chapter xxvi.
( post-avengers )

who's in the shadows?
who's ready to play?
this is a wild game of survival
game of survival ─── ruelle

new york, new york
may 4, 2012
( third person point of view )

Michael Allan walked through what was left of the city, his expression blank and his hands cold. His hands were always so cold. Buildings that used to be skyscrapers now scraped at the soles of his black leather shoes. Cars were blown to bits, streetlights hung limply over the streets, and blood still stained the concrete. Debris and wreckage lined his path onward. It was as if the entire block was mocking him with how much was destroyed and yet somehow he managed to survive. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, but neither of them should've been.

The world should have been over.

And it was, at least in Michael's mind.

The shoe of his limp leg scuffed against the broken glass and gravel when he came to a stop at the end of the street. His head slowly rolled back and his green eyes snaked up the side of the building that stretched up before him. His lips twisted and his green eyes flickered with darkness while the lone man stood at the foot of Stark Tower that merely had a single 'A' left hanging on its side.

How ironic that these "heroes" took on an invasion and they all somehow managed to survive while so many others who were just trying to flee did not.

God, it was disgusting to the young man.

His dark hands slowly, carefully, methodically clenched into tight fists that stretched his skin and the cuts carved into it. His limp leg dragged ever so slightly behind him as he walked onward again, his hands loosening from their death grip and his eyes falling emotionless all over again. Walking closer to the caved-in library, he could hear the buzz of machinery and the loud chatter of the men that worked inside. As he walked through the tarp-covered doorway, all of men on the crew slowly looked over at young man they knew and had heard so many stories about, especially from the few days before.

"Things are never gonna be the same now."

Oh yes, everyone had heard what had become of Michael Allan.

"I mean, look at this. You got aliens. You got big green guys tearing down buildings."

Adrian Toomes stood a good distance away with Phineas Mason, holding a recent drawing done by his twelve year old daughter. She had sketched out the large blue wormhole in the sky and the "heroes" scattered throughout the flaming city. The young girl had no understanding of what it was like during the real battle. Michael didn't blame her for that. To the people who weren't there, it was merely a story, a fantasy, a game. No one could ever understand what it did to those who fled.

And as much as Michael wanted them to understand, he wanted them to know that they would never understand twice as much.

Toomes tilted his head back, glancing at Mason before he held the crayon drawing up higher, "When I was a kid, I used to draw cowboys and Indians."

"Um, actually, it's Native American, but..." Mason mumbled and shook his head, rubbing his nose, "Whatever."

"Yeah." Toomes completely ignored him, still studying the drawing through his glasses, "Tell you what, though. It ain't bad, is it?"

"No. Yeah." Mason simply humored his boss, "Kid's got a future."

"Yeah, well..." Toomes frowned in memory of his firstborn, hoping things wouldn't turn out the same for his daughter as he glanced up at the destruction surrounding them, "We'll see, I guess."

Helicopters flew above, scoping out the ruins of what was left in the wake of the Battle of New York. Toomes walked through the fallen metal and concrete as he talked to his crew that were taking apart the machinery that was left behind from the Chitauri. Michael stood off to the side, simply listening to the hum of the machines as he leaned of off his limp leg to ease the pain.

"Mike!"

At the sound of his nickname, Michael slowly turned towards his father and he didn't bother to manage a smile as Adrian Toomes walked towards him. The man's wrinkled face was pulled into a downcasted expression and his thin lips were twisted into a grim frown.

Toomes put his hands on the side of his dirtied blue jumpsuit, "Hey, buddy, I didn't expect to see you out and about so soon after..."

"But I live to defy expectations." Michael's lips barely managed a bitter smirk.

Toomes nodded in understanding and there was a small pause, "What have you been doing, Mike? Your mom and sister's been worried, we've all been."

"Nothing much just yet." The young man was rigid where he stood, answering with a voice so far off and unfamiliar to his father's ears, "I guess I've been searching for something to pay for everything that's happened. Nothing's turned up yet."

And still, Toomes did not, could not, understand, "Hey, you know if you ever need a job to pay for those bills, you feel free to come my way. The crew would love to have you."

Michael gave a breathy and scoffing laugh, "It's not always about the money, Dad."

"Hey, money pays for everything that's happened, you hear me?" Toomes pointed at his son before his attention was drawn off by one of his crewmen who was waltzing in late, "Oh, hey! Glad you could join us. Afternoon!"

"Yeah." Jackson Brice motioned his hands out carelessly, "My alarm didn't go off."

"Yeah, your alarm..." Toomes mocked back in disbelief.

"And, look who it is. Michael." Brice nodded at the young man who stared at him blankly with raised eyebrows and a locked jaw, "Been awhile since I seen you, kid." Brice stepped towards him in a nearly challenging manner, squinting at the young man who he'd never gotten along with at all, "Pretty boy, you look like crap, man."

"Not half as bad as you're gonna look in a second if you don't get out of my face..." Michael's otherwise hard expression flicked up into a bitter smirk, showing only the corner of his teeth, "man."

And terse silence followed between the two men and neither of them showed any sign of backing down for a long moment.

Finally, Brice scoffed and started to walk off, pointing back at the two men, "Toomes, you better watch your kid."

"My kid's fine." Toomes cocked his head at him and called out, "Look, just go stack that armor plating like I asked you. This is a huge deal for us!"

Staring at Brice's retreating back, Michael simply shook his head, "One of these days, I might kill that guy."

Toomes glanced back at Michael, ready to speak when suddenly a female voice called out, "Attention, please!"

All sound within the library slowly died out as a group of a white-haired woman and a couple of what appeared to be government agents stepped through the tarp. Toomes' pale brows bent in confusion and Michael's fingers slowly began to twitch at the sight, creating an uneven beat against the thigh of his limp leg.

The white-haired woman folded her hands together in front of her, "In accordance with Executive Order 396B, all post-battle cleanup operations are now under our jurisdiction. Thank you for your service. We'll take it from here."

And just like that, the woman expected everything to be settled and she turned to walk away.

"Who the heck are you?" Toomes called after her.

"Qualified personnel."

"Look, I have a city contract to salvage all this, okay? With the city, so-,"

The woman quickly cut him off, making Michael's twitching fingers grow a little more violent against his leg, "I apologize, Mr. Toomes, but all salvage operations are now under our jurisdiction. Please turn over any and all exotic materials that you've collected..."

Mason and Michael barely glanced at each other as the former held a glowing alien object in his hand. Michael slightly dipped his chin towards the man's pocket, signalling for the purple glow to make a disappearance within the fabric.

"...or you will be prosecuted."

"Ma'am, what am-- ?" Toomes hurriedly glanced back at the others before he stepped forward to reason with her, "Please, come on. Hey, lady, come on! Look..." She irritatedly slowed and turned to look at him with pursed lips, "I bought trucks for this job. I brought in a whole new crew. These guys have families!" He quickly motioned back to Michael in demonstration who quickly looked down at the ground, "I have a family. I'm all in on this. I could lose my house!"

"I'm sorry, Sir." The white-haired woman replied with no amount of care in her voice, "There's nothing I can do."

"And God knows there's nothing any of you can ever do." Michael bit out after the woman, his lips puckering bitterly.

A suit behind the young man suddenly spoke with a disgustingly mocking tone, "Maybe next time, don't overextend yourself."

The whole area went silent. Michael's green eyes flashed and he rolled his tongue around his teeth as he slowly turned back to face the suit.

Toomes craned his head back to look at him and he gave the suit a sarcastic smile, highly asking in irritated disbelief, "What'd you say?"

Brice raised his eyebrows and blew out a whistle, glancing down at the concrete covered floor.

When the man remained silent, Toomes lowly played along and glanced around at the others, "Yeah. He's right!" Toomes shrugged at Michael whose jaw was clicking in and out of place, "I overextended myself."

The man suddenly whirled around and punched the suit directly across the face. The agents around angrily yelled out and quickly lifted their weapons at him. Michael immediately kicked out one of the agents' legs, making a loud sickening crack, before he twisted the man's arm out of its socket and forced him to point the gun up at his own neck. While now hesitant, Toomes kept his fist slightly raised and Herman Schultz slid forward with a metal shard in hand.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The white-haired woman stretched out a hand and stepped in between the mess, calling them all down, "Don't do it. Put them down!"

Michael gritted his teeth and shoved the agent away from him, limping back as the rest of the agents lowered their weapons. They all stood in a tense motionless stance, glaring at each other and waiting for the others to make a move first. The woman nodded to her men and they all started to walk away before she slowed and gave Toomes one last look.

"If you have a grievance, you may take it up with my superiors."

"Your superiors." Toomes repeatedly before angrily yelling after them, "Who the heck are they?!"

Once darkness set in and black replaced the previously bright blue sky, the last remaining crewmembers who hadn't yet quit sat around in the Toomes Salvage Company's warehouse. Brice laid stretched out on one of the cheap couches while Mason tinkered with a few of the leftover devices that he managed to snag before the agents absconded with the rest of it. Michael sat on top of a desk with his limp leg stretched out before him while Schultz and Toomes sat a few feet away, the three of them staring at the television.

"A joint venture between Stark Industries," two images of Tony Stark and his sixteen year old daughter, Lisa, stayed on the screen, "and the government, the Department of Damage Control, will oversee the collection and storage of alien and other exotic materials."

Schultz leaned back in his seat, "Now the idiots who made this mess are paid to clean it up."

"Yeah." Mason grumbled back, still leaning over the Chitauri devices, "It's all rigged."

"It's just a game..." Michael trailed off, leaning back into the chair with a toothpick situated between his pristine white teeth.

The news report droned on, "Experts estimate there are over fifteen-hundred tons of exotic material scattered throughout the tri-state area."

Toomes quickly stood up, his expression flashing with anger as Mason slowly got one of the alien machines to hum up and hover.

"Hey, chief!" Toomes glanced over to see one of the crew lift up a tarp from a truck bed still full of tech, "We have another load from yesterday." Toomes' brows dipped in and he stepped slightly towards the tech, "We're supposed to turn this in, right?"

"I ain't hauling it." Brice scoffed from where he laid.

Michael cut his eyes away from the man and grit his teeth down harder into the toothpick, creating small indents.

"Too bad, could've made some cool stuff from all that alien junk."

"I tell you what."

"Let's keep it." Toomes' eyes darted to his son, "How about you, Mike? You wanna take a hand in the haul?"

Michael stared at the television screen for a moment longer, his eyes getting lost on the images of the Starks that were being displayed before him.

Did he want a hand in the haul?

Did he want things to finally be paid for?

Michael's green eyes of a liar turned back to his father and he gave a small nod and his lips slithered up into a near smirk.

"The world's changing!" Toomes looked away from his son, calling out to all of them, "It's time we change too."

Ta-Da! First chapter of Spider-Man: Homecoming - done! I decided to start the story off like the movie did because I needed to introduce this part's big baddie: MICHAEL ALLAN - TOOMES. What did you think of him? What do you think his deal is with the Starks? Did you see it coming - him being Toomes' son? Did I surprise you? Mmhm, that's right, Folks, Lisa's baby is also the grandchild of Peter's first enemy... Talk about family complications, though, holy cow.

NOTE: We will finally dive into Peter and Lisa next chapter, I promise! We are finally going to be getting some much desired sibling time so you gotta promise to stick around!

Peter Parker, let's get this show on the road, ahh!

Funny Thingamabob:

I mean, for real XD (this commercial was hilarious)