Chapter 13: Present  

Back to the present

The silence between Peter and Gwen lingered like the shadow of a memory too fresh to bury. The base rumbled faintly beneath their feet—somewhere, machines churned, voices echoed, and lights flickered against steel walls.

Peter stared ahead, his eyes tracing the cold concrete as if searching for something.

"So that's what happened, After I died huh…" he murmured. "No wonder… my Aunt May looked at me like she was seeing a ghost."

Gwen gave a small nod. She didn't speak right away. Instead, she stood slowly, brushing dust from her jeans and exhaling like she'd been holding something in.

"Well… what matters is you're alive. I don't know how, and you don't either."

Peter nodded, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I really didn't know. It's… kinda blurry to me. My memory."

His thoughts twisted beneath the words, deeper, hidden.

(I'm sorry. I can't tell her that I'm Drake American… from another world.)

Gwen smiled just a little, just enough to hide her own confusion.

"Well, time for you to know this base, huh?"

With a soft hiss and metallic groan, the steel doors ahead of them parted. Gwen led him inside.

The chamber beyond had been carved from old subway tunnels. It was massive roughly oval, braced by rusted support beams and rebar-reinforced walls. Fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered overhead. One wall was lined with bullet-ridden targets. Weighted training drones hovered on humming rotors near a cage of scrap metal and chain-link fencing.

Dozens of rebels were scattered across the room some mid-drill, others gearing up, resting, or tending to their weapons. They were young. Too young. And hardened by fire.

Some weren't even out of childhood.

Peter followed Gwen in silence, his footsteps soft on the cracked concrete. The white spider on his crimson-and-black suit still glowed faintly in the dim light.

Heads turned as he passed.

Eyes widened.

Whispers swirled like a gathering breeze.

"That's the guy who beat the Scorpion drone…"

"He's wearing some symbol…"

"He also beat Scorpion robot"

"Who is he?"

They reached the central platform, where a makeshift podium had been bolted into the ground. Gwen stepped forward and cleared her throat.

"Alright, squad—listen up."

Everything stopped. Conversations cut off. Movements froze.

From the side, a man stepped into the light arms crossed, jacket worn, expression unreadable. Nick Fury.

He scanned the room before speaking.

"This is Spider-Man."

Peter blinked, raised a hand awkwardly.

"…Hey."

No cheers. No claps.

Just more silence.

From the back of the crowd, a short rebel squinted.

"Spider-what?"

Peter straightened a little, voice firmer this time.

"Spider-Man."

"Hero. Vigilante. I can be a Wall-crawler. Can also be occasional public menace. Depends on the city."

No laughs. No reaction.

Peter leaned toward Gwen, whispering under his breath—

"(Tough crowd…)"

Gwen smirked but didn't reply.

Fury's voice cut through again, gravel and steel.

"Listen. I don't care what name he goes by. What I do care about—"

He jabbed a finger toward Peter's chest.

"—is that he stopped a Viper drone, saved one of our squads, and didn't die doing it. That makes him worth hearing out."

Murmurs rippled through the rebels now, tentative, unsure.

Then someone clapped. Once.

Ganke stepped into view, hoodie grease-stained, glasses crooked, smile wide.

"Let me do the honors then!"

He gestured dramatically across the room.

"Yo! Spider-guy! Meet the frontline team of Earth's resistance."

He pointed to each face like a tour guide with attitude.

"Quin."

A silver-braided girl with a scar bisecting her jaw. Her eyes narrowed, scanning Peter like a weapon system.

"Still don't trust you," she muttered.

"Milo."

A lanky boy with glowing cybernetic fingers and a scanner eyepiece over one eye.

"You're wearing prototype alloys. Want me to upgrade them later?"

"Juno."

A sniper with a shock-pink buzzcut, lounging near the rafters.

"Nice entrance. Just try not to explode like Scorpion next time."

"Trey and Arlo."

Twin brothers, bruisers with identical smirks.

"Yo, you really can crawl on walls?"

"Bet you can't beat us in arm wrestling."

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly.

"Honestly, I've never felt more like the new kid at school… wearing power armor."

Gwen stepped beside him, voice steady.

"You saved lives today. That's what matters here."

Quin stepped forward again, arms crossed, defiant.

"…You gonna stay?"

Peter's grin faded. He looked around—at the rust-stained walls, the tired fighters, the flickers of hope burning behind their hardened stares.

He inhaled. Exhaled.

"I'm staying. As long as it takes."

Gwen's expression didn't change much—but something behind her eyes softened.

"…Then you'll need to earn it."

Fury nodded, slow and certain.

"We fight together. Train together. Bleed together. That's how we survive."

Peter held out his hand.

"Then I'm in. All the way."

Ganke clapped him on the back.

"Welcome to the team, Spider-Man."

..

A thunderstorm brewed on the horizon.

Crackling skies cast shadows over the war-torn plains once known as central Ohio, now nothing but craters, husks of buildings, and fields laced with Scorpia's buried drones.

In a camouflaged war truck retrofitted with scavenged tech, Francis Castle better known by another name stood overlooking a projected holo-map.

The Punisher.

A black skull spray-painted over worn military armor. His stubble was flecked with gray, his jaw locked like stone.

He turned to the man beside him.

"Let's move. Word just came through from Nick Fury."

He stared at Harry Osborn, now older, more hardened, the fire of a survivor behind his tired eyes,

"He said something important happened."

Harry nodded, already checking his sidearm.

(Let's finish this. Then get back to Mary.)

He blinked briefly her smile flashing in his mind.

But the moment was broken when a voice piped up from behind.

"Oh come on, Harry. Don't be all serious on me again."

A lean rebel with a long scar trailing down his cheek leaned on a broken wall, half-eaten protein bar in hand.

His name was Robin sarcastic, sharp-eyed, and lethal with twin pistols.

Harry turned, sighing.

"We're heading into potential Sinister territory. Maybe try not making jokes?"

Robin grinned.

"Come on, man. Gotta balance out Mr. Skull-for-a-face over there."

He jabbed a thumb toward Frank, who didn't react.

Frank Castle just stepped past them both and muttered—

"Load the trucks. Full combat gear. We leave in five."

Robin whistled.

"Oh, it's one of those missions. Someone finally found Prowler's base?"

As Robin ask the question, Frank didn't look up.

He loaded a second magazine into his heavy-caliber rifle and threw a bulletproof vest onto the table.

"Worse."

He paused.

"Fury says he found Vibranium inside one of the Prowler bases."

That silenced the room.

Robin's cocky smile vanished.

"…Vibranium? You're kidding."

Harry blinked.

"You mean actual Wakandan Vibranium? Not some reverse-engineered Stark scrap?"

Frank grunted.

"I don't joke about war."

He turned the map toward them highlighting a red zone on the outskirts of the city, deep beneath one of the Scorpia-controlled warehouses.

"Recon team found fragments—coated in cloaking tech. One of them had the Wakandan energy signature. Same as the suits we've seen the Viper Enforcers using lately."

Robin cursed.

"No wonder they're damn bulletproof. That's how they're powering the armor."

Frank nodded.

"Exactly. If Scorpia and the Sinister Six have found a stockpile—or worse, learned to synthesize Vibranium—we're screwed."

He pointed toward the holo.

"That's why Fury called us in."

He grabbed his gear bag and slung it over one shoulder.

"Fury didn't mention why now. Or why this discovery made him nervous enough to call me."

He paused.

"But I trust his instincts."

Robin loaded the last clip into his pistol and grinned.

"Guess it's time we shook hands with whatever secrets are hiding in Fury's basement."

Frank walked toward the waiting transport truck, rain pounding on the armored exterior.

"Mount up. We leave in 10."

..

Meanwhile — The Hidden Medical Outpost | Mary Watson

A dim light buzzed overhead, flickering inside the makeshift med-bay bunker tucked beneath an abandoned hospital on the far edge of the city ruins.

Mary Watson, now a hardened leader in her own right, stood by a command table cluttered with reports, bloodied gauze, and a flickering screen displaying drone surveillance.

She leaned forward, her voice tired but clear:

"Any movement on Doctor Octopus?"

A young rebel medic nearby, his arm in a sling, shook his head.

"None, ma'am. Last intel said he retreated to Quadrant Nine. Deep underground."

Mary sighed, rubbing her temples.

"Okay…"

She dismissed him with a soft nod.

The medic walked off, boots echoing through the cold concrete halls.

Mary turned toward a small table near the back of the room.

There, propped against a rusted supply crate, sat a cracked photo frame.

Dust clung to its corners.

She knelt slowly and picked it up, brushing her thumb over the glass.

The photo showed three smiling faces, taken back when smiles were still real.

Peter Parker. Mary Watson. Harry Osborn.

She was in the middle grinning, bright-eyed, alive.

Peter had his goofy, tilted smile. Arm around both of them. Hope in his eyes.

Hope that didn't survive the war.

Mary stared at the image for a long moment.

Her voice cracked as she whispered:

"Give me some strength, Peter…"

(You were the heart of our team.)

(The light we chased when the world went black.)

(Now everything's colder. Louder. Angrier.)

She swallowed hard.

(Harry keeps pretending he's fine. But I know he's not. He breaks a little more every time we lose someone.)

(And me? I'm still here, Pete. Still waiting for them to show up)

She placed the photo gently back down.

Then stood.

Taller. Firmer.

She zipped up her flak vest, holstered her sidearm, and turned to the screen showing troop movements near Fury's base.

"Time to move."

To be continue