❝ hiding from something
i cannot stop ❞

011. web of lies

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐙𝐄 𝐓𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐃'𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑, sending loose strands fluttering in several directions. She huffed softly, tucking them behind her ear with a quick motion of her free hand, the other clutching her phone tightly. She had been standing there for almost fifteen minutes, and the anticipation was starting to gnaw at her patience. The urge to call him, to check if everything was okay, pressed heavily on her, but she knew better. Peter was already on his way, likely swinging between the skyscrapers, weaving through the city’s chaos just to meet her. He always showed up.

Ingrid began pacing in slow circles, her eyes flitting between the sky and the towering buildings, searching for any sign of him. The city buzzed around her — cars honked, pedestrians chatted and moved along, completely unaware of her restless energy. Yet, she felt strangely alone in the middle of it all, her anxiety and excitement clashing as she waited.

Then, just as she was about to check her phone for the hundredth time, a familiar flash of red and black caught her eye. In the blink of an eye, Peter landed in front of her, his breathing slightly ragged beneath the Spider-Man mask. His sudden appearance jolted her from her spiraling thoughts, and she found herself grinning despite her irritation.

"Hey," Peter greeted, a little breathless. “Sorry I’m late. You ready to go?"

Ingrid didn’t answer right away. Instead, she simply stared at him for a moment, her heart doing that familiar, stupid thing it did whenever Peter showed up — skipping a beat, as if surprised he was actually here, even though she knew he would be. He always was.

Wordlessly, she extended her hand, slipping it into his without hesitation.

The familiar whoosh of the city falling away beneath her made Ingrid’s stomach lurch. She squeezed her eyes shut, clinging to Peter with both arms wrapped tightly around his neck. Despite the dozens of times she had done this, she could never quite get used to it. She trusted Peter with her life, of course, but trusting the sensation? That was a different story.

Her grip tightened involuntarily. “You know I could’ve just walked!” she shouted over the rushing wind, trying to make herself heard.

Peter's laugh rang out, full of amusement. “Yeah, but I wanted to see you today! What’s the fun in walking?"

Ingrid opened one eye, peeking down at the streets below —btiny dots of people and cars rushing by beneath them. “You could’ve walked with me!” she shot back, her voice rising with mock indignation.

Peter’s chuckle vibrated against her as they zipped through the air. “Then you wouldn’t have gotten this premium view of the city.”

“Trust me, I could live without it,” she muttered, her knuckles whitening as she held on.

After what felt like both an eternity and only a heartbeat, they finally landed on solid ground, the sudden stillness almost jarring. Ingrid staggered slightly as Peter released her, blinking against the rush of blood that seemed to settle into her legs.

“You okay?” Peter asked softly, his voice laced with a tenderness that made her heart stutter.

Ingrid breathed in deeply, feeling the solidness of the ground beneath her feet, the warmth of Peter’s presence next to her. “Yeah,” she exhaled, her lips curving into a soft, genuine smile. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Okay, uh... well, I should probably go before your friends get here.” Peter’s words were hesitant, and despite what he said, it was clear from the way he lingered that he didn’t actually want to leave.

“Be safe,” she murmured, her voice gentle as she raised a hand to wave, the motion slow and almost reluctant.

Peter nodded as he leapt effortlessly onto a nearby streetlight. “See you later,” he said, giving her a small wave before preparing to swing off.

But before he could, the massive screen on the building behind him flickered, suddenly filled with a news broadcast that blared from all directions. The unexpected change in the atmosphere caught both their attentions. Ingrid, her arms already crossed over her chest, stood straighter, her eyes narrowing as the screen flashed Breaking News in bold letters.

“We interrupt this broadcast with some breaking news.” The anchor’s voice seemed to echo from every corner, amplifying the tension that was already crackling in the air. The people around them, busy with their lives only moments ago, began to stop, turning their heads toward the screen, their curiosity pulling them in. "We come to you with revelations about last week's attack in London. An anonymous source provided this video. It shows Quentin Beck, aka Mysterio, moments before his death."

Ingrid’s breath hitched at the mention of London, her attention snapping to the screen. Mysterio? Her eyes flicked to Peter, her expression a mixture of confusion and concern. What was this about?

The crowd around them grew denser, strangers pressing closer together, each one transfixed by the broadcast. The atmosphere shifted from one of mild interest to palpable tension, a collective sense of dread hanging in the air as they waited for the next bombshell revelation.

“A warning,” the announcer’s voice cut through the hum of the city, “you may find this video disturbing.”

Ingrid felt her stomach twist. Something was coming. She could feel it in her bones.

Then Mysterio’s face filled the screen, larger than life, his expression frantic, his words rushed as though he knew his time was running out. The footage seemed raw, shaky. He was back on the Tower Bridge — moments before Peter had taken him down. Or maybe... it was happening at the same time? The timeline was fuzzy, and Ingrid couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

“I managed to send the Elemental back through the dimensional rift,” Mysterio panted, his face slick with sweat, panic lacing his voice. “But I don’t think I’m gonna make it off this bridge alive. Spider-Man attacked me for some reason. He’s with Solar Flare—”

Ingrid’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs.

“—and he has an army of weaponized drones, Stark technology.”

Her pulse roared in her ears as the weight of the accusation slammed into her. Stark technology. Drones. Peter. Her. Everything twisted together in a tangled web of lies. She felt the blood drain from her face, the world narrowing around the screen and Mysterio’s words.

Peter’s eyes were on her now, his breathing uneven. His entire posture had shifted, tense and alert, as though his entire world had just been yanked from beneath his feet.

“He’s saying he’s the only one who’s gonna be the new Iron Man, no one else,” Mysterio’s voice continued as the video feed shifted. The screen crackled and glitched, the footage grainy and distorted. It was just clear enough to make out the bottom half of Peter’s suit standing over Mysterio’s crumpled body, but it looked wrong. All of it.

Ingrid’s heart thudded painfully in her chest as she watched, a sinking feeling growing in her stomach. Something about this — everything about this — felt horribly off.

Then came E.D.I.T.H.’s voice, cold and mechanical, echoing through the speakers. “Are you sure you want to commence the drone attack? There will be significant casualties.”

And then it got worse — so much worse.

Peter's voice, unmistakable, but laced with cruelty and coldness Ingrid had never heard from him before, echoed through the square. “Do it!” Peter’s voice barked from the screen. “Execute them all.”

Ingrid’s heart raced, her stomach twisting painfully as the words sank in. She shook her head, desperately trying to understand how anyone could twist this so badly. The footage showed gunshots raining down, explosions in the background — chaos. People screaming, running. But none of it was real. None of it had happened. She knew it hadn’t.

But the crowd around them didn’t know that.

Murmurs rose all around, like a tidal wave of suspicion and fear. People were pulling out their phones, recording, capturing every second of this. Their eyes darted between the screen and Peter, whispers growing louder, their expressions shifting from confusion to something far more dangerous. Accusations were brewing, right here, in front of her.

The screen cut back to the presenter, his face drawn into a somber expression that only intensified the growing tension. He looked directly into the camera, his lips pursed, as if to convey the weight of the lie he was about to sell. “This shocking video was released earlier today on the controversial news website TheDailyBugle.net.”

And then J. Jonah Jameson appeared, larger than life, his gruff, booming voice filling the air with more fuel to the fire. "There you have it, folks! Conclusive proof that Spider-Man was responsible for the brutal murder of Mysterio, an inter dimensional warrior who gave his life to protect our planet and who will no doubt go down in history as the greatest superhero of all time!"

Ingrid’s breath caught in her throat. “What?” she exclaimed, her voice barely above a whisper, but filled with shock and disbelief. She wanted to scream, to argue, to tell the whole crowd that it was all a lie, but her voice felt stuck, strangled by the weight of the accusations. The people around her were starting to glare, their eyes narrowing, suspicion burning in their gazes. They were starting to believe it, starting to turn.

But Ingrid didn’t back down. She shot them glares right back, her pulse racing, refusing to shrink beneath their stares. They could feel however they wanted. She knew the truth. Peter would never do this.

“But that’s not all, folks,” Jameson’s voice interrupted her thoughts, smug and booming across the square. “Here’s the real blockbuster. Brace yourselves — you might wanna sit down for this one.”

The screen flickered again, glitching before showing another video. Ingrid’s heart pounded in her chest as Mysterio appeared once more, his face pale, his hands trembling as he held the camera. It was footage designed to make him look like a victim, the hero, as if he were recording his last words.

“Spider-Man’s real... Spider-Man’s real name is...” Mysterio’s voice wavered. The screen flickered again, the signal cutting in and out. The tension in the air was so thick, Ingrid could barely breathe. Her shoulders tightened, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Every single person on the street was holding their breath.

The screen glitched back into focus. Mysterio leaned in closer to the camera, his eyes wild, his voice shaking with false urgency. “Spider-Man’s name is—”

The screen cut to black.

Ingrid’s breath hitched. She could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her, the entire city seemed to be holding its collective breath, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

And then it happened.

The video resumed, Mysterio’s face filling the screen once more. He leaned in, delivering the final blow. “Spider-Man’s name is Peter Parker!”

For a split second, the world seemed to stop.

"What the fu—?”