Keeping up with Theo's life was simple enough. Show up to work, do some teaching or read some documents, don't get fired. Pete could do that. He'd been a teacher before. Granted, not a historian, but he could fudge it well enough, and follow the very seriously detailed lesson plans that Theo put together for each of his classes. Pete found himself thinking what a nerd, and then couldn't believe he'd thought it about someone other than himself, and then wondered that, wait, was Theo himself? Who knew. He was still working that part out. The CSA offices were a little different - more official, more something Pete wasn't used to, but it wasn't wholly surprising that Theo was someone who wanted to help, somehow, some way. Pete respected it. He'd make it work.
What was frustrating was the lack of anything he showed up in the world with. According to bits and pieces of Theo's memories, the guy was running around flipping and sticking to walls - not very well, either - and Pete couldn't do anything. It was just like last time - armed with his web-shooters and strong will and that was it. When he thought about it, he'd managed with worse, and hadn't hit too much of a disaster throughout the week, even if he'd spent the majority of it pulling on a makeshift red baklava to hide his identity like it was for old time's sake and hopped around the city stopping what crime he could. He'd just make it work.
And that also included cycling home on Theo's crappy bike instead of web-slinging the whole way, because his arms got tired a whole lot faster now, and he could only use it sparingly, even if the muscle memory was there, somewhere, far away. Now he pedalled up through some empty streets, past the docks, through some side alleys that wouldn't see much foot traffic and made for an easier, more direct trip. Or it would have been, if his spider-sense had warned him - but it didn't exists in this world yet, and Pete was caught completely unawares when the figure appeared ahead of him. He screeched to a halt on the bike and tensed - spidey-sense or not, he knew what it looked like when somebody wanted to beat the shit out of him.
"Lost? You looking for lobster rolls? They're back that way," Pete quipped and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, thankful he'd kept the web-shooters wrapped around his wrists underneath the sleeves of his hoodie.
People were creatures of habit and in their routines, the dailies that gave life meaning if it weren't any other reason to live, became the smallest bait to try to control. Slade picked battles for his host and done so with Sloane in mind that for him to be the perfect vessel, compliance of surrendering his life was paramount for their symbiotic situation to work. Leading by default wasn't a fight that was tense in the passing month. Tame than his first appearance and when he found reason to map out the faces and identifications to the body of government that attempted to use their extensions of power to persuade someone like him to join or get left behind. His distaste ran its deepest when both men worked for parts of the government that could care less about their contributions. Whether it was a testament to character, his internal anarchist ways were at full reach once studies had been taken to pull at the agency's threads. No one in their right mind would willingly find themselves on the right side when none of the sides available publicly were trustworthy enough to be remain so.
Clouded judgement and claiming to be doing a part for good, to save citizens trouble when they continued to suffer by other parts of the government, still felt like a slap in the face. Slade just knew what had to be done and when he showed up in civilian attire, except for a makeshift mask for protection. Under the pressure his presence provided, the man was more than just a looming shadow ready to absorb all and any light of the target he pursued for some time. The weight read in his shoulders to the spacing of feet in a stance ready to throw most of his lumbering bodyweight into. Talking felt cheap just as a meaningful warning was, but the man sized up his mark for the longest time. Close enough to entertain the bits of humor but that also would add to the growing price of existing. Deep inside, where Sloane was muffled screaming in a new horror, wished he was strong enough to warn the man, who in his eyes looked like a kid, to run.
His steps were gradual at first. Approaching like a big dog with the cunning ferocity of a wolf. Scoffing through the ski mask that gave a special protection when his handicap and reliance on a special suit wasn't put into motion when knowingly ready to deal with a desk jockey. "I'm always where I need to be. And this party has shrimp instead." Voice hung at a lower register and slowed pace without hesitating to flow to the float of his fortuity that wafted before like hanging meat. His foot stepped forward and other anchored him with an instant spring that was the stone to step upon when a throwing blade of a set was pulled from his back pocket and flung at a precise snap at the exposed gears of the bike. "Stay for a while, you're the guest of honor.." Said with sarcasm as his body displaced from position and gravitate with a sprint forward as hand merely pulled out another blade to do more than project like an incoming missile.
He couldn't tell who it was through the ski mask - someone bigger than him, at least, which might have seemed like a problem to anyone other than Peter Parker, who often found himself pitted against foes twice or more his size. The disparity this time wasn't as explicit, but he was already running calculations in his head for what he'd have to do to avoid close contact combat. He didn't have the strength behind his blows that he usually would - something that would have helped a lot, here. Nor the agility, so he'd just have to think smart, and fast, and clever, and at least he could do that. What he hadn't expected was the first knife, and the way it ripped the gears from his bike and made it a useless escape vehicle, nor could he preempt the follow-up blade, flung at him a second later.
Pete lurched back off of the bike, ducking and twisting around - too slow, too slow as usual, like he had been the whole time since this had started happening. The knife shot past him, but it nicked the side of his arm, opening up a tear in his hoodie and a little splash of red from the skin underneath. Pete hissed. "Me? Guest of honor? Is this a surprise party?" He shot back, diving to the side to avoid Slade's beeline run at him. How did the guy know? Or did he - was this about Pete? Or was it about Theo? It didn't make any sense - the kid was a glorified pen pusher at CSA, and a teacher otherwise. Why would anyone have a bone to pick with him? Unless Pete had been sloppy, had been spotted taking off the baklava he'd been wearing all week while running around as Spider-Man.
No time to really think about it. He kicked out the moment Slade came close enough, trying to recreate the moves he knew like the back of his hand, but he was far too sluggish and weak. His foot missed Slade's leg by an inch, and Pete gave a frustrated little huff and snapped an arm up instead. Web shot and unspooled from the shooter around his wrist, and he yanked up a second later, swinging with much less grace and agility than he was used to, but hopefully hard enough that his foot could connect with that ski mask and Slade's head. "I'm a bit busy," Pete snapped, "Can we take a raincheck?"
Slade found less pleasure in ruining lives when he was out for a linear line of vengeance. To be the thorn of the CSA's side and let those who were in on the big game, that they too were easily replaceable once the agency was done with them. Like most one sided relationships, the user always found a way around gathering what they needed for their purpose. Leaving the used out left to dry. Slade's split second throw was calculating just as his edge of closing in the space between the two. "Everyone loves surprises.." Huffed while the adrenaline was flowing rampantly in his person.
Seemingly always on ten even when at rest. The mental facilities were at a 10x speed, directing his body in a fluid movement. Elegant in his brute furor, as he envisioned the clumsiness of his target, Slade blocked the first attempt to disengage before he was inhaled within the man's vicious foxtrot. He wove away just quick enough to avert from a foot connecting to his head, reaching out to grab the ankle with a twist. Latching on with a bullying tug, being fine with dragging him from his post like a rag doll. "Raincheck denied," said in a muffle between the fabric of his mask.
Surely this didn't have anything to do with what had gone down yesterday - some assholes with bad British fashion sense that he and someone as flippy as he usually was had dealt with promptly. And whatever else that had followed, the usual chaos that came with dealing with a bunch of jerk-ass bad guys. But this ski mask wearing opponent didn't seem to have any kind of connection to them - not anything that Pete could decipher immediately upon looking at him. He moved with far more precision, like he'd done this a thousand times before, and that sunk a feeling in Pete's chest like something cold and hard and worrying.
He'd done this a thousand times before too - but not often without his abilities behind him. Maybe he should have taken not having them as a suggestion to have a week off - but even that thought nearly made him laugh. Vacation time. As if.
He was regretting it a second later, when Slade's grip wrapped around his ankle and swung him so hard he went careening into the alleyway ground, concrete crunching underneath his shoulder in such a way that Pete was sure it had done some kind of bad damage. He let out a grunt and a hiss of pain. "You know," he groaned, "It's flattering that you're so invested in having dinner with me, but you could've asked with chocolates, a bouquet of flowers maybe..." It was the kind of fall that he could have bounced back from immediately if he were his usual self. Maybe he would have spun and kicked and done some kind of move to wrench himself out of Slade's grip. Pete didn't have that option. Instead, he stretched a hand out again and shot a line of web for Slade's face, hoping to both knock the ski mask off of him and hit him hard enough to get him to release his leg.
Sometimes luck was the draw. If it weren't luck, then it was seizing the right opportunities when falling in the lap without having to enforce much effort in doing so. Slade knew how tethered one would be to the CSA and its perssonell could make the appearance at any moment. Filling the area with suits or heavily armed guys without a moment's notice. But the cameras that hid for Big Brother to spectate, had been shutdown. A time table wide until his mental countdown and the wrist watch worn, was set to go off moments from now when the scrambled CCTV and traffic cams would revert back to their functional state.
"As you should be flattered. Though this isn't that kind of party.." He had to make it quick and in a hurry but the issue at hand wasn't if he could maim the young guy in half the time he was given but whether or not shots of webbing would foil his plans before he could do so. When plans were alternating one step at a time, Slade groaned at the distracting property of the webbing that nearly clung to a thread of fabric from his ski mask. Multiblend material was the first line of defense. Wishing he had wore his armor for this but low grade as a 'job' he intended it to be, being that suited up lacked the requirement.
He forced his hand and also his adaptive stretch by dropping the leg and reverting backwards a step to sway away from part of the webbing still adhering to his face mask without unveiling except for partial chin exposed. He grumbled something incoherent as if he were speaking to another person besides his target. That inner dialogue transpiring in the blight of the evening while precious time was suddenly dwindling down. It wouldn't be the pin to the self assigned quest. Not when the hurl in his throat emitted of a frustrated growl. Suddenly reaching forward again, grappling in a heavy lift that mits met shoulder ready to toss him again if his shot to do so wasn't deterred in lieu of interconnecting webbing.
Sounds of annoyance usually meant that Pete was onto something - or at least, if he could bother someone enough into losing their cool, he usually had a better shot at getting an advantage. And was the guy talking to himself? That was - notable. And odd. But boy Slade was strong, and Pete yanked to the side, attempting to dodge in a way that would have usually seen him leaping onto the nearest wall, but this time didn't get him out of the way of Slade's hands nearly in time. Another last ditch attempt saw him trying to get his hand between them to blast another bit of webbing, but he was milliseconds too slow - the glob of web shot off past Slade's face as Pete felt his body leave the ground for the second time.
When he hit the wall, it was with a crunch that Pete knew couldn't be good for a body that wasn't superhuman in any way, shape or form - at least not at that second. He dropped forward, catching himself on his hands against the alleyway pavement, coughing and woozy and shushing down a panicked voice at the back of his head. I've got it, I've got it, I'm handling it, don't worry. Pete was pretty sure he didn't have it. "Can I ask--?" Pete eked out, attempting to pull himself into a stand again, hand scrabbling at the wall as he braced for another attack from the Big Guy. Gotta get to higher ground, he thought.
"Where'd the interest come from? Why this date with me?" Pete squinted at Slade through a swelling eye. He hoped the question distracted him enough, so that when he shot his web out again, not at Slade but past him, it would simply seem like he'd missed. And not that he'd attached it to the nearest trash can behind Slade, and gave the biggest heave he could muster to haul it hard for the back of Slade's head.
For every foe, ally or villain alike he encounter, anyone was always opposition until proved otherwise. The kid was no different and had a bit of reason to throttle what bits of him he could. To send a valuable message. One that was a bit hands-on rather than showing up in every crevice of his life like a shadow or worst, doing the same to those closest to him. Slade didn't know all the specifics of any personnel's life he had pulled records on. But this was as close as he got to a source. One that would be taken for granted enough that any other of their ilk would be made aware that he was to be left alone. For some other reason, understood it wouldn't go that way either.
There were always variables that went unaccounted for and not always knowing the moves by a visual distance like he had when countering the many that came before the literal tossing like a bagged garbage. Slade grunted more so than running a simulation in part by guesstimating one's moves. He was standing, free of charge when the question came at a desperate measure to throw him off. "Because a lot of you are in the way," he simply answer. Not giving much context than that. Before he could move to grapple once more, the garbage shot back after he initially ducked from the web that went past. Completely missing the intended target.
Slade fumbled forward with a few steps off with his balance. It could've been enough to sweep him from his feet but given the stumble that had enough time for the kid to react, he growled and rubbed at his lower back without thought, as a sharp pain seized him up momentarily. "You annoying shit!" Even as hardened he bad been internally, and with an ability to withstand harm, pain was one of those things he was working through in a rent-a-body not of his own.
A lot of us? Pete thought, brow furrowing against the bruising and the aching of his face. The immediate assumption was easy to jump to - other shifters like himself, probably, like the ones he'd been chatting to throughout the week, working together with yesterday. Sounded about right, and it certainly sounded like something that would piss some asshole in a ski mask off if he was trying to do as much damage as those idiots yesterday had been. Pete pursed his lips together, but then managed to flash Slade a smile, an internal little yes! of victory sounding off the moment the trash can connected, the moment it delayed Slade enough that it opened up an opportunity for Pete.
"That's not the worst thing I've ever been called!" Pete responded, almost sing-song, and lunged forward. He wasn't in the habit of running - not while he felt like he still had an opportunity. The goal would be to get in and out quick, up close to Slade, try to incapacitate him, and then skip away before he could be touched. Normally it would be easier, but Theo's body was slow and cumbersome in comparison, and Pete didn't know how to fully work it to the best of its ability just yet. Still, he skidded forward, aiming to blast a bit of web at Slade's feet.
"Not even gonna introduce yourself properly? No name to go with the bad attitude?" He snapped as he shot, immediately spinning to snap some web up at the nearest rooftop so he could haul himself out of the way in an ungainly swing, nothing like his usual acrobatic feats, and this time he nailed his knee again upwards towards Slade's chin.
He was to make his way down a list. Knocking off with one tick mark at a time. Theo just so happened to be at the top. Not for a specific reason but by chance. The easiest to get a hold of to and make the best of the situation he had. Including the turn of getting his balance thrown just enough that caused a too wide of an opening in his eyes. Mistake one that would piledrive into many. It made a man act desperately and this wasn't going to be the exception. Hoping did so little when there was plenty of chances to rectify, to stand back to the top and when at a grave disadvantage.
Though the only one who was, had been the smaller guy that couldn't get his bearings on par for someone who slung webbing from their wrists like a spider bitten newbie. "Pray it's the least worst thing called after I'm done with you," said as he was ready to spring out of the way. Sensory premonition acted in more care as he dive rolled before his feet wore new attachments to further cause his lumbering spill onto the concrete. Though the knee to the chin derailed him enough to buckle in his almost clean escape from the webbing.
Not enough sting pushed for disorientation for what he was going to do next. Moving his frame at such a way, allowed for a quickend reflex and one that split to reach that back pocket again to flick one of the last of his blades in the direction of his target just as he regained his footing. "No names are necessary on my end.."
Pete felt, for a whole second, like he was gaining an advantage. He certainly wasn't getting any more useful information out of ol' Ski Mask, who seemed far more interested in being as threatening as humanly possible. And terrifying, too, though Pete had seen and fought much stranger in his time. There was always something about just some guy coming at you, though - no whacky costume, just knives and fists and strength and calculation that kept Pete on his toes. And the not knowing behind it all was the worst part - where this had come from, how he had located him, who he was, how he knew Theo's face - or was it Theo he'd been after, or Pete, or both, or what? It was a whole tangle that would take time to unravel, and Pete didn't have that time available to him at that very moment.
"Done with me, I don't think you're gonna be done with me any time soo--" It would've sounded a lot better if he hadn't been cut off. Pete had grabbed the line of new webbing, trying to swing himself up to the nearest wall - it would've been natural if he could do anything that he was used to, would've been a smooth arc where he could attach and flip and keep coming at Ski Mask hard enough to come out on top. But he just wasn't fast or strong enough in this body, and Slade's knife came shooting at him with an accuracy that felt unreal.
It sunk into his side with a hiss and a thunk. Pete felt the air get knocked out of him, like he'd been punched there instead, but when he glanced down it wasn't a fist embedded in him but the hilt of Slade's knife sticking out, and the strength went out of his arm on that side of his body and Pete slipped nearly the whole way back to the ground. He staggered on his knees, sucking in a breath, and figured, at that moment, that now was the time to run. He had to have broken something, he couldn't see out of one eye, and now - well, a fucking knife in his side.
"Oh, boy," Pete shot back to Slade, but what might have sounded confident and cutting before came out more like a gasp. "You know, I just realized, actually, I have, uh,..." Pete gripped at the knife, didn't budge it just yet, and twisted his hand up to shoot another line of web. "I got another appointment." He tried to drag himself up, slipped, staggered, and tried again, scrambling up as high as he could get away from Slade, not affording him a glance backwards. Bye, Theo's bike. He'd have to try to come back again, later, pick it up for him. The first thing, though - he just had to try not to bleed out. Getting his ass handed to him wasn't abnormal, but fuck it sucked. Turning tail never felt good, but Pete didn't know if he could heal this quick or not. Either way, it was a mess.
Fuck.