The rapid, rhythmic sound of keys being pressed echoed through the dimly lit room in the stillness of midnight.
The bluish glow from the monitor reflected across Arthur's focused face, revealing the cold gleam of someone working with almost surgical precision. His fingers danced across the keyboard as if every command were a note in a carefully composed symphony.
Lines of code scrolled down the screen, and the faint hum of the computer was the only sound accompanying the staccato rhythm of typing.
With the final keystroke, the program he had been developing for hours finally reached completion. The terminal flickered, displaying a sequence of decoded data, and a faint smile curved Arthur's lips.
He leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms as a satisfied sigh escaped him.
"Ahh…" he murmured, half amusement, half triumph. "Let's see who you really are, Damian Silver."
The pale light from the monitor gleamed in his eyes — cold, methodical, relentless.
---
New York Police Department
The night dragged on sluggishly. Inside the NYPD building, the pale lights of the offices still illuminated stacks of papers and the faint clink of coffee cups being set down on desks.
After a long day buried in reports, George stood up, grabbed his worn-out coat, and let out a tired sigh.
"Another day, another pile of problems…" he muttered.
He shut off his monitor — or so he thought. As he walked away, the screen flickered back to life on its own. A soft electronic hum filled the air for a few seconds — discreet, but deliberate.
Outside, George walked toward the parking lot, the chill of the night brushing against his face. He pulled out his phone and dialed a familiar number.
"Hey, Gwen. Still at Arthur's place? Want me to come pick you up?" he asked, adjusting his coat as he walked.
On the other end came Gwen's light, cheerful voice:
{"No need, Dad. I'm already home. But if you don't come back soon, Mom's gonna be mad."}
George paused, frowning slightly.
Didn't she say she'd be home later? he thought silently.
"Right, right. I'm on my way," he replied with a smile.
---
At the Stacy Residence
Gwen sat cross-legged on her bed, a clipboard resting on her knees and an expression of deep focus on her face. The paper before her was covered in sketches — lines, curves, quick notes, and small symbols.
"Since I've got spider powers now…" she said to herself with a half-smile. "I guess it makes sense to add some spider elements to the suit."
She picked up her pen and began refining the lines, her movements more confident now. Ideas flowed like invisible webs being spun from her imagination.
The soft scratch of the pen filled the room, and gradually, the design of Spider-Gwen's suit came to life.
"Perfect…" she whispered, holding the sketch up to the light. "Now for the material…"
Opening her wardrobe, she began to sift through her clothes until her eyes caught on a black and white yoga outfit. She touched the fabric — tight, elastic, yet remarkably comfortable.
Holding the outfit in one hand and the drawing in the other, her eyes sparkled.
"This… is exactly what I needed."
---
Helen's voice echoed from downstairs:
"Gwen! Your father's back! Dinner's ready!"
Startled, Gwen realized an hour had passed without her noticing. Her sketch was now far more refined, almost professional.
"Coming, Mom!" she called, setting the papers aside before heading downstairs.
The Stacy family gathered around the dinner table, surrounded by warmth and laughter. Helen served the food with a gentle smile while George tried to hide his fatigue behind humor. Gwen recounted small stories from her day, and as usual, George let slip a few work details — only for Helen to silence him with a firm look and a clinking spoon against the plate.
After dinner, George went to the living room to watch the news.
The city, oddly enough, was calm — or as "calm" as New York ever got. No major crimes, no mutant incidents, just the same old political campaigns and empty promises.
Then his phone rang — a sharp tone cutting through the quiet.
George answered, and his expression changed instantly.
"You're sure!? … Understood. I'm on my way!"
Gwen immediately stood up.
"Dad, what happened?"
He grabbed his coat, face serious.
"Someone hacked into the police department's database. The tech team's trying to trace the intruder, but I need to go — now."
Helen crossed her arms with a sigh.
"It's always something…"
"Don't worry, Mom," Gwen said, trying to reassure her. "At least this time it's just a hacker. Nothing dangerous."
Helen nodded, resigned.
"Well… at least it's not a shootout or a chase."
"Mom, I'm going to my room for a bit."
"Alright, sweetheart. I'll warm up some milk for you later."
"Thanks, Mom~" Gwen said, giving her a quick kiss before heading upstairs.
---
Back in Gwen's Room
She turned on her computer and started researching everything she could about webs, patterns, and the biological structure of spiders.
Fascinating images appeared on-screen — diagrams, macro photographs, and detailed notes on the strength and elasticity of natural silk.
One image, in particular, caught her attention.
"Spider silk…" she murmured. "Strong, lightweight… and nearly impossible to break."
A smile spread across her face. The idea was starting to take shape.
---
Across the City
Meanwhile, Arthur watched the computer screen with an unreadable expression. The strings of decoded data finally displayed what he was looking for.
"So that's how it is…" he muttered quietly.
"Who would've guessed you're one of Kingpin's lapdogs… Hell's Kitchen, huh? Typical."
He crossed his arms, thinking for a moment.
"As they say… best to cut the rot at the root."
He stood and walked to a locked metal cabinet secured with multiple latches. Entering a code, he opened it with a sharp click.
Inside, a small personal arsenal gleamed under the cold light: pistols, blades, ammunition, and a neatly folded black tactical suit.
Arthur dressed calmly, adjusting the vest, securing the katana's sheath on his back, and loading a silenced pistol with precise motions. Then he covered the lower half of his face with a black cloth mask.
"Time to get to work…" he murmured.
---
Hell's Kitchen
It didn't take long to reach his destination. The night air reeked of smoke and rust. Red lights flickered through the alleys, reflecting in puddles left by the recent rain.
From the rooftop of an abandoned building, he observed the heavily guarded complex below. The sporadic glow of cigarettes gave away the guards' positions. In the distance, faint laughter and the metallic click of weapons being checked echoed through the damp air.
Arthur adjusted his mask, the katana resting diagonally across his back. His black suit absorbed the light, turning him into a moving shadow.
"Let's see… thirty men outside… three snipers… at least ten more inside…" he whispered, analyzing their patrol pattern. "Not bad… for a rat's nest."
He smirked faintly.
"It's been a while since I've done this… might be a little rusty."
A thunderclap split the sky — and under its cover, he jumped.
The landing was silent. His boots touched the wet ground without a sound. Arthur moved with a hunter's precision — every step calculated, his breathing perfectly steady.
One guard leaned against a container, distracted, scrolling on his phone. Arthur crept up behind him, grabbed his head, and snapped his neck with a swift twist. The crack was swallowed by the distant roar of city traffic.
The body fell soundlessly, and Arthur dragged it into the shadows.
"One," he murmured flatly.
The katana slid from its sheath with a quiet metallic whisper. Under the rain, its steel shimmered — cold, red, and deadly.
The next guard didn't even see him coming. Arthur passed behind him like a phantom and slit his throat cleanly. The blood mingled with rainwater, spreading like ink over the asphalt.
"Two."
Two more came around the corner, chatting idly.
"This shift sucks…" one of them muttered.
Arthur hid behind a pillar, waited — and struck.
The blade arced in one smooth motion — a head hit the ground before the other even realized. The survivor fumbled for his gun, but Arthur shattered his arm with a single strike.
The man screamed — and was silenced by a thrust straight through the chest.
"Three and four."
Arthur's expression remained cold, unshaken.
On the upper floors, the snipers kept watch, unaware of the silent massacre below. Arthur scaled the side of the building using cables and support beams, his movements impossibly fluid.
One sniper, smoking idly, didn't even react before Arthur pulled him backward and drove the katana upward through his jaw. The corpse hit the concrete without a sound.
The second turned just in time to catch a silenced bullet between the eyes.
The third tried to flee but was intercepted — Arthur used the fallen body as cover, then slashed him diagonally, painting the wall red with a single stroke.
"Snipers neutralized."
He cleaned the blade silently and continued his advance.
At the entrance to the main building, two guards stood watch. Arthur tossed a small pulse grenade — the explosion was silent, but the blue shockwave shorted out lights, alarms, and comms.
Darkness swallowed the compound.
The men shouted, confused — and one by one, they vanished into the dark.
A severed arm here. A slit throat there.
The sound of steel slicing the air echoed like a grim requiem.
Minutes later, the courtyard was littered with bodies. Rainwater mixed with blood, glimmering under the faint city lights.
Arthur walked slowly through the carnage, the tip of his katana dragging a thin, dark line across the ground.
Reaching the main door, he pushed it open. The metal creaked, revealing the inner corridor — ten more men waiting.
One of them spotted him and screamed:
"It's him! Open fire!"
Bullets ricocheted off the walls, but Arthur moved with almost supernatural speed, deflecting shots and cutting through the chaos.
In an instant, he was behind the first shooter — the sound of slicing steel came before the man could even scream. Another fell with a single silenced shot to the heart.
Arthur pressed forward, relentless.
The last man dropped his weapon, trembling.
"P-please! I… I just follow orders!"
Arthur stepped closer, eyes like frozen steel behind the mask.
"You all do," he replied calmly, driving the katana through the man's chest.
Silence followed — complete and absolute.
Arthur wiped the blade, sheathed it, and entered the main office — the core of the operation.
He booted up the computer and connected a small device. The screen flickered, revealing exactly what he'd been searching for:
Files, contracts, countless pieces of evidence linking Damian Silver to the criminal underworld.
"There we go…" he muttered, a faint smile under his mask.
"George is gonna love this." He chuckled, starting the data extraction with a single click.
---
(End of Chapter)
"Hmph. If you really want to be useful, then entertain me, try to throw those pathetic power stones at me. Let's see if even your insolence can amuse a king."