-21STreet? More like 21 headaches-

  Downtown TB–Bridgepath, Cafe Coffee

  The smell of fresh coffee and homemade pastries filled our noses as Asri and I walked into our favourite coffee shop. Like every Saturday morning, it was packed.

  I leaned against my chair, bomber jacket hung on the chair, stirring a warm cup of coconut latte with a teaspoon. Asri was deep in his doomscrolling, his spanish latte barely touched.

  I leaned closer. “Got any new leads on 21st?” I kept my voice low.

  “Nope.” He leaned in as well. “Found something better–someone took a pic of you swinging.” His phone screen was in front of me–a blurry dark picture was displayed on it.

  “Good thing you gave me that mask, I guess.” I could barely make heads or tails from the image.

  “But we did get a name.” He swiped his phone to a new picture of a man from last night. “Raymond “Ray” Bishop.”

  The TV in the cafe suddenly blared to life. Loud. Annoying. Familiar. Did I mention loud?

  “Another night, another crime in our so-called ‘modernized’ city.”

  Bradley “Triple B” Braxton.

  The loudest news anchor in Bridgepath–in TB.

  “A group of wannabe gang members from the 21st Street Gang had tried to break into a beloved bodega shop in Old Market Square. Is nothing sacred to these criminals anymore!?”

  Some of the morning customers looked up–a few annoyed stares, mostly curious eyes.

  “And to top it all off, when our heroes in blue show up, do you know what they find? These degenerates tied–excuse me–webbed! Onto a nearby brick wall!”

  Footage played–thugs webbed onto the bodega’s wall.

  “We have received a description from the thugs that were arrested. Can you believe this? A man in a ski mask shooting webs! Do you take the cops of Tri-Borough for a fool!?”

  Murmurs spread through the café as the footage rolled.

  “This is a clear message, folks. Some nutjob in a mask thinks they could do a better job than the TBPD, to vandalise the walls of TB with their webs. And I, for one, do not trust ANYONE with a mask!”

  Customers started chiming in, tossing theories around.

  “He’s a good guy if he prevented a break-in.” One exclaimed.

  “Tri-Borough, man. Never a boring day here.” Another chuckled.

  “This is probably gang related. Maybe they’re using webs now to send messages.” One speculated.

  Asri and I just looked at each other, eyebrows bouncing with excitement.

  “That’s your first job there, man.” Asri patted me on the shoulders.

  “Hey, can’t take all the credit. You broke into the phone.” I shrugged, smirking.

  “Speaking of phones,” he patted his breast pocket. “Think I might have intel on an enforcer for the gang. Not sure yet.”

  “And I think I have an idea for our comms.” I leaned in. “Nothing crazy yet, but better than a cheap bluetooth earpiece.”

  “Shoot yours first.”

  “I’m thinking maybe bone conduction tech?” I showed him an image of the new earpiece. “Keeps my ears open. Your voice will be clearer, too.”

  “Problem is,” I sighed. “There’s no mic. That means I can't talk to you.”

  “Hm,” Asri leaned back on his seat, scratching his chin.

  I could feel his mind going a million miles an hour.

  “What about a laryngeal mic?” he finally proposed.

  “A laryn-what?” That sounded like Greek to me.

  “Essentially a throat mic. SWAT gears. Picks the vibration directly from your throat.” He showed me the mic.

  “I’ll add on a filter as well. If you’re mid-swing and breathing like you just ran a marathon, the mic adjusts. No heavy breathing throat ASMR in my ear, thanks." He smirked.

  “This could work. I think we could get some of these stuff from the Biomedical Engineering Department.”

  “Think you can get what from the Biomedical Engineering Department?” a familiar voice interrupted our discussion.

  Ming stood behind me–grey satin shirt with a plunge that nearly fried my brains, crossing her arms.

  “Hey Mings. Just discussing some tech to use for my boxing training.”

  “You need a laryngeal mic to train for boxing nowadays?” She raised her eyebrows, glancing at the image on Asri’s phone.

  “Okay how the hell do you guys know what lar–” The word tangled in my head. “Throat mic is?”

  “Laryngeal. Luh–rin–jii–uhl.” She corrected me.

  “Throat mic.” I looked at her, deadpan.

  “Doesn’t answer my question though.”

  “Of course! Boxing is an evolving sport, y’know? Right, As?” I glanced at Asri, searching for an answer.

  “Uh… yeah. It’s to make it easier for Ryu to talk while he’s practicing his combos.” He coughed up an answer.

  “Really? Very… unorthodox.” She tapped her chin, thinking hard.

  “You know how when nerds get wrapped around sports. We just have to make it different.”

  She glared at me, clearly unsatisfied–but she let it drop.

  “Anyways, how was the bus ride from Old Market Space? Heard some people were… webbed I think?” I asked.

  “Yeah, the bodega shop not far from my mom’s flower shop. Wasn’t too bad, but the police forces are there.” She thanked the waitress handing her matcha latte.

  “What do you think of that incident? Gang related or?” My brain was praying she didn’t hate it.

  “Whoever did that,” she took a sip of her matcha. “As long as they don’t mess with my family’s stuff. I don’t really care.”

  Knew she’d say something like that.

  “Heard it was a gang from Downside too. 21ST Street Gang, was it?” her brows furrowed–adorably, if I’m being honest.

  “Yeah. I’m pretty sure they operate from the Stacks too.” Asri showed an old news about the 21ST.

  21STreet Gang: Old Name, New Threat?

  Despite years of police efforts, 21STreet Gang remains a dominant force in Downside, with operations centered around The Stacks and The Yards. Once known for petty crime, the gang now runs smuggling rings, vehicle theft, and protection rackets, offering "security" to local businesses—for a price.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Authorities suspect Raymond “Ray” Bishop as the gang’s leader. Known for his quiet authority and calculated moves, Bishop has evaded direct criminal charges, leaving the TBPD with no evidence to tie him to the gang’s growing influence.

  “They keep the streets in check—but make no mistake, they’re still criminals,” said Detective Marcus Greene.

  For many in Downside, 21STreet is both a threat and a necessity—a reminder that when the system fails, someone else fills the void.

  “Huh. Didn’t know the Stacks still do hits on Bridgepath.” I leaned back, crossing my arms.

  “Yeah. Usually Bridgepath is a neutral territory for every CEO of Highpoint to the lowest gang members from Downside. Probably rogues acting on their own.” Asri flipped his phone, locking it.

  Ming was focused elsewhere–the bruise on my shoulder.

  The one I got for slamming into Asri’s fire escape.

  Pain shot through my arm–her fingers pressing on the bruise–made me yelp.

  “The hell was that for, Ming?” I rubbed the bruised shoulder. “Miss me that much, huh? Had to communicate through pain?”

  “What is that?” Her infamous glare was back.

  “What is what?” I tried looking away.

  She pressed it again–a sharp yelp escaped me.

  “Stop it! Do you not understand the meaning of the word ‘pain’?” I backed away, distancing my bruise from her surprisingly strong fingers.

  “What. Is. That?” Her voice dripped with irritation.

  “Got hurt training yesterday! Now stop pressing it!”

  “How does self-training do that? You look like you got smacked by a metal pipe!” Her fingers shot forward–I caught them first.

  “Chain snapped. One of them slapped me hard.”

  Her eyebrows arched. “Thought you threw away your old body bag?”

  “Well, I did now!”

  She wasn’t happy. But she decided to drop it–for now.

  Then, a ping–Asri’s phone.

  A quick glance before it was buried in his pocket.

  “Uh…Ryu. I think I just found the gym at the Yard that you’ve been looking for.” He hesitated, staring at me.

  “Gym? What gym?” I didn’t understand his message.

  “Y’know, the one that you’ve been looking at?” His eyes widened. “The one we were looking at last night?”

  Last night? We weren’t looking at gyms last night.

  I was out as Spi–oh I get it now.

  “Oh,” I shuffled in my seat nervously. “Send me the link later. I’ll check it out.”

  Ming, sharp as ever, caught my awkward behaviour. “More training? Shouldn’t you rest?” Eyeing my bruise.

  “Oh don’t worry. I’ll just… uh, scope the place out.”

  “Shiromori, the Yard is not a safe place.” She let out a sharp exhale. “If you get hurt there…”

  “Don’t worry Ming. I’ll make sure your ‘husband’ doesn't push himself too far.” Asri cut through.

  Her gaze was like a predator, warning Asri. “You better.”

  He let out a nervous chuckle–giving her a thumbs up.

  I took a sip of my drink. The tension strung high between me and Asri.

  Tonight, I’m hitting the gang hideout.

  But before that–tech upgrades.

  Laughter filled the café, but my mind was focused on tonight.

  Downtown TB—Asri’s Apartment

  Golden streaks of sunset stretched across the sky as I arrived at Asri's apartment. Ming was back home, helping her mom’s flower shop. I had just left TBU–bearing gifts for Asri.

  The doorbell rang, and Asri was at the door. “Got the stuff?” he nodded me in.

  “Stuffs. Plural.” I smirked, my hand holding a small bag, heading to his room.

  “Oh? What else did you steal?” He closed the door to his one bedroom apartment.

  “Ay, I didn’t steal anything. These are all legally taken by me. Decommissioned earpiece, faulty lar–throat mic,”

  “Laryngeal.” He grabbed the earpiece, examining it.

  I ignored him. “And,”I pulled out a roll of synthetic polymer. “Materials for a suit. Breathable fabric, stretchy but still tough. They were testing it for a prototype water suit. Told the biomedical students I’d handle the ‘field testing’.”

  He unrolled a small bit of the polymer, testing it. “Yo, this is some good prototype. We can make your mask with this.” His gaze flickered to me. “May I?”

  I gave him a thumbs up, and he instantly went to work.

  He measured my head, cut two pieces of polymer and fused them with a heat gun.

  He then cut the safety goggles' lenses into a sharp, almost insect-like look, layering them into the mask cutouts.

  As the golden streaks faded away, the mask was done.

  The first proper Spider-Man mask.

  “Woah. That’s kinda sick, though.” I held the mask up.

  “You name it, I make it.” Asri tossed the heat gun aside. “Try it. See if it fits.”

  The mask slipped on easily. It was a bit loose, but thanks to my new spider abilities I could just make it stick to my face like a second skin.

  “Yeah, I can breathe in here. The tinted lenses are a nice touch too.” I adjusted it to comfort.

  “Dude, you actually look like a hero now.” He admired his work. “Oh, got a final thing to add.”

  He scampered off and returned with a small camera.

  “Now I can see what you see. Might catch some intel that you miss.”

  “You’re a genius, As.”

  “Oh, you.” He integrated the camera to the suit swiftly.

  “There.” He tossed me the mask back. “Made some adjustments to the nose area. Should lessen the discomfort now, especially with that camera.”

  The mask sat comfortably on my face. On his screen? A live feed of my eyes.

  “You’re gonna get a full POV of me swinging, y’know?” I smirked under the mask. “Hope you’ve got a strong stomach.”

  “Yeah, can’t wait to see you smack yourself into a billboard.”

  It wasn’t long before we fixed the comms device. The laryngeal mic was strapped in place and the earpiece sat comfortable around my ears.

  “Testing. Testing. One. Two. Three.” His voice was much clearer than before.

  “Can you hear me?” I asked through the throat mic.

  He gave a thumbs up.

  “Let’s take it for a spin.” I vaulted onto his fire escape.

  Good. No onlookers.

  Thwip! The webstring held firm on the corner of a building.

  “Next stop–the Yards.”

  I leaped off. The cool air brushing against my skin.

  I could never get tired of this feeling.

  The webstring pulled tight–then catapulted me forward.

  Bridgepath’s nightlife blurred below me. A live band’s ballard drifted from the bar, mixing with the chatter of a nearby café and the hum of traffic.

  I was getting better at swinging around the city. Awkward–but it felt much more natural.

  “This is actually kinda cool.” Asri’s voice chirped in the comms.

  “I told you, man. Best thing ever!” I shouted, almost crashing into a shop sign.

  “You crashing there would make a great highlight reel.” He laughed.

  “Tryna go viral for helping people. Not a failed swinging compilation!” I rolled onto a rooftop before diving back into the busy street.

  Nothing beats the feeling of weightlessness.

  Just freefall. The street rushed closer every second.

  “Dude, swing!” Asri barked into the mic.

  One more second. One more.

  Thwip! I swung low, close to the ground.

  “Hell yeah!”

  “You’re insane.” His voice was low–a hint of amusement.

  “Tell me that wasn’t cool!” I barely dodged a billboard, twisting mid swing.

  “Just get to the Yard.”

  Shouts of excitement accompanied me throughout the journey. Each swing felt more precise.

  I vaulted over an AC unit before continuing swinging.

  Full speed ahead to the Yards.