Peter stumbled back into his home, peeling off his suit as he made his way toward the medical room in the basement. His steps were heavy, each one a struggle against the pain coursing through his body.
"System, check my condition," he muttered, his voice strained.
A swarm of small, humming robots descended from the ceiling, their tiny lights flickering as they began scanning his body.
A holographic projection of his vitals materialized in the air, glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. The image revealed the grim truth: internal bleeding.
Peter's vision blurred, and he swayed on his feet. "System... save me," he whispered, his voice barely audible. But before he could reach the medical room, his legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold floor, unconscious.
The door to the medical room slid open on its own, revealing a sleek, humanoid robot standing in the doorway. Its glowing eyes fixed on Peter's motionless body as it stepped forward, ready to intervene.
...
Kingpin sat in his dimly lit office, his massive frame hunched over his desk. He massaged the side of his face with his left hand, his elbow resting heavily on the arm of his chair. His expression was one of simmering frustration, his jaw clenched tightly.
"Spider-Man... he just won't die," he growled under his breath, his voice low and venomous.
His assistant stood nearby, equally agitated. Normally, eliminating a target was a straightforward task, but this time, it was different. Spider-Man, Daredevil, and Punisher had all become thorns in Kingpin's side.
Yet, while Daredevil contented himself with arrests and Punisher with executions, Spider-Man was different. He didn't kill, but his relentless interference was far more dangerous. He didn't just stop Kingpin's operations. He dismantled them, piece by piece, threatening the very foundation of his empire.
"Spider-Man is worse than the others," Kingpin muttered, his voice dripping with disdain. "He doesn't just fight, he destroys. And if he isn't stopped, he'll bring everything I've built crashing down."
Leaning back in his chair, Kingpin's eyes narrowed as he made a decision. "Put a bounty on Spider-Man," he commanded, his tone icy and resolute. "I want everyone on Earth to know there's a price on his head."
The assistant hesitated, then asked, "How much, sir?"
"One billion dollars," Kingpin replied without hesitation.
The assistant's eyes widened. "Are you sure, sir? That's... an unprecedented amount."
Kingpin's gaze hardened, his voice steady and final. "Yes. It's a small price to pay. If Spider-Man continues to tear down what I've built, I'll lose everything anyway. This ends now."
...
In Parker's Household, the television blared in the background, the familiar face of J. Jonah Jameson is on the screen. His voice was sharp, accusatory, and filled with venom as he pointed a finger at the camera.
"All of this destruction, the deaths, the chaos, it's all Spider-Man's fault!" Jameson barked, his words dripping with disdain. "If he had just arrived earlier, none of this would have happened!"
His eyes burned with hatred, his every word crafted to fuel the public's anger toward the masked hero. The Daily Bugle's headlines flashed across the screen, each one more damning than the last.
Mary Jane sat on the edge of the couch, her phone pressed tightly to her ear. Her other hand was at her lips, her teeth nervously biting down on her fingernails.
The news footage replayed the moment Spider-Man *Peter* had been injured, coughing up blood as he struggled to stand. Her heart raced as she listened to the ringing tone, over and over, praying for him to pick up.
"Peter, please answer," she whispered, her voice trembling. The call went to voicemail again, and she hung up, her hands shaking.
Aunt May sat beside her, her face pale with worry. She clasped her hands together tightly, as if trying to hold onto some semblance of hope. "Did he answer?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Mary Jane shook her head, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "No," she replied, her voice breaking. The call had disconnected on its own, met with nothing but silence on the other end.
The room felt heavy, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on them. Somewhere out there, Peter was hurt, alone, and unreachable. And all they could do was wait, hoping he'd come home.
...
Peter sat at the table, sipping black seed water. The bitterness made him grimace, but he forced it down, knowing it was good for his recovery.
In front of him was a feast, plates piled high with roasted chicken and steamed vegetables. His body ached beneath the bandages, but his hunger was relentless, gnawing at him despite the pain.
"Thank God I didn't suffer any long-term side effects," Peter muttered to himself, his voice tinged with relief.
His mind wandered back to the fight, the close call that could have ended everything. 'I'm glad my advanced suit was ready,' he thought. 'If it weren't for that, my head would've been pierced by that rifle round.'
His standard suit, though bulletproof, couldn't have withstood that kind of firepower. The memory sent a chill down his spine.
As he tore into a piece of chicken, his thoughts turned to Kingpin. The man's hatred for him was no secret, but Peter's resolve burned even hotter.
"Kingpin really hates me," he said aloud, a smirk playing on his lips. "But I'm even pettier. Just wait, I'm going to destroy every single asset you have. And when you've stashed all your money in that precious bank of yours, I'll take it over. I'll leave you bankrupt for life."
The determination in his voice was sharp, his words a promise. Peter wasn't just fighting for survival anymore he was fighting to dismantle Kingpin's empire, piece by piece.
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I have been rebirthed, and this is another try at writing a story. If you like the story so far, you can sub to my Patreon for advanced chapters.
Right now, we're at Chapter 23.
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Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the start. See you later!