Post by Drake on Jan 22, 2016 21:56:20 GMT -5
#16: Marked for Destruction Part 1
Christmas Vacation
By Drake
…
Waking up was agony. Peter’s bones ached, his muscles burned, and his skin felt as dry as sandpaper. Sitting up made everything about ten times worse. Peter grabbed his core and cried out, cutting off Blackie’s snores and waking him up. The techie blinked away exhaustion and quickly stood up from his roller chair, knocking it away.
“Peter, don’t move,” Blackie warned.
“Too late,” Peter grimaced, beginning to push himself off the cold metal table that had been his makeshift bed.
“I meant any more!” Blackie hurriedly added, as he gently held Peter back.
Peter nearly told the other man to back off, but thought better of it as he slowly noticed the patches and stitches littering his body. Blackie had cleaned him up. He’d done his best to care for him. Peter tried to smile, but, thinking of something else, didn’t, and looked around. The base was empty as far as he could see.
“No one’s come in yet. It’s six in the morning.” Blackie cautiously looked Peter over. “What the hell happened, man? You spazzed out, tore off the symbiote, and collapsed here. …Listen, I lied to Mr. Osborn for you. You woke up for like half a minute and told me to hide you. We’re in the mailroom, the fucking mailroom. You owe me, man. Talk.”
“You sure no one’s here?” Peter asked.
“Yes. Yes!” Blackie repeated. He was becoming progressively more aware of Peter’s paranoia. What was wrong with him?
“Turn off the cameras. Better yet, replace all the footage from the last twelve hours with shots of you resting. Keep it going ‘till I leave,” Peter said, glancing around.
“Peter—“
“Do it!” Peter demanded.
Blackie sighed, but raised his arm and began to type into his OsWatch. “While I’m doing this…you talk.”
Peter looked at Blackie. He squinted, as if to make out any disdain or fear in Blackie’s eyes. When he found none, he relaxed, and put his head in his hands.
“Norman’s fucking evil,” Peter said, the sound muffled.
“Don’t talk into your hands,” Blackie interjected.
Peter grunted in frustration, but obliged. “Norman’s a cruel, sick, evil man.”
“Um…okay. Strong choice of words, but whatever,” Blackie muttered, typing away.
Peter shook his head. “He cloned me. Like, a lot.” Blackie looked up, eyes wide. Peter continued, “Bastard blackmailed me into the job too. And the symbiote? Some OsCorp bullshit that was trying to take control of my mind.”
“…you’re serious?” Blackie wondered. Peter glared back. “That serious. Okay.”
Blackie focused back on his watch for a moment, finished typing, and then looked back up. “Did what you wanted. No one will know you were here…but Peter…that’s a serious accusation. If you’re not telling the truth, then you need help. Serious help. But if you are telling the truth, then…”
Blackie collapsed back onto his chair and massaged his forehead. “Holy shit. I could be working for a supervillain.”
“We’re so far down the rabbit hole it’s not even funny,” Peter replied, half-smirking.
Blackie looked up, serious, before cracking a smile and chuckling. “God, Peter, that’s the only reason I trust you. Your goddamn sense of humor. It’s so…” He shook his head.
“Obnoxiously charming?” Peter tried.
Blackie smirked. “Human.”
Peter didn’t smile back. In fact, he frowned. Looking down at his hands, Peter thought for a moment and then took a deep breath. He slid off the table before Blackie could stop him. Peter stumbled for a moment, but managed to steady himself and stand tall.
“I have to go. I can’t stay hidden forever,” Peter said.
Blackie frowned. “So, what? You’re gonna confront Mr. Osborn?”
“No. Not yet.” Peter looked back and managed to wink. “I’m gonna hide someplace else.”
“You’re ridiculous, you know that? Freaking ridiculous.” Blackie quickly gave Peter a once over, too frustrated to laugh. “And you’re not going out in your underwear.”
“Why? It wouldn’t be any different than usual,” Peter joked. Before Blackie could reply, he added, “I’m not going streaking. Relax. I’ve got this covered.”
Blackie cocked an eyebrow. “The old suit?”
Peter smirked, eyes brightening for a moment. “The old suit.”
…
Waking up was a pleasure for Gwen. Her muscles felt loose. She’d managed to shower the night before, so her hair was soft and her skin clean. She felt like a million dollars. Sitting up, she looked across to Mary Jane’s side of the room, covered in rock band posters and acting memorabilia. Currently, the cot was MJ-less. Gwen smirked. Her roommate hadn’t been home last night when Gwen had fallen asleep, which meant she’d spent the night with one of her boy toys.
“Classic Mary,” Gwen mumbled, crawling out of bed in nothing but a large T-shirt and panties.
She plopped down into her Spider-Woman slippers. Those had been Mary Jane’s idea. They’d started as Spider-Man apparel, but after OsCorp…
Gwen shook her head. Spider-Man had gone too far. To think, she and MJ both had once had Spider-Man posters to accompany MJ’s rock bands, actors, and Gwen’s Einstein poster. She looked up at the image of the wild-haired man, and silently read, “Anyone who has never made a mistake has never tried anything new.” Maybe Spider-Man still had a chance. Maybe.
Within minutes, Gwen had slipped on most of her costume under civvies, tied back her hair into a ponytail, brushed her teeth, and was ready to go. Stuffing her mask and gloves into her purse, she exited the room. As she trotted down the stairs to the first floor of the building, she produced her phone and looked at the lock screen. 7:36. Still a little early to call Mary.
Gwen smiled, as she opened up the front door and emerged out into a bright sunny day. It was December in New York. To have a day like this could be considered nothing short of a miracle. So, she had a couple hours to spare. The sun was out. It was going to be good day. She could get a cup of coffee with Peter, if he was up for it.
Peter…Gwen frowned. He hadn’t replied to any of her texts or calls. It had nearly been a day since she’d spoken to him. What if he was hurt? What if he’d been injured in Spider-Man’s freak out, or…?
She had dialed his number before she knew what she was doing. It went straight to voice mail.
“Hey, this is Peter! Sorry I can’t answer my phone right now. I’m probably making a fool out of myself, or enjoying my double life as Iron Man, or both. I’ll call you back when I can. Thanks! Bye!”
Gwen’s arm slumped to her side. She could look for him, but the chances of finding one person in a city of millions were less than her winning the lottery. Maybe May knew where he was.
With that thought, she dialed May’s number, and continued to walk away.
…
Peter managed to make it to his room without being sighted, which certainly seemed unusual considering how little effort he put in to remaining subtle. Nearly no one was on campus, so even sneaking up to his room in a mask-less Spidey costume resulted in absolutely no trouble. Truth be told, the trouble came when he reached the door to his room, and realized he didn’t have his room key…or anything else.
“Shit,” Peter whispered, checking his pockets again. He hadn’t had anything on him when he’d stumbled into the base half-dead. No phone, no wallet, nothing. Great, just what he needed. His valuables were stuck under a mountain of concert debris, ready to be found by an all too curious detective.
Peter sighed, placed his hand on the doorknob, and looked around. Nobody was awake. He took a quick breath, and then pushed down. The lock broke, and he managed to push the door open. Entering the room, he checked to see if he’d woken Rich. As it turned out, his roommate was out. He’d left a note on the door:
“Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and all that. I’m going to be staying with my parents out in Hempstead over the break. See ya when I see ya. Rich.”
Christmas break? Peter had completely forgotten. Thank God. That meant he had some free time to figure out what to do.
Peter pulled the note from the door, and tossed it in the trash. That was nice of Rich, but it was odd that he hadn’t just texted him. Peter sighed. Or maybe he had texted him, but left the note after getting no response.
Peter made a makeshift lock by webbing the door shut—that would be a pain to get out later—and hopped up onto his cot. In just moments, he had stripped off his Spider-Man hoodie and collapsed headfirst onto his pillow. Half a minute later, Peter’s exhaustion kicked in and he was snoring, asleep.
…
“Grande caramel macchiato for Gwen,” the barista called out.
The blonde nodded and took the drink. The barista glanced at her and then got back to work. Gwen stepped back, and sipped her drink.
She could leave. She should leave and look for Peter. May, Harry, everyone had said they didn’t know where he was. Well, not quite everyone. She hadn’t tried Mary Jane yet. Gwen frowned. What if Peter and Mary had…? Then again, Rich hadn’t answered either, so maybe the two boys were asleep, hung over or something. It had been the night before Winter Break, after all. But why hadn’t Peter responded to her all night?
Gwen looked around the small coffee shop. She needed to get her mind off of this. She couldn’t do much as is. Gwen noticed a man—old, thin, bald—sitting alone, cooped over his drink at a two-person table in the corner of the room. He looked grumpy, unhappy, probably depressed. In fact, he looked sick. She’d seen him there every day, but never spoken up before. That settled it. Gwen approached the man.
“Mind if I sit here?” Gwen asked, already in the seat.
The old man looked up from his drink and glared at her over his beak-like nose. He didn’t offer more of a response.
“I’m Gwen.” The girl smiled and extended her hand. The old man didn’t take it. After a few moments, she slid her hand back to her drink and took a swig.
“Must we do this?” the old man coolly said.
Gwen’s upbeat expression faltered for a moment, but she continued strong. “I’m sorry. My boyfriend is missing, and I didn’t want to drink this alone. You looked like you could use some company, so I came over here.”
The old man sighed, shutting his eyes for a moment. “I’m not that type of man. I will not fulfill whatever sick, age-inappropriate, daddy issue desires you—“
“Oh God, no. I made that sound weird, didn’t I? Um, I’m not here to…yeah. I just want to talk. You’d be like my Grampa, anyway,” Gwen stammered. She shook her head. “Not that I have daddy issues. Or grandpa issues. Or that you look old—“
“Excuse me,” the old man, standing up.
“No!” Gwen blurted. The old man paused and looked at her. She didn’t try to hide the billion swirling emotions in her eyes. “Please…”
The old man looked her over for a moment with no sexual intention, as if he was sizing her up for a fight. His frown seemed to deepen, if that was even possible.
“Give me one reason to stay,” the old man said, sitting back down.
Gwen smiled. “Um, for starters, I’ve got a wicked sense of humor.”
The old man stood again.
“I go to Empire State University! I’m a biology major! I—“ Gwen struggled for anything that might keep the man from leaving as he slowly hobbled away. “I work for OsCorp—“
The old man froze in place. He turned around. Slowly, a smile ghosted over his lips.
“OsCorp?” the man clarified.
“Yep. I’m a…uh, research assistant,” Gwen admitted.
The old man returned to his seat. “Do tell me more.”
Gwen frowned. This was about as weird and creepy as you could get, but the old man couldn’t be dangerous…right?
“First, your name,” Gwen cautiously said.
The man cocked his head to the side, smiling, and cooed, “Toomes. My name is Adrian Toomes.”
…
Knocking awakened Peter. He covered his head with his pillow to block out the noise, but couldn’t ignore the yelling that came with it.
Harry called out from the other side of the door, “Peter! I know you’re in there! I can see the…” His voice quieted to a whisper. “The webbing. Open up.”
Peter moaned, rubbed his eyes, and slid out of bed. He ripped a chunk of webbing from between the crack in the door, but couldn’t get most of it. So, he resorted to brute force. Peter ripped the door off its hinges.
“Jesus, Pete!” Harry glanced around the hallway. A few holiday stragglers rummaged around, but all looked too tired or hung over to care about a door breaking. “Somebody might see you.”
“Yeah, well, whoopdie fucking doo,” Peter grumbled, forcing the door back in after Harry entered. “I’m guessing your Dad sent you?”
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m worried about you, Pete. The whole city’s after you. My dad’s under pressure to fire you…” Harry’s expression darkened. “And to release your identity to the public.”
Peter scowled. “What’s stopping him?”
“He has a solution. An excuse, too. But you need to come in,” Harry said. Suddenly, his face perked up, and he lightly smacked his own head. “Doi! I totally forgot! I have your phone, wallet, everything! Well, not everything, but you get what I’m saying…”
As Harry rummaged through his pockets for Peter’s belongings, the brunet resisted the urge to scream. His stuff? That’s great, but returning to work? After all the crap he’d been through? No way. No way in hell.
“Here.” Harry offered Peter’s cracked phone, ragged wallet, ID card, and house key with a smile. “My dad got to it before the cops could. Benefits of working with SHIELD, and all that.”
Peter forced a smile in thanks, taking his belongings. He then proceeded to toss them onto his bed. “I can’t go back to OsTower.”
“You don’t stand a chance on your own. Pete, if you don’t talk to my dad, if you don’t work this out, Spider-Man’s finished. You might be too. You don’t really have a choice,” Harry said.
“Yeah, that’s what your goddamn father has been telling me for months, and you know what? I’m sick of it! I’m sick of all his bullshit!” Peter slowly built up volume as he spoke. “I’m the one with superpowers! He should be afraid of me!”
“Pete—“
The brunet turned away, whispering, “Maybe the symbiote was right. Maybe I’ve always been capable of…”
Quietly, but firmly, Peter said, “Leave. Please.”
“Peter, I—“
“I won’t ask again.”
Harry looked at his friend, caught between two worlds and two very strong feelings. Then, he left without a word, leaving the door half open.
Peter turned back only after his friend had left. When he did so, he collapsed onto his knees, held his head in his hands, and sobbed. He was weak. He was cruel. His life was falling apart. What could he do? What could he do to fix any of it?
”You can start with a phone call, Michelangelo.”
Peter’s head shot up. Eyes blood shot, he looked around.
“Ben…?”
But no one was around. He sighed, and leaned back against his bedpost.
“Great. I’m losing it,” he muttered.
Suddenly, a head peeked through the opening between the door and the wall.
Smiling, a scruffy teen began, “Dude, you rave hard…”
Peter glared up at him with puffy eyes.
“Um…happy holiday?” the teen said, gulping, before running off.
…
“So, we still have no idea what happened. I know as much as the public does. The accident was...” Gwen shrugged. “Kept under wraps.”
“Mhm.” Toomes nodded, blankly examining the blonde. This discussion was getting him nowhere, but there was something about this girl…
“Tell me something about yourself,” Gwen said.
Toomes sipped his coffee. “There’s not much to tell.”
“I don’t believe that,” Gwen retorted.
Toomes sighed. “Very well. I’m a businessman…an entrepreneur.”
“Go on,” Gwen pushed.
“I deal in…tools. You could say I own a small business Ace Hardware. However, I have, I’ll admit, grandiose aspirations,” Toomes said.
“To do what?”
“Enough about me. What else goes on around OsCorp? I’m curious if there’s anything I might learn that could help my business,” Toomes said. After a moment, he added, “Help me build it, of course.”
Gwen managed a smile, but didn’t immediately respond. She knew something was up. She was a detective’s daughter after all. Toomes hadn’t told her the truth…not all of it, anyway.
“I dunno. Not much happens. Nothing I’m privy to, anyway. What’s your business called?” Gwen asked.
“Toomes’ Tools,” the old man instantly replied.
“Really? Never heard of it,” Gwen said.
“We’re a bit…out of the way. What can I expect from OsCorp in the near future? Is there anything you can tease?”
“No. Where are you located?”
“It doesn’t really matter.”
“It does to me. I’d like to visit you sometime.”
“Yes, well…” Toomes quieted. He expected anger. He expected to grow frustrated with Gwen, but he hadn’t. He knew she suspected something, but that didn’t bother him.
’She’s fiery, determined, but desperate, like…me.’
“I have cancer,” Toomes blurted. Gwen’s eyes widened in shock. The old man looked down at his dark reflection in his coffee. “I lied about my business. It…went under. I’ve tried to rebuild it, but I’m afraid things won’t go as planned. I want to leave a legacy behind, but…”
“My God, I’m so sorry,” Gwen apologized. His baldness, gaunt look, manic personality, it all made sense.
“Yes, well…I have come to terms with my illness. I haven’t, however, given up on my dreams.” Toomes looked up, gaze darkened. “I will not die a failure.”
Gwen glanced away, sipped her drink, and then looked back at the old man. She wanted to ask, needed to ask, “Why…why are you telling me this?”
Toomes struggled for a proper response. Truth be told, even he didn’t know why he’d opened up so easily, so quickly. He hadn’t told anyone else the truth.
“We’re…kindred spirits, you and I. And perhaps…”
Gwen’s phone rang. Her hand immediately shot to her pocket, and she silenced it.
“You can answer that,” Toomes said.
Maybe it was Peter, Gwen thought, but even then… “It can wait.”
Toomes nodded, smiling slightly. “As I was saying, perhaps the reason I spoke so honestly, so suddenly was because I wanted someone…someone special to know the truth.”
Slowly, his smile grew as he continued, “In fact, it might be good for someone to know all of it, to know all of my story.”
“I still don’t understand…” Gwen began.
“No, neither do I, but maybe we will,” Toomes said. He drank the last of his coffee, and then set the cup down with trembling hands. “Meet me here tomorrow at 8 o’clock. I can begin my story, and you, if you so wish, can tell me some of yours. For now, go. Return that call. Find your boyfriend.”
Gwen didn’t nod, but didn’t argue either. She stood up. “I’ll…I’ll be here.”
Toomes smiled and nodded, “Goodbye, Gwen.”
“Goodbye.”
…
“Answer. Please, answer…” Peter muttered, his phone held up to his ear. Gwen hadn’t at first, but maybe…
“Peter?
Peter’s face lit up. “Gwen!”
“Oh my God, Peter! Where are you?” Gwen wondered, anger and relief struggling against one another in her mind.
“I’m…” Peter looked at his broken door. “I’m in my dorm room. I spent the night…out.”
“What the hell happened?” Gwen demanded.
“Jonah wanted me to take pix of the Spider-Man fiasco. I got…caught up in it, and my phone died, so I couldn’t…”
“Are you okay?!”
“Yeah…” Peter ignored the aching in his body that told him otherwise. “Yeah, I’m fine. How are you?”
“Fine. Peter—“
“Hey, don’t worry about me. I swear I’m okay. Listen, I…” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose. “I need to see you. A lot’s happened, and we…we need to talk.”
“Okay…” Gwen seemed hesitant. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
“Yes. Call Harry. I ran into him; he’ll vouch for me.” I hope. “Can I meet you at your room in, like, two hours?”
“Yes, of course. Honey…”
“Bye, Gwen,” Peter interjected.
“Pete—“
Peter hung up. That was one call…and it hadn’t gone well. Now, the next. Peter pulled up his aunt’s number and dialed it. After the first ring, she answered.
“Peter?!”
“Hey, Aunt May—“
“Thank Heavens! Are you okay?”
“Yes, yeah, I’m fine. I just wanted to call to let you know that—“
“Have you called Gwen?”
“Yes, I—“
“What’s wrong with you, Peter? We were worried sick about you! I swear, if you’re going to continue your—your lifestyle, then you have to keep in touch! Otherwise, I can only assume the worst!” May scolded.
“I’m sorry; I—“ Peter’s voice cracked. “I’m in trouble, Aunt May, and I...”
Quiet.
May’s intensity faltered as she began, “Peter…”
“That was a mistake. I—I’m an adult now, and I have to be able to handle my own problems—“
“—That’s not true, Peter. I can—“
“—I love you, Aunt May. You’re the best mom a guy could ask for. I just…I have to deal with this on my own. Bye.”
“Peter, please don’t—“
“Goodbye, Aunt May,” Peter gently repeated.
Silence for a moment, and then, “Goodbye, Peter.”
Peter ended the call, and tossed his phone onto his bed. Then, piece by piece, he removed the remains of his costume, each article of clothing thrown more forcefully than the last, until he was left in nothing but his boxers and web shooters. Of course, the gadgets had to go too. He unlocked each of the web shooters and allowed them to fall to the floor with a quiet thump.
Sitting down, Peter took a deep breath. He hadn’t lied to May. He genuinely believed that because he was eighteen and on his own it was his duty to solve his own problems. It only made sense. So, what was step one? How could he fix everything?
Peter spent almost an hour thinking before he realized, no matter how whimsical or wacky the idea, his best solutions always resulted in him returning to OsCorp. The job, the resources, and the people had become necessities. He couldn’t remember what it was like to handle superheroics alone. Then again, that had been a different, far less complicated time.
Peter sighed and stood up. He’d made up his mind. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to go to work, at least for now…
As Peter slipped on clean clothing—including a blue hoodie—and his mask-bandana combo, his mind kept wandering back to the same line of thought. Just how had he survived being Spider-Man on his own? Poor, alone, scared, how had he handled it? He had to find out. He had to remember. If he couldn’t, well, then he’d never escape Osborn.
Maybe, just maybe, Spider-Woman could help. After all, she was working on her own, right?
…
“Spider-Woman to Home Base, the eagle has landed.”
Swinging high above the heads of everyday New Yorkers, Spider-Woman held back cheers. Peter was alive. Sure, something was clearly wrong, but after almost a day of worrying she’d take whatever good news she could get, especially after her talk with Toomes. Speaking of…
’Toomes…Adrian Toomes…where have I heard that name before?’
“Spider-Woman to Home Base, can you hear me?” Spider-Woman said into her earpiece. The line remained static-free, so her partner had answered, but for some reason she hadn’t spoken up yet.
“Um…yeah,” finally came Home Base’s voice.
“The eagle has landed. I repeat, the eagle has landed,” Spider-Woman shouted over the wind.
“Are we talking about the President here, or…?”
“Peter is fine!” Spider-Woman exclaimed, flipping.
“Oh. Great! That’s awesome,” Home Base said. “But I totally called it.”
“Pat yourself on the back, go another round with your boy toy, whatever. Celebrate your cheap victory.” Spider-Woman paused for a moment, before excitedly continuing, “Who is it this time? Anyone I know?”
…
The redheaded ‘Home Base’ looked back at a nude boy who lay crookedly over an air mattress she didn’t recognize. In fact, she didn’t recognize the room she was in at all. The posters, memorabilia, et al were unfamiliar, although a quick glance out the bedroom door when she’d awoken allowed her to realize she was inside a frat house. The one thing, the one person she recognized was the sleeping boy: Richard Rider.
“Nope.” Mary Jane Watson held her phone up to her ear. “Nobody you know. His name is…Jason, I think.”
…
“Mary! You don’t even know his name?” Gwen teasingly scolded.
“What? All the frat boys have similar names—Jason, Chad, Mitchell—“ MJ said, before Gwen interrupted her.
“Okay, fine, fair point. Still, you’re a bitch,” the blonde playfully said.
“You know what I always say—“ MJ began.
The two girls chorused in unison, “Bitch and proud.”
Laughing, Spider-Woman continued, “I hope I don’t catch your bitch-itis.”
“First off, honey, who do you think I got it from?” Gwen heartedly ooed as MJ continued, “Second, you still need to work on your humor. It’s a wonder I haven’t given up on you and put on the suit myself.”
“’Cause you’re soooo funny,” Gwen shot back, still light in tone.
“And don’t you forget it,” MJ said. Before Gwen could offer a witty—or, potentially, attempted witty—retort, the redhead added, “I have to get dressed and get out of here. Keep on patrolling, kicking criminals’ asses, the same ol’, same ol’, and I’ll be back in a few.”
“Kay. Talk to you later,” Spider-Woman said.
“Bye.”
…
Walking into the base was about the most difficult thing Peter had had to do all week, and just the night before he’d fought a supervillain and torn off an evil super-suit. Motivation, however, was the key here. Peter had very little desire to talk to Norman Osborn ever again, let alone so soon.
“C’est la vie,” Peter whispered as he stepped out of the elevator.
As it turned out, most of the Spider-team was waiting for him. You had Lee and Bendis, the 2/3-complete science team that kept his tech up to date. Then there was Ditko, Bagley, and Pichelli, the stylists who’d originally designed the black suit’s look and had updated it every few weeks since its first appearance. Blackie Drago sat at his usual place at the computer terminal, ready, willing, and able to run mission ops. Lastly, Norman, the boss, stood stoically at the front of the room, while Harry, the cheerleader, rested on a swivel chair in the corner.
“What’s kicking, boys and girls?” Peter greeted, forcing a smile.
“Mr. Parker, I’m glad you’ve agreed to meet with us,” Norman said.
“Oh dear God, please do not tell me you went out in that,” Bagley muttered, horrified, as he pointed at Peter’s provisional costume.
The brunet looked down at himself, “Um…yeah, moving on, glad to be here.”
Norman cocked an eyebrow.
Peter shot back with a smile he consciously made noticeably fake. “I’m lying, of course. Start talking, Norman, before I up and leave.”
Blackie and Harry both offered Peter worried looks as ‘the boss’ spoke.
“I would treat me with more respect, if I were you, Mr. Parker, particularly considering the situation you’re in,” Norman coolly remarked. “After all, I was not the one who terrorized a concert to such an extent that the police released a warrant for my arrest.”
Peter glared back, picking his words carefully as he responded, “No, you’re the one who gave me a faulty sentient suit that tried to take over my mind.” Gasps from the designers and scientists. Norman’s stone cold expression faltered for a moment.
“You’re the one,” Peter continued, “Who designed a prison that couldn’t hold its prisoners. You’re the one who owns me, so you’re the one who owns this mess.”
The last comment left Norman conflicted, but he swallowed his emotions and said, “Yes, you are correct. This is a difficult time for OsCorp, which is why I need your full cooperation to return the company and your image to their former glory.”
Peter crossed his arms and nodded. “Go on.”
The tension in the room dropped, and Harry audibly sighed. Blackie shared a knowing glance with Peter, and then turned to the computer console to pull up a few files. Meanwhile, Lee spoke up.
“Listen, Palmer—“
“Parker,” Peter interjected.
“Right, whatever.” Lee shook his head. “The symbiote wasn’t sentient. The nanites were advanced, but they weren’t…”
Peter quieted the man with a glare. Lee looked to his fellow scientist for support, but Bendis merely shrugged in response. Norman didn’t even look at the man.
“The plan is multi-faceted, and, admittedly, very complex.” Norman began, drawing everyone’s attention away from the suit. “It also hinges on there being a minimal number of X-factors.”
“Good luck with that,” Peter muttered. Norman shot a venomous look at the boy, who rolled his eyes and motioned for him to continue.
“After LaMuerto’s escape…”
Peter resisted the urge to exclaim in surprise. It wouldn’t get him anywhere, and, after all, he shouldn’t be surprised. Norman hadn’t exactly been competent about keeping supervillains imprisoned.
“…And your arrest warrant, public approval of Spider-Man is down over fifty percent. That is, obviously, our first and greatest obstacle to hurdle. Of course, there’s the Dead End issue, and, Mr. Parker, I’m also sorry to admit we have a greater, more personal problem to contend with. While in Latveria for a, shall we say, one of a kind business deal, Otto Octavius was arrested by Victor Von Doom.”
Peter looked at Blackie, who simply stared at the ground, expression darkened. Poor guy. That was his uncle.
Norman smiled slightly as Peter remained silent. How unusual.
“Von Doom betrayed our agreement and took Octavius and the representatives of other corporations into custody. We have not heard back from Latveria’s government since the kidnapping. Now, I have a potential solution to all of these problems…”
“You want me to infiltrate Latveria and rescue the prisoners,” Peter interrupted.
“Yes—” Norman admitted, nodding.
“—That’s great, yeah, I’ll do it, but that isn’t an end-all, be-all solution to our problems,” Peter said.
“If you’d let me finish, you would understand that isn’t the complete plan,” Norman growled. Peter remained quiet, so Norman carried on, “Your brand is damaged, but thankfully the public isn’t aware of your secret identity. Therefore, it’s plausible for us to present the notion that once Spider-Man came to work for OsCorp, we created a group of heroes to extend ‘Spider-Man’s’ reach. One of those heroes went rogue, and we shut him down. Now, before you ask, I already have a willing employee who will immediately go into Witness Protection upon the public announcement of this program, and who will receive just compensation of ten million dollars for his service.”
“That’s horrible. That man—“
“Can make his own decisions, Mr. Parker. He is an adult,” Norman said.
Peter tightened his hands into fists and resisted the urge to assault Norman. He let the man continue.
“Of course, the Spider-Men program will not solve all of our problems. The public will be skeptical, which is why we’ll need to rebrand everything. For starters, a new costume for you,” Norman explained.
The designers looked at one another, surprised. Peter knew that Norman had only come up with that part of the plan after discovering he knew the truth about the black suit.
“And we’ll need to approach the Spider-Men program with a more liberal bent. We’ll need women, but that ultimately is our problem to solve. For now, anyway.”
Peter frowned, but didn’t speak up.
“The first thing you can do to help is to complete your mission, which we can then use to reaffirm public support for Spider-Man and to offer to SHIELD as proof of your competence.”
Norman extended his hands, as if he’d just explained the most coherent, confidence-inspiring plan in history. However, Peter’s feelings lay on the other end of the spectrum.
I’m going to die. The plan is going to fail, and I’m going to die. I’m working for a lunatic. Even worse, I’m working for a lunatic who thinks he’s sane!
“I’m in,” Peter blurted.
The others, sans Norman, stared back at him with wide eyes. None of them had expected such an immediate, confident response. Who would?
“So,” Peter smiled, pulling on his sweatshirt, “What am I wearing?”
…
WEEOO WEEOO!
Spider-Woman was drawn to the sounds of police sirens, or more particularly four cruisers that raced down Brooklyn streets as if they were chasing a getaway car. However, as it turned out, they weren’t. The police cruisers skidded to a halt outside a bank, as Spider-Woman landed atop a roof across the street for a decent view.
The cops wasted no time rushing out of their vehicles and into the bank as civilians sprinted out, terrified. Odd. It was as if the crime had already occurred, but then why would the officers have drawn their firearms?
One last police cruiser arrived and parked. A man got out of the car…a man Spider-Woman recognized all too well. George Stacy confidently approached the bank, weapon drawn. Even weirder than the officers’ actions was the way George carried himself. Tall, proud, competent. It was like a complete 180 from the last time she’d seen him. This was what he was like on a case. God, she hadn’t seen him like this in years…
Spider-Woman found herself swinging down beside George, surprising him.
“Hey, Detective—“
“Jesus!” The man exclaimed, pointing his weapon at the hero, who immediately put her hands up.
“Sorry! So sorry! I didn’t think that one through,” Spider-Woman apologized. “I’m a good guy, remember?”
George frowned, but lowered his pistol. He continued his trek up to the bank.
“You shouldn’t be here. The city’s on alert after last night, and while you might not be Spider-Man…”
Spider-Woman scowled. “Yeah. I get it, but this is a crime scene.”
“Actually, as far as we know, the crime is in progress,” George admitted.
“What?”
The detective stopped just outside the bank and faced the hero. “That’s the other reason you shouldn’t be here. The perp robbed the bank and then disintegrated.”
“A teleporter?” Spider-Woman wondered.
“That’s what I’m thinking, but we don’t know for sure. The money’s still in there. He could still be in there,” George explained. He sighed, and shook his head. “Listen, you…superheroes, I know you try to do what’s right—most of the time, anyway. But this is a crime scene. That’s a cop’s jurisdiction. Go, before one of my boys in there sees you and I’m forced to do my job.”
Spider-Woman shook her head, arguing, “The perp’s got powers! That immediately makes this my jurisdiction, too! And to hell with your ‘boys!’”
“Lady—“
“Detective—“ A cop hurried out of the bank, but stopped when he saw Spider-Woman. Immediately, the man drew his pistol. “Freeze! Put your hands behind your head!”
George sighed, shaking his head, and began, “Kinsey, stand down.”
Spider-Woman raised her hands, but stared defiantly at the police officer. “I’m on your side, man.”
“Gwen, I’m back! What’s up?” MJ entered the conversation through Spider-Woman’s earpiece.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. The perp’s gone. There isn’t anything in there but sand and cash, and now this girl shows up…” Kinsey glared back at Spider-Woman.
“Wait, sand?” Spider-Woman wondered. Her heart felt like it had dropped down into her stomach. It couldn’t be…
“Gwen, what the hell is going on?” MJ demanded.
“Kinsey, please,” George begged.
“Detective Stacy, sir, cuff her,” Kinsey said.
“Did you say ‘sand?’” Gwen asked again.
“Stacy? I finally got ya…” came a rumbling voice from inside the bank.
“HOLY SHIT!” a cop cried out.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Gunfire echoed inside. Kinsey turned to face the bank as Spider-Woman and George stared on in shock. Suddenly, a wave of sand exploded out from the doorway and knocked Kinsey into a police cruiser. The other police officers’ screams quickly became muffled under the weight of gallons of grime.
“Gwen!” MJ cried out.
Spider-Woman stepped between George and the sand. “Stay back.”
“Oh my God…” George muttered as a large mound of the sand came together to form the upper half of a person.
Curly brown hair cut close to his head, eyes gleaming with excitement, and his odd striped green shirt taking shape over his chest, the sand man smiled cruelly.
“Been waitin’ a long time for this, Stacy.”
“Marko…?” George wondered.
“Flint Marko is dead.” The criminal lifted up his hand, which shifted into a spiked sand mace. “Long live Sandman.”