Peter WHY...

The night air was thick with tension as Officers Maria Delgado and Tom Harkness screeched to a halt in their patrol cars, red and blue lights slicing through the darkness of the industrial district. The scene before them was chaos frozen in time: a black sedan flipped on its side, its doors sealed shut with shimmering webs, and a small crowd of onlookers buzzing with excitement and fear. Maria gripped her flashlight tighter, her heart pounding as she stepped out, her boots crunching on the gravel. Tom, a veteran with twenty years on the force, followed, his hand resting on his holstered gun, eyes scanning for threats.

"Jesus, what a mess," Maria muttered under her breath, her breath visible in the cool night air. She'd seen plenty of bizarre calls in her five years on the job, but this? A car wrapped in webs like some kind of sci-fi movie prop? It was unreal. Her mind raced. 

Who—or what—did this? That vigilante again? Spider-Man, they're calling him now. Half the precinct thinks he's a hero, the other half a menace.

Tom approached the wreckage, his flashlight beam dancing over the webbed doors. "Looks like our mystery man struck again," he said, his voice gruff but tinged with reluctant admiration. 

He'd heard the rumors—whispers from other officers about a masked figure swinging through the city, stopping crimes with impossible agility and those weird webs. Part of him wanted to dismiss it as urban legend, but the evidence was right in front of him. 

Efficient, I'll give him that, Tom thought. But who gave him the right to play cop? We've got enough headaches without some kid in a costume stepping on our toes.

"Delgado, check the crowd," Tom barked, motioning toward the gawkers. "See if anyone saw anything useful. I'll radio for backup and a tow truck."

Maria nodded, weaving through the group. "Alright, folks, back up, give us some space," she called, her tone authoritative but calm. The crowd murmured, some snapping photos, others whispering about "Spider-Man." A teenage boy with a skateboard piped up, "He was amazing! Stopped the car mid-air, like, bam! Webs everywhere!"

Amazing, huh? Maria thought, her jaw tightening. Or reckless. What if someone got hurt? What if those webs failed? She jotted down a few notes, but her mind was elsewhere. 

This guy's getting bolder. Last month, it was a purse snatcher. Now a full-on robbery? He's either brave or stupid—and I'm not sure which is worse.

Back at the car, Tom was on his radio, his voice crackling through the static. "Dispatch, we've got a 10-80 at the industrial district, corner of 12th and Ware. Suspects contained, vehicle flipped, no civilian injuries reported. Send a tow and forensics—we've got… webbing. Yeah, webbing. No, I'm not kidding."

The dispatcher's voice crackled back, skeptical. "Webbing? You sure, Harkness?"

"Positive," Tom growled, kicking a loose pebble. 

This is getting out of hand. First the kid shows up at that alley mugging, now this. He's fast, I'll give him that, but he's leaving us to clean up his messes. And the captain's gonna have a field day with this report.

As backup arrived—two more patrol cars and a sergeant named Mike Callahan—Tom and Maria convened near the wreckage. Mike, a grizzled officer with a permanent scowl, surveyed the scene, his flashlight illuminating the webbed car. "So, this is our spider guy again," he said, his tone a mix of frustration and intrigue. "What's he playing at, Delgado?"

Maria shrugged, folding her arms. "Beats me, Sarge. Crowd says he stopped the car, webbed the doors, and vanished before we got here. They're calling him a hero, but…" She trailed off, glancing at the webbing. 

Hero or not, he's making our job harder. No warrant, no badge, no accountability. What happens when he screws up?

Tom chimed in, his voice low. "I don't trust him. Sure, he stopped these guys, but he's a loose cannon. No telling what his next move is. Last week, we found a guy webbed to a lamppost, screaming about a 'spider demon.' Public's eating it up, but it's chaos. J. Jonah Jameson's already calling for his arrest in the Bugle."

Mike snorted, scratching his chin. "Jameson's got a point. Vigilantes aren't cops. This Spider-Man—or whatever he calls himself—he's lucky he hasn't killed someone yet. But I'll admit, the webs are impressive. Strong as hell. Forensics is gonna have a field day trying to figure that out."

Maria nodded, her mind racing. Impressive, sure. But dangerous. What if he misses? What if he targets the wrong person? 

She glanced at the crowd again, noting their excited chatter. "Half the city loves him, Sarge. They think he's some kind of guardian angel. The other half thinks he's a freak. We're stuck in the middle."

"Yeah, well, we've got a job to do," Mike said, his voice firm. "Get statements, process the scene, and haul these idiots in. Spider-Man might've wrapped them up, but we're the ones who finish the job."

Tom approached the webbed car, shining his light inside. The robbers were still trapped, their faces pressed against the windows, eyes wide with panic. "Hey, you three," he called, his voice cold. "Stay put. You're not going anywhere until we cut you out of this mess."

One of the robbers shouted, muffled by the webbing, "Get us out! That freak attacked us!"

Freak, huh? Tom thought, his lips thinning. Maybe. But he got the job done where we didn't. Still, I'd rather deal with these clowns than some masked kid who thinks he's above the law.

Maria joined him, pulling out her notepad. "Let's hope forensics can trace this webbing. If we can figure out who this Spider-Man is, maybe we can rein him in before he causes real trouble."

As they worked, the crowd's excitement began to die down, replaced by curiosity and speculation. A woman near the front muttered, "He's out there every night now. Maybe he's what this city needs."

Another man shook his head. "Or maybe he's just another problem we don't need. Cops can handle this stuff."

Mike overheard and turned, his expression hard. "We can handle it just fine, ma'am. This vigilante's just making waves. Go home, all of you."

The officers continued their work, cutting through the webs with knives and securing the scene. But in their minds, the question lingered: Was Spider-Man a hero, a menace, or something in between? And how long would it be before their paths crossed again?