In the dimly lit confines of Triskelion, Spider-Man sat hunched over his desk, the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of his pen against the paper echoing through the sterile, metallic room. The air was heavy with the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the distant, mechanical whir of S.H.I.E.L.D. machinery. Outside, rain lashed against the reinforced windows, the droplets streaking down like tears on glass, casting watery shadows across the floor. The storm had been relentless, mirroring the turmoil in Peter's mind.

Fury was missing.

The director's absence had left a gaping hole in their operations, and despite days of relentless searching—scouring every corner of the city, following every lead—the Web Warriors had come up empty-handed. The other teams hadn't fared any better. The weight of failure pressed down on Peter's shoulders, a constant, gnawing ache that no amount of web-slinging or quips could shake. To make matters worse, Y/N—no, Kaijira—was gone too. Her absence was a void, a reminder of the fractured team they once were. Without her, the dynamic felt off, unbalanced, like a machine missing a crucial gear.

Peter's lenses narrowed as he stared at the blank sheet of paper in front of him, his thoughts a tangled web of frustration and worry. The pen in his hand moved faster, the tapping growing more erratic, until—

"You know, tapping your pen on the paper like that isn't gonna help, punk," came a familiar, raspy voice, cutting through the silence like a knife.

Peter's head snapped up, his lenses focusing on the figure leaning casually against the doorway. Scarlet stood there, his crimson suit a stark contrast to the dull grays and blues of the Triskelion interior. His arms were crossed, his expression as sharp and unreadable as ever, but there was a glint of something—amusement, maybe—in his eyes. Rainwater dripped from the edges of his suit, pooling at his feet, evidence that he'd just come in from the storm.

"Come on," Scarlet said, pushing off the doorway and stepping into the room. His boots squelched faintly against the floor, leaving wet footprints in his wake. "Let's go out on patrol. I'm sure that'll clear your mind."

Peter hesitated, his fingers tightening around the pen. The storm outside was still raging, the wind howling like a wounded animal, but Scarlet's offer was tempting. Maybe the cold bite of the rain and the adrenaline of the hunt would drown out the noise in his head, if only for a little while.

"Fine," Peter said finally, setting the pen down with a soft click. He stood, his suit clinging to him as the humidity of the room seeped into the fabric. "But if I catch a cold, I'm blaming you."

Scarlet smirked, a flash of teeth in the dim light. "Deal. Now let's move before the city drowns without us."

As they stepped out into the storm, the rain drenched them instantly, the cold water slicing through the air and soaking into their suits. The city skyline loomed ahead, blurred and shimmering through the downpour, its usual vibrancy muted by the gray veil of the storm. Somewhere out there, Fury was missing, Kaijira was gone, and the city was teetering on the edge of chaos. But for now, as the two heroes swung into the night, the rhythm of the rain and the rush of the wind were enough to keep the darkness at bay—at least for a little while.

SCENEBREAK

Spider-Man's fist connected with the villain's face with a satisfying crack, but the man barely flinched. His body was like tempered steel, hard-baked and unyielding, and he smirked through the blow as if it were nothing. In one fluid motion, he raised his katana, the blade glinting ominously under the flickering streetlights. Rain cascaded down the steel, the droplets hissing as they met the cold metal.

"All false heroes will die," the villain sneered, his voice dripping with venom. His red eyes glowed like embers in the darkness, radiating a bloodlust that sent a chill down Peter's spine. "You're not what the world knows as heroes. You're imposters. Pretenders."

Before Peter could react, the katana sliced through the air with deadly precision. He braced himself, expecting the blade to cut into his shoulder, but instead, a pained grunt came from behind him. Peter's heart dropped as he turned to see Scarlet staggering back, his hand clutching his shoulder where the katana had struck. Blood seeped through his fingers, mixing with the rain as it dripped onto the slick pavement.

"Ben!" Spider-Man yelped, his voice cracking with panic. He reached out, but Scarlet froze mid-step, his body locking up as if paralyzed. His eyes widened, his breath hitching as he struggled against whatever invisible force held him in place.

Peter's lenses narrowed, his mind racing. "Th... that's his power," he muttered, piecing it together. The villain's blade wasn't just a weapon—it was a conduit for some kind of paralyzing energy. He turned back to the villain, who stood there grinning, his katana held loosely at his side. The rain poured down around him, but he seemed untouched by it, his red eyes burning brighter than ever.

"Hah. Your friend is out, Spider-fool," the villain taunted, his voice carrying over the storm. He raised his katana again, pointing the tip directly at Peter. "Now it's your turn. I will reclaim the word heroes," he declared, his tone dripping with disdain. "Come and take me, fraud."

Peter's fists clenched, his jaw tightening beneath the mask. The rain soaked through his suit, the cold seeping into his bones, but he barely noticed. His focus was razor-sharp, his mind calculating every possible move. Scarlet was down, frozen and vulnerable, and this guy wasn't just strong—he was dangerous. But Peter couldn't back down. Not now. Not ever.

"You want a hero?" Spider-Man shot back, his voice steady despite the storm raging around them. "Fine. Let's see how you handle the real deal."

With that, he lunged forward, his movements a blur of red and blue against the dark, rain-soaked backdrop. The villain's grin widened, his katana flashing as he met Peter's charge head-on. The clash of fists and steel echoed through the empty street, two forces colliding in a battle that would decide far more than just the night.