224. Shadows That Break and Shadows That Beg. (Patreon)

Natasha Alianovna Romanoff POV:

I still remember the first time I saw Peter Parker.

He wasn't an Avenger then and he isn't one now.

I remember him as an eighteen-year-old boy standing in the skeleton of what would become Parker Industries’ New York Headquarters… while I stood there pretending to be someone else.

Back then, I was working under Pepper Potts, playing the role of the efficient assistant while secretly reporting everything to Nick Fury about Tony Stark.

I thought I was the one in control, I was the one gathering intelligence. In reality? Peter had already seen through me the moment I walked into his line of sight.

He let me stay, let me report and let me think I was ahead. All so his plans could move forward without friction.

I was outplayed by an eighteen-year-old… and I didn’t even realize it until years later.

Now? Now I was standing in Budapest, listening to the consequences of that same mind at work.

My comm line exploded into life with voices.

Dozens at first, then more. They were panicked, confused but definitely free.

“What’s happening to me?!”

“I can think... oh God I can think again.”

“Yelena?! Is that you?! Please, please tell me what’s going on!”

Beside me, Yelena froze for half a second before fumbling with her earpiece, fingers trembling not from fear but from something far more fragile.

Hope.

“Girls, listen to me!” She shouted, her voice cracking. “You’re safe! Do you hear me? You’re safe now! The control... it’s gone! Just stay calm, okay? Stay where you are. Help is coming. We're here… we're here… you’re not alone anymore.”

I watched her and then I looked at Peter.

He didn’t smile or celebrate. Didn’t even acknowledge the emotional weight of what had just happened.

He simply… observed like a scientist watching his hypothesis prove correct in real time.

His head tilted with casual ease and his hand snapped up. An arrow caught cleanly between his fingers.

Before I could even process what had happened

He moved. No. The world failed to keep up with him.

The Sandevistan along his spine ignited in a toxic green glow and suddenly Peter Parker became something… else.

A ghost of speed that reality struggled to track.

By the time the sound caught up, he was already there.

A figure dropped from the rooftop in crude power armor.

Peter didn’t give her time to land.

His fist connected with her chest in a barrage of countless strike midair, strikes so precise that I could see the armour shattering from the weak links at a visible speed.

The air cracked with delayed sonic booms as his movements broke the sound barrier again and again, each impact landing before the last one could fully echo.

A final blow and she flew. She was alive thanks to her armour. The armoured figure slid upon the ground hard enough to fracture concrete.

“They sent a cheap Taskmaster after me,” he mused, almost bored. “How cute.”

Yelena blinked, still wiping tears from her face, and cautiously approached the downed figure, poking her helmet with a stun baton.

“A Taskmaster?” she asked, confusion bleeding through her voice. “Are there… more?”

Peter glanced at her. “In this universe? No. In other universes? Plenty.”

Steve Rogers stepped forward, arms crossed. “What’s the difference?”

Peter exhaled lightly, like a professor indulging a question.

“In most realities, Taskmaster is a man named Anthony Masters. Born with photographic reflexes, can learn any fighting style just by observing it. He’s a recurring adversary for both the Avengers and Spider-Man.”

He gestured toward the unconscious body. “This one? Different story. This is Antonia Dreykov, daughter of General Dreykov.”

I felt my stomach tighten.

“She’s not a mercenary, a widow in the traditional sense she's a freelancer. She’s a product that has been chemically subjugated, cybernetically enhanced and programmed to hunt down renegade Widows.”

“For all intents and purposes,” he said, “she’s a puppet made by a father who didn't know how to save his daughter… so he turned her into something that didn’t need saving.”

Suddenly, her arm twitched.

SHNK.

Razor-sharp claws extended from her gauntlets and she lunged straight into Peter’s calf.

CLANG.

The sound echoed unnaturally. Her claws hit metal.

Peter didn’t move or flinch.

Instead, his lips curled into a grin of amusement. “Nanomachines, son.”

Clint snorted from behind me. “That’s a girl.”

Peter just shrugged. Taskmaster froze, then bolted down a manhole, gone into the sewers.

Peter didn’t chase. Instead, he turned, voice shifting instantly into command.

“Extract all freed Widows. Transport to Poland and Austria medical facilities. Full psychological evaluation. Begin rehabilitation protocols immediately.”

Twenty Wraith-class stealth transports descended in perfect synchronization, silent as ghosts.

Spartans deployed. Their movements perfect and they moved through the streets, gathering Widows with precision. Some resisted out of fear because they know what the Spartans are and they were subdued instantly, without harm.

Yelena grabbed Peter’s arm. “Please,” she said softly. “Take care of my sisters.”

“Relax,” he said. “I’ll make them an offer they’d be idiots to refuse.”

That smile returned. That cold, capitalistic smile felt like hope.

Bruce Banner POV:

Responsibility is a strange thing.

For years, I feared it because to me responsibility meant never losing control.

Now?

Now I was entrusted with saving thousands of lives. I saved millions of lives as the Hulk during the invasion of New York. But this time it's different.

“Frank,” I said calmly, scanning the tactical interface. “I believe we’re expecting a guest.”

Frank Castle didn’t even look up. “They’re already here.”

He drew his Dominator and fired.

THUD.

Something hit the ground hard.

“Damn it, man,” came a muffled voice. “Do you have to shoot me every time I try to sneak up on you?”

Frank holstered his weapon like it was routine.

“Dr. Banner,” he said, “meet Hunter.”

The white mask retracted, revealing a composed, sharp-eyed man with blonde hair.

He extended his hand. “Adopted son of King T’Chaka. Leader of the Hatut Zeraze.”

I shook his hand firmly. “Bruce Banner.”

He smiled slightly. “My sister talks about you like you’re a legend.”

I chuckled. “She exaggerates.”

We got to work immediately. Data streamed across the screens. Widow locations, signal patterns and deployment zones.

“Nearly six thousand,” Hunter muttered. “Embedded globally.”

“Not everywhere,” I corrected.

He looked at me. “Wakanda.”

“And Parker Industries.” Frank added.

Hunter exhaled slowly..“I wish we had Dreykov’s database.”

Frank didn’t hesitate. “We’ll get it.”

I looked at the global map.

Mist deployment: Complete.

Coverage: Total.

I straightened.

“Alright,” I said, voice firm. “Let’s bring them home.”

Acknowledgments echoed through the comms.

Spartans began moving.

General Dreykov POV:

This… was not going according to plan.

My greatest weapon, Taskmaster has failed, reduced to nothing in front of Peter Parker.

Now I am realising that he isn't just a man, he's a force.

Still… I have leverage. No, I had to have leverage.

I made my way to the holding cells. Each step felt heavier than the last.

My breath became uneven, my hands… not as steady as I would like.

Mary Parker and Teresa Parker were in their cells.

I dragged a chair, sat down and forced composure.

“You must be proud,” I began, voice controlled. “Your son builds weapons, commands armies and cripples nations.”

The girl’s eyes widened. But Mary Parker?

She simply stared and looked unimpressed. “Get to the point, Dreykov.”

I smiled thinly.

Played the recording.

Peter’s voice filled the room.

He doesn’t care.

Silence followed.

Teresa looked devastated while Mary closed her eyes. Just for a moment.

Then, she spoke. “Richard and I were never his parents.”

My smile faltered. “Ben and May are.”

Her gaze sharpened. “It’s only fair he sees us as collateral.”

I stood up slowly. This isn't how this was supposed to go.

This wasn’t leverage. This was… nothing.

Teresa Parker POV:

The silence felt heavier than chains.

I stared at the floor, at the walls. At the space where hope should’ve been.

“Mom…” I whispered.

She turned to me. Her gaze was soft but steady.

“We don’t need him,” I said quickly. “We can escape. We’re trained. We just need an opening...”

She smiled. That sad, knowing smile.

“Kiddo…” She said gently. “Have faith in your brother.”

I blinked. “Faith?”

She nodded. “He’s too angry to let Dreykov kill us.”

“He’ll come,” she continued. “Not for love or forgiveness. He'll come for answers.”

I swallowed. “Or revenge.”

“I still want to meet him,” I admitted quietly.

“And your sister-in-law?” Mom asked.

I smiled. “I did my research on her and she sounds… amazing.”

Mom chuckled softly while I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes.

Big brother… I don’t know you, you don’t know me.

But somehow.... despite everything I still hope that you wouldn’t hate me.