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Spider-Man Mayham (AU) Chapter 287: Thrill of the Chase
🕑 Added 2025-04-16 15:50:49 +0000 UTC[Third Person's PoV]
‘Janice’ tilted her head in confusion, blinking before recoiling slightly at his statement. “I'm confused, Mr. Parker. What do you mean?”
Peter shifted the lollipop around in his mouth, then bit down with a loud crunch. If he didn’t have enhanced abilities, he would’ve been completely fooled—everything about ‘Janice’ was perfect, down to her subtle mannerisms and speech patterns.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he kept chewing loudly, eyes narrowing as he stared her down. Holding the empty stick between his fingers, he smacked his lips, placed the stick back in his mouth, and said flatly, “I'll give you five seconds to run before I chase you down. I doubt you're coming willingly.”
“I’m not sure I understa—”
She didn’t finish the act. Instead, she launched a high kick toward his face.
Peter didn’t flinch. His forearm rose to block the attack with a heavy thud that echoed through the hallway. “Wrong choice,” he muttered as ‘Janice’ flipped backward.
Midair, she clicked something on her belt, releasing a thick cloud of green-yellow smoke before vanishing into the cover she’d created.
‘Knockout gas…’ Peter thought as the scent hit him. ‘Potent, too.’
He turned to the startled employees nearby. “Don’t breathe it in—cover yourselves!” he shouted.
Then he closed his eyes briefly, letting his Spidey-sense slow everything down. His perception sharpened, stretching every second into clarity. His senses expanded outward… until he locked onto a faint life signature tucked away in a utility closet. It was the real Janice.
‘She’s sedated. Still alive, luckily.’
Peter glanced at his watch, watching the second hand crawl like molasses.
‘Three… two… one.’
Once the five seconds were up, Peter burst through the smoke like a bullet. He kept his speed just shy of superhuman—fast enough to close the gap, slow enough not to raise eyebrows if anyone saw.
He hit the stairwell door shoulder-first, slamming it open, and instantly heard footsteps echoing below.
Without hesitation, Peter vaulted over the railing and dropped a full flight. He landed low in a perfect three-point stance, absorbing the impact, and broke into a sprint.
He gripped the railing, swung himself outward, planted one foot on the wall, and ran diagonally down its surface before kicking off into another drop. As he fell, he grabbed the edge of the next railing, swung under it with gymnast precision, and launched himself across the gap.
Down below, he caught a flash of movement—‘Janice’s’ hand on the rail, turning the corner to the next flight.
Peter didn’t stop.
He hit the wall, ran along its side in a tight arc, and leapt again, flipping over the railing and skipping two full flights in one clean move. His shoes slapped against the concrete as he landed into a roll, then popped back up, never breaking stride.
‘She’s fast… but I’m faster.’ Peter grinned, loving the chase.
As he hit the second landing, Peter vaulted onto the handrail itself, using it like a tightrope. He sprinted along the narrow metal beam, arms loose and balanced, before diving off and grabbing a vertical support pipe.
Swinging like a pendulum, he launched himself sideways, ricocheted off the wall with both feet, and shot himself down another level.
He caught another glimpse of her—just a blur now—and with a flick of his wrist, he launched the lollipop stick like a dart. It bounced off the corner wall, struck her leg cleanly, piercing her skin, which erupted into blood.
The runner yelped and stumbled.
One misstep turned into many. Her foot slid, her balance gone. She crashed into the stairs and tumbled hard, rolling down several steps before slamming into the wall.
The disguise began to flicker, the illusion glitching out with each spasm. Her skin rippled—flesh turned to metal—and finally, the Chameleon’s sleek silver face emerged, smooth and inhuman under the stairwell light.
The Chameleon clicked his tongue, wincing as he stood and stared at his bleeding leg in disbelief. He ripped out the lollipop stick embedded in his thigh, wondering how Peter had even managed to pull that off.
But he didn’t have time to dwell on it.
Grimacing, he limped toward the next flight of stairs, clutching his wounded leg. Behind him, Peter’s footsteps echoed rhythmically—calm, relentless—getting closer with each step.
Panic crept into the Chameleon's face. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun. Spinning around, he aimed up the stairwell just as Peter dropped onto the landing above him—and opened fire.
Peter, unwilling to expose his identity by doing anything too extraordinary, pressed against the wall. Bullets whizzed past him, slamming into the concrete with sharp cracks.
He moved quickly, weaving through the hail of bullets as they descended further down. Despite the chaos, Peter stayed composed. With enhanced senses, he could tell when the Chameleon’s clip was running dry.
Last shot.
Peter flicked his wrist, the bloodied lollipop stick suddenly between his fingers. He snapped his arm like a whip, hurling the stick straight into the barrel of the gun—just as the Chameleon pulled the trigger.
BOOM!
The gun exploded in his hand. “AAAAAHHHH! DAMN IT!” he screamed, collapsing against the railing and cradling his mangled hand. Tears streamed down his silver mask.
“Just what the hell are you, kid?! Are you even human? Damn it, my hand!!”
Peter calmly descended the stairs, one hand tucked in his pocket, raising a casual eyebrow. “I should be asking you that. What's with the metal mask? Were you just too ugly and forced to wear it?”
The Chameleon growled, hunched over. “I'll have you know, this is my natural face,” he said through gritted teeth.
Peter stopped, making a disgusted face. “Uehhh! Seriously? I’ve heard of faces only a mother could love, but this one takes it to a whole new level.”
The Chameleon’s eyes lit with rage. The moment Peter was close enough, he lunged forward with his good hand, pulling a military knife from his belt and thrusting it at Peter’s face.
Peter pivoted, letting the blade pass by harmlessly. He grabbed the Chameleon’s wrist, yanked him forward—and drove his knee into his gut.
“UGHHH!!” Chameleon choked, bile rising in his throat as he dropped the knife.
Peter caught it effortlessly with his free hand, then shoved the Chameleon into the wall, pinning him.
“Now talk,” Peter said, casually flipping the knife and catching it. “What were you trying to accomplish infiltrating my company?”
The Chameleon chuckled, coughing through the pain. “Hahaha… Like I’d tell you, kid. You think holding a knife makes you scary?”
Peter smiled. “You're right. I'm just a kid. I don’t even know what I’m capable of with a weapon like this,” he said darkly, pressing the blade to the Chameleon's metal face. “Being young means I don’t really understand consequences. So if I were you, I’d start talking—before I do something stupid.”
He grinned. “You know… since I’m just a kid~”
“You wouldn’t dare…” the Chameleon hissed, smirking despite the pain. “You’ve got an image to maintain. What would people think if you took my life? So let me throw your words back at you—if I were you, I’d think before acting. Between us, I wonder who has more to lose?”
Peter stifled a laugh. “Hahahaha—wow. I’ve heard of dumb people, but you’re in a class of your own. Who tells a kid they ‘wouldn’t dare’?” he said, making air quotes.
“One thing kids love doing? Proving people wrong. So saying that to me is like begging for it.”
Peter’s grin grew wide—unnaturally wide, disturbingly so.
“And who said anything about taking your life? That’s boring. You don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “The difference between heaven and hell… is that heaven requires death. Hell doesn't need such a requirement. It could be your every waking day”
Without warning, Peter grabbed the Chameleon’s wrist, slamming his uninjured hand against the wall.
“W-What are you—AAAAHHH!!”
Peter stabbed the knife straight through his open palm, embedding it into the wall. Blood streaked down his fingers, spilling across his arm.
The Chameleon sobbed, trying to reach for the knife—but his other hand was already ruined.
“You say you don’t have much to lose?” Peter asked quietly. “That’s just perspective. I think you’ve got a lot: your fingers… your hands… your eyes… your ears… your tongue…”
“You psychopath!!!” the Chameleon howled.
Peter tilted his head, shaking it with mock disappointment. “Now, name-calling? That’s not helpful.”
He leaned in slightly.
“You want to know what is? Answering my questions. Start talking… before you lose more than just blood.”
Comments
AshField
Love a peter parker that does stuff like this but is still a good guy and not a homicidal maniac. Keep up the great work and have a great day!
Oladipo Odutola
Damn he ruthless
KingSpy25i .
When you are asking for help with the quotes yesterday, I thought you're going to use it for something else like Hades or something not Spider-Man, it's still very cool though! 😎 Thank you for the chapter 🙏
