To the guest that wrote the best long-ass review ever, I have an equally long-ass reply for you at the end of the chapter. Please read it.

I am sorry for the fake chapter notice, it was my fault. On that note, I would like to inform y'all that I have moved this story from the "spider-man" category to the "avengers" category. I realized the former category won't allow me the room to fully expand on the plot I have in mind. Thanks HarmonyDST05 for pointing it out to me.

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Sword

Chapter Three – Race Against Time

For reasons unknown to Peter Parker, Mr. Stark instructed him to be on the lookout for any possible S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in his school. His mind immediately went to the new student, the 'local hero' according to the Daily Bugle, but the thought was crossed out as quickly as it came.

That would be so obvious.

On the topic of Mr. Stark, it was quite a surprise that he allowed him to attempt this mission. Maybe, he was beginning to realize he was truly capable of attempting increasingly difficult tasks.

No more D-rank missions for this boy!

Grinning behind the mask, he ran along the side of a building, a press on the palm sensors and a web was released, attaching itself to a flag embedded in an adjacent building. He swung, his momentum carrying him round the building and to the air. Relinquishing his hold on the web, he allowed himself a few moment of respite before shooting out another web and swinging himself down.

He knew he could not allow his happiness to cloud his judgement and jeopardize the mission. Mr. Stark had given him an opportunity he was not going to waste. With a twist he landed softly on the ground, far away to avoid been seen yet near enough to observe.

Several henchmen patrolled the perimeter, and two more were on the roof watching the surrounding streets and buildings. The windows on the first, second, and fourth levels were closed, possibly sealed, and most likely warded. The majority of those on the third level were open to the flow of fresh night breeze. That, combined with the fact that the third floor was the most accessible from the outside, indicated that the level probably contained the sleeping quarters.

Peter flitted across the road. With a near full moon, the night was not dark enough to hide his presence. There were no trees or decorative structures in this area, so the shadows were few. It meant he could see the guards fairly well, so he was extra careful to move only when they were out of view or their backs were turned. He approached one lackey from the side yard and rendered him unconscious before the man knew he had been struck. Peter dragged the man to the side of the building, propping him against it with his webs, hoping the body would be hidden by the eave, at least for a while.

He wished he had more time to do things properly, but he was never one for plans. He usually did things by the seat of his pants, so he worked with what he got.

Though the building's outer wall was plastered, it won't be able to stop him from climbing. After a quick survey of the yard, he placed a palm on the wall, feeling the minute hair-like protrusions attach itself to it. He began scaling the wall, his arms and legs spread out, and chest less than an inch from the cemented structure.

Without much effort, his thoughts went back to his pseudo-guardian and his latest instruction. Much of his suspicions were left out of the conversation, probably deemed not important enough to disclose. But that was the problem to Peter, how was he to know who the agent was when he didn't even get a tell or some kind of info from Mr. Stark. Literally any hint he could give to make the search easier.

To be fair, it was possible that Mr. Stark may not have any info on the agent. But that was unbelievable. This was the Iron-man he was talking — er — thinking about.

Since no one sounded an alarm, Peter felt it unlikely his entrance had been noticed. He released the strung web from the cartridge as he surveyed the dark room. He felt no sense of anyone's presence, besides the small animal that streaked out the door upon his arrival. He thought it might have been a cat, and based on the smell, it was a constant on this level.

It was quite a cliché for a crime boss to own a pet, a cat to be exact, but who was he to judge. This experience may even coerce him to buy one of his own.

A dog maybe. The thoughts of that particular furry pet has always got him excited, though not in the way most girls — and guys — prefer. Which would be really weird if he did get excited when dogs came to mind, and most likely illegal. Very illegal.

Moving on, the presence of the beast was advantageous for Peter, though, because it was unlikely there would be any strong trap on this level or any of the floors on which the cat was permitted. If it was too strong, the cat would set them off, and no one would get any sleep. In fact, he barely had to try when he slipped through the trap on the window. His goal was to find the shipped cargos, but the room in which he presently crouched in was not a cellar of some kind. Dark silhouettes made clear by his lenses, courtesy of Karen, led him to believe it a study.

Sounds of hurried but cautious footsteps of multiple people could be heard ascending wooden stairs not far from the room's entrance. He hid behind the doorframe where he could see into the corridor though not in the direction of the stairwell. A small white cat with one blue eye and one green sat staring at him from across the hall. Peter frowned from behind the mask, and though it could not see his visage, the cat slowly blinked unconcernedly. The cat's attention was suddenly captured by the source of heavy footsteps that were approaching his doorway. It turned and scurried away.

"It has to be this room," one man whispered. "Its strange behavior seems to be focused here."

"The traps weren't activated," a second said.

"Maybe not, but the cat knows," the first replied.

The rush of footsteps on the stairs preceded a sudden announcement. "Boss! Murdock was just found unconscious in the yard. Covered in webs!"

Peter was impressed. He had barely made it into the room and already he had been exposed by the furry little beast. The sounds of shuffling bodies and the drawing of weapons reached his ears. He may not have much of a plan but even he knew it would only hinder his actions tonight if he drew the guards' attention quickly. And what did he unknowingly do ladies and gentlemen, you guessed it right! He drew their attention.

Way to go Parker.

"Alright!" The first man, presumably the boss, announced. "We know you're in there! You might as well come out, Spider-man. But don't make any sudden moves, we have three guns aimed your way."

Peter thought it considerate of the man to provide him the number of guns with which he had to contend. Feeling the beginning of a plan form, he stuck out his arm out into the hall to wave at the guards. A bullet whizzed past the doorway, and he jerked his hand back. Luckily for him, the man had poor aim.

Stormtrooper syndrome, am I right?

"Hold your fire!" Called the boss, and then Peter heard a thump that sounded much like someone being struck on the helmet. In a quieter yet irritated voice, the boss said, "he won't come out if you're shooting at him, you idiot." He raised his voice again and announced. "We won't fire if you come out peaceably."

Peter stuck his hand out into the hallway again. When it was not fired upon, the rest of his body followed. He stepped with large strides so that he stood closer to the far wall than the center of the corridor. It was to his good fortune, because two more bullets shot through the air where the henchmen has apparently expected him to stop.

This was truly a serious case of STS. Knowing that proper medical attention was needed before it reached its critical stage, he told as much to the boss.

But was it their fault? He supposed not. A main character, he was.

See what he did there?

The three crouching hit-and-miss were hurriedly attempting to reload. Behind them stood the boss and two additional lackeys with weapon drawn. Their weapon — most likely a dagger because of its rather small size — was effective for indoor combat due to the aforementioned physical property.

Before the shooters could release their bullets, he said. "I'm gonna go on a limb and say, you guys want it the hard way. And I don't mean that hard because that will just be—"

"The rumors are true. You really talk too much." The man scowled before shaking his head, pointing his dagger at Peter.

"I try," was the short response.

He didn't know, but somehow, the scowl dipped further, digging deep grooves in the man's skin. "You are an intruder in this premises."

"Really," the sarcasm was so thick, it could drop down the boss's Eggman-esque mustachio. "I never knew. I was rather deluded in believing invited guests were expected to enter through the window. Oh dear. Now I realized why there were no ladders."

"Shut up! Surrender or die," said the boss.

Peter tilted his head. "No."

The boss blinked. "What? You can't just say no. Surrender now."

"Why?"

"You are surrounded!"

"Yeah… but where's the army? I expected quite much if I do say so myself."

"What do you mean by—"

"What is going on here?" A man hollered as he came around the corner at the end of the hallway.

Peter could see that the building was arranged so that a corridor circled the level with the rooms arranged extending from its outer perimeter. A sturdy wooden stairwell occupied the center.

"Ah, I see the actual boss has graciously agreed to meet with me," Peter said.

Woah…

He was a bit surprised to see what followed in the actual boss's wake, though. Cats. Many, many cats. Perhaps twenty of them.

This brought a whole new definition to cat-person. And crazy. They usually were; It was like a two-for-one deal.

"Spider-man—"

"That's me!"

"Why have you broken into my home in the middle of the night?" The actual boss — or AB for short since saying 'actual boss' every time would get tiring real quick — shouted from behind the wall of henchmen.

"Greetings random bad guy I do not know. I am here to take from your hands those illegal shipments."

"You seem to have grown bold, breaking into the estate of a crime lord." The man snatched the cap from his head, gripping it tightly as he posted at Peter. "You are not welcome here, Spider-man. If you have evidence of a crime, you may bring it before the magistrate, and he will determine if it is worthy of his attention." He tugged at his bedclothes and ran a hand through his unruly hair. "Your break in is not only a crime in itself, it is highly disrespectful." He continued, muttering beneath his breath as he surveyed the feline hoard. "Breaking into a man's home in the middle of the night… disturbing his rest… dragging him from his bed… being a general wiseass… By the Hells! Capture this fool. Kill him if you must!"

Peter immediately fell backward to the ground, just in time to avoid three bullets that became lodged in the wall behind where he had been standing. As he rolled to his feet, he launched three consecutive webs at the men, striking and disabling each of their weapons. Before any had time to react, Peter was upon them. He ducked under the boss's thrust aimed at his chest and, mindful of his strength, smashed the man in the side of his knee. The man crumpled with a shout, but swung his sword mightily at Peter's head. He dodged and punched the boss in the temple, spinning him around and leaving him dazed. Peter kicked him in the back sending him spilling into the other henchmen.

It was to his advantage that there were so many guards in the cramped hall. As he was positioned, only perhaps two could reach him at a time, and the others were making it difficult for them to maneuver effectively. While it was apparent that they had a fair amount of indoor combat training, their methods were better suited for either larger invading force or apprehension of a lesser-experienced singular opponent.

Peter has just elbowed one of the henchmen in the stomach when his feet suddenly became entangled and a screeching yowl resounded through the corridor. He managed to recover just in time to dodge a sword thrust at his chest whilst trying to resist the headache he felt.

"Woah! Almost got me there."

He dodged a swing at his head and smashed another man in the face with his elbow just before his foot came down with a crunch on a squirming rope. His leg gained an extra ten pounds when the cat latched onto his boot. It was absurd. The cats were actually running into the fray and attacking him.

It was a catastrophe. He was forced to shift awkwardly to avoid stepping on a black-and-white shorthair, and a yellow tabby was suddenly flying at his face as it leaped off a guard's back. Peter ducked and turned, leaving his side exposed just long enough for one of the guards to tackle him.

The two struck the ground, and Peter immediately wrapped his legs around the man's middle. He grabbed the guard by the collar, lifted his own hips and twisted his body, wrestling control as he gained the upper position. With a powerful fist to the jaw, the man was rendered unconscious, but got no reprieve as tiny claws attacked his lenses. He snatched the calico and tossed it down the corridor. It slid across the floor bowling into the feline ranks, unable to avoid the splitter webs that adhered them to the floor.

Never had Peter thought he would endure such an attack. In his experience, cats tended to run away from such chaos. It was either the cats had been genetically experimented on, which was just plain wrong, or there were mystic elements at work. The AB was keeping his distance, but the intensity of his gaze was telling.

As the final henchmen was subdued, he said, with one arm at his waist and the other's finger wagging in a disappointed manner. "Really, cats? You couldn't control humans — which is also bad — but still… why cats?!"

The AB did not let up, though. Peter did not care for the idea of hurting the cats even if his earlier methods weren't exactly safe. They were animals, beasts without contempt. Fluffy, little and cute animals. Maybe he should get a cat instead of a dog. Or maybe both.

Back to the situation at hand.

They were not wild animals, they were common house cats, and he was not in danger of being killed, though mutilation was a possibility. If and only if his suit was taken off. Still, he did not feel right about killing the little creatures. These were under the control of a man, and Peter would much prefer to contend with the source.

He seized a long-haired, cream-colored fur ball, one of the many few that had managed to escape his bind. It had tried to scale his leg and he tossed it at the magic-user of unknown sub-category. The AB cringed and covered his face as the cat plummet into him, clawing at his scalp for purchase and then leaping away. The AB lost his concentration and the cats scattered, disappearing through doorways and around corners in a matter of seconds.

"Now that that's taken care of, how about you lead me to the goods, AB. Pretty please with sprinkles on top? And I really need to know your name… don't wanna end up as the nameless villain Spider-man took down in tomorrow's newspaper…"

He trailed off as something screamed at the back of his head, urging him to dodge.

Dodge what?

The feeling so foreign yet familiar, it throbbed and pulsed with each breathe that escaped, synchronized with the frantic beating of his heart.

Almost as if on a whim he turned, but was too late. A metallic arm, an intimate appendage, cut through the air, faster than he could avoid. It struck his head with the force of a speeding truck and transferred all built up momentum.

It wasn't wrong to say he flew faster than a speeding bullet, head first, and collided with the cemented wall. A crack heralded the unholy matrimony.

But that wouldn't be enough to take him out.

Groggy, and with a hazy vision, he stood. A man, clad in a lab coat and google, walked toward him aided by his metallic appendage.

"Doc…tor Oc..topus..." Peter slurred.

The Doctor smirked. "Remember what I told you in our last encounter." He paused as a lone arm rose, poised and ready to strike. "I'm sure you don't — probably took it as a crazy villain's ramble. Well, allow me to remind you: you have a much bigger role to play than the theatrics you are known for. A role that in all seriousness, will usher in a new weapon for the 'Dark'. The 'Light' possesses a sword. What better way to combat a sword other than to use a shield. And you, my faithful adversary… are a key needed to unlock the door that hides the souls of them that shaped the world."

The lone arm descended quickly, hitting the masked hero with such speed and strength, a fissure was formed from the contact between head and ground. The hero didn't get up this time, his body sprawled haphazardly, though his chest rose and fell in tandem with the flow of air into his lungs.

He was alive, but for how long?… that remained to be seen. Doctor Octopus was not a man to give in easily to the cliché, yet he allowed himself to be lost in the cackles that bubbled forth.

Shirou's first thought upon waking was that Heaven looked surprisingly like his hotel room. Or maybe it was Hell. It was hard to differentiate. The loud buzzing of a mobile phone as it vibrated against the wooden table it sat on, was definitely from Hell.

His body hurt, and his mouth was dry. He reached over and picked up the small black phone. The second thought of the day ruptured in his mind. It wasn't his mobile. It was probably never good to wake up after being shot and find someone else's phone ringing next to you. At least that's what he'd gleamed from his limited experience.

The number on the screen was withheld. He pressed the little button shaped like a green phone to answer the call. "Yes," He said tentatively, still feeling woozy.

"Emiya, you have ten minutes to get up and get out of that room." It was at that moment that he realized the person on the phone was the director and that he was wearing only his shorts. "You are about to have contact with a group of very bad people."

That woke him up. Shirou sat bit upright, and immediately wished he hadn't. "What's wrong with me?" He asked, holding his head.

"You took a highly ionized gas to the head in an enclosed space from a trained mercenary. That's enough to put a man down for good."

Oh, but then… "Who saved me?"

"Don't worry about that for now," The man on the end on the phone said firmly. "You now have seven and a half minutes. Get dressed."

He turned on the phone's speaker, dropped it on the bed and hastily pulled on a pair of sweats and red t-shirts. "Where's my bag?"

"In a car downstairs. You have two minutes. I arranged to have the room below you paid for the night. You will need to jump off your balcony and catch the railing below."

He slipped on his shoes and hurried to the balcony. "Which one?"

"There's a red chair on it."

He found the red chair on the balcony one story down, and to the right of his. "Call me back," he said and disconnected the phone, placing it in his sweats pocket before climbing the railing.

It was windy out, and sitting precariously on top of a railing a hundred feet in the air does not make for a good thing to do. Even worse when one had been shot in the head the night before.

There was shouting from the hallway. After a bang on his room's door, he immediately launched himself onto the balcony, knocking the red chair flying as he rolled back to his feet. He opened the unlocked balcony doors and darted into the room.

The phone rang as he made his way through the room. "You made it," Nick Fury said. Or rather stated, already sure of the answer.

He looked around the almost identical room to his own. "Why didn't you just put me in here?"

"This is not a simple matter of Mr. Abelard's involvement in the death of Dr. Richard Welk. Though it is connected, it was merely a front to get an accurate read on you. At least that's my hypothesis. You were placed in that room to assuage any suspicion." What they were, the Director didn't say.

"So how do I get out of here?"

"Take the lift to the ground floor. The desk has a set of car keys for you. A Nissan GTR, black. It's completely clean. And don't worry about speed cameras or congestion charge. It's registered to a dummy corporation."

He opened the room door and looked into the empty hallway, ready for any nasty surprises. With none forthcoming, he started toward the lift. "Where do you want me to go?"

"The address is already placed into the car's sat nav. Spider-man's life hangs in the balance. You have just over two hours to get there, before Iron-man does."

The lift doors opened, the mirrored sides and lack of inhabitants made it appear much larger than it was. He stepped inside and pressed the chrome button for the ground floor. "And what do you want me to do when I find him?"

"That is up to you. But remember your primary objective."

After a brief conversation with the desk clerk, he left the hotel with a set of car keys in his possession. "What do you mean by 'this is up to you'?"

"This situation concerns unknowns. It is up to you to use your discretion to best take care of them while protecting the asset. If possible, ascertain the identity of the person behind the mask before Iron-man is involved in the equation."

"Why do these people want me?"

Shirou clicked the alarm on the keys. The beautiful Nissan beeped softly. He opened the boot and pulled out his balaclava from his bag. He removed his own phone from the bag and put it in his pocket.

"It has to do with your method of arrival…" He paused for a moment. "There isn't time to explain further. You need to go. Now." Nick Fury hung up before he could say anything else. So he got into the car, and after tossing the knitted cap onto the passenger seat, started the engine that roared to life.

Shirou had no idea what was going on, but what ever it was, it would be explained to him after this time-limited mission. He clicked the power button for the sat nav and watched the screen flick to life, the route already shown on the screen as a red line. He tapped one of the buttons to reveal his destination and felt all the air rush out of him as he pressed down on the pedal.

His only hope was that he didn't arrive late.

Dear Awesome Guest (AG),

First of all, thanks for the amazing review. I appreciate the time and effort it took you to compile and cross-check what you wrote.

Please note that I will talk on only those point I feel you misjudged or got wrong in regards to my story.

1) Nick Fury hates unknowns. He especially hates unknowns that are not under S.H.I.E.L.D.'s control. The organization's reach is so wide that sooner rather than later, Shirou would undoubtedly fall in their radar. He is simply saving them time. Why? Remember who brought him to the MCU and why.

2) I feel a person shouldn't depend entirely on his/her abilities, tools or resources for every situation. You wrote about 'Carnwennan' and its ability to shroud users. Utilizing it is not out of the question, yeah, but the reliance on his swords (especially for a guy that can spawn a sword for every situation) will make a bad read. In my opinion, it's like every fight would be him just using only his sword to end it. Nothing but the weapon of choice would be utilized. Not intelligence, wisdom, etc. I don't know if you are getting the point I am trying to make. To help elucidate further, lemme liken Shirou to a HPverse wizard. Their reliance on magic had made most of them physically unfit. I'm sure most of them think like this: why do I need to stand up and get food from the kitchen when I can simply mutter a spell and it would come to me. This, while it may increase the person's aptitude for magic or the ability in use, will inadvertently staunch the person's growth in other areas. Most notably, physical.

3) I wasn't alluding to him being dense. Though I may have laid it on a bit thick, I was simply reiterating his lack of some basic communication skills. You can't expect a person brought into another world with only the knowledge of his abilities to be able to speak and function normally. There would be differences. This is what I was referring to. Shirou on a normal day is pretty smart. To see examples of his intelligence in action, go back to his fight scenes.

4) Shirou Emiya, in my story is a teen bereft of his memories and experiences, except those that pertain to the use of his magecraft. As it will be counterproductive to completely erase his memories, they were sealed. That's why I used that analogy in the first chapter: "The boy searched through the dense fog of his memories. But he came up empty. His mind was a locked box inside a vault. And by the looks of it, he had lost the key. In desperation, he mentally slammed his fists against the metaphysical vault. It shuddered and trembled from his assault. He could almost grasp the answer, the knowledge, but it remained stubbornly out of reach." Everything I write is for a reason not just some half attempt at a plot. Another example I can use to explain this point is to use the case of a rape victim, I know it's a bit graphic and extreme but it fit my point. Even if you erase the victim's memories of the event, his/her subconscious will still remember. This is evident in the nightmares, sudden change in emotion or constant feeling of fear whenever the name of the rapist is heard or the person is near. The subconscious can never forget something it intimately knows. In the above example, it is more literal.

I hope I explained my points well and that you will continue reading my story. I don't know when next I will update as I am not feeling really well. But until then, please review and follow this story along with my others. And check out my IG page, ghostwriterdt.