Brooklyn, a dark alley. Black Spider-Man had just swung past a few blocks away, accompanied by a strange whistling sound.
Black Spider-Man's recent methods had made those street punks—who had gone wild as if celebrating after Vampires and Werewolves disappeared from the streets—rein themselves in somewhat.
Whereas Spider-Man, in his usual red-and-blue suit, dealt with street crime by subduing offenders or returning stolen property to its owners. Criminals received only minor punishment before being released; at worst, they were tied up and handed over to the NYPD.
But whenever Spider-Man dressed in black appeared, he was like the master of Gotham City from the DC comics everyone knew: every criminal received a full bone-breaking package.
Operating under the principle of treating hospitals like prisons and medical bills like fines, he threatened both criminals' bodies and their wallets.
That was far harsher than calling the police. Not only did they suffer physically, but their medical bills could far exceed what they had gained from their crimes.
It made those street punks deeply question why they had not studied harder back then. Those sanctimonious people at the hospital were the real robbers.
The Daily Bugle naturally criticized such matters loudly. Even Police Commissioner George Stacy had publicly issued a statement in the newspaper, urging the illegal vigilante to restrain himself. Otherwise, the NYPD would arrest Spider-Man on sight.
Black Super, of course, did not care whether Spider-Man was trying to pull the wool over people's eyes or dance around in a bargain-bin suit. What he noticed was Curt Connors, the Lizard moving swiftly through the dark alley.
The old professor had transformed at his home in Brooklyn before heading out, rather than smashing through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Oscorp research center again and again to remind the company that someone's lab