Spider-Man: Web Of Lies

I am trapped in an endless dream.

Fire consumes the world around me. Screams twist through the smoke, swallowed by the roar of something vast, something unstoppable. Death lingers in the air, thick and suffocating.

I fight. I always fight.

And I lose.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until death finds me too—like it was always meant to.

It's inevitable.

And yet... there's something worse. A feeling that coils around my spine, something familiar.

I know this fear.

I know it from the night I held my uncle in my arms, felt the warmth leave his body, watched the light in his eyes flicker out. A helpless, terrified boy—frozen as the world slipped through his fingers.

That boy never left me.

And now, he whispers.

She will die too.

I try to silence him. Try to crush the voice under the weight of willpower alone. But the truth won't be denied.

Even with all my strength, all my speed, all my power—I can't stop death.

I can't save everyone.

But if I ever stop trying—if I ever let that fear win—then I become something worse than powerless.

I become nothing.

I am Spider-Man.

Fear should have no hold over me.

And yet...

All things end.

Even stars burn out.

~~~

My eyes flutter open, slow and heavy, like they haven't moved in years. The world around me is blurred, its colors muted, the air thick with the sterile sting of chemicals and something burnt—ash?

Something is wrong.

I try to breathe, but my chest feels tight, foreign. My lungs protest as if they've forgotten how to function. My throat is dry, my tongue like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth.

My fingers twitch. Or at least, I think they do. I can't feel them. My limbs are weightless, detached—like I'm not inside my own body anymore.

Where am I?

Who am I?

A cold tremor grips my chest. But then—like a flicker of light in the darkness—

Peter.

I'm Peter.

Peter Parker.

The name is familiar. Mine. But it feels distant, like something I have to reach for. Like I'm piecing myself back together, memory by memory.

I force my eyes to stay open. I fight against the pull of unconsciousness, but it drags at me like an undertow. My thoughts swim through molasses, slow and disoriented.

Then, I notice the tubes.

IV lines snaking from my arms. Machines humming softly at my bedside. A heart monitor beeping in a steady rhythm—one that matches the sluggish thud in my chest.

I try to move. My legs won't listen. My arms feel like dead weight. Panic stirs in my gut.

What's happening to me?

And then—like a lightning strike—

The lab.

The corpses.

Norman.

My heartbeat stutters. The beeping of the monitor quickens. Images rush in, jarring and violent.

The gas leaking into the city.

The screams.

The fight—Norman's eyes wild with something inhuman.

The blade plunging into my chest.

The fall.

I suck in a sharp breath, my vision swimming as I look down. Bandages. Wrapped tightly around my torso.

I should be dead.

I was dying.

Why am I here?

My body trembles as another realization claws its way to the surface.

May. Gwen. Harry. Felicia.

Are they—?

Are they alive?

The monitor beeps faster. My pulse races.

I fight to lift my body, to move even an inch. Nothing. My limbs remain unresponsive, dead weight on the bed.

No. No, no, no.

Move.

Get up.

Please!

I grit my teeth, pushing against the weakness, the fog, the overwhelming wrongness of it all.

Then—

The door creaks open.

"Mr. Spider. Y-You're finally awake."

The voice is shaky, uncertain, and as the door creaks open further, I realize I'm not prepared for what's standing there.

A man.

Or at least, half of one.

The other half... isn't human.

The mutation is grotesque—his flesh twisted into something unnatural. His right arm is elongated, the skin stretched and almost reptilian, his fingers clawed and twitching like they have a mind of their own. His face is split—one side normal, the other warped, his eye sunken and glowing faintly.

I swallow hard, my throat dry and scratchy, but I don't look away. I've seen monsters before. Plenty of them. But this—this is something else.

The man steps closer, hesitantly, his posture hunched like he's unsure if he should even be here. His hand moves over the heart monitor beside me, adjusting something with a clawed fingertip.

"I—I can't believe you're finally awake." He speaks with an odd reverence, like he's witnessing something impossible. "Yes, this is... quite unprecedented."

I try to open my mouth, to ask who he is, where I am, what the hell is going on—but my voice betrays me. Only a choked rasp comes out.

The man—creature?—winces at the sound but quickly shakes it off. He forces a smile, though it twitches at the edges, like even he isn't sure it belongs on his face.

"T-That's okay, Mr. Spider. Speaking... and—and even moving, well..." He waves his warped hand in the air vaguely. "Those things will come back to you soon."

He takes a cautious step toward me.

"Your body... it's healed rather well in all this time. Yes, when I found you, I was certain you'd met your end. But, here you are." A vague memory enters my mind, and I see him—this man, on the table merely moments before I'd encountered Norman.

But something about what he said just now...

...All this time?

How long have I been here?

A pit forms in my stomach.

Norman.

Norman Osborn.

He's out there. He's out there, and he knows everyone that matters to me.

May. Gwen. Harry.

Felicia.

I can't waste time. I have to—

I try to move.

My body doesn't respond.

Not even an inch.

My arms feel like dead weight. My legs don't even register as mine.

Panic rises in my chest, sharp and suffocating.

The man watches me struggle but doesn't intervene. Instead, he nods, as if he expected this.

"Please," he says, "take your time. Get your strength back. After all..." His voice drops to something softer, something almost worshipful.

"You're the one who will save us all."

I freeze.

His sunken eye flickers with something unreadable. He nods again, firmer this time, as if convincing himself.

"Yes." His voice is steadier now. "You are the one who will save us all."

My stomach twists.

Then it growls.

Loudly.

The man—whatever he is—chuckles, a sound that's oddly human despite everything. "Ah. I hadn't yet gotten around to feeding you, Mr. Spider." He rubs his hands together, his sharp nails clicking against one another. "Thankfully, now that you're awake, we'll no longer have to use the tube."

The tube?

I don't even want to know.

"I—I'll fix you something worthy of the Amazing Spider-Man." His grin widens. "Yes... won't be but a moment."

And with that, he turns and exits, leaving me alone with the beeping machines and my own spiraling thoughts.

This must be where Norman's been keeping me.

Everyone must be worried.

If they're even...

No.

They're alive.

They have to be.

And right now—I am too.

I close my eyes.

I can't move my body. Not yet. But I can start small.

Toes.

I focus. Try to wiggle them.

Nothing.

Fingers.

I concentrate harder. A pulse of determination burns in my chest.

Nothing.

My head spins, nausea creeping up my throat. The effort is exhausting, draining me faster than I thought possible.

But I refuse to stop.

Come on, Parker.

I grit my teeth, inhaling sharply.

One more time.

I focus everything on my fingertips.

And then—

A flicker.

The faintest twitch.

Barely anything.

But it's something.

A shaky breath escapes me. I press forward.

The fingers curl slightly. Then again. And then—

A fist.

It's weak, trembling, but it's real.

I let out a breathless laugh, though it comes out more like a rasp. I can't even smile properly—my face muscles are too damn tired.

But I don't care.

I did it.

The relief is overwhelming, but I don't stop. I move up to my arms, dragging my hand toward my face. My fingertip brushes my cheek—

Numb.

Like it isn't even mine.

The sensation is unnerving, but I force myself to relax. One step at a time.

I let my arm drop onto my chest, exhaling shakily. My throat burns, but I push through.

"I..." My voice is hoarse, raw. "...I...I..." It barely sounds like me.

It's like scraping years of rust off an old pipe, thick with grime and gunk.

"I... did it."

I close my eyes again. Let myself feel the progress.

But I'm not done.

I push harder, forcing more of my body to respond. Bit by bit, I manage to sit up, my muscles screaming in protest. I stare down at my hands, flexing my fingers experimentally.

"...Talk... talk..." My throat still feels raw, but I keep going. "Talk... talkity-talk talk... talking... I'm talking."

A weak, lopsided grin tugs at my lips.

Next step.

Walking.

I shift my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold floor. The chill shoots up my spine, but I embrace it. It means I can feel.

I take a breath. Steady myself.

Then I push up.

Instantly, my legs buckle.

I hit the floor with a hard thud.

Pain flares up my back, dull but insistent.

I groan, rolling onto my side. Okay. Maybe not that easy.

I grit my teeth and try again, this time using the bed as support. My muscles shake with the effort, but slowly, slowly, I push myself upright.

I'm standing.

"P-Peter Parker, is—is...standing."

It's wobbly. My knees feel like they could give at any second. But I hold on.

I release my grip on the bed.

For a second, I think I have it.

"I can do this."

Then—

My leg gives out.

I pitch forward.

The floor rushes up to meet me.

And all I can think before impact is—

THUD.

...Ow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I—I know you must be quite frustrated with your lack of control," the stranger says, his voice unsure, like he's choosing each word carefully. "Your body just... just needs time. Yes, time to find its footing again."

He rolls a cart up to the side of my bed, a tray of food balanced on top.

I don't touch it.

Instead, I stare at him. Directly.

"W—" My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. It still feels raw. "Who are you? Or... what are you?"

I don't need to clarify. The question lingers between us, aimed at the twisted, grotesque half of his body.

For a moment, his expression flickers—like he's not sure how to answer. Then, finally, he speaks.

"I'm called Virgil Clovis. Or, I was? Am." He blinks rapidly, his words stumbling over themselves. "I—He—I mean, I. I worked for Mr. Osborn. He employed him—me. He employed me, and many others, to work on a project which he instructed him—instructed me, not to discuss. Yes, could not discuss."

His hands twitch as he opens a nearby drawer, pulling out a small bottle.

I know exactly what it is before I even get a good look.

Goblin Pills.

My fingers curl into a fist, shaking as Norman's voice echoes in my head.

"I have to thank you, Peter."

"You changed my life. Helped me see what needed to be done. In the end, you were the key to everything."

My breathing is sharp, uneven. My nails dig into my palm. The pain helps me focus. I lower my head, trying to push his voice out of my mind.

Virgil notices my reaction and quickly stammers, "Please, do not be alarmed. He—He is no longer—No, I am no longer under his employment."

I lift my head slightly, my mind racing.

Is he trying to tell me that Norman isn't the reason I'm still here? I shake my head. It doesn't matter. None of this matters.

Norman is still out there.

And he knows.

He knows who I am. He knows the people I love. He's had who knows how long to do God-knows-what.

My pulse pounds in my ears as I throw my legs off the side of the bed, forcing my body to move even as my muscles scream in protest.

"None of this matters right now," I say through gritted teeth. "He's out there." I plant my feet on the cold floor. My legs tremble, but I push forward. "I've got to take him out. Kill him if I have to. Who knows what he's done already? I have to—"

Virgil steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Mr. Spider," he says, voice quiet.

Something in his tone stops me cold.

"I'm afraid you're too late."

My breath catches in my throat.

A slow, creeping sense of dread curls around my spine.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Too late for what?"

Virgil doesn't answer.

He turns his gaze away, his hands twitching at his sides.

And just like that, the rage that had been buried deep inside me—the rage I'd swallowed down for so long—comes roaring back to the surface.

The rage I felt when Norman defeated me.

The rage I felt when he threatened and hurt them.

The rage I've never allowed myself to act on.

I grab Virgil by the shoulders, squeezing hard.

"Tell me!" I snarl, my voice cracking with something raw, something ugly. "Why is it too late?!"

He flinches, his body tensing under my grip.

"I—I'm sorry, Mr. Spider," he stammers. He recoils, backing into the wall, his glowing eye flickering with something that looks almost like... pity. "I had hoped to tell you this in a less shocking manner. You've only just woken up, and already, you can speak, you can move. I thought that in time, I could help you see the new reality we've found ourselves in."

My fingers twitch.

I want to shake him. I want to force the words out of him.

But I don't.

I take a shaky breath, swallowing down the rage before it consumes me.

"Just tell me," I say, voice hoarse. "I need to know."

Virgil's shoulders relax slightly, and his expression softens.

"The night you fell into this place..." he says quietly, "...I saved your life. I'd awoken from whatever Experiment Mr. Osborn had done to me. And found you there, your head bleeding from your fall, and...well that wound—" He points to my chest. "—Apologies for removing your mask, but I needed to save you. You are after all, New York's Spider-Man. But..."

He hesitates, like he doesn't want to say the next part.

But he does.

"That was five months ago."

My stomach drops.

Virgil's voice is barely above a whisper now.

"Which was when this city... fell to Norman Osborn."

Silence.

Thick. Heavy. Suffocating.

I don't breathe.

I don't blink.

I don't move.

Five months.

Five.

Months.

Norman has had five months.

To run unchecked.

To burn the city to the ground.

To kill them.

A sudden, sickening realization slams into me like a freight train—

I don't even know if they're still alive.

And I have no idea what kind of world I've woken up to.

"Take me outside," I say, my voice barely above a whisper, but firm.

Virgil steps toward me cautiously. "Mr. Spider, I don't think—"

"I'll go by myself then."

I push myself off the bed, ignoring the way my legs threaten to give out beneath me. The anger in my chest keeps me upright, pushing me forward even as my muscles scream in protest. Virgil reaches out, trying to steady me, but I shove him—hard—sending him stumbling into the desk.

"Get off me!" My voice cracks. "They—they need me! I can't stay here!"

Virgil straightens, rubbing his shoulder where I shoved him. His expression is unreadable, but there's something in his eyes—something close to sympathy.

"I—I understand," he says slowly, carefully. "But beware—you may not like what you find out there."

I don't listen. I don't care. I force my legs to move, stumbling toward the door of the small room.

I hesitate just long enough to glance back. "Where's the exit?"

Virgil sighs. "To your right. All the way down, then take a left. You'll find it. But—"

I don't wait to hear the rest. I push forward, my breath ragged as I limp into the dimly lit hallway.

Every step feels heavier than the last, but I keep going. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, in sync with my hurried, uneven footsteps. The walls blur past me, but I barely see them.

All I see are their faces.

May.

My hands tremble as I press against the wall for balance. Oh God, May. Please. Please tell me you're okay.

Tears sting my eyes, but I refuse to stop.

Gwen.

A sharp pain lances through my chest.

I should've told her. I should've said something—anything. But I didn't. I ran. Hid behind a mask, behind my fear.

And now... I don't even know if she's still—

I swallow hard. Keep moving.

Harry.

Did you know? Did you know what your father was turning into? Did you try to stop him?

Are you even still...

I shake my head, forcing the thought away.

Felicia.

I let her down. I let everyone down.

I push through the pain. Through the weight pressing down on my chest, suffocating me.

And then, finally—

I reach the exit.

With shaking hands, I push open the doors.

The moment I step outside, a violent gust of wind blasts against me, kicking up thick clouds of dust. I stumble back, shielding my face as my eyes burn. The light—too bright after months in darkness—blinds me for a moment, turning everything into a hazy, indistinct blur.

Then... it settles.

And I see it.

Or what's left of it.

The city I once knew—

Gone.

The skyline is choked in thick, black smoke, twisting into the sky like a living thing. Fires rage in the distance, swallowing entire buildings whole. The streets, once alive with movement, are silent. Dead. Cars overturned, their husks burned out. The roads cracked, littered with debris.

This isn't my New York.

It's something else. Something unrecognizable.

Something I let happen.

I stand there, breathless, as the weight of it all crashes down on me at once.

I wasn't here. I wasn't there.

I should've fought harder. Should've stopped him when I had the chance.

This—this nightmare—this is my fault.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gwen sets her fork down, watching Felicia carefully. "So, you've been out there all alone? I—I can't even imagine."

Felicia nods, chewing her food with the kind of disinterest that tells Gwen she's done this a thousand times before. "Yeah, it sucks. But what about you? How'd you end up here?"

Gwen hesitates. The memory of those early days claws at the back of her mind, but she shoves it down, pressing her hands into her lap. "My family and I... we were supposed to leave with the other evacuees. But our truck was attacked." Her throat tightens as the words leave her. Don't think about it. Don't think about the screaming, the blood, the way they tore people apart—

She swallows hard. "We ran. We hid in some convenience store for what felt like forever, until the military found us. They brought us here, and... we've been here ever since."

Felicia taps her fingers on the table, glancing around the underground subway station—the flickering lights, the makeshift tents, the people huddled together, trying to turn this place into something resembling home.

"Not the worst place to be," she admits. "Especially these days."

Gwen barely hears her. Something else claws at her mind, something she isn't sure she wants to bring up but can't let go. "Felicia... what you said, about—" She hesitates, hating the way her chest aches just thinking about it. "—about Peter. Are you sure? I mean, is there any chance—"

Felicia doesn't even look at her. "No. I'm sorry. He's gone."

She says it flatly, without hesitation. But Gwen can tell—she isn't as sure as she wants to be.

Still, the words knock the air from Gwen's lungs.

She bites the inside of her cheek, fighting the sting of tears.

She should be grateful. Her mother and brother are still alive. She is still alive. Not long ago, she lost her father—but Peter was still there. He'd always been there. And if anyone could survive this nightmare, she thought it would be him.

But Felicia claims to have seen it.

To see her Peter...die.

Gwen clenches her fists under the table. "I—I know you think he's dead. I mean did you...did you see him...die?"

Felicia scoffs. "I don't think. I know." She meets Gwen's eyes then, and for the first time, there's something raw in them. "I may not have seen it myself, but just...just trust me. Peter's gone. And I've had to live with that for the past five months. I'm sorry you had to hear it like that, but there's nothing that can be done about it now."

Gwen wants to argue, wants to tell her she's wrong, but—

Felicia doesn't look like she's ready to accept it either. So she decides to leave it.

The silence between them stretches until a voice cuts through it.

"Is this a bad time?"

Both girls turn to see a boy standing in front of them, a dented can of beans clutched in his hand like it's his last possession on Earth.

Connor.

Felicia blinks a few times, then frowns. "Oh. You're that kid."

Connor chuckles. "Nice to know I made an impression." He pulls out a chair, sitting across from them. "Just wanted to check in. And see if you've decided yet."

Gwen glances between them. "Decided? Wait, you're not staying?"

Felicia exhales through her nose. She debates lying, brushing it off, but something in Gwen's face makes her think twice. If anyone deserves to know the truth, it's the girl Peter loved.

"It's May," she says finally.

Gwen freezes. "...May? What about her? Don't tell me—"

"She's alive."

Gwen's breath catches in her throat.

Felicia leans back in her chair, staring down at her hands as if seeing that day play out all over again. "I got her out of the hospital before the staff abandoned her. Brought her back to Peter's place. Been keeping her alive ever since."

Gwen can barely process the words. For the first time in months, something like hope sparks in her chest.

"She's alive?" The words barely leave her lips before a small, genuine smile breaks through. "That's—That's amazing! Where is she?"

Felicia sighs. "At Peter's apartment. But the equipment I got from the hospital won't last forever. I can't just find the stuff I need anywhere, and going back to the hospital?" She shakes her head. "Too far. Too risky. May's the last family Peter has left. After everything he sacrificed, I just... I had to do this for him."

Gwen's expression shifts. "Everything he sacrificed?" she echoes, confused.

Felicia hesitates but says nothing.

Connor, clearly feeling out of place, clears his throat. "Well... you could bring her here. There's plenty of medical supplies. I'm part of the scavenging team, and we've found abandoned military trucks that didn't make it out before they quarantined the city."

"That was the plan," Felicia admits. "But moving her? That's a problem. I barely got her out the first time, and rolling a hospital bed through the city again? Not happening. I only made it the first time because the Goblins were too busy eating everyone else."

Gwen swallows hard but forces herself to nod. "Then we bring her back. Together."

Felicia raises an eyebrow. "We?"

Gwen sets her jaw. "I'm going with you. I don't care what you say—she's important to me too."

Felicia smirks. "Fine by me. But what's your family gonna say?"

Gwen falters. Her mother has barely let her out of her sight since they got here.

"...She won't know," she decides. "If everything goes right, we'll be back before she even notices I'm gone."

Connor, gripping his can of beans a little tighter, clears his throat. "I, uh... I should go too."

Felicia shoots him a look. "Why?"

He shrugs. "You saved my life. Least I can do is return the favor."

Felicia rolls her eyes. "Alright, whatever. But we leave soon. This is the longest I've left her alone, and I don't want to risk it by waiting any longer." She stands, tossing what's left of her food onto the table. "Grab what you need. We head out before sundown."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This... can't be real..."

The words barely escape my lips, a whisper swallowed by the weight pressing down on my chest. I stand frozen, staring at the shattered world before me—the world I failed to save.

How many?

How many people have already died?

The little hope I had of seeing everyone again flickers out the moment I step outside those doors. And now, unable to stomach the sight of my own failure, I retreat inside, sinking against the cold, cracked wall of the facility. My head falls back, my hands limp at my sides, my entire body numb.

What's left for Peter Parker to do?

"I'm sorry."

The voice is familiar, hesitant.

I don't need to look up to know it's Virgil. His footsteps are careful as he approaches, like he thinks I might break apart if he moves too quickly.

"It... it wasn't how I would've wished for you to find out the truth," he says softly.

I clench my hands into fists, the rage bubbling inside me like boiling tar. My breathing grows uneven, heat creeping up my neck, and before I can stop myself, I'm on my feet. The sudden movement makes my vision swim, but I don't care—I grab Virgil by his torn collar and yank him forward, barely inches from my face.

"You helped him do this, didn't you?" I spit the words through gritted teeth. "You worked on those pills with him!"

Virgil doesn't fight back. He doesn't even flinch.

"If it wasn't for you," I hiss, my grip tightening, "or—or any of you monsters who helped him—"

I can't even finish the sentence. The lump in my throat threatens to choke me. The sting of tears burns behind my eyes, but I refuse to let them fall.

"None of this would've happened," I whisper.

Virgil lets out a slow, unsteady breath. "Y-Yes, I'm aware of my role in this," he admits, voice raw. "At the time, we were promised that our work would help save millions of lives. It was only too late that my team and I realized the truth... where the pills were really going. What they were really being used for."

I laugh. A dry, bitter laugh.

"So, what? I'm supposed to believe you're just some victim in all of this?" My voice wavers with fury. "That you're innocent?"

Virgil swallows hard, but he doesn't answer.

My grip tightens even further, my knuckles turning white. "No. You helped him. You helped him do this. I should—"

The words die on my tongue.

I should... what?

What do I want to do?

Kill him?

Like I wanted to kill Norman.

I should have.

I should have killed him when I had the chance.

Norman was right about one thing. I have power. And maybe... maybe I have been wasting it.

How many people have died because I refused to cross the line? Because I let Dr. Octavius and his freak show live? Because I spared them?

Captain Stacy could still be with Gwen if I hadn't been so weak.

Uncle Ben...

I shut my eyes, jaw clenching painfully.

That day, with the man who killed Uncle Ben—if I had stopped him, really stopped him, broken his arm, shattered his leg, used my power instead of holding back—

How many lives would have been saved?

Norman has always thought I was weak. That this power was wasted on me.

And maybe he's right.

I try to do the right thing. I try to be the person Uncle Ben raised me to be.

But what if that's not enough?

Even police officers kill—when they have to.

With great power comes great responsibility.

I have great power. And I had a responsibility—to my loved ones, to this city.

To stop this from happening.

And I didn't.

I open my eyes, the fire inside me burning hotter than ever, and glare into Virgil's face. My grip on his collar loosens, but my voice is cold and sharp.

"Where is he now?"

Virgil hesitates, shifting slightly. "M-Mr. Osborn hasn't returned to this facility since the day he released the gas into the city. If I were to take a guess, he would most likely be trying to create more. But this time... enough to cover everything else."

My stomach churns.

He's not done yet.

I let go of Virgil and step back, dragging a hand down my face. The weight of everything crushes me, suffocating, pressing into my ribs like a vice.

"This is just..." My fingers dig into my temple. "...It's insane." My breath shakes. "How did everything go so wrong?" I force myself to stand taller. I can't let this paralyze me. "I need to fix this. I have to fix this."

Virgil clears his throat. "I—I've worked for months... even used your blood to try and come up with some kind of cure. But this is beyond me now. Beyond anyone."

"No," I say firmly, shaking my head. "That's not true. Dr. Octavius. Dr. Connors. They worked with Norman. They specialize in mutations. If anyone can help, it's them."

Virgil hesitates. "Yes... you may be right. But they're contained. By now, they've either turned or..." He trails off, his expression grim.

"Norman wouldn't let that happen," I argue. "They're valuable. And if there's anything left of the Norman Osborn I knew, he'll want to use them if he plans to bring his madness to the rest of the world."

Virgil exhales slowly, then nods. "That... makes sense."

"I need to find them," I say, already forming a plan in my head. "But before that—I need to find my Aunt. And the others."

Virgil shifts uncomfortably. "I-I'm not sure that's the best idea. You've been out a long time. You may not—"

"I've wasted enough time!" I snap, my voice ringing through the facility. The rage surges again, searing through my veins.

Virgil stiffens but doesn't argue.

I take a breath, steadying myself. "I'm going to fix this. I will fix this." My hands curl into fists. "Then I'll find Norman."

And this time, I won't hold back.

I'm going to stop him.

For good.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The underground station reeked of sweat, rust, and desperation. Survivors huddled in small clusters, speaking in hushed voices, their eyes flickering toward the entrance—where two armed guards stood, unmoving. Just ex-cops and soldiers who hadn't made it out when the city fell.

"You know the rule," the older guard said, his voice rough. "You leave now, and if you're not back by sundown, you don't come back."

Conner stood at the front, shifting on his feet. "We won't be long. Just need supplies for her mom." He gestured at Gwen, his voice steady, but not too steady. Just enough hesitation to make it believable.

The second guard, a woman with a scar cutting through her eyebrow, folded her arms. "You can wait for the other scavenger teams to come back."

Felicia scoffed. "Look, it's not as if we want to go out there for shits and giggles. It's important, okay? Like blondie said, her mom is in rough shape."

The woman looked at Gwen, scanning her like she could see straight through her. Gwen held her gaze, keeping her expression tight, controlled. "Yeah. She's getting worse," she said, her voice softer than she meant. "We don't have time to wait."

A heavy silence. Then the older guard exhaled through his nose. "Names in the logbook. One per line."

Felicia snatched the pencil and scribbled her name fast, like she couldn't be bothered. Conner took a little longer, his writing messier. Gwen hesitated just for a second before signing hers beneath theirs.

The woman guard pulled the log back. "Lot of people need help. Hope this is worth it."

Gwen forced a small, grim smile. "It will be."

The older man unlatched the heavy metal door. It groaned as it swung open, revealing the city beyond—dark, quiet in the way a graveyard is.

Felicia was out first. Conner followed.

Gwen took one last look at the underground—the only safe place left.

Then she stepped through.

The door slammed shut behind them.

They were on their own now.

The world above the underground shelter was eerily quiet, but it was a silence that never lasted. Gwen, Felicia, and Conner stepped onto the cracked pavement, the city looming around them like a graveyard.

Felicia adjusted the strap of her backpack, leading the group down a side street, staying low, staying sharp. "Let's keep it moving," she whispered. "Last thing we need is for something to sniff us out."

Gwen glanced at the horizon; the sun was already sinking. They had to move fast.

"We should stick close to the alleys," Conner said, shifting his weight uneasily. "Out in the open like this, we're a buffet."

Felicia nodded. "Not a bad idea."

They pressed on, weaving through the ruins, stepping over rubble and bones. Gwen hated how familiar it all felt. Once, this was her home. Now, it was a war zone.

As they walked, Conner broke the silence. "So, how do you two know each other?"

Gwen and Felicia exchanged a quick glance.

Peter.

Felicia shrugged, casual. "School."

Gwen hesitated. "My boyfriend's friend."

Conner raised a brow. "Your boyfriend back in the shelter?"

Gwen felt Felicia tense beside her.

"No," she answered, staring ahead. "He's still out there."

Felicia groaned, rolling her eyes. "Oh, come on, not this again."

Gwen stopped in her tracks. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Felicia turned to face her, arms crossed. "It means you need to stop fooling yourself. He's gone, Gwen."

Gwen clenched her fists. "You don't know that."

Felicia's voice dropped, her usual smugness gone. "I do know that. And deep down, so do you."

For a moment, Gwen considered arguing. But the lump in her throat was too thick.

Then—Felicia stiffened.

Her hand shot out, gripping Gwen's wrist, yanking her down behind a rusted-out car.

"Shh."

Conner ducked down to join them.

Just across the street, a woman lay pinned beneath a slab of concrete, her screams sharp and desperate. The rubble had crushed her legs, leaving her trapped beneath the remains of a building. She clawed at the ground, hands bloodied, sobbing.

Gwen's breath hitched. "We have to help her."

Felicia shook her head. "No. We can't."

Gwen turned to her, incredulous. "She's dying."

"I wish there was something we could do. But there's not!" Felicia hissed. "Her screaming will only draw those things to us."

As if on cue, a chilling howl echoed in the distance. Then another. And another.

Connor swallowed hard. "Shit."

Gwen's heart pounded. "We can still—"

Felicia grabbed her arm, squeezing tight. "If you go out there, you're dead. We're all dead."

The woman's cries grew more frantic.

Then—shadows moved across the ruined buildings.

They were coming.

Felicia's grip tightened. "We leave. Now."

Gwen closed her eyes. She turned away before she could watch.

As they slipped into an alley, the woman's screams turned to shrieks of terror—then gurgled, and then... nothing.

Silence.

A heavy silence that buried itself in Gwen's chest.

She didn't look back.

Peter's neighborhood was barely recognizable. What was once a quiet street was now a wasteland of burnt houses and overturned cars. The air smelled of decay, the pavement cracked and warped from old fires.

Felicia pointed ahead. "His house is just up—"

Thunk.

Conner cried out, stumbling back. An arrow was buried deep in his shoulder, blood seeping through his jacket.

"What?!" Felicia spun around, scanning the rooftops.

Gwen grabbed Conner as he wobbled, his face pale. "Stay with me, stay with me—"

Then, above them—movement.

A figure stood on a rooftop, perched atop a snarling goblin, its clawed feet gripping the ledge. The man held a bow, his smirk confident, amused.

Felicia's stomach turned cold.

She knew that face.

Kraven the Hunter.

But Gwen—Gwen's breath caught in her throat.

Her stomach twisted, and suddenly, she was back at school.

Flashes of that day—the screams of students, the sick grin on Kraven's face as he stood in the auditorium like he belonged there. The way he had spoken so casually, so smug, as if threatening their lives was a game.

The moment he had pointed his weapon pressed against Flash's throat and told them all he would kill until Spider-Man showed himself edged itself within her mind.

Her hands trembled.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

Not again.

She took a step back. Then another.

Felicia noticed. "Gwen."

But Gwen barely heard her. Her entire body screamed at her to run.

Kraven leapt from the rooftop, the goblin beneath him landing with a sickening crunch of broken pavement. He tilted his head, sniffing the air, then grinned.

"You smell like him."

Felicia went still.

Gwen stiffened beside her. "Him?"

Felicia knew exactly who Kraven meant. And that meant he was here for only one thing.

Her jaw clenched. "Spider-Man is dead."

Kraven studied her, then—without warning—fired another arrow.

Felicia flinched.

But the arrow didn't hit her.

It buried itself in the eye of a goblin behind them, killing it instantly.

Kraven sighed, shaking his head. "Tsk. You wound me, girl." He stepped closer, boots crunching against broken glass. "Once I found his scent. I had to see it with my own eyes. If the Goblin spoke true... if the hunt had truly ended."

His voice—just for a moment—held something like regret.

Felicia narrowed her eyes. "Now you know. So leave."

Kraven chuckled. "And here I thought I'd be welcomed. I did just save your lives."

Felicia glanced at Conner—his face pale, blood still seeping from his wound. "Yeah, right after you shot an arrow into his shoulder."

Gwen's voice was a whisper. "He attacked our school. He threatened to kill us."

Kraven laughed. "Oh, child. I had no interest in killing any children that day. I only needed to draw out the Spider. And I did."

Felicia exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "That doesn't matter now. Spider-Man isn't here, which means you shot this guy for no reason, don't you think you should help him?" She gestured to Conner. "You shot him. So you fix it."

Kraven studied Conner for a long moment, then exhaled, shaking his head. "I thought I caught his scent on you. Thought—maybe—I had been wrong. That he still lived." He scoffed. "But Spider-Man would never have let his guard down like that."

Felicia swallowed hard. "So, are you going to help him or not?"

Kraven smirked. "A hunter does not leave wounded prey to rot."

Felicia wanted to be sick. But this could be their chance to bring May back with them to the shelter, if somehow she could convince him, then they'd be okay. He didn't seem like he was really out to harm them, so as long as things went according to plan....

Felicia nodded.

And, without another choice, they led him to Peter's house.