16471/Midtown Shakedown

Midtown Shakedown
Date of Scene:	10 August 2024
Location:	Times Square, Midtown
Synopsis:	The alarm goes off at a Times Square jewelry store, and Spider-Man and Ghost-Spider are on the scene! After webbing up the bad guys for the police, they're off in search of corndogs and rings... onion rings.
Cast of Characters:	Ghost Spider, Spider-Man

---

Ghost Spider has posed:
The sun is dipping low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the bustling streets below. Gwen swings effortlessly through the canyons of New York City, her Ghost-Spider suit hugging her form as she navigates the skyscrapers with practiced ease. Her phone, tucked into an abdomen pouch -- one that sometimes functions more like Hammerspace than a real pocket to hide the rectangular outline -- buzzes with an incoming call. She taps her earpiece to answer. "Hello?"

"Gwen, I've been reviewing the latest draft of your thesis," says a familiar, feminine voice on the other end, "and I think we need to revisit the ethical implications section. Your arguments are strong, but I feel like we can push them further, particularly with the recent studies on regenerative medicine."

Gwen gracefully flips over a billboard advertising the latest summer blockbuster, her mind half on Dr. Hastings' words and half on the web she's about to shoot to a nearby water tower. "I hear you, Dr. Hastings. I was actually thinking the same thing, especially with that new data from the European research group. I -- "

Her sentence cuts off as a soft, insistent chime comes through her Spider-Comm app. She glances down briefly at the notification flashing across her wrist display: \<span class="bold_fg_r bg_n ++ hr"\>ARMED ROBBERY IN PROGRESS - TIMES SQUARE AREA\</span\>. The alert details a heavily armed group holding up a high-end jewelry store. The police are en route, but the situation is escalating quickly. No sense telling Peter. If he wasn't busy with something else, he'd be getting the same alert.

"Gwen?" the woman's voice comes over her earbuds.

"Sorry, Dr. Hastings, but I've gotta go. Something's come up," Gwen says hurriedly, already shifting her trajectory towards the alert. "I'll call you later! I promise!"

"Gwe -- "

Without waiting for a response, she disconnects the call and accelerates, her web-shooters firing in rapid succession as she swings towards Times Square. Hood fluttering in the wind, she's near the scene in minutes, the crowds below parting like the Red Sea as the police begin to cordon off the area.

Landing silently on top of an adjacent building, Ghost-Spider perches like a gargoyle on the corner to get a better view. Below her, NYPD is setting up a perimeter, their squad cars forming two barriers around the jewelry store -- one tight in to hem in the criminals, the other farther out to keep pedestrians back. The normally vibrant area is filled with tension, the bright neon lights of Times Square clashing with the red-and-blue strobes of the dozens of cruisers.

In addition to the hostages inside the store, there are at least ten masked and armed individuals, their silhouettes visible through the large glass windows. Two of them stand out -- larger, more imposing figures who seem to be calling the shots. One of them, a hulking brute with a shaved head and a shotgun slung over his shoulder, barks orders at the others. The second, a tall, wiry figure with a shock of electric blue hair and some contraption that looks like an experimental ray-type weapon, moves with a kind of predatory grace.

"Great," Gwen mutters to herself, eyes narrowing as she assesses the situation. "Just another quiet evening in New York."

Spider-Man has posed:
There has long been a double standard when it comes to clothing: men get pockets, while women often get fake ones. This disparity even extended into the superhero community, likely thanks to Melvin Potter of Potter's Costume Shop. Potter, an ex-supervillain turned costume designer, made outfits for both heroes and villains. Despite this, Spider-Man preferred to make his own suits. He considered looking into a deal with the Fantastic Four for unstable molecules, though it might take him a decade of saving to afford it, even at family rates.

Spider-Man's costume featured practical pockets with hidden zippers, which were essential given the acrobatics he performed. He had one pocket on each hip, similar to regular pants, and a few more hidden in various places. His utility belt, though not as impressive as Batman's, was functional. He also had pockets in each boot. He sometimes used back pockets, but found them uncomfortable when sitting, as items tended to poke him.

Peter Parker, sticking to old-school methods, used a second cell phone instead of wrist-mounted devices. This phone was a custom job: a combination of Stark, Wayne, and LexCorp technology, disguised as an ordinary Stark phone. It allowed him to access both Peter Parker's and Spider-Man's information through a specific button sequence. He had also programmed it to send subtle alerts for when he needed to switch between his two identities.

Perched on the top of the Langham building, not far from Times Square, Peter prepared to head there. He slipped his phone back into his pocket, zipped it up, and leaped from his perch, feeling the wind against his suit. As he descended, he shot out a webline to a nearby rooftop and repeated the process until he reached the Square. He landed on a flagpole, took a moment to get his bearings, and set up a camera. Making a living requires some creative solutions.

Spotting Ghost-Spider, Spider-Man smiled under his mask. He swung over and landed near her, discreetly placing another camera. It was surprising that J. Jonah Jameson and the Bugle never questioned how he managed to capture images from different perspectives. But Peter carefully timed his submitted shots to create a believable sequence, as if he had moved from one building to another rather than teleporting or something like that.

"Hey, ghostly beauty," Peter called out cheerfully, "this beats the ending of Game of Thrones." He added sarcastically, "I still can't believe you made me watch that."

Ghost Spider has posed:
"Eight seasons!" Ghost-Spider balks, teal ballet slippers perched just on the edge of the building as she throws har arms out to the side in exasperation. Even though she's perched precariously hundreds of feet above the asphalt and concrete blow, there's not a single waver of uncertainty in her balance -- not that Peter would expect there to be.

She stands to face him then, one heel sliding naturally into the side of the other foot as she takes on that all-too-familiar dancer's posture, the entire length of her body lean and tall(ish).

"We had already watched eight seasons, _including_ that one episode that was so dark we couldn't tell what was going on. We _had_ to finish it. And if I had to suffer through it, so did you." Those big mask eyes soften into an affectionate smile as her hands come up by her sides in a shrug. "Because that's what love is. Suffering. Together."

Her head tilts. Both of her hands come up to cover her heart, even making a little heart shape.

"Oh and hey, while you're doing your whole selfie thing, can you try to only get my good side? I'm feeling a little bloated. Not to mention you're looking a little..."

She taps her flat tummy a couple of times.

And she tries to time it so that when he looks down, she's leaping backwards off of the edge of the building, shouting, "Made you look!"

The sound of her laughter floats away during her free-fall, a web-line shooting out about half-way down to swing her away and then back towards the action below in a slow, descending, one-handed arc that gives her a few more seconds to appraise the situation.

The jewelry store's glass windows offer a clear view of the chaos inside. The hulking brute with the shotgun keeps pacing near the entrance, his beady eyes darting toward the growing police presence outside. Every so often, he jabs the barrel of his weapon in the direction of the hostages, his frustration mounting as the seconds tick by.

Speaking of the hostages, they're huddled together on the floor, fear etched on their faces. A couple of them are crying softly, their eyes wide with terror as they glance between their captors and the shattered front of the store. Jewelry cases have been smashed, their contents hastily stuffed into bags by the lesser thugs, who look nervous and jittery, likely aware that their time is running out.

The wiry figure with the electric blue hair is more deliberate, his movements calculated. He prowls towards a safe in the back of the store, the device slung over his shoulder emitting a low hum as a couple of his other goons move furniture out of the way to give him a clearer shot. His stance widens as he seems to balance himself, lowering goggles and pointing the ray-gun towards the vault door like some kind of heavy machinegun.

Steadily, that whine gets louder.

Spider-Man has posed:
It was unusual to be around someone as coordinated as he was. He doubted he would ever completely get over the unease he felt whenever someone he cared about performed feats beyond the normal range of human capabilities.

He had come late to the Game of Thrones party, not because he had a particular aversion to the books, which he hadn't actually read, but because he couldn't afford HBO at the time, or now. He heard the pop culture references but didn't fully understand them until he watched the show with Gwen.

"Yeah, but you'd already seen it before. Why on earth did you make yourself re-watch it with me?" He shook his head, looking both tired and uncertain. Then, with a burst of renewed energy, he mimicked a dramatic delivery, "there... are... four... seasons!"

Before he could launch into a rant about Tyrion Lannister's inconsistent advice throughout the series, how his advice was sound for the first four seasons, and terrible in the back half, Gwen changed the subject.

"All right, I'll give it a shot, but it'll be tough," he said of her request. "You only have 357 good sides on all axes." He considered mentioning how her shaved head phase affected her number, but decided against it, not wanting to reveal too much personal information in case someone was listening that didn't trigger their combined spider senses.

His mask was remarkably expressive. It was snug enough to respond to his facial movements without pinching or interfering with his breathing. It had taken nearly as much effort to perfect that as it did his web-shooters. "Bloated? Oh, come on. You're a pretty pixie and you know it."

As he spoke, she leapt backwards, prompting him to call out, "Oh, it's like that, huh? Well, game on, girlfriend!" He then jumped after the laughing Ghost-Spider.

While she took her time descending to get a better look, Spider-Man chose a more direct approach. Knowing he had backup if things went awry, he wasn't worried about making a mistake that would leave him in trouble.

He landed in a crouch, but quickly stood, opened the door, and walked inside. His gait was almost casual, which contrasted sharply with his outfit and the situation. To the man with the shotgun, he said, "Oh, hello sir. I'm looking for something for a special someone, but need to stay within a budget. Do you have anything in the Ulysses S. Grant range?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
"Spider-Man!"

The call had come not from the shotgun wielding man, who had turned and leveled the barrel of that weapon at him, but from one of the women in the group of hostages who had been crying.

It's not just the big man with the shotgun that turned, either. There were five more men in the front area of the store -- a few with pistols and a few with blunt instruments they had been using to shatter display cases with. In the back was blue-haired-guy and his three thugs. But instead of joining the fray, his three goons moved to slam the opaque wooden door that leads back to the vault area just as there's a sudden 'FWOOMP' from the ray gun and a bright flash of light. Some sort of cutting device?

Too late to get a better look now. There are sounds of shuffling and scraping as desks and cabinets get moved into place, barricading Spider-Man and the police out while their boss goes to work on opening the vault.

"GET HIM!" Shotgun Guy roars just before there's a mighty roar from his gun that blows out the glass in the door and has the other five goons scrambling, some of them drawing and aiming, some of them getting into position with their melee weapon, waiting for an opportunity to charge into the fray without getting shot.

Meanwhile, just as Peter expected, his backup isn't far behind. Through the newly blown-out door, Ghost-Spider swings in, sliding to a stop in a crouch that leaves her with one leg stretched out.

"You always know how to make an entrance," she muses to Spidey, shooting a few balls of web-goo towards the bodies of the guys with pistols to knock them off balance.

Spider-Man has posed:
When the name 'Spider-Man' was called out, the man turned his head and asked, "Where? Do you think he'll sign an autograph for me?"

Spider-Man was careful to divert the gunfire away from the hostages. Although the attackers had redirected their focus towards the doorway, there was a safe perimeter and police with a barricade outside. If anyone knew how to handle sudden weapons fire, it was the officers on the scene.

His spider sense alerted him to danger, but his common sense preceded it. Reacting swiftly, he leapt out of the way, performing a somersault. He bounced off a cabinet, and used his hands and feet to catch himself on the ceiling.

Spider-Man was careful to avoid putting the hostages in the line of fire. With the arrival of the Ghost-Spider, who made a dramatic entrance, the situation shifted. The bad guys now had two spider folk to contend.

Spider-Man used the opportunity to make a quick comment. "And you're always fashionably late," he said with a playful tone.

He then shifted to a more serious note, "You go left; I go right?" The plan was to divide their efforts to tackle the situation more effectively.

Ghost Spider has posed:
"At least you remembered the fashionable part," Ghost-Spider retorts.

She had always been proud of her costume -- one she had helped design (along with the web-shooters) with the help of notable fashion designer (and Avenger) Janet van Dyne, who had also given her a foot in the door in the fashion modeling world. There had been some talk, recently, of maybe working on some upgrades with Peter. Notably, she wanted to reduce the size of a pair of her signature water-vapor web-shooters to something more akin to chunky, fashionable jewelry, so she could wear them with her casual outfits.

...because fashion.

"On it!"

There were always more quips to be made, but as Peter's tone suggested, sometimes it was just time just to get to work.

Those two goons she'd already shot with balls of webbing had stumbled backwards under the impact and were currently dealing with the side effects of touching it to see how badly they were hurt and getting their hands stuck. Towards the others, Ghost-Spider is shooting two web-lines past and *yanking* herself feet forward, sending her flying feet-first into the chest of another to knock him fully backwards into another display case, glass shattering everywhere.

That still left Peter with big-shotgun-guy that was still towering over the hostages and at least one or two goons of his own, though. Plus that vault area in the back they still had to get in to.

Spider-Man has posed:
"That's easy," Spider-Man said, eyes pouring on her costume for a fleeting moment. "I think about it every time I see you." He admired how her outfit was a work of art. While the hoodie might eventually look dated, the rest of the costume had a timeless quality. The black and pink created a high-contrast look that was distinct from the white. The design was simple yet striking; it just worked.

Peter wasn't exactly a slouch in the costume department himself. He had made several refinements over the years, but his original design had been a standout. It had a unique flair and had become iconic.

He enjoyed bantering while fighting crime, but used it selectively. He would engage in light-hearted chatter before a fight, or during lulls, but when people's lives were at risk, or he was strenuous attack, his banter became less frequent. It was all about maintaining his concentration; the more time he had, the more he talked.

He shot a line of webbing to snatch the shotgun from the big guy's hands, holding it up to his chest like he was posing for an action movie poster. "What do you think?" he asked before bending the barrel so it was unusable, and tossing it into a nearby trash bin. "Nah, it clashes with my costume." Besides, he didn't want J. Jonah Jameson using a photo like that.

When two more goons approached with knives, Spider-Man quipped, "Don't you boys know it's not safe to run with knives?" He webbed the blades toward him while performing a T-shaped somersault, or maybe it was more of a cross. Either way, he threw the knives towards the ceiling, blunt sides up, and used some webbing to keep them there for now.

At that moment, one of the goons decided to head out the front door, likely to face the police or worse. He must have thought escaping into the hands of the cops was safer than staying with Spider-Man and the Ghost-Spider.

The remaining two charged at Spider-Man simultaneously. He ducked and executed a sweeping kick that sent them both flying; one landing on a box of receipt paper, and the other on top of him. Spider-Man called out "Ole!" like a matador, adding a touch of flair.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Thank goodness her mask doesn't actually blush, because that casually tossed out 'every time I see you' would be turning Ghost-Spider's white fabric red. Those big mask eyes did soften some, however, before she launched herself into action.

It isn't long -- the sights of the fight obvious -- before Ghost Spider has her goons webbed up enough to be able to turn her attention back to Spider-Man.

"I don't know," she comments just as he's bending it and tossing it away. "It adds a kind of rustic, Elmer Fudd vibe that I don't hate. We could probably find you a hat to go with it."

By the time she makes her way back over to him, she's walking 'upright' on the ceiling rather than across the floor, which is covered in shattered glass and a few pieces of strewn jewelry from the broken display cases. The goons had dropped their duffel bags during the fight, too, which were also heavy with jewels they'd tried to steal. That hood sags under the weight of gravity, hanging loose to create a couple of inches of space between it and her mask.

"Okay, folks! Thanks for coming out, but the show's over. Please proceed to the nearest exit and be careful of broken glass."

She's gesturing to the broken door like a stewardess. They needed the hostages out, because their next step was to get in to the guys working on the vault, and she had no idea what that laser-gun-thing was capable of.

Spider-Man has posed:
Spider-Man had a strong aversion to guns. He wasn't on a crusade against them or anything, but given the chance to safely disable one, like now, he'd usually take it. Uncle Ben was shot, and while he blames himself for that tragedy, he often wondered if stricter gun laws might have prevented it, possibly saving his uncle from a fatal outcome.

"It's duck season anyway," he joked, "but maybe I'll get a new model for rabbit season," in a playful reference to the classic cartoon rivalry.

He was still adjusting to not being the only spider hero around. Ghost-Spider was definitely easier on the eyes than Venom, and had the advantage of being slightly less likely to try and kill him during that time of the month.

As Ghost-Spider managed the hostages' departure, guiding them to safety, and ensuring they wouldn't be caught in police fire, Spider-Man focused on the interior door. He jiggled the doorknob. "Hey, it was worth a try," he muttered.

Standing there, he placed his left hand under his right elbow, with his right hand brushing his chin, giving the impression of deep thought.

"Hmmm, the trick is knowing where to apply pressure," he said thoughtfully. Then he snapped his fingers, even though he was wearing gloves. "Hang on a second." He moved over to a broken display cabinet, grabbed a crowbar, and returned to the door. "If I just yanked on the doorknob, it would only create a hole. But with the right leverage?"

Using the crowbar, he pried the door open in the wrong direction, making it swing wide so they could see inside. "... we can see the goons inside," he said, revealing the makeshift barricade they had fashioned from whatever was in that room.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Gwen watches with a mix of admiration and amusement as he works his way through the door. She can't help but smile at his methodical approach, even in the midst of all the chaos. It's one of those little things she's always appreciated about him -- how he can take even the most tense situations and somehow make them feel... amusing.

"Nice work, MacGyver," she quips, lowering herself from the ceiling with a graceful flip to land beside him. Her eyes scan the makeshift barricade beyond the door, taking in the scattered furniture and debris piled up in a desperate attempt to keep them out. The goons have thrown everything they could find into that pile -- desks, chairs, boxes, and even what looks like a broken vending machine. It's not the most sophisticated barrier, but it's clear they're desperate to buy themselves some time.

"Looks like they were planning to hold out in there for a while," she continues, her tone light but tinged with curiosity. "But I gotta wonder, what's their escape plan now? They've holed themselves up pretty good, but where do they think they're going from here?"

These kinds of thugs rarely think more than a step or two ahead. They've probably boxed themselves in without much of a plan for what comes next, hoping that the threat of violence would keep the cops at bay long enough for them to figure something out. Besides, they have a big laser-cutter-gun-thing! Maybe they're planning to cut their way out.

"We should be careful," she adds, her tone more serious now. "No telling what kind of panic moves they might make now that they're cornered." She glances at Peter, her expression hidden by the mask but her concern clear in her voice. "Think they've got that laser gun trained on the vault?"

She takes a step back, glancing at the remnants of the barricade. "I can probably distract them, maybe draw their fire, get them focused on me while you find a way around. Just let me know when you're ready to go. We've got the upper hand, but I don't want to give them any openings."

Inside the room, that barricade is more haphazard up close, a mess of scattered items piled in a rush. Beyond it, he can see the thugs nervously pacing back and forth, their tension palpable. The one with the laser gun stands near the back, his eyes darting between the entrance and the vault as if weighing his options. The others, clutching various weapons, seem to be looking to him for direction, their confidence visibly shaken.

They're clearly on edge, realizing they're running out of time and options. The laser gun guy barks something unintelligible at the others, his voice strained, but it's hard to tell if it's a command or just a desperate attempt to maintain control.

Spider-Man has posed:
"MacGyver?" he repeated, sounding unsure. "I never watched the old show, but I've heard the new one is pretty good." With limited time and money, he often missed out on mainstream culture, catching only bits and pieces of it through osmosis.

As she lowered herself from the ceiling to stand beside him, Spider-Man's mind raced. "I saw a box of baking powder under the counter, and this place probably has some vinegar-based cleaners," he said, biting his lip in thought under the mask. "The sodium bicarbonate in the baking powder and the acetic acid in the vinegar should work together, but what to..." He snapped his fingers, suddenly recalling that the police had sent subway sandwiches during the hostage situation. He went over to the trash, lifted it up, and emptied it out onto the floor, since the counters were broken. "Can you grab the baking soda and find a vinegar-based cleaner?" he asked.

While she fetched the ingredients, Spider-Man sifted through the trash, picking up unused packets of pepper. He then headed to the register and found their sale bags. By the time he got that, she had located both the vinegar and baking soda. He mixed the two substances in one of the bags, sealed it by turning it over several times to make it airtight, and secured it with an elastic band around the knot.

"Get ready to hold your breath and close your eyes," Spider-Man instructed. The masks would help, but they weren't foolproof.

The reaction between the vinegar and baking soda produced a lot of gas, causing the bag to expand. Spider-Man approached the barricade and used a paperclip to create a small gap in the bag, allowing the gas to be released into the other room.

Once the gas had been fully expelled, Spider-Man leapt back to join Ghost-Spider. "Homemade tear gas," he said with a grin, clearly evident through the mask.

Ghost Spider has posed:
Gwen watches Spider-Man work with a mixture of fascination and amusement. Only Peter could turn a hostage situation into a chemistry lesson. As he rattles off the ingredients and their potential reaction, she can't help but smile beneath her mask, those big mask-eyes SO expressive.

"Got it," she says, already moving towards the counter where she'd spotted the baking soda earlier. She's quick, her movements fluid and efficient, plucking the small box from its dusty perch. Next, she darts across the store, her sharp eyes scanning the shelves until she locates a bottle of vinegar-based cleaner. With both items in hand, she swings back to Peter, handing them over with a flourish.

As he goes to work mixing the impromptu concoction, Gwen steps back slightly, her eyes darting between the barricade and the thugs beyond it. They're pacing more frantically now, clearly unaware of the homemade trap being set just a few feet away. She feels a surge of adrenaline, her senses heightened as she anticipates what's coming next.

"Hold my breath and close my eyes? You really know how to woo a girl," she quips, though she follows his instructions without hesitation. And yes, she said 'woo'.

As Peter finishes up, the bag begins to swell, the chemical reaction taking hold. Gwen's grip tightens on her web-shooters, ready to spring into action the moment the thugs are disoriented. She trusts Peter's judgment implicitly -- he's saved her more times than she can count -- but that doesn't stop the tension from coiling in her muscles.

When the gas starts seeping through the tiny gap he's made, she takes a deep breath, holding it as she watches the room fill with the makeshift tear gas. The thugs' reaction is immediate. Shouts of confusion and panic echo from behind the barricade, their figures growing more frantic as they start coughing and rubbing at their eyes.

Gwen grins, the excitement of the moment bubbling up within her. "Nice work, Spidey," she says, her voice low but full of energy. "I think it's showtime."

Spider-Man has posed:
Spider-Man aimed the makeshift bag of tear gas' hole at the cracks in the barricade, releasing a cloud of potent gas into the air. It created a thick, choking fog, which quickly filled the room. The criminals, caught off guard, began to cough violently and scramble in confusion, their voices rising in a mix of panic and frustration.

As the tear gas took effect, the once organized barricade became a scene of chaotic disorder. The criminals, now disoriented and struggling to breathe, stumbled against the piled up chairs and scattered office supplies. Spider-Man kept his mouth and eyes shut, hoping that the mask in tandem with the gas being expelled in the opposite direction, would afford him a certain level of protection.

With the gas cloud now fully dispersed, Spider-Man approached the barricade. He grabbed a nearby table, using his strength to break it, and throw the pieces aside, clearing a path through the cluttered obstacle. His agile form darted between furniture pieces, each motion deliberate, as he systematically dismantled the haphazard barrier.

As the last remnants of the barricade were cleared away, the room beyond came into view. The criminals, now visibly shaken and disoriented, scrambled in a frantic attempt to fortify their defenses. But it was too late. Spider-Man had already opened a path.

Standing to the side, Spider-Man gestured grandly and said with a smirk, "Ladies first."

Ghost Spider has posed:
The thugs are off-balance now. This is their moment to strike.

"Why, thank you, kind sir," Gwen quips, giving Spider-Man a playful salute before flipping gracefully over the broken remains of the barricade. She lands lightly on her feet, her movements quick and precise as she darts toward the nearest thug. He barely has time to register her presence before she's on him, a well-aimed kick sending him sprawling to the ground.

Without missing a beat, she shoots a web at the next thug, yanking his weapon out of his hands and webbing it to the wall. "You really should've thought this through," she remarks, her tone almost sympathetic as she somersaults over another panicked goon, delivering a swift punch to his jaw.

"Watch out for Ray-gun guy!" Ghost-Spider calls.

The guy with that big laser gun -- who had apparently just finished blasting a hole through the locking mechanism of the vault when he started doubling over to sputter and cough -- now turned the pre-heated barrel of whatever that thing was towards Peter.

Of course, thanks to Spider-Senses, all of that was happening in essentially slow-motion.

In real-time, the room is a whirlwind of action, with Gwen moving fluidly from one opponent to the next, her web-shooters firing off rapid bursts of webbing to disarm and immobilize the criminals. Despite the chaos, she remains focused, her mind sharp as she calculates her next move.

Spider-Man has posed:
"It 'twas my pleasure, milady," Spider-Man said with an exaggerated formality, attempting a grandiose tone as she swept past him in a flurry of black, white, and pink. Quickly following, he intercepted a thug who tried to ambush her from behind while she was engaged with his accomplice. A perfectly timed red boot to the head quickly resolved that problem.

Another thug brandished a knife, swinging it wildly. Spider-Man ducked and dodged with practiced ease, quipping as he moved, "Look, I'm not looking to do a Paul Hogan impersonation here, but if you keep waving that thing around, you might just end up on the wrong end of it."

Before he could properly address the knife-wielding attacker, a blast from the big-laser-guy whizzed past, narrowly missing Spider-Man's head; or rather, where his head had been a moment before. By the time the beam made actually contact, Spider-Man had already pulled back, leaving the knife and its owner to take the hit instead.

The knife-wielder crumpled to the ground like a sack of potatoes, and Spider-Man stood over him with a smirk, saying, "Ooh, you might want to ice that; it looks like it's going to blister." He then webbed the knife to the floor before leaping up to the ceiling, drawing the big-laser-guy's attention away from his incapacitated comrade. "Hey, don't shoot at that; it's the ceiling. Are you trying to collapse the building on us?"

As he dropped back down, Spider-Man playfully gave the big-laser-guy a dry willy, poking his gloved finger into the thug's ear. He then reached for the laser device, breaking off a piece with a mischievous grin. "Oops, did you need that?"

Ghost Spider has posed:
Ghost-Spider's big mask eyes can't help but grin at Spider-Man's antics, even in the midst of the chaos.

"Thanks," she calls out, her voice warm with affection as she webs up another thug who foolishly thought he could sneak up on her while she was distracted by laser-guy. The webbing wraps around his legs, yanking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor with a satisfying thud.

As Spider-Man playfully dismantles the laser weapon, Gwen focuses on securing the remaining thugs. With their big toy out of commission and their buddies down for the count, the reality of their situation seemed finally to be sinking in.

Big Half-of-a-laser-gun Guy yelled and threw the gun at Ghost Spider as he made a bolt for the door they'd come in through, but she springs into action, moving with the kind of fluid grace that only years of practice -- and a bit of spider DNA -- can bring. She flips off of the case as her web-shooters fire off in rapid bursts, binding his legs together, then hands and feet to the floor.

"Alright, boys," Gwen says, her tone teasing but with an edge that shows she means business as she perches on a nearby display case, surveying the now-subdued group of criminals. "I think it's safe to say your little heist is officially a bust. On the bright side of things, you learned a valuable lesson about how not to do crime. So, you can thank us later, maybe send a nice fruit basket."

She glances over at Spider-Man, who's still holding the broken piece of the laser gun, and her smirk softens into something more tender. "So, what do you think? Everything's nice and wrapped up for the NYPD. Corndogs? I'm thinking corndogs... and you are NOT bringing that with us. You have no idea where it's been."

But once more, those big, mask eyes soften, playfully teasing him.

Spider-Man has posed:
Ghost-Spider knew him too well. The way his face fell into a frown when she mentioned that he couldn't keep a souvenir from the gun was all too familiar. He had a deep passion for tinkering with technology, dismantling devices, reassembling them, figuring out why he had a few extra parts, and then doing it all over again, only to improve on itin the second try.

"Corndogs," he repeated with a grin, agreeing as he shot out strands of webbing to secure everyone tightly. He meticulously added to the bonds Ghost-Spider had already set up, ensuring that valuable items didn't get misplaced in the chaos. The webbing was notoriously difficult to remove, and the police had learned to handle it with care, as it often secured weapons or precious items. "Now you kids be good, while mom and dad have some alone time, okay?"

Approaching her, he casually draped an arm over her shoulder. With a sweeping gesture towards the vault and the jewelry store, he said, "One of these days," his tone brimming with anticipation, "a statistically negligible percentage of all this will be ours. Come on, let's try and not get arrested ourselves."

Ghost Spider has posed:
Ghost-Spider drops a hand onto her hip as she looks up at him from under his arm, her eyes somehow making an 'eyebrow-raising' expression.

It's kind of crazy how expressive those masks can be.

"That's what I keep hearing," she says, already turning, starting towards that exit with him before jerking a thumb back over her shoulder. "But you know, the vault's open just in case you wanted to do any browsing while you're here. For like -- I don't know -- a ring, or whatever. That's just the first thing that popped in there. I don't even know why it occurred to me, honestly. Maybe I've already got my mind on onion rings or something..."

She's rolling her wrist as she talks, then making the little 'first idea' mime as if casting the thought off into nothingness.

Then she's looking up at him and eyelet-smiling again, giving him a bump with her hip before racing forward through the broken glass.

*thwip*

She shoots a web line out of the front of the store, catching a light pole, and pulling herself out through the air, over the cop cars.

"All yours!" she calls, lowering her voice for effect because... you guessed it... Captain Stacy is right at the front of the police line.

"SPIDER-WOMAN!" he shouts. "YOU'RE UNDER ARREST!"

"GHOST-SPIDER," Gwen yells back at him, still trying to sound gruff, before shooting off another line and swinging away. Even her own dad couldn't get her superhero name right. Not that he _knew_ he was her dad.

It was never easy for Gwen after those moments. She'd gotten faster at getting over them over the years. She'd learned to expect to see him. Learned to expect that reaction. Learned that there was nothing she could do about it because she would never, ever admit who she was, at this point.

Spider-Man has posed:
Peter Parker had cleverly designed his mask to be expressive, a surprisingly subtle little feature. Everyone was familiar with his web fluid and web shooters, but few took the time to wonder about his mask's ability to mirror and amplify his emotions. It was so seamlessly integrated into his costume that most people just accepted it without a second thought.

As he walked alongside her, away from the criminals and the vault, she casually mentioned the idea of a ring. Spider-Man's heart skipped a beat. "Right!" he said, perhaps a tad too forcefully, "onion rings, absolutely! We can totally mix those with corndogs. It's a culinary experiment I'm willing to undertake with you."

He felt a wave of relief when she playfully waved off his awkwardness and gave him a hip bump. It was one of those endearing little gestures that couples share, though he suspected she might have done it just to throw him off his game as she leapt forward and shot out a webline.

Spider-Man dashed after her, firing his own webline, "Courtesy of your friendly neighborhood Spider? uh, folk." He added with a wink through the mask, "and Ghost-Spider is spelled with a hyphen. Don't forget the hyphen!"

Soon, they would be soaring through the sky, swinging back home or embarking on their next grand adventure. And he knew that, with her by his side, every moment would be a blend of excitement and hilarity.