Marvel: Life is Good

So here we are, standing in a dark alley—filthy surroundings, trash everywhere, the black of night, a truly romantic atmosphere. We stare at each other. I'm feverishly thinking, "Okay, what the hell do I do now?" Judging by her expression, Petra is lost in similar thoughts. Not that I'm too worried—I have no intention of hurting her, so her spider-sense shouldn't be screaming bloody murder. Besides, she's a decent person and unlikely to start throwing punches without good reason.

"Well, Mister?" she breaks the silence. "Are we just going to stand here quietly?" Yeah, she can tell I'm a dude in this getup right away—can't miss the armored codpiece and the lack of boobies. "And anyway, men shouldn't wander dangerous neighborhoods like this so late. So let's say I don't see anything suspicious, and you go home."

Of course… The world has its rules: a superheroine telling a shady, suspicious guy that she'll let him walk if he leaves. Real reassuring. But she's still a high schooler, just getting her feet wet in the superhero business, so it's forgivable.

Sigh. Don't get me wrong—I love Spidey, always have, but damn if there aren't moments that bug the hell out of me. You know, those details that hit you out of the blue while you're watching morning cartoons in your pajamas and stay with you for years. I rub my mask over my eyes in a classic frustrated gesture, which makes her stiffen slightly.

"Petra, for the love of… couldn't you at least try to change your voice or something? Distort it, wear a mask with voice modulation?" Yeah, I can afford to be smug—my mask has all those fancy features. Full helmet and everything.

She freezes for a moment. If I had any ill intentions, her spider-sense wouldn't help; she's too stunned.

"Wait, we know each other?" Her voice loses all its bravado, shifting to a mix of surprise and wariness. Her whole stance goes from heroic to nervously defensive.

"Of course we do, Parker!" I sigh, undoing the clasps on my mask. It's faster this way—there's no time to dance around. The clock is ticking, and Ooyama's tech doesn't have infinite juice. The two idiots outside might be missed soon, too—no time for Bollywood drama.

"T-Toby? It's you?!"

Damn, I wish I could see her face. Her eyes are probably wide as dinner plates, like that meme of the pooping mouse.

"Yep, it's me." I tug the mask back on. "Petra, I don't have much time, so listen. Inside that building? Drug dealers—up to twenty of them. My job is to incapacitate them all and call the cops. My partner's watching the back door and jamming their comms. We've got maybe fifteen minutes, so I'll handle my end, and you don't get in the way. If you keep anyone from escaping, that'd be perfect. Deal?"

The bars are almost gone now. While Parker mulls over my words in silence, I make my way to a window. But just as I'm about to go in, I pause and turn back to her. Oyama never said I couldn't use help, right?

"Hey, Petra. Could you do me a favor? Make some noise by the front door—just a tiny bit. Don't get caught on camera. There are a couple of thugs loitering near the entrance; I need them distracted. Just don't be so loud that the whole place goes on high alert. Can you do that?"

"Huh?" She blinks. "But… yeah, I can do that."

Huh. Maybe I was too hard on her in school. Girl's sharp—no over-the-top telenovela theatrics here.

"Great. Let's do it in… sixty seconds, okay?"

I carefully open the window—thank the Goddess, it doesn't squeak.

"Okay. But Toby, after this, we need to—"

"Yeah, yeah. Once we're done, we'll talk. Promise. Now move, Spider-Chick. We'll chat later."

I slip inside. No noise—Sensei's training pays off.

For once, I'm grateful for concrete floors—no creaking boards, just bare gray slabs with a few beams easy enough to step over. The apartment is a junkie's dream: peeling walls and emptiness. Carefully, I creep down the hallway, lighting up the area faintly with my finger as I scope out the shadows. Through the gloom, I spot silhouettes—criminals sitting around, chatting loudly. The corridor leads straight to a hallway and the front room.

The door ahead is flimsy, unlocked, without a lock or even a handle, just cracked open a sliver with light streaming from the next room.

I ready my shock harpoons, waiting for Petra's move. The thugs are parked between me and the entrance.

A few seconds pass.

From outside—smash. The sound of glass breaking near the front door.

Conversation cuts off. I hear a couch—or maybe a chair—groan under shifting weight. A figure rises, walking toward the door.

I shove the door open. The thing shrieks like a banshee.

I step out, aim, and fire. The thug on the couch barely has time to turn her head, eyes wide with surprise, before the current hits her. While the electricity courses through her, I spin, lock onto the second woman, and fire a harpoon into her back. The jolt hits, and I dash to catch her body before it thuds to the floor. Damn, she's heavy. Gently lowering her, I tie up her hands and feet, repeating the process with the unconscious one on the couch.

No alarms. The idiots downstairs keep minding their business.

Closest to me? Two sleepers and a couple going at it. Perfect.

In my energy vision, I see Petra slipping in through the window, her form sharp and graceful. I can't help but grin under my mask. Spider-Girl's hero instincts have kicked in, so she decides to join me. Called it.

I put a finger to my mask in a "quiet" gesture as she peeks into the doorway. Tapping her shoulder, I whisper, "Watch the stairs, please."

She nods and immediately sticks herself to the ceiling, blending into a dark corner like a scene ripped straight from my childhood cartoons.

Wooooow… So damn cool!

I can't help but grin under my mask. God, some guys never grow up. Myself included. So I allow myself a little fanboy moment.

I move toward the next room. Bedroom time.

The hallway looks much nicer here. Even has a working lightbulb.

Door to the right—soft moans, bed creaking. Door to the left—silence.

I ease open the left door.

Two figures snore quietly on single beds.

Zap. One down.

Two steps over.

Zap. Second one down.

Tied them up.

Now for the happy couple. Time to ruin their night.

The door's closed—and locked too, from the feel of it. Keeping noise to a minimum, I carefully melt through the lock. The lovebirds are definitely going to notice the smell of burning metal any second now, so I yank the door open and fire at the criminals inside…

Honestly? I almost feel bad for ruining their moment like that. I tie up the pair, one of whom happens to be a gorgeous Latina. Damn, Tobias! Focus. No time for titties—this is a battle, not a booty call! Stop ogling the goods!

…Do you think Yuriko would let me keep this one?

NO, TOBIAS. Slavery is illegal, and kidnapping is definitely off the table. Even if it's really tempting!

Resolutely setting aside my totally inappropriate thoughts, I move to the next apartment. My energy sense picks up three figures in one of the rooms. If I can take them out quietly, that'll be half the job done. Bedrooms seem to be upstairs. Nice and easy: zap, bind, and move on to the third floor.

I pass by Spider-Girl, still clinging to the ceiling, and approach the next door. This one's heavy-duty metal. Pressing my hand against it, I apply heat until the metal warms and details of the mechanism become visible through my "radar." A big-ass bolt, of course. Lovely.

This door's going to scream like a banshee if I force it.

…Wait a second. Tobias isn't alone. Tobias has a superhero forklift.

I hurry back to Petra, beckoning her over with a wave. Watching her leap so gracefully through the air makes me grin. Damn, she's good. And she never even trained in gymnastics—it's all instinct.

"Spider-Girl, can you lift, like, a hundred kilos? Will that be too much?"

Her chest swells with pride, shoulders straight, chin up—boobs forward, of course.

"I can do it. I'm… really strong now."

"That's perfect. Follow me—I need you… as a woman!"

Cue exaggerated choking sound from Parker.

I chuckle. "I mean I need you to move a heavy object, perv! Not whatever's running through your degenerate mind."

Back at the metal door, I whisper the plan while trying not to laugh.

"I'll punch two fist-sized holes waist-high and cool the metal. You hold the door steady while I melt the hinges and cut the bolt. The second it's loose, shift it aside quietly. I'll handle the trio inside. Move fast—burnt metal stinks, and we've got maybe twenty seconds before someone catches on. Got it?"

She nods. Gloves off, I get to work. Two swift cuts, and molten metal drips down. I absorb some heat to keep it from spreading too far. Something thuds on the other side, but we'll be done before it becomes a real fire hazard.

Petra takes hold of the door, barely straining. I hate how jealous that makes me.

Now for the bolt. A careful touch with my pinky melts it just enough to keep it from falling. Stepping back, I nod. She pulls.

Click. Metal scrapes metal.

No big clang, but definitely something you'd notice.

The moment she clears the door, I dash in. My target stands just feet away, muttering, "Who the hell's messing with the door?"

I barrel forward, shoulder first, sparks flying from my suit as I discharge. The first one drops like a rock. Before the others can react, I shoot stun-grapples. It's a small room—impossible to miss.

When the bodies hit the floor, I freeze. Did someone upstairs just move?

I clench, every sense on high alert… And the figure above just rolls over and starts snoring again.

Phew. Crisis averted.

Time for some quality tying up.

All three are in full drug-dealer mode—respirators, goggles, gloves, bagging product like it's Christmas. I finish securing them just as Petra pokes her head in, watching me like a cat.

"Thanks, Spider-Girl. You just made this a hell of a lot quieter." My voice drips with gratitude—cue Hancock-level "good job" vibes.

"Where to next?" Her voice thrums with adrenaline.

"Second floor," I grin. "Everyone's asleep. Quiet takedown, bind them up. Third floor's full of awake targets—six total. Let's go."

I clue her in because, let's be real: there's no way she'll leave me alone. Especially knowing I'm her classmate. If she can't be stopped, might as well make her an ally. Better if she thinks I've got a mentor guiding me; otherwise, I'm just a dumb kid looking for trouble.

We sneak up, splitting targets. Five minutes later, it's a wrap. Mine are bound with cuffs, hers are webbed up. Not a peep from anyone.

Six more to go.

I send her after two while I tackle the bigger crowd. Her protests? Cut short. I tell her it's safer this way. And for once, she listens. Bless you, Parker.

I'm standing outside a room with four female gangsters. Looks like some kind of lounge. Three are sprawled on a couch against the wall, probably watching TV, judging by the electronic signals and faint chatter. The fourth is slumped in the corner on the floor.

At first, I think she's awake too, but as I look closer, her silhouette is way too relaxed. Why the hell is she curled up in the corner, though? Eh, whatever. I'll figure it out when I bust in.

Deep breath. Calm down. Focus…

I slam the door open, strobe lights blazing.

The room erupts with shrieks and curses—cut short by three quick zaps of electricity.

The fourth one? Doesn't even flinch. A junkie, dead to the world, so high she'd probably sleep through an earthquake. She's a total mess—eyes half-open, drooling, limbs limp like a marionette with cut strings.

Guns are piled on the table, untouched. None of them even got close.

I strain my ears. No sounds from the other rooms. Whatever noise Parker made earlier is gone, and I see her silhouette moving toward me.

I bind all four of them, toss a quick look around, and head out just as she reaches me. We make our way downstairs together, no need to rush now.

"Toby, you're… Mister Mutant, right?" she asks, her voice still a little shaky but full of curiosity.

"Jesus, Spider-Girl! First of all, stop using my name—we're incognito! Second, don't ever call me Mister Mutant again. That was a spur-of-the-moment name, and it sucks! I might as well have called myself The Cringe. That would've been less cringe, you feel me?"

I'm so worked up I literally throw my hands in the air.

"Uh…" She blinks at me, confused. "Okay… So, what should I call you?"

"Uhh…" Now it's my turn to freeze. I turn my helmet toward her. She tilts her head, waiting. I sigh.

"I haven't figured that part out yet," I admit, shoulders slumping. "Look, Spider-Girl, I have a ton of ideas—some are real bangers—but I can't just pick one."

She snorts. A giggle slips out. Then more giggles. I can't help it—I chuckle too. Yeah, it's pretty damn funny.

"Anyway," I say, wiping away imaginary tears of laughter. "Sensei's picking us up. You coming? Sounded like you had stuff you wanted to talk about."

I push open the back door while she nods.

Yuriko's waiting outside. She lifts an eyebrow at Parker before giving me a pointed glare.

"Boy," she drawls with the weariness of a woman who's seen too much, "why is it that every time I take my eyes off you, you end up with a new woman?"

I open my mouth. "Uh…"

She shakes her head and tosses me a phone. "Call Captain Stacy."