See, see? Not abandoned! I thought it said in one of the previous author notes that that was not going to happen to this story... Anyway, as for the suuppeerr long wait, I apologize, but there was a bereavement in my family and there wasn't much I could do about it taking so long, but here is chapter 7, and I hope you enjoy :) And btw, thank-you so much for the amazing, AMAZING support this story has been receiving over the last few months, it's truly wonderful!

Evening fell slowly, the afternoon sun soon turning into twilight. Millions of twinkly lights steadily began to turn on, causing the city to bask in a multicoloured glow—day turning to night—as a change in shift fell over the city.

A HB pencil scribbled notes in the corner of a well-used algebra book.

Peter sat in his window-sill, legs tangled beneath him in a spider-like mess, biting his lip firmly, as he worked to catch up on overdue homework by the light of one such evening lamp, which was casting its glow over the small, Queen's street. The open curtain of his window blew lightly in the breeze, and the smell of Aunt May's cooking could be detected wafting up from the kitchen downstairs.

Battling with his over-used brain, he threw his now finished book shut and tossed it at the top of the messy pile on his desk before promptly shooting a web and snagging another one. He proceeded to open it with a sigh, and flip through to the required page, tapping the end of his pencil on the smooth paper as he read. He was just beginning to scribble something down in this book, when a sudden, shrill sound made him jump.

He scrambled, quickly catching his book and pencil before they fell to the ground below, and grumbled under his breath at the trademark Spider-Man theme song currently playing throughout the air.

Turning around, he slipped through the window and dumped his book back on the desk, before then searching through his room in a frantic muddle, trying to subsequently locate and quiet the annoying noise.

He stumbled around his bedroom, soon finding it wasn't located in the usual places, before moving towards his bed, and dragging out his backpack.

Picking it up, he tipped everything out—his spidey suit and a bunch of scattered clothing items falling to the floor. His lips drew in puzzlement, and he rooted around for a minute before picking up a sleek, red highlighted phone, the police phone.

Its screen was flashing for attention, effectively breaking the peaceful silence of the night.

On a New York street, panic was rising. Over the darkened landscape of shining pavement, civilians backed up away from two growing groups of men slowly advancing on one another.

One civilian stood off to the side, wearing a dark hood and slacks, while carefully taking steps backwards. In his hand was a phone—in the middle of a call—outstretched, so the person on the other line could hear everything that was happening.

A long string of numbers was splayed across the screen.

Peter crashed into the first man, bursting onto the scene from seemingly nowhere, and did a series of precise flips as he successfully disarmed him, knife clattering to the ground.

He found himself standing in the space between two armed gangs who were about ready to tear into each other—tattoos decorating their large, brawny shapes.

"Aww, come on, guys. Do we really have to do this? I don't know about you, but I'd much rather be sitting at home with a cup of soda and a nice, big bowl of warm dinner. What'd ya say?"

He was met with cold, silent stares.

Peter's spirit dropped, his shoulders sagging dramatically.

"Come on, pleeaase? You're scaring the civilians." A thumb was pointed to the worried people behind him, in evidence.

Hands were tightened on weapons.

He sighed. "Really, guys, there's no need to fight. Can't we sort this out civilly? I really don't wanna have to kick your butts today."

The only response he got was a war cry, before both gangs were soon charging at him.

Peter took them out with swift, precise movement—webs flying, as he twisted and spun, booted feet flitting along the ground like an elaborate, acrobatic dancer.

He twisted his leg around one man's arm, effectively causing him to cry out and drop his pipe, before flipping up onto a nearby overhang.

He observed the scene from his position above—satisfied that the situation had been neutralized—then swung away on a web, finding himself wondering, for a second time, exactly where the knowledge of the number for the call had originated from.

Back at the scene, the man carefully closed his phone and put it back in his pocket, satisfied that his endeavor had been successful. He continued on with his evening tasks, feeling heavy relief that he'd been able to warn the hero of the situation in due time.

He watched the citizens relax as they peacefully went back on their way, and thanked the heavens that the number hadn't been a fake.

The screaming tore through the alley as the woman grappled for her purse.

"Let go!"

The woman kicked the offender with her heeled boot, before quickly grabbing her phone and hastily typing in the number, on a desperate whim, that she'd memorized from seeing only minutes before.

Peter jumped down into the alcove from above, and proceeded to tackle the man before him, separating him from the victim. He then kicked and punched, spinning round in one final roundhouse kick.

The thief dropped to the ground.

He turned around. "Here's your purse, ma'am," he said, before handing it over and throwing out a quick salute.

"Thank you," the woman said breathlessly, as she watched him swing away.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd as people watched, and tears streamed down the woman's face as she stepped closer to the edge.

"You really don't wanna do that, ma'am."

Her hand shook from where it had been clutching onto a mobile phone, like a lifeline, as she took a heaving breath.

"Please. Give me a reason not to."

Her voice shook and cracked as she spoke, and Peter's eyes widened beneath the mask, startled by the sheer desperation in her voice.

A heavy weight settled in his chest at the responsibility she now set weighing over him, as a spotlight from a nearby helicopter lit up their forms.

"I can give you many, if you'll have them," he answered.

The little girl's face creased in panic, as she stared up at the fire escape above her.

Racing back into the house, she glanced briefly at the TV, before pulling the family phone off the wall, and punching at the large buttons with her small fingers.

When Peter saw the boy of no more than four years of age climbing precariously on the fire escape, his stomach dropped.

"I'll be right there in a minute. You did good, ok? I'll see you soon."

He hung up the line, before shooting a web over, and carefully landing beside the child.

"Hey."

The boy looked up at his sudden appearance, brown eyes all wide.

"Spider-Man!" he shouted, features lighting up excitedly. He immediately started to giggle, changing his attention from the hazardous, curious adventuring he was previously engaging in, to crawling as fast as he could toward the hero's location.

"Whoa, whoa! Slow down there, kid. Ok? Wouldn't want to fall; it's very dangerous up here!"

The boy didn't seem to understand, as he was too eager to get to his favorite hero, who had interrupted his fun by appearing out of nowhere.

Quickly realising the kid had no idea of the danger, Peter made haste to close the distance between them, and scoop up the boy in his gloved hands.

"Alright, now, would you like a piggy back ride? Why don't you get on my back, and I'll take you home?"

The boy seemed to oblige, too busy fingering his costume with youthful fascination. Peter quickly used two strands of web to attach him to his back while he was currently occupied, and then began to crawl lithely down the fire escape.

He landed with a thump on the one open window, to come face to face with a young girl of about eleven, holding onto a black, handheld phone.

He slowly crawled into the window sill, and detached the boy from his back, who, realising they were no longer climbing around outside, began to put up a fight.

"Here's your brother back. Safe and sound," he said, and placed the child in his loving sister's arms.

Now at a closer proximity, he could see tear tracks streaking down the girl's face. She'd obviously been left momentarily in charge of her younger brother, and the unthinkable had happened, thanks to an open window.

A crash sounded from the other side of the apartment, and the parents came rushing through the door, weighed down heavily with shopping bags.

He could see the mother about to yell something, before she caught sight of his bright, primary coloured suit near the window as he straightened up. The words died in her throat and, instead, became a large sigh of relief.

"Oh, thank God," she said.

Peter watched as the family immediately embraced, hugging while the boy was simultaneously reprimanded.

If it hadn't been for his phone, he may never have made it in time to perform this particular rescue, he knew. But something strange was still at work here he didn't understand. Something curious was happening.

In the corner of his eye, Peter caught glimpses of the evening news flashing across the screen. He cocked his head to the side slightly in curiosity, before his heart dropped to his stomach, and he knew.

Peter's heart raced as he stared frozen at the public screen currently displaying his number in large, bright letters across its surface.

What had happened?

His thoughts were so conflicted. His gaze drifted around in a panic, taking in all the displays of the news, watching people on the sidewalk as they read the newspapers—looks of disbelief on their faces—and he felt his chest tighten. Realisation hit him that he may or may not have just witnessed the biggest mistake of his life unfolding.

His chest heaved as he took in a deep breath, hand coming up to press against his goggled lenses. The stresses of life: balancing school and his extracurricular activities, battling with the police— had it been too much? Peter wondered if his accepting the phone could be the result of all this.

Had it been a mistake? He once again wondered.

He suddenly felt as if his life was currently hanging on by a thread.

So far, throughout his heavily guarded, web-slinging career, he'd managed to slip through the police and the government's fingers, but he'd never anticipated this. Maybe—no.

Peter shook his conflicted thoughts from his head, just as his very active phone suddenly lit up again, vibrating at his waist. Was this really happening!?

Not having time to work out or fully comprehend the happenings around him, he was dragged back into the throes of rescuing lives. The chain reaction had started, and everything was happening so fast. Faster than he could now stop.

Jack stood on the side of the road with his police cruiser, talking frantically into his walkie-talkie.

"Did anyone know where it came from? How—how did it leak? This was supposed to be confidential! No one knows yet? Well, are they looking into it? This is a serious security problem. We gave that number to Spider-Man in good faith! What…?"

Jack listened to the other end of the line as he attempted to talk to his superiors in the force, as he'd been doing for the last thirty minutes, trying to get to the bottom of this whole thing.

"We're looking into the security tapes now, Officer Stevenson, but it's going to take time,"

"Sir, Spidey doesn't have time; he's out there in the middle of all this! We've got to get a lid on this thing. What? What do you mean Spider-Man's not our responsibility? He—"

Jack was cut off as the officer was called away on more important business.

He grumbled to himself, frustrated, placing the walkie-talkie back in its cradle before exasperatedly running a hand over his forehead, leaning against the doorframe.

Across the street, in another police car, Morgan couldn't help but overhear the aggravated conversation as he sat in his seat, pulled up at the curb.

Forehead creased, he watched Jack as he stood by his car, appearing genuinely upset.

Suddenly, Jack's head snapped up, and his own soon followed suit, as a flash of red and blue swung low over the street.

He sat there for several minutes after Jack immediately got in his car and drove off, presumably in pursuit, before the door opened and his partner got in, carrying a large container of chips; drinks in hand.

Quickly shoving one in his mouth, face pulled taut and eyebrows furrowed in heavy contemplation, he too started up the engine, and slowly pulled away from the curb, just as an urgent message came in over the police radio.

Peter's phone was ringing. He sighed audibly as he shot another web, swinging through the night time city. He felt as if he'd been going nonstop all night, calls coming in for help left right and centre since the number reached the public eye. It had been a particularly bad evening—all sorts of near disasters happening all over the city. He would be glad for his bed tonight.

He'd given up thinking over the situation some time ago, instead being forced to go with the flow as the night unfolded. Worrying about it would just compromise his ability to perform right. With so many emergencies coming in, he had to focus.

Pausing on a wall, he let out a long breath, before pressing the button to answer the call.

"Hey, so what's the sitch?" he spoke, grinning to himself at the inside joke.

"Spider-Man?" a deep, timid voice said on the other end, and he could hear light panting, as they coughed. "Spider-Man…is—is this Spider-Man?"

"Yes, this is Spider-Man," Peter answered, head immediately upright and alert.

"Tied up. Hostages. Please get here, quickly." They coughed again.

His forehead furrowed in concern. "Alright, ok, just keep calm. Where are the hostages?"

"Warehouse, I think. Dark. Dragged us in here with black bags over our heads. I think—I think there are seven…seven of us in total, roughed us up a bit. Pregnant woman amongst us. Grabbed us off the street."

A wave of panic washed over him. "Ok, ok, umm, is there any way you can get free?" Peter asked, brain turning, focusing on a solution.

"No, it's too tight. I've tried, they—"

"Alright, alright, street names, do you remember the street you were taken from? Did they move you far?"

There was a long silence on the other end.

"No," the man said slowly, as if he was realising it himself. "No, they didn't take us far."

"Alright. Good. If you give me the address you last remember, I might be able to track you."

Peter paused and was startled as a police car went soaring past below, siren blaring. They must know, he thought.

"The police must already realise you're missing. Someone's alerted them," he said.

There was a large sigh on the end. "Oh, oh, that's good—that's good to hear. Thank God."

"Just hold on where you are. I'm coming for you."

Peter quickly memorized the address rattled off to him, before the man abruptly ceased talking with a hasty "gotta go".

Peter could hear someone else entering the room, but the line didn't close—remaining open.

He didn't wait a moment longer before he was heading in the given direction.

Peter landed in the wide street they'd gone missing from, the area already swarming with police cars. Since the open line was silent in his ears, he immediately began to scout the area.

Climbing up an antenna, he proceeded to search with his eyes from above. He gazed closely, trying to spot anything out of place, or any clues as to where they might have gone. Gazing up over the roofs, he couldn't help but pause when he caught sight of a large warehouse sat near the docks only several blocks over.

His eyes narrowed behind the protection of the mask.

Well, that was easy, he thought, as he jumped from his spot.

He landed in a side alley the police were currently working in, sliding down the wall slightly with the soles of his feet, before coming to a perched stop.

The police completely jumped out of their skins as the effect made him seem to appear from nowhere.

"There's a warehouse a few blocks over. I have reason to believe they might be holding them there. Follow me."

He didn't give the startled officers a chance to calm themselves before he was leaping off in the direction, confident that sooner or later, the police would most likely follow. It was one constant they tended towards.

His booted feet slapped to the ground in the deserted street, as his red and blue suit lit up the gloomy atmosphere.

This was not a commonly visited corner of town: that much was clear. The broken pavement was riddled with filth, and the odd abandoned trolley cart lay about, with signs that the homeless had on occasion visited here. It was a dark corner behind the main buildings lining the more popular streets: a perfect nook to hide away.

Glancing up and down the street, he took a few steps forward and eyed the rusted lock on the door.

He was just reaching a gloved hand up to break it, when the voice came back over the line.

"Spider-Man. Spider-Man, are you still there?" the words were whispered.

Peter glanced around himself warily again, noting no activity from his spider-sense, before replying softly.

"I'm outside the main door of a possible location you are being held in. Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm alright, but please hurry. I've heard what they're planning on doing, and it's not pretty." Peter's head shifted around, alert, as he continued to listen to the earpiece beneath his mask.

"What is it they're—"Peter cut off abruptly as his spider-sense buzzed, and ducked just in time to miss a projectile aimed at his head.

Alarmed, he stared down at what had been shot at him.

"A crossbow, really? You couldn't have gone for, I don't know, something more up to date? Like, say, a machine gun for instance? Much more effective. If you're going to be a villain, at least don't insult me." He ducked and rolled as another one ventured in towards his chest, before he shot a well-aimed web, and effectively clogged the exposed weapon. He was just about to chase the shooter before another one started aiming at him from a different direction.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Peter grumbled.

"Spider-Man."

Peter spun around to stare at a rather shocked officer who seemed to have appeared behind him.

"Excuse me, being attacked by crossbows. A little help here."

The officer immediately seemed to break out of his shock and started madly talking into his walky-talky while simultaneously shooting at the attacker. Moments later police cars began to pull into the warehouse driveway.

"Spider-Man? Spider-Man, are you still there?" the panicked voice yelled in his ear, and he snapped back around, focusing on the task.

"Yes, I'm still here. I think it's safe to assume I've found your captors." Peter was surprised by how smoothly he found himself talking with the civilian, while simultaneously taking out guys with crossbows.

The firing stopped.

Peter successfully hauled the final one up from his place on the roof, and proceeded to drag him towards the growing line of police. He dropped the cocooned man at their feet where they immediately began to interrogate him.

Peter gazed at the structure of the building. It was old and worn. The other cross-bow-firing men had somehow managed to escape, and he assumed it must have been through the many cracks and holes in the building that he could see.

It certainly wasn't a very fool-proof plan for the average criminals.

"Where are you in the building?" he addressed the man in his earpiece, devising a strategy for entry. He would have just gone barging in head first, but there was something undoubtedly odd about this situation, and if he'd learnt anything from his time as Spider-Man, it was never to underestimate the enemy. Better to be wary, just in case.

"High. Several floors up, I think."

Floors? He thought. So it must have several stories. Should be easy enough sneaking in then.

"Spider-Man." He spun on his heel to see a policewoman standing behind him, a curious look on her face. "Are you…talking to a hostage?"

Peter opened his mouth to answer, but found himself surprisingly caught off guard.

"Ah…yes," he answered.

"A civilian hostage?" she clarified.

Peter felt confused. "Aha."

Without another word, the policewoman spun round, addressing her colleagues currently on the scene.

"We have communication with the hostages; Spider-Man's got them on his comm," she declared.

The officers looked up from where they were discussing maps and preparing weapons to raid the building.

Peter felt a spike of anxiety at the weapons being loaded, but quickly shook it off as he gazed back at the officers, one hand partially raised to his left ear.

The policewoman spun back around again. "What's the situation, Spidey? What's the status of the hostages?"

"Umm, they're fine. Seem to be just a few bumps and bruises. He said they have a pregnant woman in there, though."

The policewoman had an obvious look of alarm cross her face.

"Do you know why they have them? Are they planning to negotiate?"

Peter spoke into his comm. "Sir, do you know why you're there? What was it you said you heard them say?"

The wait was awkward with the many eyes of the police boring into his small form, before a voice once again came through.

"Money; they want ransom. We—all of us here—we're all relatively well off. I'm a business man, and so are most of the others. They—they said that they were gonna ship us off overseas as hostages, where no one would find us, in order to force ransom. Spider-Man, they're already waiting for the boat to arrive, and they know you're here. Please, please hurry!"

Peter gulped, before tilting his head back up to the police. "Ransom, they want them for ransom. They're planning on shipping them overseas. Tonight."

Activity seemed to follow those words as the police formed into lines and practically raced around the building, ready to ambush. Peter was left standing in the middle of the driveway, feeling he'd been left behind.

"Is there anything I can do, ma'am?" he said, addressing the policewoman still standing behind him. She looked at him warily.

They seemed to have a stare-off before she relented.

"Just do what you do, and try and rescue any hostages before they can be hurt."

Nodding, Peter shot a web and leaped up onto the roof, hidden in the dark. If he sneaked in through the top levels, he might have a chance of removing the hostages before the perpetrators even realised he was inside, and with one tactical advantage—the phone line.

"Hello, sir, can you hear me?" Peter whispered, as he began to creep through the shadows of the rafters.

"Spider-Man, we're here. Where are you?"

"I'm in the building. Can you find some way of letting me know where you are? The police are about to barge in to arrest your captors."

There was the momentary sound of shuffling, before there was a definite pinging sound, resonating through the earpiece as well as the air around him.

"Can you do that again?" he asked, encouraged, and so they continued, with the man repeating to tap whatever he was tapping as the hostages stayed quiet, and Peter crept closer.

Finally, he came into a small room and saw the figures of seven people tied up on the floor.

He jumped down onto his feet.

They all gasped, the woman with the rounded belly clutching her chest, as he appeared out of the dark. He let his eyes gaze over them all briefly, before getting to work.

"I'm gonna untie you now, so if you'd just remain still and calm, that'd be great."

Peter was surprised to find that they were tied in chains, but with a little extra work from his super-strength, he had them out and standing on their feet in no time.

Just as the last one was rubbing their wrists, the sound of doors crashing down could be heard around the building.

"Police. You are under arrest!" was yelled, and they could quickly hear the sounds of a struggle, with several people fleeing.

"Right, ok, we'd better go. Follow me."

Peter was just about to lead them out the door when his spider-sense buzzed and a man came flying into the room.

He immediately reacted, grabbing the man and attempting to tie him up, just as a second one came up behind him. He spun and grabbed the second's punch, twisting him around and throwing him towards a wall, shooting a glob of web to keep him in place, just as the first one leapt back up—landing on his back. There was a flurry of activity. The hostages quickly moved back into the room, away from the fight.

Peter had just got the first one properly tied up, before there was the sound of more running footsteps behind him, as another came at him. The man let out an aggressive yell before he was suddenly on the ground, inches from his red, booted feet.

Peter looked up, startled, to find Jack standing just at the top of the stairs, staring at him, flashlight in hand. Jack inclined his head, and Peter's shoulders relaxed for a moment, before he nodded in return, and moved to face the hostages, ready to get them to safety.

Morgan stood paused on the stairs leading up to the upper floors from where he'd been making his ascent, staring at the scene he'd just been an observer to before him. There was still something in him that wanted to react, screaming that this masked man was a dangerous criminal, telling him that he absolutely must take him off the streets. But as he watched the pair begin comforting the hostages, he found himself unable to.

Quietly, he watched for a while, his eyes closely observing Jack's actions, before slowly moving back down the stairs and joining in with the rest of the milling officers…

The next morning, there was only one news topic on the stands, as the paper's headline's read big and bold: NEW SPIDER-MAN HOTLINE: Directly contact New York's very own superhero by phone.

In small print below the title—neatly spaced—was typed: Police confirmed authenticity.

Aye, some new developments.

Chapter 8 coming soon...