Chapter Text
New York never truly sleeps, and neither does Haruki Takahashi. Five years after the fall of Tokyo, the young man who once lost everything under the shadow of Yokai came to America, determined to prevent another city from suffering the same fate. By day, he carried the mask of a brilliant CEO, running Takahashi Technologies with cold precision. By night, he carried another mask—the darker, blood-red visage of Spider-Man. Both masks were heavy, and both dragged him deeper into a life of sleepless nights and impossible choices.
It began with whispers: a bounty on his head, assassins moving through the streets like shadows. Shocker struck first, no longer the reckless thug Haruki remembered, but a soldier refined and deadly. His defeat confirmed the rumors—someone wanted Spider-Man erased. Soon, others followed: Pyro turning riots into infernos, Black Widows with cloaks and cyanide teeth, and killers who moved with military precision. Each encounter pushed Haruki closer to the truth. Each fight drew blood.
Through it all, Felicia Hardy—the Black Cat—remained his most unlikely ally. Thief, flirt, confidant, and accomplice, she became the sharp edge at his side, matching his ferocity with wit and agility. Together, they dismantled Fisk’s pawns in the underworld: arms dealers, traffickers, rioters fueled by engineered chaos. Their partnership was uneasy, tested by bullets and blades, but it forged something more substantial than either of them had expected.
The deeper they fought, the clearer the picture became: Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin, was pulling the strings. From the safety of his campaign for mayor, Fisk unleashed chaos through hired killers, mercenaries, and a private task force loyal only to him. His promise of a “safer New York” was a lie built on violence, a staged war meant to discredit vigilantes and crown him savior.
The war reached its height at Madison Square Garden. Fisk’s men, led by the brutal Scorpion, turned a town hall into a battlefield. Explosives threatened to drown thousands beneath the floodwaters of Manhattan. Amid smoke and fire, Spider-Man faced his choice: seize Fisk and end it tonight, or save the innocents who would die without him. Haruki chose the latter. With Black Cat at his side, he evacuated the Garden, dismantled the bombs, and pulled survivors from the flood. Fisk escaped untouched, but New York saw Spider-Man for what he was—not a menace, not a ghost, but a hero.
Yet victory carried no peace. The Kingpin still sat in the mayor’s chair, his circle of enforcers unbroken. Taskmaster drilled his Black Widows like a private army. Elektra struck from the shadows with blades and ancient power. Vulture controlled the skies, and Scorpion lurked, waiting for vengeance. Haruki had saved the city, but his war was only beginning.
For now, New York breathes because Spider-Man stood in the fire. But Fisk still moves his pieces, and the night has only grown darker.
The city does not sleep. Neither does its Spider.