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Stan takes one last drag of his cigarette, his face briefly illuminated in orange, before flicking the remaining nub in the direction of the harbor. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he shivers and lurches forward towards the quiet warehouse. As he approaches the building, he hears the telltale clicking of his partner at work. There, shrouded in darkness, a figure kneels by the nondescript side door. "Hey, Jimmy Valentine," Stan calls out mockingly, "You makin' any progress or what?" Stan exhales, his breath misting in the air, as he complains, "Just hurry up and get it open already! It's colder than a well digger's ass out here."

Shaking his head, Steve holds his tongue and forces himself to focus. Stan's complaining was nothing new; he never appreciated the subtlety required for Steve's work. Applying a gentle clockwise pressure, Steve feels the lock shudder into place. The resulting click confirms that he found the sweet spot. "Got it," Steve announces quietly, reaching up to give the knob a spin. The door to the warehouse swings open, and Steve gathers up his tools. He picks up a flashlight and clicks it on, following Stan inside the building. As the door closes behind Steve, he realizes just how massive this place is. "We sure this is the place?" he asks uncertainly.

"Yeah, yeah, this is the place," Stan assures him. He strides across the warehouse, sweeping the beam of his flashlight across row after row of sealed crates and boxes. "The boss' information is always solid. Everything you see here was once the property of one Silvio Manfredi. Before he went soft and turned himself in, anyway."

Taken aback, Steve replies, "Soft? The guy's own son turned against him. He choked the life out of him with his bare hands! You don't think that'd mess with your head any?"

"It's his own damn fault for raising the little Benedict Arnold [i]and[/i] for not being smart enough to realize it sooner," Stan grunts unapologetically. "Anyway, I don't think he's got any need for this stuff now. The boss is smart to swipe it before the cops uncover this place." He stops in place and examines the tags on a few nearby boxes. Waving his flashlight, he says, "Come on. The one we're looking for should be down this way." After another minute of wandering the dimly-lit warehouse, Stan comes to another stop. "That's the one. Help me grab it."

After setting his flashlight atop a nearby crate, Steve steps forward to help Stan lift a large rectangular wooden box off the stack. The two men grunt and groan as they lower the box to the floor, finally setting it down with a dull thud. "Crowbar?" Stan asks. Steve reaches behind his back and produces the tool, handing it across to his older partner. Stan wedges the flat end beneath the lid and gives it a press. After a moment of resistance, the nails holding the lid down finally crack, and the lid pops open. Setting the crowbar on the floor, Stan pushes the lid aside and gives his partner an eager glance. He kneels down beside the box and begins pawing through the layer of wood shavings on top. When his hand hits something hard and cold, he gives a laugh.

Drawing to his feet, Stan pulls a brand new M4 carbine from the box, admiring the rifle greedily. After a moment, he says, "Here. Tell me how [i]that[/i] feels," before tossing the rifle to his partner. The off-guard Steve nearly fumbles the catch but manages to cradle the gun in his arms. As he feels the weight of it in his hands, Steve can't help but raise the rifle and feel the weight of the stock against his shoulder. He closes one eye and stares down the sight, a smile creeping across his face. Stan laughs and remarks, "A whole crate load of 'em! With this kinda firepower, we're gonna [i]own[/i] these streets."

No sooner has Stan finished talking than there's the soft sound of distant clattering. Steve spins on his heel, forgetting about the rifle as he scans the darkness nervously. A moment of stillness passes, but Steve's dread doesn't diminish. "What was that?" he asks, his voice feeling heavy in his throat.

"Probably just a rat or something," Stan rationalizes. "Nobody knows we're here 'cept you, me, and the boss. Now, help me get the lid back on this thing so we can get outta here." He bends down to retrieve the lid when he notices that Steve hasn't moved. Sighing, he straightens himself and snatches the rifle from his partner's hand. "Hey, you hear me? I'm freezing my ass off, so let's get this thing done." Shaking his head, he returns the rifle to the crate and muses, "This ain't Gotham. It's not like you gotta worry about the Bat."

"No," Steve agrees tentatively, "But he ain't the only one out there. What about the one that's always in the papers? The Spider."

Stan snorts. "If what those papers say is true, he probably just wants to be cut in on this job."

Allowing himself to let go of his fears for a moment, Steve gets to work helping Stan close up the crate. That is, until there's the sound of another, closer clatter. This time, both men are spooked. Stan slowly reaches for the revolver tucked inside the waistband of his Dickies. "Alright, maybe you're right," he concedes. Suddenly, there are footsteps echoing throughout the rafters of the warehouse. Stan draws his gun and aims it wildly at the darkness. A shadow moves, and Stan fires off two quick shots. For a second, the echo of gunshots fill the air. Then, there's a soft [i]hiss[/i] as two small orbs land at the men's feet, emitting a thick cloud of gray smoke. Both men hurry to cover their mouths, but the coughing fits have already begun.

"What the hell?" Stan blurts out.

"This ain't Spider-Man!" Steve observes.

A voice calls to them from the darkness. [b]"No. I'm not."[/b] Both men turn in the direction of the sound just in time to see the underside of a pair of boots. The swinging kick collides with Stan's chest, sending him stumbling backwards into Steve. The pair of criminals tumble over the crate of stolen rifles, hitting the floor hard amidst the growing cloud of smoke. Before either can react, the shadowy figure delivers one swift kick to each of their heads, rendering them unconscious.

[hider][center][img]http://i.imgur.com/4vo23YX.jpg?1[/img][/center]

[b]"So, what're you up to this time, Dad?"[/b][/hider]

[center]**          **          **[/center]

"Pete, wait up!"

At the sound of my favorite voice in the world, I stop and turn around. There, hurrying across the quad to meet me, is perhaps the most beautiful girl in the world: Gwendolyn Maxine Stacy. Her long, golden hair whips back and forth in the light breeze, and the cold has brought out the perfect amount of rosiness in her cheeks. As she catches up to me, she flashes a quick smile, and it's all I can do to will my body [i]not[/i] to instantly melt on the spot. Breathing little puffs of fog, she falls in line with me, and we continue walking down the quad. "Where are you headed right now?" she asks.

[color=0072bc]"Chemistry,"[/color] I answer. [color=0072bc]"You?"[/color]

"Contemporary American Literature," she replies matter-of-factly.

I scrunch my nose. [color=0072bc]"Yuck."[/color]

Gwen laughs. "I've got to earn that English credit somehow. Besides, not [i]all[/i] of us are liberal-arts-hating STEM majors."

Tilting my head, I argue, [color=0072bc]"I... do [i]not[/i] hate the liberal arts. I just... like being employable more."[/color]

Upon seeing the self-satisfied grin on my face, Gwen goes slack-jawed and gives me a light punch on the arm. "Peter Parker! You are awful." She continues to shake her head as we turn the corner of the quad, getting some much needed shelter from the biting wind. Whether it's simply my imagination getting the better of me or not, I can swear that Gwen moves a little closer to me. As we walk, our arms are nearly touching. Oh God, I sound like I'm in high school all over again. Still, there's always been an unspoken [i]something[/i] between us. I've been hesitant to pursue anything, though, because 1) a rejection would probably shatter me to my core and 2) the superheroing life does not lend itself well to attachments. I've already had to run out on Gwen and the gang so many times that I'm amazed they're even friends with me at this point. If I pull that act in a relationship, I'm sure I'll be [i]persona non grata[/i] in this group. If they're forced to choose with siding with Gwen or siding with me, who do you really think they'll pick?

When the silence has hung just a second too long, I decide to break it. [color=0072bc]"So, any exciting plans for the weekend?"[/color]

Gwen shrugs. "Nothing that I can think of. Just waiting for the right opportunity, I suppose."

I'm not imagining this, right? I mean, that was a hint. It [i]had[/i] to be a hint! God, I wish figuring out women was as simple as webbing up bad guys. Then again, I'm hardly an expert at that, either. Alright, Pete, you can do this! Just float something out there, see if she takes the bait. Her response will tell you everything you need to know... hopefully. Clearing my throat, I begin, [color=0072bc]"Well, I actually heard about this Studio Ghibli marathon at a theater just off campus. I don't know if you know anything about them, but--"[/color]

Gwen cuts me off. "Are you kidding? I love [i]Castle in the Sky[/i]! Do you wanna go?"

It takes me a moment to respond. Not because I have to think about the answer but because I'm wondering how many advance paychecks I'd need from Jonah to buy this girl a diamond ring. With a big grin on my face, I blurt out, [color=0072bc]"It's a date!"[/color] The second the words leave my mouth, I realize what I've said. I can only hope that Gwen attributes the sudden reddening of my face to the cold and not my soul shrinking inside my body.

To my surprise, Gwen takes the turn of phrase in stride. Smirking, she says, "I guess it is."

I've had my share of joyful moments in this life, but this one immediately races to the top. Which, of course, means only one thing: that my trademark "Parker luck" is lurking just around the corner. The only thing I didn't realize is quite how [i]literal[/i] that prediction would turn out to be. I'm too busy staring at my own feet, trying to hide my satisfied grin from Gwen, to notice the familiar figure striding in the opposite direction. Gwen, of course, says nothing because the two have never met. But there's no time like the present, eh? So it is, with a sinking feeling in my chest, that I hear the husky voice of Mary Jane Watson.

"Peter? Peter Parker?"

My head snaps up at the sound of it. Mary Jane and I have only met a few times, but she has an unmistakable sound. To think, for almost a year I actively -- [i]violently[/i] -- resisted Aunt May's attempts to set me up with her friend's niece. It's not that I doubted Aunt May's ability to judge the attractiveness of a potential mate, but... no, actually, that was it exactly. So it came as a great surprise when she finally cornered me and put me in the same room as the Watson girl. Turns out, she's a total long-legged, red-haired bombshell. And she knew it, too; I believe the phrase she used was "jackpot." We went on our date, and I felt completely enamored and [i]completely[/i] out of my depth. MJ radiated charisma, but she also intimidated the Hell out of me. That, plus the fact that I had to cut the night short to deal with some bozo in a grizzly bear costume, meant that nothing much came out of the date. And I was content with that, having flown so close to the sun without getting burned.

[color=0072bc]"Mary Jane?"[/color] I furrow my brow, ignoring the nervous pounding in my chest. I can feel Gwen's eyes darting between the two of us, trying to make sense of what's going on. Frankly, I am, too. [color=0072bc]"What are you doing here?"[/color]

"Your aunt didn't mention anything? I'm thinking about transferring to Empire State. They have an [i]incredible[/i] theater program," she explains. Oh yeah, she's an actress [i]and[/i] a model. Because [i]of course[/i] she is. "I'm just here on a campus visit."

Gwen clears her throat. "Pete, you know this girl?"

Before I can reply, Mary Jane steps between us. She extends a slender, gloved hand. "Mary Jane Watson. My aunt and Peter's aunt are friends."

Tentatively, Gwen shakes MJ's hand. "Gwen Stacy," she answers, "I, uh, go to school with Pete. Obviously." Gwen turns to me with just a hint of suspicion in her eyes. "Pete, you never mentioned Mary Jane before."

I try my best to make a serious thinking face. [color=0072bc]"I didn't?"[/color]

"Don't blame him," MJ interjects. "He's embarrassed by me. Must be why it took so long to get him on a date."

Gwen's eyebrows shoot up. "Date?"

I am standing on a precipice. I have to choose my words and actions carefully, lest I fall to my death. [color=0072bc]"Just something our aunts schemed up,"[/color] I insist. [color=0072bc]"Nothing too serious."[/color]

"Must not have been, considering I never got a second one," Mary Jane laughs. "Tell you what, though, you can make it up to me tonight by showing me where a girl can get good food around here." She looks at me with those piercing eyes and waits for a response.

Honestly, if a supervillain wanted to show up and pummel me into the dirt right now, I would welcome it. Carjacker, apartment fire, really anything to get me out of this situation. My eyes pass from one girl to the other, but I'm so nervous that I can't read the expressions on their faces. I know that I can't wait too long to say something, so I try for the safest approach I can manage. [color=0072bc]"I... suppose I can try my hand at being an ambassador for the university."[/color]

MJ smiles. "Great."

"Well, I don't want to get in the way of you two catching up," Gwen offers suddenly.

[color=0072bc]"Actually, I kind of need to--"[/color]

Gwen turns to me. "Pete, text me about that movie this weekend, yeah?" she says a bit more loudly than usual. She turns back to Mary Jane and offers her hand sharply. "It was great meeting you, Mary Jane."

"You too, Gwen," MJ answers sharply.

You know that part in those nature documentaries where two lionesses fight over a gazelle carcass? Guess who's the gazelle carcass.