The Eyes of New York

Blackmail

"Is this a stupid joke?" Miles bit out, pacing along the edge of the rooftop. "Fisk is in jail."

"Of course not," the person on the other end cooed as if he was a child needing to be calmed. "No one wants to waste anyone else's time in this business. Come by as soon as you can, and he'll see you."

"Well, hang on-" the phone call ended. He glared down at the phone, teeth gritted. His phone trilled as a message came through. It was an address.

If this was a joke, it wasn't funny. If this was reality, it was his worst nightmare. If it was a trap, well... wouldn't be the first today.

Reluctantly taking a deep breath to calm himself down, he went back to his backpack and pocketed the phone. He unwrapped the webs around his hand and pulled out his small first aid kit, doing his best with what he had. It wasn't much, but hiding the bandages under his glove would at least hide this weakness.

His backpack stuffed away again, he took off swinging with the one webshooter he had.

~~

The address led to a shiny, tall, pretentious building in the middle of downtown. He didn't bother suppressing his scowl at the sight of it. Nevertheless, he let himself fall into a roll and walk into the lobby. It was massive, ceiling stretched high above - ten stories of empty air for no other reason but to prove his wealth.

He ignored the astonished looks following his every move, keeping his head held high.

The lady at the desk barely even blinked at the sight of him. "Here to see Mr. Fisk?" She drawled, typing rapidly into her computer.

"Yeah. Turns out I have an appointment," he said, barely disguising the sneer in his voice. There were security guards everywhere, more than one staring directly at him. He crossed his arms and stared right back.

She pointed with her thumb. "Take the fourth elevator on your right. He'll be right with you."

He nodded and strolled over to the elevator.

I'm not afraid of him, he repeated like a mantra in his head, trying to ooze self-confidence as he walked past all the onlookers.

He stepped into the elevator, alone. When he turned to the buttons he found only two. Up or down. He pressed up and leaned back against the wall at the back, allowing himself a small moment to grip his head in panic before straightening up. He had this.

The elevator pinged and the doors opened wide to reveal a big open space. There was a desk over on the far side surrounded by floor-to-ceiling windows revealing the New York skyline. There was nothing in between him and the desk to warrant the waste of space. His whole apartment could fit in here three times over.

As he strode forward, the chair turned slowly, revealing the pudgy-headed, square-bodied Fisk in all his glory.

Miles stopped a few feet away from the desk, crossing his arms and glaring at Fisk. "What do you want?" he spit out.

Fisk grinned at him, shark-like. "Miles Morales, the amazing Spider-Man. I never got the chance to... congratulate you on taking down my plans last year."

"How do you know who I am?" he almost yelled, taking an aggressive step forward, his hands dropped to his side in tight fists.

Fisk was clearly reveling in the moment. "You got sloppy." He leaned forward as if he was going to share a secret with him. "Don't you wonder how they kidnapped you all those months ago? You got sloppy, and then word got around."