[Third Person's PoV]
"I'm going in. Spider-Spy is taking over," Peter muttered as his voice dropped into a gravelly growl, his tone adopting a nasally, rasping texture as if pulled from an old spy thriller.
"Just get. The job. Done. Already," Fury snapped, punctuating every word with steely emphasis, his patience visibly wearing thin.
"Shhhh… Spider-Spy is narrating. He requires silence to remain immersed in the scene," Peter whispered, still in character, voice unwavering in its deep timbre.
With a single mental command, Peter instructed his suit to enter silent mode. Thanks to the vibranium-layered weave of the supersuit, no sound escaped—vibrations absorbed and suppressed completely.
"The Spider-Spy gazes into the distance," Peter continued dramatically, "analyzing his surroundings and calculating his next move. The hatch of his transport creaks open, and a gust of dry wind bursts inside, laden with the haunting remnants of the desert's barren breath…"
---
Inside the helicarrier, Fury leaned forward, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. His chest rose and fell in deliberate rhythm as he struggled to stay calm, a pulsing vein bulging across the polished dome of his bald head.
"At least we're getting a commentary of what's happening and what he's doing" Coulson commented with a chuckle, clearly amused.
Clint, leaning casually beside Fury, added with a smirk, "Nat is going to be so mad she missed this." He glanced sideways at Fury's tightly shut eyes and twitching jawline.
"Why him… Out of everyone… why him?" Fury muttered, shaking his head in exasperation.
Then, Peter's voice rang out again through the comms, low and theatrical.
"The Spider-Spy has made his choice. He will become a phantom—silent, unseen. He shall melt into the shadows and let no eye glimpse his form."
---
Within the sleek confines of the Weaver, his specialized aerial transport, Peter activated his suit's cloaking function. In an instant, he shimmered out of view, becoming completely invisible.
"With the grace of a phantom dancer, Spider-Spy leaps from his transport and into the endless desert below. The rushing wind sings in his ears as he descends, his figure one with the sky," he narrated, his voice rich with drama.
As he fell, Peter extended his limbs and triggered the hidden wings within his suit. Silken threads of lightless material unfurled, catching the wind like sails on a ghost ship.
"Wings forged of shadow and silence spread from his arms," he intoned, "allowing the wind to cradle him in its warm embrace, guiding his descent towards the mouth of the beast—an ancient cave guarded by treachery and steel."
He glided down silently, the wingsuit carrying him gracefully to the sandy earth just outside the dark cavern.
"Spider-Spy has landed… undetected. His boots kiss the sand without sound, leaving only faint impressions in their wake. Ahead lies his challenge: two sentries—armed, alert, and unaware of their doom."
---
Back on the helicarrier, Fury's temple twitched.
Clint's shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter. "He's really committing to the bit."
Coulson nodded, lounging back in his chair. "Honestly? I kind of respect the dedication."
All around the command deck, S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives listened intently, some chuckling quietly, others shaking their heads. Peter's rich narration painted a vivid picture of the operation. Still, everyone glanced occasionally at Fury—whose expression was just as his namesake.
---
"The Spider-Spy embarks on his silent journey," Peter whispered. "His footsteps, mere whispers on the sands of time."
Near the cave, one of the guards narrowed his eyes. "Do you see that?" he asked in Arabic, pointing toward the mysterious indentations forming in the sand.
"There's nothing there… wait—are those… footprints?" the other murmured, squinting as unease crept into his voice.
Both raised their weapons warily, but it was already too late. The footsteps were too close.
Peter struck. With two swift, precise motions—one palm snapping upward beneath each guard's chin—he silenced them. Their bodies crumpled as if strings had been cut.
"The Spider-Spy neutralizes the threats with elegance. No sound. No struggle. Just the wind… and the whisper of defeat," Peter growled with satisfaction.
From his utility belt, Peter withdrew two small, disk-like devices. He tossed one onto each unconscious body. The moment they made contact, the air shimmered—and the guards vanished, the light bending perfectly to render them invisible.
Peter, undeterred and without hesitation, stepped into the cavern, his voice steady as he continued his running commentary.
"The Spider-Spy walks into the mouth of the beast, infiltrating the den of wolves," he whispered, eyes scanning the terrain. "An arsenal of death surrounds him, but he is unseen, unheard… the ghost in their midst."
The moment he crossed the threshold, he was nearly overwhelmed by a potent wave of scent. His enhanced senses recoiled from the sheer weight of it: metallic tangs, burnt oil, gunpowder, sweat, and old blood—all thick in the air. Peter instinctively scrunched his nose, swallowing the urge to gag.
He moved through shifting shadows and flickers of light, passing crates stamped with Stark Industries logos, repurposed weaponry, stacks of missiles, prototype explosives, and men hunched over blueprints and weapon parts. Their posture and movements screamed alertness—but not paranoia. Not yet.
"The air…" Peter muttered somberly. "It reeks of treachery… and corruption."
He crept closer to the cavern wall and continued his narration in a whisper.
"The cavern breathes… alive with secrets," he said, pressing himself against the stone, narrowly bypassing a patrol. "Weapons that should've never left American soil now lie in the hands of men… completely unaware the spider walks among them."
"...Are you done? This is getting old."
Fury's voice cut through his earpiece, cold and clearly unimpressed with Peter's theatrics.
"Yeah, sorry. Got a little too into the bit." Peter rubbed the back of his hooded head awkwardly as he continued to sneak along the shadows.
He nearly laughed when he heard Fury sigh in relief.
"Just locate Stark."
"Alright, alright—don't get your eye-patch in a twist. I've already got a fix on him. I'm heading there now," Peter replied, rolling his eyes at Fury's tone. He followed the sound of distant shouting, not far from his position.
The deeper he went, the louder the voices became—one in particular, filled with frustration and veiled threats.
Peeking around a corner, Peter spotted a group of armed men and one in particular who looked like he was calling the shots—tall, broad-shouldered, with the commanding bark of someone used to getting what he wanted.
"When will Stark be finished with the weapon?" the man barked in a language Peter understood perfectly. "We have already given you everything you asked for. You know what will happen if you do not comply!"
A second voice answered, wearier and laced with age. Peter already guessed who it belonged to: Dr. Ho Yinsen.
"We need time," Yinsen said, calm but firm. "What you ask isn't easy. There are only two of us. In America, with their tools and labs, it could be done in days. But here… we have only our hands and a few scraps of machinery."
The commander narrowed his eyes. "One month. No more."
"Thank you… thank you," Yinsen said quietly, clearly subdued.
"Step back!" the commander snarled, shoving Yinsen into the room and slamming the steel door behind him.
What none of them noticed—what couldn't be noticed—was the faint scuttling of something small and unseen. Peter clung to the ceiling like a bug, moving with eerie silence over the doorframe just before it slammed shut with a deafening clang. The impact shook dust from the ceiling, which rained down like ash.
Inside, the room was dim, cramped, and stifling. Tables were cluttered with half-finished machines, exposed wiring, scorched metal. A large tarp covered something massive in the corner—something that Peter immediately guessed what it was.
Aside from Peter, only two others were present: Yinsen, bald and bespectacled, and Tony Stark, who looked like he'd been through hell—disheveled, in a filthy white tank top, with a glowing device embedded in his chest.
"The best I could get us was a month. Do you think we can do it?" Yinsen whispered.
"I don't know," Tony replied grimly. "It's a tight deadline… but we'll have to make it work."
Suddenly, both men froze, staring wide-eyed at each other as they heard the soft thwip of a web above them.
Peter descended slowly, undoing his camouflage and appearing upside down between them, hanging like a bat.
The moment was bizarrely comical as Tony and Yinsen slowly turned to look at the upside-down masked figure.
"..."
"..."
"Yo."
"AH—"
"Thwip! Thwip!"
Before they could scream, Peter shot webs at their mouths, sealing them shut. He raised a finger to his lips.
"Shhh…"
Still hanging upside down, he tapped the side of his mask and spoke in a low, gravelly voice: "Spider-Spy reporting for duty. Target acquired."
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