SPIDER-MAN

"She's fast," I wheezed, the words catching in my throat, "smart, and armored. But she's not flawless."

I pushed myself up, my wrists feeling strangely light, almost useless.

I pulled up the feed from my mask's internal optics, replaying the last few seconds of the chase. Slow it down. Enhance. There. Just as she absorbed that last burst of web, deflecting it into a nearby transformer, there was a flicker. Not a failure, not a glitch, but a pulse. A moment, barely a second, where the energy field seemed to breathe.

"A brief recharge window," I muttered, tapping a finger against my temple, my mind racing, pushing past the exhaustion. "A micro-interruption in the harmonic frequency. She can't maintain it indefinitely, not under constant assault. Even with that power source she's carrying… it needs to cycle."

I calculated. Based on the power output I'd observed, the kinetic energy she'd deflected, the sheer glow of that shield… it would put an incredible strain on her internal generators. There had to be a bottleneck, a point of momentary vulnerability. Like a giant, cosmic capacitor needing to vent. If I could time it… if I could hit her exactly when that window opened…

My eyes flickered to the distant glint of a train snaking its way across the elevated tracks. She had a destination. She wasn't just joyriding with a stolen energy core. This was a delivery. My blood, which had been simmering, now began to boil with renewed determination.

I swung off the water tower, the familiar rush of air a balm to my frayed nerves. The city lights blurred below, a river of possibility. My web-lines felt strong again, my grip sure. I needed to think like her. She was fast, yes, but speed could be anticipated. She was methodical. She wouldn't just keep bouncing off rooftops.

My internal comms linked to a basic, off-grid transit grid compiled by Stark over years, always thought it was a waste of storage. I cross-referenced the last known location with hidden access points, power signatures.

"Okay, if you're heading underground… you're going for speed, anonymity, and a direct line," I mused aloud, my voice echoing in the empty night. "Not a public subway. Too many witnesses. Not a freight line, too slow, too predictable. Maintenance or disused tunnels."

My eyes narrowed. There were only a handful of active, high-speed private rail lines that ran beneath the city, connecting secure facilities, corporate vaults, or government installations that had existed for decades, hidden from public knowledge. One particular line, an old, almost mythical route known as the 'Gryphon Line', was rumored to link a series of defunct industrial platforms with a forgotten research complex. It was a perfect ghost-route for someone like Aura.

I pinpointed it, tracing the probable trajectory. The Gryphon Line. Its next destination? An abandoned storage platform deep beneath the Chelsea district, a forgotten relic of the city's industrial past. A perfect, secluded drop point. My heart hammered. I had her. Or at least, I knew where she was going.

Meanwhile, in the belly of the beast, Aura moved. The air in the defunct subway maintenance tunnel was thick with the scent of damp earth, rust, and the faint, metallic tang of ozone – residue of her flight, but also of the core she carried. Her armored boots struck the grimy ballast with precision, each step silent.

"Status report," a distorted voice crackled through her comm, a voice that sounded like static filtered through a thousand layers of lead. It had no inflection, no warmth, only cold command.

"En route to designated drop point, Gryphon Line Exit B," Aura replied, her voice calm, utterly devoid of the slight exertion her long chase might have warranted. Professional. Focused. "The package is secure."

"The arachnid?" the voice asked, a faint rasp hinting at irritation.

"Spider-Man remains persistent," she acknowledged, her internal chronometer ticking down the remaining minutes to arrival. "He is more tenacious than expected. However, he poses no significant threat. He is predictable."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"Good. Ensure the transfer is clean. No loose ends."

"Understood," Aura confirmed, cutting the comms. Loose ends were not in her operational brief.

A faint hum in the tunnel increased, vibrating through her boots. The Gryphon Line train, her ride to the final rendezvous, was approaching. Her pace quickened, morphing into a light, powerful run.

My Spider-Sense twitched, a low hum of confirmation. The Gryphon Line. Bingo. I'd swung ahead, using the network of ventilation shafts and forgotten utility tunnels to beat the train. It was a risky move, relying on a narrow window, but I had to intercept her before she made the drop. This wasn't just about the core; it was about the shadowy figures pulling the strings.

I dropped into the abandoned storage platform, a cavernous space carved roughly from the bedrock beneath Chelsea. It was enormous, filled with the ghosts of industry – rusted machinery, defunct conveyance belts, towering stacks of empty wooden crates. Dust motes danced in the sparse shafts of light filtering down from unseen grates high above. Perfect.

"Alright, Aura," I whispered, my voice echoing slightly, "let's play your game."

I moved with the silent efficiency of a spider. My webs became my tools, my extensions. First, I laid down tension webs, nearly invisible strands stretching from floor to ceiling, wall to wall. Not just trip-lines, but sensitive pressure sensors, linked to the environment, designed to detect subtle shifts in air pressure or the faintest vibration of an approaching step. If she entered, I'd know, long before she saw me.

Next, I wove trip-lines, low to the ground, designed to snag and momentarily destabilize. I created choke points, using old machinery and crates to funnel her movement, forcing her into specific paths. I draped sheets of reinforced webbing over dark corners, creating shadowed perches, perfect for observation, perfect for surprise. I was a predator prepping for the final strike, making sure every angle was covered, every escape route minimized. This wasn't a chase; it was a snare.

I have one shot with my impact web. I couldn't waste it. I needed her shield down. And I knew exactly when it would flicker.

I found my perfect perch – high above, nestled in the shadows of a massive, derelict crane. The air was cool, still. I waited.

A low thrum vibrated through the floor plates. Faint at first, then growing. The train. My webs twitched imperceptibly, confirming her presence. My Spider-Sense flared, not in alarm, but in anticipation.