Post by Drake on Jun 28, 2013 9:44:45 GMT -5
NOTE: The events of this issue take place at approximately the same time as the previous issue.
SECOND NOTE: This issue and every one following contain spoilers for All Star Spider-Man. You’ve been warned.
#2: 24 Hours Till The End
Patrol. It was a two-syllable word that encompassed nearly 40% of Miles Morales’ everyday life. Whether it was Monday, Tuesday, or any other day of the week, the one thing Miles always knew would be there, the one constant, was patrol. Before school, after school, or when he should have been in school, Miles made time to spend hours on end swinging over New York City, watching the little ‘ants’ below and ignoring Peter Parker as he roared hints, tips, complaints, and jokes into Miles’ ears. It was also what Miles currently was, for lack of a more appropriate word, enduring.
Dressed in crimson web-patterned black unstable molecule spandex, Miles Morales aka Spider-Man landed acrobatically onto a water tower. He held his hand up to the earbud under his mask and spoke, “OK, Web*, you seriously need to stop the incessant Reed Richards jokes. I get that you are hugely jealous of him and all but honestly, twenty different versions of the same joke are not twenty different jokes.” (Web = Peter Parker’s chosen codename. –Dashing Drake)
“Think what you want,” Web pouted, his voice coming clearly through the earbud, “I thought they were creative. Especially the ‘R-E-E-D’ and ‘R-E-A-D’ one. That was punny.”
“Still not funny.” Spidey retorted, jumping off the water tower and firing a web line to an adjacent building.
“I’ve been told,” Web half-chuckled to himself.
Spider-Man swung over a bakery, flipping through the air. “So, ‘there any parties right now?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a party,” Web admitted, “But there’s a car chase over on 24th and Carson.”
“I’m on it,” Spider-Man changed directions mid-air, and begun to swing towards the chase. He could now hear sirens in the distance. As Spider-Man approached the chase, Web warned, “Be careful, they’re armed.”
“Please!” Spider-Man cockily replied, “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re superhuman, not immortal.” Web pointed out.
Spider-Man sighed inwardly. He was sure that till the day he died, Peter would worry about him. If this was how his mentor acted, Miles could only imagine what his parents would say if they found out about his extracurricular activities.
“I know, I know. Just trust me, okay? You’re my partner,” Spider-Man hated to say the word mentor out loud, “Not my mom.”
Web’s only response was a deep breath and then silence. Spider-Man was caught somewhere in between pleased and frustrated with his response.
Spider-Man could finally see the chase. A large black sports car drove at nearly a hundred miles an hour away from three police cars, all four cars swerving around incoming traffic. The teenaged hero made one final swing and then launched himself at the sports car. With a crash, he landed on their windshield.
Spider-Man did his best to impersonate a deep-voiced cop, “License and registration, please.”
“You told me to stop with the jokes,” Web sarcastically muttered.
“Shit!” One of two thugs, the driver, cursed, leaning around Spider-Man in order to see. The other thug turned his attention from the cops behind them to Spidey. He held his shotgun out the window towards Spider-Man.
“Who the hell’re you?” Armed-thug shouted.
“Really? Can’t tell by the skintight webbed suit?” Spider-Man shrugged his shoulders, “Here’s a few hints. I go thwipp thwipp, crawl on walls, and my name rhymes with Glider-Man.”
“Oh, I know who you are…” the thug muttered.
“Really?” Miles exclaimed, overjoyed that someone recognized him out of Peter’s usual red and blue spandex.
“Yeah…” the thug began, “You’re dead meat!”
The thug fired. Spider-Man jumped over the barrage of bullets and landed back on the hood of the car. He sighed, “Honestly, can you criminals get any less creative? I mean, seriously? The last guy I webbed up said the same thing!”
“I’m Spider-Man…er, 2.0.” Spider-Man hopped off the hood of the car as it crashed into a fire hydrant. The webbed wonder created a net of webbing in between two light poles, netting the car as it crashed against it.
“I see you’re in a sticky situation…get it?” Spidey quipped.
“Shut the f—” Spider-Man gagged the driver-thug with a burst of webbing.
The three police cars pulled up about a dozen yards from Spider-Man. Six officers got out and aimed their guns at the webbed wonder.
“Spider-Man, put your hands in the air!” one of the cops shouted.
“No need to thank me,” Spider-Man sarcastically retorted, “Sheesh.” Spidey brought his hands into the air, “Just remember, when your boss yells at you, you told me to do this,” Spider-Man flexed his wrist and fired webbing. Without a second thought he swung away.
“Up, up and away!” Spider-Man mused to himself.
Suddenly, Spider-Man was knocked to the roof of a building by a force as powerful as a car.
“Augh!” Spider-Man grunted as he hit the concrete roof. As he looked up into the eyes of his attacker, he quipped, “Seriously, you fangirls need to chill ou…”
“Shit.”
Sergei Kravinoff, more commonly known as Kraven the Hunter, one of the original Spider-Man’s most famous villains, stood over the injured teenaged superhero. Kraven was dressed in his usual attire: a thick rhino hide jacket, cargo pants and grey snakeskin boots. Two large bowie knives hung at his waist.
“You are the new Spider-Man?” Kraven muttered incredulously with a thick Russian accent. “You are but a child!”
“And your clothing is two hundred years outdated!” Spider-Man kicked the villain off of him, flipping up as he did so.
“Boy, I will let that one attack slide, but should you do it again, I will not be so obliging,” Kraven threatened.
“Mhm, no fighting, right,” Spider-Man sarcastically responded, “So I’m just supposed to believe you’re here to play Monopoly with me or something?”
Kraven chuckled, “You have the same humor as the last Spider-Man.” The poaching villain popped his neck and rolled his shoulder back and forth leisurely, almost like a baseball player doing a pre-game warm up, “No, Spider-Man, rest assured, I am here to kill you.”
“Yeah, that’s going to make me ‘rest.’” Spider-Man retorted. He whispered, “Web, what’ve you got on this guy?”
No response.
“Web?!”
“Don’t bother trying to contact your friend,” Kraven crossed his arms, “I have blocked the signal.”
Spider-Man got into a fighting stance, bending his knees slightly, ready at the sign of peril to attack. It was just Kraven and him. Man to man. Training against instinct.
Kraven sprung off the ground like a lion, arms outstretched. Spider-Man’s spider-sense alerted him to the attack before it happened, so the webbed wonder was more than prepared for the assault when it occurred…
Or so he thought.
Spider-Man didn’t have time to act, or react for that matter. He was tackled to the ground before he even had the time to make a bad joke. Kraven was fast…faster even than Spider-Man’s spider sense! Kraven slammed his fist into Spider-Man’s cheek. Next one was in the nose. Instantly broken.
“That all you got, old man!” Spider-Man swung his fist upwards, completely missing the villain as he moved his head to the side. The villain lifted Spider-Man off the ground. Spider-Man ran up the villain’s chest and attempted to flip-kick off of him. The move had very little effect as Kraven simply grabbed onto Spider-Man’s right foot as he flipped away, and threw him to the ground.
Spider-Man immediately sprung back to his feet. “Time for plan B.” Upon concentrating, the hero camouflaged, appearing to look just like his surroundings.
“Interesting,” Kraven admitted, “The last Spider-Man had no such power.”
“But it matters not. Even if I can’t see you, I can still hear you!” Kraven moved his right hand and began to choke what appeared to be the air. Within a second, the truth was revealed. Spider-Man was stuck struggling to breathe as Kraven gripped his throat ever tighter. With one more swift punch, Spider-Man was finished. Kraven released his grip on Spider-Man and the hero collapsed to the ground.
“You are defeated.” Kraven said. For the first time in Miles’ short life, he truly felt afraid. Afraid that he might die. That he was going to die. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Miles wasn’t going anywhere. He was beaten. He was dead.
But might as well go down laughing, right?
“C’mon, princess, hit harder. I’m not done yet.”
A dark grin came over Kraven’s face. “You are so young, so naïve. For that, I give you a choice. Leave behind the Spider-Man identity now or die. It is your choice to make. I give you 24 hours to decide. If you should choose death, meet me on top St. Peter’s Church at noon tomorrow and I will make your death quick. If you do not appear there, and continue to masquerade as Spider-Man, then I will find you, I will kill you and everyone that you love.”
“The 24 hours start now.”
And with that, Kraven jumped away and everything faded to darkness.
Hours later
Miles awoke atop a cold bed in a bright room. Almost immediately, Miles recognized the room as the med area of Web’s and his secret base inside ParkerCorp’s headquarters on a secret level. It was a fairly stereotypical headquarters. War room, med room, tech room, and trophy room, all decked out with the most advanced technology of the modern (and future) age.
Peter was standing over Miles dressed in a red button up and khaki pants. His expression visibly changed from that of fear to relief when Miles’ eyes fluttered open.
“Thank God you’re alright,” Peter massaged his head, “Kraven had done a number on you.”
“Wh-what happened? How’d I get here?” Miles muttered, aware that he felt a bit odd, probably from meds Peter had given him.
“I went out myself,” Peter admitted.
“As Spider-Man?” Miles asked incredulously.
“No. I just flew out to you with the spider-car.” Peter explained. Miles cocked his head, giving Peter an inquisitive look.
“It’s really just the Fantasti-Car.” Peter rubbed his neck sheepishly, “I, er, borrowed it from the original F4 back in the day and never gave it back. I’ve updated it since then and…”
“Let me get this straight,” Miles pointed at Peter, “You, the amazing Spider-Man, defender of truth, justice, and the American Way, stole the Fantasti-Car?”
Peter chuckled embarrassedly, “I was younger back then. Stupid. Willing to take something if it meant saving lives.”
“Right,” Miles laughed. Peter joined in nearly right after Miles started. The two enjoyed the hearty fun for about half a minute before it died down. After another silent thirty seconds, Peter got to the important topic at hand.
“So…why did Kraven let you live?” Peter asked.
Miles’ expression darkened. He looked at the floor. “He…he’s giving me 24 hours. I either stop being Spider-Man or he fights and kills me.”
Peter nodded, “Well, we’ll figure it out. I can try to throw together something for you to use on him and…”
“That’s not going to work!” Miles interrupted, “Peter…I…I don’t know how it was for you. I don’t know if you were just naturally a really talented fighter or—or something, but…Kraven…if I fight him tomorrow…he will kill me.”
Peter appeared confused, almost as if he had forgotten about the concept of death, “Miles, Kraven’s just another supervillain. He’s just like Puma. He…”
“Shut up!” Miles stood up. He nearly fell to the ground, having to use the bed he was laying on to catch himself, “Don’t…don’t call Tommy that…”
“Miles…I’m sorry, but…”
“Peter,” Miles looked his mentor in the eye, “Kraven is a fully trained killer. Tommy was a bipolar, anxious kid with superpowers. Kraven isn’t just any other supervillain…he is your supervillain. You were a fully trained hero the first time you fought him. You were ready, prepared, and now…now I’m just like Tommy. Just a kid with powers. A kid who’s gotten lucky so far.”
Peter sighed, but nodded his head. He understood. “Miles, I have one person who may be able to help. I’ll go call him now.”
Peter turned away and began to leave the room. Miles sat back onto the bed. Before he left the room, Peter paused and turned back to Miles briefly. “Miles…you are more than just a kid. And you’re more than lucky. You are a hero. And you are talented.”
Miles half-heartedly smiled. Peter left the room. And upon his mentor’s exit, Miles collapsed onto the bed and sleep immediately overcame him.
Meanwhile, just a room over in the War Room, Peter collapsed into a leather-bound seat, and dialed a number into his cellphone.
“What is it?”
“Wow,” Peter sarcastically replied, laughing slightly, “What a kind greeting is that for a business partner and an old friend…Nick Fury?”
“I don’t have the time for your jokes, Parker. SHIELD’s in a crisis right now and…”
“Miles needs help.” Peter interrupted.
Fury didn’t respond for a short while; the only audible noise was his consistent, calm breathing. At last, Fury spoke up, “Is he in danger?”
“Yes. I need one of your agents to help him with…”
“Kraven. I heard what happened.” Peter nearly laughed out loud at this comment. How very stereotypical of Fury to be aware of everything, whether it was his business or not, “Listen, Parker, I’d love to help, but right now any of my agents that are…qualified for the sort of help you want are either in the field or about to be.”
“Fury, Miles is in serious danger. And he is what I promised you…he is my successor.” Peter pushed for a positive response. He didn’t get one.
“Don’t pull that bull with me. You know Miles was not what…who I wanted. You still owe me….”
“Nothing. He may not be the hero you wanted, and he sure as hell isn’t the hero you deserve,” Peter spat, “But he’s the hero you—and everyone—needs.”
Peter was well aware he was only making the situation worse, but he’d learned over the years that if you’re going to get something out of Fury, then you have to fight for it. His tactic worked.
“Fine,” Fury agreed, “But the one person I can give you…well, she may not agree to help you.”
“I’ll take anyone as long as there is a chance.” Peter immediately responded, anxious for help.
“Your choice, your hell, Parker.”
“Just give me the name and number.” Peter growled.
“Very well…your ‘chance,’ the kid’s best shot is an ex-agent.”
“Her name is Carol Danvers.”
A
Carol Danvers sat, legs held tightly to her chest, watching basketball, a mug of coffee in her hands. The Brooklyn Nets were playing the Heat. The Heat were up by 6 with a minute-thirty-two in the third quarter. Deron Williams, the Nets’ star point guard, was yelling at his center, Brook Lopez.
Brook had been his favorite player on the Nets, his favorite team.
Carol pulled her legs in tighter. Ever since his death, Carol had found herself watching professional basketball more and more, specifically the Nets. Carol grimly laughed at the thought that she, as well as watching pro basketball, couldn’t even bring herself to think—let alone say—his name since he’d died. Since he had…
Carol was distracted by a loud thump that came from just outside, near the fire escape. The cause of the noise, as Carol found out, was a boy dressed in red and black spandex, a boy Carol recognized as Spider-Man.
Spider-Man politely knocked on Carol’s window, and motioned to be let in. Carol sighed. Fury must have sent the kid in response to Carol’s…well, what should she call it? Cry for help? She guessed that would work. The “cry for help” had become something Carol regretted. Fury was the reason for her problem; he’d been the one to recommend Carol go see Dr. Sofen. It had seemed like a good idea at first, until the bitch had tried—and somewhat succeeded, Carol reminded herself—to take her powers. Fury had apologized profusely and said that he would immediately get S.H.I.E.L.D. on the case. It didn’t change the matter. Yet again, Fury had indirectly screwed up Carol’s life.
Carol reluctantly stood up and opened the fire escape for the teen hero. Immediately upon entering the apartment, Spider-Man collapsed on the ground. The kid’s breathing was ragged, Carol noticed, and he appeared exhausted…no, more than that. Carol could smell the blood, a scent Carol sadly realized she was all too familiar with.
“So, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s employing kids now?” Carol sarcastically asked, sitting back down on her couch, choosing to ignore the teenager’s apparent injuries.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.? What the hell is S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Spider-Man replied, “I…” he took a breath “I’m Spider-Man. Like, the friendly neighborhood type.”
“And I need your help.”
Carol sat forward in the seat. Spider-Man’s response…Carol had been a spy long enough to know when someone was lying…he wasn’t. He had no clue what S.H.I.E.L.D. was. Suddenly, Carol’s anger subsided and guilt overwhelmed her. She rushed to the teenager’s side and helped him into a chair.
“What’s wrong? You’re hurt, I can tell. Do you need medical attention? Should I…”
“Stop,” Spider-Man pushed Carol away, “Please, stop. I…yeah, I’m injured. That’s partly why I’m here. Nick Fury told me…”
Carol suddenly backed up into a defensive stance. The kid had lied to her. The son of… “You lied!”
“What? About what?!” Spider-Man held his hands up defensively, as if he was afraid Carol was going to hit him.
“You said you didn’t know Fury. You said…” Carol accused, but Spider-Man interrupted her.
“No, no, no. I said I didn’t know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, not Nick Fury. Well, I don’t really know him but my boss, he does. He trusts him, and apparently Fury really trusts you, miss…Danvers? Marvel? What do you want me to call you?” Spider-Man asked, relaxing now as Carol calmed down again and sat down.
“Marvel. Miss…I mean, Carol Marvel is fine.” The boy knew about her past. About her husband. Fury had told him…Carol took a deep breath and controlled her anger. She wasn’t going to take her anger out on some innocent kid, assuming his story was true.
Carol rebounded before Spider-Man could speak up, “You’re injured, and you said you had a ‘boss.’ Why would your boss let you come to me, injured, instead of just coming himself?”
Spider-Man rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. By what, Carol wasn’t sure. “I…It was on my request. Actually, that’s not really true. I just kind of charged out on him. But it’s really fine. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am.” Spider-Man demanded.
Carol sighed. She knew his type. Stubborn, determined, unable to sit still…just like her. She accepted his response, and asked one simple question, the most important question she could ask, “You asked for my help. Why?”
Spider-Man’s expression appeared unchanged, but by his response Carol knew he was clearly very upset, and very, very afraid. “I need you to fight with me, Ms. Marvel.”
The boy rushed on before Carol could respond, “I fought one of the older Spider-Man’s foes today, Kraven. He…he beat me within an inch of my life. I thought it was over, that he was going to break my neck and be done with me…but…but he didn’t. He gave me an ultimatum. I give up being Spider-Man or, in 24 hours, I die.”
“I’m scared. Really scared.”
Carol immediately jumped in. She knew what her response would be the second she heard ‘give up on being Spider-Man.’ “Stop it. Don’t be a hero. Nobody asked you to.”
“I…I can’t,” Spider-Man interjected.
“Why? Cause your boss said you couldn’t? That’s bull. All…all of this hero business is bull. You know what happens to heroes? They die, kid. What’s the saying? The good die young? If you keep this up, that’ll be the title of your biography.” Carol just let the words fall out. She’d been waiting to say them, to gush, for months. Her feelings, her emotions, everything exploded outward, “Your parents, what would they say if they knew about you? And how would they feel if you died?”
“How do you know my parents don’t know…”
“I know these things, kid. Listen, you don’t believe me, just look at the last Spider-Man. He was a hero, he saved people, and what happened to him? He got killed,” Spider-Man’s body tensed upon this statement, as if what Carol had said was false, “Listen, kid, everybody always has expectations for you, constantly tells you to change the world. Well, they can all go to hell. The world can’t be changed. The good always die and the bad win. This isn’t a movie. This is the real world. And if you don’t believe that—if you don’t take that to heart—not only will you get yourself killed, but you’ll also get the people you love killed…or worse.”
Carol nearly fell out of her chair at Spider-Man’s response. Upon Carol finishing her lecture, Spider-Man immediately pulled off his mask and exposed a very young, very scared, ebony-colored face. But hidden under all of the fear was a powerful, fiery determination.
“My name is Miles Morales. I’m fifteen years old. I live with my parents, Rio and Jefferson Morales. I’m an ordinary kid from Brooklyn who’s experienced extraordinary thing, and I’m telling you, Ms. Marvel, I can’t.” Spider-Man took a deep breath and continued on, “You didn’t let me finish what I was saying earlier. I am very scared, but not for me. I’m scared for my parents, for my friends, for all the people close to me. I’m scared that my death, it’ll hurt them. I know it will. God, I know it will.” The boy held his head in his hands, “But I can’t let that stop me. Miss Marvel…Carol, there was a saying, something the old Spider-Man went by. With great power comes great responsibility. I was given these powers for a reason, and I sure as hell am not going to just give up because someone threatens to kill me. I’m not going to give up even though I know he can kill me. What I do…it isn’t for me. It’s for everyone else. I am Spider-Man because it’s the right thing to do and because the world can be changed.”
“One of my best friends tried to kill me, I constantly lie to my parents, to the people I love, and I come home every night beaten to hell. You know what I get in payment for sacrificing all that I do? Anger. Hate. Doubt. Nobody likes me. Hell, my own father thinks Spider-Man should be arrested. But does that stop me? Hell no! With great power comes great responsibility. And, Ms. Marvel, I want you to know that I’m going to take that to heart. I’ll believe that till the day I die, whether it be tomorrow or fifty years from now.” Spider-Man stood up from the chair and approached the fire escape. He put on his mask. Before he left he said one last thing.
“Ms. Marvel, if you choose to help me, be at my home at 801 NE 39th Street by 10 AM. If you don’t show by then, then I’ll know I’m in on this alone.” And with that final word, Spider-Man ducked out from under the fire escape and swung away.
Carol was left in shock. The boy’s confession, his argument…it had hit her hard. She hadn’t been this shaken up since Walter’s death. Walter, the baby, it had driven her into depression, caused her to become angry at everything and everyone. But Miles…he had just as much, if not more, problems than Carol and did he let that bring him down? No, he didn’t even let it stop him from saving lives. He hadn’t taken a break. He wouldn’t. Maybe he was right. Maybe the world could be changed. Maybe everything could get better.
But Carol knew it wouldn’t change, not as long as she allowed herself to sulk in her bed. Not as long as she stayed a weak, broken woman. To change the world, and to change herself, Carol had to become more than what she was. She had to make just as great a sacrifice as Walter had. She was going to help Miles, and she wasn’t going to stop there. Miles was right: with great power comes great responsibility. And she had a hell of a lot of power.
She would change, get over Walter, but not as Carol Danvers, or even Carol Marvel. The limit to what she could do, what she could change, wasn’t tied down by other people, whether it be Fury, her dead husband, or anyone else. Carol now realized, as she looked out over the sunset, that the sky was the limit. Not for Carol Danvers, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., or Carol Marvel, adoring wife, but as a hero, as…
Captain Marvel!
A
The raging sun unleashed its fury upon Bruce Banner as he trudged meaninglessly through the deserts of Egypt. He’d been wandering for days now. Any other man would have died of dehydration by this point, but not him, not with his curse. Bruce was grimly reminded of his predicament. Gamma radiation plus measly scientist equals endlessly enraged god of a monster, the Hulk. It was the equation that had begun to degrade science and math in the mind of the exhausted scientist.
All Bruce had done since he’d…met the Other Guy was run away from a military that wanted him captured, dead or alive. He’d brawled with other beasts, just as powerful as his own inner demon, and murdered countless innocents. And he hated it. The damage, the fear…the anger.
He was done running. He was going to cure this condition he had. He was going to kill the Hulk. But to do that, Bruce had to accomplish one thing…
He had to go home.
SECOND NOTE: This issue and every one following contain spoilers for All Star Spider-Man. You’ve been warned.
#2: 24 Hours Till The End
Patrol. It was a two-syllable word that encompassed nearly 40% of Miles Morales’ everyday life. Whether it was Monday, Tuesday, or any other day of the week, the one thing Miles always knew would be there, the one constant, was patrol. Before school, after school, or when he should have been in school, Miles made time to spend hours on end swinging over New York City, watching the little ‘ants’ below and ignoring Peter Parker as he roared hints, tips, complaints, and jokes into Miles’ ears. It was also what Miles currently was, for lack of a more appropriate word, enduring.
Dressed in crimson web-patterned black unstable molecule spandex, Miles Morales aka Spider-Man landed acrobatically onto a water tower. He held his hand up to the earbud under his mask and spoke, “OK, Web*, you seriously need to stop the incessant Reed Richards jokes. I get that you are hugely jealous of him and all but honestly, twenty different versions of the same joke are not twenty different jokes.” (Web = Peter Parker’s chosen codename. –Dashing Drake)
“Think what you want,” Web pouted, his voice coming clearly through the earbud, “I thought they were creative. Especially the ‘R-E-E-D’ and ‘R-E-A-D’ one. That was punny.”
“Still not funny.” Spidey retorted, jumping off the water tower and firing a web line to an adjacent building.
“I’ve been told,” Web half-chuckled to himself.
Spider-Man swung over a bakery, flipping through the air. “So, ‘there any parties right now?”
“I don’t know if I’d call it a party,” Web admitted, “But there’s a car chase over on 24th and Carson.”
“I’m on it,” Spider-Man changed directions mid-air, and begun to swing towards the chase. He could now hear sirens in the distance. As Spider-Man approached the chase, Web warned, “Be careful, they’re armed.”
“Please!” Spider-Man cockily replied, “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re superhuman, not immortal.” Web pointed out.
Spider-Man sighed inwardly. He was sure that till the day he died, Peter would worry about him. If this was how his mentor acted, Miles could only imagine what his parents would say if they found out about his extracurricular activities.
“I know, I know. Just trust me, okay? You’re my partner,” Spider-Man hated to say the word mentor out loud, “Not my mom.”
Web’s only response was a deep breath and then silence. Spider-Man was caught somewhere in between pleased and frustrated with his response.
Spider-Man could finally see the chase. A large black sports car drove at nearly a hundred miles an hour away from three police cars, all four cars swerving around incoming traffic. The teenaged hero made one final swing and then launched himself at the sports car. With a crash, he landed on their windshield.
Spider-Man did his best to impersonate a deep-voiced cop, “License and registration, please.”
“You told me to stop with the jokes,” Web sarcastically muttered.
“Shit!” One of two thugs, the driver, cursed, leaning around Spider-Man in order to see. The other thug turned his attention from the cops behind them to Spidey. He held his shotgun out the window towards Spider-Man.
“Who the hell’re you?” Armed-thug shouted.
“Really? Can’t tell by the skintight webbed suit?” Spider-Man shrugged his shoulders, “Here’s a few hints. I go thwipp thwipp, crawl on walls, and my name rhymes with Glider-Man.”
“Oh, I know who you are…” the thug muttered.
“Really?” Miles exclaimed, overjoyed that someone recognized him out of Peter’s usual red and blue spandex.
“Yeah…” the thug began, “You’re dead meat!”
The thug fired. Spider-Man jumped over the barrage of bullets and landed back on the hood of the car. He sighed, “Honestly, can you criminals get any less creative? I mean, seriously? The last guy I webbed up said the same thing!”
“I’m Spider-Man…er, 2.0.” Spider-Man hopped off the hood of the car as it crashed into a fire hydrant. The webbed wonder created a net of webbing in between two light poles, netting the car as it crashed against it.
“I see you’re in a sticky situation…get it?” Spidey quipped.
“Shut the f—” Spider-Man gagged the driver-thug with a burst of webbing.
The three police cars pulled up about a dozen yards from Spider-Man. Six officers got out and aimed their guns at the webbed wonder.
“Spider-Man, put your hands in the air!” one of the cops shouted.
“No need to thank me,” Spider-Man sarcastically retorted, “Sheesh.” Spidey brought his hands into the air, “Just remember, when your boss yells at you, you told me to do this,” Spider-Man flexed his wrist and fired webbing. Without a second thought he swung away.
“Up, up and away!” Spider-Man mused to himself.
Suddenly, Spider-Man was knocked to the roof of a building by a force as powerful as a car.
“Augh!” Spider-Man grunted as he hit the concrete roof. As he looked up into the eyes of his attacker, he quipped, “Seriously, you fangirls need to chill ou…”
“Shit.”
Sergei Kravinoff, more commonly known as Kraven the Hunter, one of the original Spider-Man’s most famous villains, stood over the injured teenaged superhero. Kraven was dressed in his usual attire: a thick rhino hide jacket, cargo pants and grey snakeskin boots. Two large bowie knives hung at his waist.
“You are the new Spider-Man?” Kraven muttered incredulously with a thick Russian accent. “You are but a child!”
“And your clothing is two hundred years outdated!” Spider-Man kicked the villain off of him, flipping up as he did so.
“Boy, I will let that one attack slide, but should you do it again, I will not be so obliging,” Kraven threatened.
“Mhm, no fighting, right,” Spider-Man sarcastically responded, “So I’m just supposed to believe you’re here to play Monopoly with me or something?”
Kraven chuckled, “You have the same humor as the last Spider-Man.” The poaching villain popped his neck and rolled his shoulder back and forth leisurely, almost like a baseball player doing a pre-game warm up, “No, Spider-Man, rest assured, I am here to kill you.”
“Yeah, that’s going to make me ‘rest.’” Spider-Man retorted. He whispered, “Web, what’ve you got on this guy?”
No response.
“Web?!”
“Don’t bother trying to contact your friend,” Kraven crossed his arms, “I have blocked the signal.”
Spider-Man got into a fighting stance, bending his knees slightly, ready at the sign of peril to attack. It was just Kraven and him. Man to man. Training against instinct.
Kraven sprung off the ground like a lion, arms outstretched. Spider-Man’s spider-sense alerted him to the attack before it happened, so the webbed wonder was more than prepared for the assault when it occurred…
Or so he thought.
Spider-Man didn’t have time to act, or react for that matter. He was tackled to the ground before he even had the time to make a bad joke. Kraven was fast…faster even than Spider-Man’s spider sense! Kraven slammed his fist into Spider-Man’s cheek. Next one was in the nose. Instantly broken.
“That all you got, old man!” Spider-Man swung his fist upwards, completely missing the villain as he moved his head to the side. The villain lifted Spider-Man off the ground. Spider-Man ran up the villain’s chest and attempted to flip-kick off of him. The move had very little effect as Kraven simply grabbed onto Spider-Man’s right foot as he flipped away, and threw him to the ground.
Spider-Man immediately sprung back to his feet. “Time for plan B.” Upon concentrating, the hero camouflaged, appearing to look just like his surroundings.
“Interesting,” Kraven admitted, “The last Spider-Man had no such power.”
“But it matters not. Even if I can’t see you, I can still hear you!” Kraven moved his right hand and began to choke what appeared to be the air. Within a second, the truth was revealed. Spider-Man was stuck struggling to breathe as Kraven gripped his throat ever tighter. With one more swift punch, Spider-Man was finished. Kraven released his grip on Spider-Man and the hero collapsed to the ground.
“You are defeated.” Kraven said. For the first time in Miles’ short life, he truly felt afraid. Afraid that he might die. That he was going to die. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe. Miles wasn’t going anywhere. He was beaten. He was dead.
But might as well go down laughing, right?
“C’mon, princess, hit harder. I’m not done yet.”
A dark grin came over Kraven’s face. “You are so young, so naïve. For that, I give you a choice. Leave behind the Spider-Man identity now or die. It is your choice to make. I give you 24 hours to decide. If you should choose death, meet me on top St. Peter’s Church at noon tomorrow and I will make your death quick. If you do not appear there, and continue to masquerade as Spider-Man, then I will find you, I will kill you and everyone that you love.”
“The 24 hours start now.”
And with that, Kraven jumped away and everything faded to darkness.
Hours later
Miles awoke atop a cold bed in a bright room. Almost immediately, Miles recognized the room as the med area of Web’s and his secret base inside ParkerCorp’s headquarters on a secret level. It was a fairly stereotypical headquarters. War room, med room, tech room, and trophy room, all decked out with the most advanced technology of the modern (and future) age.
Peter was standing over Miles dressed in a red button up and khaki pants. His expression visibly changed from that of fear to relief when Miles’ eyes fluttered open.
“Thank God you’re alright,” Peter massaged his head, “Kraven had done a number on you.”
“Wh-what happened? How’d I get here?” Miles muttered, aware that he felt a bit odd, probably from meds Peter had given him.
“I went out myself,” Peter admitted.
“As Spider-Man?” Miles asked incredulously.
“No. I just flew out to you with the spider-car.” Peter explained. Miles cocked his head, giving Peter an inquisitive look.
“It’s really just the Fantasti-Car.” Peter rubbed his neck sheepishly, “I, er, borrowed it from the original F4 back in the day and never gave it back. I’ve updated it since then and…”
“Let me get this straight,” Miles pointed at Peter, “You, the amazing Spider-Man, defender of truth, justice, and the American Way, stole the Fantasti-Car?”
Peter chuckled embarrassedly, “I was younger back then. Stupid. Willing to take something if it meant saving lives.”
“Right,” Miles laughed. Peter joined in nearly right after Miles started. The two enjoyed the hearty fun for about half a minute before it died down. After another silent thirty seconds, Peter got to the important topic at hand.
“So…why did Kraven let you live?” Peter asked.
Miles’ expression darkened. He looked at the floor. “He…he’s giving me 24 hours. I either stop being Spider-Man or he fights and kills me.”
Peter nodded, “Well, we’ll figure it out. I can try to throw together something for you to use on him and…”
“That’s not going to work!” Miles interrupted, “Peter…I…I don’t know how it was for you. I don’t know if you were just naturally a really talented fighter or—or something, but…Kraven…if I fight him tomorrow…he will kill me.”
Peter appeared confused, almost as if he had forgotten about the concept of death, “Miles, Kraven’s just another supervillain. He’s just like Puma. He…”
“Shut up!” Miles stood up. He nearly fell to the ground, having to use the bed he was laying on to catch himself, “Don’t…don’t call Tommy that…”
“Miles…I’m sorry, but…”
“Peter,” Miles looked his mentor in the eye, “Kraven is a fully trained killer. Tommy was a bipolar, anxious kid with superpowers. Kraven isn’t just any other supervillain…he is your supervillain. You were a fully trained hero the first time you fought him. You were ready, prepared, and now…now I’m just like Tommy. Just a kid with powers. A kid who’s gotten lucky so far.”
Peter sighed, but nodded his head. He understood. “Miles, I have one person who may be able to help. I’ll go call him now.”
Peter turned away and began to leave the room. Miles sat back onto the bed. Before he left the room, Peter paused and turned back to Miles briefly. “Miles…you are more than just a kid. And you’re more than lucky. You are a hero. And you are talented.”
Miles half-heartedly smiled. Peter left the room. And upon his mentor’s exit, Miles collapsed onto the bed and sleep immediately overcame him.
Meanwhile, just a room over in the War Room, Peter collapsed into a leather-bound seat, and dialed a number into his cellphone.
“What is it?”
“Wow,” Peter sarcastically replied, laughing slightly, “What a kind greeting is that for a business partner and an old friend…Nick Fury?”
“I don’t have the time for your jokes, Parker. SHIELD’s in a crisis right now and…”
“Miles needs help.” Peter interrupted.
Fury didn’t respond for a short while; the only audible noise was his consistent, calm breathing. At last, Fury spoke up, “Is he in danger?”
“Yes. I need one of your agents to help him with…”
“Kraven. I heard what happened.” Peter nearly laughed out loud at this comment. How very stereotypical of Fury to be aware of everything, whether it was his business or not, “Listen, Parker, I’d love to help, but right now any of my agents that are…qualified for the sort of help you want are either in the field or about to be.”
“Fury, Miles is in serious danger. And he is what I promised you…he is my successor.” Peter pushed for a positive response. He didn’t get one.
“Don’t pull that bull with me. You know Miles was not what…who I wanted. You still owe me….”
“Nothing. He may not be the hero you wanted, and he sure as hell isn’t the hero you deserve,” Peter spat, “But he’s the hero you—and everyone—needs.”
Peter was well aware he was only making the situation worse, but he’d learned over the years that if you’re going to get something out of Fury, then you have to fight for it. His tactic worked.
“Fine,” Fury agreed, “But the one person I can give you…well, she may not agree to help you.”
“I’ll take anyone as long as there is a chance.” Peter immediately responded, anxious for help.
“Your choice, your hell, Parker.”
“Just give me the name and number.” Peter growled.
“Very well…your ‘chance,’ the kid’s best shot is an ex-agent.”
“Her name is Carol Danvers.”
A
Carol Danvers sat, legs held tightly to her chest, watching basketball, a mug of coffee in her hands. The Brooklyn Nets were playing the Heat. The Heat were up by 6 with a minute-thirty-two in the third quarter. Deron Williams, the Nets’ star point guard, was yelling at his center, Brook Lopez.
Brook had been his favorite player on the Nets, his favorite team.
Carol pulled her legs in tighter. Ever since his death, Carol had found herself watching professional basketball more and more, specifically the Nets. Carol grimly laughed at the thought that she, as well as watching pro basketball, couldn’t even bring herself to think—let alone say—his name since he’d died. Since he had…
Carol was distracted by a loud thump that came from just outside, near the fire escape. The cause of the noise, as Carol found out, was a boy dressed in red and black spandex, a boy Carol recognized as Spider-Man.
Spider-Man politely knocked on Carol’s window, and motioned to be let in. Carol sighed. Fury must have sent the kid in response to Carol’s…well, what should she call it? Cry for help? She guessed that would work. The “cry for help” had become something Carol regretted. Fury was the reason for her problem; he’d been the one to recommend Carol go see Dr. Sofen. It had seemed like a good idea at first, until the bitch had tried—and somewhat succeeded, Carol reminded herself—to take her powers. Fury had apologized profusely and said that he would immediately get S.H.I.E.L.D. on the case. It didn’t change the matter. Yet again, Fury had indirectly screwed up Carol’s life.
Carol reluctantly stood up and opened the fire escape for the teen hero. Immediately upon entering the apartment, Spider-Man collapsed on the ground. The kid’s breathing was ragged, Carol noticed, and he appeared exhausted…no, more than that. Carol could smell the blood, a scent Carol sadly realized she was all too familiar with.
“So, S.H.I.E.L.D.’s employing kids now?” Carol sarcastically asked, sitting back down on her couch, choosing to ignore the teenager’s apparent injuries.
“S.H.I.E.L.D.? What the hell is S.H.I.E.L.D.?” Spider-Man replied, “I…” he took a breath “I’m Spider-Man. Like, the friendly neighborhood type.”
“And I need your help.”
Carol sat forward in the seat. Spider-Man’s response…Carol had been a spy long enough to know when someone was lying…he wasn’t. He had no clue what S.H.I.E.L.D. was. Suddenly, Carol’s anger subsided and guilt overwhelmed her. She rushed to the teenager’s side and helped him into a chair.
“What’s wrong? You’re hurt, I can tell. Do you need medical attention? Should I…”
“Stop,” Spider-Man pushed Carol away, “Please, stop. I…yeah, I’m injured. That’s partly why I’m here. Nick Fury told me…”
Carol suddenly backed up into a defensive stance. The kid had lied to her. The son of… “You lied!”
“What? About what?!” Spider-Man held his hands up defensively, as if he was afraid Carol was going to hit him.
“You said you didn’t know Fury. You said…” Carol accused, but Spider-Man interrupted her.
“No, no, no. I said I didn’t know what S.H.I.E.L.D. is, not Nick Fury. Well, I don’t really know him but my boss, he does. He trusts him, and apparently Fury really trusts you, miss…Danvers? Marvel? What do you want me to call you?” Spider-Man asked, relaxing now as Carol calmed down again and sat down.
“Marvel. Miss…I mean, Carol Marvel is fine.” The boy knew about her past. About her husband. Fury had told him…Carol took a deep breath and controlled her anger. She wasn’t going to take her anger out on some innocent kid, assuming his story was true.
Carol rebounded before Spider-Man could speak up, “You’re injured, and you said you had a ‘boss.’ Why would your boss let you come to me, injured, instead of just coming himself?”
Spider-Man rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed. By what, Carol wasn’t sure. “I…It was on my request. Actually, that’s not really true. I just kind of charged out on him. But it’s really fine. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I am.” Spider-Man demanded.
Carol sighed. She knew his type. Stubborn, determined, unable to sit still…just like her. She accepted his response, and asked one simple question, the most important question she could ask, “You asked for my help. Why?”
Spider-Man’s expression appeared unchanged, but by his response Carol knew he was clearly very upset, and very, very afraid. “I need you to fight with me, Ms. Marvel.”
The boy rushed on before Carol could respond, “I fought one of the older Spider-Man’s foes today, Kraven. He…he beat me within an inch of my life. I thought it was over, that he was going to break my neck and be done with me…but…but he didn’t. He gave me an ultimatum. I give up being Spider-Man or, in 24 hours, I die.”
“I’m scared. Really scared.”
Carol immediately jumped in. She knew what her response would be the second she heard ‘give up on being Spider-Man.’ “Stop it. Don’t be a hero. Nobody asked you to.”
“I…I can’t,” Spider-Man interjected.
“Why? Cause your boss said you couldn’t? That’s bull. All…all of this hero business is bull. You know what happens to heroes? They die, kid. What’s the saying? The good die young? If you keep this up, that’ll be the title of your biography.” Carol just let the words fall out. She’d been waiting to say them, to gush, for months. Her feelings, her emotions, everything exploded outward, “Your parents, what would they say if they knew about you? And how would they feel if you died?”
“How do you know my parents don’t know…”
“I know these things, kid. Listen, you don’t believe me, just look at the last Spider-Man. He was a hero, he saved people, and what happened to him? He got killed,” Spider-Man’s body tensed upon this statement, as if what Carol had said was false, “Listen, kid, everybody always has expectations for you, constantly tells you to change the world. Well, they can all go to hell. The world can’t be changed. The good always die and the bad win. This isn’t a movie. This is the real world. And if you don’t believe that—if you don’t take that to heart—not only will you get yourself killed, but you’ll also get the people you love killed…or worse.”
Carol nearly fell out of her chair at Spider-Man’s response. Upon Carol finishing her lecture, Spider-Man immediately pulled off his mask and exposed a very young, very scared, ebony-colored face. But hidden under all of the fear was a powerful, fiery determination.
“My name is Miles Morales. I’m fifteen years old. I live with my parents, Rio and Jefferson Morales. I’m an ordinary kid from Brooklyn who’s experienced extraordinary thing, and I’m telling you, Ms. Marvel, I can’t.” Spider-Man took a deep breath and continued on, “You didn’t let me finish what I was saying earlier. I am very scared, but not for me. I’m scared for my parents, for my friends, for all the people close to me. I’m scared that my death, it’ll hurt them. I know it will. God, I know it will.” The boy held his head in his hands, “But I can’t let that stop me. Miss Marvel…Carol, there was a saying, something the old Spider-Man went by. With great power comes great responsibility. I was given these powers for a reason, and I sure as hell am not going to just give up because someone threatens to kill me. I’m not going to give up even though I know he can kill me. What I do…it isn’t for me. It’s for everyone else. I am Spider-Man because it’s the right thing to do and because the world can be changed.”
“One of my best friends tried to kill me, I constantly lie to my parents, to the people I love, and I come home every night beaten to hell. You know what I get in payment for sacrificing all that I do? Anger. Hate. Doubt. Nobody likes me. Hell, my own father thinks Spider-Man should be arrested. But does that stop me? Hell no! With great power comes great responsibility. And, Ms. Marvel, I want you to know that I’m going to take that to heart. I’ll believe that till the day I die, whether it be tomorrow or fifty years from now.” Spider-Man stood up from the chair and approached the fire escape. He put on his mask. Before he left he said one last thing.
“Ms. Marvel, if you choose to help me, be at my home at 801 NE 39th Street by 10 AM. If you don’t show by then, then I’ll know I’m in on this alone.” And with that final word, Spider-Man ducked out from under the fire escape and swung away.
Carol was left in shock. The boy’s confession, his argument…it had hit her hard. She hadn’t been this shaken up since Walter’s death. Walter, the baby, it had driven her into depression, caused her to become angry at everything and everyone. But Miles…he had just as much, if not more, problems than Carol and did he let that bring him down? No, he didn’t even let it stop him from saving lives. He hadn’t taken a break. He wouldn’t. Maybe he was right. Maybe the world could be changed. Maybe everything could get better.
But Carol knew it wouldn’t change, not as long as she allowed herself to sulk in her bed. Not as long as she stayed a weak, broken woman. To change the world, and to change herself, Carol had to become more than what she was. She had to make just as great a sacrifice as Walter had. She was going to help Miles, and she wasn’t going to stop there. Miles was right: with great power comes great responsibility. And she had a hell of a lot of power.
She would change, get over Walter, but not as Carol Danvers, or even Carol Marvel. The limit to what she could do, what she could change, wasn’t tied down by other people, whether it be Fury, her dead husband, or anyone else. Carol now realized, as she looked out over the sunset, that the sky was the limit. Not for Carol Danvers, agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., or Carol Marvel, adoring wife, but as a hero, as…
Captain Marvel!
A
The raging sun unleashed its fury upon Bruce Banner as he trudged meaninglessly through the deserts of Egypt. He’d been wandering for days now. Any other man would have died of dehydration by this point, but not him, not with his curse. Bruce was grimly reminded of his predicament. Gamma radiation plus measly scientist equals endlessly enraged god of a monster, the Hulk. It was the equation that had begun to degrade science and math in the mind of the exhausted scientist.
All Bruce had done since he’d…met the Other Guy was run away from a military that wanted him captured, dead or alive. He’d brawled with other beasts, just as powerful as his own inner demon, and murdered countless innocents. And he hated it. The damage, the fear…the anger.
He was done running. He was going to cure this condition he had. He was going to kill the Hulk. But to do that, Bruce had to accomplish one thing…
He had to go home.