Chapter 8: Eyes in the Dark
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Dust still clung to every corner of the clock tower.
But piece by piece, I was claiming this place as mine.
The Hourglass.
The name stuck in my mind, like it had always been waiting for me to discover it.
It wasn't much yet—but it was already more of a home than my tiny bedroom at Aunt May's.
The main floor was cleared now, swept clean of rotting wood and old, rusted metal. I'd salvaged a few old furniture pieces from nearby junkyards—sturdy chairs, a table, some industrial lamps. Everything functional, nothing flashy.
I reinforced the roof hatch with scrap metal and placed a thick steel beam to lock the main door shut from the inside. No one would stumble in here by accident.
By the cracked clock face, I'd set up my workstation—spools of web fluid, notes, and tools scattered across the table. It wasn't high-tech yet, but it was a start.
And the view—God, the view.
From here, the city stretched endlessly beneath me, glowing under the night.
I could see the alleys where I'd fought gangs, the rooftops I'd swung from, and far beyond, the bridges stretching across the dark waters.
For the first time in this world, I felt... settled.
This was mine.
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But comfort wouldn't last long.
My body still ached from the Deathstroke fight—though, with my healing kicking in and a few copied combat tricks, I recovered faster than I should have.
Still, I needed to keep moving.
The Lizard incident was approaching. I could feel it.
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Morning came faster than expected.
I dragged myself to Midtown High, blending back into the sea of half-awake teenagers.
The Tactical Mind was still active, making everything around me look... different.
Every hallway felt like a map. Every doorway, an exit strategy. Every person, a potential obstacle or ally.
It wasn't overwhelming—it was natural. A new layer of instinct humming beneath my skin.
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"Peter!"
Harry's voice broke through the mental calculations.
He jogged up with his usual cocky grin, slapping me on the back.
"You look like hell, dude. You been hiding from gym class or something?"
I gave him a weak smile, rubbing my neck.
"Something like that."
Mary Jane raised an eyebrow as she walked over, eyes narrowing at the faint bruises I hadn't fully concealed.
"You disappear for days, then show up looking like you got into a street brawl," she said bluntly.
"I tripped. On some stairs. Very mean stairs."
Harry snorted. "Classic Parker luck."
I forced a laugh, playing it off—but even as we joked, I caught the whispers trailing behind me.
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"Did you hear? That Spider guy was spotted again last night."
"Yeah, he's everywhere. People are saying he's a mutant or something."
"I heard he took down the Black Mask's entire crew last week."
Rumors spreading like wildfire.
I kept my head down and slipped away to the science lab after class.
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Dr. Connors was already there, sleeves rolled up, working through notes and gene sequences.
The familiar sight made my chest tighten.
This was it.
The beginning of that story.
"Peter!" Connors smiled warmly as I walked in. "Glad to see you back. I've been meaning to ask—how would you like to assist me again? We're making progress with the limb regeneration serum."
My heart thudded.
"I'd love to help," I said, keeping my voice steady.
Connors led me through the data—splicing genes, regenerative tests on reptiles, theoretical human applications.
I already knew where this would lead.
But I also knew I needed to stay close. To learn. To act at the right moment.
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Hours passed in the lab, and as the sun set, I realized something else.
I wasn't the only one moving in the dark.
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POV: Batman (Gotham, Batcave, Night)
Deep within the Batcave, Bruce Wayne stood before his massive central monitor.
Footage looped on the screen—clips of the Bug vigilante swinging through New York's streets.
His moves were erratic but improving fast.
"Organic webbing. No artificial devices detected," Bruce muttered, his tone cold and analytical.
Alfred approached with a faint frown.
"You believe he's a threat, sir?"
Bruce's gaze sharpened.
"He's young. Possibly still learning."
He paused the footage on a frame showing Ark mid-fight.
"But he's attracting attention. And in cities like ours… attention gets you killed."
His voice dropped lower.
"Or worse."
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POV: Tony Stark (Avengers Tower, Manhattan, Late Night)
Tony Stark swirled whiskey in his glass, feet kicked up on his desk.
The holographic display floated before him—high-definition recon images of Ark, enhanced by J.A.R.V.I.S.
"Organic webs, huh?" Tony muttered, watching Ark flip through the air. "Man, some guys just win the genetic lottery."
J.A.R.V.I.S. responded in its smooth tone.
"Subject displays no known affiliation, but highly advanced adaptability. No external tech detected beyond minor utility gear."
Tony leaned forward, intrigued.
"No fancy tech? That's either bad news or the start of something… really interesting."
He smirked, saving the footage.
"Keep tabs, J.A.R.V.I.S. Quietly. No one steps onto my stage without me knowing their lines."
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POV: Nick Fury (SHIELD Helicarrier, War Room)
Fury's one good eye scanned the digital reports laid out before him—sightings, SHIELD agent notes, police chatter.
Maria Hill stood by, arms crossed.
"He's escalating," she said. "Took on Deathstroke last week and survived."
Fury's eyebrow rose, a rare flicker of surprise.
"Deathstroke?" he muttered, flipping through the tactical analysis.
The fight was brutal. Sloppy in places, but the kid's rapid learning stood out.
"Damn," Fury said under his breath.
Maria eyed him. "What's the call?"
Fury shut the folder with a quiet thump.
"Send Romanoff," he ordered. "Surveillance only. No contact unless necessary."
Hill nodded.
"You think he's worth SHIELD's time?"
Fury's voice was low and certain.
"Any kid who walks away from Deathstroke? He's either a future problem or a future ally."
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POV: Daredevil (Hell's Kitchen, Rooftop, Night)
Matt Murdock sat perched on a rooftop ledge, the city's heartbeat thudding around him.
Far off in the distance, he heard it.
Thwip. Thwip.
The sound of something slicing through the air.
A young heartbeat—steady, determined—moving fast through the streets.
Another vigilante.
Matt's lips curled into a faint smirk.
He stood, cane in hand, listening as Ark swung through the city below.
"Careful, kid," Matt whispered to the night.
"This city bites back."
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POV: Kingpin (Luxury Office, Night)
Wilson Fisk's massive frame loomed in the darkened room as he studied grainy security footage.
Ark appeared on-screen, swinging away from a burning warehouse Fisk's men had been guarding.
Calm fury filled Fisk's voice as he spoke.
"This insect is becoming a nuisance."
His enforcer waited quietly for orders.
Fisk's cold stare never left the screen.
"Find him. Watch him. And when the time is right…"
His voice rumbled low with menace.
"Crush him."
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🕸️ Returning to Ark (The Hourglass, Midnight)
High above the sleeping city, I sat by the cracked clock face of The Hourglass.
The lights below glimmered like distant stars.
I didn't know it yet—but shadows were circling me from all sides.
Heroes.
Villains.
Spies.
All watching.
All waiting.
But I wasn't afraid.
Let them watch.
I adjusted my mask, smirking slightly.
I still had webs to spin.
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[To Be Continued]
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