DEVELOPMENT

'Internet explorer cannot display the webpage'

"Oh, come on!" Peter groaned in irritation; this was the fourth time he had tried to log on to the internet, only to find it unresponsive. The plan had been to log on to the Daily Bugle's new webpage (Peter was still finding it a little hard to believe that Robbie had actually talked the Jolly One into that; he could just imagine the rant about kids and their internetz now...) and set up his profile, but it was beginning to look like he'd have to do it at work.

Well, there's no time to worry about all that now, I've got a first day of school to get to.

...

...Yay?

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Far across town, sirens, radio chatter and police tape stood as the telltale signs of a major crime scene. The entire front of a bank was roped in the tape, officers moving in and out as they tended to a variety of tasks in the morning cold. Out front, Officer Jean DeWolff was taking a statement from the bank's manager.

"And you didn't see anything unusual before you left work last night?"

"No! Like I told you, everything was normal last night, but when I showed up this morning, everything had been... pillaged! And the vault was open!"

"And you're certain? No one... watching the bank, no strange customers hanging around near closing time?

"No, nothing like that. I pay special attention to things like that, I'm... er, well, I'm rather paranoid, I suppose."

DeWolff closed her notepad, finishing up. "Sir, you manage one of the largest banks in a city full of supervillains. I think there's a point where it stops being paranoia."

At that moment, she happened to notice Captain Stacy, and her own partner, Sgt. Carter, getting out the car that had just pulled up. "If you'll excuse me..." she left the manager behind and went to meet them. She quickly noted that the Captain looked terrible, with noticeable bags under his eyes. "You okay, Cap?" she asked, quick to snatch up some coffee and push it on him. He took a grateful gulp before answering.

"Fine, DeWolff, just had to drop my daughter off at school."

"Doesn't Gwen usually take the bus?" asked Carter as the three ascended the steps towards the bank.

"Not since Master Planner grabbed her last Christmas, she doesn't. DeWolff, talk to me."

The three police officers stepped over the tape and entered the main hall of the bank; the marble floor was littered with shattered glass, but much of the rest of the area, from the exquisite desks to the nice lamps was untouched.

"Robbery late last night. At least four perps, maybe more, we're still waiting to hear back from forensics."

"Cameras?"

"All wiped. Even the offsite server. And they got the vault open. No drills or bombs or acid or anything, it looks like they scavenged some admin passcodes and slaved the computer."

"Pros, then. Point of entry?"

She pointed straight up, and they both looked up to see a shattered skylight. "How on earth did that not trigger the silent alarm?" Stacy asked.

"Looks like it was jammed. Whoever these guys were, they had some serious tech."

Carter stepped up next to his partner. "So what do you want us to do?"

Stacy thought for a moment while he downed more coffee. "...Talk to the manufacturers of these security systems. See if they can shed any light on what it would take to circumvent them like this."

Before they could respond, there was a loud thumping sound from a door on the far side of the lobby. Startled, all three officers drew their weapons on the door. Thump, thump. "What's through there?" Stacy asked as they slowly approached.

"Janitor's closet." DeWolff replied. "We couldn't get it open, it was locked from the inside."

The three officers stopped about forty feet from the door and spread out, with Carter and DeWolff taking side positions while Stacy maintained a bead from dead center. "This is Captain George Stacy of the NYPD! Whoever's in there, come out with your hands up!"

The door swung open with a crash as someone in a green boiler suit tumbled out; an aging fellow with a crisp mustache. "Thank god you're here!" declared the janitor. "There were thieves, a whole bunch of'em! I only barely managed to lock myself in the closet before they saw me!"

As the cops put their guns away, Stacy walked over to the man and helped him up, saying, "It's all right, you're safe now. Can you tell us anything about the guys who did this?"

"They all had masks... there were, like, five or six of them... they kept saying something about a plan... no, wait, not plan... Planner, that's it. A Master Planner!"

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Crowds of students swarmed the front courtyard of the highschool colloquially known as "M3" to teens and teachers alike. Peter looked up at the school from the steps, feeling as though the bright yellow brick belied the misery that undoubtedly awaited him within. Ah, good 'ol M cubed. When I think back on all the good memories...

...

...Yep, not even one.

On any given school day last year, Peter's first instinct would be to find his friends, but that looked like a grim prospect today. Neither Gwen nor Harry had returned any of his calls over the summer - in fact, both, it seemed, had gone out of their way to avoid him. So tracking either one sounded like a bad idea... not to mention that the thought of having to see the two of them together left a rather unappealing taste in Peter's mouth. Another common practice from last year was to find his girlfriend, Liz... who, unfortunately, he had broken up with. So no.

Ultimately, it all left him with one option. Gotta find MJ... Peter thought, worming his way through the crowds. Oh, there she is... huh... MJ already seemed to have gathered with some friends, among them Glory Grant and Sha Shan Nguyen. The thought of being the awkward odd man out in a group of girls he mostly barely knew didn't sound fun either. Oh well. Guess I'm slumming it out alone today. What was it Gwen used to say? 'Misplaced my clique', that's the one.

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Sure enough, Peter reached the start-of-year assembly... alone. Finding himself a seat high up in the amphitheater, he began to scan the crowd for recognizable faces. Let's see... ah, there's Flash. All healed up, I see. Indeed, the tall, blonde figure of Eugene 'Flash' Thompson was clearly no longer burdened with the leg injury he had been on the receiving end of last year, due to the fact that he was standing tall and pantomiming something to his two friends, Rand Robertson and Kenny Kong. Whatever it was, it must have been amusing, as all three exploded into gales of laughter, Flash's obnoxious bellow being clearly audible even from twelve rows of chatting students away.

Alright, now that I've successfully located the enemy encampment, who else do I see... yep, there's Hobie... Seymour… MJ and Glory... oh... He had spotted Gwen and Harry, the latter with his arm around the former. Peter couldn't see Gwen's face from here, but Harry definitely looked happy. Well.. that's good, right? They're happy... and I'm not. Sighing dejectedly, Peter slumped in his seat, staring into space while reflecting on the unfairness of it all. Just as he and Gwen were ready to get together, Harry's dad had died, putting her in a position where she simply couldn't leave him. Peter understood, but it still hurt. I blame Norman Osborn. Dying at exactly the wrong time, because he turned out to be all evil. Stupid, smug... um... Lex Luthor wannabe. With his stupid face.

Certain he had been put in a bad mood for the day, Peter proceeded to sulk his way through the announcements, only half-listening... until the Principal said something that did catch his attention...

"And we're not handing out physical schedules this year, either. We're going all digital, folks, so once you get home, hop on the Midtown website, put in your student ID, and you can download and print out a full schedule for yourself."

Right, okay, I can remember that. I just hope the internet's working well enough for the download...

"For today, turn your attention to the school staff, and they can direct you to orientations for your classes and electives this year."

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The imposing, solidly constructed building in the middle of the open, fenced-in courtyard did not look any friendlier just because it was a sunny day. Two stories high, all grey brick and steel supports, with no windows and snipers on the roof. The out-processing facility was depressing-looking, but it was a definite necessity: criminals were held here temporarily until they could be moved to their proper penitentiaries, just waiting for the paperwork to clear for them to get shuffled off to wherever they were meant to spend the rest of their sentences.

Cleared through at the gate, Captain Stacy looked up glumly at the building before he parked, hoping beyond all that the person he was here for... wasn't the one he was actually here for.

He more or less autopiloted through locking his car, walking to the door, flashing his badge and clearance, and being let in, lost in thought about the case. There were three major possibilities here: for one, it was entirely likely that the Master Planner's crew had been taken over by someone new, which would be bad. An unpredictable new player was never more dangerous than in the aftermath of a major power struggle, with all that dispossessed muscle and firepower floating around. The second possibility was that the janitor in the closet had just been straight-up lying, which seemed unlikely to the point of being silly.

Before he knew it, the guard was walking him down a dim concrete corridor lined with cells; not the high-tech supercages of the vault, but more basic, traditional cells only meant to contain criminals during processing and until trials. Captain Stacy was here, of course, to entertain the third possibility. That the Master Planner's identity was still who it had always been. For a stretch of two and a half months, a certain criminal had used that alias to hide his intentions in mystery, all the way from his first major schemes in early December, to his eventual capture on Valentine's Day. He hadn't escaped; but this one was a particularly dangerous criminal, and had been known operate his enterprise from within a prison cell in the past.

The guard stopped. "Here you go, Captain. Doctor Otto Octavius."

Inside the gloomy cell, sitting on the cot and staring at the floor, was the shadowed silhouette of a small, portly man. He spoke with a smooth, creeping voice that was like dead leaves slithering across snow. "Ah... Captain Stacy. What a pleasant surprise."

Stacy gave the guard a nod, and the guard left. Stacy sat down, cross-legged, on the concrete floor opposite Octavius. "Still in processing, Doctor?"

"Please tell me you've come along to speed up my paperwork. Believe it or not, this dreary place has actually managed to make me miss prison."

"You might take that back once you reach the Vault."

Octavius chuckled in the dark. "Do you know why I've been stuck in this out-processing center for so long, Captain? Rhetorical. It's because they're still trying to gather evidence on my crimes. It's difficult, from what I gather, for them to figure out what the Master Planner did and didn't do." He looked up, so that the light reflected off his glasses. He spoke in a harsh whisper. "This kind of solitude can drive a man insane, Captain."

"You're already insane." Stacy replied dryly, without a hint of humor. "And I think we're rather lucky that the courts consider you beyond curing, or you'd have broken out of Ravencroft already."

Octavius stared at him for a moment. "Why are you here?"

"New player in town with a familiar name. Tell me Doc, has the Master Planner orchestrated any bank robberies recently?"

"Bank? Robberies?" Octavius' tone was offended. "What do you take me for, Stacy? I am not a common thug. I am Doctor Octopus. I have designs far beyond petty thievery. Do not forget the role you yourself played in thwarting my masterstroke, when for a mere second, this entire nation, this world, was in my grasp. I want you to mark me, Captain, as I speak to you from this temporary cage. I am going to escape. I am going to find this impostor who dares to shame my title... and kill them. I will kill Spider-Man, and Tombstone, and those four imbiciles in the blue spandex, and when nobody is left in my way, I will conquer this city and destroy any who dare defy me. And when I've done that, George Stacy, I am coming for you."

Stacy raised an eyebrow, then replied as calmly as he could. "So to be perfectly clear, you're claiming to have nothing to do with this one?"

"...Nothing whatsoever. I don't know who the masquerader is, Captain Stacy. But I would not mind at all if they eliminated all of my enemies for me."

Captain Stacy got up. "Thank you," he said with a hint of sarcasm. "You've been very helpful."

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Stacy considered his options in the car. Aside from being an unsettling experience, the meeting with Octavius hadn't really achieved much. There was nothing telling him that Octavius wasn't lying, aside from gut feeling. He wasn't wrong; a bank robbery did seem a bit beneath him... but then, was that the point? He recalled an instance where the Enforcers had stooped to robbing a bank, but only as a cover for their real goal, which had turned out to be a major gold heist. And that kind of smokecreen would be very in-character for Otto Octavius...

He shook his head to clear it. For now, just for now, he had to stay focused on the facts they had, not cook up elaborate theories. He still had plenty of evidence to chase down. It was going to be a long day.

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"It's gonna be a long day." Peter said outloud to himself as web-swung home in costume. He really needed to get to work, but he wanted to pass by home first to start the download on the school schedule; with his house's slow internet speed, that was liable to take hours, and he wanted to be sure it was done by tonight so he could review the schedule before bed.

Coming to a rest atop the roof, he slid down the back quickly, scurried through his window, unmasked and hurried to the computer without bothering to change, since he was about to head back out. He wasted no time in opening up the browser, and-

'Internet explorer cannot display the web page'

"...You have got to be kidding..." muttered Peter darkly. He ducked under the table, making sure the modem was plugged in, and tried again, with the same results. Peter stared at the screen, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. A couple minutes later, he had gone ahead and changed back into his usual attire. Dropping from his window, he quickly snuck around the house to enter through the front door, making sure Aunt May heard him.

"Oh, hello, Peter." she said happily from the sofa. "You're home early."

"Hey Aunt May! Haven't been to the Bugle yet, actually. Gotta take care of something."

He sprinted up the stairs and into his room, waited a few moments to be believable, the hurried back down.

"Um, hey, Aunt May? Did you remember to pay the internet bill?" he asked, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. She hesitated a moment before answering.

"Um... no, dear, I... wasn't able to fit that in this month. I'm sorry."

Peter leaned against the wall, staring at the floor and rubbing his head. It's always something...

"You don't need it right now, do you?"

"Well... we were supposed to download our school schedules. B-but it's okay!" he added quickly as she started to get a guilty look on her face. "I can just do it from work!"

"Ah..." May looked relieved. "Well, in that case, you'd better hurry off!"

"You read my mind."

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The first impression Peter got as the elevator doors opened into the Daily Bugle bullpen was that there had to be a fire, or some other kind of disaster, in the office to elicit this amount of chaos. The Bugle could always be a bit hectic, but this was a whole new level: people were shouting at each other, running around, knocking over chairs and slipping on papers that had been strewn across the floor. Peter quickly looked around for the emergency, but all of the anarchy seemed to be self-perpetuating. There was noise and pandemonium everywhere, but above it all, as always, one voice was by far the loudest.

"I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN! I KNEW IT! FOSWELL, GET OUTTA LINE, PEOPLE ARE WAITING FOR THAT! WINTERS, GET OFF YOUR KEISTER AND BRING ME THOSE FILES LIKE I TOLD YOU TO SEVEN POINT FOUR MINUTES AGO! AND WHO SPILLED THAT COFFEE!?"

The scratchy, stentorian voice was unmistakably that of J. Jonah Jameson. Any thoughts Peter had of asking the boss what was going on flew out the window (as was a bagel at that very moment) at the sound of the cacophony; Jameson was disagreeable enough at the best of times, and at present he sounded downright volcanic.

Peter looked around quickly, casting for a familiar face, and found it as he spotted Jameson's receptionist, Betty Brant. The young woman was looking worse for wear; her normally neat, short brown hair was sticking up in several places, and her teal blouse was splattered with fresh coffee stains as she jostled her way through the discord towards Jameson's office, holding a stack of notebooks.

"Hey, Betty!" Peter called over, raising his voice to Manhattan-rush-hour volume, "BETTY, WAIT UP!" As she looked around, Peter elbowed his way towards her, using just a hint of spider-strength to help himself along without being conspicuous.

"Peter!" she said, exasperated. "Fine time! Look, I'm sorry, I can't stop to talk, find Robbie, he'll tell you-"

"WINTERS!" Bellowed Jameson from the office. "FINALLY! NOW, I JUST NEED... BRANT!? BRANT!?"

"Coming!" she called, forcing her way through without a backwards glance. Peter whirled around and scanned the room (ducking as a binder flew towards him) for several seconds before spotting the black, close-shaven head of Robbie Robertson across the room, yelling at someone. Peter began struggling over.

Robbie was just finishing up the shouting match as Peter reached him. "And I don't care if 'Spider-Man did it first', Ben. It's a story, and it's not going to report on itself!" As the person he was yelling at shuffled off to join the tangled mess of employees, Robbie leaned against a water cooler, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, Robbie?"

"Peter? Look, I'm not sure if now is-"

"FOR THE LAST TIME, LEE, NOOOOOOO!" Jonah screamed. Robbie continued.

"-the best time to bring in pictures."

"Yeah, I was getting that impression." Peter stepped backwards to avoid a harrassed-looking reporter as they sprinted towards the elevator. "What is [i]going on here!?[/i]" Peter asked, staring around at the carnage in awe.

Robbie sighed again. "The website crashed, along with the entire server, just as we were getting everything ready for print. Now everything's a race to try and get our stories out on time, and without net access, we're falling back on old resources we haven't had to use in years."

Peter slouched against the wall in dismay. "Argghh... I only came in because I needed to use the net..."

"Sorry, Peter, but the tech boys say it'll probably be down all day. Shame, too. That Master Planner bank heist looked juicy."

"Yeah, I guess I'll just-" Peter felt a sharp chill go up his spine. "Wait... what did you just say!?"

"Oh, last night New York's favorite voice-modulated felon hit a bank, but Otto Octavius is still behind bars. Cops think we're dealing with a copycat." Robbie narrowly dodged a flying Danish. "Look, Peter, I've really got to get back to the grindstone, here..."

"Of course, sorry..." Peter said distractedly, turning and making his way back to the elevator. Finding it having just emptied, he got in, unaware of the piece of graph paper stuck to his shoe.

The sudden drop in noise as the doors slid shut gave Peter time to think. Great. Fantastic. And on top of everything else, Big Bad numero dos is causing trouble again. Except... except Robbie said that Awful Otto was still snug in prison... which means that someone else is parading around calling themselves "Master Planner"... you'd think they'd try a name that rolls off the tongue a little better.

It didn't take Peter long to decide that there was only one thing for it. I should call Captain Stacy, see if he'll tell me anything about the last robbery. Still in the elevator, Peter retrieved his phone and hit the speed-dial, holding it up to his ear and the other end rang.

"Come on..."

"George Stacy's phone." said a girl's voice. Peter froze. Oh. Right. Gwen.

"Uh... um..."

"...Peter?" asked Gwen in a surprised whisper.

Peter stared blankly into space for a moment. His brain, usually running at a million miles a minute, seemed to have gone dead. "Um... hi, Gwen."

There was a moment of silence, during which time the elevator door opened into the building's lobby. Peter jogged out, still unknowingly giving a bid for freedom to a sheet of paper.

"Um... so... hi." he said meekly, before he heard Gwen take a breath. For a moment, it sounded like she was about to start talking... a lot... but she just stayed quiet for a few seconds before asking:

"Why are you... calling my dad?"

"Oh... well... I needed to ask him some stuff, but if I could talk to you, that-"

He was cut off by the slightly distant sound of Gwen calling, "Daaaad! Phone!"

Peter winced. It was the first time in months that he'd had a real chance to talk to her, and he'd blown it by stammering like a moron.

He stopped outside the double doors of the Daily Bugle's building, waiting, and thinking.

"Y'ello?" asked Captain Stacy from the phone.

"Oh, right! Captain Stacy, it's Peter!"

"Ah, hello. How can I help?"

"I had another question for my story, are you busy?"

"Not at all, shoot."

"Well, it's about that bank robbery last night... I heard about it at the Bugle, and I was wondering... I mean, I thought I might work parts of it into the story, you know? So... I mean, if you can't say anything, I understand..."

"No, I think I can help a bit."

Peter cut through a nearby alley, before looking down and noticing the graph paper stuck to his shoe. "Well... was it really Master Planner?"

"It wasn't Otto Octavius. Probably. He's still locked up and it doesn't fit his MO. What we're likely looking at is a copycat."

Peter reached down and peeled the paper away. "Right. So, since it isn't Doc Ock-"

"Probably isn't, Peter. Never jump to conclusions when you don't have all the facts. Every crime fighter should keep that in mind."

"Right, sorry." he said, now holding the paper in one hand and the phone in the other. He continued as he walked over to a dumpster and deposited the grid-patterned stowaway. "But acting under that assumption... what would be your next move in trying to catch them?"

"Well... if they hit one bank, odds are they'll hit another. I suppose it'd make sense to stake one out. Tonight would be a likely time, as the perps will want to act fast, while they assume we have yet to pick up any leads."

"Right... stakeout... that makes sense..." Peter had a feeling he had just figured out how he'd be spending tonight. "Well, sir, it's getting late, so I'll just-"

"Hang on a moment, son. I wanted to ask you something as well."

"Alright?"

"Peter... you're friends with this Osborn kid, right? The one Gwen's been seeing?"

"Oh, yeah, sure. I mean, Harry and I are like brothers."

"Mm-hm. And you'd say he's a good kid, right? A straight shooter?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, if we didn't think that Harry was a great guy, me and Gwen wouldn't have spent so long hanging around with him."

Captain Stacy was quiet for a moment. "I see. Thank you, Peter."

"Sir... what's this about?" Peter left out the other side of the alley and made for the bus stop. On the other end, Captain Stacy sighed.

"Peter... something's been... up with Gwen this past summer. Not so much at first, maybe, but she's started to get moody and... secretive. And I know she hasn't been answering your calls. Now, I hate to go behind her back like this, but I know you and Gwen have been close for a long time, and I wanted to get your opinion."

Peter sat down at the stop. "And you thought this might've had something to do with Harry?"

"It crossed my mind. The kid's... I don't know, he's always been a little... formal around me. Guarded. Almost like playacting. And I've seen that kind of thing before, when someone really smart wants to hide something... but if you're willing to vouch for him, then I'm probably imagining it. And goodness knows Gwen does nothing but sing his praises."

"Right... listen, sir, Harry... lost his dad recently, in more ways than one... if he's acting a bit strained, it's probably just some weird way of coping. I wouldn't worry about it. And for Gwen..."

He paused. He had a feeling that he was pretty sure what was up with Gwen.

"...I'm... sure she'll get better."

"Right. Well, thank you for your insight, Peter."

"Yours too, Captain Stacy. Bye."

Peter hung up just as the bus arrived. He smiled as he stepped on, confident that he had gotten the answers he was after. But as the ride went on, and he replayed the conversation in his head, something, and he wasn't sure what, started to bother him. By the time he disembarked, Peter was no longer smiling.

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Late at night, Spider-Man sat perched on the edge of a rooftop overlooking New York's second largest bank. Having being deprived of Wikipedia, Peter had resorted to old-school phone books to find his - or rather, the new Master Planner's - quarry. He snuck out a little past midnight, waiting until he was certain Aunt May was asleep, and had made his way out to begin his first stakeout.

Having seen stakeouts in movies and cop shows, and understanding the concept in full, Peter more or less knew what to expect: he had no delusions about the fact that this would be a lot of waiting. However, the issue he ran into was a sudden realization of the fact that in all of those cop shows, they were always able to pass the time by having a partner to talk with (usually about their present character development) to pass the time. Spider-Man, of course, had no such luxury.

Maybe I should get a partner, Peter mused as he stared down at the brick building. Or a sidekick, or a team. Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends. Too bad that whole Colonel Jupiter thing never worked out. Hah, imagine the Jolly One's face if his son and Spider-Man became full-time buds. And I'd like to see Rhino drop a parking garage on me when I've got my own heavy hitter... man... I should drop by Ravencroft some time, see how Colonel Jameson's recovering. He really deserved better. Peter looked over at a pigeon that had just fluttered down to a rest on the edge next to him. The pigeon gave him a dopey, moronic-looking stare. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

It blinked stupidly.

Peter's thoughts turned once again to his conversation with the Captain, and his growing unease ever since. I don't actually think... Harry couldn't be... mistreating Gwen, could he? At the notion, Peter actually laughed outloud, startling the dimwitted bird next to him into flying away. Wow, when I actually think it like that, it sounds ridiculous. Harry would never hurt a fly. And it's not like I was lying to Captain Stacy. Harry IS like my brother, and he'd never do anything to hurt Gwen. Even as Peter came to that conclusion, though, a recollection of another voice crept through his mind...

"What's the matter, 'bro'? Spider-Sense didn't tingle?"

Peter shuddered. There was someone else, after all, whom he had considered a brother, who he had also thought would never hurt Gwen... but there she was in his memory, clear as day, hanging from a black web, about to fall...

Spidey shook his head clear. Harry isn't Eddie. We've been through too much together. He'd never get that bad. I was right the first time, he's just acting weird because of his dad. Peter was trying to reassure himself, but... something was still nagging him. He kept thinking about how Gwen had been acting lately. The other week, at the bookstore, it had been almost like she wasn't there... and his impression that Harry had seemed smug... Stop that! You're imagining it! Harry was just happy to be out with his girlfriend, and Gwen's just been bothered by... that thing we talked about, just before summer started...

Peter started trying very hard not to think about that. Come on, let's change the subject here... like, what about Captain Stacy? Does he... does he know I'm Spider-Man? This had been on the back of Peter's mind for months. In the midst of last semester, during a short but brutal gang war between Tombstone, Silvermane and Doctor Octopus, Spider-Man had worked with Stacy closely to try (and, for the most part, succeed) to bring the three crime lords to justice. During that time, Stacy had pretty heavily implied, on multiple occasions, that he knew that Peter and Spider-Man were one and the same. A habit which, as of late, he seemed to have dropped into again. "Never jump to conclusions if you don't have all the facts. Every crime-fighter should know that." See, from the way he phrased that, it really sounds like he's calling me a crime fighter.

I'm not really sure how I feel about this. I mean, on one hand, I guess it's nice having someone know my identity who isn't a seven-foot fanged monster... but I can't help but feel like this is putting him at risk. I should probably talk to him about that, make sure he doesn't get in over his head. It's gonna be tough to bring that up, how am I going to manage that? Man, I wish those guys on the bank would stop talking, I'm trying to think. Maybe if I just approach him at the station... wait a minute... Peter looked down at the bank, where a group of people in black were sneaking around.

"Oh! Who's the stakeout king? I'M the stakeout king!"

Standing up, Spider-Man spied six felons, all gathered around the roof access door. They all had their hands to the sides of their heads, as if talking on earpieces. Spidey tossed up a webline, hopped up, and swung across the street, aiming his feet right at one of the crooks. The man turned and looked up just to late to call out before a powerful double kick took him off his feet, launched him three meters, and caused his unconscious form to sprawl to the ground. The other five didn't hesitate, four of them drawing compact firearms and opening up, spraying bullets at the web-head, while another ran for cover and quickly activated his comm link.

The bullets weren't a problem. Spider-sense flaring, Peter flipped through the air, twirling and twisting to avoid every single round before it even left the barrel. He gave an exaggerated sigh, barely audible over the gunfire. "Guns? Really, guys? Again? Don't any of you know any other tricks?" Launching webs from midair, he grabbed two of the submachine guns and yanked them away from their owners, before landing briefly and tossing them over the edge. He only touched down for a split second before leaping once more to dodge more gunfire, grab the last two guns, and throw them overboard as well. Spider-Man landed again as the four disoriented gunmen came to terms with the fact that they had been disarmed. Behind the roof access, he could hear the one who ran talking to someone: "Boss, we have a problem! The Spider, he's here, we need backup!"

The disarmed criminals, meanwhile, were circling Spider-Man, fists bared. "Aaaaaannnnd now the punching," he quipped. "You guys are setting new records for predictability. So let's see... next you're going to rush me-" two of them charged from opposite directions- "yep, called that." Jumping towards one of his aggressors, the wall-crawler grabbed his shoulders and quickly went over him, while at the same time pushing him towards his counterpart, smashing them into each other and causing them to collapse in a tangle of bad guy. Spidey turned towards the other two. "And now... wait, let me guess... Oh, you're gonna run away! Amiright!?"

They bolted.

Peter sighed. "Never fails," he said as he fired a pair of weblines, grabbing each perp by an ankle and pulling them over, causing them to crash into the roof and bringing an end to their short-lived escape. None of the four had been knocked out, but they were all lying on the ground, groaning in pain. "Not bad!" said Spider-Man, putting his hands on his hips proudly. "That just leaves one. Now..." he turned and looked at the stairwell entrance. "...If I were a complete tool, where would I hide..." he began walking over, only to get a spider-sense burst at the last moment before the robber jumped from hiding with pistol in hand, and fired at the most red-and-blue thing he could see. Reacting in a heartbeat, Spidey ducked, grabbed the gun with a web, pulled it away, then jumped forward and punched him out with a single blow.

"Oh, right." he said, standing over the crook. "If I were a complete tool, I would try to shoot Spider-Man. Duh."

He turned back to the main group of downed criminals, one of whom was staggering to his feet, holding his skull and moaning in pain. Spidey shot a web to his chest and pulled him over with a single tug, grabbing him by the collar. "Now, then, Captain Concussion, let's have a nice little chat about your boss before I kick you over to the police. What can you tell me about Master Planner?"

The thug gave him a dazed look, then looked over Spider-Man's shoulder and smiled. "Why don't you ask him yourself, webs?"

Spidey scoffed over the sound of a strange electronic whine. "Oh, please, like I'd fall for-" he hesitated, and focused on the sound. Wait a minute... where do I know that noise from? Just as the thought was passing through his head, he felt a surge of spider-sense and dove to the side, carrying the goon with him as they both rolled across the rooftop and several bladed projectiles launched down at high-speed and embedded themselves in the location where Peter had been standing a second earlier. Dropping the criminal to the side, he looked briefly at the blades - three of them, dark in color, each a foot long - before looking up for the source of the strange noise, and spotting a birdlike figure circling high above on vast wings.

Spider-Man stared incredulously. "Vulture!? You're the new Master Planner?"

The Vulture hovered to a stop fifty feet above the roof, leering down at his prey. Adrian Toomes was a little over sixty years of age, with a head as bald as a monk's, beady eyes, and a hooked, beakish nose. He wore his usual battle attire: a red and dark-green, armored bodysuit with a boxy hump on the back, complete with large, bladed wings attached to the arms. Looking closely, Peter noted that the wings looked a bit different from before; they seemed to be more segmented, made up of many, smaller blades so as to more closely resemble the feathers of a bird's wing. He also noticed that a few of these feathers were missing...

The Vulture floated in the air without flapping his wings, an evil grin on his face. The mechanical whining, as usual, was coming from the technology inside his harness.

"Surprised to see me, Spider-Man?" the old man jeered, with a nasty voice befitting a serial killer.

"A little, I didn't know the old folk's home was allowing walkabouts this late. And what are you doing running a crime ring, anyway? Didn't your whole motive for going all loopy come back to wanting to get even with Norman Osborn?"

"Just so. While I would have liked to finish the old leech myself-" Oh, that's rich... Peter briefly thought, narrowing his eyes- "I'll just have to be satisfied that he got what he deserved. And considering that he stole my life's work away from me, I decided that a good item to sit next on the agenda was money. So.."

Peter finished for him, putting the pieces together. "So when Octopus went to prison, you took over the Planner's crew yourself..."

"I was his lieutenant, after all, is the position not rightfully mine?"

Peter snorted with laughter. "Beaky, the only thing that's 'rightfully yours' right now is a pile of birdseed laced with a strong sedative."

"Mock me if you will, Spider-Man. But I am the Master Planner now, and with you gone, I shall set my sights on conquest of this city. You men!" he snapped, turning his attention to the still-recovering henchmen. "Return to the hideout at once! I will deal with this annoyance myself!"

The Vulture spread his wings upward, the feathers slicing together to create an audible shing! sound. "Today, you die, Spider-Man!" Spider-Man backflipped off the roof just as Vulture swung his arm downward, two of the feathers detaching and shooting downward at high speed, sufficiently fast and sharp to pierce the roof once more. Letting himself fall several stories before grabbing the wall, Peter took a moment to collect his thoughts. Okay, let's see... Vulture. What do we do with Vulture... taking out his backpack won't work anymore, not since he armored it up... what about his cowl? That worked last Christmas.

Waiting for the distinctive whine of Vulture's Tech-Flight, Spider-Man swung into action, looking up to see the birdlike supervillain descending, and aimed right for his head... before realizing that there was no cowl. "Ah!" he yelled in surprise as Vulture fired two more feathers at him, prompting him to twist around in midair and shoot up a web, swinging out of the way just in time. Spider-Man began to web-swing down the concrete canyon as fast as he could, Vulture laughing as he pursued.

"Ha ha! What's the matter, Spider-Man? You were expecting it to be as easy as pulling off a bit of headgear again!? I always learn from my mistakes!" As he spoke, he launched more feathers, which were dodged. "My new and improved harness bolsters advanced weaponry, and none of its previous weaknesses! I think you'll find me quite undefeatable this time!"

Oh, Thought Peter. Well that's great. Vulture mark 3, now with creepy-old-man-fu-grip. He continued to swing away, leading Vulture on quite a chase, while yelling back, "Sorry, Birdface, I'm a little confused: how exactly is shooting feather-swords at me supposed to count as 'advanced weaponry?' I mean, maybe that was advanced when you were growing up... y'know, in the Dark Ages..."

Vulture laughed again. "Oh-ho! You want to see something even more impressive! I will be happy to oblige!"

Vulture braked in midair, curled his wings towards himself, and then swiped them outwards, his suit releasing a high-pitched scream as a rippling, person-sized orb of distorted air flew towards Spider-Man.

Peter felt the tingle of impending danger, but, expecting to only have to avoid more feathers, was caught off guard as the sonic sphere connected with him in midair. Blasted off-course, Peter crashed hard into a rooftop. "OOF!" he yelled as he slammed down and rolled to a stop. Though badly disoriented, he recovered as quickly as he could, climbing to his feet and rubbing his pained head. That... that felt familiar... sounded familiar, too... He looked up at Toomes, who was circling the roof menacingly. "Impressed yet?" the villain jeered. "I've been scavenging technology from some of the other criminals you've taken down. I pried these sonic emitters from Silvermane's armor. And here's a little something I recovered from the glider of that vile Osborn..."

As Spidey backed away cautiously, Vulture pulled to a hover, held out his hand, and tapped one finger to his palm. A small, bronze sphere was released from his large, armored sleeve and into his hand... and he threw it at Spider-Man. Peter panicked and jumped aside; even as much as it had been modified, he knew a pumpkin bomb when he saw one. The grenade exploded against the roof in a familiar plume of green smoke, but instead of the laughter-like screech they used to give off, this bomb made a sound like a raptor's cry. The force of the blast threw Peter aside as he shielded himself from shrapnel with his arms. Relentless, Vulture kept up the attack, tossing more bombs as he flew after the retreating Spider-Man, who webbed up to a roof to avoid the explosives.

Spidey jumped aways along the roof as one of the explosives detonated against the edge, creating a huge burst of smoke. He spared only a second to turn and look, spotting the plume and coming up with a plan on the spot. Peter fired a webline forward, onto a crane overlooking the street, and then let go, the web swinging forward on its own to hang from the crane. He then sprinted to the right, still hidden by the smoke cloud, and hid behind a helicopter pad that was situated on the rooftop. It was just in time, as Vulture swooped over the cloud and looked around, spotting the web and assuming that Spider-Man had swung from the crane. Grinning, he prepared another bomb and flew after to search for his prey, unknowingly soaring right over the real target.

Peter watched from the shadows as the maniacal bird-man glided across the street, and exhaled in relief. I'm safe for now. But there's a new, upgraded Vulture calling the shots for one of the worst gangs in town... and that is not good news. Peter left his hiding place and doubled back, returning to the bank, only to find that Vulture's henchmen were already gone.

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Peter's mind was very occupied on the bus to school the next morning. Sitting in an uncomfortable seat made of some sad parody of leather, with his forehead against the cold window, he dwelled on the events of the previous night. So Vulture's hiding out there, somewhere. He's got an entire mob under his command, and better weapons then before. Even if I can find him, how am I supposed to beat him? I mean, old puffin-face was never exactly the biggest baddie on the block... heck, in my very first big supervillain fight, I trashed him and the Enforcers at the same time... but with Goblin AND Silvermaine tech? Ay caramba...

As the vehicle grumbled to a stop, the students got up and filed out, Peter still deep in thought. Every time I beat him before, it was by shutting down his harness somehow... but without any obvious weakspots... I can't think of any this time… I could shred his wings again, but last time I had a helicopter to help with that… He descended the stairs of the bus, brushing past people without paying attention to where he was going. I don't suppose I could just... punch him in the face? No, I'd never get close enough without him chopping me down to ten little spider-fragments with those wings of his...

Peter took a seat on one of the low walls outside the school, staring at the ground and mulling the problem over while the crowd of students chattered on around him. And how am I even supposed to track him down? Let's see... the last time I found the Master Planner where he lived, it was because I questioned that weirdo with the glasses. Man, if only I had wrangled one of those goons last night, I could have figured out where the old cook is roosting these days... Still wrapped up, Peter was barely conscious of the sound of the bell, standing up and grabbing his bag in an automated, zombie-like fashion while everyone swarmed to the doors. I guess I'll just have to wait until they pull their next heist, and then I can... no. No! What was the one, important thing I decided over the summer? It's time to get serious. I'm done just stumbling into everything. I need to think more like a cop or detective. If I had been ahead of the curve like that last year, I could have prevented so many problems.

I am NOT sitting back and waiting for Vulture to make his next move. I am catching him. Today. Peter stopped in the middle of the corridor, looking around at the other students hustling off to their first period classes. But for right now, I have get to claAAAAH! The schedule! Had any of them bothered to slow down and look at him at this point, they would have found the sight quite amusing: Peter was standing in the middle of the passage, staring into space with his mouth hanging open. I never downloaded my schedule... with all the Master Planner stuff, I completely forgot!

He looked around again as the corridors began to thin out. "Well..." he muttered to himself. "Only one thing for it..." Peter took off, sprinting for the school library as fast as he could.

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In the cool morning sky, the Vulture soared, high above the rooftops. Had anyone else been gifted with the chance to fly free on this unusually beautiful New York morning, with clear, soft blue skies, they would have been enjoying the feeling of the wind on their face, and the view of the cityscape from high above. But Adrian Toomes didn't care. He had never found silly things like nice views all that encapsulating, and had long since grown bored of the thrill of flight. No, on this morning, the New Master Planner found his mind frustrated and antagonized.

For hours and hours he had searched for that little vermin, all through the night, but could show nothing for it. Ever since hearing news of Norman Osborn's death and celebrating, he had been looking forward to seeing another old annoyance of his beaten and battered, and had been waiting patiently for the chance to test his new equipment out on Spider-Man's frail form. But now, tired, hungry and annoyed, he could only return to his base of operations and wait for his next opportunity.

The Vulture sliced through the air as he changed directions, banking north hard and flying between scycrapers towards his distant goal. He could see it now, some ten blocks away, a distance he would be able to cover in merely a couple minutes. Sighing, he tightened his wings to come in low and fast towards the abandoned clock tower.

The tower had been discretley refitted for Vulture's needs, including an open hatch on the roof that was the perfect size for him to land. Circling around the tower, he spied some of other modifications he'd made (anti-aircraft weapons, designed to target Spider-Man) and zeroed in on the rectangular opening. Hovering over it, he folded his wings, reduced his thrust, and allowed himself to lower slowly through the gap. He landed in the main upper room of the clock tower, where most of the actual clockwork had been cleared out to be replaced with computers, and the equipment to maintain the Vulture harness.

A few of Toomes' new employees were at work, helping to run the Master Planner's criminal empire from the monitors. As he raised his arms, the wings mechanically folding away for ease of movement, one of them, a scrawny man with a light-brown ponytail, came over to greet him. "Mr. Toomes, good to see you back. How did your search go?"

"Not well, Jenkins." Toomes growled irritably. "I'm afraid Spider-Man remains as slippery as ever. I'm going to go change; we need to begin planning our next job as quickly as possible. See that the armor is recharged and reloaded, you know the drill."

"I'm afraid there's something more, sir." Said Jenkins. "Our ally is here to see you."

Vulture furrowed his brow. "Hmmm... what could he want at this hour? Perhaps it's finally time..."

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"Mr. Parker. Having endured two semesters of it already, I cannot tell you how thrilled I am to start the new schoolyear, right off the bat, with you asserting very clearly that you intend to continue being late more often then you are on time."

Mr. Warren finished his sentence on a note of extreme sarcastic dryness as he and the rest of the class watched Peter make his way to his seat, feeling very exposed in the bright yellow classroom. "Er... sorry, sir, I wasn't able to download the new schedule, and..."

"All the explanations in the world won't help you learn faster."

"Right..." Peter shuffled onto his stool, staring hard down at the desk. Mr. Warren, pot-bellied and mustached, sighed and continued to address the class.

"Now then, everyone, I feel like we gained a lot of ground last year, and that makes me glad. That's no call to be complacent, however. Let's talk a bit about what we're going to be going over this semester."

Peter allowed his attention to drift for this part; he already had a firm understanding on what the year's material would be, and had other things on his mind to boot. He looked around the class and found, to little surprise, exactly the same loadout of students as last year's Biology class, including not only Gwen and Harry a few seats away, but the ever-lovable clique consisting of Sally Avril, Rand Robertson, Liz Allen, Kenny Kong, Glory Grant and Flash Thompson, now joined, somewhat atypically, by Sha Shan Nguyen. It took him a moment to remember that she and Flash were dating; in the back of his mind, he had filed that away as something that wouldn't last, and was surprised and somewhat impressed that the two were still together a summer later.

Peter shrugged the revelation off and redirected his focus to Gwen and Harry. Harry had just whispered something to Gwen, and she was smiling. Oddly, this almost annoyed Peter more than seeing her unhappy. He supposed that was probably jealousy, an emotion he'd been a bit out of touch with for a while. Internally, he knew he had to push that down and refocus. Everything can't be peachy over there. I thought something seemed off even before Captain Stacy said the same thing. He sighed out loud. Oh well. I can focus on solving the Riddle of the Blonde Sphynx later. For now, it's back in school mode.

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Peter's first-ever Creative Writing class, occupying what had once been a free period, passed without much incident. The teacher, Ms. Donovon, went on at length about the importance of storytelling in human culture, and Peter was able to half-listen while he got a head start on some surprise Social Studies work from before lunch, and before he knew it, he was free as a bird to move on to the next class.

Well that wasn't so bad, he decided. For nothing but a cheap cover story, I was worried it would be a lot more demanding. I can stick it out for half a semester or so, long enough to make the lie convincing, and then drop out and focus on something else. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.

When the school day finally came to merciful close, Peter was finally able to switch gears back to his hunt for the Vulture. After calling Aunt May with a quickly-thought-up excuse about studying at the library, he found a secluded roof, changed into his costume, and swung off to begin his search. "Alright..." he said outloud to himself as he swung free through the overcast city. "Vulture. Vulture Vulture Vulture. Where do we find Vulture?" Over the summer, he hadn't managed to acquire any new information on the leftover villains, and he had the least on Vulture to begin with. "Don't know where he'd hang his probably very old-timey hat... his only buddies I know of are other MP goons... oh, duh!"

Between webswings, he facepalmed in midair. "I don't need to find the Vulture! I need to find the Master Planner! Zeroing in on a crime king like that should be easy if I just start from the bottom and work my way up..." He changed direction, heading for the nearest criminal hangout he knew of.

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The night had not proven to be fruitful, and Peter was in low spirits, not to mention exhausted, by the time he slipped into bed. He had searched the city from dusk until dawn, literally, but no matter who he questioned, and where he went, he turned up nothing on Vulture's operation. Maybe tomorrow... or I guess today... will be better, he thought as he pulled up his covers. I'm so tired... I could sleep for a week. Nothing like good ol' bed after a long night of Spiderman-ing around town...]

Peter exhaled, and began to drift off to sleep...

...and his alarm immediately buzzed, indicating it was time to get ready for school.

"...I hate my life." He muttered.

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As anyone could have guessed, the second day of the school year was grueling for Peter. Barely able to stay awake in his classes, even after grabbing an extra dose of coffee more than once throughout the day. He allowed himself a power nap during his lunch break, sneaking into a janitor's closet in the hopes of recharging himself at least a little bit for his next night of crime-fighting; he knew this would help in the long run, but in had the disadvantage of making him even more lethargic during his afternoon periods.

Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice Peter's drowsiness or the bags under his eyes... until the end of the day, when he was passing down the corridor and happened to be stopped by none other than Flash, not accompanied by his usual entourage.

"Hey Parker! You okay?"

Peter turned to look at him, blinking in surprise at the show of concern. "Uh... didn't get much sleep last night." Or any...

"Aw, too bad. Listen, um... can I talk to you about something?"

This was familiar. Flash could be nice... when he needed something. Peter sighed. "What do you want?"

Flash blinked in surprise, and then shrugged in exaggerated confusion. "Pfft, WHAT? Who said I wanted something! Do I really have to after something to be nice to... um..."

Peter gave him a withering gaze, much too tired for this. Flash glared back, and then sighed. "Alright, look, dork. I do need your help. Again."

"I'll bite." Peter replied. "What could you possibly need from me? You seem to be doing pretty well for yourself right now. How's Sha Shan?"

"Great! And I mean... yeah, I guess everything's been cool, but I have... sort of a problem." He was beginning to move a bit shifty, looking around and rubbing his head awkwardly. "It's just, you know, after this year everyone's... off to college, and my guys are set on ESU..."

"Right, Kenny and Rand are easily in on a football scholarship, I bet." Peter pointed out, rubbing one eye. He really wanted Flash to get to the point.

"Yeah, for sure. I mean, Rand could get in anyway, but that guy loves the game. But with my knee..."

It suddenly dawned on Peter. The previous year, Flash had suffered a leg injury that put an end to his time on Midtown's football team. It had healed enough for him to move around unaided, but a severe injury like that at such a young age made football an unlikely prospect. "Oh, man..."

"Exactly." Said Flash. "I'm getting left behind. No football scholarship for the Flash."

"And with them all busy on campus, you'll really be alone." Said Peter. Something I know a lot about at the moment...

Flash grimaced. "Hey! I'm not here for your pity, man! I'm here for some of that voodoo you worked on Liz!"

"You... want to develop a crush on me?"

"What!? No! I want you to make me smart, like you did when you turtled her!"

"Tutored."

"That's what I said!"

Peter sighed again, rubbing his own face. "Flash... that's not how it works. I can't just make you smart, it's not a POTION. You have to want to learn, or I can't help you."

"Does that mean you'll do it?" Flash asked, smiling.

"I think you took the wrong message away from that."

"Well sure I want it. I want to go to college with Kenny and Rand and Sha Shan and Liz and Sally. So are you going to help me, or not?"

"I'll... think about it? I guess?"

Flash put his hands in his pockets, seemingly satisfied. "Well alright then."

"Alright then." Peter parroted back. The two stood in silence for a moment, before Peter turned and walked off. Man, what alien replaced him? Oh well. I can worry about Flash Thompson later, tonight I'm on Adrian Toomes time.

Riiiiiiight after I get some coffee.

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Coffee had certainly helped keep Peter focused on his task, but had unfortunately done nothing to make the streets any more forthcoming on information, and he was beginning to run out of options. As the sun began to set, he touched down on the side of a building, clinging to brick and giving himself a breather.

"Alright..." he said outloud. "What's next?"

Oddly enough, the universe seemed ready to answer him, as his phone rang. He checked it, expecting to see Aunt May's name on the screen, but was surprised to find that he was being called by Captain Stacy.

He answered. "Yello?"

"Peter, it's Captain Stacy. Listen, I need to talk to you about something important, would you mind swinging by the station?"

"Uh... sure, I mean, I guess I can catch a cab-"

"No, no, Peter. I mean..." Peter heard the captain sigh. "I mean... can you swing over to the station?"

Peter felt a small stab of panic in his stomach. "Um... I'm not sure if I... uuuhhhhh..."

"Peter. Stop. We don't have time for this tonight. I'm sorry, but I need you to come over right now, rooftop, full costume. It's important."

He hung up, and Peter lowered the phone.

Well... that answers one question.

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Captain Stacy stood on the roof of his precinct, looking out from the edge with his hands in his coat pockets. He had only been waiting for two minutes, and already he heard a distinctive thwip behind him. He turned to see Spider-man perched on a horizontal flagpole that stuck out from the taller building next door, the pole wobbling a bit under his weight. As it slowly came to a stop, Stacy and Spiderman stared at each other. Stacy raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Spiderman, after looking around to make sure no one else could see, removed his mask.

"How long?" Peter asked sadly.

"To your credit, since after Christmas. I dropped some pretty heavy hints."

"Yeah, I know. I just... denial, I guess?"

"A powerful force. Who else knows, in all? Your aunt?"

"No... um, speaking of which, you wouldn't mind?"

He held up a hand placatingly. "Your secret is safe with me, son. I think that woman's been through enough. But back to my question, who really does know, aside from me? I'd like to know what I'm getting into, here."

"The good news is, only one person. The bad news is.."

"Eddie Brock?"

"Eddie Brock."

"Sorry. I looked over his case file after he was arrested; I had already figured you out at that point, so it was a nasty surprise to find someone like him with that information."

Peter, who had just put his mask back on, cleared his throat nervously. "Um... sir, you know that he attacked Gwen at Thanksgiving because of me, right?"

"I had put that together, Peter, yes. We are going to have a conversation about that. But tonight, we have other problems."

Peter exhaled. "Right. What do you need?"

"Someone came in earlier, a professional con by the name of Leon Jackson. We don't have much about it, save for a few raps from other cities over the last eight years or so, and some possible sightings in other countries. But now, he's given himself up in the hopes of making a deal, and receiving protection. He says he has information about the Vulture's new operation, something that he claims will save hundreds of lives... but with a minor snag. He says he'll only talk to you."

"Me?"

"Spider-Man. He says that if we go after Vulture, we'll fail, and Vulture will kill him, but if it's you, Vulture will be stopped and he'll be safe. We tried to convince him otherwise, DeWolff being especially adament, but he won't change his mind, and to be honest, I'm not sure he's wrong."

"Oh. So no pressure, then."

"Obviously we can't bring you through the station to see him without causing a scene and most likely encouraging at least a few officers to try and arrest you, but if you're willing, I can arrange to have him brought up here to speak to you."

"Well... alright then. Bring him up."

Stacy nodded and headed through the door leading to the stairwell, closing it behind him and leaving Peter alone on the roof. Night was descending, and Peter's fatigue was beginning to return; he began to find it difficult to balance on the flagpole, so he descended to the roof.

It took quite a while for Captain Stacy to return, Peter sitting against the wall and nearly drifting off a couple times. When he finally heard the door open, he stood quickly, wobbling a bit as Stacy emerged, holding another man by the arm. The captain observed Peter's momentary lack of balance, while Peter observed Jackson: he was a man of medium build, and his age was somewhat implacable. He wore a dark jacket and jeans (not to mention a pair of handcuffs), and looked right back at Spider-Man with some apprehension.

"Spider-Man, Leon Jackson. Mr. Jackson, Spider-Man."

"You the real deal?" Jackson asked sharply. "You're not a fake-out, just someone in a Spider-Man suit? That's happened before, I know some guy tried to frame you!"

Peter assuaded the man's suspicions by reaching out and placing his index finger against the concrete wall, and then pushing with enough force to crack the surface.

Jackson sighed. "Alright. Vulture's got a bomb."

"What!?" Stacy asked.

"A bomb?" said Peter.

"Yeah. Big one. City-block kind of thing. He's going to set it off tomorrow, between three and five'o'clock, near Grand Central. I have no idea why, I don't know what he gets out of it. But he was very precise, any earlier would mess up whatever plan he has; one guy at the hideout suggested doing it at noon, Toomes flipped. Nearly threw the poor mook in a woodchipper."

"Jeez.." said Peter, a bit shaken. He had always known Vulture was a criminal, of course, but this was dark by his standards. He couldn't imagine what the end game was... but then, he had no idea what Toomes really wanted anymore with Norman Osborn gone.

"This hideout, where is it?" Captain Stacy asked.

"The old clock tower, north end. The abandoned one. Vulture set up some kind of workshop in there, all scavenged tech he took from other big bads. You can't go up top, either, he set up these big guns... uh, you can't really see them from below, but they're there, and Vulture says they'll shred Spidey if he gets anywhere close to the clock."

"So I'll go in from ground level, got it. Anything else?"

"I mean... he's got about forty guys in there, shouldn't be surprising. Nothing aside from that, I don't think."

"Alright, I'm off." Peter turned to the edge and raised his hand to fire a web, but Captain Stacy spoke up again.

"Spider-Man, wait a second. I still want to talk to you, just let me take Jackson back downstairs.

After Jackson was returned to custody, Stacy returned to find Spider-Man still sitting on the edge of the roof.

"So what's up?" Peter asked.

"You shouldn't go tonight, son. You're clearly exhausted, you need a clear head before you rush into this."

"What? No, you heard him, Vulture's gonna... blow up Grand Central Station, I guess, which... you know, WOW, but I really can't afford to stall."

"He's going to launch his attack tomorrow afternoon, that easily gives you time to catch eight hours tonight, and you'll be ready for him in the morning."

"But... he could change his schedule, or that guy could've been wrong about the time, or-"

"Peter. Listen to me very carefully." He put his hands on Peter's shoulders; it had been a while since Peter had genuinely felt eclipsed by and adult's authority like this. "I know you've beaten Vulture before, but he's never been ready for you like this. You need a clear head. You need to sleep tonight. Take a pill if you have to. Now, we know when his attack is coming. In case that information can't be trusted, I am going to post a couple uniforms outside the tower tonight, discretely, to watch over it. We'll try to verify activity inside. We'll watch the streets, the skies, and even the sewers. Toomes won't be able to get past us without us knowing, and if he does move, I can call you and wake you up. Assuming he doesn't, I'll call your school in the morning to make an excuse for you, and you can get a good breakfast, infiltrate the tower and capture him. You have help this time; you need to trust me, alright?"

Spider-Man thought it over for a second, but his brain was too tired to work... which, after a moment, made him realize the Captain was probably right.

"Okay... alright, I'll go home. Thanks, Captain."

"Any time."

Peter went back to the edge, prepared to fire another web, and then hesitated. "Aw, man!"

"What's the matter?"

"I signed up for that stupid Creative Writing class just so I could maintain a cover story with you! I didn't even need to, you already know who I am!"

Captain Stacy couldn't help but smile. "Whoops. Sorry about that, I guess I should have come clean that I had figured it out sooner."

"Would've been nice. Well, I... guess I'm just taking Creative Writing now."

"Never hurts to have an extra career choice."

Peter shook his head and swung away.

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The next morning found Carter and DeWolff among the many officers assigned to watch the clock tower, seated in their police cruiser in the shade of an adjacent tenement. DeWolff seemed antsy, tapping her foot quickly.

"Stop it," said Carter.

"I hate this."

"I figured."

"I really wish we could just send in SWAT."

"We'd lose people."

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I know. You're right. I just hate having to rely on the Spider so much."

He shrugged. "It is what it is."

"I worry-"

"A lot." he interrupted.

"I [i]worry] about what this will do to the PD's rep on the streets. If crooks start to think they don't have to be scared of us, or worse, if civis start thinking they don't need us... you know?"

"That's not going to happen. Besides, we all know the Captain's been coordinating with Spider-Man on this one. Kinda makes him auxiliary law enforcement, if you think about it."

She rolled her eyes at the stupid justification, but dropped it, gazing out the window, where she noticed something; a person perched on the rooftop. "Stan! Stan!"

He leaned over to look where she was pointing, and quickly clicked on his radio. "Cap, he's here. We got Spider-Man on site."

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Alright... Peter thought as he perched himself on the edge of an office building and looked across at the clock tower, how am I doing this? He had never gotten around to coming up with a foolproof plan for dealing with Toomes, but he was no longer concerned with that; after all, his mind was refreshed, and most of his best ideas came to him in the moment. He looked up at the top of the tower; he couldn't see any mounted guns, but he had no reason to doubt that they were there. With that in mind, it seemed obvious that the best course of action was to go in from the bottom. He slung a web and sailed down to street level, landing quickly and shouldering his way through the door.

The tower's foyer was big and empty; he had at least been expecting guards. He looked up to see that the tower had a confusing and honeycombed layout. This wouldn't be as easy as simply climbing the walls straight up, but he could still do better than the spiral staircase he saw winding its way upward. He webbed to a second-story balcony, leaped to the next one up, and finally heard yelling and loading weapons: the unmistakable sounds of the wild, undomesticated street thug. They burst through a door to the stairs, and the fight began.

Peter didn't have much trouble with the henchmen on his way up, as there weren't as many as he was expecting. The bigger threat came from above. The spider-sense flared to warn him a moment before a glimmering grenade came tumbling down the main shaft, and he was able to leap safely to a high balcony before it blasted two staircases to burning shreds.

"Hey, Mulchy Vulchy, that you up there!?"

"Naturally!" came Toomes's voice. "If you want the bombs, and the bomb, to stop, then you're going to have to come and get me, Spider-Man!"

"Ah, you always did know how to butter me up, y'old softie!" Not keen to keep the Vulture waiting, he webbed his way further upward, landing on another balcony that connected to a small passage.

Standing, Peter looked straight up; he could see a narrow crawlspace he could easily make his way up, but as he stopped to listen, he could hear the Vulture chuckling and priming another grenade from above. He instead looked to the corridor before him. Figuring a bit of overhead cover was ideal, he walked through quickly, finding another, seemingly empty, staircase, with a lot of plastic curtains around to indicated recent construction work. He looked around at the shimmering curtains; the gleam of the light reflecting off of one was nearly painful, and he had to stop for a moment to slip his hand under his mask and rub his eye. For a moment, he felt slightly queasy out of nowhere... but the feeling quickly passed.

He checked the time on his phone and realized that this was taking longer than he had expected, so he hustled, leaping up the stairs quickly.

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Peter burst into the main control room; where most of the monitors had been powered down and staff cleared out. Only three people remained: two henchmen carrying machine pistols, and Jenkins, who was typing at his desk as quickly as he could. The two goons naturally raised their guns, and Spiderman naturally webbed them away, before turning to Jenkins, who was about to say something before Peter simply shot a web and used it to pull his head down into his own desk, knocking him out. The two guards, having processed the loss of their weapons, made to rush Spiderman... before there was a high-pitched shriek, and an orb of sonic force blasted the duo through the clockface, shattering it and sending them falling.

"No!" Peter yelled, diving after them. He fired two webs quickly, catching them both before they could gain much velocity, and braked his feet against the edge of the building.

Unfortunately, before he could do anything else, the spider-sense provided him with a warning that was too late to heed: the Vulture, having been perched up in his entry hatch, swooped down and kicked Spiderman hard in the back, knocking his wind out and sending him falling. As he descended, he realized he had lost his grip on the two webs, so he quickly fired two more, grabbed them both with one hand, and twisted around to attach a third line to the tower... which was immediately slashed by a cackling Vulture. "OH COME ON!" Peter yelled, restrategizing on the fly. He decided to let himself fall, while turning and shooting his web forward instead, into the opposite building. Toomes didn't have time to reach this one, so Spidey was able to swing down slightly and quickly toss the two goons into an awning.

But even that respite was short-lived; Vulture simply threw another feather into the line, severing it as well. Peter didn't have time to recover, and smashed into the building shoulder-first and hard enough to smash a depression into the concrete.

"...Okay... ow."

He didn't even need the spider-sense to tell him what was going to happen next, as he quickly pulled himself free and swung to the side just in time as a grenade flew down and blasted an even bigger hole over the hole he had vacated. Alright, time to do what I do best and get the old goat's goat. As the two began a game of keepaway, with the Vulture sending out feather blades, sonic blasts and grenades and Spiderman dodging them all. "Gotta say Toomes, machine guns on the base? You're really falling into full-blown 'get off my lawn' mode. And honestly, this is sad. You used to be some brilliant engineer, and now you're reduced to just copying other, smarter baddies' tech? You're really taking the whole scavenger gimmick a bit literally."

Toomes simply laughed the taunt off, continuing his attack. "What is this? You seek to insult me? Yes, Spider-Man, I am a scavenger, and I always have been. Long ago, Norman Osborn bestowed me with the title "buzzard". Even then, he equated me to a carrion bird." He ceased his assault for a moment, hovering and glaring down at his enemy. His tone became threatening and dark. "But vultures are survivors. They exist far and wide across the world, scratching out a living in even the harshest of environs. I adopted the name, and proudly, because I too am a survivor. I will endure long after all my enemies are gone. After Osborn. After you." His eyes shined as he smiled. "I am proud to be a Vulture."

He flung another grenade, and Peter got moving again. Okay, is he getting crazier or am I just getting worse at trash talk? Whatever, gotta think of something else... The previous arrangement continued, grenade, dodge, feather, dodge, sonic blast, dodge, all while the two combatants' path spiralled up the tower, higher and higher above the street. His mind raced. Cowl, won't work. Shut down his tech-flight, won't work. Electrocute him, won't w- His spider-sense exploded, one of the biggest surges he'd ever felt, and time seemed to slow down. For three and a half precious seconds, Peter could feel everything that was happening around him: he was at the top of the tower, holding a web attached to the spire, while some terrified pigeons scattered nearby, and another grenade slipped into the Vulture's hand, and wind rushed at high speeds... and a large, automated machinegun, affixed atop one of the tower's gargoyles, swiveled on hydraulics and targeted Spider-Man.

NO! Peter barely reacted in time, letting go and firing another web down towards a lower window before pulling hard, yanking himself downward just as the weapon began loudly shooting. He could feel the slipstream of one of the rounds as it sliced through the air less than an inch over his back. Thankfully, it fired its burst and he was out of reach, sailing downward out of the line of fire. "What's the matter, Spider-Man!?" The Vulture taunted as he fell free, "Not afraid of a few armor-piercing rounds, are you!?" It was all too obvious now that Toomes had been flushing him upward into the killzone, and he felt a bit stupid for not catching on ahead of time. He easily webbed his way to a ledge safely, and took a moment to swap his web-shooter cartridges and think while Vulture circled back around.

I'm not going to be able to gain any high ground on him like this... how are those things even targeting? They can't be manned, because I left the control room empty, so some kind of tracking software... infrared? No, that's dumb, they'd shoot Vulture too, not to mention every passing bird and helicopter. He'd need to program them to target only me somehow. With his work done, and the sound of his enemy's tech flight approaching, he got moving, swinging around the tower to stay out of Vulture's range. Best guess is it's visual. It can't be shape-based, because Beaky would have to know my exact size measurements, and that would be creepy even for him. Color maybe? He considered that for a moment, looking down at his own costume. Bright red and blue... as long as there's no American flags at that height, that could work... but I can't just take my costume off. Douse myself in paint? No, that's... that's really, bonus, extra stupid.

Inspiration struck. Suddenly, Peter knew what to do. He let go of his current web, letting it swing ahead without him, and fell to a shady ledge, carefully creeping back into the corner to go unseen. Vulture wheeled around in pursuit, following and spotting the web. Assuming Spider-Man had gone that way, he flew after, and Peter was granted a few free moments to set up his plan. "Man, fell for the same trick twice in a week... 'Master Planner' my tucus..." He swung down towards the street, looking for cops, and spotted the barricade that was being set up in the intersection.

"Remember, I want our boys minding the perimeter from at least twenty yards back, SWAT can get into position any time they like," Captain Stacy called out as several of his officers shepherded civilians away and put up the dividers.

Carter pointed upward. "Cap, heads up!"

Stacy looked as Spider-Man descended with his signature thwip noise, landed perfectly, and jogged over without missing a beat. "Spider-Man! What's the situation? Anything you need?"

"I need your jacket!"

"My... wait, what?"

Peter snapped his fingers impatiently. "Your jacket, the one you're wearing, hand it over, gimmegimmegimme!"

Though confused, the Captain complied, shedding his blue jacket and handing it to Spider-Man, who immediately jumped up and webbed away without another word. Carter gave Stacy a quizzical look, and Stacy merely shrugged.

The Vulture, meanwhile, had caught on that he had been duped, and was now hovering high above and scanning the city below for any sign of his prey. He finally spotted Spider-Man, carrying some flapping blue object and swinging up the tower, and attacked, divebombing towards the hero. He was running low on ammunition, as well as power for the sonic device, so he simply bared his bladed wings and went in for the kill. Spider-Man, meanwhile, had landed on the side of the tower, and while clinging there began waving the jacket with his free hand. "Ole!"

While Vulture speed up, Spidey leapt from the wall again and webbed up to Toomes, pulling himself towards him. Vulture swiped with his wing, but Peter managed to flip over the attack and land safely on Vulture's back.

"Trying that again!?" Vulture laughed. "I thought you were more adaptable than this!"

"What can I say? I don't like change. I stick with what I know. But you on the other hand? Beaky, I think you're overdue for a makeover." Acting quickly as Vulture tried to shake him off, he reached down and webbed Captain Stacy's jacket to one of the Vulture's wings, covering up the dark green part. With that done, he webbed away again.

"Huh?" Vulture asked, looking at his newly-clothed wing in confusion, before he was suddenly struck in the back of the head by one of Spider-Man's solid web bullets. "ARGH!" Spidey kept up a barrage from above, and Vulture angrily swerved to go after him, prompting Peter to flee by web-lining upwards towards the top of the tower.

They ascended quickly, but Spider-Man was smart enough to stop short of the guns' radius this time, webbing up to the bottom of a gargoyle and hanging from it. Vulture rose up before him, giving a nasty leer and spreading his wings. Hovering in place and slowly rising, Vulture grinned. "And tell me, what exactly do you intend to do now?"

Peter shrugged. "Meh. I'll wing it."

The anti-aircraft weapon on this side zeroed in on Vulture's right wing, locking on to the combination of the blue jacket and red metal accents. It opened fire, and the armor-piercing rounds tore through the wing and shredded it along with the jacket.

"AUAAAAAGH!" Toomes howled as he spiraled out of control, spinning towards the streets below. As soon as he was low enough, Peter webbed down to him and grabbed hold, before webbing over to the nearest convenient rooftop, guiding Vulture into a nice, controlled crash.

Vulture slid to a stop on the roof, grunting in pain as his demolished wing sparked. Spider-Man landed neatly, and crouched down next to the old-timer. "Heh, get it? I said I'd wing it."

Toomes gritted his teeth in a glare, and tried to swing his other wing to attack, but Peter easily webbed it down to the roof.

"Be quiet, you insufferable little- mmph!" The elderly scavenger was cut off as his mouth was webbed up.

"Oh, Beaky, I'm sorry, I didn't mean that! Please, what were you saying?" Spidey reached down and tore the web off.

"I said that I'm not- MPH!" His mouth had been webbed again.

"Oh, man, I'm so sorry, I can't help it, it's like a compulsion..." he kept webbing Vulture up, encasing him in a nice, snug cocoon. "Aw, sorry! Sorry, Beaks! Aw man, I'm sorry, the compulsion, it owns me..." he reached down and picked up a webline, tossing it over his shoulder and using it to drag the villain away. "Tell you what, let's get therapy together! I can learn to stop webbing people up, and you can learn to stop being a scary lunatic who dresses up like a parrot."

"VMMMPPHHRRR!"

"That's the spirit! If you keep up that positive attitude, there's nothing you can't achieve!"

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Peter wouldn't have believed it possible, but his day actually got busier from there. He made it to school for the afternoon, and had to make the rounds to his usual morning classes between periods to pick up the new assignments, and all that after having to hectically find a place to change from his costume. When the bell finally rung, it still wasn't over, as he felt the need to debrief on his misadventure with the Vulture. Scrambling to change back, he swung across town to make his way to the precinct, scurried down the wall to the window he knew led to Captain Stacy's office, and carefully looked in. When he was sure the captain was alone, he opened the window and slipped inside.

"Peter." Stacy said calmly, without looking up from his paperwork. "Figured you'd appear about now, though you know you could have used the front door this time."

"Force of habit."

Stacy turned to face him. "So I guess I'm not getting my jacket back."

"Nope. Sorry."

"My badge was in there. I have to pay the department to get it replaced."

"I'm sorry, I'll pay for it, I-"

Stacy smiled and held up a hand. "It's fine. I should have taken it out of my pocket before I handed the jacket over."

"So... how'd we do?" Peter asked.

"Very well... after a fashion. I think it goes without saying that Grand Central wasn't destroyed in an enormous explosion."

"Kinda feel like I would have heard."

"...And, Adrian Toomes is on his way back to out-processing, with a cozy Vault cell waiting for him."

"So it looks like we wrapped everything up?"

"Well... not as such." Stacy linked his fingers pensively. "Peter, there was no bomb. We searched the entire tower, top to bottom, and the station. No sign of an incendiary or gas device, or any of the materials to make one. And none of the Master Planner's crew you rounded up seem to know anything about a bomb plot. Toomes was clearly sticking to the bomb story at first, but he's clammed up hard, won't give anything."

"But... what about the informant?"

"That's the unsettling part. Mr. Jackson has disappeared, and none of the gang claim to have ever associated with anyone by that name. His records appeared solid at first, but closer scrutiny has indicated signs of falsification."

"This doesn't make sense... he knew where the Planner's base was, he knew everything, the guns and all..."

"Peter... something just happened here, and I don't know what. Somebody has some kind of plan, somebody smart enough to move pieces right under our noses. And unfortunately, it seems like we played right into it."

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A day later, Toomes found himself being guided into the out-processing center, having traded in his high-tech flight harness for a simple prisoners' jumpsuit. He was taken to his own gloomy cell and locked in, where he sighed and sat down on the cot, waiting. A voice spoke to him from the opposite cell.

"Hello, Adrian," said Octavius. "So good to catch up with friends."

"Otto!" said Toomes in surprise, standing up.

"You know, I don't recall giving you permission to take my title while I was in prison. And all this absurdity about a bomb..."

Toomes went to the front of his cell and looked out, making sure no guards were in earshot. "It's not what you think! It wasn't my idea, just part of the plan."

Octavius hesitated. "Plan? What plan?"

Toomes smiled. "You're going to like this."

AN: I'm not entirely sure if I'm happy with how this one came out... feels a bit slow to me, paced kinda funny and spends a LOT of time in Peter's inner monologue. Part of the problem is that parts of this chapter had to be written almost a year apart from each other, so a lot of my vision for it could have gotten muddled a bit over time. Oh well, eye of the beholder and all, so please tell me what you thought, and one way or another, I will, as always, strive to make the next chapter better. :)

Also, I'll come clean on a minor continuity mishap here: Greg Weisman, one of the producers of the Spectacular Spider-Man, has stated online that Octavius was taken straight back to Ravencroft after his capture on Valentine's Day, but by the time I had found that out, I had already structured the story to be reliant on his transfer to the Vault, so... yeah. Expect hiccups like that from time to time.