"Bang!"
A specially made rubber armor-piercing round grazed Peter's red-and-blue mask and slammed into the support pillar behind him, bursting into a cloud of acrid white smoke.
"Too slow! Is your Spider-Sense just for show?!" Frank Castle held a modified M4 Carbine, his gaze as cold and fierce as a starving wolf's. "On a real battlefield, that shot would've blown the top of your skull off!"
"Uncle Frank, I've already dodged six rounds!" Peter hung upside down from the ceiling like a gecko, panting hard.
"But you still hesitated for a tenth of a second!" Matt Murdock emerged from the shadows with his white cane, his voice flat.
"Your breathing's uneven. When you faced a sudden attack, your first reaction was to close your eyes. Remember, the greater the danger, the more you need to keep every sense open."
Half a month had passed.
Ever since the night Yang Ming had crushed nineteen elite ninjas from the Hand with his bare hands in the alley behind the clinic, even letting the last one return to report to Kingpin, an eerie silence had settled over Hell's Kitchen.
Kingpin seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth, and the Hand had disappeared as well. The crime bosses who ruled the underworld seemed to have finally realized that the Asian doctor in a white coat at 22 Lake Street was a living grim reaper they absolutely could not afford to cross.
Meanwhile, Peter had taken advantage of this rare "period of peace" to latch onto Frank and Matt.
He no longer wandered the streets blindly "fighting for justice." Instead, he came to this abandoned warehouse every night for their brutal training. Reconnaissance and counter-surveillance, tactical movement, using cover, taking an enemy down in a single strike.
Peter released his webbing and