Peter looked at Felicia with a look of mild bewilderment.
Noticing his strange gaze, Felicia reacted like a startled cat. Her posture stiffened, and she looked ready to manifest her Spinosaurus-inspired "Nightingale" armor at any second.
"Don't get the wrong idea! I just... I just genuinely think you look pathetic standing here alone!"
Peter couldn't help but chuckle at her defensive display. He took her hand and led her toward the center of the room. "Then I suppose I should thank you, Miss Felicia Hardy."
The two moved gracefully to the melodic music. There were no clumsy tropes here—no stepping on toes or awkward fumbles. With Peter's current kinetic vision and reflexes, such things were physically impossible.
Their performance was reminiscent of Peter's "Bully Maguire" dance in the jazz club from Spider-Man 3, but with actual elegance.
Because they were both exceptionally attractive and their movements were fluid and aesthetic, they quickly became the focus of the entire gym.
A student running the music, seemingly annoyed that a "nerd" like Peter was stealing the spotlight, abruptly switched the track to a fast-paced, aggressive beat, hoping to trip them up.
But no matter how the rhythm shifted, Peter adapted instantly, guiding Felicia through a series of breathtaking spins and dips.
By the time the song ended, the room was filled with cheers and applause. It was precisely at this moment that a breathless Gwen Stacy rushed back into the gym.
Finding your best friend dancing with your boyfriend is a scene straight out of a soap opera, and Felicia felt a cold sweat break out across her neck. She reflexively let go of Peter's hand and hurried toward Gwen, her mind racing for an excuse.
"Gwen, listen, I can explai—"
But before she could finish, Gwen pulled Felicia into a tight hug, her face full of genuine gratitude. "Felicia, thank you so much for stepping in for me. I felt so bad leaving Peter by himself..."
Felicia: "..."
Peter: "..."
Um... Gwen, why do I feel like you're playing the role of the 'virtuous kitchen wife' who thanks the neighbor for 'looking after' her husband?
"Uh... you're welcome. It was the least I could do," Felicia stammered, her face flushing so red she looked like she might combust. She muttered something about needing the restroom and beat a hasty retreat.
Gwen, oblivious to Felicia's internal crisis, leaned into Peter and took his hand, looking up at him with puppy-dog eyes. "I'm so sorry, Peter. I didn't mean to ignore your feelings."
Peter didn't have the heart to tease her. He gently smoothed her hair. "It's fine. Loving someone means loving all of them—including their need to save people. That's always going to be a higher priority than a dance, isn't it?"
He spoke with zero sarcasm. Gwen's face lit up, and she buried her head in his chest, nuzzling him. "Peter, you're the best. Thank you for understanding me."
I hope you'll be just as understanding of me later, Peter thought, while his mouth continued to weave the silver-tongued charm of a master. "Silly girl, we don't need to say 'thank you' to each other."
He led her back onto the dance floor. "Come on. It's time to fulfill our promise."
The surrounding students watched in silence. Wait, wasn't he just holding a different one? This guy's efficiency is terrifying.
While Peter and Gwen enjoyed their fleeting peace, a storm was brewing on the other side of New York.
Ryker's Island.
This was the most secure prison in the state. But tonight, the iron fortress was about to be breached.
BOOM!
The heavy alloy wall of the prison was torn open by a terrifying force. A silver-grey figure stepped through the dust and rubble—Carlton Drake, or rather, Riot.
Alarms blared instantly. Dozens of guards rushed the breach, weapons drawn.
"What the hell is that thing?!" "Open fire!"
A hail of rifle and shotgun rounds peppered Riot's body... to no effect. The monster didn't flinch. Instead, it shifted its arms into massive, crescent-shaped blades.
With a single sweeping arc, he cleaved through guards and inmates alike who were too slow to run.
The bloody display shattered the guards' morale. "Bullets don't work! Fall back!"
They retreated like a receding tide. For a few thousand dollars a month, nobody was looking to die for the state.
Drake walked unopposed into the high-security block. He stopped before the cells of the men Peter had sent there.
"Mac Gargan." "Aleksei Sytsevich." "And you two, the Slayers."
The silver mass receded from Drake's face, revealing his human features. He looked at them with a predatory, beckoning smile. "Do you want your freedom back? Do you want power far beyond what you once possessed?"
Mac Gargan and the Slayer brothers didn't hesitate. Their eyes burned with greed. Gwen's hope that prison would reform them had been a delusion. They missed their power every waking second.
"Get me out of here," Gargan hissed. "I'll kill whoever you want."
Only the Rhino, Aleksei, shook his massive head. "Aleksei no go!"
"Aleksei promised Ghost-Spider to be a good person. If Aleksei is not good, the Arbiter will pop Aleksei's head like a grape!"
Seeing that the most physically resilient candidate—the one best suited for a high-intensity host—was refusing, Riot's patience snapped. A murderous intent locked onto the big man.
"Useless trash. If you won't cooperate, then die!"
Riot unhinged his jaw, preparing to take Aleksei's head off. But a raspy, manic voice drifted from the adjacent cell.
"Hey! Big guy! Don't be so cranky."
"He doesn't want to play? Then how about me? You let me out, and I promise to give you a show you'll never forget!"
Drake turned to see a man with messy red hair and a twisted, leering grin. Drake didn't recognize him, but inside his mind, the Riot symbiote began to tremble with a different kind of excitement.
This human... the sheer, bone-deep chaos and madness radiating from his soul... it was intoxicating. It was far "better" than Carlton Drake's cold ambition.
This was Cletus Kasady. The perfect host.
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