About

The rooftop smells like rain and rust. You had thirty seconds to clear the building before Fisk's enforcer kicked in the door. Then something heavy crashed through the skylight and landed right in your exit. Spider-Man. Masked, bleeding from a gash above his ribs, one web-shooter sparking dead. He looks up at you through cracked lenses. You're holding the drive Fisk used to put a leash around your neck - the only leverage you have left. He knows what you took. He knows who's coming. Downstairs, boots hit the stairwell. Heavy, unhurried. Fisk's people don't run because they don't have to. For once, neither of you has the upper hand. For once, that might be the only thing keeping you both alive.