ALL NOVEL Chapter 39: City At War
The door to the apartment creaked softly as Peter slipped inside, his movements slow and deliberate. He winced with every step, the bruises from his clash with Toomes a dull throb beneath his shirt. Dropping his torn hoodie onto the floor, he made his way toward the bathroom, intent on cleaning up before Uncle Ben noticed.
"Rough night?"
Peter froze, his heart sinking as he turned toward the living room. Uncle Ben sat in his armchair, the faint glow of the streetlamp outside casting long shadows across the room. The first aid kit rested on the coffee table in front of him, its contents neatly spread out.
"Uh… you could say that," Peter muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he walked over.
Ben motioned to the couch. "Sit down. Let's take a look at you."
Reluctantly, Peter sank into the cushions, wincing as his sore muscles protested. Ben leaned forward, inspecting the tear in Peter's sleeve and the bruises beginning to bloom along his forearm.
"Looks like you've been playing tag with a freight train," Ben said dryly, pulling out an antiseptic wipe.
"More like a guy with wings and a bad attitude," Peter replied, trying for a grin but failing.
Ben didn't laugh. Instead, he began cleaning the cuts on Peter's arm with careful precision. "You keep going at this like it's a street fight, Pete, and it's going to catch up with you."
Peter flinched as the antiseptic stung his skin. "What else am I supposed to do? Toomes is strong, fast, and has all this crazy tech. And then there's Gargan—don't even get me started on him." He sighed, his frustration bubbling over. "I'm just a kid in a hoodie, Uncle Ben. How am I supposed to keep up with guys like that?"
Ben paused, meeting Peter's gaze. "You think I didn't feel the same way back in the service? We'd go up against enemies who were better armed, better trained, and had us outnumbered. But we didn't fight them head-on. We found their weaknesses, made a plan, and stuck together. It wasn't about being the strongest—it was about being the smartest."
Peter frowned, shifting in his seat. "That's great for a team, but I'm on my own out there."
Ben placed a hand on Peter's shoulder, his grip firm. "You're never on your own. You've got me, May, and the brains to figure this out. You don't have to win every fight with your fists, Pete. Sometimes, it's about outthinking the other guy."
Peter leaned back, letting Ben's words sink in. "So, what do I do? Toomes keeps getting away, and Gargan is tearing through the city like a monster movie."
Ben leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "First, you figure out what they want. Then, you think three steps ahead. Set traps. Use their strengths against them. And above all—don't give up."
Peter nodded slowly, the frustration in his chest easing slightly. "Alright. I'll figure it out."
Ben grinned faintly, standing and ruffling Peter's hair. "That's my boy. Now, let me finish patching you up before you fall apart on me."
As Ben worked, Peter's mind began to race with possibilities. Toomes and Gargan were dangerous, but Ben was right—he couldn't face them head-on. He had to be smarter, faster, and more prepared.
By the time Ben finished, Peter felt a renewed sense of determination. He grabbed the map from his desk, the circled Oscorp facility glaring up at him like a challenge.
"This is where it ends," Peter murmured, his voice steady.
Ben glanced at the map, his expression serious. "Just remember, Pete—use your head out there. And don't try to take on the world all at once. One step at a time."
Peter smiled faintly, his resolve clear. "Thanks, Uncle Ben."
"Anytime, kiddo."
The room fell quiet as Peter began piecing together his plan, his mind already working three steps ahead.
The dim, flickering lights of an Oscorp affiliate office cast long, eerie shadows against the cracked linoleum floor. The faint hum of machinery was broken by the shatter of glass as Gargan stormed into the building, his hulking form looming in the shattered doorway. The trench coat draped over his monstrous frame was torn and frayed, barely concealing the grotesque bulk of his mutated body.
The few workers still in the office froze at the sound, their heads whipping toward the intruder. Gargan stepped forward, his clawed feet scraping the floor and leaving deep gouges in the tiles. His glowing green eyes scanned the room, locking onto the nearest terrified worker.
"Where's Norman Osborn?" Gargan's guttural voice cut through the silence, each word dripping with menace.
The worker, a young man barely out of college, stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. "I—I don't know!"
Gargan growled low, the sound rumbling through the air like distant thunder. With one swipe of his claws, he smashed a nearby desk into splinters, sending papers and electronics flying. "Wrong answer."
The worker's trembling hands shot up in a futile gesture of surrender. "P-please! I don't know anything! I'm just a tech assistant!"
Gargan's eyes narrowed as he leaned closer, his hot breath misting the worker's glasses. "Then tell me this, genius: where does Norman keep the important stuff? His secrets. His projects. Where?"
The worker stammered incoherently, tears streaming down his face. Before Gargan could lash out again, the sound of distant footsteps reached his ears. A security team was approaching, their hurried steps echoing through the corridor.
Gargan let the worker go, the man collapsing to the floor in a heap. "Stay here," Gargan growled, his tone mocking. "I'll let them know how helpful you've been."
The doors to the corridor burst open, and a squad of Oscorp security guards stormed in, weapons raised. The leader, a middle-aged man with a scar across his cheek, barked an order. "Stop right there!"
Gargan turned slowly, the hood of his trench coat falling back to reveal his grotesque, scaly face. He bared his teeth in a sinister grin. "Stop me? That's cute."
The guards hesitated, their confidence wavering in the face of the towering monster. "Stand down!" the leader commanded, his voice faltering.
Gargan didn't give them a chance to act. He lunged forward with terrifying speed, swiping one guard's weapon out of his hands and slamming another into a wall with his tail. Sparks flew as bullets ricocheted off his armored skin, harmless against his mutation.
One by one, the guards fell, some knocked unconscious, others retreating in terror. Gargan stood amidst the chaos, his breathing heavy but steady. His glowing eyes scanned the destruction, his lip curling in disdain.
Turning to the last conscious guard, Gargan grabbed him by the collar and hoisted him into the air. "Tell Norman Osborn this: I'm coming for him. And if he thinks he can hide behind his toys…" Gargan's claws scraped against the guard's body armor, leaving deep gashes. "I'll tear them apart, just like I'll tear apart that masked pest he's so fond of."
The guard nodded frantically, his face pale. Gargan dropped him unceremoniously to the ground and stepped over him, his massive frame casting a shadow that engulfed the room.
As he exited the building, flames flickered from the destruction he left in his wake. The distant wail of sirens reached his ears, but he didn't falter. Instead, he muttered to himself, his voice filled with venomous resolve.
"You can't trap me, Norman. I see what you're doing. But before your little game is over, I'll destroy everything you've built. And then…" His lips twisted into a cruel smile. "Then, I'll deal with Spider-Boy."
He disappeared into the night, leaving behind a scene of devastation and fear, the Oscorp logo on the building's facade cracked and smeared with soot. The city would feel his wrath before the night was through.
In the dim light of an abandoned Oscorp-affiliated warehouse, Adrian Toomes oversaw his henchmen as they rigged explosives to the building's support beams. The faint hum of his Vulture suit filled the air as he hovered above the chaos, issuing orders.
"Make it clean," Toomes said, his tone sharp. "If anyone gets in, we collapse the place."
One of the men hesitated, glancing up at him. "What about the tech, boss? Won't we lose it too?"
Toomes smirked, landing with a metallic thud. "Collateral damage. Besides, it's not the tech I'm after—it's the message. Norman's empire falls piece by piece, and that kid playing hero won't stop me."
He walked to a table strewn with blueprints, scanning the schematics with a practiced eye. His gaze lingered on a set of notes mentioning Spider-Boy's movements during the last encounter.
"He's fast," Toomes muttered to himself. "But not smart enough to avoid a trap."
Turning back to his crew, he added, "Let the Scorpion make noise, draw attention. We're going to hit Osborn where it really hurts."
With that, Toomes stepped into his suit, the jagged wings extending with a metallic hiss. "Everyone clear out. When the kid shows up, we spring the trap."
The warehouse fell silent as Toomes activated his thrusters, ascending into the night sky. His mind was a storm of vengeance and strategy, each move calculated to bring Norman Osborn to his knees.