-Great plan: spy on dangerous criminals. What could go wrong?-
Downtown TB–Downside, Abandoned Train Yard
Steel beams groaned under the weight of time. Rust covered the abandoned train cars, their once-bright paint now faded. The dim floodlights buzzed overhead, casting jagged shadows against the cracked pavement.
I perched on a nearby floodlight, hidden by the shadows of the night. Most of the train yards were empty–except one.
“You think that’s the one?” I asked through the comms.
“Yeah, second to your left. That one still has power running through it.” Asri confirmed.
“Got a guy on lookout. Let’s say hi.” I stood up, ready to pounce onto him.
“Hold up. We don’t want a full gang war right now. Try finding a way to sneak in.”
A small hole–rusted part of the roof was my entrance.
I swung in silently, landing with a thud. I froze.
Crap! Did they hear me?
I dared a peek–they were too busy arguing.
A web shot out, lowering me onto a support beam.
“You actually looked like a spider for a second.”
I ignored Asri’s comment.
Slowly crawling my way across the beam, my shirt kept getting snagged on rusted nails.
Man, I really need to get that Spider-suit done.
A few men gathered in the abandoned building. Three stood apart, wearing matching black varsity jackets with gold trim–21 emblazoned in bold across the back.
And in the middle–calm, smug, like he owned the place–was the 21st Street Gang leader: Raymond “Ray” Bishop.
Dark skin. A baseball cap over a durag. His unbuttoned shirt draped over his singlet. The 21ST tattoo peeking out of the neckline. His smile was charming–laced with danger.
Facing him were two younger 21ST members—angry, looking for blood. No jackets. No official uniform. But still repping the crew. The hoodie had a bold "21" stamped across the chest—maybe a street brand, maybe custom. The baseball jersey? White and gold, with BISHOP stitched across the back in all caps—just above the number 21. A choice, not a coincidence.
I recognized them.
Same dudes from the bodega hit.
“If you wanna rep this crew, I’d suggest listenin’.” Ray leaned against a table, arms crossed. “Or else, walk.”
“We’re sick of waiting for your heist, Ray!” Baseball jersey snapped back.
“Why bother with grand heists at Highpoint when we can just hit up local stores?” Hoodie was pacing around, each step fueled with rage.
“We do our hits to protect Downside.” He loomed over them. “Not eat each other out.”
“No wonder the Maryland Street Boys are pushing your turf. You’ve gone soft.” Baseball jersey hissed back
Silence.
Hoodie stopped pacing–eyes locked to baseball jersey.
The air suddenly felt heavy.
Then–a low chuckle. Ray.
“So you have been talking with the MSBs, then?” He shook his head–his dangerous smile never left. “Those punks would just love to burn down Downside if it means taking turfs.”
“The Marylands have been active on the street while you were busy playing housewife for Downside.” Baseball jersey smirked.
“That’s why you hit locals now? Kane fed you that crap?” Ray lowered, meeting his gaze.
“Hey! At least Kane let us prove ourselves to the Marylands. All we ever get from you is store guard duty!” Hoodie approached him.
Asri’s voice suddenly chimed in. “Kane Osward. Street name K.O. Sounds like Kane’s been working the younger 21ST–pulling them to MSB”
“I was the one who picked you up when you couldn’t even fight for yourself. No gang nor borough cared if you lived. I did!”
Their voices hitched.
“And this is how you repay me? Kane flashed some cash and you ran to him like a dog?”
A sickening blow to the gut split the air.
Hoodie doubled over, clenching his gut.
“Can’t even take a punch from a ‘housewife’?” Ray squatted beside him. “Get out of my sight. Both of you.”
Ray retreated to his men–his back facing the two exalted members.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He paused-head tilting slightly. His eyes scanned the rafters–almost like he could sense me.
“Stay sharp.” He whispered to his men–his voice almost… bored.
For a second. No one moved.
Then–Jersey’s hand twitched.
My spider-sense caught it. A gun.
But Ray didn’t know–or so I thought.
He turned–already dodging.
But my web was fast–stuck to the floor behind Jersey.
Yank.
I zipped in–feet first. My kick slammed into his chest.
I landed with a roll, facing Ray and his men.
“Maybe stick to talking with mouths instead of guns” I stood up.
Ray was quiet, staring at me.
And he smiled–followed by a slow clap.
He walked towards me, shaking his head.
“And who do I owe the gratitude?” Ray smirked–a few feet from me.
“Spider-Man. Hyphen.”
“We don’t usually take costumed guys, but if you’re thinking of joining us–”
“Don’t get me wrong, Mr Smiles. I saved a civilian, not a mob boss.” I crossed my arms. “You, my friend, unfortunately are on the booking list.”
His chuckle was cold–so was his stare.
“Cute. You the new sheriff in town then?”
“That’s right, partner. And you got a bounty on your head.”
“Let me show you why.”
The three behind him moved. Guns.
Three webballs launched–binding one to a wall.
My skull was buzzing like a siren. The guns were already rising.
My body moved before I could think.
I flipped low–gunshots cracked past me.
Thwip! A webline stuck to one of their arms. A hard tug, and they collided.
Another webline stuck–both slamming to the wall.
Spider-sense took over.
Webs fired in a blur–sticking the three together before they could react.
A heavy exhale, and my attention was back to Ray–leaning against the table.
“Your turn, cowboy.”
Ray flashed a smile–taking off his shirt.
His body was toned. Not weightlifting–from countless street fights.
Fists up–relaxed, focused.
This isn’t going to be easy.
He easily dodged my web–but a yank shot my forward.
The punch landed clean–but Ray barely moved.
Wham!
His fist dug into my gut–like a wrecking ball.
Not letting me breathe, his next punch was already coming down.
Thwip. I pulled myself away. A webshot pinned his foot.
I weaved behind him. A sharp hook to his ribs–I felt the impact rattled up my arm.
He ducked down, hooking my leg.
We both hit the pavement–hard.
Ray twisted his foot free, getting ready to mount.
An opening.
I shot a webball–blinding him.
He tried to pull it off–but I was already pulling myself to the air.
A webstring stuck to his chest–I yanked him up–my straight sent him back down.
His head bounced like a basketball–he’s still trying to pull the web off.
“You’re trying to be the new definition for stubborn?” I tried to hide my shock.
Webshots landed on him, binding him.
Rip. The webs stretched–thread snapping one by one.
“Oh my G-” I kept shooting, wrapping him up like a burrito.
Soon he was locked into a cocoon of webs.
He stopped struggling. Finally.
“You’re making a big mistake, Spider-Man.” His voice was muffled by the web.
“Taking a gang down is a mistake? Sorry I don’t run on ‘street logic’.”
“Don’t come crawling back to me when Downside turns into a warzone.”
“No worries. I can swing too.”
“Yo. You called the cops yet? I don’t see anything.” I asked Asri, adjusting my bone conduction earpiece.
“They should already be there. But then again, it's the Downside we’re talking about.”
“You really expecting the cops to give a crap about us here? You’re naive, man.” Ray’s voice was barely audible.
I ripped the webbing off.
“And I thought you couldn’t be any rougher.” Ray grunted in pain.
“You’re chatty for someone wrapped in a web blanket.”
“And you’re cocky for someone who doesn’t know crap about the street dynamics.”
“Pretty sure reducing the amount of idiots robbing stores around Downside is a positive thing.”
“21st Street never hit locals, web brain.”
“Same thing to me.”
I’d probably regret it soon. But right now? It felt like a win.
Not long after that, we heard the sirens.
“Well, that’s my cue to leave. Was good meeting you, Ray.” I patted his head.
He tried to avoid it, but the cocoon was tight around him.
Thwip! I was already in the air when the cops arrived.
The night felt colder as I swung through Downside.
Weird.
I’m probably just tired.
