Chapter 6
Captain Valdez sat in the back of the squad car, his teeth clenched tight for the sake of stifling a yawn. Lieutenant DeWolff, a fucking gargoyle that was always leering over him to search for any sign of weakness, shared the backseat. He scrunched his face to suppress any signs of fatigue, any cracks in his armor, and was grateful again for his nephew's Adderall. Jean had been gunning for the Captain's seat even before Stacy retired, and Valdez thought that if she wanted the position so badly that she could have it. But no, the Commissioner had told them both. It could only be Valdez.
Today Roger Valdez had to make more life-or-death decisions very early in the morning, and Jean DeWolff would inevitably disagree with them.
He knew why she hated him, of course. He was polarizing. He could only be fawned over or loathed at this point, but never ignored or passed by, which he had always preferred.
He'd always preferred to let Captain Castiglione take the lead. Captain Frank Castle.
His eyes habitually scanned the alleyways and backstreets as the blaring squad car made its way to the docks. The little skull logos were there again amidst the graffiti, a recurring theme whenever the public's fury flared. The Punisher's emblem, and angry scrawls that simply stated, 'Frank Castle was right!'
The Punisher wasn't right, Valdez thought. Not anymore. But that didn't mean that Captain Castle was always wrong, either.
It was that dangerous sort of ambivalence that made DeWolff despise him. His eyes met hers, and he could see the resentment she was trying and failing to suppress. She was attractive, with short and dark honey-blonde hair and a soft face. But her eyes painted a very different picture; an intense sort of blue, exuding a quiet fury that left everyone ill at ease.
He looked away before she could look in his eyes and draw her own conclusions about him. Life would have been easier if she'd just gone into acting and played a cop on TV like Mary Jane Watson. But instead, she was George Stacy's protégé and he was Frank Castle's, and that meant they were both proxies in a war for what little remained of NYPD's soul.
"Don't be so tense," Valdez joked to DeWolff. "You know why this isn't going to come to anything."
"I know," the Lieutenant grumbled, but Valdez pressed on anyways.
"Anonymous woman made the call, but we both know who it was. Cassie St. Commons, who is still very much dead per autopsy and coroner's report," he said, his voice turning bitter, "and somehow still running around playing superhero with her little friends."
"I was the one who called her family about that one… Captain," DeWolff said, and Valdez winced.
He hastily cleared his throat. "So, we need to be clear about our play here. We know what Martin Li gets up to, but nothing we have is admissible because…"
DeWolff sighed, "…Because any crime-scene with paranormal involvement is contaminated by default."
Valdez nodded. Martin Li's powers, which even top scientists struggled to explain, were well outside the scope of the legal system. "Martin Li can blame anything from a cheap frame-up, clones, magic, space aliens, and demons for whatever we have on him, and any evidence we can present to the contrary is not, at this time, legally admissible. We live in a scary world where anything is possible now, and that means there's always a basis for reasonable doubt no matter what happens. And that's even if we disregard the fact that a ghost gave us the tip-off."
DeWolff scowled and narrowed her eyes, before retreading an old argument. "We need to put Li under a microscope. Surveilling, monitoring, digging. Find something that we can act on and actually nail him for. Or else prove he's enough of a risk to be a SHIELD matter."
It was the same line George Stacy had before his retirement. And it was NYPD policy, for several long and bloody years that lead to the highest number of officer fatalities ever recorded. The George Stacy school of thought was a form of suicide.
And the Frank Castle school of thought was outright murder.
Roger Valdez had to come up with his own game plan, and it was the only one the commissioner and Mayor's office could tolerate. The world of costumed madmen and violent vigilantes would thus remain a separate and parallel legal realm from the rest of New York City. If the law could not remove reasonable doubt from men like Martin Li or Lonnie Lincoln, then it was up to the public to change the laws. Vigilante street justice now also existed in that same unnatural twilight, where it was hoped that one would someday sort the other out. The Roger Valdez school of thought simply echoed every other state official in a craven sort of surrender that left the realm of supervillains and superheroes to its own devices.
So long as bodies weren't being piled up high enough to qualify as domestic terrorism, all collateral damage was now a federal matter. The United States, along with every other government in a world coming to grips with the paranormal and the supernatural, was left trying to cobble together a coherent legal system in the face of a world that was constantly trying to top itself in terms of sheer insanity. These legal codes would be built over time, precedent by precedent, in a slow and exhausting process that was many years away from a definitive solution.
And that suited Roger Valdez and every other burnt out policeman who just wanted to survive to retirement just fine. Which meant that Jean DeWolff would not approve. "You know that we'll do no such thing, Lieutenant. Even if I were so inclined, I would not be able to get any kind of warrant."
"Something has to give eventually, Captain," DeWolff said softly. The public's anger had festered in the face of the law's complacency. Things were boiling over.
"I know, Lieutenant," Valdez said soberly, as they passed by another skull logo, spraypainted against the side of a building in a large and looming white.
---
The Inner Demons were being lined up and processed, a few of them sounding almost positively chipper while being disarmed, joking amongst themselves in either English or Chinese. They knew that NYPD had nothing on them either: Mr. Negative's powers could exert enough influence on someone's mind that they could credibly claim coercion or brainwashing should any evidence of wrongdoing come to light.
And they had far too much sincere and genuine loyalty to their boss on top of that. Their solidarity was both genuine and truly terrifying. Valdez had seen Mr. Negative's victims shake off his influence, but these men hardly showed any difference in their demeanor when the Darkforce was purged from their system. And these men were always clever enough to not let slip anything that could implicate their boss. And in return, Li's very deep pockets would get them out on bail and back on the streets very soon.
Though Valdez smirked when he saw that almost half of Li's men weren't nearly so upbeat. Some of them were truly battered and would likely be out of commission for a good, long while. There was an assortment of men with broken fingers, dislocated shoulders, and other simple fractures that failed to break the skin. Valdez's practiced eye could see that these injuries were inflicted in a deliberate and precise manner. They weren't enough to maim or permanently cripple, but it would take some time before Li could rely on them as foot soldiers. And it would be an even longer time, possibly a lifetime, before they could perform to the level they operated at prior to such injuries. It represented a definite blow to Li's manpower and finances, even if it was only a temporary one.
It seemed that the Slingers were starting to grow up. This sort of thing was cold and cynical, but also far more practical and efficient. Valdez felt strangely proud.
He pressed on into the dockside warehouse, and it seemed that a hurricane had swept through it. Freight containers, and their contents, were scattered about haphazardly. Moldy old furniture, now shattered, was mingled with rotting fruits and vegetables. The building itself seemed to groan in pain, sagging in some ominous and worrying ways. The place was once sturdy enough to be used as an impromptu fortress by Li's gang. Now it looked like it had to be condemned.
DeWolff was just as disquieted as Valdez was. They both knew what the scene implied.
Mr. Negative could've easily killed hundreds of ordinary policemen. If he were the type of supervillain inclined to spree killings over protection rackets and kidnapping, then Li could have easily achieved a death toll in the thousands before getting put down.
And that also meant that the Slingers were even scarier than he was.
The man himself, as bruised and battered as the building that was housing him, was slumped and seated on top of a metal folding chair. Unlike his men outside, Martin Li was alone and unattended. No medic would dare to get near Mr. Negative until NYPD first cleared the scene.
"Good morning, Martin," said Valdez with false cheer as the sun outside also began to slowly crest.
"Captain Valdez," Martin said, in an equally pleasant tone. The man was always pleasant, when he wasn't bizarrely monochrome. "How might I help you?"
You could fucking kill yourself, Valdez thought, his anger simmering under the surface.
"Do you need medical attention?" Captain Valdez asked, his voice tight, clipped, and professional.
Li's eyes widened only slightly, before softening. "No, I… thank you, but it will not be necessary."
When he wasn't channeling the Darkforce the man was always a class act, gracious and polite. But both Valdez and DeWolff had also interacted with his less pleasant side too.
"What happened here, Martin?" Lieutenant DeWolff said, her voice far sterner and more authoritative than Valdez's. She'd fallen naturally into the role of Bad Cop. "People heard gunfire. This building needs to be demolished before it falls on anyone. I'm not really in the mood to come out all this way and have nothing to show for it."
Martin nodded his head, as he let out a sigh. "An old friend came a long way to see me again. Our reunion was fraught… but he was patient and departed peaceably."
"Was it the Slingers?" Valdez asked.
Martin scoffed. "Those kids?" Li paused and thought for a moment before heaving a tired sigh. "Were they the ones who called you? The gentleman I spoke to would have known better than to waste your time on this."
"How nice of him," DeWolff said sarcastically.
Li's old friend was far more likely to be the one responsible for the dislocations outside, Valdez concluded. Whoever this man was, he was dangerous enough to barge into Mr. Negative's safehouse and come out on top. And given that Li was still breathing and not in a body-bag, he was still more likely to be someone playing superhero… albeit in a more no-nonsense way than Cassie St. Commons and her little friends.
"Was it Daredevil?" Valdez hazarded a guess.
Li furrowed his brow, though whether it was in thought or in pain was not immediately clear. "My friend is a new face on the scene. I believe to the public, he goes by 'Spider-Man.'"
Valdez grunted. It was a blunt and straightforward alias, at least.
"Is there a connection to him and Spider-Woman?" DeWolff asked, and Valdez felt a bit less regret over her presence. She was better at keeping track of the costumes than he was.
"Oh?" Li simply said, looking briefly startled. His reaction was interesting. It was clear that it was something he hadn't even considered, but now even he was a little curious. "I could not say. And if I knew, then I would not say."
"Why wouldn't you say, Martin?" Valdez asked, his voice cold.
Martin grimaced… and let out a sigh. "Because he's my friend."
"Funny of way showing it. There are bullet-holes nearby, Li. Discharged firearms, collected by us. Judging by all the bruises on your face, I don't buy this friendly visit bullshit for a second here," DeWolff said with a growl, her patience running thin.
Martin's face set into a frown, but he didn't seem even slightly angry. "If it wasn't the truth, then I would've come up with better lies, Lieutenant. If my life were not so strange, I think you would have been able to arrest me years ago."
DeWolff was starting to get sick of this, and she took another step towards Li before Valdez's hand found its way to her shoulder, gentle but firm.
"Are you really sticking with this story, Mr. Li?" Valdez said, glowering down at him. Though he doubted he looked as scary as DeWolff did. Still, Valdez's confidence wasn't unwarranted. Nobody had any idea why Mr. Negative's powers worked the way they did, but they knew enough to understand its limitations. It would be at least a solid month before Martin Li could amass enough Darkforce to shrug off a bullet between the eyes.
But despite the animosity bearing down on him from the two police officers, Martin was only measured and contemplative. "I can understand your skepticism. It's… been a long time since I was able to see things clearly. I am sticking with this story. An old friend had come a long distance to meet with me. I responded with unjustified violence, and he responded in a manner that was both proportionate and appropriate. I take full and sole responsibility for this civil disturbance."
Valdez and DeWolff exchanged looks. A super criminal intentionally going out of his way to avoid implicating a vigilante was a disquieting first for them both. Martin Li's claim of past ties and old friendship to the man who assaulted him was also disturbing. While it seemed sincere, it also suggested that 'Spider-Man' had more than a few worrying skeletons in his closet by association. This new vigilante was someone who could pummel one of the city's most notorious and prideful crime bosses into the dirt, only to have that same crime boss shrug it off and admit that he'd had it coming.
Valdez had nothing left but to go through the motions. "Right. You have the right to remain silent and—"
Li interrupted Valdez, his expression suddenly hard. "I don't have time for questioning, officers."
Valdez bared his teeth in frustration. "It doesn't work like that. Everyone here knows you're not going to prison yet, but I can still give you a few days in jail-"
Words suddenly burst from Li's mouth, with an aggressive venom. "In a private safe-deposit box belonging to one of my men, I have a sealed statement. It is signed by me and verified by both my lawyer and an independent notary. It verifies that I am of sound mind, as determined by a team of mental health experts. It states, clearly and unambiguously, that everything I have done has been of my own free will, without any duress, outside forces, or other parties interfering with my actions or thought processes."
As Valdez and DeWolff stared mutely, Li pressed on. "This statement implicates me greatly. By association, it also implicates many other prominent figures affiliated with me, including Wilson Fisk. I am prepared to offer this statement to NYPD in exchange for your temporary lenience now."
Though Mr. Negative had not a flicker of Darkforce to call upon at the time, although there wasn't even the slightest twinge of his characteristic monochrome energy, Valdez clearly felt that it wasn't Martin Li who was talking to him right now. It was the Demon.
Valdez knew that today would be difficult, but even that knowledge was not enough to forewarn him. And DeWolff seemed equally stunned. This was a revelation that was career defining, as far as NYPD was concerned. This signed confession, if it really existed, was enough to bury Mr. Negative and his Inner Demons for good. It was the kind of career-making scandal, the kind of impossible arrest, that would enshrine the captain and the lieutenant as heroes.
But while DeWolff reeled in surprise at the suddenness of it all, it was Valdez who regained control of his emotions first. "Suicide is not the answer, Martin," Valdez said flatly.
The Demon would be buried if his confession came to light, but it would only be an inconvenience for the likes of Wilson Fisk. It wouldn't amount to anything more than a pebble in the Kingpin's shoe. But men had died for less.
The Demon smiled, sinister and mirthless. "I'd been killing myself for years now, Captain. I just didn't see it until now."
"What do you want, Martin?" asked DeWolff, now also realizing that this was far more than just a confession and a surrender.
"Give me time. Let me settle accounts with Fisk my way!" Li rasped, all but hissing out those last two words as he clenched his fist. "NYPD just needs to ignore everything it doesn't understand, like it always does."
"God…" Valdez muttered, before pointing a finger at the Demon. "Stay there. I need to talk with my partner."
Compared to the awkward and oddly friendly Martin Li, who they started the morning with, the Demon was cold and imperious. He only brushed the two of them away with a dismissive wave of a hand.
It wasn't until they were well outside the confines of the sagging warehouse that Valdez and DeWolff began to deliberate. "Captain? I… admit that I'm at a loss," DeWolff said. It was hard for her to make that kind of confession, especially since she didn't like Valdez or his way of doing things. But she was a professional, who could at least admit to a superior officer that she was in over her head.
But Valdez felt he was too much of a bastard to do the same for her. He had to keep pretending he was in charge. It was what he always did.
Valdez kept his voice low and measured. "The plan is clear. We get our hands on those papers, before anything else. I'll talk to Li some more, and if they're real then I need to see what I can do to have him hand them over to us and then come in quietly."
DeWolff shrugged. They both knew there was little chance of that. "Why tell us all that?" she asked. "Guilt?"
"He knows which cops are on the take, and so do we. He knows the two of us are clean. He wants us to know it's out there, and to chase after it to make sure it's not buried or destroyed if Fisk kills him," Valdez theorized.
DeWolff nodded her head, following along without much difficulty. "If he fails in his revenge against Fisk, he at least has us chasing after it so we can hurt the Kingpin a little for him. And he doesn't just hand it over to us now here and now, because he doesn't want us to arrest him before he can do… whatever it is that he's planning."
Valdez stretched in the sunlight outside, hearing his joints pop and click. "Which leaves us with two questions we need to answer. The first is: if it's real, then how do we find that deposit box with his signed confession?"
DeWolff was far more tightly wound than Valdez, and the tension never left her face. "And the other question?"
"Who the fuck is this Spider-Man?" the captain groaned. "Somehow he slapped around Mr. Negative hard enough to get him to turn on Fisk overnight. Li's had the shit kicked out of him by the Slingers, Cloak, Dagger, Daredevil. I think even freaking Power Man and Iron Fist beat him up a few times. This is a real first for our guy, and I want to know what made getting his ass kicked by Spider-Man so special for him by comparison. Call up SHIELD and do some digging. It's SHIELD, right? This Spider-Woman is with SHIELD, so we can assume Spider-Man is part of the same mess?"
"She's SHIELD. And she's ex-HYDRA," DeWolff mumbled the last sentence.
"HYDRA. Fuck. Okay, tell SHIELD there's a possible HYDRA connection, and see if they'll do anything more than monitor. If they say this is a Federal thing now, we turf it all to them." Valdez couldn't keep the exasperation out of his voice.
"Unless Spider-Man is already a person of interest for them, there's no chance they'll do anything more than read our reports," DeWolff grumbled.
Like any city official, Valdez loathed dealing with SHIELD as a matter of course. It still had to be done. "Pump them for any information on him, and any possible red flags. If he's a total newcomer to the scene then give them what we have, so he's on their radar too. We need to figure this out somehow, DeWolff. Who the hell is Spider-Man?"
---
Peter was back in the internet café from before, after a night through the city. He thought he should reacquaint himself with New York again, and better understand the changes that happened during what, for lack of a better euphemism, was his long absence. He'd prepared himself for the worst.
But why did good news hurt more?
They were all alive, Peter thought numbly, as he scrolled through the webpages again. As he took stock, he could only feel dead inside. He didn't know how to process this, so he simply wouldn't for now. Was he supposed to be happy? Was he supposed to be angry at himself for feeling happy?
Was he meant to hate himself a little more?
"Thanks Greg," Peter mumbled, as he took the coffee from the younger man.
"No problem!" the kid said with a shrug. "You… did you sleep at all since you were here last night?"
"A little. Here and there," Peter said softly, before shooing away Greg. It had only been about twelve hours since… things changed. That was the only way he could describe it. He'd been there, in a wasteland, with Doom and the Hulk as his only surviving companions. Their band, already tragically small, had been winnowed down over the course of months. Hercules had merely been the most recent of them to die, just a few days before… something turned back the world's clock. And that something failed to factor Peter Parker, Victor von Doom, or Bruce Banner into the equation.
And now, Hercules was alive. The man was always obscure, especially compared to a founding Avenger like Thor, who was alive again too. But there were hints of Hercules. To hear Thor tell it, his mythic contemporary wasn't quite as fond of the world of mortals as the God of Thunder. When the God of Strength and Heroes involved himself in mortal matters, he generally preferred sunnier climates. But there were sightings of him just a week ago in Hollywood.
Peter looked down at the bracers hidden beneath his sleeves, and at the picture of Hercules, earnestly grinning for the cameras as he gave a thumbs up. Hercules had an identical set of bracers around his forearms. Peter silently shrugged. If nothing else, it meant that returning the strange curios to their original owner was now a moot point.
His eyes reflexively traced the inscription around the two sets of bracers once again. He couldn't parse even modern-day Greek, let alone whatever long dead variant this was. But everyone knew what was written on it.
There was a similar inscription in Elder Futhark on Thor's Mjolnir, after all.
Peter clenched his fist, and the bracers clinked. They were heavy, but he was strong enough that the load was never an issue. But the godly artifacts were still nothing but dead weight.
He didn't begrudge Hercules for making the wrong call. There was hardly anyone left alive by the end, let alone anyone worthy. For lack of a better heir, Hercules's bracers simply passed to Peter.
'So why feel so much bitterness over them?' he thought, as he let the bracers clink against his skin again.
He still wasn't strong enough for what he knew was coming. Not yet. He was permitted to be disappointed over a missed opportunity.
'Or maybe you just hate idea that you're unworthy,' came another unbidden thought.
Enough. He had bigger things to think about. They were all alive again, even the ones who ought to have been dead.
Harry Osborn was alive again, even though Peter remembered that his first real friend originally died a few years before the date on the calendar hanging on the wall, right after a meaningless fight with Peter. Now Harry Osborn, perpetually in and out of rehab, might live long enough to reach the age of thirty if his father or his opioid addiction didn't get him first.
His father, Norman Osborn, was also alive again. And so was the Green Goblin, though the public was unaware of any connection between the two. The Goblin seemed content with his relative obscurity, remaining only an urban legend that would periodically resurface for the occasional mass murder.
Flash Thompson was alive again, because he never signed up for service in the military. Because there wasn't any Spider-Man around to inspire him to pointlessly throw his life away.
Gwen Stacy was alive again, a scientist like she always wanted to be. And father George now lived, happily retired.
Ned Leeds. Ashley Kafka. Frederick Foswell. Jean DeWolff. The list was seemingly endless. They were all alive again, all the ghosts who'd haunted him over the course of a long and bloody career. Every mistake he made was undone. But why wasn't he happy?
They were all alive, because they'd simply never met him. But he'd always known that. He'd spent years already torturing himself with that knowledge. But why wasn't he sad?
Joe had the right idea. He was the worst thing that never happened to these people.
He saw a picture of Mary Jane, a dazzling grin on her face. It was something that he'd been desperate to see again. But why couldn't he bear the sight of her smile?
That was what finally shattered the numbness that pervaded him. She was, as always, the final straw for him, the limit of what he could endure. His pervasive and bitter apathy gave way again to mixed feelings of rage and sorrow. His new normal.
He buried his face in his hands. He had to stop.
A hand had suddenly clutched his shoulder, but his Spider-Sense dismissed it as a threat. Peter glanced up slowly and saw Greg, as he gave Peter's shoulder another squeeze. A saint-like sympathy seemed to radiate from the man. It had been a long time since anyone had bothered with such a small gesture.
"I'm sorry, I…" Peter began as an apology, only for Greg to shake his head. The guy was also starting to tear up a little, and Peter was genuinely touched.
"It's gonna be okay, man," Greg said with a little sniffle, as he motioned to the monitor. "We all knew it wasn't happening. MJ Watson would've been great as Mera, but superhero shlock is beneath her."
Peter mutely let his eyes wander from Greg, to the picture of Mary Jane, to the actual title of the article. 'MJ Watson: No Plans for DC film Roles.'
Peter clutched the hand on his shoulder, reassuring Greg. "Us Aquaman fans will get through this together," Peter promised solemnly.
"Yeah," Greg said with a nod, stifling a sob.
Peter stared up at Greg, stone-faced, before he couldn't hold himself back and broke into a smile. "Thanks, man."
Greg mirrored the smile, playfully nudging Peter's shoulder one last time before letting go. "The world's full of sad crap, Pete. Do something that makes you happy," he mumbled, before idly pulling out his phone.
Peter chugged away at the last of his coffee, hardly minding the singing of his tongue as he tossed the empty cardboard cup in the trash. "You know? I think I will."
---
By the time he approached FEAST, he already saw a smiling Joe Fixit leaning against the side of the building, accompanied by Doom. Peter found Joe's smile reassuring, while Victor's death mask had its usual grimace on. But Joe and Peter had seen Doom's face enough times to know that the metal mask was far more comforting than the wreckage beneath it.
"Good night?" Joe Fixit asked Peter with a smile.
Peter crossed his arms, though his tone wasn't reproachful. "You tell me. Victor was keeping tabs, right?"
"I was," Doom's metallic voice drawled. "It seems you are back in form, Peter. Then perhaps next time, you could simply dodge the bullet."
Joe let out a whistle. "Hmph. Eustache Dauger here is pissed with you. Usually when he opens his mouth, it's to chew me out."
"Silence, Fixit," Doom's cold voice intoned.
"He's using your preferred pseudonym now. You're becoming buddies," Peter mused. Doom crossed his arms, making clear that any further mockery was at their peril.
"I wanted to know that I was still good enough," Peter admitted with shrug.
Doom shook his head. "If you were not, I would not have bothered. There are less risky paths to self-improvement. If I had my old resources to call upon, you could-"
Joe frowned, cutting Doom off. "Cool it with the Sith Lord shtick. He can figure it out his way," but then it was Joe's turn to glare at Peter. "Provided he doesn't do anything like catch a bullet midair just to prove a point."
Peter sighed and sat down on the curbside, with Joe placing a surprisingly gentle hand on Peter's back. First it was Greg, and now it was the Hulk.
There were still people out there who cared whether he lived or died.
"I understand. No more stupid games," Peter vowed.
Joe smiled, and Doom nodded his head. That was all they needed. Because they knew by now that he would either stick to what he said, or he would die trying.
"Do we trust Mr. Negative?" Doom said, looking at Peter's tired and bruised face. Greg couldn't tell that some of the bruises on Peter's face were fresh compared to their first meeting yesterday, but Doom easily could.
"…We do," Peter decided. "He's still the same guy I fought way back when. It's not the first time the two of us have had to stick to gentlemen's agreements."
Joe grinned, every inch the classic wise guy in that moment. "I like it. Very old school."
"Very well. Though…" Doom became a bit more hesitant, as he whispered low and soft. "You do know that you have an extra shadow trailing behind you now, yes?"
Peter only nodded, and that gesture alone was enough to reassure Doom. They didn't need to do anything about it right now. "I'm going to get some sleep. Wake me up when Li arrives."
Chapter 7
Annie sighed as she looked at her namesake in the driver's seat. The sun was setting, and the two of them were headed to another shift at FEAST. "You could at least let me drive," Annie groused.
"You go way too fast," Aunt Anna said gently.
"I've got a learner's permit!" the teen complained.
"Trust me, Annie, that's exactly why I'm not letting you drive after dark. You can drive us home in the morning if you like," Anna said gently.
"I'm half asleep in the morning," Annie sighed. If she was so worried about safety, then why have Annie drive home when she could fall asleep behind the wheel?
"You can sleep when we're there. Mr. Li's going to be in tonight," Anna said gently.
Annie tried not to seem too pleased by the news. "I'll… drive us home," she decided. Martin Li was the indulgent uncle she never got to have. It took a while for her to warm up to him… but for some reason the more she pushed back, the harder Li tried.
The Bugle kept spreading rumors that he had links to Mr. Negative. The Globe said he was probably a vampire. Rags kept smearing him because he was something scarier than either of them: he was a rich man who decided not to be another asshole. That was the kind of thing that got people like Jameson stressed out.
When they arrived, Li was already smiling and greeting them in the parking lot. As if he was a waiter ready to take their coats instead of her Aunt's boss. Aunt Anna greeted him warmly while Annie stayed silent, but Li had more than enough welcomes for them both. It wasn't until he moved under a lamp outside that they noticed the bruises on his face.
"…Mr. Li?" Aunt Anna gasped.
"Oh no," Li said, smiling in a boyish sort of embarrassment. "Don't mind it. You should see the other guys."
"What happened?" Annie said, her tone of voice inadvertently coming out more suspicious and accusatory rather than concerned. Aunt Anna gave her a look of disapproval, but what could Annie do?
She didn't really know how to talk to people.
But Li didn't seem offended in the slightest. "I heard about the men who tried to grab you in the parking lot here. Me and a friend of mine… had a talk with them, and the police. You and your aunt are going to be safe here," Li vowed.
'What was your aunt saying back there about masked guys who tried to kidnap you?' she remembered Hobo Pete say yesterday.
"Your friend's Hobo Pete?" Annie blurted, still unable to filter her own thoughts as they entered the building. What made it worse was that Hobo Pete and his two weird sidekicks were already waiting for them around the corner on a tattered couch, with the other homeless giving the two bizarre men with Peter a wide berth. Peter smirked at Annie's nickname.
"My friend is Mr. Parker, Annie." Li said with a gentle chuckle. "And yes, Peter Parker and I made sure everything was settled," he said, motioning to Hobo Pete on the couch with a smile… only for it to die when he noticed both Peter Parker and Aunt Anna suddenly go a bit pale.
Peter gave Martin a slightly frustrated look, and Mr. Li seemed somewhat downcast by the reproach. But Aunt Anna looked like she was seeing Peter for the first time. As if she'd just found out the person she'd spent most of last night talking to was a ghost.
"Peter Parker?" Anna said softly. "I see," she said, in the same tone of voice she'd used when she heard Annie now owed the city several hundred hours of community service.
Peter sighed. "It wasn't my intention to hide anything. I just…"
"You were afraid I wouldn't believe you," Anna supplied, with a gentle smile. "You were asking before, if Mary and Richard had a boy…"
"Yeah," Hobo Pete simply affirmed, with a tragic look in his eyes. Annie blinked, clearly having no idea what was going on and wishing she hadn't tuned out the entire conversation he had with her Aunt the last night.
"But how could…?" Aunt Anna asked, something clearly not making sense to her, before she shook her head and simply reached out with her arms and hugged him. The gesture left both Peter and Annie at a loss. But apparently not Mr. Li, or the gray giant, or the masked man.
The way she held him, and the look in her eyes, reminded Annie of the way her aunt had held her when her mother died.
"You're family, all right?" she whispered to Peter, as the man stood mutely in her arms, like a mannequin. "I don't know how it happened, and I don't care. You're Mary and Richard's son, and we can get a blood test to prove it. You could…"
"Please," Peter pleaded. "I need to talk to Martin, Anna." His voice was firm, and his face may as well have been carved from rock. It pissed Annie off, but Aunt Anna only gave him one last sad look before letting him go.
"I'm sorry about that, Peter," Martin murmured softly, only for Peter to shake his head. That just pissed Annie off a little more, but Li hardly seemed to mind as he shuffled away with the three men. Leaving Anna and Annie alone at the entrance.
"Aunt Anna? Who's Peter Parker?" Annie pleaded, only for Anna to shake her head.
"I wish I knew," Anna could only sigh.
---
They were sitting in Li's office, a plain and humble space, adorned with a giant Yin-Yang symbol behind him and a handful of certificates and newspaper clippings. Only Joe Fixit still stood, with him far too large to be accommodated by the chairs.
"And these gentlemen are?" Martin Li asked curiously, motioning to the seated Doom and the standing Joe.
Peter thought for a moment. They were many things to him, at this point. But at this moment, he could only say the words that first came to his mind. "They're like me. They're my arms and my legs. I'd have died without them."
He couldn't tell what Joe or Doom thought of that statement. Martin Li was suitably impressed by the declaration, though.
"And… then there's the matter of our eavesdropper…" Martin said with a slight frown. Peter cocked his head to Victor and pointed to a slightly darker patch of shadow on the wall.
"Come out, miss," Victor's metallic voice rang beneath his mask, cordial and ice cold. "You had fooled nobody, but we would prefer to treat you as an adult rather than a child." The four of them watched impassively as those shadows congealed, into the shape of a young woman in black spandex and a hangman's hood. She was Dusk, or as Peter dimly recalled, Cassandra Saint Commons.
"How did you know?" she said, though she was staring at Li rather than Peter or Doom. Joe, for his part, regarded the whole scene with stony silence. Either he had also sensed Dusk, or he had an incredible poker face.
It was probably both.
"I always knew, Dusk," Li said plainly. "I could always sense when you were nearby. Our mutual connection to the Darkforce meant that hiding from me was impossible."
Dusk seemed to glare at Li and spoke in a voice that was cold enough to freeze blood. "You knew for more than a year and…"
"And I pretended not to," Li confessed. "I was always careful not to reveal anything too important when you eavesdropped… Cassie Saint Commons," Li continued, revealing he knew Dusk's real name too.
"We were just dancing in your palms, weren't we Li?" she said, her hands balling into fists.
Li thought for a moment, and then shook his head. "No. You and your friends weren't as dangerous to me as you thought you were. And that's a bitter lesson to learn. But if I were to involve your family into the matter… there would be blood for it. Men like me thrive because we are very careful not to cross the line from career criminal to terrorist. Harming your wealthy and very well-connected parents would be too dangerous for me. You and your friends were not something I could simply erase."
Peter couldn't help but approve of Li, at least a little. It was another reason why he found him to be the least loathsome of New York's super-criminals. At the very least, he was putting Dusk down in the gentlest way he could.
Doom though, had no such qualms. "Regardless, this is no place for children. Go home, Ms. Saint Commons."
While Dusk fixed a glare at Doom beneath her hood, it was Li who shook his finger at Victor. "She has a right to be here, and I want her friends to hear this. I am done. The Demon is also done. Matters have gone far enough. Whatever shape things take in New York, Mr. Negative is done."
Dusk was suitably stunned, but even Peter was left surprised. This was a first for his previous timeline too. "What brought that on, Martin?"
Li gave a harsh laugh. "You did, I think. Peter Parker. I'm still sorry about that, by the by. I had no idea the name would cause Anna so much distress. Or that you had a history…"
Peter frowned, but it was his turn to be gracious. "It's just a name, and a past. Neither of those mean anything right now."
Dusk sighed, and retreated to a corner of Li's office, the shadows deepening subtly as she became almost but not quite invisible. Li looked at Peter appraisingly.
"How much did you know of my history?" Li asked frankly.
"You'd shout it sometimes, when our fights would get intense. That you were a child of the Eighth City," Peter said, and Dusk gave a start as she remembered him proclaiming it too.
"You know the meaning?" Li said with a smile. He was asking both Peter and Dusk the question… but he was looking at Dusk in particular.
Dusk shrugged. "Nothing that Google could tell us, at any rate."
"It's Hell," Peter intoned flatly. "Or one of them, at any rate. Not the Christian one where Mephisto is lurking. There are the Seven Capital Cities of Heaven… and the Eighth City."
"Just so," Li grinned. Or was it the Demon now? There was a lot of teeth in Li's smile suddenly, Peter noted. "And as it was in Hell, so it was everywhere else. Yin and Yang. Good and bad. All flowing into each other. All morality, all notions of right and wrong, are ultimately a zero-sum game."
Joe Fixit sneered. "That's a pretty negative way of looking at things, buddy," the Hulk mocked. Li rolled his eyes, though whether it was Joe's sermonizing or the pun that was the bigger issue was unclear.
"It wasn't until I met you that I realized something," Li continued, with a toothy smile. "That a man could simply take all the bad on themselves and leave everyone else the good. The glimmers of your life that I saw… were quite harrowing, Peter. My mentor would approve of you, for having lived the harsh and selfless life of a wandering ascetic."
"I don't like ruminating on how tough things can get, Li. It hasn't given me any enlightenment or peace of mind, either," Peter said harshly. What happened to his wife, and to his children… whatever shambles his life was now, he couldn't accept any of that as proof of supposed nobility on his part.
'You've strength enough to hold up the sky,' Hercules had once told him. The bracers clinked uselessly against his arms, once again proving the kindhearted fool wrong.
"You misunderstand," Li said gently, now sounding much more like himself than the Demon. "You're exactly the kind of person I spent my life trying to help. You are a penniless vagrant, crushed by life. But still honest, and full of good intentions. You, like everyone else here, deserve the same chance. So… whatever might transpire between Spider-Man and the Demon in the future, I want you to consider FEAST to be at your service. You will always be welcome here. Let whatever matters that occur outside be left outside. Here I am always Martin Li, and you are always Peter Parker."
Peter swallowed… and inclined is head in genuine gratitude. Li didn't gloat, or mock. He only seemed grateful at the trust he was given, as he bowed his head in return.
"That offer extend to us? Er… Mister Li?" said Joe Fixit, cocking his head with a half-smile.
"It extends to Peter Parker's arms and legs, yes," Li said with a snort.
Joe looked to Doom, who simply crossed his arms and nodded his head. Joe then grinned back at Li. "He's the brains of our stupid outfit anyways," the Hulk shrugged. "Arms and legs suit me just fine."
Dusk seemed fascinated by the scene… and seemed particularly focused on Peter. That knowledge bothered him, a bit. He was supposed to be the least strange member of his triad with Doom and Joe.
"So it's over? You're coming clean, just like that?" Dusk couldn't help but ask.
"It is over," Li said with finality. "I've made arrangements with NYPD, and I am prepared to deliver them a signed confession of all my activities." Dusk couldn't help but give a gasp, and yet Doom, Joe, and Peter only grew more tense with the admission.
Joe frowned. "Fisk will kill you," he said bluntly.
Li shook his head. "He will try. I saw inside Peter's head. The three of you want to bring down Fisk, not just me."
Dusk looked at Peter again, rather than Joe or Doom. Perhaps it was because Peter was the least disconcerting one.
"Why?" she asked plainly.
Peter hesitated on the answer, so Doom gave his own. "It is the pragmatic option. New York City is optimally placed, as it has the most superhuman individuals in a single locality. Because of this, it also has the densest concentration of advanced technology and bleeding-edge research. If we intend to make use of this… we will inevitably find ourselves unwelcome in Wilson Fisk's city."
"What… are you people trying to do, exactly?" Dusk asked, suddenly suspicious.
"I'm gonna explain now," Joe said to Doom. "And I'm gonna do it in a way that isn't needlessly ominous, capiche?" For his part, Doom visibly frowned beneath his mask… and held his tongue.
"Something bad's coming. End of the world kind of bad, and we're the only ones who know anything about it. And fortunately for the rest of the world, little lady, we happen to be top scientists in addition to superpowered homeless people. We'd like to get all our hands on the neat tech Fisk's hoarding to make his lab grown super people and see if we can't use it to finagle a solution for our own problem. Or at least, start to understand it a bit better," Joe said easily, not put off at all by Dusk's deeply skeptical body language.
"He's smarter than I am," Peter said reassuringly, only for Dusk to grow even more skeptical. Peter sighed, remembering that he had no reputation for unexpected scientific brilliance anymore either.
"We want to take out the Kingpin and then see if we can't use his crap to save the world. We're happy to drag you and your friends along into this mess for a bit of oversight, if you still doubt us," Joe said with a scowl.
Dusk looked at Peter again, searching him for… something, before she nodded. "Fine, we'll let you guys grab whatever super-tech Fisk has lying around. You can't do worse stuff with it than him, at least. You guys realize Kingpin is basically untouchable though, right?"
"So are we," Peter said brusquely, and he could practically feel Dusk frown beneath her hood. Li smiled and nodded his head.
"Okay," Peter decided. "Tell us where you've been dropping people off for Fisk. We'll sort the rest out. The moment we do, Fisk knows you've leaked all the details to us. So, I want you to be long gone by then. And I want Dusk and the rest of the Slingers to make that happen."
Li shook his head. "I won't be running, Peter."
"…Then go to the cops now," Peter grimaced. "Get yourself into a cell, and…"
Li laughed. They both already knew it was a ridiculous idea. "The moment I flee is the moment Wilson realizes I compromised him. I think the only place he could not reach me is the Eighth City itself, and I would gladly die before thinking of returning there. Protective custody with the police? In New York? That does not exist in Wilson Fisk's city. So…"
"So you're going to die," Joe said flatly.
Peter clenched his fist. "We can leave the lab alone, then. We'll find some other way to strike at Fisk and-"
It was Dusk's turn to cry out. "We'll protect him! The Slingers, and me," she said, firmly and confidently.
Silence pervaded, until Doom scoffed. "You, girl? This is not a war for children. What-"
"I accept your offer, Ms. Saint Commons," Li said plainly.
Doom shrugged, still the one who was the most apathetic to this entire business. "Be it on your head then, Martin Li."
"…Martin…" Peter breathed out in a tight and pained voice.
"Be it on my head," Martin agreed firmly. "It's not like the three of you are any less dead men than I am now, right?" he said with a grin. "I don't think he'll be able to kill you. So, trust me when I say he can't kill me too."
There was no more room for talk, then. Nobody could be dissuaded, least of all Martin, or Peter.
"Where's the lab then, Li?" Peter said with finality.
---
Peter got caught by Annie Byrnes in the storage area, while he was brewing up some more web fluid. She was looking for him and was clever enough to guess where he'd be found. Her face was set in a line, her eyes hard. Peter smiled despite himself. She looked nothing like his younger daughter, or his wife. Her hair was jet black like her father's, for a start. But that expression… MJ would look at him like that, when he really screwed something up. And so would his own Annie.
She fixed him with a cold glare, and muttered out, "You're a dick."
Peter accepted the proclamation soberly as he stirred the pot. "I don't disagree-" he began. But Li, who was just entering the room with Dusk trailing behind him, cut Peter off.
"Annie," Li said, his tone authoritative and chiding. "If you keep picking fights like these, you'll keep getting into trouble."
To her credit, she seemed to accept the reproach, her eyes downcast. Even though she clenched a fist, she didn't offer another retort. She genuinely respected Li, Peter realized.
"…He made Aunt Anna cry," Annie mumbled. Peter froze. He'd made her great-aunt cry. The kid was now instantly in the right, as far as Peter was concerned.
"I'll talk to her," Peter promised. "It's… there's a lot to talk about," he said with a sigh. He was so used to lying, nowadays. They flowed so smoothly, and so easily. They were far less complicated than the truth.
Li shook his head. "It's fine. This is more my bad than yours," Martin said, looking down to Annie.
Annie's mouth set into another line. "Why is everyone kissing Hobo Pete's ass, here? Aunt Anna told me everything!"
Li sighed. "I've known Peter… in my own way… for some time. What did Anna tell you?"
Annie clicked her tongue. "Aunt Anna used to live next to the Parkers, and she was best friends with May Parker. And her husband was Ben Parker, and he had a brother named Richard Parker, who had a wife named Mary. But… Mary Parker didn't have any kids. And she sure as hell wasn't showing before she died."
Peter thought for a moment. Coming clean was impossible when the actual truth of the matter was so implausible. She wouldn't believe the actual truth. So, he sighed and simply let half-truths fill in the gaps for her in easy, digestible chunks. The path of least resistance. "They had a boy. And…" he thought back to Teresa, "and a girl."
"Yeah, you know, that's something my great-Aunt should have heard before you brushed her off, my guy," Annie said, her voice frustrated.
"Do I tell her… what? Richard and Mary were involved in espionage? That they had two kids who weren't even born in this countryl? No citizenship, and no birth certificate? And then they died before anyone could pick us up from a safehouse?" Peter muttered numbly. He felt guilt and shame, his oldest friends. It was only Teresa Parker who was born in a foreign country and had to suffer through what she did. He at least, was born on US soil, and had a past to call his own.
But he didn't have that past anymore, now. He felt more certain with his decision. He, like Teresa, was now a ghost. He supposed it was fitting.
Li looked at him appraisingly. He likely was trying to sort out what was honest and what was obfuscation for Annie's sake. This was impossible for Martin Li to do. Because it was also impossible for Peter Parker to do, at this point.
Annie, however, was shocked. "You got a sister, too? Where?" she asked. "Is it the creepy hood lady?" she said, motioning to Dusk. Who was clearly at least a little upset by Annie's statement.
"No." Peter muttered. "It's not the creepy hood lady. I don't know where my sister is. Or if she's alive," he said, partially relieved that the half-truths had now transitioned into something unambiguously honest. Was she alive? Had she even been born?
Would she still consider him family, now? Did she ever even think of him as her brother, back then? He wanted to know and yet he also hoped he'd never know.
"And you met Mr. Li, at some point?" Annie asked, her questions becoming more and more intrusive.
"At some point," Peter simply said. It was better to let her own speculation fill in the blanks for him. That seemed good enough for Martin, who simply nodded to Annie as well.
Peter wouldn't normally have been this candid, or this open, about his life's story. Trust never came easily for him, even when it came to his colleagues in the superhero business. It bothered them, how he'd never take his mask off even for them if he could help it. He never understood how people like Steve Rogers or Ben Grimm went around with their identities public. Even Mary Jane had to figure it out for herself, because if he could he simply would never have ended up coming clean to her. He simply never would have ended up marrying her.
But now? Now it was easy. Now his past had never really happened. And so, now it never really mattered. He stirred the pot in silence.
"You and Mr. Li beat up Mr. Negative's guys yesterday, right? That's why you made all that sticky web stuff," Annie concluded.
Peter stayed silent, and raised an eyebrow at Li. 'It's your turn to decide how honest with her you want to be,' the look in Peter's eyes said.
Li, for his part, was an accomplished deceiver. "It was more him than me," Martin said, also sticking to half-truths. "He's a better fighter than I am," he added. And while that was likely honest, Peter felt more exhausted than proud as Dusk also nodded enthusiastically along to Li's last statement.
"So are you like… Batman or something?" Annie said, finally.
God, Peter wished. "I'm way less interesting than Batman, kid."
Annie flushed, more out of embarrassment than irritation. "No! I mean, like… you got that spider on your jacket. You got the web stuff, and the mask. You travelled the world, came back to America, and decided to be a hobo superhero?"
Dusk was looking at Peter again. He could swear her eyes were glowing a little, beneath her hood. Or maybe it was a veil, or a shroud? The original costume he made back when he was the one calling himself Dusk, which the Slingers copied for who knew what reason, never had eyeholes. So he wouldn't call it a hood.
"I'm trying to see if Ricochet needs a sidekick, yeah," Peter said flatly. Despite herself, Dusk gave a giggle beneath her shroud. She was young. His elder daughter would have been around her age.
'They're also both dead. They have a lot in common.'
"Ricochet's lame, dude," Annie said with a roll of her eyes. Dusk laughed again, before she stifled it.
"I'm not going to tell him you said that," Dusk promised.
"Thanks, Wednesday Addams," Annie said flatly.
Now it was Li's turn to chuckle, and Dusk became desperate to get away from Anna Watson's horrible grandniece.
"Where'd you learn to fight like that?" Dusk finally asked Peter.
"Where'd you get the costume?" Peter asked. It was only partially deflection. The first time around, he wrote off the mystery and just assumed the Slingers were kids who wanted to copy a set of identities he was longer using. But now?
'How did these kids manage to copy a set of costumed identities that you weren't even around to make in the first place, Peter?'
He now burned to know the answer. But Dusk was silent. "It's a long and horrible story, Hobo Pete," the undead woman finally said.
"I lived those stories, kid." He finished brewing the pot of web fluid, and Dusk gave no further answers. "Let's both keep our secrets for now, then," he said with a sigh.
The silence came, and then went. Dusk was a sociable kid, it seemed.
"You call yourself Spider-Man?" she asked. She'd been following him around all morning after he finished his brawl with the Demon, and he'd only pretended not to notice her while complaining about the apparent identity confusion between him and Ricochet.
"I call myself Spider-Man. God knows what everyone else is going to end up calling me," Peter muttered.
There was a curiosity that burned beneath Dusk's featureless black veil. She had a thousand questions for him. And she knew she was stuck, because she didn't want to come clean on the questions Peter was going to demand from her in turn. Neither of them would have what they wanted.
But Peter was older and could make peace with that. Dusk couldn't.
"You're the first homeless man I've met who decided on vigilantism," she said thoughtfully.
Peter shrugged, only for Dusk to press on. "Li's right. You're selfless. Prodigy says that you're the real thing. A real superhero."
Peter frowned, as he gently chewed on his own tongue. "There's no such thing. Everyone's got their reasons for doing this stupid job. Yours are probably better than mine."
He saw hints of her face, smiling beneath her funeral shroud. "A real veteran. A genuine pro," she said happily, as if she were beginning to figure him out.
He hoped that once she did, she'd let him know too.
"Let's go find Anna, Annie. I'm sure you have a lot to tell her now. The two superheroes have things to talk about," Li said, as he cleared his throat. But Annie halted at the door.
"…I'm sorry for calling you a dick, Peter." Annie began. "And I think you're cool… Spider-Man," she said with a smirk. Peter gave a snort and waved both her and Li away.
The silence was pervasive, as he began to reload his web-shooters. He had no idea what he was walking into, and by the time he survived his first ten years as Spider-Man he'd simply have refused to blunder into a villain's lair without at least some attempt to scout out the place beforehand. But now he had the Hulk, and he had Dr. Doom besides. Them and a burgeoning death-wish that really needed sorting out.
"We'll keep Li alive," Dusk said softly. "I promise."
He remembered making such promises of his own before. To Gwen Stacy. Harry Osborn. Mary Jane Parker. Their children. To all the other ghosts he'd left behind in his life, who were now strangers to him instead.
And now Martin Li. Old enemy. Old friend.
"Promise me that you won't beat yourselves up if you can't," Peter said to her, with sad resolve.