It was...weird. That was the only word Peter could use to describe his life after last Friday night. He’d swung into Hell’s Kitchen in hot pursuit of idiots too high to care that stolen vehicles and high speed chases were things Spider-man had no trouble stopping. He’d been a bit held up rescuing some civilians along the way, but he’d made up the time easily enough. And then he’d stopped the vehicle. Only problem? The idiots had jumped out and taken off on foot. And so, Spider-man had followed, brought them down and left them strung up and waiting for the cops that were right behind him to arrive.
And then his Spider-sense had tingled like Shenzi hearing the name “Mufasa.” Peter was on the move before he’d given it a thought, instinct guiding him to a back lot and an uneven fight. It wasn’t hard to recognize the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. It wasn’t hard to pick a side either. He’d swung in off a lightpost, taking four guys to the ground on impact and immediately launching up into the fray while those boys tried to catch their breath and figure a way out of the webbing.
The Enforcers were the hardest part of the take down: The Ox, Montana, and “Fancy Dan” Crenshaw weren’t anything to scoff at, but without Mr. Big around to direct things went easier than the last time Spider-man had run into them. When every last one was webbed to an immovable surface, he finally turned to Daredevil and put his fists on his hips. He was grinning from ear to ear because hello impromptu superhero team-up! And to be honest he was mad-impressed with Daredevil’s brutal fighting skills.
Panting and out of breath, he offers Daredevil a hand. “Nice to meet you, Daredevil. Spider-man. Sorry to bust in on you like this but I was in the neighborhood and overheard the rumpus. Here’s hoping I didn’t break any kind of unwritten rules or anything.”
