YOU LITTLE SHIT!
She didn't charge. She erupted from the wreckage of the dumpster, a blue-streaked projectile of claws and fury, aimed straight for Peter's throat.
Simultaneously, Kyle's fingers closed around his shard. The moment he touched it, the erratic pulses stabilized into a solid, threatening hum. He didn't aim for Peter. He aimed for Gwen, still on the fire escape, figuring she was the distracted one. A thick, coruscating beam of blue plasma lanced upward, hot enough to melt the iron railings she stood on.
The coordinated attack was good. It was professional.
Peter and Gwen were better.
Their mental link functioned at the speed of thought. No words were needed. A complete tactical schematic unfolded between them in a nanosecond.
Peter (mindlink) : You take I need a rock to use my powers and I'll take on wolver-not-rine
Gwen (mindlink) : Don't get scratched. That looks unsanitary.
As Kyle's plasma beam seared upward, Gwen was already in motion. She didn't jump away. She pushed off toward the beam, tucking her body into a tight ball. At the last possible moment, she fired a web-line at a gargoyle on the opposite building and swung under the deadly energy, the heat washing over her back. She landed in a silent crouch behind Kyle, who was still tracking her expected position in the air.
Gwen : Looking for me?
He whirled, but she was already inside his guard. A chi-reinforced palm strike slammed into his diaphragm. The air left his lungs in a shocked, silent whoosh. Before he could fall, she grabbed the wrist holding the shard.
On the ground, Vi's killing lunge met only air. Peter had simply sidestepped with a casual, almost bored grace. As she shot past him, he brought his shield up in a short, brutal arc. He didn't hit her. He hit the alley wall beside her head.
BOOOOOM.
The shield, powered by zero-point energy amplifiers, transferred kinetic force into the brickwork. A section of the wall, six feet across, disintegrated into a cloud of pulverized red dust and fragments. The concussive blast at point-blank range was like a flashbang and a battering ram combined.
Vi was thrown sideways, deafened and disoriented, her claws scraping uselessly against the ground. She shook her head, blood trickling from her ears.
Vector : My turn.
He didn't use the shield. He extended his free hand toward her, fingers splayed.
Vector : Shinra Tensei.
A wave of invisible, telekinetic force, shaped and focused by his will, slammed into Vi. It was a repulsive pulse, an implacable shove from reality itself. She was lifted and hurled back down the alley like a doll, crashing through a stack of wooden pallets, which exploded into kindling around her.
Across the alley, Gwen was engaged in a deadly tug-of-war. Kyle, despite the blow to his gut, had a death-grip on his shard. Energy was crackling up his arm, his eyes wide with panic and determination.
Kyle : Let… GO!
Gwen : You first!
She channeled a thread of her chi into her own grip, not to pull, but to disrupt. The energy wasn't just in the shard; it flowed through Kyle. Her chi, the inner flame, interfered with that flow. The shard's light stuttered. Kyle screamed, not in pain, but in terror, as the familiar energy source suddenly felt foreign and hostile in his hand.
He let go.
The shard clattered to the ground. Gwen kicked it away, sending it skittering into a storm drain with a faint, final plink.
Kyle stared at his empty hand, then at the drain, his face a mask of utter despair.
Kyle : No… no, no, no! Frost's gonna kill me!
Gwen : Probably. But you've got other problems right now.
She didn't punch him. She spun and delivered a perfect, spinning heel kick to the side of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he collapsed in a heap, unconscious.
A bestial scream of fury drew both their attentions back to the other end of the alley.
Vi had risen from the wreckage of the pallets. She was a mess—clothes torn, blood matting her hair, one arm hanging at a wrong angle. But the fury in her eyes was undimmed. It was, if anything, purer. Primal.
Vi : YOU! You broke my arm! I'LL KILL YOU! I'LL KILL BOTH OF YOU AND WEAR YOUR FACES!
She charged. Not with strategy. Not with skill. With pure, hate-fueled momentum.
Peter didn't retreat. He planted his feet, raising his shield in a classic defensive stance.
Vi's claws, moving in a blinding, silver blur, rained down on the shield. SCREEE-CHING! SCRA-AANGE! The sound was like a chorus of dying industrial saws. Sparks, white-hot and brilliant, fountained into the night with every impact. She was hitting with all her enhanced strength, each blow powerful enough to shear through steel plate.
The shield didn't budge. It didn't scratch. Peter's arm, braced by his own super-soldier strength and rooted through his stance, absorbed the world-ending fury of her assault without yielding an inch.
He stood there, a dark rock against a storm of silver and rage.
After a dozen such blows, Vi's frenzy peaked. She drew back both claws for a final, overhead, two-handed smash that would have split a bank vault.
Peter moved.
He dropped the shield low, not to block, but to open her guard. As her arms descended into empty space, he stepped forward, inside her reach. His left hand shot out and grabbed her by the throat.
His grip wasn't crushing. It was absolute.
Her eyes, wide with fury, met the opaque white lenses of his mask. The feral light in them flickered, replaced for a split second by something else: confusion. Then fear. He sent her flying with a spinning kick to the side
Vector : Bansho Tenin.
This time, the telekinetic force was not a push. It was a pull. But not on her body. On the air around her head.
The effect was immediate and horrifying. The oxygen was violently yanked from her lungs and the immediate vicinity of her nose and mouth. It was a vacuum punch. Her eyes bulged. The claws retracted with a final, weak snikt. She made a choked, gurgling sound, her hands flying up to scrabble uselessly at the armored gauntlet around her neck.
He held her there, suspended, for three long seconds. Just long enough for the black spots to dance at the edges of her vision, for the fight to truly leave her body.
Then he released the telekinetic hold and opened his hand.
Vi dropped to her knees, gasping and coughing violently, drawing in ragged, shuddering breaths. She didn't try to get up. She just knelt there, broken, one arm dangling, the fight utterly extinguished.
Peter took a step back, looking from the kneeling Vi to the unconscious Kyle. He lowered his shield. The cyan rim faded away.
Gwen swung down from her perch, landing silently beside him. She looked at the two defeated operatives, then at Peter.
Gwen : "You have failed this city"?
She couldn't keep the grin out of her voice this time.
He turned his head toward her, and even through the mask, she could feel him rolling his eyes.
Peter : It has a certain… gravitas.
He nudged the groaning Vi with his foot.
Vector : Call your boss. Tell her the delivery didn't make it. And tell her… the Spider and the Vector send their regards.
He turned and began walking down the alley, Gwen falling into step beside him. Behind them, the wail of approaching police sirens grew steadily louder, drawn by the noise and energy signatures of the battle.
Timeskip
The night air on the rooftop was cold enough to see our breath, a sharp contrast to the warmth radiating from the open pizza box between us. Below, the city was a restless, glittering beast, but up here, it was just us, the faint hum of distant traffic, and the smell of pepperoni and grease.
I watched the last of the blue and red lights disappear around the corner, taking Vi and her energy-wielding partner with them. The alley was a scar on the city's face for the night, but it was contained. No collateral damage. A clean win, by our messy standards.
Gwen had already changed out of her full suit, wearing the under-layer leggings and a hoodie she kept stashed in a hidden backpack, her mask rolled up to her forehead. Her hair was a messy blonde halo in the dim light from a nearby billboard. She looked… normal. Beautifully, wonderfully normal. It was a sight that always grounded me.
I landed beside her with a soft thud, my own suit's systems powering down with a low hum. She didn't look up, just nudged the pizza box towards me with her foot.
Gwen : Extra cheese. I know you're a heathen who likes pineapple, but I spared you tonight.
Peter : A true hero.
I collapsed cross-legged, not bothering with a plate. I grabbed the first slice, the cheese stretching in long, glorious strings. The first bite was pure, greasy, cheesy transcendence. I let out a groan that was half pleasure, half profound relief, the tension in my shoulders unlocking for the first time in hours.
Peter : Oh, god. That is… that's the stuff.
Gwen watched me, a small smile playing on her lips as she took a more delicate bite of her own slice.
Gwen : Burning the candle at both ends and the middle again? You've got that look.
I swallowed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Peter : Just finished the narrative scripts for the Xavier project. The whole thing. Beginning to end, dialogue trees, branching paths, the works.
Her eyebrows shot up.
Gwen : The whole… Peter, that's a triple-A script. That's months of work for a writing team. You said you just got the green light last week.
I shrugged, reaching for another slice. The Speed Force was a hell of a productivity tool, but explaining it would mean explaining the source, and that was a conversation for… never, probably.
Peter : Got on a roll. When the muse hits, you know? Anyway, voice recording sessions start soon. Xavier's sending over some of his students and staff.
Her eyes lit up with genuine interest. She set her pizza down.
Gwen : Wait, for real? Actual mutants are going to be voicing the characters? That's… kinda brilliant. Gives it weight.
Peter : That's the idea. Authenticity. And… it builds a bridge. If things ever go really sideways with someone like Frost or Fisk, having a line to the X-Men isn't the worst thing in the world.
She nodded slowly, picking a piece of pepperoni off her slice. The pragmatic side of her, the Spider-side, understood the tactical advantage. The Gwen-side just thought it was cool.
Gwen : So you're not just making a game. You're building a network.
Peter : Maybe. Or I'm just a kid in over his head, throwing money and ideas at the wall to see what sticks.
She gave me a look. The "don't bullshit me" look.
Gwen : You're tired. And not the 'I just webbed up some goons' tired. The deep-down kind.
I leaned back against the cold metal of the rooftop HVAC unit, the pizza suddenly feeling heavy in my stomach. She saw too much. She always did.
Peter : It's… a lot. The company. The patrols. This game. Keeping all the plates spinning. Sometimes my brain feels like a browser with too many tabs open, and they're all playing different videos.
We sat in silence for a minute, the companionable kind. The city's white noise was a constant, comforting presence. She broke it, her voice softer.
Gwen : I've been thinking about my dad.
I turned my head to look at her. This was a shift. A vulnerable one.
Peter : Yeah?
Gwen : The lying. Every night I sneak out, I have to have a story. 'Study group.' 'Late shift at the diner.' 'Band practice.' He's a police captain, Peter. He's not stupid. He gets this look sometimes… like he knows I'm not telling him the whole truth. It's eating at me.
I understood that guilt. The sharp, daily sting of deceiving the people who loved you to protect them. May and Ben were safely overseas on the extended vacation I'd basically forced on them, which spared me the nightly lies, but it left the house feeling like a museum.
Peter : What if you didn't have to lie? Not completely, anyway.
She cocked her head.
Peter : I was going to offer you a job. A real one. At Obsidian. Voice acting for the game, like we talked about. But it could be more. Consultant. Tech tester. Something that explains late nights, weird hours, sudden disappearines if you get a Spider-alert. You'd be on the payroll. Everything above board.
Her eyes widened, then narrowed in calculation. A slow grin spread across her face.
Gwen : A job, huh? What's the pay scale for 'girlfriend who also saves your hide on a semi-regular basis'?
I couldn't help but laugh.
Peter : Competitive. Full benefits. And… maybe certain after-hours perks involving the executive office.
She swatted my arm, laughing too, the sound bright and clear in the night air.
Gwen : You're impossible. But… yeah. Yeah, that could actually work. He knows about Obsidian. He'd think it's amazing. A little suspicious about the hours, but a legit internship at a hot tech company? That's every parent's dream.
Peter : Problem semi-solved. You get a cover, I get my favorite voice actress, and my legal department gets someone who can actually understand the NDA.
The mood lightened. We fell into our familiar, easy back-and-forth, the world's weight lifting for a moment. We talked about Harry's latest scheme to take over the school's social scene, about MJ's increasingly sharp investigative pieces for the Bugle that were starting to skirt dangerously close to Oscorp's dirty laundry. We talked about Sky, my junior dev, and her terrifyingly competent chaos.
Gwen : She still doesn't know you know about her… other employer?
Peter : Not a clue. And I'd like to keep it that way. Let SHIELD think they've got a sleeper agent in my house. Keeps things interesting.
Gwen shook her head, a fond smile on her face.
Gwen : Your life is so weird.
Peter : Our life. You're in it now. No refunds.
She grew quiet again, finishing the last of her slice.
Gwen : Got a call. On the ghost phone.
That got my full attention. The ghost phones were burners, encrypted, single-use lines for very specific contacts.
Peter : Red?
Gwen : Yeah. Wants to meet. Thinks Fisk is consolidating power faster than we thought. Wants to… coordinate.
Daredevil. Matt Murdock. The Devil of Hell's Kitchen wanted a summit.
Peter : Well, you might be seeing him sooner than you think.
She looked at me, puzzled.
I leaned forward, my voice dropping.
Peter : My legal team. Harry finally got it fully staffed. Top-tier corporate and IP lawyers. And one new addition, a specialist in nuanced contract law and pro-bono work for the little guy. A guy who walked into the conference room yesterday and knew there were seventeen tiles on the ceiling, that the intern on the left had a racing heartbeat, and that the coffee in the carafe was three hours old.
Her mouth fell open.
Gwen : No. Matt Murdock..... dare devil
Peter : Yes. Matthew Murdock, Esquire, is now officially on retainer for Obsidian Works.
She stared at me, then let out a long, incredulous breath that fogged in the air.
Gwen : You hired Daredevil as your lawyer. To what, sue Wilson Fisk for wrongful termination of henchmen?
Peter : It's a strategic acquisition! He's a brilliant legal mind. And now he's in the building. He sees our paperwork, hears our conversations. If Fisk makes a move through legitimate channels—zoning, permits, lawsuits—we have the best defense possible. And if he makes a move through illegitimate channels… well, our lawyer has very good hearing.
She was silent for a long moment, processing the sheer audacity.
Gwen : My dad would have an aneurysm. He thinks Murdock's a shady ambulance chaser on a good day, and the Devil on all the others.
Peter : Then it's good he doesn't have to know. This is our play. Our network.
The word hung between us. Network. It sounded less like a teenage daydream and more like a reality taking shape. A tech CEO, a spider-powered hero, a devil-themed vigilante, and now, through the game, a connection to the world's most famous mutant. It was fragile. It was crazy. But it was something.
We talked for another hour, the pizza long gone. We talked about her progress with her chi fusion, the way her spider-senses and her inner flame were starting to harmonize, creating a spatial awareness that was almost pre-cognitive. We talked about my own constant balancing act, trying to be Peter Parker, CEO, and Vector, protector, without letting either identity completely consume the other.
The conversation drifted to family. Her fear that her dad's investigation into the costumed vigilante phenomenon was inching too close to our rooftops. My quiet worry about May and Ben, so far away and blissfully unaware of the double life their nephew was living, their cheerful postcards from Greece feeling like messages from a simpler, unreachable world.
Gwen : The mansion must feel huge with them gone.
Peter : It does. Quiet. But then you show up and blast your terrible punk music from the speakers, and it doesn't feel so empty.
She grinned, bumping her shoulder against mine.
Eventually, the topic circled back to the game, the immense, daunting project that was now my responsibility.
Peter : The scripts are done, but that's just the blueprint. Now I have to build the world around them. Make the choices feel real. Make the prejudice feel tangible but not exploitative. Make the power fantasy empowering without making the struggle seem trivial.
Gwen listened, her head tilted. When I finished, she said,
Gwen : The key is consequence. Not just 'good choice, good ending.' Make the peaceful path harder, riskier. Make the violent solution quick but costly. Make the player feel the weight of being different, every time. That's the truth of it, isn't it? The weight.
She got it. Of course she did. She lived a version of that weight every day.
Peter : That's it exactly. And having your voice in there, someone who knows that weight… it'll make all the difference.
She didn't blush this time. She just nodded, a look of quiet understanding passing between us.
The cold was finally seeping through our clothes. The city' rhythm was shifting into the deeper, slower beat of the very late night. We packed up the empty pizza box.
I stood and offered her my hand. She took it, letting me pull her up. We stood there for a moment, hand in hand, looking out at the endless sea of lights.
Gwen : Thanks for this. For the pizza. For… the job offer. For all of it.
Peter : Anytime. We're a team, right?
She squeezed my hand.
Gwen : Always.