The best time to visit a city is when you've never been there before, and its streets exist only as rumors and postcard images in your head. The second-best time is when you only have twenty-four hours to burn.
Lisbon's old town featured the world's oldest tram, a towering non-electric sightseeing elevator built in the early 20th century, and sprawling blocks of 19th-century architecture. For the average tourist, wandering past those historic buildings while listening to traditional Portuguese Fado music offered a unique, immersive experience.
Elsewhere, the Wild Pack sat firmly entrenched in Madrid. They fully expected their Elemental targets to march into a prepared ambush. They had no idea the threat had already arrived in Portugal.
For the students of Midtown High School, the itinerary was grueling. Excluding their arrival day at the airport, the travel agency had allotted exactly one day to explore Lisbon. On day three, they would board a bus for Madrid and spend three days in the Spanish capital. That left them with a tiny, frantic window to see Portugal.
Harry slumped against a wrought-iron bench. He stared miserably at the cobblestones. He had just discovered a catastrophic flaw in his vacation planning: his girlfriend hadn't packed a swimsuit. Worse, he had completely forgotten that Lisbon's actual beaches were miles outside the city center. His grand fantasies of a sun-soaked Southern European getaway evaporated instantly.
Peter Parker ignored his friend's misery. He had a job to do. He practically lived behind his camera viewfinder, snapping endless reels of candid shots. When a high school tour group designates someone as the official photographer, that person stops being a tourist and becomes an unpaid employee. Harry watched Peter adjust his lens focus. He seriously wondered if Peter was going to find a single second to take a picture with Gwen or Cindy.
Harry turned his head, scanning the plaza for the girls. He didn't see Gwen or Cindy. Instead, he spotted Jessica and Felicia sitting quietly at a corner table inside a shaded café. Harry rubbed his eyes. He felt like Jessica had been pulling away from the group lately. Her activity was dropping.
Inside the coffee shop, Felicia Hardy stirred her espresso. She leveled a hard stare at Jessica. "You've been withdrawing. You barely walk with the group anymore."
Jessica froze. The ceramic mug stalled halfway to her mouth. She forced a dry, hollow laugh. "Is it that obvious?"
"I tracked down Dr. Drew," Felicia said, leaning across the small table. He currently headed the Savage Force spider-research division over at Osborn Technologies. "He's developing a highly specific gene-therapy drug. For you."
Felicia had broken into the Osborn server mainframe. When she saw the experimental protocols for an advanced ALS treatment, the math was simple. Norman Osborn didn't have ALS. Harry didn't have it. The research was being funded for Jessica.
"Are you planning to keep this a secret from everyone forever?" Felicia asked softly.
"It's not a secret," Jessica muttered, staring into her dark coffee. "I just don't want to become a burden. I'll be in a wheelchair sooner or later. Telling them now just makes them look at me differently."
Jessica Drew was the President of the Midtown High Detective Agency. She smiled bitterly. "Besides, we're a detective club. Shouldn't they deduce the truth on their own?"
Felicia let out a long, heavy breath.
"Sometimes I think about the invasion," Jessica said quietly. "If I had just died during the Battle of New York, I never would have known what was coming." She had been knocked unconscious during that alien assault, only to be rescued by Spider-Man and carried down from the 33rd floor of a collapsing building.
"Shut up," Felicia snapped. She slammed her spoon onto the saucer. "Don't talk like that. You still have a major deduction to complete, don't you?"
"Spider-Man," Jessica breathed. "My dad told me he works directly with Spider-Man. He refuses to tell me who is under the mask. He told me to stop digging." She traced the rim of her mug. "I understand the security risk. I just... I want to thank him face-to-face. While I can still stand on my own two feet."
Felicia's expression softened. "Maybe he's already heard you."
Jessica narrowed her eyes. She studied Felicia's face, a sudden smirk breaking her melancholy. "Why does it feel like you know him too?"
"There's a fan-gratitude website out there," Felicia said, deflecting smoothly. She referenced the massive online board dedicated solely to thanking the wall-crawler. "Haven't you left a message on it?"
"Maybe I have. Maybe I haven't. Who knows?"
Back in the plaza, Harry yawned widely. He watched Peter line up a shot. He wondered what time lunch was. He rubbed his tired eyes and squinted toward the horizon. The heat haze over the distant rooftops looked thick.
Wait.
Harry stood up. He squinted harder. A massive, swirling cloud of brown dust was rolling over the city skyline. It wasn't just dust.
I must be losing my mind, Harry thought. How is there a sandstorm in Lisbon?
He gripped the back of the wrought-iron bench. The towering wall of sand wasn't just moving. It was coalescing. Deep, hollow craters formed in the swirling mass, shifting into the unmistakable shape of a gigantic, furious human face.
Peter snapped a picture of Betty Brant and Flash Thompson. Flash, fully embracing his true name instead of the ridiculous 'Lightning' moniker some of the kids had tried to pin on him, flexed his biceps for the lens.
Harry yelled.
Peter lowered the camera. He frowned. His precognitive spider-sense remained completely silent. He spun around, following Harry's panicked pointing finger.
A colossal sandstorm blotted out the sun. The blurry, roaring face of a giant loomed over the historic rooftops.
Holy crap, Peter thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. Sandman. Since when is he the size of a skyscraper?!
Peter didn't freeze. He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Everyone! Get indoors right now!" he bellowed. "Find a shop! Shut the doors and stay away from the glass!"
The students looked up. Screams erupted across the plaza. Total panic set in. Peter led the charge, shoving the heavy wooden doors of a bakery open and waving his classmates inside. Flash grabbed Betty's arm and sprinted through the doorway. The teachers frantically counted heads as the sky darkened.
Once the plaza cleared, Flash looked around the cramped bakery. He frowned. "Wait. Where did Parker go?"
"So much for Madrid," Spider-Man muttered. He crouched on the edge of a convenience store roof, fully clad in his suit. "Silver Sable really needs to audit her intelligence division."
Peter tapped the side of his mask, booting up his tactical overlays. He checked his web-fluid pressure. He took a deep breath.
"How's the rest cycle going, Venom?" Peter asked.
Black tendrils shifted beneath the fabric at the base of his neck.
[Perfect condition. Let's eat ten of them!]
"Yeah, no," Peter groaned, watching the mountain of sand rip a clock tower off its foundation. "I really don't think you want to eat a guy made entirely of dirt. That's a one-way ticket to a terrible stomach ache."
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