Hey guys! Sorry this is (several weeks) late. Things come up, as they always do, and I can't really apologize for that so I guess...I don't know, there's nothing much to do but read the chapter XD

Hope you guys enjoy!

J. Jonah Jameson POV

Jameson prided himself as a man who wasn't easily intimidated. He'd been sent enough death-threats to give National Security a heart attack, because that was the thing about him. He wouldn't be bowed.

As a reporter, and dedicated supporter of the news, it was his responsibility to deliver the cold hard facts to the people of his country, something that no lily-livered, cowardice, sack-of-potatoes excuse of a person could do. He's had villains seek him out in his home, he's been attacked in his workplace and nabbed off the streets, all in pathetic attempts to intimidate him.

And they, most of the time, didn't work!

But he'd admit, as the strip of dignity inside him shriveled, he was somewhat, a little bit, very intimidated now.

The man escorting him was decked out in white armor. Or it could've been a woman. He honestly couldn't tell. All he could distinguish through his rapidly building fear was that they had an extremely tight grip and their armor looked strikingly similar to that of a panther - if the pointed ears and narrowed eyes were anything to go by. A long airy cape hung off their shoulders, falling short of their knees, and too, was as white as a sheet of freshly fallen snow.

Next to Jameson's loud, scuffling steps, his assailant walked soundlessly, as if the cement underfoot was too petrified to even echo their presence. Jameson wondered how Spider-Man had heard them at all. It was probably some weird, freakish thing that had to do with his abilities.

"Where are you taking me?" Jameson demanded, choosing to ignore the tremor rattling his vocal cords, and tugged fruitlessly on his arm. His escort didn't answer, nor did they spare him a glance, but heaved him forward with strength unbefitting against a man of Jameson's athletic stature. "Hey, I'm talking to you! What are you doing? Where are you taking me? I - I'll have you know that I am a very highly esteemed newscaster and that if anything were to happen to me, gah! -" he stumbled over his feet as they sharply turned a bend. "It'll be suspicious! Very suspicious! They'll know something's up, and then what would you do, eh? You'd be discovered!"

"Silence," the man-warrior-thing grunted, gripping Jameson's arm until he winced.

"Whatever ya no-good pea-brain," Jameson muttered under his breath, but he conceded and obediently tightened his lips. He shivered as a cold breeze drifted throughout the unfinished skeleton of a building, and wrapped his jacket tighter around his torso one-handed. His theory was correct, they were in a construction site. Stacks of thin boards took up space, cement dust clung to the plastic tarps strewn across the floors and hanging off walls, crusty portable cement mixers hung back ominously in corners, and a variety of work tools lay about as if the workers using them had left in a hurry.

Then they passed a room, the doorway half-hidden by a low-hanging tarp, and the sharp tang of blood ravaged Jameson's nose. He bristled, jaw-dropping at the piled mound in the room that held a startling resemblance to human bodies. Through the yellow light provided by the portable lamp-towers, a yellow hard-hat gleamed through the doorway, speckled with dried red splotches. Jameson swallowed, feeling as though he was choking on dust again.

HIs earlier bravado slipped through the heels of his feet and he stumbled in his haste to move past the ghastly room. He glanced over his shoulder, waiting for a corpse to follow them out, and quickly looked back, swallowing hard. Any questions he had withered on his tongue and collapsed back down in his throat, and he resisted the urge to rub his neck to ease them back down to his esophagus.

The smell of blood followed them as they came up to a new door, recently installed by the looks of it, and the escort rapped on the hardwood twice. It opened immediately and Jameson barely had the chance to resettle himself before he was shoved inside and instantly hauled to the center of the room. The door closed at his back, casting the room in darkness, and he was shoved on a cheap, collapsible chair set up under a single light.

"Wha - what are you doing?" He wheezed, as his hands were bound to his bask by an unseen being. "Hey, what are- what are you doing? Le- let me out here you damn bastards! If- if you don't let me out right now..." but his threat fell feebly, landing in a gross, useless pile at his feet, as he whipped his head around desperately, squinting at the moving shadows in the room.

Do what? There was nothing he could do. He was completely at their mercy. They could beat him, break his ribs, snap his legs, - do anything and he was powerless to stop it. No one knew where he was, so there would be no last-minute saves. He was bound to their mercy as much as he was to that chair.

"Loo- look," he leaned forward as if to strike a deal, "I- I have money. Is that what you want? Just name your price, alright, and you got it. I- I have a wife, okay. I can't just leave her...unless you want her, I mean, as far as wives go-" his words drowned as a figure stepped into the radius of light.

They, too, were clad in the white panther garb, the only difference being the broader range of the cape - stopping just above the elbows - and the line of black that bordered the hem that connected it over his chest. This one's head hung higher, shoulders back straighter. Jameson's been in the presence of Captain America before, so he knew authority when he saw it. This must be their leader.

"What do you want from me? I can-" was all Jameson managed to get out before he was backhanded with enough force to whip his head to the side.

"Silence," the leader said past the vibrant array of curses that spilled from Jameson's swelling lips, "You will not speak unless spoken to. I ask the questions here, not you."

Jameson opened his mouth to concede when he was hit again. His already bleeding lips felt wetter and he could almost feel the swelling of his raw cheek. He nodded that time, several times to make sure the message was across, and slumped back in the chair, groaning. He recognized that accent. These people were from Wakanda. Which didn't make sense because they were supposed to be making peace with them? So what the hell was with this?

The leader paced in front of him, slow and carefree, as if he had nothing but time to spare. "You are the one responsible for the Bugle news, nod if I am correct."

Jameson nodded feebly.

"So it is you who have been prying into our affairs?"

He hesitated but nodded again. There was no use in lying about. Besides, he had a feeling it'd just be worse if he tried to fib his way out.

The man hummed as if satisfied with his honesty. He, too, moved soundlessly, as if the concrete soaked in his steps like a sponge. He stopped in front of Jameson, tall and looming, enough that Jameson had to tilt his head to meet his face, but the light was too bright and he only managed to hold it for a few seconds.

"Many have said that I am a cruel, brutal man," he said it casually, as if it were a common fact. Jameson kept his eyes fixated between his feet. "And are they correct?" he continued, rolling his shoulders. "Yes. They are. However," he crouched down, coming eye-level to Jameson, "I am not without mercy. So here is your savior, John Jonah Jameson. You will stop pestering in our business, no longer meddle in our affairs, and I will let you live. I will let you leave this building, alive and whole, and you will withhold your frivolous stories. You will not breathe a word of this to anybody. Am I understood?"

Jameson shuddered, feeling as though a slimy eel was sliding down his spine. The prospect of leaving this place, however long he'd been there, was a tempting one. He nodded several times, feeling as though his brain was rattling in his skull, "Ye- yes, I und-" but he paused, tilting his head as the rest of the message hit his reasoning. He looked up, perplexed, "You want me to stop doing my job?" he demanded. "Look here, sonny, you're not the first crook to threaten me, and you damn-well won't succeed. I am a man of news! A servant to the people! This blasted hell is America and I won't be suckered into becoming a sniveling coward! No sir, not J. Jonah Jameson as he lives and breathes!"

The man stared at him with narrowed glowing eyes and slowly stood up, "As he lives and breathes," he repeated, fingers closing around the hilt of a wicked-looking knife handed to him by one of his lackeys, "Interesting choice of words."

Jameson didn't need a spider-sense to know that he'd breached dangerous territory. "Wa- wait," he floundered, sitting up straight, "I- perhaps I shouldn't have been so hasty. May- maybe we can work something out! I have influence, you know! Lots of contacts. I was the mayor once!"

Somewhere in Jameson's panic-induced brain, he heard the door swing open and a flurry of movements within the shadows. A figure stepped into the light, stopping in front of the leader, "I-White Wolf, ingxelo yokuhlola. Sifake elinye i-arhente," they said, cooly, and the man stopped gripping the knife with bloodlust to look up in new interest.

"Uqinisekile ukuba yi-arhente,"

The newcomer nodded, "Ewe Mnumzana,"

Jameson looked between them rapidly, eyebrows pinching when he wasn't immediately skewered. His confusion grew when the leader handed the knife back to his lackey in the shadows and strode out of sight. "Ndiza kuzibona mna, ngoko. Thatha le ngqungquthela kwisisele sayo. Ndiza kumelana naye kamva," Jameson heard him say, and instantly he was being unbound from the chair and lead out of the room.

"Whoa, wait- what's going on? What are you doing with me?"

A sharp hit knocked him in the back of the head and he stumbled, dazed, as he was pulled back out of the room. His head throbbed as they marched quickly back the way they came, past the ghastly room and half-finished walls, to the ever-familiar door he'd been trying to bust open for the past hour. A hazy part of him tugged half-heartedly against the grip on his arm, but it made his head throb more, and he wanted to throw up instead.

The door unlocked and he was shoved back inside, sprawling across old plastic tarps and skidding his knees against the concrete floor. The door shut with a boom too loud in his ears, and Jameson winced, rubbing the twinging pain in the back of his head timidly.

In the corner, plastic tarp moved and short, raspy breaths permeated the space between them. "Jameson?" a cough, followed by a rough groan, "JJ? Is that you?"

"Yeah," Jameson muttered, rubbing his head more fervently as he stood. "Yeah, it's me, Wallcrawler."

Spider-Man sighed a deep, relieved sound that made Jameson's heart cringe. "Good. Good. They didn't hurt you, did they?"

Jameson stopped rubbing his head, eyes straying from Spider-Man's direction even though they couldn't really see each other. "Yeah, of course, I'm fine. Didn't lay a finger on me. What's it to you, dumbass?"

Another sound of relief. "That's good. I...I thought for sure they were gonna hurt you."

Jameson's stomach squirmed uncomfortably, and he adjusted his shirt to accommodate. Why the hell was the wallcrawler asking if he was okay? There was nothing he could do about it, whether they hurt him or not. Besides, it's not like Jameson has ever given a damn when the menace took a hit. Hell, Spider-Man's never given a damn before.

Then again, he's always been there to stop villains from harming Jameson and his employees.

An act, he insisted, he just wanted to play hero in front of an audience, especially a news crew! What better way to get media coverage than save the news themselves. But his argument sounded feeble, even to himself.

Unable to bear the thought of re-evaluating his morals again, too tired to even attempt it, Jameson trudged loudly across the room and sat adjacent to Spider-Man, leaning his head back lightly against the wall. Swallowing the dust from his throat, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He's just gotta stay calm. This wasn't the first time he was kidnapped by a wack-a-doo. So long as he kept his cool, help would come.

It always did.

But...that help usually came in the form of Spider-Man.

His eyes opened to the ceaseless dark and he grimaced, fingers digging into the material of his pants. Spider-Man wasn't going to be the one to bust through his wall, cost him thousands of dollars in repairs, and take down the villain. Spider-Man wasn't going to show up with his hell-forsaken quips and web them to safety. How was he supposed to do that when he was beaten half to death, near comatose, and sitting 5 feet from Jameson in the same darkroom?

His fingers dug farther into his pants and he sat up, heart picking up as the nerves in his stomach writhed. He rubbed his thighs, sparking friction between his fingers, before clapping them together and wringing his hands. They were alone in this, weren't they? The police didn't know where they were. No one saw Jameson leave. No one knows he's gone. Spider-Man was a damn vigilante who came and went as he pleased, so no one will bat an eye for a little while longer. Robbie couldn't contact the authorities, because he thought he was safe and at home.

This was...Jameson blew out a hard breath. This was bad.

"I can hear your heart attack from here," Spider-Man croaked, and Jameson jumped, turning slightly in his direction. "Calm down, JJ. Just gotta stay calm. We're gonna be..." but he trailed off because they weren't going to be fine. This was a terrible situation to be in.

"Who are you trying to fool?" Jameson snapped, rubbing his thighs again. "This is- we're in deep shit. No one knows I'm here, Web-head. No one knows where I am. They're not going to know till, hell, until tomorrow at least. I- I'm stuck here! No one's coming to save us! We're stuck- we're-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Spider-Man shifted in the dark as if edging closer. "Calm down, JJ. Seriously, let's not give you another heart-attack. Ever hear that three's the charm? Don't get my hopes up. Just breathe, okay?"

Jameson didn't want to do a damn thing he said. But his chest was getting tight, and his heartfelt as if it was two beats away from giving out. Was his left arm starting to hurt? Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit.

"Okay," he wheezed, "Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay." He took a deep breath, let it out, and took another, repeating the cycle until his heart rate slowed considerably and his hands weren't feeling so clammy.

He sagged back against the wall, wincing when his head hit it a tad too hard. "We need to get out of here," he told the darkness.

"Yeah...we do." But Spider-Man didn't offer any more suggestions. Jameson could hear his breathing, ragged and wet, and he winced. The bug is probably in a lot of pain. Jameson's seen him take a fair share of hits, but this time they might've gone overboard. He could practically feel the pain oozing from Spider-Man, soaking into his own skin, and it definitely wasn't helping his nerves.

They could've done the same thing to him. Probably would've done the same thing to him if they hadn't been interrupted. Jameson shuddered, feeling it rattle deep in his bones. He was lucky, that time. If they waited just 5 minutes...

Huh...why did they stop in the first place?

"They, uh, were gonna start 'interrogating' me," Jameson said, face flushing. He didn't even know why he was telling the menace, it's not like it mattered to him. But the breathing quieted a tad, turned to his direction, and Jameson knew he was listening. "But, they stopped. One of them came in just as their leader was about to dice me up. Said something in a different language, I don't know, but it must've been something good. The guy left and they sent me back here."

Spider-Man was quiet for a good, solid minute. "They probably found a new lead," he whispered, so quiet and wrecked, Jameson almost couldn't pick it out.

"A new lead?"

"Someone who can tell them what they want to know. I'm not doing a good enough job, I guess. Or they found something that will help their plans."

Jameson rubbed his neck, spreading grime over his skin, as he grimaced. "And what are their plans?"

"Of what I can tell, it has something to do with the Wakandian summit. Disrupting it, or something. I don't know what they're planning yet, though."

This was getting very suspicious. Not that terrorists were normally sun-shine and rainbows. They obviously had something against Wakanda, yet they adorned the same panther design as King T'Challa. Wakanda seemed like their intentions were peaceful, and the Avengers trusted them, so there was that. So what was up with these ones?

And so close to the official Wakandin summit, officiating their treaty as allies with America. Attacking a New York airport. But why? If they wanted to stop their King, they should've attacked Avengers Tower, where he was staying.

But, then again, it was suicide to lay siege to the home of the World's Mightiest Heroes.

So many questions, so little answers. Jameson's fingers tingled just thinking about it. This was just like his old journalism days - minus panther-based terrorists and peace summits. Sniffing out a story, connecting the dots, figuring out the truth, it was a match lighting the gasoline in his veins. Erupting into a fire he could feel under his skin. A feeling he used to chase when you had to roll up your sleeves and get dirty to get the story.

"We need to get out of here," Jameson repeated.

"Uh, yeah. No shit, sherlock. Thought we established that already."

"No, Web-ass, we need to get out of here so we can tell someone. Contact the authorities, warn King T'Challa! You're buddy-buddy with the Avengers arent'cha? Call them up."

Spider-Man snorted. "You say that as if I have their number."

"Well don't you?"

"No. I'm just a street vigilante, remember? Yeah, we've teamed up, but that doesn't mean we're swapping numbers or anything. 'Sides, with all that's going with the summit, it's unlikely I'll get to any of them."

"But that's just it!" Jameson stressed, leaning forward up on his knees, "Don't you see you blind dolt? These terrorists are planning something against the summit! They're Wakandian, so how do you think our skeptical American government will react to an attack like that? There won't be a damn peace treaty when we're gunning for Wakandian terrorists."

Spider-Man hesitated, before his voice crept back, dawning with realization, "You're right, Jonah. These- these people aren't just looking to sabotage the summit, they're planning something bigger. They wanted me because they thought I was a part of SHIELD."

"Why SHIELD, though?" Jameson mused, scrubbing his chin roughly. "What do they got that the terrorist wants?"

A sharp inhale across from him. "Because SHIELD confiscated their weapons! The airport attack...I don't think that was an attack, J.J. They looked just as surprised as I did when we showed up. They were caught off guard."

"But they had a bomb with them," Jameson said. "Important government officials were coming in through that airport. It would be the perfect place to stage an attack against us."

"No..." Spider-Man whispered. "No, I don't think they were planning on attacking the senators." his voice rose, talking excitedly. "They weren't planting a bomb, they were transporting it. They weren't gonna use it at the airport, they were gonna use it at the summit."

Jameson inhaled sharply, "Those bastards,"

"Something must've gone wrong though," Spider-Man continued fervently. "They were caught. SHIELD confiscated their bomb and they needed it back. That's why they're pestering me for information. They need an in to SHIELD."

"Shame you're not a SHIELD agent."

"Hey, I would make a fantastic spy, thank you very much. Besides, given the circumstances, that's probably for the best. At least if I crack, they won't get anything out of it."

That stumped anything else Jameson had to say, and he settled back against the wall. Oh yeah, he forgot that they've been torturing him. Damn, it was a good thing he wasn't a SHIELD agent then.

But how much longer could he go on like that?

"We need to get out of here," Spider-Man said, and Jameson was almost certain he was reading his mind.

"Yeah," he took a shaky breath, arms trembling from the information they've uncovered. "We need to get this to someone." He gripped his pants, steadying himself, and took another deep breath. He couldn't believe he was about to do this. It went against everything he's ever believed, every way he acted. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

He turned to Spider-Man muddled figure and stuck out his hand, "Alright, you numb-brained menace, I'm calling a truce. We're partners now, so don't do anything stupid that'll get me killed."

"D'awww, JJ, you say the nicest things." But his fingers grazed Jameson's, just shy of a handshake before he seized up with a painstaking hiss. "OW! Ow! Bruised everything. Broken everything." He pulled away, shriveling in on himself, and Jameson refit his arm by his side.

"Well dammit, Webhead! I wouldn't have offered to shake if you'd reminded me!"

"Stop victim-blaming me, asshole!"

"Victim-blaming? It's your fault for dressing up like a wackadoo and prancing in the streets!"

"I will throw you through that wall."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Then go ahead!"

"..."

"That's what I thought."

"You know, sometimes I really hate you."

"At least we can agree on that."

"What? That we both hate you?"

"Wha- no! That I hate you, you idiot!"

"Well I-" Spider-Man paused, going still. "Dammit," he groaned, his head falling back against the wall, "They're back."

This time Jameson knew what he was talking about, and was on his feet by the time the door opened. He scrambled for a weapon, settling on a little nail, and squared himself. "Stay back!" he demanded, swiping the air. One of the terrorists grabbed him easily and tossed him out of the way as if he was nothing but a piece of paper.

Jameson bungled back to his feet as the two terrorists lifted Spider-Man and marched out of the room. "Hey, put him back!" Jameson shouted, storming after them. "He can't even walk, you bastards! What more can you do to him?"

He grabbed the closest one and was instantly kicked away. He landed in the concrete boxes this time and grabbed his shoulder where a corner jabbed his flesh. "Wa- wait!" but the door closed, and he was alone again.

Jameson stared at the door for a long moment, but was unable to sit, and paced a blind path through the room. This was bad. This was very, VERY bad. He ran a hand through his hair and tugged roughly on his shirt. He found his jacket back in the corner, crumbled and dirty, but he pulled it back on, if just to give himself something to do. Oh, this was a very, extremely, terrible situation.

"Calm down," he muttered, "Calm down, just calm down. Come on, keep it together. Calm down. Breathe." He was terrible at listening to himself. All he could hear was Spider-Man annoying, pain-consumed voice.

"They're getting sick of me...they're - they're about to call it quits. I don't know how much longer they'll keep me alive."

And for some reason, that worried him a whole lot more.

Jameson counted to 1246 when noise came from outside. He hadn't been able to sit ever since his cellmate was taken, and was at the door, eager and waiting, as soon as the first noise reached his ears.

A long minute passed, and he jumped back when a loud thump hit the door and the metal dented. He stumbled back when another hit followed, and another, and another, till the door ripped off its hinges and teetered on its frame.

Someone hobbled in.

"JJ," the voice was thick with pain, strained, and on the brink of cracking, but it was one Jameson recognized instantly. Spider-Man was splotchy with blood stains and tears. His mutilated leg was bandage hastily with a combination of concrete paper, plastic tarp, and webbing, and one had lay curled raptly around his torso. He was bent nearly in half and limping so bad it was a damn wonder how he'd managed to walk at all.

"Spider-Man, holy shit, wha-"

"JJ," he interrupted, hysterical and shrill. Outside, footsteps approached. "We need to go, now!"

Translations:

~ "White Wolf, we have managed to detain another agent."

"You are sure it is an agent?"

"Yes, sir."

"I will see to it myself, then. Take this imbecile back to his cell. I will deal with him later." ~

And that wraps up this chapter!

A little hiccup though, my draft for chapter 4 was lost in my flashdrive purge (RIP) so it might take me longer to get that chapter out. Chapter 5 and 6 are A-okay, I just need to rewrite chapter 4 and connect it with what happens later, which means I've got to remember how it was originally written and blah blah blah, it'll just take me some extra time (especially because I'm participating in the Spideypool Big Bang, and I'm going crazy finishing up my entry.)

Anyway, hope you enjoyed this chapter! :D