Nine months have passed since the Fall of Spider-Man, the Death of Peter Parker, and New York’s newest spider gives his only warning...
Michelle groans in frustration, cursing her Silk-sense under her breath, confident that this was just another moment of her senses fucking with her. It's only when the screens of all three TV's in the coffee shop flutter with static, the words PLEASE STANDBY FOR TRANSMISSION appear before the screens switch to a figure, sitting in a chair, arms crossed over his chest with his legs comfortably sitting on top of a table. The same Spider Michelle had seen last night, and May had recently seen from a distance. May wonders how she could've thought Miles would wear such attire, seeing him up close. The strange metallic black suit with the white Spider and large ghostly white eyes sends a shiver down May's spine. The trench coat and fedora, the peculiar belt and the handguns are visible as if he's showing them off. May, Michelle and the other customers watch the transmission like it's the last thing they'll ever see, the dark voice that speaks to them only drawing the audience in further.
"This is a recorded message for all criminals and offenders. The innocent public need not pay mind to me, and I apologise in advance for making this transmission appear, well, everywhere. I'm trying to ensure this message is thorough and that every delinquent I'm yet to find witnesses my warning. I'm confident you're all wondering who I am and why I've made my web in this city, especially those who've already encountered me. The answer to one of those wonders is quite simple. I'm the cure to this pandemic you call a war with crime. I'm here not to balance the scale but devastate the winning side. These animals, these cockroaches in human form, will be judged according to their crimes and criminal histories. I will serve punishment consequently simply because I'm tired of seeing innocents suffer at the hands of creatures of the night, so I've decided to do something about it. There's no place you can hide from me, no identity I can't see through, no way to stop me from finding you. I have the aptitude to locate you and the will to do what is needed, anybody who mistakes my intentions will learn in due time. After all, there isn't a single person or thing in this city that scares me, and that should be what scares you. Essentially, this is the only warning I'll give you. You'll either take this message seriously or-"
The coffee shop is entirely silent as they watch the figure withdraw his legs from the table, his hands placed on the handrest of the chair as he finds himself to his feet. The figure shows off his tall and thickset physique, the eyes of his mask staring at the camera before he kicks the chair away from him.
"Or, you won't. I mean, why listen to a face on a screen, right? Do you need some convincing? Okay, okay, no skin off my nose," the figure shrugs, moving off the screen only for only a few seconds. He returns, pushing an office chair into view, an office chair with someone webbed to it by his arms, legs and chest, his mouth taped shut. The man strapped to the chair looks worse for wear, sleep-deprived and beaten to a pulp. The figure stands behind the man in the chair, his hands held firmly against the man's shoulders, the immediate whimper of the man displaying how shit your pants scared he is of the Spider. "Meet Flynn Paxton, right-hand man of Wilson Fisk, who a lot of us would know as the Kingpin. You see, after Paxton here and I had a nice little chat, he's told me everything I'd ever want to know about Willy, his operations, his associates, his safe houses, but here's the kicker. I don't just know about Willy and his buddies. I know all about his competition too. Every crime boss, mob boss, gang leader, every hero and vigilante the Kingpin is feuding within this city is now on my radar due to Flynn's cooperation. How lovely it is to have a place to start. Speaking of you heroes, the Avengers, the Defenders, Silk and the new Spider-Man, it would be best if you stayed out of my way. I know your heavy hitters aren't on the planet, and I'm not seeking to hurt you, not unless you leave me short of options. I'm not afraid of any of you, remember that. Believe that. As you can see, this isn't a joke. My arrival is your day of reckoning. I might not come today, tonight, tomorrow, may not come until next week, but I'll catch up with you, I'll catch up with all of you. I have all the time in the world for this. When I'm done, either you're all gone, or I've died in the process. Good luck with that. You can't kill what's already dead. Oh, damn, I almost forgot. Whoever seeks out Paxton here, you have forty-eight hours to find him, or he disappears forever, and don't get me wrong, I don't exactly care who gets to him. Willy, one of his enemies, one of the heroes in this city, I don't care, but I'm done with him. I look forward to finding out if Fisk actually cares for him. As for the Sinister Six? If you're trying to sound threatening, don't sound like a shitty boy band, regardless, I look forward to meeting you, and seeing what you all think you're made of. Just remember, when days fall into night, I become impossible to see coming. You can call me the Huntsman, and I'm signing off this recorded message. Tata."
