[Third Person's PoV]
Spider-Man walked through SHIELD's helicarrier beside Nick Fury. As they made their way toward the control room, where SHIELD operatives managed the airborne vessel, Peter spotted Clint Barton chatting with Agent Coulson.
Both men turned and casually greeted him.
"Spider-Man," Clint nodded.
"Yo!" Peter replied, fist-bumping him. He had gained a newfound respect for the archer after learning it was Clint and Natasha who originally devised the plan and collaborated with Fury to assist him and his team.
Though their actions may have been unnecessary in the grand scheme of things, Peter still appreciated the gesture.
He greeted Coulson the same way, then turned to Fury.
"So, should we officially get down to business?" he asked.
"I would like nothing more," Fury replied, giving the go-ahead.
"Alright, first things first—do you know where Stark is currently being held?" Peter asked, his lenses narrowing to reflect his focus.
"We have a rough estimate, but no exact coordinates," Coulson answered. "He was last reported in Afghanistan, where he was ambushed and captured."
"I'm going to need the exact coordinates from when he was attacked," Peter said, his tone suddenly serious.
Though he could ask Aria for the information directly, he didn't want SHIELD knowing he had access to their systems. He preferred to let them believe their firewalls were still intact.
"Hill," Fury called out.
Maria Hill, seated among rows of monitors and operatives, began typing swiftly. The rhythmic sound of keystrokes filled the room before she recited the coordinates—longitude and altitude—aloud.
Peter nodded. He double-tapped his web-shooters, now enhanced with vibranium and packed with far more capabilities than their name implied.
"Arachnid," he called.
A holographic image materialized above his wrist: Aria, in her purple spider suit and mask, raised one hand in salute and placed the other on her hip.
"Aye, Captain!" she said cheerfully.
Aria, a unique AI crafted from Vision's body and powered by the Mind Stone, possessed extraordinary abilities. One such ability was parallel thought processing—the capacity to multitask across different domains simultaneously.
This power, rooted in both the virtual world and the Mind Stone's capabilities, allowed her to split her attention effortlessly.
By connecting to her core system through the virtual world and the VR capsule —and maintaining that link via the Mind Stone—Aria had established a persistent, synchronized connection between her body and her central intelligence.
She trained tirelessly to master this gift. Why? Because she refused to let Peter create or rely on another AI. She was fiercely loyal, a bit possessive, and proudly his "daughter"—a self-proclaimed title that fueled her jealous streak at the mere thought of being replaced.
"I need you to run a full-spectrum scan on the coordinates Agent Hill just listed," Peter ordered. "Focus on any possible underground structures—hidden bases, cave systems, anything that could've served as a secret detention site. Priority: find Anthony Edward Stark."
"I'm on it, Captain!" Aria responded without hesitation.
Her holographic form pixelated, shifted, and then reconfigured into a full-scale 3D map of the globe. The projection expanded above Peter's wrist, before rapidly zooming in on Afghanistan with incredible precision. The display pulsed with sonar ripples as she began scanning the terrain.
Seconds passed before a small blue light blinked to life on the map.
"Energy readings in this sector are highly anomalous," Aria explained, her voice now more analytical. "They're unlike anything else in the area—either repulsor tech or arc reactor leakage. Based on all data points, the highest probability location for Mr. Stark's current whereabouts is here."
She read off a new set of coordinates as the image zoomed in once more, outlining a cavernous region near Kunar.
Peter nodded, satisfied. He turned toward Fury and the others. "There. Found him. Let's move and get Stark back."
"..."
Every single one of them turned around slowly in their seats, staring at Peter with a mix of confusion and disbelief. No one said a word. The silence was deafening.
Clint was the only one who cracked a smile, partially covering his mouth as he chuckled. "Haha. Well, you can't say He isn't efficient. That's why we called him in the first place."
Nick Fury glared at Peter, his one good eye twitching. "Motherfucker, you own a satellite?!"
Peter shrugged like it was common knowledge. "Uh, duh," he replied matter-of-factly. "Just to clarify," he added, raising a hand, "space doesn't belong to America, or any other country for that matter. It's free territory. So technically, I didn't do anything illegal."
Fury took a slow, deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before shaking his head in quiet disbelief. For the sake of his blood pressure, he chose to ignore Peter's remark and stay focused on the mission.
"Alright, you all have your coordinates," he barked, his voice snapping the room back into motion. "Lock them in and move out—we've got a Stark to recover."
Peter stepped forward, arms crossed casually. "I can head out first, you know. It'll take some time for you guys to mobilize. I can handle the extraction myself and have Stark waiting by the time you get there."
Fury glanced at him, debating.
Clint nodded toward Peter, backing him up. "I say let him go on ahead. He's clearly the right guy for the job—we all just saw how efficient he is. Plus, we'll stay in contact the whole time. The sooner we get Stark, the better."
Fury considered it for a beat before nodding. "Alright. Go. But keep the line open and update us regularly on Stark's condition."
Peter smirked and flipped his black hood over his head. "Say no more. I'm all about speed, after all. I'll get this done lickity-split."
"Who says that anymore?" Coulson muttered under his breath.
"Extremely cool and handsome people," Peter quipped without missing a beat, hands in his pockets as he turned to walk away.
At the door, he paused and turned slightly. "By the way, where's Widow? Haven't seen her around."
"Just missed her," Clint answered, shaking his head. "She was sent on a mission not long ago."
Peter gave a soft sigh. "Shame. I was hoping to say hi." And with that, he vanished in a blur.
Fury stared at the now-empty doorway longer than necessary, lips pressed into a line. Then his phone buzzed. He glanced down at the screen.
Caller ID: "My Favorite Mofo."
His eye twitched.
He answered with a growl, "How the hell did you get into my phone and change your contact name?"
"Oh, that? During the rooftop meeting," Peter's voice replied playfully. "When I realized I was your favorite hero, I thought it was only fair to make it official. By the way, why is the password to the world's most elite spy phone just 'Password'?"
Fury grunted. "Thanks," he muttered sarcastically. "Looks like I need a new phone."
Clearing his throat, he said more formally, "I'm patching this call through to the team. Keep your updates coming."
Peter hummed in confirmation as he moved at high speed through the helicarrier. He shot past stationed vehicles on the flight deck and raced across the runway.
Reaching the edge, Peter leapt like a seasoned diver, cutting through the clouds with arms tucked tightly by his sides. The vast blue ocean stretched out below him.
He raised a forearm. "You know what to do."
As he free-fell, spinning through the sky with expert control, his wingsuit snapped open. Moments later, The Weaver, his custom jet lined with vibranium, shimmered into existence a few hundred feet ahead, summoned via signal.
With perfect timing, Peter somersaulted midair, retracted his wingsuit, and crossed his arms across his chest as he dove feet-first into the open bay of the jet.
As he landed, the vibranium-lined floor absorbed the kinetic force of his entry, glowing purple for a split second. The hatch sealed, and the absorbed energy transferred to the thrusters, propelling the jet forward in a streak of violet light. The special lining shielded Peter from the bone-crushing inertia of the sudden acceleration.
Seconds later, the jet soared over the deserts of Afghanistan.
Peter tapped his earpiece. "I've arrived."
The line crackled before Fury's incredulous voice came through. "What?! Motherfucker, didn't you just leave!?"
"Nicky, honey, we really have to talk about your profanity, it isn't a healthy way to express yourself" Peter said with a tease.
"Just do what you need to and don't talk to me," Fury grumbled, already regretting not muting the call.
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