Spider-Man: Web Of Lies

THAT night, after scraping myself off the ground, I stumbled back into the alley where I'd stashed my school bag. The alley was just north of the dilapidated building I called home, and my bag had some clothes that weren't blood-soaked or torn. I needed them. But the whole time, blood dripped from my bruised, swollen body. My legs wobbled as if each step might be my last. The fresh black eye I'd be sporting the next morning would just be the icing on the cake. School had become a parade of injuries lately.

Walking through the streets of New York at night, covered in blood, was like strolling through a freak show. People didn't see a kid in trouble—they saw a sideshow act. I could feel their eyes on me. A few looked like they wanted to call someone—maybe the cops, maybe an ambulance—but I threw on my best smile and muttered the same line, "Method actor, folks! Just method acting."

Some laughed it off, some didn't. Didn't matter. I kept moving, each step harder than the last, until I spotted her: Felicia. Brown-haired, sharp-eyed Felicia, standing on the corner. There was something new in her eyes when she caught sight of me. Concern, maybe. She rushed over, a crease forming between her brows.

"Peter? What the hell happened to you?"

I tried to smile again, but this time it came out more like a grimace. "I-I'm a method actor?" My voice sounded weak, even to me.

She didn't buy it, of course. "You need to get to a hospital," she said, looking me up and down. "You're bleeding all over the place."

Before I could protest, she was already moving toward me, slipping her arm around my shoulders. The contact hurt, but I didn't pull away.

"No," I coughed, wincing at the sharp pain it sent through my ribs. "No hospital."

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, no hospital? You could—"

"No hospitals," I repeated, trying to sound firm, though my voice was more a hoarse whisper than anything.

Felicia wasn't one to back down easily, though. She gave me a long, concerned look, then sighed. "I can't just leave you bleeding out on the sidewalk, Peter. You're coming with me."

I tried to argue, though every breath felt like I was inhaling fire. "I can't. I have a curfew."

Felicia raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "At 2:00 in the morning?" She started dragging me along with her, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she hadn't seen a gym in years.

"My Aunt May's gonna freak out," I muttered, but the fight was leaving me fast.

"Yeah, well, that's a risk I'm willing to take," she said with a small, determined smile. "You can't exactly stop me, can you?"

The streets grew quieter as we made our way through a more deserted part of town. Felicia hadn't said much after that, but I could feel her glancing over at me every few minutes, like she was dying to ask what really happened. I finally broke the silence with the lamest excuse I could come up with. "I... I fell."

She snorted. "Yeah? Down a flight of stairs? Or was it an entire skyscraper? Come on, Peter, no one gets injuries like these from just falling. What really happened?"

I couldn't tell her. Not about the fight in the sewers. Not about the Lizard. And definitely not about the fact that I was Spider-Man. So, I swallowed hard and tried to sound casual. "It's... it's complicated."

Felicia stopped walking for a second, staring at me, then sighed. "Of course it is." She seemed to be weighing her options, then said, "I've got a first aid kit at home, but I don't know if it'll be enough. You should really see a doctor, Peter."

I could hear the frustration in her voice, but I was too tired, too sore, to care. "Noted," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Felicia's expression hardened. "I'm just trying to help, you know."

I winced, realizing how I sounded. "Yeah, well, nobody asked you to."

Her face softened, but she didn't back down. "It doesn't matter, Peter. When someone's in trouble, you help. That's how it works. You don't just walk away."

Her words hit me harder than I expected. They echoed the very reason I put on the Spider-Man mask in the first place. She was right, and the realization made me feel like an even bigger jerk. "I'm sorry," I said quietly. "Thank you, Felicia. I mean it."

She nodded, accepting the apology without a word, though I could see her shoulders relax a little.

"Felicia! Hey, Felicia, over here!" a voice called from behind us, breaking the moment.

We both turned to see a group of four guys approaching. One of them, a tall guy with a backward red cap and a white shirt emblazoned with "Playboy," swaggered toward us like he owned the street. I didn't have to guess; this was most likely one of Felicia's "friends." The kind of guy who probably lived for getting in trouble.

Felicia turned toward him, her lips curving into a smile, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Roman, what are you doing out here?" she called back, a little too casual.

Roman's gaze locked onto me as Felicia half-carried me down the street. His backward cap and cocky grin screamed trouble, and I already knew this wasn't going to be a friendly chat. "Who's this guy?" he asked, nodding at me, his cigarette dangling from his lips before he flicked it to the ground.

Felicia hesitated, glancing my way. "He's... my cousin," she lied, trying to keep her voice steady. I could hear the faint waver.

Roman smirked, stepping closer, his eyes roaming over my torn-up clothes and the blood that probably made me look like I'd just walked out of a horror flick. "Looks like he had a rough night."

I scoffed, still leaning on Felicia. "What gave you that impression?"

Roman's smile faltered, the playful glint in his eye fading. He didn't like being challenged.

Felicia shot me a sharp look. "Yeah, he got beat because he doesn't know when to shut his mouth," she said pointedly, like a scolding parent. Her words were a signal: shut up before you make this worse.

Roman's eyes flickered between us. "I can see that." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag filled with little green pills, shaking it slightly. "Hey, you two should crash with me tonight. We got some new stuff. You'll like it."

Felicia's expression tightened. "What is that?"

Roman's grin widened, proud of his find. "Don't know exactly, but I heard this stuff's crazy. Everyone's losing their minds over it." He tossed the bag lightly in the air, catching it in a way that made me uneasy.

"That's great," Felicia said, brushing him off. "But he's hurt bad. I need to get him home." She didn't wait for him to argue, turning us back toward her place.

I glanced over my shoulder at Roman, and the look he gave me... it sent a shiver down my spine. It was the same look Flash gave me before he shoved me into a locker, the same look my enemies threw my way just before a fight. Roman might've been smiling, but his eyes promised trouble. I'd have to watch my back around him.

Felicia fumbled with her keys as we reached her apartment, finally unlocking the door and pushing it open. The place was dark, and when she flipped the switch, the light flickered weakly before casting a dull glow over the room. It wasn't much—an old, torn couch with stuffing poking out, cans and bottles littering the floor. The place looked like it had seen better days, probably before I was even born. The whole scene reminded me how different Felicia's life was compared to someone like Harry, whose penthouse was like a palace in the clouds.

"Sit," she said, nodding toward the couch. "I'll get some gauze for those wounds."

I limped over and collapsed onto the couch, trying not to think about the stains on the carpet or what might've caused them. My head spun, and my vision blurred, but I still noticed the cat—a sleek black feline that padded out from the shadows. It purred softly as it rubbed against my leg, and for a brief moment, I forgot about the pain.

But then it all came crashing back. My chest felt like it was on fire, and my leg wasn't doing much better. I pressed my hand against my soaked shirt, the blood sticky and warm against my skin. It was bad. Real bad.

Felicia returned, her arms full of medical supplies. She sat next to me on the couch and gave me a look, half-joking, half-serious. "You still alive?"

I winced, trying to smile through the pain. "Ask me again in ten minutes."

She pulled up my shirt, her face going pale when she saw the three jagged claw marks that raked across my chest. "What... did this to you?"

I didn't answer.

Felicia sighed, grabbing a tube of ointment. "Fine. Be mysterious." She spread the ointment on the wounds, and it burned like hell. "Ow!" I hissed, clenching my fists.

"Don't be such a baby," she muttered, smirking a little as she worked. Her eyes flicked over the other scars that decorated my chest—reminders of the life I couldn't tell her about. Her fingers hesitated over one of the older marks, and she looked at me, a frown forming. "Who are you, Peter Parker?"

I met her gaze, trying to play it cool. "You just said it, didn't you?"

Felicia shook her head, exasperated but didn't push further. She wrapped my chest in bandages as gently as she could, but it still hurt like hell. Her eyes moved lower, toward the dark stain on my jeans near my knee. "Is that also injured?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

I nodded, biting back a groan as the pain flared again.

"Take off your pants," she said, her tone casual.

My cheeks flushed. "W-What?"

Felicia rolled her eyes. "Don't be a child about this. Just hurry up."

I reluctantly unzipped my jeans, sliding them off to reveal the deep bite mark on my calf. Felicia's eyes widened, and she shook her head in disbelief. "You seriously expect me to believe you just 'fell'? Looks like you got mauled by a bear."

I groaned. "Please... just stop asking."

Felicia huffed but didn't press the issue. She treated my leg the same way she had my chest, her touch surprisingly gentle despite the sting of the ointment. "This should stop the bleeding and prevent infection," she said, her voice softer now. "But you should really go to a hospital."

I stood up slowly, testing the bandages. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Just... please don't mention this to anyone, especially Harry."

Felicia narrowed her eyes, her arms crossed. "You can't go home like this. You can barely stand, let alone walk home."

"I can't impose on you anymore. I'll just—"

"Jesus, Peter, sit down," she said, cutting me off. "You're staying here tonight. I'll get you some blankets, and you can crash on the couch. I've got some clothes that'll fit you, but they're my dad's."

"It's fin—"

"Peter," she said, giving me a look that told me arguing wasn't an option. "Just... let me help you."

I slumped back onto the couch, exhausted and grateful despite myself. "Thanks," I muttered.

Felicia gave a small nod and headed off to find the blankets, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and the lingering pain of secrets I couldn't afford to share. She comes back handing me a a blanket that felt as cheap as it looked, "thanks," I say.

Then she grabs a remote from off the floor and starts playing something on the television. I sit still, thinking back to the sight of all the dead police officers, wondering if maybe I had left Harry's house just a bit sooner...could I have saved them? It's my responsibility to take care of him now, and make it so he can't hurt anyone ever again. Hopefully that includes myself.

The room was dark except for the flicker of the TV, casting long shadows across Felicia's small, cluttered apartment. She sat on the couch, her hand propping up her face, her eyes half-focused on the screen. Despite her casual posture, I could feel the tension between us, heavy and awkward.

"You wouldn't happen to have a phone charger?" I asked, breaking the silence, my voice hoarse from exhaustion.

"Nope," she said, barely glancing my way.

I let out a frustrated sigh. Without my phone, Aunt May was going to lose her mind. She was already protective—this would only make things worse.

"So, where's your dad?" I asked, grasping for anything to fill the silence. "Work?"

Felicia's gaze didn't shift. "Yeah."

"What does he do?" I added, trying to keep the conversation alive, despite the obvious friction.

"I don't know," she said, her voice sharp now, like I was getting too close to something she didn't want to talk about.

I swallowed hard and decided to take the hint. Shutting up wasn't something I was great at, but now felt like the right time. The room fell back into its uncomfortable quiet. Felicia stayed on the couch, her eyes glued to whatever was on TV, and I just sat there, my body aching, my mind racing. I could almost hear Aunt May's worried voice in my head, demanding to know where I was, why I wasn't answering my phone.

After a while, Felicia's breathing slowed, her head tilting slightly to the side—she'd finally fallen asleep. I shifted in my seat, my body screaming in protest, and reached for the remote. The news flicked on, and instantly my heart dropped into my stomach.

A live report. Oscorp. The Lizard.

The reporter's voice was tense, describing how the police were surrounding the building, prepping for a raid. I didn't need her to spell it out for me—Mr. Osborn, had been working late tonight. If the Lizard was there, it wasn't just a random attack. There was something more going on.

My chest tightened, It was like a twisted déjà vu, but this time it wasn't some random attack—it was more personal. Harry's dad worked there, and if I didn't go... who knows what could happen.

I look at Felicia's sleeping form, her head resting on the back of the couch, her breathing steady. The room was dim, illuminated only by the flickering light from the old TV. She looked peaceful, completely unaware of the chaos that had just erupted. I bit my lip, torn between staying put, recovering, and doing the smart thing—or running headfirst into what could be the most reckless decision of my life.

I let out a quiet sigh, knowing there was only one option. There was always only one option.

Still, I couldn't just disappear without a word. That wouldn't be right, especially after everything she'd done for me. I scribbled a quick note on a scrap of paper:

***Thanks for everything. Decided to head to the hospital. Take care of yourself.***

I placed the note on the arm of the couch where she'd be sure to find it, and bent down to give the black cat one last scratch behind the ears. It purred softly, completely oblivious to the fact that I was heading out to face a potential death sentence.

As I crept out of the apartment, I opened my bag and stared at the torn-up suit inside. The sight of it brought back flashes of the earlier fight—fangs, claws, and sewer water. It was in rough shape, just like me, but it was all I had. I pulled it on slowly, gritting my teeth with every movement. The fabric clung to my wounds, and I winced as it pressed against the bandages Felicia had wrapped around me. I felt every bruise, every cut, but there was no time to rest. I had a responsibility.

The cool night air hit my face as I stepped out onto the empty street. New York seemed eerily quiet, as if the city itself was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. The Lizard was loose, and if I didn't stop him... well, I couldn't let myself think about that.

I looked down at my hands, still trembling slightly from the pain, and clenched them into fists. No matter what, I had to fight. I had to be Spider-Man. Even if this was my last night.

With one final glance back at Felicia's apartment, I shot a web to the nearest building and swung into the night, hoping I had enough left in me to make a difference.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Osborn's voice trembles, but he raises his arms, stepping in front of the trembling employees huddled behind him. His usual bravado is nowhere to be found, just raw panic now.

"What do you want? Money? I can give you anything!" he screams, his eyes locked on the monstrous figure looming over him. "Just leave these people alone!"

The Lizard's breath is a wet rasp, its sharp, predatory gaze cutting through Osborn like he is nothing. Saliva drips from its jagged teeth as it leans in close, so close Osborn can feel the heat radiating from the creature's body.

"For...mula..." the creature hisses, the words dragging from its throat like it is choking on them. "For...mula..."

Osborn's face blanches, his voice faltering. "F-F-Formula? Yes, okay... whatever formula you want, take it! Just—just don't hurt them, please!"

The Lizard's clawed hand lashes out, clamping around Osborn's throat with brutal force. He yelps, feet kicking helplessly as he is lifted off the ground, his vision swimming.

"You...did...thisss..." the Lizard snarls, its grip tightening, its jaws hanging open in a grotesque grin. Behind Osborn, a woman shrieks, her voice breaking as she sees her boss dangling in the monster's claws.

"M-Me?!" Osborn gasps, his face turning red as he claws at the scaly hand around his neck. "I—I had nothing to do with this! Unhand me! Get off me!"

But the Lizard doesn't care. It rears its other arm back, claws glinting in the dim light, prepared to tear into Osborn's chest like tissue paper.

"You...die..."

Then comes the crash of shattering glass.

Before the Lizard can react, something hits it with the force of a wrecking ball—a foot slamming into the side of its head. The beast is hurled across the room, crashing through desks and cubicles like a cannonball, finally slamming into the far wall with a bone-rattling thud.

Spider-Man lands hard on the floor, stumbling as the impact sends a wave of pain through his body. His ribs scream in protest, bruises throbbing under his torn suit. Every breath feels like fire in his chest, and his limbs feel heavier than ever. But he forces himself upright, shaking the dizziness from his head.

"You forgot to sign in!" Peter quips, his voice strained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Lizard crashes into the ground with a thunderous impact, smashing desks and sending debris flying as his back collides with the wall, cracking it on impact. I watch him groan, dazed for a moment.

"You forgot to sign in?" I mutter under my breath. "I really gotta work on these one-liners."

A computer flies straight at my head, and I barely have time to flip out of the way, latching onto the ceiling above. The Lizard lets out an enraged roar below, tearing through what is left of the room.

"You know," I call down, webbing my hands to the ceiling for stability, "I really hope you can afford all the stuff you're smashing."

The Lizard isn't having it. "Sssstay...away!" he snarls, launching a desk toward me. I dodge again, my body groaning under the effort. With a quick flick of my wrist, I web his feet, pulling with all the strength I can muster, and slam him into the opposite wall, shattering it. Dust and debris fall around us.

"Well, to be fair," I pant, struggling to catch my breath, "I don't think I could afford to pay for any of this either."

Turning to Osborn and the terrified staff huddled behind him, I manage a nod. "Now's your chance to run! Get out of here before the big guy decides to make a comeback!"

Osborn, his face as pale as a ghost, nods quickly. "Thank you... young man." He ushers his staff out of the room, their footsteps fading into the hallway.

I wince, feeling the bandages around my midsection pull tight as I clutch my side. Every movement feels like my ribs are on fire. I am barely holding myself together, and I know a prolonged fight isn't an option.

But then I see the Lizard pushing himself up from the rubble, claws digging into the cracked wall as he steadies himself. His yellow eyes glare into mine, full of anger and pain. The police are on their way, probably just waiting for the employees to get out before raiding the place. I can't be here when they show up—and neither can he.

"Look, Doc, I know you're still in there," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite the pain. "Whatever this is, I can help. You know me. Don't make me hurt you."

For a second, Connors hesitates. His clawed hands go to his head, gripping it as if he is fighting something inside. His whole body trembles.

"That's right, fight it! Don't let this thing take over!" I take a step closer, my hands raised in a gesture of peace. "We can fix this."

"For...mula..." Connors rasps. His voice is broken, weak, but I hear it. "Osborn... did...this...to me..."

"Osborn? What do you mean? What formula?!" I take another step forward, but it is too late. The Lizard snaps back, the human side vanishing as he roars and charges at me, his rage unleashed.

I try to leap back, but his tail whips out, slamming into my legs and knocking me off my feet. The next thing I know, I am hurled into the ground with bone-rattling force. Pain explodes through my body, my back and arms searing as glass from a shattered light above pierces my skin. I barely have time to gasp before he swings me upward, slamming me into the ceiling, then throws me like a ragdoll into a nearby wall.

I collapse to the floor, struggling to breathe. My vision blurs, and I feel the warmth of blood soaking through my suit, seeping from the wounds the bandages can't hold back anymore. Tears sting at my eyes, the pain almost unbearable.

"D-Doctor Connors..." I whisper, struggling to stand, my whole body shaking.

I feel the tingling in the back of my skull—my Spider-Sense going off just in time. I look up to see the Lizard charging again, his claws extended. With what little strength I have left, I shoot a web to the ceiling, yanking myself out of the way just as he smashes through the wall where I had been seconds ago.

There isn't much time left. My body is giving out, and I have no idea how to stop Connors. I should run, should let the authorities handle the rest.

But I can't. That isn't who I am.

I smile weakly through the pain. I have a responsibility. I can't give up.

The Lizard turns, preparing to charge once more. I can't hold back this time.

I web the wall behind him, gripping the web tight and using all the strength I have left to launch myself forward, both legs outstretched. I slam into his chest with a powerful kick, sending him flying backward. My calf feels like it is being torn apart, but I can't stop. Not now.

"Sorry, Doc," I mutter through gritted teeth, firing another web at his chest, pulling him back toward me with all my might. As he flies toward me, I wind up and deliver a devastating punch to his jaw, sending him crashing into the ground with a thunderous boom.

The floor gives way beneath us, and we both plummet to the story below, debris raining down around us.

I gasp for air, my body barely able to move, but somehow, I manage to lift myself up, looking over at the motionless figure of the Lizard. His teeth are shattered, his chest heaving with shallow breaths.

"Sorry again, Doc," I mutter, feeling the blood trickle down my arms. "Might wanna see a dentist after this."

Then, something strange happens. The hulking beast begins to shrink. His scaly skin softens, his jagged teeth shrink, and before long, Dr. Curt Connors lies there in the wreckage, his human form restored.

"You're back," I whisper, my voice thick with relief.

But the sound of heavy footsteps fills the air—the SWAT team is finally here.

"About time..." I groan, looking down at Connors' unconscious body. I can't leave him like this, but in my current state, there is nothing I can do.

"I'll fix this, Doc," I promise, staggering toward the shattered window. "I'll find a way to make it right."

The cool night air hits my face as I smash the glass, breathing in the fresh air. Clutching my side, I take one last look at the dark city below.

Then, with a deep breath, I jump into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I swing to the top of the home beside mine, knowing that there was no way I could explain any of this to Aunt May, and that there was no way I would ever be ungrounded for this. I crawl to my window opening it slowly, praying that this wasn't the scene in the movies where the character turns on the light revealing they were in the room the entire time. I take off my mask, groaning as my bandages were completely covered with blood, my arms had dried blood all over it.

Aunt May is going to freak out.

I place my phone on the charger, waiting a few moments expecting to see all the hundreds of missed calls and texts from Aunt May. But when it finally turned on, there was, only a couple of messages. Two from Harry, then one from Aunt May.

*Hey, Peter! I'll be out of town for the next couple of weeks! So make sure you make yourself dinner tonight! Don't order pizza! That can wait until I come home!! ;)*

I lay back in my bed, a sigh of relief escaping from my mouth. "I got extremely lucky tonight. But, there are a lot of others who didn't." I say to myself, thinking back to all of the dead police officers, then to Doctor Conners himself. I couldn't help him in the end, but, that doesn't mean I've given up yet.

I hope Felicia isn't too upset about me leaving tonight, and that she doesn't say anything to Harry. If he were to find out I was Spider-Man, if anyone did, then they would be in danger. I can't let that happen. I turn over in my bed, groaning in pain.

I think...I might just skip school tomorrow.