Chapter 28: Business Plans, Bold Kisses, and Extremely Questionable HR Policies
Peter Parker was walking into Empire State University with the emotional energy of a man carrying seventeen unsolved problems, three moral dilemmas, and one newspaper headline screaming WHO IS SPIDER-MAN? inside his brain.
He didn't notice Flash Thompson until Flash Thompson did what Flash Thompson did best.
"Hey, Parker!" Flash's voice sliced through Peter's thoughts like a foghorn. "What's with the long face? Did someone steal your lunch money again?"
Peter stopped.
Slowly turned.
And immediately wished he hadn't.
Flash Thompson stood there in all his confident, annoying glory, one arm casually hooked around Liz Allan's waist.
But that wasn't the problem.
The problem was his shirt.
Black.
Clean.
Stylish.
With a very familiar white spider logo stretched proudly across his chest.
Peter's brain hit the emergency brakes.
…That is my logo.
"What is that?" Peter blurted before his filter could stop him.
Flash grinned like he'd just been asked to explain gravity to a toddler. "Wow, Parker. Do you live under a rock or just inside your own head?"
Liz elbowed him lightly, but Flash kept going.
"This," Flash said proudly, tugging at the shirt, "is the signature of New York's newest hero. Spider-Man."
Peter felt his soul briefly leave his body.
"I had it custom-made," Flash continued. "Gotta show support, right?"
Peter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Tried again. "Support… for Spider-Man?"
Flash nodded, surprisingly serious for once. "Yeah."
Then he said the words Peter never expected to hear.
"Last night? Me and Liz were there. That electric psycho—Supercharger—nearly wiped us out. If Spider-Man hadn't shown up…"
Flash shrugged, but his voice dropped a notch. "I'd be dead."
Peter's chest tightened.
Not from fear.
From something warmer.
Something heavier.
"This is the least I can do," Flash finished. "Guy saved my life."
For a moment, Peter forgot how to breathe.
No insults.
No mockery.
No sarcasm.
Just… gratitude.
From Flash Thompson.
The universe had officially gone off the rails.
Peter swallowed and managed a small, almost invisible smile.
"I wasn't being bullied," he said lightly. "Just thinking about work."
Then he hesitated before adding, more seriously, "You should probably stop going out so late. Things aren't exactly safe right now."
Flash rolled his eyes—but nodded. "Yeah, yeah. You sound like my mom."
Liz smiled softly at Peter. "Thanks for looking out for him."
Peter nodded back, still processing the fact that reality had briefly glitched.
For once—
Flash Thompson wasn't being a complete jerk.
And somehow, that felt like a bigger victory than stopping a supervillain.
The city was still dangerous.
The questions were still unanswered.
But knowing someone was alive because of him?
That made it all worth it.
----------------------------
Peter Parker didn't expect Flash Thompson to say something reasonable.
That alone was unsettling.
Flash scratched the back of his neck, his grin fading just enough to show something real underneath.
"I know it's not safe," he said, voice lower than usual, "but I gotta work at night."
No jokes.
No flexing.
No sarcastic laugh to cover it up.
Peter frowned slightly.
That was when it clicked.
Flash wasn't being reckless. He wasn't trying to look cool. He was doing what a lot of people in New York did—whatever it took to survive.
His family situation wasn't exactly a secret. Living with his grandparents. Parents out of the picture. A scholarship that paid for school, sure—but food, rent, life? That still cost money. A lot of it.
Peter understood that better than most.
Every day, he ran calculations in his head like a broken spreadsheet: Groceries vs. rent. Bills vs. tuition. .
Different lives. Same pressure.
For the first time, Peter didn't see Flash Thompson the loudmouth jock.
He saw a guy just trying not to sink.
"I get it," Peter said quietly. "Still… take care of yourself."
Flash scoffed, automatically slipping back into familiar territory. He slapped Peter lightly on the back.
"Stop being so soapy, man."
The sound echoed.
Flash immediately winced.
"Ow—what the—?" He shook his hand, frowning at his fingers. Did I jam something earlier?
Peter didn't even flinch.
Weeks of training, chakra control, and holding back had turned his body into something that politely ignored things like friendly back slaps. He just stood there, blinking innocently.
Flash flexed his hand once more, shrugged, and moved on.
"So anyway," Flash said, suddenly brightening, "I wanted to ask—wanna join the Spider-Man Fan Club?"
Peter's brain blue-screened.
"…The what?"
Flash grinned like he'd just pitched the greatest idea in human history.
"The Spidey Fan Club! We're gonna support the guy. Help out. Spread good vibes. Maybe do community stuff."
Peter stared at him.
A fan club.
For him.
The universe was officially messing with him.
And now Flash Thompson—the same guy who used to shove him into lockers—was making merch and forming a support group?
Peter wasn't sure whether to laugh, scream, or fake his own death.
"Are you… allowed to do that?" Peter asked carefully.
Flash waved a hand. "Yeah. We just need enough members and a faculty supervisor. Gotta submit a list of positive activities and boom—official club."
Peter squinted. "You… did research?"
Flash smirked. "Hey, you gotta learn to do things yourself before laziness drags you down."
Peter almost choked on that. Who are you and what have you done with Flash Thompson?
Flash crossed his arms, clearly pleased with himself.
"So? You in?"
Peter hesitated.
Joining a club dedicated to his alter ego felt like standing next to a live grenade and poking it with a stick. It wasn't just the secrecy—it was the attention. Too many eyes. Too many questions.
Still…
There was something weirdly heartwarming about this.
"I'll think about it," Peter said. "I'm pretty busy, and my schedule's kind of… unpredictable."
Flash nodded, surprisingly chill about it. "Fair enough."
Then Liz leaned in, smiling warmly.
"Come on, Peter. It'll be fun."
For half a second—half a dangerous second—Peter almost said yes.
Then common sense kicked him in the shins.
"Sorry," he said. "I really don't have time."
Flash just shrugged, still grinning.
"No problem, dude. Join whenever you want. We could definitely use someone like you."
Flash Thompson walked off like he'd just recruited half the Avengers.
Peter stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching him blend into the ever-moving crowd of Empire State University. Flash didn't slow down. Didn't look back. He was already talking, laughing, clapping someone on the shoulder like he owned the sidewalk.
Which, honestly, was kind of his thing.
For a guy with a former bully reputation, Flash was freakishly good at people. He had that gravity—loud voice, easy confidence, the ability to turn strangers into friends within five minutes. Peter had learned that the hard way back in high school.
Apparently, college Flash had upgraded.
------------------------
The library was doing its best impression of a monastery.
Pages whispered. Pens scratched. Someone three tables away sneezed and immediately looked like they'd committed a felony.
Peter Parker sat in the far corner, hunched over a notebook that looked less like schoolwork and more like the scribblings of a sleep-deprived supervillain. Diagrams. Bullet points. Half-finished ideas. One page literally just said:
PROBLEM: MONEY
POSSIBLE SOLUTIONS:
– Sell web fluid
– Start tech company???
– Medicine??
– Don't die???
He was tapping his pen against the table, deep in thought, when—
THUMP.
Jessica Jones dropped into the chair across from him like gravity was optional and furniture was merely a suggestion.
"So," she said casually, sliding her bag onto the neighboring chair, "how was your night?"
Peter blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"Oh—uh. Hi, Jess."
Right. Jessica was a student too. Technically. It was easy to forget when she spent most nights punching criminals and redefining the meaning of personal space.
"Not bad," he said, snapping his notebook shut like it had just revealed state secrets. "I met with Naruto. He gave me the skills you asked for."
Jessica leaned forward immediately, interest lighting up her face. "And?"
"Well," Peter continued, counting on his fingers, "we talked like old friends, had a barbecue—don't ask—then I went home. On the way, I started thinking about how I'm going to not be broke forever."
She blinked. "Wow. Casual."
"Right now," Peter went on, completely serious, "my best option is selling my web fluid formula. But I'm also thinking about starting a business. Electronics. Medicine. Maybe both."
Jessica stared at him.
"…You realize most people your age are worried about finals, right?"
Peter shrugged. "I multitask."
She raised an eyebrow. "You're planning world-changing tech, fighting crime, training with a chakra immortal, and going to college. You sure you're not gonna implode?"
He smiled, calm as ever. "I'm used to thinking about multiple things at once. It's not a problem."
Jessica didn't answer right away.
Her gaze drifted past him, unfocused. Last night flickered behind her eyes—blood, smoke, screaming. The weight of it pressed against her chest.
It had been the first time she'd seen that much death up close.
And it had changed something.
She exhaled slowly and looked back at him. "Have you ever… actually thought about the future?"
Peter tilted his head. "What about you? Have you?"
She hesitated.
"I think," she said slowly, "I might join the police. Or something like that."
The words sounded strange even to her.
She wanted to protect people. That part was undeniable. Losing her parents had carved that desire into her bones. She never wanted another kid to grow up with that kind of hole in their life.
But the police?
Was that really her path?
Peter saw the doubt immediately and smirked.
"You haven't thought this through at all, have you?"
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe not."
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice steady in a way that made it impossible to ignore.
"Then don't decide yet. Just… follow me for now. Let's see where we end up."
Jessica stared at him.
There was no hesitation in his expression. No fear. No uncertainty.
Just determination.
Finally, she reached across the table and took his hand.
"I trust you more than anyone," she said quietly. "So I'm expecting a rich life out of this."
Peter laughed softly. "I am honored by your trust and confidence."
He squeezed her hand gently.
"So don't worry," he added. "I won't disappoint."
----------------------------------
Peter's smile faded just a notch—the way it did when his brain switched from friendly neighborhood to oh no, I'm planning something dangerous again.
"For now," he said, voice steady but serious, "I'm planning to meet others like us and form connections with important institutions around the city. Hospitals. Universities. Private firms. Maybe even public infrastructure."
Jessica leaned back in her chair, folding her arms. Uh-oh. That tone meant ideas.
"We can make money by offering services," Peter continued. "Security consulting. We analyze their systems, identify weaknesses, and help them improve. We've seen firsthand how vulnerable people can be. It's time we help change that."
Jessica narrowed her eyes slightly. "What kind of services are we talking about exactly? Because last time you said 'help,' it involved rail guns and unconscious crime lords."
Peter winced. "Non-violent help. Mostly."
She studied him for a long moment, then tilted her head. "You really think they'll listen to us?"
Peter shrugged, the motion casual even though the idea itself was huge. "We won't know until we try. And we don't have much to lose. Besides, we won't start until we establish our name properly—and convince at least one long-active hero to back us."
Jessica's lips curled slowly into a smile.
"And here I thought Mister Perfect forgot about the elephant in the room," she said, standing up. "Can't you at least pretend you forgot and give me a chance to add something smart and dramatic?"
Peter blinked, then scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I… will see what I can do."
That was all the warning he got.
Jessica leaned forward and kissed him.
Not dramatic. Not flashy. Just soft, quick, and full of unspoken things—trust, affection, and the quiet understanding that whatever they were getting into next, they were doing it together.
Peter froze.
Internally, his brain did a somersault, tripped over a chair, and caught fire.
When she pulled back, Jessica grinned like she'd just stolen something priceless.
"Lead the way, boss."
Peter stared at her for half a second too long.
Then he stood up, slung his bag over his shoulder, and smirked—finally catching up to reality.
"Alright," he said. "Let's get to work."
Somewhere between a university library and the future of New York's security infrastructure, Peter Parker accidentally became a leader.
And somehow, that felt just as terrifying as fighting supervillains.
Probably more.
------------------------------------
From across the library, Gwen Stacy sat very still.
Which, for Gwen, was unusual—because when Gwen Stacy went still, it usually meant her brain was moving at terrifying speeds.
Her fingers flipped a page in her textbook, then flipped it back. She hadn't read a single word in the last five minutes. The equations stared up at her, unimpressed by her lack of attention.
Her attention, unfortunately, was about twelve tables away.
Peter Parker.
She had been on her way over. That was the plan. Casual. Natural. Hey Peter, mind if I sit here? Maybe talk about the assignment. Maybe argue about theory. Maybe laugh.
Then Jessica Jones had dropped into the chair opposite him like she owned the place.
Gwen had hesitated.
Not because she was shy—she wasn't—but because something about the way Jessica sat, the way Peter looked at her, had made Gwen pause.
So she watched.
And the more she watched, the more her mind quietly started taking notes.
✔ Confidence: high.
✔ Personal space boundaries: nonexistent.
✔ Familiarity with Peter: concerning.
Peter had never mentioned this girl.
That alone was… interesting.
Then it happened.
Jessica leaned forward.
And kissed him.
Just like that.
Not dramatic. Not showy. Just easy.
Peter didn't pull away.
And Gwen felt it—a sharp, annoying sting right in the middle of her chest, like she'd just lost a point in a game she hadn't realized she was playing.
She didn't like this.
Not one bit.
She had always thought—quietly, logically—that she and Peter made sense. Same wavelength. Same curiosity. Same drive. They worked well together. It felt… inevitable. Like a theorem that just hadn't been proven yet.
And now this girl had appeared out of nowhere and skipped several steps.
Rude.
For a brief moment, frustration flared.
Then Gwen did what she always did best.
She thought.
It's not final.
The thought slid into place smoothly, bringing with it a small, confident smirk.
They kissed. That was all.
They weren't married. They weren't engaged. They weren't even officially anything, as far as Gwen knew. For all she could tell, Peter had been caught off guard—people did dumb things when attractive, confident people made the first move.
It happened.
Science supported this.
Gwen wasn't in love with Peter.
Not yet.
But she liked him.
She liked his mind—sharp, creative, always reaching for something more. She liked the way he thought, the way he questioned everything. His personality wasn't bad either. Awkward, yes—but endearingly so. And, objectively speaking, he was far from unattractive.
She had already pictured it—working together, late nights in the lab, conversations that slowly turned personal. Something gradual. Something real.
This?
This was unexpected.
But not a problem.
If anything, it was a challenge.
And Gwen Stacy liked challenges.
She closed her book with a soft thump, straightened her posture, and refocused on her studies like nothing had happened.
No rushing. No dramatics. No jealousy-fueled bad decisions.
She had time.
And when the moment was right?
She'd make her move.
After all—every good experiment required patience.
-----------------------------------
Daredevil was a problem.
Not a bad problem—just a very inconvenient one.
Peter Parker had quickly learned that the so-called Devil of Hell's Kitchen had a strict schedule:
✔ Appeared only at night
✔ Lurked exclusively in shadows
✔ Refused to answer emails (rude)
✔ And absolutely did not leave a business card
Peter could have asked Naruto for Daredevil's identity. Naruto probably knew. Naruto probably knew everyone.
But that felt… wrong.
Rude, even.
You didn't snoop into another hero's secrets unless you wanted bad karma, trust issues, or a ninja lecture about respect that lasted three hours.
So Peter went with option two.
Someone public.
Someone established.
Someone who didn't mind people knocking on his door in broad daylight.
Which is how Spider-Man and Jewel ended up standing across the street from a very normal-looking office building in Manhattan with a very not normal sign on the window:
LUKE CAGE – HERO FOR HIRE
Jessica squinted at it.
"…You're serious?"
Peter, already masked up, nodded. "Yep."
Jessica crossed her arms, eyeing the place like it might punch her first. "You sure about Luke Cage? I mean—he literally charges money to beat people up. And he's… kinda violent."
Peter tilted his head. "You mean efficient."
She shot him a look.
"Spidey."
"Jess."
They stared at each other for a second before Peter sighed and leaned against a lamppost, looking far too comfortable for someone about to meet another superpowered stranger.
"Look," he said calmly. "If we do hero work full-time, what happens to rent? Food? Medical bills? Web fluid ingredients that definitely do not grow on trees?"
Jessica opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"…Okay, fair."
Peter continued, warming to the topic. This happened whenever he talked about heroes he respected.
"Luke Cage figured something out a lot of people didn't," he said. "Not every problem is a bank robbery or a gang shootout. Some fights happen indoors. Behind closed doors. Evictions. Protection rackets. People too scared to call the cops."
Jessica glanced at the office again.
"…So he made himself accessible."
"Exactly," Peter said. "An office means people can come to you. Regular people. Not everyone wants to scream into the void and hope a masked guy swings by."
Jessica slowly nodded.
"And yeah," Peter added, "he works for money. But so what? Heroes gotta eat."
She snorted. "You sound like you've rehearsed this speech."
Peter shrugged. "I've thought about it."
She studied him for a moment, then smirked. "Wow. I didn't know you were such a hero nerd."
Peter froze.
"…Excuse you."
She grinned wider. "You're talking like you've got trading cards and a spreadsheet ranking street-level vigilantes."
"That spreadsheet is very organized," Peter muttered.
Jessica laughed, the tension easing as she nudged him toward the door. "Alright, PowerPoint. Let's go meet your role model."
Peter straightened, suddenly aware of what they were about to do.
Two new heroes.
One established legend.
No appointment.
He pushed the door open.
Inside, the office was simple. Clean. Practical. No dramatic lighting. No secret lair vibes.
Just a desk.
A waiting area.
And behind the desk—
A massive man in a hoodie, built like a brick wall that had decided to lift weights, looking up from his paperwork with a slow, unimpressed blink.
Luke Cage.
He looked at Spider-Man.
Then at Jewel.
Then back at Spider-Man.
"…Y'all here to hire me," Luke said flatly, "or start somethin'?"
Peter lifted a hand. "Uh. Hi. Big fan."
Jessica groaned quietly.
Luke raised an eyebrow.
"…Huh."
And just like that, Peter knew—
This meeting was going to be interesting.
Luke Cage had expected many things when he opened his office that morning.
Bills.
Complaints.
A nervous shop owner asking for protection.
Maybe a landlord dispute that was one argument away from becoming a fistfight.
What he did not expect—
Was Spider-Man and Jewel standing in his doorway like they were about to ask for directions.
Luke stared at them.
They stared back.
The office fell into a very awkward silence, the kind that happens right before either a fight breaks out or someone admits they walked into the wrong bathroom.
"…This ain't normal," Luke finally said.
Spider-Man lifted a hand in a small wave. "Hi."
Jewel nodded politely. "Hey."
Luke leaned back in his chair, folding his massive arms across his chest. He'd been doing this long enough to know patterns.
Heroes didn't usually show up at other heroes' offices unless:
The world was ending
Aliens were involved
Or someone was about to get recruited into something way above their pay grade
-----------------------------
The last time heroes had walked into his life like this, it had been the Avengers.
And that had come with explosions.
Also—new heroes didn't socialize this early. Most spent months figuring themselves out, avoiding attention, screwing up quietly.
Spider-Man?
The kid had barely been around a few days.
And last night?
Last night had been his explosive debut.
Luke studied them more carefully.
Spider-Man moved like coiled wire—tense, alert, but controlled. Young. Definitely young. Early twenties at best.
Jewel carried herself differently—confident, grounded, eyes constantly scanning the room like she was already planning escape routes.
Neither of them looked scared.
That alone told Luke they weren't idiots.
Still, Harlem was his city.
And Luke Cage didn't play friendly with unknown variables.
"So," Luke said, voice calm but solid as concrete, "what do y'all want?"
Spider-Man straightened instantly, like a student standing up when the teacher called his name.
"I'm a big fan," he said.
Luke blinked.
"…You serious?"
Spider-Man nodded, enthusiasm bleeding through despite his mask. "Yeah. I mean—I love the Fantastic Four. They're awesome. Cosmic stuff, science, all that."
Jewel rolled her eyes quietly.
"But," Spider-Man continued, "what you do matters just as much. You're there for regular people. Rent problems. Protection. Stuff nobody else shows up for. That's important."
Luke felt it.
That familiar warmth in the chest.
And immediately didn't trust it.
He'd lived too long to fall for praise wrapped in a bow.
"Alright," Luke said flatly, leaning forward. "That's enough butterin' me up. Get to the point."
Jewel smirked and jabbed Spider-Man lightly in the side. "Told you not to monologue."
"Hey—"
She stepped forward, meeting Luke's gaze head-on.
"We want to work with you."
Luke raised an eyebrow. "Work how?"
He glanced between them. "Y'all got some super-powered psycho you want help punching?"
Spider-Man's posture shifted.
The joking energy faded.
"No," he said seriously. "We're talking bigger than that."
Luke frowned. That was never a good sign.
"We want to form a team," Spider-Man continued. "Not like random team-ups. Something organized. Like the Avengers—but street-level."
Jewel nodded. "Something that can actually manage New York."
Luke stared at them.
For a long moment, the only sound was traffic outside and the faint hum of the office lights.
"…You serious right now?" Luke asked slowly.
Spider-Man didn't blink. "Dead serious."
Luke exhaled through his nose, amused despite himself.
"You two been heroes for five minutes," he said. "And you already talkin' about runnin' the city?"
"Managing it," Spider-Man corrected. "Helping it."
Luke leaned back again, eyes sharp now.
"Why would I team up with you?" he asked.
"Do we even know each other enough for that?"
The room went quiet.
This wasn't hostility.
It was a test.
And Peter Parker knew it.
He straightened, shoulders squared—not defensive, not arrogant.
Just honest.
Because this?
This mattered.
And Luke Cage was the kind of man you didn't lie to.
--------------------------------
Before Spider-Man ever swung into Luke Cage's office, he had already done something extremely un-Spider-Man-like.
He practiced.
Extensively.
Naruto had sat cross-legged on a floating rock, eating something suspiciously on fire, while Peter paced back and forth like a student about to defend a thesis.
"No, no, that sounds desperate," Naruto had said at one point.
Peter stopped. "It does?"
"You're trying to recruit him, not ask him to prom."
"…I was not asking him to prom."
"Same energy."
So now—standing in front of Luke Cage, with Jewel watching him like a smug QA tester—Peter took a breath.
Okay. Showtime.
"You're right," Spider-Man said calmly. "We don't know each other. Not yet."
Luke raised an eyebrow. Good. He was listening.
"But that changes once we start working together," Peter continued. "Trust isn't built on introductions. It's built on results."
Jewel nodded approvingly. Luke didn't.
"Go on," Luke said.
Peter straightened, confidence settling into his voice.
"We have the same goal," he said. "We don't just want to punch the big bad of the week and disappear. We want to fix things at the root. The stuff that keeps breaking this city over and over again."
Luke leaned back slightly, arms crossed, but his eyes sharpened.
"We're planning to take public orders," Peter went on. "Same as you. People walk in, tell us what's wrong—things that don't make the news. Domestic threats. Protection. Quiet problems."
Jewel smirked. "You'd be surprised how much crime doesn't involve explosions."
Luke snorted. "Trust me. I wouldn't."
Peter pressed on.
"If we work together, we solve more problems—faster, cleaner, smarter. I'm already building a surveillance system that tracks city-wide incidents. Not just crime reports—patterns."
Luke's eyes flicked up. "You tapped into police data?"
Peter hesitated for half a second. "Legally… adjacent."
Jewel coughed. "Very adjacent."
Luke stared at him, then shook his head slowly. "You got guts, kid."
"And a transport system," Peter added quickly. "Like the X-Men. Fast deployment. But we don't all rush to the same place. We divide territory. Respond based on situation, not ego."
That one landed.
Luke didn't say anything, but the skepticism in his posture softened—just a little.
"So," Luke said at last, "you thought this through."
Peter nodded. "A lot."
Luke tapped the desk once. "That's good. But why not the Avengers?"
There it was.
Peter didn't flinch.
"Because they handle global threats," he said. "Aliens. Immortals. Governments. They're tied to systems that move slow and play politics."
Luke didn't interrupt.
"And that's fine," Peter continued. "They're necessary. But they won't fix what we're trying to fix. They won't stop the landlord intimidation, the underground trafficking, the quiet stuff that ruins lives one block at a time."
Jewel crossed her arms. "No offense to the Avengers. Love the merch."
Luke exhaled slowly.
"And," Peter added, softer now, "I'll help you gear up. Better protection. Better reach. So you can handle the dangerous stuff without burning yourself out."
Luke's gaze sharpened again.
"And your image," Peter finished. "Your work-life balance. People who do good deserve to live good lives too. We've all had enough tragedy. There's no reason to keep drowning in it."
The room went quiet.
Luke Cage didn't speak for a long moment.
He looked at Spider-Man—really looked at him now. Not just the mask. The posture. The intent.
Then he glanced at Jewel, who shrugged.
"He rehearsed," she said. "A lot."
Luke let out a low chuckle.
"Alright," he said. "I see the benefits. For the city."
Peter held his breath.
"But I ain't convinced yet."
Of course he wasn't.
Luke stood up, towering over both of them.
"So here's the deal," he said. "I join you temporarily. We see how this plays out."
Peter nodded immediately. "Fair."
"If you're all talk," Luke continued, "I walk. No hard feelings."
"Also fair."
"But," Luke finished, a slow smile tugging at his lips, "if you really got this city on your mind…"
He extended a massive hand.
"…then I don't mind working with you."
Peter shook it.
And just like that—
New York got a little more dangerous.
For the people who deserved it.