The Spectacular Spider-Man

Chapter Seven

Swing Shift

The city buzzed below as Spider-Man practiced his particular brand of pirouettes, web-slinging from one high rise to the next. New York was his stage, and tonight the performance was equal parts patrol and ballet. Each swing was a finely tuned motion of muscle and instinct, honed across a multitude of moonlit escapades.

Spider-Man loved this time of evening, when the sun dipped like a giant strawberry into a smoothie of horizon, and the city lights began to flicker on, one by one, winking like mischievous children at play. It was this hour when quiet stories unfolded in the city's nooks and crannies, some needing a nudge toward a happier ever after.

And sure enough, as if on cue to the rhythm of the humming metropolis, Spider-Man's acute senses snagged on a dissonant note. A few blocks down, in the shadow of a fire escape, below the rows of apartment windows winking with TV light, was a man behaving rather peculiarly.

From his vantage point, he could see it clearly: a figure, hunched and hurried, trying to disable the lock of a particularly cozy looking brownstone. His black beanie was tugged low over his eyes, a desperate sort of secrecy to his movements.

Spider-Man couldn't help it. A quip bubbled up as naturally as breathing. With an acrobatic flourish he vaulted from his web-line, flipped in the air — "Showtime," he muttered with a grin — and landed with balletic grace near the burglar.

"I don't think you'll find your name on the welcome mat," Spider-Man announced cheerily, making the intruder jump. As the would-be thief spun around, Spider-Man was perched casually on a nearby railing, as if poised on the back of a bench in Central Park.

The man stammered, tried to compose himself, and groped for the bulging duffel bag at his feet – dreamily, as if it could offer any real protection against New York's web-slinging sentinel.

"You know," Spider-Man continued, staying loose and light on his feet, ready for any sudden move, "I've heard of 'take your child to work day,' but 'take Spider-Man to your break-in night'? That's a new one."

The burglar's eyes darted toward the open window, then back to Spider-Man, calculating his chances.

"Look, buddy," Spider-Man went on, circling now with a playful swagger, "The people who live here? Big fans of privacy. Big fans of security cameras, too. And me? I'm a big fan of stopping guys like you. So, how about you put the crowbar down, and we skip the part where I web you up and leave you hanging? It’s really your call."

The tension held for a moment, the burglar with shoulders risen, like a cat ready to spring, and Spider-Man, crouched and waiting.

Then, the man's nerve broke. He dropped the crowbar with a clatter and raised his hands.

"Good choice!" said Spider-Man, as he loped forward and whipped out a thread of webbing, securing the man's hands with a practiced twirl. "You just saved yourself from the world's stickiest handcuffs!"

Detaching the criminal from potential escape routes with a few more strategic strands, Spider-Man joked, "You can consider this your sticky situation of the day. Stick around— the cops will be here in a minute."

Leaving the burglar for the authorities, Spider-Man catapulted back into the freedom of the skyscraper canyons, keen ears tuned for the next chapter in the night's saga. For in this city that never sleeps, neither did its most arachnid of heroes.

*An Hour later*

The city's symphony hummed steadily, a familiar backdrop to Peter Parker's daily routine. The high School student by day, superhero by personality, navigated the New York bustle with ease.

As Peter crossed the crowded intersection of 53rd and Third, he caught sight of an unexpected island of calm amidst the chaos. A man in a crisp suit with a confident air about him stood at the crosswalk, not the typical commuter armed with urgency, but oddly serene in the urban rush. What truly piqued Peter's curiosity was the cane in the man's hand, tapping rhythmically—a blind man navigating the jungle of the city.

Yet, as Peter observed, this was no ordinary scene. The man seemed unphased by the cacophony around him, his face tilted slightly upward, as if reading the sun's position through eyelids. As the light shifted, signaling a safe passage, the man moved. Not with caution or hesitance, but with an uncanny precision that betrayed an incredible awareness of his surroundings.

With interest piqued, Peter followed discreetly, watching as the man named Matt maneuvered through the throngs with a kind of grace that was both baffling and mesmerizing. He wasn't just avoiding obstacles; he was anticipating them—something was different about him.

Peter's intrigue grew with every step Matt took. By the time they reached the opposite sidewalk, Matt's display of almost preternatural cognizance demanded an encounter. Peter quickened his pace and approached him lightly.

"You're an interesting guy," Peter commented with genuine amiability, seeking to probe deeper into the enigma before him.

Matt's response was swift, as if he'd been expecting the conversation, cutting off Peter before he could delve further. "My name is Matt," he interjected, with a note of finality that hinted at layers beneath the surface. "And I'm sure we'll be seeing each other again."

The way Matt said 'seeing' held a weight to it, a subtle emphasis that wasn't lost on Peter. There was a story behind those words, behind the extrinsic blind man who walked as if he could see everything Peter wanted to hide. Peter was left with an instinctive sense that this Matt was more than his appearance suggested, much like himself.

"Yeah, I'm sure we will," Peter replied, his voice touched with a blend of respect and burgeoning camaraderie.

As Matt walked away, guided by the rhythmic tap of his cane, Peter stayed a moment longer, watching. There was a kinship felt in the brief exchange, the sense of two lives on a collision course, not by accident but by design. Peter turned away, his mind a whirl of possibilities.

Who was Matt? And how had he moved with such aware assurance? Questions for another time, because if there was one certainty in the life of Peter Parker, it was that every remarkable meeting had its sequel.

He tucked the encounter away in his mind, a puzzle piece to revisit when fate inevitably drew them back into each other's orbit. Until then, Peter had a city to protect, people to save. But the chance meeting was a stark reminder that he wasn't the only one watching over New York City.

There were others, 'interesting guys' like Matt, guardians in their own right, who saw the world differently.

Peter’s gaze shifted downwards, snagged by the glint of something out of place against the dull gray of the sidewalk. Nestled among a litter of urban detritus, a card lay face up, beckoning attention amidst the anonymity of scattered trash.

He leaned down, curiosity piqued, and carefully picked it up between two fingers. It was a business card, pristine despite its fall from grace, and emblazoned with bold, confident lettering that read "Murdock Law."

The address pointed to Hell's Kitchen, a stone's throw from where the blind man named Matt had crossed the street with uncanny precision.

A direct line, a professional name, and beneath it all, the whispered promise of a story.

Peter turned the card over in his hand, feeling the weight of coincidence—or was it fate? He pocketed the card with a nod to the universe. Murdock Law—it seemed his intriguing encounter might have a next chapter after all.