Destiny?
Heh!
The following morning arrived with the crisp, unforgiving clarity of a New York autumn. Locke, fresh from a steaming shower that had washed away the last psychological residues of the previous night's chaos, stood in his luxury bathroom.
He caught sight of several missed calls on his phone and raised a skeptical eyebrow. Upon calling back, he realized the frantic digital pings had originated from Gwen Stacy.
Apparently, the officer who had escorted him home—a man of professional diligence—had requested his contact information for the official report, passed it to Captain George Stacy, and consequently, it had found its way into Gwen's hands.
The concern was palpable, and in a city as cold as New York, Locke found he didn't mind it.
Locke descended the sleek elevator of the Star Tower and stepped out onto the sidewalk, only to find George Stacy's marked patrol car idling at the curb. He suppressed a flicker of amusement. Riding in a police cruiser as a high schooler was a special kind of "Alexander-level" pressure—heavy and laden with social implications.
He pulled open the heavy rear door and nodded to the man behind the wheel. "Sorry for the trouble, Mr. Stacy."
Manners were paramount. Locke had always been a firm believer in the social lubricant of politeness. Under normal circumstances, idling in this high-traffic zone was a one-way ticket to a hefty fine.
But when the vehicle in question was a NYPD cruiser piloted by a Precinct Captain, the traffic wardens suddenly found very interesting things to look at in the opposite direction. No one in their right mind was going to slap a ticket on George Stacy's windshield unless they wish for their career to end.
...
Midtown High
The car pulled up to the curb of Midtown High, its sirens silent but its presence loud.
"Bye, Dad!" Gwen called out with a wave. She waited until the patrol car had merged back into the flow of traffic before turning to Locke, her eyes searching his face with genuine anxiety. "Locke, are you really okay? No lingering pain?"
The mental image of his back—a grisly mosaic of embedded glass shards—was still vivid in her mind. It was a high-impact memory that wouldn't fade easily.
Locke gave her a reassuring, lopsided grin. "The doctor said it was just surface-level abrasions. Honestly, if I went to the hospital now, I'd have a hard time even convincing them to sign a sick note."
Gwen's tension visibly thawed, and she offered a soft, brilliant smile. "Thank you, Locke. Seriously."
Locke: "..."
Well, now it was his turn to feel the weight of gratitude. It was a strange role reversal, but he accepted it with a silent nod.
As they entered the bustling hallways, Gwen was immediately intercepted by Kim, her best friend who had been absent the previous day.
The high school rumor mill had been working overtime. News that Gwen had left school in Locke's silver Audi R8 had already achieved legendary status within the walls of Midtown High. Seeing them arrive together this morning in the Captain's police car?
In the eyes of their peers, that was practically a "marriage certificate" level of confirmation. It was stone-cold evidence that they were dating, and more importantly, that the relationship was parent-approved.
Kim was radiating pure envy. Though her parents were divorced and she lived with her mother, her father—a man she described as perpetually "mysterious" and "overly intense"—kept her on an incredibly short leash. The idea of such public romantic freedom was intoxicating to her.
"I'm telling you, Kim," Gwen said, her voice a mix of exasperation and defense as they walked toward their lockers. "You were out yesterday, so I had to partner with Locke for the chemistry project. It was logistics, nothing more."
Deep down, a nagging thought plagued Gwen. If Kim hadn't taken the day off, she wouldn't have been paired with Locke. They wouldn't have spent the evening together, he wouldn't have visited her home, and most importantly, his car wouldn't have been crushed by a falling corpse while he was protecting her.
In Gwen's logic-loop, it was all Kim's fault.
Kim, catching the sudden, inexplicable glare from Gwen, blinked in confusion. "What? Did I do something?"
"Is it true?" Kim persisted, her eyes sparkling with gossip.
"Is what true?" Gwen sighed.
"You and the new guy. Are you guys actually together?"
Gwen shook her head vigorously. "Please. Locke has been at this school for exactly forty-eight hours. As a student assistant, it's my job to help new students integrate. It's professional courtesy."
Kim wasn't buying it. Her gaze drifted over to Locke, who was sitting at a nearby table in the cafeteria, scrolling through his phone with a detached look. "I'll go ask him myself then."
Before Gwen could protest, Kim snatched up her tray and marched over to Locke's table. "Locke?"
Locke looked up from his screen, taking in the whirlwind of energy that was Kim Mills. He raised an eyebrow. "Kim."
Locke knew exactly who Kim was. He was beginning to seriously doubt the reality of this "Midtown High." There was no Peter Parker in sight—he was apparently attending a public school in Queens—but Gwen's best friend was the Kim Mills from the *Taken* universe. The daughter of Bryan Mills.
New York was becoming a very crowded place.
Kim leaned in, her eyes darting toward the approaching Gwen. "So, Locke, are you and Gwen actually dating?"
Locke looked at Gwen, who was now standing behind Kim, looking ready to sink into the floor.
Gwen gave Kim a playful shove. "Stop it. Locke and I are perfectly innocent."
Locke nodded in solidarity. "She's right."
"You sure?" Kim teased. "Gwen is easily the prettiest girl in school. You'd be crazy not to try."
Locke leaned back, his expression turning thoughtful. "Believe me, if I ever managed to win Gwen over, I'd probably announce it to the entire world."
While he often reminded himself that women were a distraction to the "grind," he wasn't a monk. If the opportunity arose, he wasn't opposed to it. But for now, he had more pressing matters. The Fraternity had him in their crosshairs.
He had already decided that until this "Loom of Fate" business was settled, he couldn't stay at the Star Tower. His R8 had been reduced to scrap metal in under seven hours. He wasn't about to let his multi-million dollar apartment be leveled before the seventy-two-hour mark.
Gwen caught his eye, a faint blush creeping up her neck. 'Announce it to the world?' She quickly changed the subject to hide her fluttering nerves. "Are you really okay? No pain?"
Locke nodded firmly. "Completely fine."
His wounds were already gone. Under the influence of his Level 3 Resilience, even a gunshot wound would have been a memory after a good night's sleep. These scratches never stood a chance.
Kim listened to their exchange, her romanticized view of life flaring up. As she heard the details of the previous night's "corpse-falling" incident, her eyes widened. "I wish I had a hero who would jump in front of a falling body for me."
'You do,' Locke thought silently, glancing at her. 'Your dad is a literal killing machine for your sake.'
Gwen, sensing the shift in tone, nudged Kim and then turned back to Locke. "Locke, this weekend, Kim and I are going to Oscorp for an interview. They're looking for interns in Dr. Curt Connors' lab. It's a massive opportunity for social practice and a resume builder. You should come with us."
"An interview?"
"Yeah. Dr. Connors is a genius in genetic research. Having his lab on your record is a golden ticket."
Locke considered it for a moment. Oscorp. Curt Connors. The Lizard. It was a hub for quests and plot points.
But then he remembered the state of his car.
Locke gave a polite shake of his head. "Thanks, Gwen, but I have some things to take care of this weekend."
The matter of his car wasn't over. If he let this slide, he'd lose more than just money—he'd lose his reputation in the shadows. In the underworld, Reputation was the ultimate currency. If he didn't pursue this, today it was a crushed car; tomorrow, someone might be bold enough to take a dump on his doorstep.
It was a matter of principle. Even if the Fraternity didn't come for him, he was going to knock on their door to ask for an explanation.
Gwen looked genuinely disappointed. "Oh. That's a shame. I thought you'd enjoy the challenge."
...
Later that afternoon, Locke's phone buzzed. It was the insurance company.
As he walked out of the school gates, he saw a sight that soothed his irritated nerves: a brand-new, gleaming silver Audi R8 was parked not far away, catching the afternoon sun.
The insurance agent, looking slightly harried but efficient, handed Locke the keys and made a quick exit. He didn't want to be around for whatever cosmic magnet was drawing disasters to this specific teenager.
Locke slid into the driver's seat. The smell of fresh leather filled his senses. He started the engine, and the signature roar of the R8 echoed through the parking lot.
The hunt was on.