5:00 PM, NYPD Headquarters.
George Stacy stood in front of the conference room whiteboard, confirming the operation plan one last time.
The clock on the wall moved slowly; there were five hours left until the 10:00 PM operation. The sunlight outside the window was already slanting westward, casting long shadows on the floor.
"Everyone remember this," George's gaze swept over everyone in the room, "Ten o'clock sharp, Brooklyn Docks, Warehouse Number Three. The Hand will have a shipment of 'goods' arriving at the port tonight, and we are going to catch them red-handed."
Butler nodded: "Confirmed with the informant?"
"Confirmed," George said, "Murakami will be there in person. This is our best chance to catch him."
Williams raised his hand: "Boss, what if Spider-Man appears again?"
George was silent for a second.
"Follow the rules," he said, "If he doesn't interfere with law enforcement, we won't touch him. If he obstructs official business —"
He paused.
"Issue a warning first, and only take measures if the warning is ineffective."
Williams nodded.
George closed his notebook.
"Everyone, assemble at nine. Go back and rest now, keep your spirits up for tonight."
The officers left the conference room one after another. Arthur walked last, and when he reached the door, he turned back to look at his brother.
"Brother — uh, Captain," he corrected himself, "Are you leading the team in person tonight?"
George nodded.
Arthur looked at him, wanting to say something but stopping, and finally just said: "Be careful."
George nodded slightly.
The door closed.
George was the only one left in the conference room.
He stood in front of the whiteboard, looking at those photos and notes, his gaze landing on one place —
Murakami's face.
And the photo next to it: a white strand of Silk, stuck to the wall.
He stared at that strand of Silk, silent for a long time.
5:10 PM, The Parker Residence.
Peter stood in front of the mirror, having already changed into three different outfits.
The first one was too formal, like he was going for an interview. The second one was too casual, like he was going to play ball. The third one —
He stared at himself in the mirror, his brows furrowed so tightly he could crush a fly.
"Peter!" Uncle Ben's voice came from outside the door, "Are you ready yet? If you don't come out, you'll be late for your date!"
Peter took a deep breath, opened the door, and walked out.
Uncle Ben was sitting on the living room sofa, and when he saw him come out, his eyes lit up.
"Hmm, this outfit is nice," he looked Peter up and down, "Better than those other two."
Peter looked down at himself — a dark blue knit sweater, with a white shirt underneath, and black casual trousers below. Not too formal, not too casual.
"Really?"
"Really," Uncle Ben stood up, pulled an old wallet from his pocket, took out a crumpled hundred-dollar bill, and handed it to Peter.
Peter was stunned: "Uncle Ben, this —"
"Don't let the girl pay," Uncle Ben stuffed the money into his hand and patted his shoulder, "First formal date, be generous."
Peter held the bill, a warm current surging in his heart.
He knew that Uncle Ben and Aunt May's income wasn't generous; this hundred dollars might be something they had saved for a long time.
"Uncle Ben..."
"Don't talk nonsense," Uncle Ben interrupted him, "Have a good time, come back early."
In the kitchen, Aunt May came out carrying a tray of freshly baked cookies. Seeing Peter, she put down the tray, walked over, and kissed him gently on the forehead.
"My little Peter," she said with a smile, "You've grown up."
Peter's face flushed slightly.
Aunt May took his hand, examined him carefully, her eyes full of tenderness.
"That girl, her name is Gwen, right? The girl from the Stacy family next door?"
Peter nodded.
"Good girl," Aunt May said, "Watched her grow up, she has good character. You have to treat her well, you know?"
"I know."
Aunt May kissed him again before letting go.
"Go on, don't keep her waiting."
Peter nodded, carefully tucked the money into his pocket, and went out the door.
Walking to the door, he looked back.
Uncle Ben and Aunt May were standing at the door, watching him. The sunset's afterglow fell on them, dyeing their white hair gold.
Peter felt a sudden ache in his heart.
He remembered what Gwen said that night — she wanted Uncle Ben to keep living.
He wanted that too now.
To keep living forever.
6:00 PM, outside the cinema.
Gwen stood under the lightbox, watching the crowds coming and going, her palms sweating slightly.
She didn't even know what she was nervous about.
It wasn't the first time she and Peter were alone. They had walked down dark roads together countless times, climbed through windows together, and braved dangers together.
But today was different.
Today was a date.
A formal one.
Gwen looked down at her outfit — a camel coat, with a plaid blazer and a turtleneck underneath, and a knee-length skirt with tall boots. The color scheme was dark green, which she had recently come to like, and had picked out with Helen.
She spun around, her skirt flaring slightly.
It looked pretty good.
She just didn't know if Peter —
"Gwen."
She turned around and saw Peter walking toward her.
He was wearing a dark blue knit sweater, with the collar of his white shirt turned out, black casual trousers, and his hair had been styled too, looking —
Gwen was stunned for a moment.
He actually looked quite good.
"Have you been waiting long?" Peter walked up to her, his ears slightly red.
"No, just got here."
The two stood facing each other, suddenly not knowing what to say.
The surrounding crowd moved back and forth, and the cinema's lightbox flashed with colorful lights.
"Um," Peter spoke first, "Have you decided what to watch?"
Gwen shook her head: "Not yet. You?"
"Me neither," Peter paused, "How about... we choose together?"
The two walked into the cinema and stood in front of the screening schedule screen.
Action movies, sci-fi, romance, comedies — Gwen's gaze swept over those titles, finally stopping in one place.
"Penguins of Madagascar."
A cartoon.
A comedy.
She was just about to say "How about we watch this" when she heard Peter's voice sound beside her.
"Penguins of Madagascar?"
Gwen turned her head and saw Peter pointing at the same title.
The two exchanged a look.
"You want to watch this too?" Peter asked.
Gwen nodded: "You too?"
"I..." Peter scratched his head, "I thought you might want to watch a romance movie or something."
Gwen laughed: "I thought you might want to watch a sci-fi movie."
The two were silent for a second, then laughed out loud at the same time.
"Then let's watch this?" Peter asked.
"Okay."
When buying tickets, Peter insisted on paying. He took that crumpled hundred-dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the ticket seller, his movements as solemn as if he were performing some sacred ritual.
Gwen looked at that banknote, her heart feeling a bit sour.
She knew the financial situation of The Parker Residence. This hundred dollars was not a small amount for Uncle Ben and Aunt May.
But she didn't say anything.
She just quietly held his hand when he was getting his change.
The movie started, and the lights dimmed.
Gwen sat in her seat, holding the popcorn bucket, her eyes fixed on the screen, but her attention was not on the movie at all.
Because Peter's hand was slowly reaching over, covering the back of her hand.
Very light.
As if testing the waters.
Gwen didn't move.
Peter's fingers tightened slightly, holding her hand in his palm.
Gwen's heartbeat suddenly accelerated.
It wasn't the first time holding hands.
Previously at the Osborn Estate, they had held hands for a long time.
But back then there was sunlight, flowers, fountains, and everything beautiful around them.
Now, it was in the dark.
Only those penguins on the screen were jumping around, making all sorts of funny noises.
The darkness made everything more sensitive.
Gwen could feel the warmth of Peter's palm, could feel his fingers trembling slightly, could feel his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand.
Her face began to burn.
On the screen, she had no idea what those penguins were doing.
She only knew Peter's hand was very warm.
Very reassuring.
Halfway through the movie, Peter suddenly turned his head.
Gwen felt his gaze and turned her head as well.
In the darkness, his eyes were very bright.
"Gwen." He called her name softly.
"Hm?"
Peter didn't answer.
He just looked at her.
Then he slowly leaned in.
Gwen's heartbeat skipped a beat.
She watched his face get closer and closer, so close she could see her own reflection in his eyes.
Then, his lips covered hers gently.
Very light.
As light as a feather landing on water.
Gwen's mind went blank.
She felt his lips were a bit cool, trembling slightly, but very soft.
She felt his hand hold tighter.
She felt her own heart beating wildly in her chest, as if it were about to jump out.
Then, she closed her eyes.
And began to respond.
That kiss was long.
And very short.
Long enough that she felt a century had passed, short enough that she wished it could have lasted longer.
When they separated, Gwen's face was burning as if it were about to ignite.
She kept her head down, not daring to look at Peter.
But her hand was still held tightly together with his.
On the screen, those penguins were still jumping around, making all sorts of funny noises.
Gwen suddenly laughed out loud.
"What's wrong?" Peter asked nervously.
"Nothing," Gwen shook her head, looking at the screen, "Just feel... these penguins are quite silly."
Peter laughed too.
"Yeah, quite silly."
His hand tightened a little more.
The movie ended, and the lights came on.
Gwen and Peter walked out of the theater with the crowd, neither saying a word.
But their hands remained clasped together.
Stepping out of the cinema, the night breeze blew over, carrying the chill of early autumn.
Gwen took a deep breath, feeling the heat on her face finally subside a little.
"Was it good?" Peter asked.
"What?"
"The movie."
Gwen thought for a moment.
She actually had no idea what the movie was about.
"It was good," she said with a smile.
Peter smiled too.
He, of course, knew she hadn't really been watching.
Because neither had he.
The two walked slowly back along the street.
Passing a dessert shop, Peter stopped.
"Do you want to grab something to eat?"
Gwen looked at the shop, then at Peter.
She knew he didn't have much money left in his pocket.
"I'm not hungry," she shook her head. "Let's just go back."
Peter looked into her eyes and suddenly understood something.
"Gwen," he said, "you don't have to save money for my sake."
Gwen froze for a moment.
"I asked you out today," Peter said earnestly, "I want to make you happy. How much it costs doesn't matter."
Gwen looked at him, a warmth welling up in her heart.
"I know," she said, "but I want to go back early. I have things to do tomorrow."
Peter's expression changed slightly.
Tomorrow.
Fisk Tower.
That thought flashed through both their minds at the same time.
Peter nodded, not insisting further.
The two continued walking forward.
By the time they reached the entrance to Gwen's home, it was already eight-thirty in the evening.
Helen was watching TV in the living room; hearing the door open, she poked her head out.
"You're back?" she asked with a smile, "Was the movie good?"
Gwen's face grew slightly warm.
"It was good."
"What movie?"
"Penguins of Madagascar."
Helen paused for a moment, then laughed.
"A cartoon? You two picked that?"
"Yeah."
Helen looked at her daughter with a smile, her gaze sweeping over her face before finally landing on her slightly reddened lips.
She said nothing, but her smile deepened.
Gwen felt unnerved by the smile and quickly changed the subject.
"Where's Dad?"
"He's still working overtime," Helen said, "He said there's an operation tonight and he might be back very late."
Gwen's heart skipped a beat.
"What operation?"
"I don't know," Helen shook her head. "He didn't say. Just that it's a big deal and he has to lead the team himself."
Gwen's mind raced.
An operation tonight.
Dad is leading it himself.
The evidence she had previously sent anonymously to the Police station—
Brooklyn Docks.
Warehouse Number Three.
The "goods" belonging to The Hand.
Gwen's heart rate accelerated.
"Mom, I'm going to my room," she said, trying to keep her voice sounding calm.
"So early? Don't you want something to eat?"
"Not hungry."
Gwen hurried upstairs and closed the door.
She stood in her room and took a few deep breaths.
Tonight, Dad is going to catch Murakami.
And Murakami—
That old monster, how could he be caught so easily?
Unless—
Unless it's a trap.
Gwen turned abruptly and opened her closet.
Her suit was hanging inside, the red and blue colors gleaming slightly in the dim light.
She quickly changed into the suit, put on her headset, and opened the window.
The night breeze blew in, carrying a chill.
Gwen took a deep breath and was just about to leap out—
The window next door opened as well.
Peter was leaning on the windowsill, looking at her.
"I guessed you were going to go," he said.
Gwen was taken aback: "How did you know?"
"Because I also guessed that your dad's operation tonight had issues," Peter said, "So I was waiting for you here."
He paused.
"Together."
Gwen looked at him, suddenly not knowing what to say.
In the end, she just nodded.
Two figures disappeared into the night together.
Brooklyn Docks, Warehouse Number Three.
Murakami stood in front of the second-floor window, looking at the warehouse below.
It was stacked full of wooden crates, looking like ordinary cargo.
But inside those wooden crates, it wasn't cargo.
It was people.
Twenty-three living people were locked in the crates, waiting to be shipped to an unknown location.
"Boss," Takeuchi Azuma walked over, head bowed, "Everything is ready."
Murakami nodded without turning around.
"What about that Spider-Man?"
"Not appeared yet."
The corners of Murakami's mouth curled into a cold arc.
"She will come."
He turned around and looked at Takeuchi Azuma.
"Have everyone get ready. Tonight—"
His eyes glinted in the darkness.
"Make sure she doesn't leave here alive."
In the night sky, two figures were rapidly approaching.
Gwen swung in front, with Peter following behind—he couldn't swing, of course, but he was riding a motorcycle, approaching from the ground following the route Gwen provided.
"Gwen," Peter's voice rang out in the earpiece, "I see the docks. Your family's Police cars are also nearby, but haven't gotten close yet."
"What about Murakami?"
"Don't know. Thermal imaging can't see clearly, there's shielding on the outside of the warehouse."
Gwen gritted her teeth.
A trap.
This was definitely a trap.
But she couldn't not go.
Because if she didn't, those twenty-plus people, and the Police officers her dad was leading—
Would all die.
She landed on the roof of a warehouse, overlooking Warehouse Number Three below.
It was pitch black, quiet as a grave.
"Gwen," Peter's voice rang out again, "I see your dad. He's approaching with his men, about five minutes from reaching the main entrance."
Five minutes.
Gwen took a deep breath.
Enough.
She slid down from the edge of the roof, landing on the ground without a sound.
Then she pushed open a side door and slipped inside.
The warehouse was very dark.
But her night-vision goggles could see everything.
Those wooden crates. Those goods.
And those ninjas hidden in the shadows.
Countless in number.
But every one of them was waiting for her.
Gwen's Spider-Sense began to tingle softly.
Danger.
Danger everywhere.
But she didn't stop.
She walked to the center of the warehouse and stood still.
Then she looked up at the window on the second floor.
Murakami was standing there, looking down at her.
Moonlight shone in through the window, illuminating that red and blue figure, the black spider emblem on her chest, and her long golden hair—though mostly hidden by the mask, a few strands still peeked out from the edges.
"Spider-Man," he said, his voice echoing in the empty warehouse, "I've been waiting for you."
Gwen did not remove her mask.
She just stood there, looking at him.
"You've waited," she said, her voice processed by a modulator, carrying a hint of metallic texture, "And now what?"
Murakami's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And now—"
He waved a hand.
Out of the darkness, countless ninjas swarmed out, surrounding her completely.
Gwen stood in the center, looking at those ninjas, then at Murakami on the second floor.
The corners of her mouth curled up slightly.
"Is that all?"
Murakami's brows twitched.
The next second, the warehouse door was kicked open.
George Stacy rushed in with armed Police officers.
"NYPD! Nobody move!"
The ninjas froze.
Murakami's expression changed.
But he didn't panic.
He looked at the red and blue figure below, then at the Police officers, and finally, his gaze landed back on her.
"Interesting," he said, "You actually called the Police."
Gwen looked at him and smiled.
"If I don't call the Police, how can I catch you?"
Murakami stared at her and suddenly smiled.
The smile was very cold.
"You think this is enough?"
He raised his hand.
From all directions of the warehouse, more ninjas suddenly appeared.
Twice as many as before.
The Police officers raised their guns, standing in a standoff.
George Stacy's gaze swept between the ninjas and the red and blue figure.
His gaze paused for an instant on the long golden hair.
The color of the hair, the build—
His heart skipped a beat.
But he said nothing.
He just gripped the gun in his hand tighter, aiming at Murakami on the second floor.
"Murakami," he said, his voice steady and powerful, "You are under arrest."
Murakami looked at him and sneered.
"Captain Stacy," he said, "do you think you can catch me?"
He raised his hand, preparing to give the order—
Just then, from the other side of the warehouse, a loud noise suddenly erupted.
A large hole was smashed into the wall.
Through the dust, a tall figure walked out.
On his chest was a white skull emblem.
The Punisher.
He was carrying a machine gun, his gaze sweeping over the ninjas and then landing on Murakami.
"Sorry," he said, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper grinding on stone, "I'm late."
Murakami's expression finally changed.
Gwen looked at the skull on the chest, then at her dad opposite, and then at Murakami on the second floor.
She took a deep breath.
Alright!
Tonight, let's see who isn't leaving.
Her hand lifted slightly, her wrist aimed at the ninjas.
Her Spider-Sense was still tingling softly, but at this moment, there was something else in that sound—
Not fear.
It was the will to fight.