DC: Spider Man

Peter Parker sat in Johnny Storm's apartment, pacing the room while Johnny lounged on the couch, flipping through channels. The words Matt Murdock had casually dropped earlier still echoed in Peter's mind.

"Good luck with the vampire, Spider-Man."

"How the hell did he know?" Peter muttered.

Johnny shrugged. "Dude's blind but somehow sees better than us. I don't question it."

Peter stopped pacing and rubbed his temples. "This city is full of weirdos."

Johnny smirked. "Says the guy who swings around in spandex."

Before Peter could argue, the police scanner in the corner of the room crackled to life.

"All units, break-in reported at Bellevue Hospital. Suspect is reported as highly dangerous. Approach with caution."

Peter and Johnny locked eyes.

"Morbius," Peter said.

Johnny nodded. "Morbius."

Peter grabbed his mask and pulled it over his head. "I'll be back."

Johnny rolled his eyes. "You always say that, but then you come back half-dead."

Peter shot him finger guns before jumping out the window and swinging into the night.

Spider-Man landed on the hospital rooftop, crouching low as he scanned the area. The city lights flickered behind him, but inside the hospital, things were eerily quiet.

Too quiet.

He crawled down the side of the building and slipped in through an open window. The hospital hallways were dimly lit, most of the staff having already evacuated. The smell of antiseptic filled the air, and the sound of a distant heart monitor beeped somewhere in the background.

Peter's spider-sense tingled.

A low, guttural growl echoed from the hallway ahead.

Peter turned slowly.

Emerging from the shadows was Morbius, his red eyes glowing like burning embers, fangs bared in a hungry snarl. His long, clawed fingers twitched at his sides.

"Oh, hey, you're looking way worse than last time," Peter quipped. "You ever think about moisturizer? Maybe some SPF?"

Morbius let out an inhuman screech and lunged.

Peter flipped over him, landing on the opposite side of the hallway. Morbius whirled around, slashing at the air.

"Whoa, okay—definitely not a hugger," Peter joked.

Morbius launched himself forward again. This time, Peter dodged sideways, grabbing an IV stand and swinging it like a baseball bat. It cracked across Morbius's face, making him stagger.

Peter grinned under his mask. "Oh, cool! I didn't know these came in vampire slayer mode."

Morbius growled and grabbed the IV stand, crushing it in his grip before tossing it aside like it was made of paper.

Peter took a step back. "Right. Noted."

The fight exploded through the hospital hallways. Peter used everything he could get his hands on—rolling carts, bedpans, even a heart rate monitor he slung like a lasso—to try and slow Morbius down.

Nothing worked for long.

Morbius was fast, relentless, and terrifyingly strong. He caught Peter in mid-air and slammed him through a supply cart, scattering medical supplies everywhere.

Peter groaned. "I really hope insurance covers vampire attacks."

Morbius pinned him to the ground, claws inches from Peter's throat.

"I will feast on you," Morbius hissed.

Peter struggled, reaching into his belt. His fingers closed around the small bottle Matt had given him.

"Hey, bloodsucker—catch!"

He flicked the bottle open and splashed holy water directly onto Morbius's face.

Nothing happened.

Morbius blinked. Then he smirked.

"Oh, come on," Peter groaned. "Matt, you liar!"

Morbius snarled and raised his claws, ready to strike—

BANG!

A gunshot rang through the hospital.

Morbius's head snapped to the side as a bullet tore through his skull. His body jerked, then collapsed lifelessly onto Peter.

Peter shoved him off and sat up, gasping for breath.

A shadow loomed over him.

Peter looked up—and found himself staring at a man dressed in black combat gear, a bulletproof vest emblazoned with a white skull.

The man extended a gloved hand.

Peter hesitated, then took it. The grip was firm, strong. He was pulled to his feet with little effort.

The man turned to leave.

"Wait!" Peter called after him. "Who are you?"

The man stopped and looked back over his shoulder. His voice was gruff, hardened.

"Ask Matt about the Punisher."

Then he was gone.

Peter stood there, heart still pounding.

"Punisher?" he muttered. "Sounds like a bad '80s rock band."

The distant sound of police sirens broke his thoughts.

"Yeah, okay, time to go."

He shot a web at the nearest window and swung out into the night.

In another part of the city, inside a luxurious office high above the streets, Wilson Fisk sat behind a massive oak desk. The city lights from the window cast long shadows across the room.

A knock at the door.

"Come in," Fisk said.

A man in a dark suit stepped inside, carrying a folder. "Boss, Norman says Project Scorpion is ready."

Fisk leaned forward, a slow, menacing smile spreading across his face.

"Good," he rumbled. He picked up a newspaper from his desk, its front page showing a blurry image of Spider-Man swinging through the city.

"The end of Spider-Man is near."

Chapter Ends.