There were times Peter was unhappy about receiving superpowers. Not the powers themselves, but the responsibilities that came along with it. Hunting criminals was a difficult challenge, and their superpowered variants didn't make the challenge any easier. New York had a lot of crime, enough to make addressing all exhausting.
However, tonight was not one of those days.
During the day, New York was a loud, dirty place, a little yet oppressive corner of hell. The nights were different, with skyscrapers reaching the sky, glowing with lights. Especially on nights like this, with mist covering the ground. On nights like that, moving between the buildings was a beautiful, surreal experience.
The mists blurred and obscured the buildings, the distant ones turning into ghostly silhouettes. Streets and the endless crowds that covered them disappeared completely — visually, as there was no helping the constant noise.
And, as an added benefit, the number of muggers working decreased, which was against his expectations. But it seemed that they had learned that not many citizens walked out, afraid of that exact event, which taught the thieves that there wasn't much work to be done.
The misty nights belonged to strange creatures, like him, he thought as he ran along the side of one of the highest skyscrapers of the city, glimpsing down the tiny beads of illumination before throwing himself down.
The cool breeze wrapped around him as he left the rooftop behind, the haze shifting as if it was caressing his cheek. A pure feeling of calm filled his being as he fell, aware that others might have found that sensation terrorizing, especially in a mist, with his vision impaired.
For him, it was a beautiful, untouched moment of calm, where all his problems were forgotten, the violent sound of the wind against his ears silencing the city for a moment.
A sigh escaped his mouth as he threw a line of web and flew forward, the momentary silence gone without the terminal velocity, the tugging on his arms reminding him that it was not a beautiful dream but real life.
It was hard to believe he was doing this for barely more than a year. It felt more like a lifetime, the struggles of an ordinary teenager long forgotten. Well, almost forgotten, he corrected himself as the memories of some beautiful moments he shared with his lady friends came to his mind, each more striking than the last.
He changed directions, and the mists curled around him, the nearest lights turning into an uninterrupted light. He had heard a shout of celebration. "Hey, that was the Spider," called an enthusiastic, childish voice behind him from an open window. It would have disappeared if he didn't make a point of making a turn and passed through the same window once again.
The enthusiasm of the children was the other thing that made him feel glad. It made him feel like Santa, flying freely. He already had the red, didn't he?
After patrolling down, he moved closer to the Hell's Kitchen, but avoided that place. He made a point of avoiding it unless there was something really important going on. Daredevil was a good ally in a fight, but he often got touchy when Peter touched on what he saw as his responsibility.
He had a feeling that Daredevil's approach was not exactly a healthy one, but he didn't talk about that. It was not a comfortable talk…
And, not like he had the right to talk about it.
He threw another web, and his descent was arrested by a sharp pull that would have dislocated the shoulder of anyone without superpowers easily, and used another pull to change direction, passing near another window. A careful nudge against a wall as he slowed down allowed him to dodge a building, and then he jumped over another, enjoying the night as long as he could manage…
A good decision, as it was interrupted by gunshots soon after.
"It seems that my little break is over," he murmured as he quickly changed his direction, swinging at full speed to reach his target, reminding himself that breaking an arm was not an appropriate response for whatever criminal decided to ruin his rare opportunity for calm.
Another swing, and he landed on a roof with a lithe step, and ran across the roof, not wanting to come swinging to a gunshot scene. He hated trying to dodge bullets while flying. He paused only at the other side, looking down, peering through the swirling air to get a sense of what was going on, but the only thing he saw were flashes.
Luckily, the mist didn't block the sound, and he heard one of the gang members begging for help. "Quick, I'm bleeding out."
Peter sighed in disappointment, but he didn't pause even the slightest as he threw himself down, coming down like a bag of bricks. As he fell down, the mists danced around his body, twisting and spinning. This time, it was less about the exhilaration of fun and more about approaching silently. Not as silent as climbing down from the other side of the building, but that would put the life of the gang member in danger. Luckily, his spider-sense was there to warn him about anyone noticing his presence.
As he fell down, he pressed a button, activating a device that sent an emergency alert to the police and the emergency dispatcher at the same time.
He felt the tingling only when he covered most of the distance, and he threw a web, turning the last portion into a graceful arc.
"How about this as a landing, boys," he said, with more cheer than he was feeling, but it was a good excuse to throw two webs, one to distract the shooters, the other to pull the wounded gang member into cover — one that was protected from both direct fire, and any possible ricochet.
In comparison, dodging the guns that turned toward him was almost automatic.
A sigh escaped his mouth as he dodged toward a solid wall with no window, with no chance of a passerby being hurt. It was a lesson he had learned long ago. What could go wrong would go wrong. The best he could do was to minimize it, aware that any damage to civilians was his fault, no matter how minimal.
A part of it was the news, of course, constantly trying to put everything he did in the worst way possible. But ultimately, that was a small part of it, almost comedic.
After all, no matter how negative they tried to call the events, it could never be as bad as the truth, his nightmares reminding him just how close he had come to a true bloodbath.
"Maybe you should try to visit a mechanic, boys, it seems that your guns are not working. You can't be that bad at aiming, can you?" he asked as he rushed forward. Most people blamed him for wisecracking, not realizing that it was a crucial part of his fighting techniques.
It was not about taking the fight lightly. It was a promise to his enemies, even the most violent ones, that nothing awaited them at the end of the defeat. Not the message he wanted to support — but he didn't want them showing one desperate last stand, uncaring of the damage they created even less.
And, unless he decided to the role of not only the police, but also the courts and the prisons — or the executioner — there was no other option. That was not the path he wanted.
He studied enough history to know what lay on that particular road of good intention. There was a reason that such powers were separated, and trying to combine those just because he had the ability was a bad idea.
Not unless he found himself facing a situation that would force him to take that step…
Luckily, a bunch of gang members firing recklessly was not something he couldn't handle. He pushed forward, reducing the range, limiting the effectiveness of their aim even as he covered them with webs, disabling them one after other, focusing on the wildest, most dangerous ones first.
"So, boys, anyone wants to tell me why you chose tonight to have a shootout. A dare, to see who could be more inaccurate, and decided to cheat with the mist."
He only received angry insults backs, which he used as targeting assistance to his webs. He shot forward, mists and bullets dancing around, equally threatening against his abilities, taking them down one by one. With the webs covering them, he went back to the wounded one, making sure that he was not about to bleed out…
"Come on, boys, the first one to tell what this night was about gets the toy?" he said.
"We don't know, they had just come from nowhere, and tried to muscle into our territory without even negotiating. We don't even know who they are," said one of the defenders, much more malleable to talk after seeing his friend was in a good condition.
Yet, even as one side started to squabble more and more — the adrenaline withdrawal was always a good tool to loosen their tongues when combined with the sense of security he provided — the attackers stayed silent. He was glad for his costume, hiding his frown at their lack of an answer.
He could always ask the police — or hack their system if necessary, not for the first time — but he had a feeling that, it wouldn't be enough.\
Author notes: A little change of pace, this time a deeper introspective to the mind of Spider man. I tried to reflect the mind of a man that sees heroism not something fun, but responsibility, but still constantly wears a cheerful facade.
I hope you guys find it entertaining.