The rest of the night passed peacefully for Peter.
Though "peacefully" was relative—his mind remained restless, tangled up in a web of problems that couldn't be solved overnight.
His greatest issue?
He couldn't be everywhere at once.
New York was a massive city, and crime didn't politely wait for him to show up. Villains were scattered, operating in different boroughs, and Peter was just one guy.
He needed allies.
Jess was in Harlem, but she was still in training. She wasn't ready yet.
And he would worry about her too much if she worked alone.
Fortunately, there was already someone operating in that part of the city.
Daredevil.
Peter had heard plenty of stories about him—how he operated in the shadows, taking down criminals with brutal efficiency. If there was anyone who knew how to handle the streets, it was him.
So tomorrow?
Peter was going to find him.
If they could team up, or at least coordinate, it would make things much easier.
There were others too—Iron Fist, She-Hulk, Moon Knight—but they weren't exactly the type to fall in line just because some new hero asked them to.
Peter would have to earn their trust first.
For now, Daredevil was his best bet.
With that thought in mind, he finally drifted off to sleep.
While Peter rested, elsewhere in the city, a storm was brewing.
Kingpin sat in his lavish office, fingers steepled, his face an expressionless mask of cold fury.
Another one of his men had been taken off the board.
Not by the police.
Not by fools in masks who were easily dealt with.
No—by this new one.
This… Spider-Man.
He was a problem.
A serious problem.
Daredevil was already a thorn in his side, but at least he knew the Devil of Hell's Kitchen—knew how he fought, knew his weaknesses.
But this new threat?
He was still unknown.
He had shown dangerous abilities, and unlike Daredevil, he wasn't just sticking to one block.
And he didn't seem like the nice type.
What he had done to Tombstone—the warning he had given—
Kingpin saw the writing on the wall.
They were dealing with a super-powered Punisher.
And that was never a good thing.
Kingpin had learned from his past mistakes.
Daredevil had become a problem because he underestimated him. He had let his underlings handle him instead of dealing with him personally.
That wouldn't happen again.
Not with this Spider-Man.
No, this time, he was going to be ready.
His men were already watching, analyzing everything about Spider-Man—his movements, his fights, his habits.
He had plenty of resources.
He had powerful men at his disposal—men with superhuman abilities, with advanced weapons.
And when the time came…
Spider-Man would fall.
The only question was—
Would he break first?
Or would he beg?
Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin of Crime, was a giant of a man—a towering behemoth with the ideal physique for sumo wrestling, honed through years of relentless training.
But he wasn't just brawn.
He was a mastermind, a criminal genius who had clawed his way to the top from the bottom of the gutter.
Fisk's childhood was a brutal one.
His father was a crack addict, and life was a never-ending struggle for power and survival.
At twelve years old, he committed his first murder—a turning point in his life.
From that day forward, he swore he would never be weak again.
Physical strength became his first obsession.
He trained relentlessly, learning sumo, street fighting, and other forms of combat, forging his body into a living weapon.
But brute force alone wouldn't get him to the top.
So he turned to intelligence.
Fisk had little formal education, but that didn't stop him.
He taught himself—stealing books, borrowing knowledge, absorbing everything he could about science, art, and most importantly, political science.
Through sheer willpower, he became more than just a thug.
He became a strategist.
By fifteen, his ability to organize and lead earned him the title "Kingpin of Crime."
Fisk didn't just rise to power.
He seized it.
He manipulated rival gangs.
He started a drug war.
He orchestrated a battle between two mayoral candidates, ensuring whoever won owed him favors.
Through ruthlessness, planning, and sheer brute force, he emerged victorious.
By the time the dust settled, Fisk was no longer just a player in the underworld.
He was the underworld.
New York belonged to him.
Or at least, it did—until someone challenged him.
Wilson Fisk had ruled the criminal underworld for years.
But now, something had shifted.
His empire—his territory—was being taken from him.
And he knew exactly who was responsible.
Norman Osborn.
They had dealt with each other before.
Both men were monsters in human skin, willing to burn the world to get what they wanted.
But Osborn was different.
Fisk had ambitions, sure—power, control, dominance over crime.
But Osborn?
He wasn't satisfied with just the underworld.
He wanted to rule everything—both the world of darkness and the world of light.
He wasn't just a criminal overlord.
He was a control freak.
And to men like Osborn, there could only be one ruler.
Fisk had fought wars before.
But this was going to be a new kind of battle.
One that wouldn't be won with just fists and guns.
If he wanted to survive—if he wanted to stay on top—
He needed to strike first.
Getting back to Wilson Fisk, he wasn't the type to rush into battle without a plan.
He had learned from experience—losing men was bad for business.
Fisk knew he needed a countermeasure.
Something that wouldn't just fight Spiderman, but hunt him down.
Something that wouldn't be afraid, wouldn't tire, and wouldn't hesitate.
And he knew exactly who could make it happen.
Spencer Smythe was one of Fisk's most promising researchers.
The man was an expert in robotics, a brilliant mind who had already developed security droids for Fisk's most valuable assets.
But Smythe's true ambition?
To build hunters.
Machines like the Sentinels, but built for different prey.
Fisk had funded his early work, and now it was time to expand.
This wasn't just about defense anymore.
This was about hunting down a problem before it became a catastrophe.
Fisk sat across from Smythe, watching the scientist's eager expression as he pitched his idea.
"Can you make it happen?" Fisk asked, his deep voice unwavering.
Smythe grinned, his eyes filled with mad genius ambition.
"Oh, I can do more than that, Mr. Fisk. I can make something that will adapt. Something that will track him no matter where he hides. You give me the resources, and I'll make sure this 'Spiderman' never bothers you again."
Fisk leaned back in his chair, considering the offer.
It was costly, yes.
But worth it.
If it worked, he wouldn't have to send his men to die.
He could let the machines do the dirty work.
And if Spiderman was an enhanced human, like Fisk suspected…
Then maybe he could even be captured and studied.
Turned into something useful.
Or eliminated entirely.
Fisk finally nodded.
"You have your funding."
Fisk wasn't just fighting one war.
He had multiple fronts to deal with.
Tombstone and Persuader were out of the picture for now, but getting them out immediately?
That was too risky.
Some big players might take an interest if he moved too fast.
And the last thing Fisk wanted was SHIELD sniffing around his operations.
The Avengers were already a problem in the city.
He didn't need them breathing down his neck.
So he would wait.
Let things cool off.
Let the heat die down.
And when the time was right…
He'd strike back.
No vigilante ever escaped the watchful eye of J. Jonah Jameson.
And Spiderman was no exception.
The moment Peter put on the mask and took to the streets, he had stepped onto Jameson's battlefield—the battlefield of public perception.
Jameson's editorial fury had hit the morning papers like a sledgehammer.
The headlines screamed:
"WHO IS SPIDERMAN?"
"Attack on Police Station Stopped by Masked Vigilante!"
"Is the Police Force Impotent?"
"Where Did the Fantastic Four Go When the Tragedy Took Place?"
"Where Were the Other Vigilantes?"
Jameson had seized the moment, turning public anger and confusion into a chance to challenge every hero in New York.
And the thing was?
He wasn't entirely wrong.
Even Peter found himself agreeing—where were the others when the chaos unfolded?
Why did he have to be the only one to step up?
Jameson's hatred of vigilantes wasn't blind rage.
It was calculated, logical, and deeply personal.
His life experiences had shaped his worldview.
He had seen too many so-called heroes fall from grace.
He had fought corruption in his own way—through the power of the press.
To him, power without accountability was a dangerous thing.
He had witnessed how even the best men could break under pressure.
That's why he never fully trusted the likes of Spider-Man, Daredevil, or any other masked hero.
But despite his strong stance, Jameson wasn't a liar.
He never faked news to frame those he disliked.
He spoke his truth, and whether people agreed or not, they listened.
Because in an age of sensationalism, Jameson had something rare—integrity.
New York trusted Jameson.
Even those who didn't agree with him respected his words.
When he criticized Spiderman, it wasn't just a rant—it was a call to arms for the city to question who they were letting protect them.
And whether Peter liked it or not…
Jameson's words mattered.
He wasn't just an annoying journalist.
He was one of the most powerful men in New York.
And Peter needed to take him seriously.
Because if Jameson ever turned the whole city against him…
Spiderman's battle wouldn't just be with criminals anymore.
New York had so many powerful heroes.
The Fantastic Four, the Avengers, even people like Doctor Strange—yet crime still infested the city.
Peter had always looked up to these heroes.
But…
Why weren't they doing more?
Was it pride?
Did they think street-level crime was beneath them?
Did they believe it was a waste of their time?
He had to stop himself from making assumptions.
Maybe they had their reasons.
Maybe they were too busy dealing with world-ending threats.
But still…
People were dying.
And he—a single college student—was the one trying to stop it.
After a long night of fighting and three hours of training with Jessica, Peter was exhausted.
The battle had been brutal, and seeing so much death had shaken them both.
They weren't used to it.
It wasn't like fighting just another supervillain—this time, innocent people had died.
And they hadn't been able to save them all.
Even Jess, usually focused and unshaken, had been deeply affected.
For now, their usual positivity was gone.
Peter felt serious again.
More than ever.
As Peter walked into the university, deep in thought, a familiar annoying voice broke his focus.
"Hey, Parker! What's with the long face? Did you get bullied by someone?"
It was Flash Thompson, walking hand-in-hand with Liz Allan.
Peter barely reacted—until his eyes caught something unusual.
A black shirt.
With a white spider logo on it.
His logo.
Spider-Man's logo.
Peter's eyes widened.
"What is that?"
Flash grinned, as if Peter had just asked something obvious.
"Have you been living under a rock or what? This is the signature of the new hero—Spider-Man! So, I had a shirt made to show my support."
Peter's heart stopped for a second.
He wasn't used to this.
Most of what he got was criticism, suspicion, and bad press.
But then, Flash's next words hit him harder than any punch.
"Last night, we were one of the people he saved. That electric freak nearly killed us. If Spider-Man hadn't fought that madman, I'd be dead. This is the least I can do to thank him."
Peter felt a strange warmth in his chest.
He didn't expect gratitude.
Not from Flash.
Not from anyone.
But for the first time…
Someone actually acknowledged what he did.
And thanked him for it.
Peter smiled—just a little.
"I wasn't being bullied, just thinking about work."
Then, his tone turned more serious.
"And you should stop going out so late. It's not safe these days."
Flash rolled his eyes but nodded.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You sound like my mom."
Peter just shook his head.
For once…
Flash wasn't being a complete jerk.
And that, in itself, was a win.