If you've never been shot at, it's hard to convey the sense of urgency it creates. Alright, so, you know when you find yourself in a 7-Eleven late at night and you spot the roller food and -- even though you know you shouldn't -- you decide to take a chance on it? And then sure enough, about an hour, hour and a half later, you get that sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach? It's a bit like that if, say, your body was also
on fire. Luckily, I have this nifty little Spider-Sense that warns me of impending danger. And what I've learned is that whenever it feels like it does now -- a bit like an angry woodpecker on my brain stem -- it's best to shut off my mind for a second and act on instinct. So before the lead starts flying, I dive for the nearest cover I can find: the support leg of a nearby shipping crane, a steel beam hardly wider than my torso. I clutch the briefcase of stolen painkillers to my chest, afraid to let my elbows stick out even an
inch, as bullets clang loudly off the metal behind me.
For a moment, I dare to turn my head to my right to look for the girl in purple. Seems she had better luck than I did. She's crouched behind the corner of a shipping container, remaining as motionless as possible as stray shots spark off the exposed edge of the container. I nod in her direction, but her attention is firmly placed elsewhere, and not without good reason. Clearing my throat, I whistle,
"Psst! Hey, hood girl!" She turns a masked face towards me.
"Did you... call me an 'idiot?'""Yes! Because you are one!" she answers unequivocally. A bullet twangs loudly just inches from her head, and she ducks reflexively. Flattening a bit more against the shipping container, she continues,
"These morons were going to lead me straight to the Cluemaster until you showed up!""Well, sorry! I didn't know you had called 'dibs' on this crime scene," I reply defensively. The gunfire behind us stops for a moment as the gangsters reload, and I dare to peek my head around to see what we're up against. The Cluemaster's goons have all taken up defensive positions behind their parked car, while the Enforcers have positioned themselves opposite me. Hammerhead's nowhere in sight, must've fled when the firefight started. Spider-Sense blares, and I get my head back behind the support beam not a moment too soon. The gangsters open fire again, and I turn back to the hooded girl.
"Alright, look. You see the three circus rejects on your right? I've dealt with them before. I can handle them if you can distract your guys."For a moment, she says and does nothing. Finally, I get a confirmatory nod. One hand on the briefcase, I hold up three fingers. Then two. As I get down to one, the girl reaches for her utility belt and produces a capsule. I lower my final finger and give another nod. The girl tosses the capsule behind the parked car, where it explodes with a blinding flash and a deafening bang. The Cluemaster's lackeys are disoriented, and the girl vaults the shipping container in a surprising display of dexterity. More importantly, she diverts the Enforcers' attention for just a moment, giving me the opening I need. I drop the briefcase and emerge from behind the steel column. Firing a web-line at one of the crane's horizontal beams, I propel myself into a swinging kick that finds the center of Ox's not-inconsiderable mass. He's thrown backwards as I dismount with a flourish. Fancy Dan brings his twin semi-automatic pistols to bear on me, and I quickly make my next leap.
Dodging bullets is always stressful. I twist and contort my body in mid-air, finding the open space between the shots. Spider-Sense helps, obviously, guiding my limbs exactly where they need to be to avoid getting shredded. Still, it's close.
Uncomfortably close. I can actually feel the breeze coming off a few of the bullets as they whiz by. Landing on a single palm, I propel myself into another flip as I taunt,
"Same aim as always, eh, Dan?" He continues to fire as fast as his pistols will allow, but I'm just a hair's breadth in front of the shots. As I land on the roof of an unattended vehicle, I turn a web-shooter and fire a thick glob of webbing at the nearest gun. It coats the barrel, rendering the gun inoperable, as I say,
"Just keep practicing with tin cans in the backyard. You'll get it eventually." Fancy Dan wastes no time swinging the working pistol around, so I leapfrog away.
Unfortunately, Montana was watching closely and anticipated my next move. Before I can reach the peak of my jump, the business end of his whip finds the center of my chest, sending me sprawling. I tumble as soon as I hit the ground, knowing the Fancy Dan's shots can't be far behind. Sure enough, the asphalt pocks and craters as the bullets hit the spot a second too late. I scramble for the nearest cover. I can't keep this up forever; I've got to get that second pistol out of commission quickly, or my luck with dodging just might run out. Preparing to leap back into the fray, I am suddenly blindsided as the meaty mitt of Ox catches me from behind, hoisting me into the air by the scruff of my neck.
"Boys! So much attention. You make me feel like the prettiest spider at the prom!""Ox, move! You're blocking my shot on the little creep!" Fancy Dan barks. Like the obedient lapdog that he is, the lumbering Ox starts to turn to accommodate his teammate. Luckily, though he has me gripped tightly, my arms are free. Taking a guess at where Ox's big, dumb face is, I throw back a hand and spray a quick blast of webbing. My aim is true, and the web catches Ox in the eyes. He lets out an angry howl and thrashes violently, loosening his grip enough to let me slip free. I flip out of danger, finding another car to huddle behind before Fancy Dan can react. As I knew he would, he empties his clip hoping for a lucky shot. After a moment, he pulls the trigger:
clickclickclick. "$#@%!"
The threat of taking a bullet between the eyes gone, I pop out from behind the car and fire a web-line at the gun. Giving it a yank, I admonish Fancy Dan,
"Watch your language, sir! Didn't you see we have a lady present?" His pistol reaches my waiting hand, and I add,
"Speaking of presents, I think I'll hold onto this. With aim like yours, you were liable to hurt someone. Not me, obviously, but someone."While Fancy Dan fumes, Montana goes on the attack. Cracking his whip, he takes swing after swing at me, catching nothing but air. He grits his teeth, growling, "You think you're so clever, don't you, spider?"
"Well... yes. Certainly compared to you three bozos." He snaps the whip at my feet, and I effortlessly vault over the attack. With a quick spray of webbing, I pin his whip to the floor. Now defenseless, Montana is left off-balance long enough for me to run up and deliver a spinning kick. It connects hard enough to knock the cowboy hat from his head as falls to the ground. Spider-Sense goes off, and I quickly duck the wild flailing of a still-blinded Ox. He's throwing haymakers at the air, hoping to get lucky and connect on one.
"Case in point." I hop up onto Ox's chest, delivering twin karate chops to his neck before back-flipping away. Like the dignified sequoia tree, Ox collapses with a resounding thud.
"Now, if my math is correct..." Sure enough, Fancy Dan throws himself at me. You see, in addition to his proficiency with those twin pistols, Fancy Dan is known as a judo expert. And while he's hopelessly outmatched in a one-on-one fight with me, he can still strike with surprising quickness. I'm forced to focus as I twist and turn away from the flurry of attacks. Each time Dan leaves himself exposed, I land a quick counter-attack of my own. Eventually, he starts to slow down. I duck underneath a high kick and sweep his balancing leg out from underneath him. Fancy Dan eats pavement in a way that I can only describe as "satisfying."
Just then, I hear labored cries coming from across the way. I turn to see the girl in purple, having dispatched one of her goons, fending off the other two with a telescoping staff. Her swings are wide and swooping. Sloppy, really. She manages to catch the guy in front of her with a downward slash, but the one behind manages to drive a shoulder into her back while she's unaware. As she stumbles forward, I feel the call to act. Let no one say that Spider-Man isn't a gentleman. Tapping my palm with one finger, I set my web-shooters to the impact nozzle and begin firing hardened, softball-sized web balls at one of the two goons. He's knocked backwards as the girl drives the other one back with her staff. I line up with her, back to back, as she challenges me,
"What are you doing?""What does it look like?" I answer, slightly annoyed. I feel a sharp ring at the base of my skull, and I grab the girl by the shoulder suddenly. I pull us both to the ground as the third Cluemaster lackey, the one who I thought was unconscious, raises a gun and fires. The bullet narrowly misses us both. The first shot is followed by two more in quick succession, and it's all I can do to get the girl and myself behind the corner of a shipping container. Once we're out of the open, she brushes my hand away angrily.
"You're welcome for that save!""I didn't need a save!"Our argument is cut short by the squealing of tires. Pushing me aside, the girl turns the corner and slumps her shoulders as she watches the Cluemaster's men slip away. I join her in surveying the scene, noting quickly that though the Enforcers' car is still here, the men themselves are nowhere to be found. The only evidence of their presence are Montana's discarded hat and the briefcase, thrown open and emptied on the spot where I dropped it. I put my hands on my hips and sigh. Not a banner night for the Wallcrawler.
Turning on her heel, the girl marches up to me and punches me in the arm.
"Idiot!" She adds two more punches for good measure.
"Why did you have to get involved? I had this situation under control!"Beneath my mask, I arch an eyebrow.
"This is your idea of control?"She points a finger threateningly.
"I'll have you know that my hunt for Cluemaster was going splendidly before tonight. If I'm lucky, your intervention will only have set me back a week. Maybe two.""You've really got it in for this 'Cluemaster,' huh?" I ask as I fold my arms.
"Who is he, anyway?""A new player in the New York underground. Part crime boss, part information broker. I guess he's trying to ride the coattails of your guy. Hammerhead.""And that makes you... what, exactly?"The girl turns her head beneath the oversized hood. Her face is a mystery, hidden behind a spandex mask with two big, white eyes. This must be kinda what it's like talking to
me.
"I'm Spoiler, because I'm gonna be the one to spoil the Cluemaster's big plan. If he thinks he's gonna be the next criminal mastermind like they've got in Gotham, then he's got another thing coming." As she finishes her thought, she clenches her fists.
"And what'd this Cluemaster do to get under your skin like this?" I ask.
She chuckles, a bitter sound more than a joyful one.
"Sorry, Webhead. If you want another clue, you'll have to buy one." Shaking her head, she retracts her telescoping staff and stashes it on her belt. She turns to me and warns,
"Don't follow me." Using a parked car as a launching pad, Spoiler leaps atop a shipping container and starts jogging back towards the heart of the city. Meanwhile, I'm left standing there, thinking about what she said. That last phrase -- "If you want another clue, you'll have to buy one" -- resonates with me, though I can't figure out why. Before long, my thoughts are interrupted by approaching sirens, so I fire a web-line at the top of the shipping crane and start to swing home.
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