Times Square Injection Site

Spider-Man knew Russell had done this to him on purpose. He calmed his racing thoughts and climbed off the floor.

Six arms flailed at his sides like a spider flipped onto its back and struggling to turn over.

He could feel the four new arms: every joint, every muscle fiber, every tiny barb on his fingertips.

They had truly grown out of his body. They weren't high-tech prosthetics or hologrrams.

"Okay." He took a deep breath. His voice held the mixed tone of someone who'd been hit by a car, stepped on afterward, and then remembered he hadn't studied for an exam.

"This... this isn't the worst morning I've had. I've had worse. Like that time my suit shrank in the washing machine. Now that was a real disaster."

"You really do have a good attitude. You've bounced back already, and you're even entertaining yourself." Russell applauded.

"Thank you. Thank you to this arm for teaching me that lesson."

"I hereby declare that, from today on, this one on the left is Dum-E, and this one on the right is Dummy... Dum-E, Dummy, hello. I'm your boss. You'd better listen to me, or I'll stuff you back between my ribs."

Kingpin's gray eyes stayed on his old opponent. He didn't smile, but his gaze held the patience of a hunter watching prey struggle.

Spider-Man braced himself on the floor with his lowest pair of arms, grabbed the wall with the upper pair, and waved the middle pair around in search of balance.

It took him a full twelve seconds to get up. He looked like a giraffe learning to walk, without a single bone in the right place.

"I have an idea." Spider-Man turned toward Kingpin and Russell. The white lenses of his mask seemed a little wider than before.