Post by Drake on Nov 30, 2014 12:17:24 GMT -5
#4: Rise of the Sinister Six Part 1
Three Makes a Party
By Drake and All Star Silentking
Peter Parker awoke with a shudder, chills echoing down his bones. The first thing he noticed was obviously the cold and how it seeped into every pore on his arms, neck and face. His face? That couldn’t be right. He wore a mask. Unless…
The mask was off.
In fact, it lay in a heap at his feet. His incredibly tied up feet. They were tied—along with his wrists—together with metal restraints. Tough metal restraints, Peter realized, after attempting to free his arms with his super strength. In addition to this, the room he was in was empty except for him and the chair he sat on, and the lights were off. Whoever had captured him knew his powers and abilities well enough to know not to underestimate him. Which, of course, begged the question who would do that?
Curt Connors was locked up who-knows-where. All the thugs and wannabe Z-list supervillains he had beaten were stuck in Ryker’s Island. Nobody with any grudge against Peter had the resources or the ability to lock him up. So, again, who did it? And why?
As if to answer Peter’s silent question, the single door to the room slid open. Who would it be? Another man in a suit, like the one who’d shot him? Curt Connors, escaped from whatever hell he was in with the driving urge for revenge? Or worse, someone Peter didn’t know about. A lunatic with an insane grudge, or a mob boss whose men Peter had stopped one too many times…Christ, was this the Kingpin?
It was Harry Osborn. Peter’s childhood best friend walked through the doors and flipped on a light switch, exposing a rather plain room that looked as if it could be used for chemical testing with all the stains on the walls and floor. Unless that red mark wasn’t copper, in which case…
“’Sup, Pete!” Harry greeted with a huge smile.
“Harry,” Peter shook his restraints, “What the hell is this about?”
The redhead frowned, before rushing to Peter’s side and looking him over, “Christ, look what they did to you! I didn’t want them to tie you up like this. I told my Dad…”
“Your Dad?” Peter exclaimed, “Wait, he’s behind this? What the hell is going on?”
“What’s going on, Mr. Parker, is I have a business proposition for you.” Norman Osborn—from the neck up nearly Harry’s middle-aged clone—entered the room dressed in a full black suit with a green tie. His smirk was the same one Peter remembered as a kid: proud, cold, and half-hearted, as if Norman didn’t really know how to smile. Peter’s Uncle Ben had called it the “smile of the rich,” something Peter had always assumed was a bit classist, but sitting here, tied up at Norman’s command, it was hard to think too highly of the One Percent.
“Y’know, I have a cellphone. If you really wanted to get in touch with me, you could’ve just called,” Peter retorted, his joking nature betrayed by the frown on his face.
“Ah yes,” Norman leaned forward, but still towered over Peter. He would have even if Peter was standing up. While the young man wasn’t exactly tall himself at about 5’8”, Norman was a giant—nearly six and a half feet tall. “That famous wit of yours. The kids love it.”
“Norman—“ Peter began.
“—Please, it’s Mr. Osborn to you.”
Peter seethed, “Norman, answer me straight, no retorts or skipping around the topic—why have you kidnapped me?” Harry tried to speak up, but Norman quieted him with a motion of his hand.
“Kidnapped you?” Norman laughed, but it was nearly as fake as his smile, “My boy, I didn’t kidnap you. That would imply you do not have the ability to leave of your own free will.” Norman reached into his jacket and clicked something. Peter’s restraints became undone. The young man took no time to stand up, massaging his wrists as he did so.
“In that case, see you.” Peter tried to walk right past Norman Osborn, but the man stopped him, holding him back with his hand.
“I really would stay if I were you. After all, leaving so soon when I know so much doesn’t seem like the brightest idea, does it?” Norman whispered. Peter’s eyes widened. It wasn’t a shock. He knew the second he had realized his mask was off that whoever had kidnapped him knew his identity now—if not before. Still, hearing Norman say it…the man did have power over him. He was like a snake. Peter hadn’t realized it before, but all the Osborns even looked like the reptilian beasts with their long faces and thin eyes.
Peter sighed and stepped back. “Fine, but this definitely feels like a kidnapping…”
Peter glanced back at the chair he’d been confined in, but decided against sitting down. It would make Peter feel trapped…more trapped than he already was.
“Peter, you’re going to want to hear this,” Harry promised, patting his friend on the shoulder. Peter shrugged his friend away. Not now. Maybe not after this. Harry and his father had crossed a line.
Norman paused briefly, before beginning, “As you more than likely do not know, OsCorp—“
“—is the leading bio med tech developer in the world, and the third greatest engineering firm behind St—“
“That is not what I was going to say, Mr. Parker. I am well aware you interned at OsCorp for six months, and I am also aware that you do not know of our greatest lucrative success because only fifty-one people in the entire world know about it. OsCorp is the United States of America’s—and by default the World’s—leading developer in posthuman prisons. In fact, we’re the only name in the business.”
“Oh,” Peter muttered. He didn’t like where this was going.
“However, a recent acquisition gave me a new idea for how to proceed with our posthuman projects,” Norman continued, “You see, Mr. Parker, I acquired Acme Labs a year ago, and it’s funny...some of the ramblings one of their ‘insane’ ex-scientists had involved an irradiated spider and the next stage of human evolution. In fact, it sounded all too coincidental that a scientist completed a super-spider and was arrested for his admittedly illegal work right around the time Spider-Man first showed up, wrestling on late night TV. So, I dug and dug until I found a video of something captured on October 30th, 2013…”
Peter put two and two together, “A video of me. A video of The Bite.”
“Mr. Parker, I’m a smart man. I knew a—what do you kids call it?—an origin story when I saw one. Your uncle was killed. Suddenly, Spider-Man wasn’t a show boater anymore. Instead, he was fighting crime, while you, on the other hand, lost all remnants of a social life. Your grades dropped as Spider-Man began working during the day. Oh, and I can’t forget that you—you, a highschool boy with an IPhone —were the only photographer able to get solid pictures of the ‘webbed wonder.’ It’s all too obvious, Peter…”
“And then the news came. People picked up your story. The Daily Bugle had obviously been first, but they were certainly not the most popular source for Spider-Man news. You have a stalker, Mr. Parker. A stalker who owns—“
“—The Amazing Spider-Man dot com,” Harry interjected with a grin. Norman turned to his son, silencing him. “Sorry…”
“Wait, Harry, you run theamazingspiderman.com?” Peter asked.
“No,” Norman turned back to his focus: the webbed wonder, Spider-Man, “Harry can not even lay claim to that. However, the person responsible for your website is a fellow freshman at ESU. I believe her name is Mary Watson.”
“Mary Jane Watson,” Harry interjected, much to his father’s chagrin.
“Mary Jane Watson?!” Peter exclaimed, the name sounding all too familiar. His super-stalker was the girl next door?
“Yes, yes, a girl likes you.” Norman demeaned, “Let me assure you, she isn’t the only one. You’re famous, Mr. Parker. In fact, you are by my calculations—and my calculations are never wrong—the second most famous superhero in all of North America, behind only Captain America.”
”What?”
“That is no joke, Mr. Parker, and it’s why you’re here today. Just as I was an entrepreneur in the field of posthuman prisons…” Norman was interrupted by Peter, who now realized all too well where this was going.
“You want me to work for OsCorp. You want me to be the first ever privately funded superhero,” Peter said, astounded.
Norman grinned, “Now how does that sound?”
----
Ryker’s Island Penitentiary
“McClane, you’ve got a visitor."
Rory McClane looked up and simply nodded as got up to follow the guard. Which of his dozen employers would it be today? Ron Bonfiglio? The Kingpin himself? McClane got his answer when he sat down in front of the glass screen, phone in hand. Adrian Toomes. The man himself didn’t visit; he never did. Instead, he sent his assistant, a pretty brunette McLane was all too familiar with.
"Hello, Mr. McClane.”
“Please, call me by my other name while we’re in here,” McClane interrupted, “It adds to the…atmosphere.”
“The Mole is beyond idiotic, but I digress,” Toomes’ assistant, a woman by the name of Jennifer Carlton, sighed before continuing, “I’ll be straight with you. Toomes needs you to break three men out of here.”
“Classic Toomes, picking his thugs out of the Kingpin’s failed lackees,” McClane muttered.
"There will be no need to negotiate a price. The money has already been wired to your account. It’s your usual with an added ten percent bonus to get the job done within 24 hours." Carlton said without lowering her voice, despite there being a security guard right behind McClane. It made sense. Adrian Toomes had enough control over the prison to allow deals like this to happen without drawing unwanted attention. But obviously not enough so that there was no need for McClane to be in there. What was the point of a mole if not to make sure your employers had a foot in every hole they desire?
"Interesting. And exactly who is it that Toomes wants?" McClane asked with a small pique of interest. Carlton took out a piece of paper from her briefcase and pressed it against the screen for McClane to see. He studied the printed images and names carefully. Certainly interesting…
The first picture displayed the face of a Caucasian man, bald and clearly psychotic. The second was of a calm and calculating man of mixed race, sporting a neatly trimmed black comb over. And the last mug shot was of a seemingly average, thin African-American man. McClane knew all of the men well—Jason Macendale, Abner Jenkins and Maxwell Dillon, respectively. Toomes had good taste.
McClane grinned, "Consider the job already done."
"Thank you. Our employer will be pleased about our agreement," Carlton said, before she slowly hung up the phone. A minute later she requested a guard to lead her out of the room. Leaving McClane to return to his cell and plan out the escape from one of the most heavily guarded prisons in the world. Still, for Rory McClane—The Mole—it was almost too easy...
----
“That sounds like the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard!” Peter exclaimed.
“What?” Both Norman and Harry retorted simultaneously.
The young brunet looked at his friend, “Harry, please, stop this. This—this is ridiculous! Me…working for a company??”
“Peter, I know this is crazy. Believe me, I thought it was crazy when my Dad first told me you were Spider-Man, but—“
“Quiet, Harry,” Norman demanded, but Harry wouldn’t have it now.
“No, Dad. He needs to hear this from me,” the young heir argued. His father paused, before reluctantly nodding his head. Peter sighed. This ought to be good.
“Peter,” Harry took a deep breath and continued, “I’m dying.”
Peter’s jaw dropped. He couldn’t have heard Harry right…he was dying??
“It’s not a joke. I’m not trying to scam you into this. Two years ago I found out I’d received an incurable hereditary disease from my father—Retroviral Hyperplasia. We tried since then, but it’s—well, I said it; it’s incurable,” Harry muttered weakly, looking at the floor, embarrassed.
“But why isn’t Norman dead?” Peter brought up the elephant in the room. He paused, before adding, “Or dying?”
“It’s hereditary, but that does not mean it necessarily has to be passed on to each offspring. I’m a carrier, you imbecile!” Norman spat, breaking into a fit of rage Peter had not expected.
“Pete, your blood…Spider-Man’s blood, it’s my only hope.” Harry forced out a weak laugh, “Heh. Almost sound like Princess Leia, don’t I?”
“Oh my God, Harry!” Peter put his head in his hands and fell back into the chair, all his anxiety gone. “I didn’t know…Christ, I—“
“Don’t you see, Mr. Parker? You have no choice.” Norman interrupted, in control again, “You must work for OsCorp. You must save Harry’s life.”
“But—but those are not necessarily the same thing. I mean,” Peter met Norman’s gaze, “I could give you samples of my blood. It’s maybe not the smartest idea, but I could do that and avoid working for you.”
No one spoke up. Norman had to see his point. If he really just cared about Harry’s health…
“Harry, leave the room now,” Norman ordered.
“But—“
”Now!”
Harry rushed out of the room, cheeks flushed. Before leaving, he gave Peter one last worried glance, and then ducked out the door. Norman and Peter were left alone, looking eye to eye. Peter took a deep breath. He knew where this was going.
“Mr. Parker, as I said before, you have no choice. Not only will you be paid more money than a college boy like you can imagine, but your aunt will be given OsCorp’s very own health insurance—and I assure you, it’s the very best. Moreover, I will pay for your college tuition personally, and—“
“I won’t do it. My Uncle raised me to not take handouts,” Peter interrupted.
“It’s not a handout, boy! ARE YOU DEAF??” Norman cracked again, “Your life is in my hands. I did not want it to come to this, but if it must…”
The billionaire CEO turned away, as if to keep himself from attacking Peter. The teen could hear Norman take three deep breaths, before his cold voice echoed over the room again.
“I know your identity. I know where your Aunt lives. I know more than one hundred ways to squash you and ruin your pathetic excuse of a life in less than a day. Do not challenge me. Do as I say.” Norman turned back around to Peter, but something was different this time. His left eye—the iris was yellow! The older man’s facial expression changed from calm and controlled to maniacal and insane over and over again.
“I promise, Peter, you’ll have all of OsCorp’s resources to fight crime…but BEWARE! Betray me and I’ll end you! Then again, do as I say and you’ll save more innocent lives than ever before, or REFUSE AND DIE!!”
Spider sense! Peter flipped back behind the chair, leaving Norman to throw it to the side, foaming at the mouth. Both of his irises were yellow now. Jesus Christ, Norman Osborn was insane! And that meant…that meant he’d do exactly as he threatened.
“What’s it gonna be, boy?” Norman asked.
Peter shuddered, terrified. “F—fine. I’ll do it.”
”I’ll work for you.”
Norman grinned, exposing wicked fangs. “Good.”
Then, Norman Osborn, in a sudden fit of suffering, collapsed to the ground and clutched his chest. Peter couldn’t move. He didn’t know what to do. What the hell was wrong with him??
The door to the room opened up and Harry rushed in, a needle in his hand. The syringe was filled with a green liquid, and Harry wasted no time injecting it into his father’s neck. Norman shuddered once, then twice, and then fell unconscious.
Harry let out all the tension in his body with a breath, “Jesus, Dad. Forgot to take your meds again…” He looked up at Peter, unsure of what to expect.
‘
“I…I need to go,” Peter mumbled, before grabbing his mask, goggles and backpack and running out of the room.
“Wait, Pete—!” Harry called after him, but he was gone. It didn’t take long to find a window. Peter didn’t care what people saw him. He’d work with them all soon enough anyway. The young man put on his mask and stopped in front of a huge windowpane.
“Mr. Parker—“ A man shouted from behind him. Peter could hear three sets of feet hitting the ground, as men ran towards him.
Peter pulled his hoodie out from his backpack, slung the bag over his shoulder, and wrapped the sweatshirt around his hand. Without a thought, he punched the window with his covered hand, shattering it. Before the men could reach him, Peter leaped out of the window, hopelessly aware he hadn’t yet put on his webshooters.
As he plummeted to the ground, Peter tried to stop himself on the side of OsTower, slamming his hands against the walls. He just slipped and slid, until at last he managed to get a firm grip and stopped with a sudden jerk. Peter cried out as pain surged through his arm. Slowly but surely, he regained his focus and crouched against the building.
He could do this. Breathe. Breathe. Holy $%^& he was working for a psychopath!! Something new and different, right? Breathe. Aunt May could be in trouble! What if Peter screwed up on the job?? Breathe! What freaking day was it anyway? Peter pulled out his phone and looked at the time. 8:46 AM…on MONDAY?? Holy shit, he was late for class! BREATHE!
Peter stopped. He emptied his mind. If he wasn’t in control, someone—including him—could get hurt. He needed to go back to his dorm room, maybe call in to his teacher and say he was sick. Something. Anything. He needed time off.
Looked like OsCorp did too. Peter actually managed to chuckle a bit as he looked down at the ground floors. Someone or something had ripped a huge hole in the front of the building.
“Karma’s a you-know-what,” Peter whispered.
“Great, now I’m talking to myself. Going as crazy as Nutjob Osborn,” Peter said as he put on his web shooters.
After taking one last deep breath, Peter leapt off the edge of OsTower and swung away. He needed a break. He really needed a break. Too bad life had other plans for him.
Peter went headfirst into the ground before he knew what hit him. Someone had just tackled him right out of the air, and hit him into the middle of Manhattan traffic without so much as an alert from Peter’s spider sense! Luckily, that meant his attacker had to deal with cars, giving Peter enough time to flip over. As it turned out, the psycho who’d hit him really did deal with cars, slamming a glowing red pitchfork into the front of a van and sending it flying into an antique store.
“No…” Peter whispered as the car burst into flames. He flipped onto all fours. “You monster!”
Peter’s superstrong attacker turned to face him. The man—it did look like a man—wore a golden mask shaped like an old diver’s helmet, and a blue, gold and black suit that would have made him look right at home in the mid 1800s. His glowing two-pronged pitchfork rested limply in his right hand.
“Please, don’t fight, Spider Totem,” the man said, “I promise I’ll make your death quick.”
NEXT TIME: SPIDER-VERSE!