Peter spun in mid-air, dodging three perfectly misplaced bullets. Just his luck- hungry for lunch, a promise made to his aunt to be home earlier, all broken by the simplest of bank heists lead by an idiot who'd been referred to as either Morrie or Bench.
"Jeez, no one called the Three Stooges!"
"Guys, really?! You're like, fifty years older than me and you've never heard of the Three Stooges? Larry, Curly and Moe? Sometimes Shemp? Right, gotta beat you harder now!"
"I'm 27, punk!"
"So you smoke, what, 8000 packs a day? Dude, your face is as, no, way more saggy than your grandma's heiny!"
Bench was now at breaking point.
"No one OFFENDS my gramma!" he yelled, firing terrible shots aimlessly at the wall. Peter arced gracefully over his head and webbed his shoulders, causing Bench to go head-over-heels. The big guy groaned, and his cronies spread out and away, but Peter just pulled them back quickly. He webbed them together, grabbed his camera and swung away home.
Officer John H. Kleider was conducting an unnecessary check on Bench and his buddies, overseeing their travel from holding cell to the ferry to Riker's Island.
"So, what you guys get put in for?"
Bench was silent.
"Come on big fella, I'm on your side! In fact, I'm here to break you out!"
The truck they were in stopped. The doors opened and two armed men gestured them out.
"I know what you're thinking. You're saying, 'what the hell is happening?'. Well, you've got both salvation and employment now. Kids, you're gonna meet the most beautiful madman I've ever seen."
As Peter walked towards the Daily Bugle, the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen bumped right into him. She had bright blonde hair and dazzling eyes, and seemed to be embarrassed.
"I'm so sorry!" she blurted awkwardly, picking up Peter's envelope for him.
"No, no, it's ok! Seriously, it's fine."
"You sure? Because you seem kinda...flustered?"
"No, I'm ok. Thanks, though, uh?"
"Gwen. Gwen Stacy. And I think you're...Peter Parker?"
"How did you- the envelope."
"Wait, don't you go to Midtown High?"
"Yeah. Taking a sabbatical though."
"Isn't that...oh, sorry."
"No, it's ok. Gotta move on sometimes."
"Gosh, you sound like my dad. Well, Peter, I guess I'll see you around."
After another blown up meeting with Jameson and another 75 bucks, Peter felt relaxed.
Then the sirens wailed.
"Seriously..." he whined, before getting changed. He swung towards the high-pitched tone, finding an overturned police van. A stubby cop lay on the ground, moaning.
Then about a dozen armed men entered from now-apparent shadows. At their head was a man wearing a white suit and some kind of oxygen mask.
"Thank you for showing up. It's a trap, but thank you all the same." he said, as Peter realised just how bad things could be.