Black Cat's hair was a mess, as if she'd just rolled out of bed, and her pale face made it clear she'd been sick. She glared at Spider-Man, her frustration evident.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Black Cat demanded, her voice sharp.
"Because it's fun," Spider-Man replied with a smirk. "And let's be honest, someone probably already snapped a photo of you puking."
She was furious. Since Spider-Man toying with her, treating her like some kind of prop he could toss around.
"Next time I catch you stealing, the punishment's going to be even worse. You've been warned, darling," Spider-Man said, shooting a web and swinging away.
"Bye, honey," Black Cat muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation.
Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Kingpin was seething.
"Why is Spider-Man still alive?" he growled, slamming his fist on the desk. To him, Spider-Man was far more troublesome than Daredevil ever was.
His anger only grew as he thought about the recent report from one of his subordinates. Spider-Man had destroyed one of his warehouses, and the failed deal with Hydra still weighed heavily on his mind.
"I don't know, sir. Bullseye hasn't responded to any of our calls or messages," one of his lackeys replied nervously.
"Then he's probably dead," Kingpin said coldly. "Find another mercenary. I want Spider-Man taken care of permanently. He's costing me too much."
The lackey nodded and quickly left the room to make the call.
"Hello," a voice answered on the other end.
"I've got a job for you," the lackey said.
"How much?" the voice asked.
"Ten million dollars," the lackey replied.
"Who's the target?"
"Spider-Man."
There was a pause, followed by a low chuckle. "Have the money ready. That bug won't see me coming."
The Next Day, Around 2 PM,
Peter sat motionless, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. His mind had drifted far away, leaving him disconnected from the world around him. He was completely lost in thought until a hand waved briskly up and down in front of his face, snapping him back to reality.
Startled, Peter shook his head and blinked, finally registering the presence in front of him. When he looked up, he saw a familiar face: a stunning blonde woman with a warm smile. He knew exactly who she was; Susan Storm-Richards, the wife of his former boss.
"Are you daydreaming, Peter?" she teased, sliding into the seat across from him.
Peter ignored her playful tone. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice flat.
"Having lunch," Susan replied casually. "What does it look like?"
"Alone? Oh, right," Peter said, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice. "I forgot your husband's a workaholic."
Susan chuckled softly. "Haha, fair enough. But enough about Reed. How are *you* doing?"
"I'm fine," Peter said, though his tone suggested otherwise. He paused, then added, "Have you made any big breakthroughs lately?"
Susan's eyes lit up. "Actually, yes. Reed discovered a new dimension. He's calling it the Negative Zone."
Peter's expression darkened instantly. "Tell him and the others not to step into that dimension," he said firmly, his voice low and urgent.
Susan blinked, caught off guard by the sudden seriousness in his tone. "Okay, I'll tell them," she said slowly. "But why? What's wrong with it?"
Peter leaned forward, his eyes locking onto hers. "You *have* to stop them. Force them if you have to."
Susan frowned, her curiosity piqued. "Peter, do you know something about this dimension? Reed just discovered it. How could you–?"
"It's dangerous," Peter interrupted. "That's all I can say."
Susan tried to lighten the mood. "We've handled dangerous before. You know that."
Peter's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Not like this. If any of you step into that dimension, one of you *will* die."
The weight of his words hung heavily in the air. Susan studied him carefully, her playful demeanor fading. She trusted Peter, he had worked closely with Reed in the past, and he was practically family. If he was this serious, there had to be a reason.
To break the tension, Susan shifted the conversation. "How's your family? Are they doing okay?"
Peter hesitated, then nodded. "They're fine. Thanks for asking."
The two continued talking for a while, the earlier intensity fading into a more casual exchange. When they finished, Peter offered to drive Susan back to the Baxter Building. As they pulled up to the iconic tower, Susan stepped out of the car and turned to him.
"Come inside," she said with a smile. "The others would love to see you."
Peter shook his head. "I'm fine. Maybe another time."
Susan nodded, though her expression showed a hint of disappointment. "Alright. Take care, Peter."
"Bye, Susan," Peter replied.
As Susan walked toward the building, Peter drove off, his mind already racing ahead. He didn't look back. Instead, he headed straight for home.
Later that night, around 8 p.m.,
The city was cloaked in a hazy glow from the streetlights below. Spider-Man swung through the building, his movements fluid and precise, as he made his way toward another one of Kingpin's warehouses.
His mission was clear: dismantle the operation and leave a message for the crime lord. But as he arced through the air, a sudden *whoosh* cut through the night—a shield sliced through his webline, sending him plummeting toward the ground.
With the grace of a seasoned acrobat, Spider-Man twisted mid-air and landed neatly on a nearby rooftop. He crouched for a moment, his lenses narrowing as he scanned the area.
"Not this again," he muttered, annoyance creeping into his voice. His webline has been cut one too many times.
The shield, now spinning back through the air, returned to its owner with uncanny precision. The figure who caught it stood tall and imposing, clad in a skull mask, sleek armor, and a white hooded cape that fluttered slightly in the breeze. A sword rested on his back, its hilt glinting ominously under the moonlight.
Spider-Man straightened up, his gaze locking onto the newcomer. "Of course," he said dryly, "it's you. Taskmaster"
Taskmaster tilted his head slightly, the skull mask giving nothing away. "You know me, bug," he replied, his voice cool and measured, though there was a hint of surprise that Spider-Man had recognized him so quickly.
"I'm an arachnid, dammit," Spider-Man shot back, his tone dripping with mock exasperation. "Why is it that everyone I fight is stupid?"
Taskmaster's grip tightened on his shield, the faintest twitch of irritation betraying his otherwise calm demeanor. He grunted, clearly unamused by the jab.
Without another word, Taskmaster drew his sword in one swift motion and charged, his movements a blur of lethal precision.
The blade gleamed as it sliced through the air, aimed straight for Spider-Man. But Spider-Man didn't flinch. He stood his ground, his posture relaxed, almost casual.
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I have been rebirthed, and this is another try at writing a story. If you like the story so far, you can sub to my Patreon for advanced chapters.
Right now, we're at Chapter 13.
👉 [Patreon .com/The_Undying_One]
Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the start. See you later!