Peter WHY...

The night draped Queens in a heavy shroud of snow, the late November air biting and still as Peter Parker slipped out of his house, the faint creak of his bedroom window swallowed by the wind. 

He donned his all-black attire—the stealth suit with the iron bat emblem stitched on the back, a choice that kept his Spider-Man identity buried for this errand. No webs, no powers tonight, he thought, adjusting the mask that hid his face. Just a shadow making a deal. His destination lay in the industrial fringes of the borough, where secrets thrived in the dark.

He moved through the snowy streets on foot, avoiding the rooftops to stay discreet, his boots crunching softly as he reached a cluster of weathered warehouses. His underground contact operated from an unmarked storage unit, its dented metal door blending into the gloom. Peter rapped three times—a coded knock—and the door slid open with a groan, revealing a cluttered interior lit by flickering fluorescents. Crates loomed in stacks, shadows dancing across the concrete floor.

Inside stood the dealer—a woman with stark white hair pulled into a messy bun, her gray eyes sharp and calculating under the harsh light. She wore a faded leather jacket over cargo pants, a cigarette dangling unlit between her fingers, her presence a mix of weariness and edge. 

"Back again, shadow?" she said, her voice low and raspy as she eyed him, unable to pierce the mask. "What's the haul this time?"

Peter stepped forward, pulling a folded list from his pocket and holding it out. " Equipment's," he said, his tone flat and businesslike. "Big stuff—here's what I need."

The woman—known to him only as Vera—took the list with a flick of her wrist, her expression shifting to mild curiosity. "Equipment's, huh? You branching into something new?" She unfolded the paper, her eyes scanning the items, and froze, her cigarette slipping slightly as her jaw tightened. 

"What the hell is this? DNA sequencer, polymerase chain reaction machine, centrifuge, spectrophotometer, microplate reader, sterile biosafety cabinet—" She stopped, staring at him with a mix of shock and disbelief. "A 3D bioprinter? Cryogenic freezer? You trying to build a damn lab?"

Peter shrugged, keeping his stance relaxed, his hands in his pockets. "Something like that. Need the gear—can you get it?"

Vera let out a sharp laugh, shaking her head as she tapped the list against her palm. "Get it? Sure, I can get anything—for a price—but this ain't no quick run to the corner store, shadow. Look at this—high-powered microscope, computational workstation, biohazard waste disposal system, portable blood analysis kit? This is top-tier, lab-grade equipment. Takes time to source—weeks, maybe a couple months. My network doesn't keep this stuff on speed dial."

"Figured it'd be a wait," Peter said, his voice steady. "Just need it done right. What's the cost?"

She squinted at him, her white hair glinting as she ran the numbers mentally, her fingers drumming against the list. "This kind of haul? DNA sequencers start at fifty grand, easy. PCR machines, centrifuges—twenty, thirty each. That bioprinter's a hundred grand minimum, and the rest—freezers, purification systems, fume hoods? You're looking at a hefty tab. Call it $550,000, cash upfront. I'll take the hit on sourcing, but I don't do discounts."

Peter nodded, unfazed. "$550,000's fair," he said. "Half now, half on delivery. That work?"

Vera smirked, tucking the list into her jacket pocket. "Works fine, shadow. You're a strange one—don't know who you are or what you're up to, and I don't care. I'll start hunting this down—don't bug me, I'll reach out when it's ready."

"Not how we play," Peter said, pulling a small, rectangular object from his pocket—black, sleek, with a single red button on top. He tossed it to her, and she caught it deftly, her gray eyes narrowing. "Press that when you've got something—or everything. I'll meet you. Keeps it simple."

She turned the device over in her hands, inspecting it with a raised brow. "What's this, some kinda pager? You're full of tricks, huh?" She slipped it into her pocket, her smirk widening. "Alright, I'll hit the button when it's time. Weeks, maybe more—don't get twitchy."

"No hurry," Peter said, stepping back toward the door. "Just make it happen, Vera. Catch you when it blinks."

"Bet on it," she said, waving him off with a flick of her cigarette as he slipped out into the snowy night. The door clanged shut, and Peter retraced his steps through the shadows, moving deliberately without a swing or a leap—just a figure in black blending into the cold. Half a million's a chunk, he thought, his mind already spinning with plans for the equipment. But it's a start—gotta keep this under wraps, though. Liz'd lose it if she knew.

The snow fell heavier now, blanketing Queens in a hush as Peter made his way home, the weight of his secret deal settling like the flakes on his shoulders—a quiet step into something bigger, masked by the night.