Marvel: gojo of the seven sets

The docks were a hive of activity under the veil of midnight fog. Massive shipping containers were being hauled from a freighter, its hull scarred and worn from a recent confrontation at sea. The vessel's markings were hastily painted over, bearing a fake logistics company's logo, but the cargo inside was far from standard freight.

Inside those containers: stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. tech. Prototype energy blasters, city-wide EMP generators, and advanced ordinance with villain signatures—Scorpion's plasma gauntlets, Shocker's concussion cuffs, even a repurposed Oscorp flight rig. Some of the crates were dented, scorched, and dripping saltwater from a rushed salvage job. 'Fresh from the Raft breakout and other facilities huh?' Spider-Man thought as he crouched unseen on a steel beam above. 'Kingpin's goons have been busy. And—whoa, is that Vulture's old wing pack, how many facilities did this idiots raid?'

Below, the operation continued. Rough, scarred men in tactical gear moved the stolen tech with a blend of precision and greed. The tension was obvious—too much firepower in one place. The leader, a thick-set bald man with a scar along his jaw, surveyed the loot with a grim smirk.

"Hell of a mess back at the Raft," he grunted, folding his arms. "Freaks were supposed to stay locked up. Now it's like a circus act out there."

A wiry man next to him, still smelling of stale cigarettes, shook his head. "Yeah. Lot of good their 'lifeboat' did, huh? What was it called? Project Insight? More like Project Imbecile. Monsters tore right through it and don't get me started on that scary battle we saw, could literally feel those freaks playing around as it it was a fun house."

A third man lifted a sleek, black sonic cannon from a crate, its energy coils glowing faintly. "Yeah, scary monsters the lot of em almost wrecking the entire city in their squabble, well…good for us. The boss made out like a king as always. I mean, look at this beauty." He pretended to aim the weapon, grinning. "I can't wait to test this on that bug. See how much he jokes after a full blast of this!"

'Oh boy…'

'Thwip!'

A web shot from the rafters, yanking the cannon from the man's hands and sending it clattering to the floor. The group spun around, guns snapping up—only to find nothing but shadows.

"Hey, hey, hey, come on, fellas don't be like that! That kinda hurt you know," came the sarcastic voice from above, echoing with exaggerated sarcasm. "And how many times do I have to say it? I'm not a bug. Arachnid. Thickskull."

Spider-Man dropped from the ceiling in a graceful arc, landing lightly atop a stack of crates. His lenses narrowed.

'Okay, Pete what do we have here. Big heist. Overpowered weapons. And a bunch of guys dumb enough to play with stolen SHIELD tech and other dangerous weapon scavenged from the near city destruction. What's the play?'

Rifles clicked.

' Oh yeah Right. Dodge first.'

Gunfire erupted.

Spider-Man launched into action. He vaulted over the crates as bullets shredded the wooden boxes behind him. Two web-lines shot out, yanking rifles from the hands of the closest goons. One stumbled, shouting, as Spidey twisted mid-air and slammed his foot into his chest, sending him sprawling into a pile of crates.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Careful with those! Someone could lose an—"

A high-pitched BZZT filled the air.

Spidey twisted just in time to see Billy—the guy with the cannon—pointing an energy rifle, shaking with adrenaline.

'Yikes!'

Spider-Man barely twisted out of the way as a blinding blast of orange energy streaked past him, burning a molten gash into the floor.

"Okay! Yeah that's not good at all, definitely don't want to get hit by that," Spidey muttered, flipping backward and firing a web that snagged the weapon's barrel. He yanked it upwards as Billy fired again—the shot blasting harmlessly into the steel rafters.

"Hey, Joe!" Spidey called out, webbing another thug to the wall.

"My name's not Joe! It's Billy, you stupid insect—"

THWACK.

Spidey hit him with a fist, sending him sprawling.

"Whatever you say, Joe."

'Focus big boy. The shipment.'

His lenses flicked back to the containers. 'That much tech in one place? No way Kingpin just stumbled onto this. Someone on the inside must've helped him clean out the those facilities and the police station for all this gadgets. But who tho?'

Billy growled, grabbing a larger blaster—something experimental-looking with glowing coils.

"DON'T YOU EVER JUST SHUT UP?!"

The whine of the weapon powered up.

Spider-Man tensed. 'Okay, this guy's officially too dumb to have access to high level tech.'

"Uh, Billy? Maybe turn that dial back a notch?"

Billy didn't. He cranked it to max power, the weapon crackling with unstable energy.

"Okay, that's too much! Don't—"

Billy pulled the trigger.

A blinding energy beam cut through the warehouse, slicing crates, support beams, and part of the ceiling. Sparks flew.

The blast was still going.

"AHH! I—It's stuck!" Billy panicked, the weapon now sputtering and vibrating uncontrollably.

" Oh Great."

Spider-Man webbed the gun, trying to yank it free—but the energy was superheating the weapon's frame. The webbing melted instantly.

"Oh, come on!"

The weapon overloaded, the barrel expanding as it whined louder.

'Gotta move fast.'

Spider-Man fired a web at Billy's chest, yanking him backward. Then, in the same motion, he webbed a steel crate, swinging it like a pendulum across the room. The crate clanged into the blaster's barrel just as—

BOOM!

The explosion ripped mid-air, sending both Billy and Spidey flying to the wreckage of the warehouse. Smoke filled the warehouse as flaming debris clattered down.

Coughing, Spider-Man climbed to his feet.

"Okay…ow I'm definitely going to feel that tomorrow."

Billy groaned nearby.

Spider-Man peeked over. "You, uh…definitely lost your security deposit tonight."

Billy wheezed.

Spider-Man turned, his focus narrowing back to the buring cargo remains. 'Kingpin's got this much tech, fresh from all those facilities. Someone had to help him get it—.

The aftermath of the chaotic warehouse brawl was a scene of tangled webs and wrecked tech. Spider-Man perched on a steel beam, arms folded, surveying his handiwork. Every thug was webbed to the walls, floors, and even a few dangling upside down from the rafters like piñatas. The stolen S.H.I.E.L.D. weapons were neutralized—blasters dismantled, energy cores drained, and anything still sparking was webbed shut for good measure.

"Okay, so let's recap. Stolen Raft tech? Check. Bad guys gift-wrapped for the cops? Check. Avoided getting vaporized by unstable energy cannons? Double check."

Spidey tilted his head toward Billy, who was slumped against a crate, thoroughly webbed with only his eyes visible.

"Oh, Joey . You're taking this whole 'strong silent type' thing to the next level."

Billy let out a series of muffled grunts, clearly trying to speak.

"Wait, what's that? You've got something important to say? A secret? The meaning of life?" Spider-Man cupped a hand to his ear. "Hold that thought."

He squatted closer, squinting at Billy's webbed-up face.

"Ohhhh right! I webbed your mouth shut! Silly me—rookie mistake."

With a flick of his wrist, he peeled just enough webbing off for Billy to speak—though he instantly regretted it as Billy erupted into a string of curse words.

Spidey tilted his head. "Wow. Someone needs a nap. Anyway…"

He reached into Billy's pocket, fishing out his phone.

"Oooo, nice! Is this the new StarkPhone? No? Ah. Android. I get it, you're a bad guy—you make bad decisions."

Ignoring Billy's glare, Spider-Man swiped the phone open and dialed 911.

The line clicked.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hey there! Friendly neighborhood Spider-Man here. I've got a bunch of lovely gentlemen tied up at the Portside Warehouse, you know, weapons trafficking, dangerous tech, the usual."

There was a pause on the line.

"…Spider-Man?"

"Yeah. Webs, jokes, world-class crime-fighting. Look, can you send a few squad cars over? Maybe the bomb squad too—there's some leftover doomsday devices in aisle three. Oh, and tell them to bring extra cuffs for the loudmouth here."

Billy snarled. "You're gonna regret—!"

Thwip!

"Shhhh. Adults are talking."

The dispatcher hesitated. "...Uh, sir, are you still on the line?"

"Yep, still here. Okay, gotta swing. Don't forget to write me a glowing review! Spider-Man out."

He tossed the phone back at Billy—hitting him square in the chest.

"Oops. Butterfingers."

With one last sweep of his eyes, making sure all the stolen gear was thoroughly webbed and sinking into the ocean (because trust me, no one needs Kingpin testing EMPs during rush hour), Spider-Man fired a webline and zipped out of the warehouse, disappearing into the foggy skyline.