In the shadows of the warehouse rafters, Peter held his breath, the clicks of his camera shutter perfectly masked by the noise below.
He took dozens of photos in succession, securing evidence of the Grass Stain Gang's dealings with Kingpin on his memory card. He had no desire to get directly involved in Kingpin's underground empire yet, but if an anonymous tip led the police to raid these gangsters' operation, he could hardly ask for anything better.
He looked down from his perch on the beam. It was Sunday night, and tomorrow was the day the Grass Stain Gang's new boss, Babs, would hand over drugs to Kingpin's people. To find this warehouse, he had spent an entire week following them, even staking out a strip club until he knew every song inside backward.
He waited until the people below finished checking the shipment and most of the muscle left, leaving only a few lookouts outside and one idiot wandering around inside with a flashlight.
Peter silently slid down the wall and crept to the main office door.
He pulled his homemade lockpicks from his pocket. Peter Parker had long since maxed out his lockpicking skill at school, dealing with bullies like Flash who kept changing his locker combination.
Click.
The lock opened. He slipped inside and locked the door behind him. The office was empty except for mountains of folders. He leafed through them quickly, looking for the paper trail he had seen Babs keeping of the money's movements.
He searched every cabinet and desk and found nothing. Just as he was about to give up, the floor beneath his feet made an almost imperceptible sound.
Peter pried up the loose floorboard, revealing a combination safe hidden beneath it. An old-fashioned lock like this was child's play for him.
He pressed his ear to the safe and held his breath, relying entirely on the touch of his fingertips and his hearing to catch the sounds of the lock mechanism engaging inside.
Click.
With a soft click, the safe opened. Peter quickly checked the interior, disengaged a tripwire connected to an alarm, and successfully retrieved the crucial ledger recording every shipment and movement of funds.
After escaping the warehouse, Peter took out a burner phone in a safe, dark alley and dialed a number he had gone to considerable trouble to find by hacking into police records.
The call was answered after two rings.
"Detective Barnes?" Peter deliberately lowered his voice, putting on an utterly terrified act.
"Who is this?"
"I-I'm with the Grass Stain Gang. I want to talk to you." Peter panted rapidly. "These lunatics are killing people everywhere. I never wanted any part of this!"
"Calm down. Where are you? What's your name?"
"I can't give you my name! I've got kids to feed. If they find out, I'm dead!" Peter spoke rapidly. "But I can give you an address. Pier 827 in Manhattan, a warehouse with a blue roof and yellow walls. Their whole month's shipment is there, and they've only got four guns inside. You can take them all down tonight!"
"I need more leads. Names, customers..."
"Babs is the boss now. He's about to meet a big customer. Shit, they've spotted me! Remember, Pier 827. No sirens!"
Peter hung up immediately, tossed the phone down a storm drain, and leaped into the night. He knew Barnes all too well. The detective's son had nearly been shot by the Grass Stain Gang years ago. With a lead like this, he would definitely apply for a search warrant and lead a raid that very night.
Now it was time to find a lawyer.
Peter swung into Hell's Kitchen and picked the lock on Matt Murdock's apartment window with practiced ease. He had followed Matt before and already knew his way around the building.
"Is someone there?" Matt's unsuspecting voice came from the bedroom.
"Matt, we need to talk." Peter deliberately altered his voice.
Matt walked into the living room with his white cane, his vacant eyes fixed on a spot above Peter's head. Though he was blind, the slight twitch of his ears betrayed his readiness to fight at any moment.
"If this is a robbery, please don't hurt me. I can't even protect myself." Matt gave him a harmless smile.
Peter sneered. "You're not blind, Matt Murdock."
Matt paused. "What? Of course I am-"
"You're not blind. You can see. It's just that, to you, the whole world looks like it's on fire."
The pretense shattered in an instant. Matt hurled his cane and lunged like a cheetah.
"I'm not here to fight!" Peter sidestepped and snatched the cane away.
Matt's attacks were fierce, his punches grazing Peter's cheek with terrifying precision. Relying on reflexes far beyond those of an ordinary person and a little combat training, Peter dodged and weaved, then seized an opening to catch Matt's leg and flip him onto the couch.
"Help me take down the Grass Stain Gang for good." Peter pinned him down. "They supply Kingpin with drugs. Nail them in court, and you can cut off Kingpin's supply chain for six months."
Matt broke free, his gaze sharp. "How do you know my secret?"
"I read your medical records," Peter lied without batting an eye. "I know your other senses became incredibly acute after you lost your sight. I figured you used sonar vision to perceive the world. Scientists once used everyday sounds to map a human body, and the results showed that it looked like it was burning... I just put the clues together."
Matt fell silent for a moment, then stood and straightened his clothes. "You're a smart kid."
"Thanks."
"But you're also a lousy liar." Matt tilted his head slightly. "I can hear your heartbeat. It's racing right now. I don't know whether that's an adrenaline surge or because you're lying. But I don't believe you."
"I don't care." Peter slapped the ledger onto the table. "These are all the Grass Stain Gang's transaction records. You'll soon hear that Detective Barnes raided that warehouse. Use this evidence to secure the right to prosecute the case. It'll not only hit Kingpin's wallet, but also make your law firm famous in one fell swoop."
Matt felt around and picked up the ledger. Rather than open it, he tilted his ear slightly. "No Braille edition?"
"Foggy isn't blind," Peter shot back.
Matt set the ledger aside without opening it and tilted his ear slightly instead. He was using the rhythm of the uninvited visitor's heartbeat to commit his identifying features firmly to memory.
"What exactly are you after?" Matt asked.
"The Grass Stain Gang is running rampant in the streets. They need to be cleaned out."
"Why you?"
"Why not me?" Peter walked to the window and pushed it open. "Enough people have died out there. If I can change things, why shouldn't I try? Are cops and superheroes the only ones allowed to save people?"
Without waiting for Matt to answer, Peter leaped into the night sky.
"I'm Spider-Man," his voice came from below. "See you around, Matt."
"No!" Matt rushed to the window and shouted, only to hear an exhilarated whoop carried on the night wind. He couldn't help muttering to himself, "This city just keeps getting crazier."
The next morning, Peter sat in front of the television, too engrossed to respond even when Aunt May called him to breakfast.
"Breaking news," the news anchor said gravely. "Police raided and dismantled the Grass Stain Gang, a major drug-trafficking organization in eastern Queens, last night. Detective Barnes stated that he acted overnight on a tip from a former gang member, seizing over a thousand pounds of drugs and a large quantity of weapons. Meanwhile, Matt Murdock of the Nelson and Murdock Law Firm has taken over the prosecution of the case..."
Peter switched off the television, the corners of his mouth curling wildly upward.
Nicely done. No suit, no brute force, just intelligence and brains to bring down a gang-and get Daredevil hitched to my wagon in the process. This was how a behind-the-scenes player was supposed to operate.
His good mood lasted until school let out.
During English class, Mary Jane and Liz noticed something different about him and asked out of concern. Peter casually made up an excuse about Marcus's gang getting busted and brushed their questions off.
Then the teacher called on Harry to explain the plot of Oedipus Rex. After struggling for ages, all he could remember was the melodramatic bit about the protagonist "marrying his own mom." Peter couldn't help making a mocking remark right there, earning a murderous glare from Harry.
After school, Peter had barely reached the parking lot when Flash grabbed him by the neck and dragged him over. Harry and several members of the school football team surrounded him.
"Think you're so smart, Parker?" Harry ground out. "Making me look like an idiot in front of Mary Jane?"
"Osborn, I'm warning you. Shut your mouth." Peter's gaze turned cold.
Harry merely scoffed and spat out several extremely vulgar remarks, viciously insulting him and Mary Jane.
Peter's fists clenched, but Norman Osborn's cold, sinister face instantly flashed through his mind. If he struck now, Harry would definitely go home and tattle, bringing down his supervillain father's frenzied retaliation.
He drew a deep breath, forcibly suppressed his anger, shoved Flash out of his way, and left without looking back. Harry shouted, "Grab him!" behind him, but Peter easily shook off his pursuers with his superior speed.
He went to the dojo to find Marcus, and they chatted briefly about the Grass Stain Gang's downfall. Yet as he and Marcus were walking home together, a sudden sharp pain struck the back of his head.
His Spider-Sense screamed a warning.
"Get down!" Peter tackled Marcus to the ground.
The next second, a car roared past, several compact submachine guns protruding from its windows, their bullets sending chips of pavement flying across the sidewalk.
"Long live the Grass Stain Gang! Just you wait, you vermin!" The people in the car laughed brazenly as they sped away.