𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 | P. Parker

Chapter 13 - Mission: Not-So-Possible

🕷

Like a movie Peter loved, he lowered himself down like Tom Cruise in Mission: Impossible inside the vault, but instead of stealing classified information to save the world, he was just lowering himself down into a – what looked like an abandoned -- warehouse in Brooklyn.

Right off the bat, gadgets and gizzmoos of plenty were all around him in complete disarray – some light blues being shined though on various metal surfaces, screens and monitors all displayed all sorts of information, the most notable one being the one of blueprints of Avengers Tower and the Stark plane in which Toomes (vulture dude) was planning to steal from.

The giant winged suit sat on its platform in a corner of the large warehouse.

"Hey!" Spider-Man shouted out into the darkness when he spotted Toomes hunched over a work bench, the glow from the monitors illuminating his darkened face. "Surprised?"

Toomes barely glanced up when he said, "Oh, hey, Pete. I don't hear you come in."

"It's over!" announced Peter. "I've got you."

"You know, I gotta tell you, Pete, I really, really admire your grit." He ligted his head to send a mocking smile at Peter. "I see why Liz likes you -- I do. When you first came to the house, I wasn't sure. I thought, 'Really?' But I get it now."

Peter wanted to scoff. "How could you do this to her?"

"'To her'?" Toomes echoed. "I'm not doing anything to her, Peter. I'm doing this for her."

"Huh, yeah," Peter wasn't at all fazed with Liz's dad's argument; he wasn't discouraged in the slightest. He shot a web out into the light, sticking Toomes' hand to the metal workbench behind him.

Toomes sighed in irritation. "Peter," he started slowly, "you're young. You don't understand how the world works."

"Yeah, but I understand that selling weapons to criminals is wrong," argued Spider-Man.

"How do you think your buddy Stark paid for that tower? Or any of his little toys? Those people, Pete, those people up there -- the rich and the powerful -- they do whatever they want. Guys like us -- like you and me -- they don't care about us. We build their roads and we fight all their wars and everything, but they don't care about us. We have to pick up after 'em. We have to eat their table scraps. That's how it is. I know you know what I'm talking about, Peter."

Peter didn't want to say anything. He knew how tough the world can be – he's lived in it the past few years, and after Uncle Ben died, it got so much worse. He was just lucky to have met Mr. Stark when he did. "Why are you telling me this?" Peter asked.

"Because I want you to understand. And . . ." Toomes glanced up behind Peter's shoulder. "I needed a little time to get her airbourne."

The mechanical wings flew out of its stand, smashing through a concrete wall and beams, aiming at Spider-Man who had to nimbly dodge to not get caught. Taking a folding knife out of his pocket, Toomes sliced the webs on his hand.