Chapter 11 Hero or Horax
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Citywide Broadcast — Morning News Blitz.
The city hadn't stopped buzzing since the night before.
Every news station, social feed, and headline screamed about the same thing: Spider-Man.
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Daily Planet Morning Broadcast — Metropolis.
Lois Lane sat confidently across from the news anchor, her earlier article still dominating headlines.
The anchor shuffled their papers with a half-smirk.
"Miss Lane, your report paints this 'Spider-Man' in a positive light. Do you really believe he's not a threat?"
Lois's calm eyes didn't waver.
"He isn't looking for fame or power," she replied, her tone sharp and sure. "He protected civilians first, fought with clear restraint, and risked himself to save others."
Footage played behind them—Spider-Man dodging gunfire, shielding a child, lifting debris off pinned drivers.
"You say he isn't dangerous, but this was clearly no ordinary brawl," the anchor pressed. "Collateral damage, shattered storefronts—what makes you so confident?"
Lois's lips curled faintly.
"Intent," she answered. "He didn't escalate. He responded. There's a difference."
The anchor glanced at the screen. "So, you think this city's new masked vigilante is a hero?"
Lois's gaze sharpened.
"I think the city needs someone willing to get their hands dirty for the right reasons."
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Switch — The Daily Bugle Morning Broadcast — New York.
"HERO?! HA!"
J. Jonah Jameson's furious voice roared across the screen, loud enough to make viewers flinch.
"He's a MASKED MENACE!" Jameson slammed his fist on the desk, rattling the coffee mugs.
Behind him, the same footage looped endlessly—Spider-Man flipping through the air, hurling Tombstone through walls.
"Breaking laws! Endangering the public! Hiding behind a mask! He's no hero—he's a ticking time bomb!"
A bold headline flashed under him:
> DAILY BUGLE OFFERS CASH REWARD FOR SPIDER-MAN PHOTOS!
"And what's worse?" Jameson spat, his face growing redder. "Now every two-bit punk with a ski mask will think they're a hero!"
Robbie Robertson's voice muttered off-screen, dry as ever, "You sure you don't want to buy him lunch first, Jonah?"
Jameson ignored him, veins bulging.
"When this web-slinging lunatic causes REAL damage, don't say I didn't warn you!"
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Switch — Social Media Frenzy.
Across the world, Spider-Man had already gone viral.
#SpiderMan trended worldwide, with comments flooding every corner of the net:
"Hero or hoax?"
"Organic webbing confirmed! Mutant or alien?!"
"New York's newest protector—or danger?"
"Low-key kinda hot, ngl."
Memes exploded across every platform:
Spider-Daddy saves the city!
New York's First Swinger!
Edits of Spider-Man photoshopped onto magazine covers, fan art, and even fake brand deals.
One clip in particular gained traction—Spider-Man shielding a young girl from falling rubble, then swinging her to safety with effortless grace.
The caption read:
> "If this is what a menace looks like, sign me up."
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Cut to Midtown High — Morning.
Inside Midtown High, the frenzy was just as intense.
Students clustered together, glued to their phones, some showing the footage on repeat.
"Yo, he's definitely a mutant."
"Nah, man, he's got alien tech or something."
"Did you see how fast he moved? No normal guy does that!"
Theories flew around like wildfire.
Ark walked past it all, hoodie up, hands stuffed in his pockets.
His pace was relaxed, unhurried. On the outside, he looked calm.
But inside?
So this is what it feels like to make waves, Ark thought with quiet amusement.
He could hear their chatter—about the fight, the web-slinging, the organic webbing.
None of them suspected him. Not even close.
A faint, satisfied grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
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In the Classroom.
The buzz didn't fade once classes began.
Harry Osborn sat slouched at his desk, headphones half-in as he casually scrolled through Spider-Man clips.
"Eh," Harry muttered, more annoyed than impressed, "he's gonna get himself killed pulling stunts like that."
Gwen Stacy, seated nearby, was more focused—her expression serious as she analyzed every movement in the footage.
"Still… he saved a lot of lives," Gwen murmured, voice tinged with curiosity.
Ark took his seat behind them, leaning back with deliberate ease.
"You're still watching that?" he asked, tilting his head slightly.
"Obviously," Gwen replied, not looking away. "This isn't some small-time incident. He's everywhere."
Harry scoffed, tossing his phone onto his desk. "Doesn't mean it's smart."
Ark's gaze flicked to Gwen, her focus laser-sharp on the masked figure swinging through the city.
"You think he's legit?" Ark asked, voice casual.
Gwen paused.
"…I think," she said slowly, "he's doing something nobody else could."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Until he gets flattened."
Ark's lips curled slightly beneath his hoodie, amused at how close—and yet how far—they all were from the truth.
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System Notification — [Trait Status Update]
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> Current Traits:
Superhuman Durability (Tombstone) — Active.
Grants enhanced resistance to physical damage, including bullets, blunt force, and extreme temperatures. Passive ability.
Trait Tokens Remaining: 3
No traits currently available for copying.
Optional Missions:
[New missions unlocking soon...]
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Ark's eyes flicked briefly to the translucent window only he could see.
Three tokens left, he thought, feeling the slight pulse of power under his skin.
His body still felt different—denser, tougher. There was a weight to his steps now, but not in a bad way. It felt… reassuring.
And the best part?
He didn't need to hold back anymore.
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Lunch Break — Cafeteria.
By lunchtime, the entire school seemed to be in full conspiracy mode.
Phones out. Hushed conversations. Theories ranging from the absurd to the terrifying.
Harry dropped his tray onto their table with a loud clatter, groaning.
"Can't even eat without hearing about that guy," he muttered.
Gwen sat nearby, still scrolling.
"I don't know," she said thoughtfully, eyes glued to a slowed-down video of Spider-Man saving civilians. "He moves differently than other heroes I've seen before. More precise."
Harry snorted. "Or more suicidal."
Ark sat across from them, poking absentmindedly at his food.
Harry glanced at him, frowning. "Seriously, Ark, you've got zero takes on this?"
Ark offered a faint shrug. "Not much to say."
Harry grumbled, clearly unsatisfied.
Gwen, however, studied Ark a little longer, curiosity flickering in her gaze.
Ark, unfazed, casually tapped his knuckle against the table.
Crack.
The faintest dent appeared in the metal—so small no one else noticed.
But Ark noticed. He felt the strength in his bones, the toughness in his skin.
Definitely worth it.
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After School —
Later that afternoon, Ark found himself wandering the streets after school, backpack slung over one shoulder, hands in his pockets.
The city's chatter hadn't stopped. Headlines flashed from every storefront screen. News vans parked on corners, trying to capture reactions from pedestrians.
Ark took it all in, unseen.
They're all obsessed… but none of them have a clue.
A part of him relished it—the anonymity, the power.
But another part?
That part felt the weight of expectation creeping in.
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Elsewhere — Night.
Far from the noise of the streets, in a towering high-rise office, a different kind of focus settled over the room.
Inside, the walls gleamed with dark marble and steel. A massive window offered a sweeping view of the city skyline.
At the center of it all sat a man behind a sleek desk, his face shrouded in shadow.
On the screen before him, the Spider-Man footage played—paused at key moments.
Every frame analyzed. Every swing studied.
Behind him, a glowing green logo cast an eerie light across the room—Oscorp Industries.
The man's fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk, calculating.
"So… the Spider reveals himself," Norman Osborn murmured, his voice smooth, controlled, and chillingly amused.
He took a slow sip from his glass, never taking his eyes off the footage.
"Impressive," he admitted, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Very impressive."
He paused the footage again on a freeze-frame—Spider-Man saving a trapped civilian with almost surgical precision.
"That precision… that instinct," Norman muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Not just power. Intelligence. He's trained… or gifted."
He tapped a button, and a second monitor lit up—this one filled with dossiers, surveillance logs, and flagged reports from his private intelligence network.
Among them was a locked file:
"Parker, Peter"
Status: Under Surveillance. High Probability Subject.
Norman's eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of satisfaction crossing his face.
"Such a small circle of possibilities," he mused aloud. "Young. Agile. Local. Scientific knowledge. Connections to key Oscorp personnel."
His gaze sharpened.
"Harry's friend… top of his class… always lurking near incidents far above his station."
He chuckled softly, dark and low.
"Parker… such a promising young mind," Norman said, amusement tinged with menace. "But how much of that promise hides something else entirely?"
He swirled the drink in his hand slowly, watching the file icon glow on the screen.
"I won't rush this," he murmured. "Better to let the spider weave his web… until it wraps around his own throat."
A final button press brought up dozens of citywide tracking logs—oscillating on bio-signatures, organic compounds, and electromagnetic pulses.
Norman's gaze stayed cold and patient.
"I'll find you… soon enough."
The room fell silent, save for the hum of machines quietly working to expose the secret identity of the city's newest player.
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To Be Continued.
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