Post by Drake on Mar 6, 2016 16:32:42 GMT -5
#17: Marked for Destruction Part 2
Doomed
By Drake
…
A split second—that’s all Spider-Woman had to act. That’s all she needed.
Sandman must have been fairly unintelligent, because his big kill shot was a mace of sand with a radius of a little under a foot, meaning he didn’t count on George to dodge or anyone else to save his life. He went one-for-two with that assumption, and it would cost him.
Spider-Woman tackled her stagnant father out of the way, leaping right before Sandman brought down his spiked mace.
“Dammit! Give ‘im up, girl, or get squashed,” the villain demanded, morphing his other hand into a mace just like the first.
“’Squashed?’ Ha. Never heard that one before. And it’s Spider-Woman,” the acrobatic asskicker retorted. She looked back at George and quietly said, “Run.”
“I’m not going to leave,” he firmly stated.
BANG! BANG!
Officer Kinsey fired his pistol ineffectively at Sandman, temporarily drawing the villain’s attention.
“I’m not giving you a choice,” Spider-Woman reached back for her father and jumped toward his cruiser. She then let go of him, and fired a webline at Kinsey, saying, “Excuse me as I pull your friend’s butt out of the fire.”
Spider-Woman pulled on the line, sending Kinsey flying through the air toward her. He barely avoided Sandman’s attack, and landed safely in the hero’s arms.
“Listen, Officer Trigger Happy, take Detective Stacy and leave before—“
“You’re dead now, Spider-Girl,” Sandman declared.
Spider-Woman sighed, “Before you get between me and Dusty over there, alright?”
Kinsey gulped and nodded. He grabbed George’s arm. The veteran cop pulled back.
“We’re New York’s Finest! We don’t just leave—“
Spider-Woman webbed her father’s mouth shut, offered him one last blank-lensed look, and ran toward Sandman.
“Come and get it—“ Sandman began, before Spider-Woman interrupted him.
“Don’t you dare say it,” she demanded, “Or I’ll whip out every Chordettes joke I know!”
Meanwhile, Kinsey got George’s attention, “We need to go, sir. As much as I hate to admit it, this is her jurisdiction. It’s out of our league.”
Something broke in George’s eyes. It was like the whole world had fallen apart around him, and Kinsey noticed. However, as quickly as the million swirling emotions came, they disappeared. George steadied himself, and reluctantly nodded.
“You drive,” George said, running around to the other side of the cruiser. “I’ll call Iron Man’s emergency number.”
“You’re joking, right?” Kinsey replied, opening up the driver’s side door.
George chuckled darkly, “I wish I was.”
As the two drove away, George gazed through the wing mirror at the superpowered brawl behind them. The same darkness from before returned to his eyes, and when Kinsey caught sight of it, he spoke up.
“Something wrong?”
George blinked away the silent pain. “What? No. No, everything’s fine.”
“You can talk to me if you—“
George produced his cellphone from his pocket and waved at Kinsey to quiet. “I’m gonna call Iron Man.”
“You were serious?” Kinsey replied, accepting George’s emotional wall.
George pulled up the hero’s number. Only he and a few other people in the precinct had it, having been provided by the hero shortly after he went public. It was a move the city had loved, but the cops had loathed. Yet again, they were made obsolete.
“It’s the world we live in,” George solemnly said, as the two joined into the mass of city traffic.
At the bank, Spider-Woman nimbly flipped over a sand whip and then webswung away from a wild left hook. She attempted to web up Sandman’s mouth to no avail. It just sunk right in to his shifting form. Both she and the villain had come up short in terms of defeating the other. Each knew it was time to step up their game. For Spider-Woman, that meant playing smart.
“Stacy escaped because of you!” Sandman growled. He lashed out at the hero, who swung away again.
“Gwen, win!” MJ shouted over the comms.
Spider-Woman caught sight of a fire hydrant out of the corner of her eye. ‘I’ve seen enough cartoons to know how this works!’
She leaped over to it, and grabbed the opening. “Yeah, yeah. Get a load of this!”
Sandman froze, for once his abundant confidence diminished. “No, no, no, you can’t—“
Spider-Woman ripped open the fire hydrant and aimed the jet of water that erupted from it with her hands. Sandman got soaked to the brim and began to sink into the ground, turning into mud. When at last he had melted entirely, Spider-Woman capped the hydrant with webbing, put her hands on her hips, and happily looked at her handiwork.
“Ha! The oldest trick in the book,” she muttered.
Suddenly, the mound of mud slowly began to morph into Sandman’s humanoid form. His mouth one of his first features to reemerge, he said, “Well, wouldja look at that!”
Spider-Woman’s lenses widened. She had to arch up her neck to look at the villain while he rose above her. “Oh no…”
“Oh yeah, baby girl. The Sandman is invincible! Betcha didn’t see that coming,” he chortled.
Spider-Woman stepped back, ready to spring into action. “Maybe you should call yourself—I dunno—Mudman when this happens? Because you aren’t—I’m sorry. I’m freaked out. This is the best material I’ve got.”
“Shuddup, would ya?” Sandman growled, raising his arm. “And DIE!”
Spider-Woman would have moved, but the villain’s punch soared at her—in slow motion! Nothing had changed. He looked at his fist, dumbfounded, and she merely laughed.
“HahahahahHAHAHA! Oh, that’s priceless! Forget Mudman; you should call yourself Turtle-Man!” Spider-Woman snorted.
“This isn’t a joke! I—I—“ Sandman shook his head in frustration and began to sink into the ground again. “Goddammit! This isn’t over!”
He began to slide away only slightly faster than he could attack. Spider-Woman considered her options as she laughed, but couldn’t come up with any feasible way to capture him. Even worse, with every fire hydrant came a drain, and he was quickly nearing it. However, Sandman had another major problem to contend with: his muddy form couldn’t hold his money.
“Sonuva…” he grumbled, noticing the cash slipping out of him. “I swear, Spider-Woman, next time you’ll pay for this! You and Stacy!”
“Bring it on, Mudslide. I’ll be ready,” Spider-Woman remarked, crossing her arms.
Within seconds, the villain was gone, having sunk into the sewers. She could hear his cries of frustration from below, as he echoed, “This is embarrassing! It smells like rotten shit down here!”
Spider-Woman smirked under her mask as Sandman’s voice faded away, only to have her moment ruined when a certain hero caught her attention. She frowned, as the familiar ‘shoom’ sound reached her ears.
“Where’s the bad guy?” Iron Man asked as he landed.
Spider-Woman turned to face him, and managed an awkward, “Um…what would you do if I said he got away?”
“He—he what?” Iron Man exclaimed. He put a hand to his helmet. “This is why I don’t support amateurs! He got away? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I couldn’t stop him, jerk! He turned into mud and there was nothing I could do!” Spider-Woman argued.
“Right, right…” Iron Man sighed. “If you only knew what I had given up to come here…”
“Let me guess. She had bright blue eyes and two major assets,” Spider-Woman snidely quipped.
“Green eyes, but I digress. Anyway, just…just get out of here,” Iron Man said.
“My pleasure,” Spider-Woman spat back. She fired a webline at a building across the street, and offered one last remark before swinging away, “You know, next time, maybe you shouldn’t bring up your horn dog ways in front of a woman. Word gets around. It’d be a pity if people realized you hadn’t changed that much.”
After the webbed wonder had left, Iron Man grumbled, “Well, fuck you too.”
…
“I can’t believe it!” Peter blurted into his phone. Norman shot him a vicious look. Peter rolled his eyes. The two stood at the edge of an airfield, a private SHIELD jet just yards away. An agent with short brown hair stared at Peter, growing progressively more frustrated at his refusal to board.
“I’m sorry, Peter, but Matt’s…he really is indisposed,” came the voice of one half of Peter’s defense attorney team.
“With what, Foggy? What could possibly be more important than this?” Peter exclaimed. Now it was the SHIELD agent’s turn to roll her eyes.
“He, uh, he has a date,” Franklin ‘Foggy’ Nelson replied.
“WHAT?! He can’t answer the phone because he’s getting his candy cane licked?” Peter mentally smacked himself. Rich’s vocabulary had leaked into his own.
“That’s a way to put it, sure. I’m really sorry—“
“An apology won’t—“ Peter cut himself off. He sighed and massaged his temple. “I’m sorry, Foggy. I shouldn’t snap at you. The last 24 hours have just been…you know.”
“I understand. Don’t worry about it,” Foggy assured him, “We’ll make an appointment to meet with you when you return. How does two days from now at three in the afternoon sound to you?”
“Will I be back by then?” Peter wondered.
“Yeah, otherwise that probably means you’re dead.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry. That was a bad joke. You’ll be fine,” Foggy said.
“You don’t sound so sure,” Peter began.
“Let’s not have this conversation, yeah? Anyway, you need to get going. Two days from now at three?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Peter agreed. “See ya, Foggy. Give Matt the bird for me.”
“Will do! Bye.”
Peter hung up and looked between Norman and the SHIELD agent. He smirked. “What are we waiting for? Let’s get a move on!”
“I’m not coming,” Norman said as Peter boarded the plane.
The brunet paused on the stairs and looked back blankly at his boss. “This is my surprised face.”
Peter waved back and entered the jet, saying, “Don’t worry! A suicide mission to Latveria was on my bucket list! This’ll turn out great!”
As he crossed through the doorway, his faux-confident smile flipped into a frown. Coming face to face with the SHIELD agent—in his opinion his latest captor—he felt no need to hide his anxiety. He wouldn’t fool her, and she probably didn’t care. Scared or not, he was going to do this mission.
“Agent DeWolff,” she introduced, extending her hand.
Peter shook it. “Agent’s your first name?”
She grimaced. “Jean.”
“Nice to meet you, Jean.” That dug the knife in deeper.
“The flight will be approximately two and a half hours long. Don’t ask about the time. We’re SHIELD. Any other questions about our technology, our policies, or my personal information will result in the same response,” DeWolff humorlessly stated.
“Aren’t you a bucket of sunshine,” Peter grumbled, collapsing back into a seat.
“Have you been briefed about your uniform?” DeWolff asked, sitting across from him.
Peter felt the plane shake as it began to take off. He nodded and pulled on his button up, revealing a sleek navy blue costume marked with a gray spider emblem.
“The suit’s just for this mission. SHIELD tech, can’t take it home with me, blah blah blah. It has three modes, and each are activated with a subsequent tap of the emblem.”
Peter unbuttoned his shirt and then pressed the head of the spider on his costume. The pattern suddenly lit up, glowing green. He pressed it again, and it turned red. Another, and it shimmered blue. One last time and it turned gray again.
“Gray is off. Green activates stealth mode, which I can turn on and off with a voice command.” He tapped the emblem, activating the aforementioned mode. ‘Charlie Maverick.’” Peter suddenly seemed to disappear. “‘Otto Frank.’” He faded into sight again.
DeWolff nodded him on. Peter smirked. “Interesting choice of command words. Anyway, red’s fire proof—pretty self-explanatory—and blue is…what was the term?”
“Recovery Mode,” DeWolff said.
“That’s the one. It jumpstarts my healing process, makes it so I can recover from serious injuries in just a few hours. You sure I shouldn’t keep this?” Peter quipped.
DeWolff sighed, “Please, no more jokes. You’re giving me a headache. Teen speak is so incredibly annoying.”
“Since you asked nicely,” Peter muttered, leaning back and crossing his arms.
DeWolff looked at Peter and felt the slightest hint of regret, but she quickly doused it. Standing, she said, “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”
“There’s a lot of things I—shit!” Peter exclaimed, jerking upright.
“Poor choice of words,” DeWolff muttered.
Peter looked at her, eyes wide. She shrugged.
“It slipped out,” DeWolff admitted.
“Not that. Can I make a phone call?” Peter asked.
“No. Have you ever flown before? The signal—if you can get one—interrupts our—“
“Shit,” Peter cursed. He leaned back again and ran his hands up his face and through his hair. “I’m so dead.”
DeWolff raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Problem?”
“I never told my girlfriend I was leaving town. I got so caught up in the moment, and she wouldn’t answer when I first called, and—“
“Did you manage to inform anyone about your trip?” DeWolff asked.
Peter nodded. “My aunt. And Harry obviously knows. Crap. Neither of them will know what to tell Gwen. God, I screwed up big time! Again! One of these days, she’s going to give up on me. She’ll break up—“
“What did I say about teen speak?” Upon Peter’s glare, she added, “That includes melodrama. Keep that in mind. SHIELD is 100% melodrama-free.”
“I’m calling bullshit on that. People are just melodramatic. It’s in their nature. How’s SHIELD any different?”
“We’re SHIELD,” DeWolff instantly retorted.
Peter frowned, but after a few moments a smile flicked over his lips. He leaned his seat back, and closed his eyes.
“You win, Agent DeWolff,” he said. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. A little stuck up, sure, but not bad…
“I’ll inform you of when we near Latveria,” DeWolff told him. With that said, she left for the cockpit.
Peter’s smile quickly faded, even as sleep crept up on him. He’d messed up, and after last night this was a big deal. He hadn’t left a message. He had only texted Gwen saying they needed to talk. How could he be smart enough to invent web shooters and make it as the valedictorian of his high school class, and yet still fail to do something as simple as leave a message? Why was he such a bad boyfriend? What just wouldn’t click for him? What could Flash Thompson do that he couldn’t?
“I swear, one of these days I’ll make it up to you, Gwen…” Peter whispered, and then quieted his mind, allowing exhaustion to overtake him.
…
“…please, just call me when you get this.”
Gwen sighed in frustration as she left her third message for Peter. He hadn’t answered for half an hour. They were supposed to meet later, and now…nothing. What was wrong with him?
Thankfully, the opening in her plans allowed Gwen the opportunity to meet with another man: her father. She slipped her phone into her pocket as George entered the small sandwich shop, nodding at his daughter in greeting.
“I’m glad you agreed to meet with me, Gwen. We need to talk,” George said as he pulled back a chair and sat in it.
“I’ve been saying as much for weeks. What changed?” Gwen wondered. He had called her just twenty minutes prior and only a couple hours after she’d left Sandman’s crime scene, suddenly eager in a way he hadn’t been in almost a year.
A waiter came over. “What would you like to drink?”
“Water,” both said simultaneously. They looked at one another and smirked.
“You got it,” the waiter replied, and walked off.
George sniffled, although his eyes were tearless, and continued, “I got a…reminder of what’s important. How quickly things can change.”
Gwen scrunched her brow, confused. “That’s not really an answer.”
“Listen, Gwen, you know I’ve been a mess ever since—“
“—Mom left,” Gwen interjected.
George paused and looked up into his daughter’s blue eyes. He frowned and shook his head. “No. Well, yes, I was a mess then too, but I recovered. I broke after…”
He massaged his temple as he continued, “…After Brian was murdered.” Gwen’s expression softened. George rarely talked about his partner’s death. “And today, I got flashbacks to that night, but instead of Brian, I saw you in my arms, bleeding out, dying…”
“Dad…” Gwen began, reaching out with her hand.
George pulled back and wiped a tear from his eye. “Gwen, I didn’t come here today to tell you I’m going to quit drinking, or that everything’s going to go back to the way it was. It can’t. You’re old enough to understand that. But—but I wanted to apologize. I’ve been a horrible father. And I know that’s probably not going to change, so while I was clear-headed I wanted to—“
“What the hell are you talking about?!” Gwen exclaimed in a hushed tone. “Just quit. Clean up your act. I’ll help you. We can attend meetings together. Things can change, Dad—“
George frantically shook his head, leaning forward. “No. You don’t understand. I don’t want to quit. The…the booze are the only things keeping me sane.” Gwen crossed her arms, taken aback by that comment. George sighed. “Besides you, Gwen. You know what I mean. I—I…without a drink, I couldn’t sleep at night. I remember things. I see that night over and over again. I’m reminded of all things I can lose, and how powerless I am to stop that from happening again.”
“You’d be more capable of protecting yourself, let alone me, if you actually enabled yourself. Alcohol slows you down. Jesus, you’re addicted, Dad!” Gwen said.
“Yeah—yeah, you’re right, but I don’t give a damn.” George’s blood began to boil. “Tell me you don’t get it! Tell me you’re not scared every day you go outside! Forget terrorists, thieves, and drunk assholes like me. We’ve got people with powers! Gods who can fly, lift tanks, and blast energy from their eyes! What the hell are we to them?”
“Human beings,” Gwen stated. George hesitated. She continued, “We’re human beings with regular lives, regular jobs, and regular problems. Life doesn’t stop now that we have superheroes and supervillains. We can’t let it. We have to keep trying, keep living.”
George sighed, reached into his wallet, and dropped two twenties onto the table.
Standing, he said, “Lunch is on me. I have to go.”
“Dad—“ Gwen began, getting up after him.
“No!” George shouted, drawing the attention of the rest of the café. After a moment laden with embarrassment and frustration, he quietly said, “No. Eat. Don’t eat. I don’t care. But don’t follow me.”
With that, George left the café, and Gwen didn’t follow him. The rest of the attendees returned to their lives, and nobody bothered the pretty blonde who sat alone near the corner of the room. However, she was not yet finished. It took only another quarter minute for the waiter to return with their drink orders. He offered a quizzical look, and she merely rolled her eyes and stood up.
“I’ll be back,” she said, hurrying out of the café.
Gwen looked both ways as she exited the building, and caught sight of her father down the sidewalk. She ran after him, and when she knew he couldn’t escape her and the two were a sufficient distance from anyone else, she let herself be noticed.
“Dad,” Gwen said, grabbing his arm.
“Gwen, what did I—“
“I’m Spider-Woman,” Gwen blurted.
George’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Are we gonna continue that talk, or what?” Gwen asked.
George simply stared back at her, open-mouthed.
…
George shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as Gwen stared across the table at him. The two had sat back down in the café and were awaiting their dinner orders. Neither wanted to be the first to speak, however, when at last the waiter had set down their food, George bit the bullet.
“How long have you known?” he blurted.
Gwen eyed him curiously. “That I was a superhero? …since I put on the tights.”
“No.” George shook his head. “That you have powers. Are you a…a mutant? I wouldn’t care either way, Gwen. I love you.”
Gwen wasn’t sure whether to be amused or frustrated. So, she went with a bit of both, smirking as she said, “Dad, I’m not a mutant. I swear. I’m human.”
Gwen bit her lip and rolled her eyes. “Listen, that isn’t the point. You deserve answers, but now’s not the time. We have a supervillain on the loose who’s after your head.”
“Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right…” George agreed, biting into his sandwich. He looked hurt, not just because Gwen had kept her identity a secret, but because she had it at all.
“Who is Flint Marko? Who’s Sandman?” Gwen asked.
After swallowing, George took a moment, and then said, “His real name is William Baker. ‘Flint Marko’ is his street name…or was, I guess. He…he was muscle for the original Kingpin. Not for the big guy himself, but a drug runner named Jacob. Marko was small fry, a nobody with bad pay, so he decided to go independent. He started robbing banks. Didn’t get far, ‘cause he’s dumb as a brick, but…”
George tightened his expression. Gwen could tell he was really struggling to continue. Whatever had happened, it had torn him in two.
“But when we had him, things went south. On May 13th….”
Gwen’s eyes widened. May 13th? No…
George managed to continue, each word tougher to get out than the last, from pebbles to blocks of cement, “I’m sure you can remember that night. It’s when you, and the rest of us, really, first learned about him. Spider-Man and the Lizard publically fought throughout Hell’s Kitchen. Marko’d decided to rob the First National on south 37th. Brian and I, we had him cornered behind the bank. Half a dozen other officers had his crew cuffed. Marko was armed, but outmanned and outsmarted. We had it in the bag.”
“Then Spider-Man came crashing down. Turns out the super freaks,” George paused and looked sheepishly at Gwen, “I don’t mean you, Gwen, but they…they were fighting on the roofs. I guess Lizard got a good hit in. Spider-Man fell behind Brian, spooked him. Marko popped out, began to fire. I shot him in the shoulder, but it was too late. Brian was gone, two bullets to the chest.”
George was crying now, tears sliding down his cheeks. Yet, somehow he chuckled, “Funny thing is Marko was fine. He got patched up in the ER and shipped off to prison. And Spider-Man? He didn’t stay to help. He just went on punching the Lizard. You know how the rest went. Spidey won, Lizard turned out to be Connors, all ‘a that bull. And Brian, in all that, got nothing. No recognition. Front page everywhere was ‘SUPERPOWERED BRAWL IN HELL’S KITCHEN.’ Brian died, and nobody noticed.”
“That’s when I realized…I realized we…or I guess I,” George begrudgingly corrected, “am nothing to them. Us boys in blue aren’t heroes anymore. We’re ants, caught in the crossfire of giants.”
George wrapped his head in his hands and began to sob. He didn’t care that the entire restaurant could hear him moan. Gwen didn’t know what to do, so she just acted without thinking.
She rested a hand on her father’s shoulder, and said, “I’ll find Marko, and I’ll take him down, I swear.”
George sobbed louder. Gwen stood, set her father’s twenties on the table, and looked down at him one last time, before leaving.
She didn’t know how Marko had gotten out, but she wasn’t going to rest until she did. The first place to look was obvious. She would go to where she had first seen Marko, not at the bank, but OsCorp.
…
“Up, Parker,” DeWolff ordered.
Peter groaned as he sat up, rubbing his eyes. He looked out the airplane window. The first glimpses of sunlight could be made out on the horizon, sending small streaks of light over the snowy plains below.
Peter stood up, stretched, and looked at DeWolff. “What’s the game plan?”
“We’re five minutes away from Latveria’s borders. We’ll be over the drop zone for exactly three seconds. You must jump out of the plane within that time,” DeWolff explained.
“Alright,” Peter said, unbuttoning his shirt. “Can you grab my parachute for me?”
DeWolff stared back at him incredulously. Peter looked back, the reality of the situation dawning on him.
He tossed his shirt to the side. “You have to be joking.”
No response.
“I’m jumping out of the plane…without a parachute?” Peter exclaimed.
“The stealth tech we’ve outfitted your suit with is not enough to cloak your descent if you were to fall slowly. Von Doom’s forces would discover and terminate you within five minutes of your landing. There’s a recovery mode on your suit for a reason,” DeWolff deadpanned.
“Um…what? If Doom’s tech is so great, why won’t he discover you? And how the hell am I not gonna get squashed on impact??” Peter wondered.
“We’re flying in a snowstorm at fast enough speeds with the appropriate cloaking tech and magical wards that we will go unnoticed…theoretically. You, on the other hand, don’t have that luxury. So, you’ll jump, and hope that the speed at which you fall and your distance from the capital will allow you to remain undetected.”
“Yeah, but the squashing!”
“The drop zone is ten square yards of hay. It’ll cushion your fall,” DeWolff explained.
“No. No no no no. I don’t think so. This was risky enough as is—now it’s literally a suicide mission!” Peter exclaimed, backing up.
DeWolf sighed, and said, “Unbuckle your pants.”
Peter glanced down, blushed, and looked back up into her steeled eyes.
“This is so not what I had in mind when I said one of my fantasies was to have a super hot spy tell me to take off my pants,” Peter muttered, his instinct to joke kicking in.
“Relax. I’m gay,” DeWolff said, pulling Peter out from beside the window. “Now take off your pants.”
“OK, I get it. There are people I need to save, but you could at least send in, I don’t know, Iron Man to help me,” Peter said, slipping off his shoes and then his pants. “On second thought, not Iron Man. He’s a dick.”
DeWolff led Peter to the hatch at the back of the plane.
He took a resigned breath, and mumbled, “Please tell me there’s someone down there to help me.”
“We have multiple agents stationed throughout Latveria. One owns the farm you’ll fall on. He’ll lead you into the capital, but that’s as far as he goes,” DeWolff explained.
“Yeah, that’s not really much better,” Peter whined.
DeWolff tapped a code into a module on the wall, opening the hatch. As the wind and snow wailed through the plane, Peter put on his mask and tapped his emblem to activate stealth mode.
“If I die, tell my parents I love the—AAHHH!” Peter’s joke was interrupted by DeWolff, who pushed him out of the plane.
“Shit Charlie Maverick shit--!”
Peter screamed as he plummeted to the ground, only to have the wind knocked out of him. He blacked out for a moment, before awakening, still far away from the ground. Oddly enough, the weather had eased up, and he felt the warm light of the sun wash over him. Focus, he thought. Falling was equally terrifying and cool, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to appreciate the experience. After all, it could be his last.
Nearing the Earth, Peter caught sight of a speck of yellow in the distance. The hay. He had to aim for the hay. He tried to dramatically adjust his fall, but ended up twirling instead. So, he steadied himself, and tried again, moving his arm just slightly this time. He managed to arc toward the hay, but it wasn’t enough. He’d crash to the ground and splatter into a million pieces half a football field away from the drop zone.
The next twenty seconds classified as, for now, the scariest of Peter’s life. He maneuvered left and right, slowed down and sped up, and ended up still too far to the left with less than ten seconds until he would crash into the hay. His Hail Mary was to fire a webline at the ground to the right of the drop zone. Five seconds. It connected, and he pulled with all his might.
CRASH!
Peter fell—into the hay!
Lying on his back, the sun rising slowly in the East, Peter moaned. Pain drove his mind to go blank. Both of his legs, one arm, and his shoulder were broken in multiple places. He forced himself to concentrate, and managed to slide his unbroken arm atop his chest. He pressed the emblem twice, causing blue light to replace the green, and his form to reappear. With that final action, Peter fell unconscious.
…
“Dr. Bera! Excuse me, Dr. Bera!” Gwen called out, as she hurried after the middle-aged scientist.
The Indian woman stopped and turned around, smiling politely at the blonde. “Gwen, yes, what can I do for you?”
“I just, you see, um…I have a few questions for you,” Gwen stammered.
Dr. Bera looked at Gwen questioningly. “I hope you don’t mind me asking, but what does a biochemical engineer like you want to learn from a nanotech expert like me that you couldn’t just ask your supervisor?”
“Well, Dr. Octavius is…indisposed,” Gwen explained.
“Your supervisor is Otto? Oh, I’m sorry. I had no idea. He spoke fondly of you, but I had always assumed you worked under his assistant. It’s rare for Otto to take on an intern personally. You truly must be something special,” Dr. Bera said.
“Thank you,” Gwen said, “I wanted to ask you about the nanoarmor project.”
Dr. Bera’s expression darkened and she turned away, “I’m sorry. I have to go.“
“Please, Dr. Bera, Dr. Octavius wanted me to—“
Dr. Bera stopped to consider what to do, before saying, “When—if Otto returns, tell him he can find whatever he needs in…in the Books.”
Gwen had to keep herself from smiling. Bera thought she was speaking in a code Gwen couldn’t understand. Boy, was she wrong.
“Thanks, I’ll—“
“—And Gwen.” Dr. Bera grabbed her shoulder, stopping her from leaving. “Tell Otto not to pursue the project. It’s too dangerous.”
Gwen frowned, curiosity creeping into her mind. “Why?”
Dr. Bera stared into Gwen’s eyes for a moment, as if considering whether to tell her or not. She turned away, and hurried off.
“Goodbye, Gwen!”
“Bye,” Gwen replied, reaching into her lab coat pocket. She removed a small flash drive and looked it over.
Gripping it tightly, Gwen shoved her hands back into her pockets and headed toward the elevator.
…
Shortly after, Gwen shut the door to Otto Octavius’ private office, and slid his stolen keycard into her pocket. She closed the blinds and looked around the room. There was still no security camera. She was safe.
It had been a long time since she had last been in here. Months, in fact. She thought the keycard had lost its value. What more could she find in Otto’s office? It wasn’t connected to Norman Osborn’s personal server. Certainly proof of OsCorp’s shady dealings couldn’t be found on an employee’s computer, even if it belonged to a department head like Otto Octavius, right? She’d found nothing the first time, although the search had been limited.
Gwen powered on his computer, and slipped a communicator into her ear.
“Can you hear me?” Gwen asked.
“Loud and clear,” Mary Jane replied. “What have you found?”
“Nothing yet, but I know where to look. We’ll figure out what happened that day. We’ll find out why exactly OsCorp freed Marko and what they did to him,” Gwen replied.
The computer prompted Gwen to input a password. This was easy. Otto was a creature of habit. He used the same password for everything, which was what made hacking into his computer the first time so easy. Gwen typed ‘Marie6202011.’ The name of Otto’s wife, and the date they got married.
‘Password incorrect,’ the computer shot back.
“What?” Gwen muttered.
“Is something wrong?” MJ wondered.
“I hope not,” Gwen said, racking her brain for another password. So, Otto had upped his game. It made sense after all the data that had been lost came to light. Norman probably made everyone reset their passwords.
“How about…?”
Gwen typed in ‘Marie242009.’ The date Marie and Otto had met. That didn’t work. ‘Marie9212014.’ The day Marie died of cancer. Still, nothing. ‘MarieOctavius.’ Nope. ‘12345.’ Definitely not.
“A software engineer and a security drone have been alerted of your failure to input the correct password and are being sent to your location,” Gwen read aloud. “Shit!”
“Gwen, get out of there!” MJ demanded.
“No, I have a few minutes. I can do this,” Gwen said. She needed to think of something, anything that Otto could as a password. Who would he…?
“That’s it!” Gwen exclaimed. She quickly typed ‘BlackieDrago.’ She logged in. “Yes!”
“Did you get in?” MJ asked.
“Yeah,” Gwen admitted.
“Then hurry up. You don’t have long,” MJ said.
Gwen slipped in the flash drive and opened it. Yet again, she was prompted to provide a password. This one she knew. ‘Aegis50059.’ It worked.
She quickly scanned through the files until she found ‘Project SANDMAN.’ That about gave it away. Marko’s involvement wasn’t in question. She opened the file and began to look through the documents. There was far too much to read. Was there anything with his weaknesses? Anything at all…?
“No way,” Gwen whispered, as she skimmed through the document before her.
“Gwen, what—oh shit,” MJ grumbled.
…
MJ looked down from her laptop at the phone vibrating beside her. The caller ID read ‘RICH RIDER.’ She pressed the power button, sending him to voice mail.
…
“MJ, we’ve got a problem…” Gwen whispered.
KNOCK KNOCK!
“Is somebody in there? Dr. Octavius?” A voice called from the other side of the door.
“Okay, now we’ve got two problems,” Gwen said. She removed the flash drive, and began to shut off the computer.
“What is it?” MJ wondered.
“OsCorp…they’re dealing with SHIELD.”
“Shit,” MJ cursed.
“It gets worse.” The computer turned off right as the drone arrived and unlocked the door. Gwen stood up, putting the flash drive into her bra. “I think OsCorp’s working with the mob.”
“As in the one under the freak with the hood?” MJ pushed.
The door swung open. In walked not a software engineer, but a man in a suit and tie, armed with a pistol.
“I don’t know…” Gwen whispered, putting her hands in the air.
…
Peter awoke as the ground beneath him shuddered. He was cold, in pain, but alive and able to move. Peter shifted to the right, and suddenly wished he hadn’t. He tumbled through the air, only within seconds to be nabbed by a metal hand. Peter looked up, and for the first time realized the ‘ground’ was actually Victor Von Doom!
“No!” Peter pushed against Doom with his legs, and ended up taking off his arm.
However, no blood spurted from the wound. Instead, Peter discovered, it was the arm of a robot reminiscent of Latveria’s dictator.
“Spider-Man, do not resist,” the Doombot demanded, as Peter safely rolled to a halt on the ground, only to discover he was in the middle of a city. The robot landed in front of him, further accentuating the chaos for the civilians around them.
“If you do, you will be terminated, upon the orders of Lord Doom,” the Doombot explained, raising his remaining arm. A small circle of glass began to light up on its palm.
“Terminate this, asshole,” Peter retorted. As the Doombot fired an energy beam, he leaped over it and latched onto the robot with a webline. Then, he pulled it toward him and punched through its head, deactivating it.
“What? No ‘I’ll be back?’” Peter quipped, kicking the scrap metal.
“There is no need, outsider. As you Americans say it, the cavalry has arrived,” came a thickly accented voice behind Peter.
He turned around, coming face to face with a newcomer dressed in a silver and green uniform, carrying an energy sword and a shield emblazoned with the flag of Latveria.
“Who the hell are you? Captain Latveria?” Peter wondered.
“Lady Latveria, but enough with semantics,” the woman replied. She raised the sword to Peter.
“By the decree of Lord Doom, you are under arrest.”