On the rooftop of a condemned textile factory, two shapes crouched in the dark.

One was a blur of red and blue, vibrating with a nervous energy that suggested either extreme caffeine intake or a spider bite. The other was a silhouette cut from darkness, still as marble.

The red-and-blue one shifted his weight. "Okay. So. Not to be dramatic, but I think we just made the 'World's Most Wanted' list. Top three. Maybe top two. Definitely above that guy who robbed a bank with a rubber chicken."

The shadowed figure didn't move. Or speak. Just watched the street below where a convoy of sleek black vans was pulling to a halt at the intersection.

"Or," Peter Parker continued, in the tone of a man covering all bases, "the 'World's Most Impressive Criminals' list. Which is a thing. I think. I'm pretty sure there's a trophy."

Nick Fury tilted his head up to the rooftops. He didn't say a word. He just... waited.

Peter stopped vibrating for a second.