MCU: Spider-Man: Rise of Saint

Franklin's body ached from hitting the wall last night. Bruises covered his right side, still hurt less than what he was about to do.

The gym echoed with squeaking sneakers and bouncing balls as the team ran drills. Franklin watched from the doorway, Jerome's words about responsibility playing in his mind.

"Saint!" Coach Peterson spotted him. "Finally back. Get changed, we're running plays."

"Actually..." Franklin walked onto the court. "Can we talk?"

Coach waved the team to keep practicing. He led Franklin to his office, closing the door behind them.

"Everything okay? Gloria called about you taking time off."

Franklin looked at the trophies lining Coach's walls. Team photos from years past. The empty space where this year's photo should go.

"I'm quitting the team."

Coach sat heavily in his chair. "This about your uncle?"

"Sort of. Just... got other things I need to focus on."

"Basketball could help with that. Give you something normal to hold onto."

Normal. Franklin almost laughed. Nothing about his life was normal anymore.

"Look," Coach leaned forward. "You've got real talent. Could go far with it. Scouts are already asking about you after that last game."

"I know."

"Then why throw it away?"

Franklin flexed his wrists, feeling the web shooters hidden under his sleeves. "Some things are more important."

"More important than your future?"

"More important than basketball."

Coach studied him for a long moment. "Jerome was proud of you, you know. Talked about you all the time."

Franklin's throat tightened. "That's why I have to do this."

"Taking time off is one thing. But quitting? That's not you, Franklin."

"Maybe it is now."

Outside the office, the team was scrimmaging. Keith drove for a layup - the same move Franklin had practiced with him hundreds of times.

"At least think about it," Coach said. "Take more time if you need it."

"Already thought about it. Already decided."

Coach sighed, pulling out a clipboard. "Have to make it official. School rules."

Franklin signed the form. Just like that, he wasn't a basketball player anymore.

The team noticed something was wrong when he walked out of the office. Keith passed him the ball out of habit.

Franklin caught it, muscle memory taking over. The leather felt wrong in his hands now, like it belonged to someone else.

"You coming back?" Keith asked.

Franklin passed the ball back. "No."

The gym went quiet. Even the bouncing balls stopped.

"For real?" Steve asked. "But we're winning."

"Got my reasons."

Mike stepped forward. "This is stupid. You're our best player."

"Not anymore."

Franklin walked out before anyone could argue. Their voices followed him down the hall.

"Yo, what the hell? He can't just leave!" "Man's really gonna bail on us like that?" "After everything that happened, he's just gonna quit?"

Let them think what they wanted. They wouldn't understand anyway.

The hallway led past the chemistry lab where he'd finally cracked the web fluid formula. Past his locker covered in basketball team flyers. Past the trophy case showing generations of Midtown's sports glory.

None of it mattered anymore. Not compared to what he could do now. What he had to do.

"Seriously?"

Franklin turned. Mary Jane stood behind him, sketchbook in hand.

"You're really quitting?"

"News travels fast."

"In this school? Everything travels fast." She fell into step beside him. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not much to talk about."

"Right. Just throwing away your whole future. No big deal."

Franklin stopped walking. "You don't get it."

"Then explain it to me." MJ crossed her arms. "Because from where I'm standing, you're running away."

"I'm not running."

"No? Then what do you call giving up the one thing you're great at?"

Franklin looked at his hands. If she only knew what he could really do now.

"Some things are more important than being great at basketball."

"Like what?"

Like stopping muggers. Like helping people. Like finding the guy who killed Jerome.

"Just... things I need to do."

MJ's expression softened. "This about Jerome?"

"Everything's about Jerome lately."

"You know he wouldn't want you to quit."

"You didn't know him."

"No, but I know you." MJ touched his arm. "This isn't you, Franklin."

He pulled away. Everyone kept saying that - this isn't you. But maybe this was him now. Maybe this was who he needed to become.

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think."

"Maybe not." MJ opened her sketchbook. The page showed Franklin playing basketball, captured in flowing lines. "But I know this guy. The one who never gave up, no matter what."

Franklin looked at the drawing. It felt like looking at a stranger.

"That guy's gone."

"I don't believe that."

"Believe what you want." Franklin walked away, leaving MJ holding her sketchbook. "I've got other things to do now."

The school doors opened to bright sunlight. Franklin felt the web shooters under his sleeves. Tonight he'd practice swinging again. Tonight he'd start searching for Jerome's killer.

Basketball had been his future once. But that future died the night Jerome did.

He had a different purpose now.

Later that night Franklin stood on the edge of a roof, looking at the city lights spread out before him. The web shooters felt solid on his wrists, hidden under his hoodie sleeves. His bruises from last night had mostly healed.

No more slamming into walls he hoped. He'd spent his afternoon watching videos of pro gymnasts and parkour athletes, studying how they moved through the air. Now it was time to see if it can be put to use.

Franklin aimed at the building across the street. The web line shot out clean, sticking exactly where he wanted. He tugged it twice to test the hold.

"Here goes nothing."

He jumped. This time, he kept his body loose, letting the swing carry him in a smooth arc. At the peak of his swing, he shot another line with his free hand. The transition felt natural, like his body already knew what to do.

Franklin released the first line, swinging forward on the second. Wind rushed past his face as he picked up speed. Each new web line came easier than the last.

He was flying.

A car alarm blared somewhere below. Franklin landed on a ledge, looking down at the street. Two guys were breaking into a parked SUV.

Franklin shot a web to a nearby lamppost, lowering himself silently behind them. One guy had his head under the steering wheel while the other kept watch.

"You guys lose your keys?"

They spun around. The lookout pulled a knife.

"Back off, man. This ain't your business."

Franklin webbed the knife, yanking it away. "True, but at the same time it kind of is."

The other guy scrambled out of the car. "What the hell is that stuff?"

"New trick I learned." Franklin webbed their feet to the ground. "Lot easier than calling the cops."

He left them stuck there, swinging away as approaching sirens grew louder. The web fluid would dissolve in a couple hours - plenty of time for police to find them.

Franklin settled onto a water tower, scanning the streets below.

A shout echoed from an alley three blocks over. Franklin was moving before he could think, his webs carrying him smoothly between buildings.

Four guys had cornered someone behind a dumpster. Franklin landed on the fire escape above them.

"Four against one? Seems kind of unfair."

They looked up. Franklin dropped into the middle of the group, webbing two of them to the wall before they could react.

The third guy swung a bat. Franklin ducked under it, webbing the bat to the ground. A quick sweep took the guy's legs out.

The fourth guy ran. Franklin shot a web at his back, pulling him off his feet.

"You okay?" he asked their victim, who nodded and ran off without a word.

Franklin webbed up the last two guys, making sure they were secure. "Police should be here soon. Maybe find a new hobby."

He shot a web line to the roof and pulled himself up, the motion felt way smoother. No more crashing into things, hopefully.

The night went on. Franklin stopped two more car thefts, a convenience store robbery, and helped a lost kid find his mom.

Each swing felt more natural than the last. Each web shot landed exactly where he aimed. His body moved instinctively, like he'd been doing this his whole life instead of just one night.

Around midnight, Franklin heard glass breaking. He swung toward the sound, finding a jewelry store with a broken window.

Three guys were inside, stuffing watches and necklaces into bags. Franklin landed silently on the ceiling, watching them work.

"Hurry up," one guy said. "Cops'll be here soon."

"Just grab the expensive stuff."

Franklin dropped down behind them. "Pretty sure those aren't yours."

They turned. One guy pulled a gun.

That weird tingle shot through his body. He flipped backward as the shot rang out, the bullet missing him completely. He shot a web and yanked the gun away before the guy could fire again.

"That's not very nice." Franklin webbed the gunman to the wall. "Could hurt someone with that."

The other two rushed him together. Franklin jumped, letting them crash into each other. Two more web shots pinned them in place.

Police sirens approached. Franklin swung out through the broken window, rising above the streets as red and blue lights filled the block below.

He landed on a high roof, breathing hard. The gun hadn't scared him - his reflexes had taken over before he could even think about being afraid.

Franklin looked at his web shooters. They worked perfectly now, better than he'd hoped. But they were just tools. What mattered was how he used them.

The city stretched out around him, full of people who needed help. Full of criminals who thought they could get away with hurting others.

Not anymore. Not while he could do something about it.

Franklin shot a web and swung back into the night. He had work to do.