"AAAAAAGH!!!"
A blood-curdling scream echoed through the bank lobby. Shocker was, at the end of the day, a regular human. Facing the agonizing pain of having every single finger systematically snapped, he lost all will and capacity to fight instantly.
"Hey, quiet down, pal."
Peter felt a headache brewing from the noise. He casually slammed a fist into the marble floor right next to Shocker's head.
"Unless you want to end up like the floor."
BOOM!
With a dull roar, the reinforced marble shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, leaving a deep, perfectly shaped fist print embedded in the stone.
Shocker's screaming cut off as if a switch had been flipped. Though his body continued to twitch in agony, he didn't dare make another sound.
If that punch had landed on his skull, he'd be a memory.
"I... I surrender!" Shocker stammered, his voice trembling violently. "I give up! Just don't kill me... don't hand me to the cops! I'll do anything!"
Anything?
Peter's eyes sharpened behind his mask. Now that was an enticing offer.
Compared to Spider-Man's other Rogues, Peter actually had a bit of respect for Shocker. The guy hadn't even finished high school, yet he was a self-taught engineer who had mastered lockpicking and hand-crafted a sophisticated vibro-suit using stolen physics knowledge. He was a rare technical talent.
Moreover, Shocker had principles. While he was obsessed with "easy money," he rarely sought to hurt people. In many timelines, Herman Schultz had never actually taken a life.
He was a talented man with a vestige of a conscience—it would be a waste to just dump him at the NYPD.
Perhaps it was time to give this "lost soul" a chance to work for a new boss.
Without further hesitation, Peter hoisted the semi-conscious Shocker onto his shoulder, preparing to leave. He needed a quiet place for a "performance review."
"Hey! Wait a minute!"
Seeing Peter about to stroll out with the prisoner, Gwen finally snapped out of her shock and called out. Peter stopped and looked back. His black-and-red mask remained an unreadable void.
Gwen gathered her courage and took a step forward, using what she thought was a very stern, "superhero" voice. "Don't you think we should hand him over to the police?"
In her simple worldview of justice, you catch the bad guy, and you give him to the cops. That's how it works.
Peter didn't even turn his head as he countered with a question: "Why do you think I call myself The Arbiter?"
He started walking again, leaving her with one final piece of advice: "I'd suggest you leave, too, rookie. Unless you want them to think you're his accomplice."
The "accomplice" comment hit a nerve, freezing Gwen in place. "That won't happen! I'll prove to you how wrong you are!"
The NYPD wouldn't be that blind, she thought fiercely. My dad is a cop—the most honest cop in New York!
To prove her point, Gwen abandoned the chase and stood defiantly in the center of the lobby, waiting for the authorities.
She would explain everything, show them that "Ghost-Spider" was a hero they could trust, and prove that arrogant jerk wrong.
Watching her stubborn silhouette through the reflection of a skyscraper window as he rounded the corner, Peter let out a small, knowing smile.
Still so young, Little Gwen. Reality is about to give you a very expensive lesson.
The NYPD's timing never disappointed Peter.
By the time the sirens finally wailed into the street, the bank was empty of most customers. A swarm of tactical officers burst through the doors, guns drawn. They didn't see a hero; they saw a trashed bank and a masked woman in a strange costume standing over the wreckage.
Almost instinctively, they leveled their rifles. A dozen black muzzles pointed straight at Gwen.
Gwen froze. Her hands went up, her mind racing. This wasn't the "thank you for your service" moment she'd imagined.
Why am I being held at gunpoint? I'm the good guy!
"Don't shoot! She's the one who saved us!" "Yeah! She fought off the guy in the yellow suit... actually, another guy took him, but she helped!" "She's a hero!"
Thankfully, the bank tellers and the injured guards on the floor spoke up. If they hadn't, Gwen might have gone through a "villain origin story" right then and there.
Hearing the unanimous testimony, the lead officer hesitantly lowered his hand, signaling his men to hold their fire.
"Miss..." The officer looked her over, his voice still dripping with suspicion. "Whatever the case, you need to come down to the station with us to file a formal report."
Go to the station? Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
Was he joking? She wasn't anywhere near ready to meet her father, George Stacy, while wearing this hood. The thought alone made her skin crawl.
"I'm sorry, I have other things to do," she said firmly.
"Hey! You can't just leave!" The officer stepped forward to block her path.
But Gwen wasn't about to be caught by a regular human. She flicked her wrist, and a strand of webbing shot upward, anchoring to the ceiling.
WHOOSH!
To the gasps of the officers and the remaining crowd, Gwen swung upward, diving through a shattered high-altitude window and vanishing into the concrete jungle.
This dramatic escape was caught perfectly by the lens of a newly arrived Daily Bugle photographer: Eddie Brock.
Daily Bugle Headquarters.
"Did you see that?! Did you see?!" J. Jonah Jameson shouted, waving the photo around. "The 'hero' you wanted me to cover fled the scene like a common criminal at the sight of the law!
If she has nothing to hide, why run?! Mark my words: her, this 'Pier Butcher', and this 'Arbiter'—they're all the same! A bunch of masked vigilantes threatening the safety of our city!"
Gwen, finally having lost the police pursuit, didn't know a media storm was brewing against her. She only knew that the guy called "The Arbiter" was, once again, right.
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