I would like to thank the guest who pointed out the mistake. Thanks a lot!

Phanfan925: Yeah, I know I'm popping up a lot many questions, but don't worry, they will surely be answered soon. In fact I'm nearing that phase. This setting of the background (all the questions and mysteries) is almost over, and from this chapter, it's mostly progress. I hope you get it after reading it. Maybe a few questions will still pop out, but answers will be found out soon (if only I could finish this even sooner...). Apparently, Harry will be appearing a little later...

Thanks to everyone who has followed and favorited this story.

All of you just make my day. All of you (mentioned or not mentioned).

Thanks!

"You can come and sit inside," MJ suggested, as they stood before the entrance to the Bugle, "Or you may need to go home?"

"I'd better get going," Miles said, deciding to talk to her later as it was getting a little late. "Sure you're gonna be alright here?"

MJ looked around, then in confirmation, nodded. "Yeah, I should. Thanks."

Miles nodded his head too. "Call if you need help, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Don't be a stranger."

MJ smiled. "No. I won't."

She walked in and Miles fished out his phone, trying to call Peter at least one more time. He dialed his number, but Peter didn't pick it up.

Miles was having a bad feeling. What if when Peter had drowned, sharks or crocodiles had eaten him up? He was being stupid, but who knew? No. Miles shook his head and was about to walk down the entrance steps of the Bugle when his spider sense tingled and he caught a flash of movement from the back of his eye.

He turned around, following the movement but whoever it was must have hidden himself on a terrace in the night sky.

Miles rushed down the steps and turned to the alley next to the Bugle. He swung his backpack in his hand and brought out his hand-made mask and put it on. Then, hiding himself in the shadows, he changed into the rest of his costume, and with the bag strapped to his back, he climbed up the building up to the terrace.

He almost fell off when he saw the person lying next to his feet. He recognized him. It was the man who he had seen in MJ's corridor, cleaning the floor. Miles leaned and pulled up the man's wrist. He could feel no pulse. It was then that he noticed that the man's shirt was burnt. His burnt skin showed. And beside him lay a few red petals, and Miles knew they were rose petals.

The air suddenly turned chilly and yet Miles found himself sweating. His heart hammered inside his ribs, and he could practically hear it, his breathing synchronizing with the rhythm. He looked around for any other body. There were none. Yet it confused him if it was the same guy he had seen moments ago. But it could not be. How would someone just fly across roofs and die all of a sudden?

He heard a muffled scream to his left. He turned his head. And then he saw. Two men were on the terrace of another building a block away. One was standing, holding the other by the throat. He was wearing a mask. A white mask.

It happened in seconds. The man in the white mask turned to Miles, and following that, let go of the man held at his mercy, who just collapsed, and Miles had no doubt the man had suffered the same fate as this guy lying dead next to him. Both Miles and the white mask froze and stared at each other, but then , the latter moved. Miles followed him. He leaped across the emptiness between the building he was on and the next.

For the next five minutes, the chase had continued until Miles gained on the man, and in the last second, Miles shot out his webs at him, wrapping his legs and throwing him down on a roof. Miles accelerated next to him, and turned the man lying face-down. Just as he did that, the man in the white mask jabbed him on the face, and tore open the webbing that held his feet together.

"Who are you?" Miles asked out aloud, "You aren't the Chameleon, are you?"

"No," the man said from behind the mask. His voice was deep and modified, but something about it felt familiar. As if Miles had heard it somewhere.

"What are you doing to them?"

"None of your business," the man said and lunged at him.

Miles' sixth sense rang out, and he shifted to his right, but the man stopped himself at the right time, and catching hold of his shoulder, thrust Miles down. Miles clasped the man's foot, and pushed it to the side, in an attempt to unbalance him. But he was rooted to the spot, and didn't even budge. Instead, he pulled Miles up by the neck and landed a kick on his abdomen.

Miles gasped, clutching his stomach, and then his world turned dark.

"How long have I been out?" Peter asked.

"Three days," Gwen said.

Three days were a lot.

Peter looked down at himself. His Spider-Man costume wasn't there anymore. Instead, he had been dressed in a lose yellow buttoned shirt and brown pajamas.

Gwen looked down at the bowl of soup in her hand, and brought it up and slipped a spoon into Peter's mouth.

It was hot and had pepper. Peter figured he had caught a fever when he had drowned. He was actually feeling very heavy. But still the pains in his shoulder and leg were worse.

"I was shot."

"Yes," Gwen said, herself sipping soup from the spoon, "You were. But I removed the bullets."

"How many?"

"Two in total."

Peter nodded. Right now he was too tired to speak, but he asked.

"How did you find me?"

Gwen waved her hand.

"That's a long story. You should rest now. I'll tell you later."

"It is really you?"

"I am who I am," Gwen said, "But I don't know exactly who you're talking about. I don't know about that."

"You don't remember?" Peter asked for the hundredth time.

"No," she replied for the hundredth time, equally patiently. Then she looked up and at him in the eye, her own eyes showing despair and helplessness. "I don't know anything. Just my name. Gwen Stacy. Is all. Or was there something else too?"

Peter sighed. "You know it as only Gwen?"

"Yes. Tell me. Is there anything else too?"

"Gwendolyne, Gwen. It's Gwendolyne Maxine Stacy."

"Oh," Gwen said, bringing up another spoon full of soup to his mouth, her face full of sadness.

"No," Peter said, "I don't want more. Please."

Gwen nodded, her eyes too sad. Peter still wondered if he was dreaming. And it really felt like one. Because he perfectly remembered that night. That night when Gwen had died. Right before his eyes. It couldn't be her.

"Gwen?" Peter called to her and she looked at him. "Can you come a little closer?" Peter had to be sure.

She obeyed. Peter raised his hand, as much as the chains would let him, in turn reminding him that he had been cuffed. It all was a sign that he was trapped.

Peter's fingers crawled to the side of her neck, and searched for any irregularity on her skin. For another layer of skin. Finding none, his hands travelled upward. Behind her ears. At the side of her face. Nothing. He reached to the back of her neck. Nothing. To the back of her head. Still nothing. No. It couldn't be anyone masked as Gwen. If he remembered correctly, Yuri had told him that the Chameleon was still in prison, but the technology of his mask had found its way out. But this couldn't be anyone disguised as Gwen, because Peter felt her breath. The scent. The way she was breathing. It was Gwen. There could be no mistake. But yet, how? How had she survived? And even if she did, where had she been all this time? These six years?

"What's wrong?" Gwen asked, noticing Peter's eyes all swelled up with tears.

"Nothing," he whispered, now confirmed that this wasn't any imposter. And the way she had narrated about waking up in a hospital. It had to be real. "I missed you."

"But I don't even know you."

"No. You just don't remember."

Peter was about to say something, when he felt her breath extremely near him, and she lessened the distance between them. It was not another second, when he felt her lips on his. He shouldn't be doing that, but he remembered the last time he reacted upon this, and what it had brought upon Gwen. No. He couldn't let her go through all that now, not again. Not now. It was a miracle that she was here, a scar running down the side of her face, but still here.

They stayed like that for a while, and then she pulled away.

"If you don't remember," Peter couldn't stop himself from saying, "Then why do you do this?"

"I…I…" Gwen stammered, tears flowing down her cheeks, and Peter held out his hand to wipe them, almost regretting why he had said that, his doubts that it was her even clearer now. It had to be her. But then the chains pulled back and he was brought back to the present.

"Gwen," he decided to say after all, "Why have you tied me up with chains?"

Gwen closed her eyes, as if going through a difficult phase, which Peter was sure, was true. But he was too panicked to think further, and he was already feeling the urge to break and run. Something just didn't feel right.

"Gwen?" he said, huffing, "Why am I in chains?"

"It's for your own good," Gwen's voice was a mere whisper. She said it as if it was something very difficult for her. But Peter couldn't understand.

"How?" Peter tugged at the chains. "How can it be good? Gwen!"

Gwen took a deep breadth. "I'm sorry," she said, standing up and turning her back to him, "It's for your good."

"Gwen?"

"I'm sorry," Gwen said, walking out of the room and gently closing the door behind her, not even once looking back.

"Gwen?" Peter cried, tugging wildly at the chains and kicking his legs, "Gwen! Let me go! Gwen! Please! No!"

Peter thrashed his arms and legs, but only to be restrained by the chains.

"Gwen… Please!"

No response came from the other side of the room. Peter lay back on the pillow, his body extremely drained of energy, and blacked out…

When Miles woke up he was still on the terrace. The night had turned cold. The first thing he did was look at the time. It was almost eleven. Damn. His mom would be waiting and worried sick for him. So he took out his phone (which was miraculously still with him) and checked for any missed call. Yes. There were five of them, all from his mother.

He was formulating a plan about what he should be telling her, when he turned around and saw the six people now before him. He was sure they were dead. And he didn't need to look at what the red things were, clasped in their hands.

He rang up MJ.

She picked up in the third ring.

"Miles."

"MJ, you still at the Bugle?"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"How long do you plan to be?"

"Whole night, Miles. There's a lot of work and it might be helpful in keeping my mind from worrying too much. I also need to think of something to search for Peter. Where are you?"

"Yeah, that's the important question now."

"Huh?"

"MJ, do you work in a common room with the rest of your colleagues or do you have a room of your own?"

"Uh…I do have a room of my own now, Miles. But why?"

"Then good. Call someone up and lock yourself in the room for a while, and don't go out if you hear anything disturbing. Just stay where you are, and keep your gun ready. You have it with you?"

"Yeah, it's with me. But… I don't understand. What's happening?"

"I found the six guys spying on you, MJ. And they had followed us here."

"What!"

"Yes."

"Where are they now? Are they still around?"

"That's the disturbing thing, MJ. They are around, but all dead."

MJ gasped from the other side of the line.

"MJ, stay where you are, and keep your gun in hand. Keep it with you. Those six weren't the only ones following you."

"Who else was?"

Miles sighed.

"That same guy who killed your pursuer on Fifth Avenue, and…it's the same guy…must be the same…who has killed these men, MJ. I figured the signature. Roses and burns on the victims."

"But…why is he coming after me? I didn't do anything wrong!"

"I don't know what they want, MJ. Just stay there. And call me if you need me."

MJ said after a pause: "Okay."

Miles was about to hang up when he remembered something else.

"Hello?" he said into his phone.

"Yeah?"

"MJ…if you see anybody with a white mask, or anybody behaving strangely, the way they usually don't, get away at once. You have my number. You can call the cops. But get away at once if you see anyone like that."

"White mask? You saw him?"

"Yeah. And he's the reason I'm so late now at calling you. I should have called you hours back."

"What do you want?" Peter asked Otto Octavius, who was standing before him, utter helplessness showing in his features. "I can't help you."

"I don't need your help, Parker. I ask you for your forgiveness."

"Forgiveness?" Peter found his tone rising. "After what you've done? Do you even know what your actions cost me? Just what your stupid revenge did?"

"To be telling the truth, I shouldn't be apologizing to you, Parker. After all, it was your fault. You had designed the neural interface. It's your fault and you turned me into a monster."

Peter went cold. Because this was the last thing he wanted to hear. He always knew this was coming, but he hadn't expected to hear it right now. But it wasn't as big a surprise. Everything was his fault, eventually. No matter what he did, no matter how hard he tried to make things right, everything was his fault: Uncle Ben's death, Gwen's death, Aunt May's death, Otto Octavius' death…

"You can't just go on blaming me like that," Peter muttered, "I had warned you about the neural interface. I had yet to perfect it."

"You didn't need time, Parker. You could have done it all at once, had you not been swinging around the city with your webs."

"Stop," Peter cried, "I've had enough of this. What I did was…"

Peter couldn't finish saying when the ground started to tremble, and Otto's mechanical arms jutted out and clasped his face, lifting him up by it. The quake got intense…

"Peter!" Otto said, "Peter! Wake up! Peter! Now! We've got to be going…"

Peter opened his eyes to find Gwen by his side, shaking his hand and poking his face.

It had to be morning now. Light streamed into the room from the open door which led to the other room.

"Get up, Peter," Gwen said in a hurry, "We need to get moving. Right now!"

Peter sat up, unable to process what was going on.

"Can you stand up?" Gwen asked him.

"I think so," Peter said, and slowly slid his feet off the bed. His hands clutched the edge of the bed. It was then that he realized that the chains had been removed.

"Stand up, Peter. We really need to get going now. They'll be here any minute now. We need to get out before they reach here."

"They? Who's 'they'?" Peter asked, slowly standing on his feet. His head suddenly felt very heavy and he sat down once again.

"Ooh, watch out," Gwen said, catching hold of his arm. Peter winced. Pain shot up in his shoulder.

"I'm okay, I'm okay."

Peter tried standing once again, this time holding Gwen's hand in support.

"We don't have time," Gwen said, wrapping his arm around her neck. "Let's get going."

"But go where? Who's coming?" Peter said as he managed to walk with her. His shin was creating problems.

Gwen didn't answer as they headed out of the room and into the next room, which Peter noticed was almost empty, except for a sofa, a wooden table which could provide seats for four, and a lamp.

Gwen pushed open the door and they walked out into a bright, warm, sunlit morning.

There was water surrounding them, and before him, next to a dock, rested a motor boat.

"We need to get moving," Gwen said, "Will you be able to cope up? You have to."

"But Gwen…who's coming?"

Gwen looked him in the eye for just a second, and turned away. She gulped. Finally she decided to answer his question.

"It's dangerous if you are found here."

"But Gwen…who? Who's coming?"

Gwen looked around. "The Rose."

Yeah, I know, much didn't go on in this chapter, but it's an important one.

Some feedback from readers will be highly appreciated...

By the way, have you guessed who the main antagonist will be here? Antagonist...or...antagonists (plural)...