Spider-Man: Black and Blue (AU) Chapter 15: Spider-Man (2)

[Third Person's PoV] 


Damon soared through the city, swinging between towering skyscrapers with such blinding speed that most pedestrians couldn’t even make out what had passed above them. His every movement was sharp, calculated, and executed with the grace of someone who had done this a hundred times before. 


Up ahead, three teenagers were racing down the street on skateboards, weaving through traffic and pedestrians with reckless abandon. Their backpacks bounced with each movement, overstuffed with stolen goods from a local convenience store they had just looted.


“Oi!” Damon called out, his voice laced with sarcasm as he closed in on them. “Those snacks weren’t part of a 100% discount sale! You still have to pay, you know!”


The teens whipped their heads around in unison, only to be met with the sight of a masked figure in a sleek, spider-themed suit swinging directly at them. Their expressions shifted from smug confidence to stunned disbelief.


With a flick of his wrist, Damon launched a webline that snagged the skateboard out from under the nearest teen. The boy yelped in surprise, flailing mid-air, but before he could faceplant, Damon fired another webline, snagging him mid-fall. In one fluid motion, he spun him around and webbed him up to a nearby lamppost, leaving him dangling upside down like a Christmas ornament.


“This,” Damon announced, dusting his hands dramatically, “is what I like to call a sticky time-out.”


Without breaking stride, Damon swung forward, his next target in his sights. He fired a web that latched onto the second thief’s backpack and connected him to the side of building. The skateboarder, unaware of the sudden tether, kept pushing forward—until the web pulled taut and launched him off his board, slamming him into a brick wall with a dull thud. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.


“Watch your head!” Damon called out mockingly as he fired a web to latch him place so he wouldn't escape. 


Now only one teen remained. Panic etched into every line of his face, he pumped his legs frantically, his skateboard wheels shrieking against the pavement. As the other two vanished from his peripheral, he blindly charged into a busy intersection, heart thudding in his chest and fear clouding all rational thought.


A deafening horn roared to life. He turned his head just in time to see a massive delivery truck barreling toward him. Time seemed to freeze.


But just before disaster struck, a blur of white and blue zipped through the air. Damon shot in like a missile, grabbed the teen by the collar, and yanked him into the air, swinging across the street to safety.


“Really?” Damon said, raising a brow under his mask. “Am I that scary that you forgot how to look both ways before crossing? And here I thought I was handsome.”


“You… You saved my life!” the boy stammered, breathlessly, still in shock.


“Yeah, well, saving lives doesn’t mean you’re off the hook,” Damon replied, spinning the teen around and webbing his hands and feet together before planting him gently on the corner of the street.


“Take a seat. Reflect on your life choices,” Damon advised. “And don’t even think about escaping. I’ll find you.”


With that, he leapt into the air, webbing onto a nearby building. As he swung off, his voice echoed behind him: “Also, stealing snacks isn’t exactly a grand heist!”


…


Moments later, Damon dove toward a small bodega, having spotted something troubling from above. The windows revealed a tense situation: a masked gunman was holding a terrified cashier at gunpoint. The shelves stood frozen in time, the quiet dread inside almost tangible.


Damon landed silently, then strolled inside as if he were just there to grab a soda.


“Hello, folks,” he said cheerfully. “Happy shopping!”


The gunman spun around, pointing the pistol directly at Damon. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”


“I’m just your friendly neighborhood guy with a conscious,” Damon quipped, his tone light.


“Don’t you mean conscience?” chimed in Richard through the earpiece in Damon’s mask.


“Nope,” Damon muttered back. “Exactly as I said it.”


With no more words, Damon sprung into action. He pivoted on one foot, delivering a spinning high-kick that sent the gun flying from the man’s hand. Then, in the same fluid motion, Damon grabbed the thug by the collar and slammed his head into the counter, knocking him out cold.


“See what I mean?” Damon said, brushing his hands off. 


Richard busted out into laughter. 


He turned to the wide-eyed cashier, gave him a two-finger salute, and jogged backwards toward the door. “Stay safe, alright?” he called before leaping outside and disappearing into the skyline once more.


…


High above the city, Damon swung in wide arcs through the late afternoon sun, the golden light casting dramatic shadows on the buildings below. A police chase unfolded beneath him—squad cars trailed a speeding vehicle that was clearly out of control, swerving wildly between lanes.


“Looks like the brakes are out,” Richard reported through the comms. “They’re trying to guide the driver to safety without causing a pileup.”


“Understood,” Damon replied. He adjusted his trajectory and accelerated, shooting two webs forward and slingshotting himself ahead like a missile.


He dropped from the sky near the intersection, planting himself squarely in front of the oncoming car. The driver, a woman, screamed in panic, eyes wide as she gripped the wheel.


“Easy…” Damon muttered.


He caught the car by the front bumper, digging his heels into the asphalt. The ground tore beneath him as the tires screeched, rubber burning and smoke pouring into the air. Damon’s muscles strained, his body low to the ground as he brought the car to a grinding halt mere feet from a crowded city bus.


“Out of the car! Now!” he barked, waving his head.


The woman, still stunned, snapped into action. She unhooked her seatbelt, kicked open the door, and stumbled away from the vehicle.


Damon exhaled. Then, to ensure it wouldn’t roll forward again, he flipped the car over with a grunt, landing it upside down with its wheels still spinning aimlessly in the air.


Cops screeched to a halt beside him, doors swinging open as officers spilled out with disbelief painted on their faces.


Damon looked back at the stunned woman. “I seriously hope you’ve got good insurance,”


And then, just before swinging away, he shouted, “You know, you could save 15% or more with Geico!”


Richard’s voice snapped back in his ear, “You need to stop giving free ads. We’re not getting revenue!”


Damon just laughed as he disappeared into the horizon once again.


…


As Damon swung high above the cityscape, the sun casting long shadows across the rooftops, something caught his eye—movement in a hidden alleyway partially obscured by a large moving truck parked in front of an open warehouse. Most people would’ve missed it, but Damon’s enhanced vision allowed him to zoom in from a distance, adjusting his focus with precision.


Down below, a security guard lay unconscious near the warehouse entrance, his cap askew and a trickle of blood trailing from his temple. Damon narrowed his eyes. A group of masked individuals were hauling boxes and crates out of the warehouse, hurriedly loading them into the truck with practiced movements. It was a robbery in progress—textbook stuff.


Without hesitation, Damon shot a webline and swung around, landing silently atop the truck with perfect balance. He took a single breath, crouched down, then flipped off the roof and landed in front of the group, startling them.


“Wow,” Damon said, eyes scanning the crooks. “Is this, like, some weird dress code moving companies have now?”


“Damn it, he saw us!” one of the men barked. “Take him down!”


Damon’s spider-sense screamed in his head, and he instinctively flipped backward just as a thug rushed him with a bat. Twisting in mid-air, Damon fired two weblines that latched onto the thug’s back and yanked himself down with force. He collided with the man’s body, slamming him hard into the pavement.


“Nighty-night,” Damon muttered before leaping forward.


Another man charged him, but Damon met him with a running dropkick, launching the guy into a pile of stacked cardboard boxes. “So… is the whole outfit thing mandatory, or is this bring-your-own-mask-to-work-day?”


Before anyone could answer, a crowbar swung toward his head. Damon ducked, then casually flung a webline over his shoulder. It latched onto the assailant’s face, yanking the man forward. Damon twisted and flipped him over his back, sending him crashing to the ground with a groan.


“You gotta tell me about the benefits,” Damon added, brushing dust from his suit. “I’m thinking of getting a summer job—maybe something with health insurance?”


Suddenly, a hulking brute of a man lumbered toward him, fists clenched like sledgehammers. The giant swung, but Damon caught the punch one-handed, absorbing the force with ease. Then, like a flurry of fists straight out of a boxing montage, Damon pummeled the man’s torso with quick, clean jabs—dodging each retaliatory swing with graceful movements. “I mean look, I even brought my own mask! I fit in with you guys! You must tell me what's the pay” 


Finally, he ducked low and launched an uppercut that lifted the brute off his feet. As the man hung in the air for a heartbeat, Damon delivered a sidekick that sent him flying backward into the side of the truck, denting the metal with a loud clang. A thick coating of webbing sealed him to the truck wall in an instant.


“Do you ever shut up?!” another thug roared, charging with a metal bat and swinging it at Damon’s head.


Damon caught it mid-swing with one hand. The bat groaned under the pressure of his grip, metal crumpling inward in the exact shape of his fingers.


“Hey, how else am I supposed to apply for the job if I don’t pitch my qualifications?” Damon asked with a grin.


The thug’s eyes widened in horror, realizing too late what was coming. Damon’s foot lashed out, connecting solidly with the man’s face and sending him sprawling into unconsciousness.


Silence descended on the alley. Damon stood surrounded by groaning, unconscious criminals, most of them tangled in webbing or slumped against crates. He raised his arms dramatically.


“So… am I in? Do I get the job?”


No one answered.


He snapped his fingers. “Darn. No luck.”


From his earpiece, Richard groaned. “Bro… If I have to listen to this every single day, I swear, I might actually shoot myself.”


Damon laughed. “Don’t be so dramatic. C’mon, lighten up. Just call the cops and send them the GPS. I’ll finish tying these guys up and take the guard to the hospital.”


…


Later that evening,, inside the now-cleared warehouse, Damon strolled in with swagger, mask tucked under one arm. His face was lit with pride, the post-adrenaline glow still evident.


Richard stood waiting near the back, arms crossed but a bright grin on his face. As Damon approached, the two bumped fists and dapped each other up with loud enthusiasm.


“Now that is what I call an effective first day,” Richard said, practically giddy with excitement.


“Damn straight,” Damon replied, running a hand through his hair. “I gotta admit—beating up masked robbers? Weirdly fulfilling.”


Richard clapped him on the shoulder. “We’re just getting started. My best friend is officially a superhero now! Things are looking bright, bro.”


“I certainly hope so,” Damon said with a smirk. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to change out of this suit and get some food in me before I collapse.”


“Perfect,” Richard said, patting his back. “I’m feeling generous tonight. Dinner’s on me. You’ve earned it!”


A few minutes later, after closing up their base of operations, the two friends walked off into the city night. Damon slung an arm around Richard’s shoulder, laughing at something only the two of them understood.


Thus concluded a successful—and undeniably chaotic—first day in the life of Damon, the city's newest wall-crawling hero.