Peter sat on the apartment roof, swinging his legs and munching on his late-night feast; a churro. He surveyed the streets below - they were deserted. Then again, it was nearly midnight and no one ever wandered the streets unless they were doing something dodgy.

Which is why, when he saw a group of about four middle-aged men creeping around the corner of the street hundreds of metres below where Peter sat. With a sigh and a quick roll of his eyes, he pulled his mask over his head. Just as he was about to jumped down, he placed his churro on the edge of the building.

"Stay." He told the churro. 

Then he shot out a web to the other apartment on the other side of the street. He swung on it and connected lightly onto the cement wall of the building. Then he proceeded to creep down the side of the wall, head first. It was dark, the world only lit by the occasional street light, so Peter knew he had the safety of the darkness.

As he got closer, he heard the men whispering (rather loudly for a whisper) and paused to hear what they were saying.

". . . not out at this time!" One of them was saying gruffly. 

"You don't know that! We have to try!" A slightly high-pitched voice exclaimed relatively loudly.

"Keep it down!" The other voice hissed - Peter connected it to a bulky man who stood at least six foot two into the air.

"He has a point, though." A new voice piped up. Peter turned to the rough direction of that voice. The man of whom it belonged to was hard to make out - he was wearing black sweats and a black hoodie, which we had over his head, casting his face into shadow.

"We just need the bait." The same guy said in a matter-of-fact voice. Peter crept slightly closer, still straining his ears to listen.

"This dude could be dangerous! We haven't really met him - I mean, he works for Tony Stark!" The buff man said.

Peter froze at the name and tilted his head slightly in confusion.

"No, once again, we don't know that! Let's stop guessing and work it out for ourselves." The high-pitched man said again.

"He's an Avenger, I bet. You know; everyone is calling him the friendly, neighbourhood hero." 

"All he can do is shoot webs!"

Peter froze in fear; they were talking about him! But instead of that fear driving him away, it made him ever-more interested.

"Spider-Man isn't a threat to us - but Stark is. From what I've seen, whenever that Spider is in trouble, he turns up and saves him. He obviously cares for whoever is under that suit. So, the best way to lure him in is to capture something he'll come to us for." The man in the black hood whispered and Peter could hear the smirk in his voice. Now he was becoming apprehensive.

"So what can lure the Spider in? Some kind of disturbance." Squeaky Guy said. 

Peter's mind went into overdrive and he jumped down to the pavement below. Right in the middle of the huddle of men.

"Meh, no need guys. Right here." He said loudly. There was an immediate reaction, where the Black-Hood Dude, Bulky and another man who hadn't talked leapt towards him. Squeaky Guy squealed in fright - what a funny guy. Peter jumped high into the air, avoiding the attempts to seize him. He landed on the wall and shot a web at the man who hadn't talked who was then flattened against the wall of the apartment opposite him, trapped in the web.

"Get him!" The man who had been trapped in Peter's web cried. Peter sniggered - he understood now why he hadn't spoken. 

Then he jumped from the wall and onto the street behind the three men. He let out a little 'ahem' and they spun around simultaneously to look at him. They raced at him but he somersaulted through the air, right over their heads. When he landed, he shot another web at Bulky, who's arm's were now plastered to the sides of his body. Squeaky Guy faltered and seemed to be looking frantically for something. Then it hit Peter; Black-Hood had completely disappeared! He now cast his eyes over the scene, but couldn't spot the man - not even with his Spidey-Senses. 

Pushing aside the problem, Peter aimed at Squeaky Guy, who froze. Pathetic. 

But before he could shoot, he heard a sickening crunch and he keeled over. Then the pain hit him, resonating and throbbing painfully through his head. He looked up, wincing, to see Black-Hood standing over him with a metal baseball bat raised high above his head. 

"Touche." Peter nodded sarcastically.

And then he shot a web at Black-Hood, but to his great surprise and horror, it just melted away. The web disappeared, like it had never been there.

Peter gaped like a fish, before coming to his senses. Black-Hood was smirking so Peter took advantage of the mans moment of pride.

"Nice trick." He stated.

He didn't get an answer. 

"You know, I've never seen that before. It's pretty sick . . . well, for you, anyway. Not so much for me, I guess." Peter exclaimed, purposely making his voice loud enough for the two remaining men to falter slightly. "I was just wondering, you know, as I was listening to your convo a few minutes ago, why you're so interested in Tony Stark? I mean, sure, he's loaded and all, but he's like, the grumpiest guy ever. And doesn't like hugs - I mean, c'mon, who doesn't like hugs?" 

Black-Hood pulled his eyebrows together in a frown. 

"You don't need to know." He said shortly. 

"Yeah! It's none of your business, Spidey-Guy!" Squeaky butted in. Peter rolled his eyes and shot the small guy down with a web so he was plastered to the floor.

"Sorry, he was annoying me." Peter said simply. "Anyway, so now it's just the two of us, how about we talk this out rationally."

He took the silence as a yes.

"Well, you're doing something heck dodgy, I can sorta tell. You know, if you really wanted to meet Tony Stark that much, I'm pretty sure he would go and have dinner with you or something. Although he does have quite a bit of a busy schedule." Peter added as an after-thought.

And then a blinding light lit the dark night. The man had pulled a small, but lethal weapon from the pocket in his hoodie. Sorta creepy that he kept it there, but oh well. He pointed it at Peter, who backed away with his hands held high in surrender.

"Ok, ok, put the gun down. There's no need for violence, ok? I'm sure we can come to an agreement." Peter eyes the weapon warily - it was one he had never seen before. He presumed it was some kind of alien-tech, by the way it glowed an eerie purple. Black-Hood had it pointed at Peter, who was getting ready to dodge out of the way.

Soon enough, the man shot. Peter dodged it in wonder. What surprised him, was that as the bullet exited the barrel, it made no noise - it was silent. Which also made him frightened because no noise meant no warning. He watched as the bullet cracked into the wall, creating a deep dent in it. Pretty powerful.

But now, Peter was off his guard. As he turned back to the man, he panicked. He watched, as if in slow-motion, the bullet being pushed from the gun. He reached into the air, shooting a web as high as he could. It latched into something - he wasn't entirely sure what, but he didn't care. He sprang off the ground, but a little bit too late.

As he leapt, he felt a white-hot pain cleave through his right thigh. He screamed in agony and dropped to the ground. He clutched his thigh, watching the deep red blood seep through his suit, staining it a darker colour. He looked up at Black-Hood, who was snickering.

"So weak." He murmured, smirking down on Peter. (A/N: Did anyone else think of Snape from HP when you read that, or is that just me . . .?)

Peter squinted through his mask. He couldn't tell what this guy was thinking, but he knew that he himself was in trouble. 

"What do you want?" Peter asked roughly as he forced himself to his feet, one hand still held tightly over his wound. 

"I want Stark. I will get to him through you. You will suffer in his absence."

Peter's heart lurched. He limped towards the man, trying to see his eyes. 

"But why?" He asked.

"That's not something you need to know." He answered slyly.

And then Peter was hit again by the bat, this time on the back of his head. His vision turned to white momentarily before the delayed pain came. He fell forward onto his knees, yelling in fear and agony. Although he knew he would heal, Peter was still worried.

"Oh, c'mon, man." He groaned. "It's a school night! I gotta get home."

"You really think I care if it's a school night? Shut up!" Black-Hood yelled, exasperated. "And anyway, that's a stupid excuse. You're too old for school anyway." Peter raised his eyebrows at that - if only he knew.

"My aunt, she'll be worried sick-!" Peter began again.

"I don't care, ok? Zip it, or I'll hit you again." Black-Hood threatened.

"But . . . what about my churro . . .?" Peter asked, wildly grabbing at excuses.

Black-Hood brought the bat down upon Peter's shoulder, and he heard a sickening crack. He screamed in pain once again, as agony spread from his shoulder like a wild-fire. Merciless and fast. He gripped it, rolling on the ground.

"Jeez!" Peter gasped, screwing up his eyes in agony. 

"Shut up now, or I'll kill you." Peter fell silent.

His wounded leg felt numb with pain - Peter could tell that it was trying to heal itself. But it couldn't while the bullet was still in there. His shoulder felt dislocated and a lump was rising on the back of his head. 

Karen! What do I do, Karen? He thought wildly.

You have a shallow flesh-wound on your right thigh. The bullet hit an artery, so you may be in danger of severe blood-loss, came the matter-of-fact reply.

"Crap." Peter said aloud.

Then he felt something cold and sharp digging into his neck, causing him to writhe in pain. Liquid was being pushed through his veins, burning-hot liquid. He squirmed uncomfortably, as he felt his body go numb. It was somewhat a relief, but it scared him more than anything.

With one final spurt of drugs, Peter's world began to swim before his very eyes. It tipped and swirled and all he could do was watch in despair as it faded into nothing.

He passed out.

---

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