Peter
Peter hadn’t been up to much lately. Hadn’t been up to much for the past year, if he’s being honest. School had kept him busy, kept him from thinking too much, and he was just sort of going through the motions. And, of course, his..”side job” was a good distraction.
Speaking of his little gig as Spider-Man, he’d started his patrol about half an hour ago. It’d been quiet, as it had been on the streets of Queens for the past two months; it was like all the criminals went into hibernation. Obviously, Peter wasn’t complaining, but it was odd. A little suspicious, even.
Peter shakes himself out of his thoughts as he swings up to the roof of a particularly tall apartment building. Theorization could wait for later. Right now he needed to focus on his patrol. A task that became significantly harder when Karen started buzzing at him.
“Peter, incoming call from Mr. Keener.” The little screens in his lenses show his contact photo for Harley Keener, with a little buzzing picture of a rotary phone. He’d first met Harley at Tony’s funeral. Pepper had seemed surprised to see him, and he’d been surprised to see Morgan. Peter was just as surprised when he first met her, though that was before the funeral. Peter had mixed feelings about Harley when he first met him. He was a nice enough guy, smart too, and they were about the same age. But he couldn’t help being jealous. He spent the entire course of his friendship with Tony Stark thinking he was special. That he was Tony’s only apprentice of sorts. That Tony saw something in him that he’d never seen before. But here’s Harley, who’d known Tony since he was eleven, who was just as smart and determined as Peter, who knew about Peter when he hadn’t known about Harley. Who Tony had been building the Iron Lad suit for. Harley was growing on him though. He was like a brother. An older brother, who always has to show you up, but still a brother.
He picks up the call, shouting out a quick greeting as he swings across rooftops. Harley’s voice is the only clear sound as the wind whips past his ears.
“Peter. We have a problem,” he says. Peter groans internally. Last time Harley called him with a “problem”, Morgan had gum and soggy peanut butter in her hair. They’d tried getting the gum out with cold water, and tried peanut butter when that didn’t work. Then they’d called Peter and they’d rushed to fix it before Pepper got home from work. But, that time Harley had sounded more exasperated than anything. Now, his voice was chillingly serious. Peter landed on the roof of some corporate skyscraper.
“What’s wrong?” Peter’s thoughts raced at a hundred miles a minute. Anything could be wrong. Morgan could be hurt, or Harley, or FRIDAY could be shut down, Pepper could be sick, someone could’ve broken into the tower—
“Extremites.” Harley’s voice cuts into Peter’s thoughts. Extremites. Their not-so-loving name for the Extremis users who’ve been popping up. Huh. Strange. Harley hadn’t sounded so distressed and serious about the Extremites since they first started popping back up, and he certainly hadn’t called him in the middle of patrol.
“What about them?” Peter’s thoughts are zooming through his brain faster than he can process them again. “Are you fighting them? Are you in trouble?” He checks his web-shooters, making sure he has enough fluid. He doesn’t want to run out, especially if there’s a fight at the Stark Tower; he’d have to swing there, then help.
“No, we’re fine,” Harley quickly says. Peter lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding, letting his shoulders relax. “But you should get back here,” Harley adds. That can’t mean anything good. “They’ve stolen something bad.”
Peter can feel his chest tighten. “What?”
“Stark tech.” It sounds almost like an apology.
Peter thinks he probably won’t be sleeing tonight.