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The screams from the crowd caused an immediate uproar at the airport.
A few minutes earlier.
Cindy sat in a car outside the airport, speaking with her SHIELD colleague, Crandall.
Although Cindy, an expert on arachnids, wasn't required to be on duty, she offered to study her biology project outside, so Crandall became her bodyguard.
"The weather's a bit bad today," Crandall said suddenly.
"You don't like bad weather?" Cindy asked.
"Yeah, bad things always seem to happen when it's like this," Crandall replied. He lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his face. "A few days ago, I almost got hit by a car in bad weather. Last time, I fell in the rain and almost broke a bone."
"You've had some bad luck," Cindy remarked.
"It's true. That's why I hate weather like this," Crandall said. He glanced outside at the murky sky.
"On that rainy day two days ago, Kraven the Hunter's live broadcast and the attack by unknown creatures both happened in similar conditions," Crandall mentioned, recalling the incident at the state park. "And Mr. Kraven was killed by a tragedy."
Cindy, intrigued by the mention of werewolves and terrifying creatures, asked, "What do you think about that incident?"
"I've been on the battlefield, and I know what a creature like that represents. A killing machine like that only belongs on a battlefield. I'm talking about the creature that killed the werewolves."
"Did you fight in a war?"
Crandall shrugged. "I enlisted during the Gulf War, then joined a mercenary group in Europe. I later moved to Bayanna, New Jersey, which was a rough area, even more so now."
He continued, "I was happy to return to SHIELD. Later, I married my wife Norma, and we've lived a peaceful life since then."
Before he could continue, he heard a sharp, high-pitched cry, followed by a loud crash.
Confused, he looked up and saw a black off-road vehicle speeding toward them, hitting several pedestrians on the sidewalk.
Shocked, he watched the injured victims, especially a young man whose head had been crushed, blood everywhere.
The people around were horrified. A pale woman gritted her teeth and twisted her mouth into a distorted grin, holding her fisted hand over her mouth. A man, quick to act, knelt beside the child and tried to hold his head steady, but it kept twisting unnaturally.
Crandall immediately reacted, drawing his pistol and preparing to get out of the car.
But before he could make a move, several off-road vehicles rushed to the airport, and a group of burly men in masks stormed out, carrying weapons.
Crandall, recognizing the power imbalance, stopped, realizing it would be unwise to overestimate his abilities. His first priority was protecting Cindy.
"Dammit!" he muttered, quickly calling SHIELD for backup. He started the car and was prepared to escape if things got worse.
"Why are there terrorists at the airport?" he grumbled.
Cindy, calm in the passenger seat, advised, "We need to reverse the car."
The two vehicles were near the airport entrance. If terrorists clashed with security, it could turn disastrous.
"I know."
Taking advantage of the panicked crowd, Crandall quickly reversed the car.
As more people noticed the group of masked men, chaos erupted. Shouts and screams filled the air.
But the car was soon blocked by fleeing passengers. Frustrated, Crandall banged the steering wheel and opened the car door, shielding Cindy as they hurriedly moved out.
Among the injured, a blonde woman, apparently a nurse, was trying to help.
Crandall glanced at the young man who had been hit. His injuries were fatal. Half of his skull was crushed, his neck snapped, and his shoulder protruded unnaturally.
Crandall quickly concluded: The young man wouldn't survive.
The grisly sight reminded him of his comrades lost on the battlefield, whose bodies were torn apart by artillery shells.
As he kept his focus, Crandall protected Cindy from the screaming crowd.
"Call an ambulance," the blonde woman shouted, urgently.
"The ambulance is on the way," someone else responded, though most were too concerned with escaping.
Though Crandall wanted to help, there was nothing he could do.
Then, a bullet whizzed by, grazing his scalp!
Realizing the danger, Crandall understood that the terrorists were exchanging gunfire with airport security.
Louder cries filled the air as terror spread.
"God!" Crandall slapped his forehead and quickly hid behind the car with Cindy.
There were several others hiding behind the car, including the blonde woman and the dying young man.
One of the people asked the nurse, "What should we do in this situation? Should we call airport security or the emergency ambulance center?"
The nurse, clearly shaken, answered, "I don't know. I've never been in a situation like this before."
Crandall, glancing at the disoriented group, advised, "Call the airport security. It's too late for the ambulance service. When the firepower dies down, fire trucks can take over. They have sirens and lights."
The white man, desperate, ran out to alert the authorities.
Crandall's eyes flashed with guilt. The young man was already beyond saving.
No amount of help would change the outcome.
But, Crandall's instruction to call security wasn't just a formality. It was an attempt to get people moving.
Cindy, seemingly reading his thoughts, looked at him with intense focus.
The dying young man stirred. His eyes opened, blood-red around the iris.
His head moved slightly, and he tried to speak, but Crandall held him down.
"How long can he last like this?" Cindy asked.
"I don't know," Crandall replied. "He could die at any moment. Or he might hang on until the ambulance arrives."
But, he realized, it was a pointless question. The young man's fate was already sealed.
Cindy, cold and detached, asked, "What's the next step, Mr. Crandall?"
"We need to get out of here," Crandall answered. "We can't stay here any longer."
Standing up, Crandall motioned toward another exit, far from the gunfire.
But before they could move, the glass doors shattered, and a heavily armed man stormed through.
The ground shook with his massive presence.
Cindy turned toward the entrance and saw a familiar figure.
Spider-Man?
Could it be Gwen?
For a moment, Cindy felt doubt. But she quickly realized, Peter Parker was likely Spider-Man. Her suspicions were becoming reality.
Spider-Man's appearance gave the crowd a brief sense of hope.
Crandall, seeing Spider-Man, felt the tension ease slightly. The hero might draw all the terrorist firepower.
With police sirens wailing and security arriving, Crandall turned to Cindy. "Stay here. I'll be right back."
He quickly headed toward the car.
As Crandall left, the dying young man gurgled, trying to speak.
Cindy leaned closer to him. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."
Her voice lacked any real comfort.
The nurse, unable to stomach the scene, fled to a nearby supply room, yelling for a stretcher.
Cindy could tell that the stretcher wouldn't helpâthis was a makeshift storage, not a fully equipped medical unit.
Glancing back at the young man, Cindy knew he was beyond saving. The purple blood pooling around his head told her everything.
It would be better for him to die than continue suffering.
"You'll be better off dead," Cindy muttered indifferently. "Death can be a release sometimes, don't you think?"
The young man seemed to understand her words. His eyes, though filled with pain, showed a spark of defiance.
Then, with a weak voice, he whispered, "You will end your destiny under Spider-Man and Spider-Woman!"
His laughter was chilling, blood dribbling from his lips.
Cindy's eyes narrowed. She was sure she was hallucinating.
But as the words echoed, she realized it wasn't a hallucination.
The young man's prediction left her stunned.
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