Silent But Deadly
The Spider tilts his head, studying his target.
Its that time of the year again. Spring.
Tonight marks the fifth anniversary of Uncle Ben's death.
His target should be prepared this time. The Spider finds him every year at just this time.
Peter glances at the clock. Not quite time. Two more minutes.
He looks back at his target. Back at the man who killed his Uncle.
Every year he comes back to thrash him within an inch of his life.
And then he leaves.
Its a tradition now. Just like visiting Ben's grave beforehand is, giving a summary of what's changed since the last time he was there.
Peter always leaves out The Spider. He knows Ben would be disappointed in him.
One minute.
The target glances at the clock, cursing. He breaks into a run.
Peter is right behind him.
At exactly 8:49, The Spider drops from the sky, a web used to muffle any attempted scream for help.
"We meet again." Peter snarls.
The murder whimpers.
About an hour has passed. Blood gushes out of the numerous wounds inflicted by The Spider's hand.
Or more accurately, claws.
Peter snatches a flare from his supply belt. "Hold still."
He doesn't want to kill his target, after all. He has to cauterize the wounds.
That, and having a wound cauterized hurts like hell.
About another half-hour of screams later, The Spider gets to his feet.
"See you next year."
Peter slams open the door to the bar. He doesn't usually come here on the anniversary, but in all honesty? He needs a drink.
Peter ignores the other patrons, and makes his way to the bar. He sits down, ignoring the glares at his suit.
"Weasel." He greets the bartender.
"Spidey." Weasel acknowledges. "Here for a drink or a job?"
"Drink. The usual." Peter replies.
Weasel nods, going off to make it.
Peter scans the bar in a casual way, but its obvious to any merc worth their title that's he's looking for any possible threats.
He's about to turn around, when suddenly, he spots him.
A costume.
Blood red and pitch-black, it looks to be made of leather- or, possibly kevlar.
Everybody knows that costumes are dangerous. Mutants. Or, a mutate, but most people don't know the difference.
Suddenly, the man looks up, directly at Peter.
"Spidey. Your drink." Weasel states from behind him.
Peter nods once at the costume, then turns back around to face the bar.
"Thanks." Peter places a hundred on the counter. "Clear my tab?"
Weasel nods, grabbing the money.
Peter rolls his mask up to the bridge of his nose.
Heavy footsteps make their way up behind him. Peter ignores them. His spidey-sense is quiet, anyway.
"You must be The Spider." A man's voice greets.
Peter doesn't turn to face him. "That I am."
The man sits beside Peter. Out of the corner of his eye, Peter recognizes him as the costume.
"Seems I'm at a disadvantage. You know who I am, but I don't know you."
"Deadpool." The man introduces.
Peter glances quizzically at the Dead Pool board.
"S'where I came up with the name."
"Wade, you fucker. What are you doing here?" Weasel demands, striding up to the two of them.
Peter takes a sip of his beer, choosing not to get involved.
Deadpool flashes a grin- through the mask- and steals Peter's drink. "I'm here for a new card."
Peter looks at Deadpool. Then at the drink in his hand.
The rukus of the bar goes quiet. The last time someone took something of Peter's, a name was removed from the board.
The Spider stands, glaring at Deadpool. Faster than the eye can follow, he snatches the beer, chugs it, and judo flips his opponent into the ground hard enough that the floor breaks.
"Don't touch my stuff." Peter snarls. Then, he releases Deadpool.
Pulling his mask back down, Peter struts out of the bar. "Sorry 'bout your floor."
He's really not, but the tone of his voice gives it away.
[clapping]