The Spider-Man: Chapter One
-Manhattan-
The man panted heavily as he ran across the Midtown rooftops, his black jumpsuit rippled by the wind. He slipped through a small space, narrowly avoiding a searchlight from a police helicopter. He stopped, leaning against a wall and pulling off his ski mask.
I'm getting too old for this. Walter Hardy was nearly forty years old and he still hadn't hung up his jumpsuit, or better yet, burnt the damn thing.
All these high risk heists were starting to take their toll on the middle aged man. His formerly blond hair was greying prematurely and his once bright eyes were now dull and lifeless.
Living as a cat burglar was not the way Walter Hardy had envisioned his life. He always wanted to be the breadwinner; the office worker that worked nine to five and would come home every night to his wife and daughter.
His daughter…
Oh, God, his daughter…
He had been so inattentive to his daughter lately. Hell, he didn't even know what school she went to. When was her birthday? Tomorrow? Yesterday? Yeah, it was probably yesterday. That would explain the squealing, the jumping and the overall energy of his usually quiet sixteen – no – seventeen year old daughter.
Walter was brought out of his musings by a torch beam lighting up his face, temporarily blinding him.
"I've got him! He's here!"
Walter didn't need to see to know that it was a cop that had discovered him. He blindly felt along the wall, looking for an escape route. He found one and sprinted down it, the cop close behind.
"Halt!"
Walter ignored the order and the following whistle, still leaping the alleys between buildings. The police chopper had found him again and he was locked in their spotlight. The rooftops were becoming more and more further to jump. Walter came to a horrible conclusion. The next building was in the middle of a square, a great distance to leap. His only hope was that the roof he was jumping to was slightly lower than the one he was leaping from. If he could truly launch himself upwards and outwards, gravity would do the rest.
The ledge came closer and closer.
Five feet…
Three feet…
One foot…
Now!
Walter leapt, pushing upwards with his legs and windmilling his arms for momentum. The cop following him skidded to a halt, unable to follow.
"Holy crap!"
Walter felt the wind blow back his hair and he realised he had left his ski mask back on the rooftops behind him. Then his velocity slowly reached zero and he hung in mid-air for a moment before falling, falling…
Walter landed, sprawling on the rough granite roof of an apartment complex. He quickly scrambled behind a water tower and slumped, panting. The spotlight of the helicopter was still trained on him and he took a moment to give them the finger before taking off, leaping yet another gap to a section of scaffolding on an unfinished building. He slipped down through the levels, the spotlight on him the whole time. He dropped and landed on a long stretch of metal. At the edge a few hundred metres away, a length of rope tied to a steel girder looped over on it. As Walter passed the rope, he snatched the end in one hand and wrapped it around his wrist for a secure grip. As he reached the end of the floor, he vaulted the low safety railing and dropped. The rope quickly unravelled and snapped taut. Walter jerked, the rope causing him to swing through a gap in the scaffolding. He landed, skidding to a stop in front of at least six police, nightsticks and stun guns drawn.
The police helicopter hovered by the building, its spotlight never wavering.
"Surrender immediately!" the pilot said over a megaphone. "We have you surrounded. Come quietly or else."
Walter smiled. "I live for the or else."
He ran forward, immediately engaging two men, using one's stun gun to zap another, stealing a nightstick and clubbing men with it. He used their strengths against them, tripping men, slamming their faces into steel poles and throwing them into each other.
Once all the police officers were down, knocked unconscious by Walter's blows, he wiped his brow on his sleeve and turned to the helicopter.
"This is your last warning," the pilot shouted. As he spoke, a Gatling gun descended from the chopper, swivelling to focus on Walter. "Surrender now or we will open fire."
Walter ran.
He could hear the gun begin to spin, hear the rapid clicking and the sound of it powering up.
And he still ran.
The gun fired.
Bullets hit the ground in rapid succession, leaving a trail of bullet holes in the steel of the construction site. Walter picked up his pace, heading for the edge of the floor. He dove, arms spread wide in a Christ-like form. He disappeared over the rail and the helicopter pilot slammed his fist into the dashboard.
-Midtown High-
The Cat Strikes Again!
"Who makes up these nicknames?"
Lunchtime at Midtown High was more of a social occasion than any other. The school had a very strict no talking policy in the classrooms but didn't seem to do anything to stop the bullies bouncing their victims off every wall in the school. Peter Parker sat at his regular table in the cafeteria, The Daily Bugle open to the bold story that had caught his attention on the front page. Someone on the street had snapped a picture with his phone of a black shadow leaping over the street above him. The picture was unbelievably grainy but it was all the Bugle could use.
"These newspaper guys read too many comics," Peter said as his best friend Harry Osborn sat beside him, sliding a polystyrene cup of coffee in front of Peter.
"No, you read too many comics," Harry corrected, taking a long draught from his own cup of coffee. "These guys just know how to make a good headline."
"Fair point."
Peter and Harry were as opposite as two people could be while still being friends. Peter was the most physically unspectacular specimen in the world who spent more time blogging than jogging. His brown hair was unruly at the best of times and it fell over his brown eyes. Harry Osborn, on the other hand, was probably the most charismatic seventeen-year-old in the school. His father was the one and only Norman Osborn, founder and CEO of Oscorp Industries, one of the biggest tech and chemical firms in New York. His wavy jet black hair always got the girls swooning.
Being Peter's friend was actually the work of the school's most infamous bully, Flash Thompson. It was Harry's first day at Midtown High and the first thing he saw when he walked through the front door was a powerfully built teen wearing a football jersey stuffing another teen into a locker. Harry had immediately stepped in, earning a right hook to the jaw for his troubles. He was saved from a beating by a passing teacher and from that point on, Peter and Harry had been the best of friends.
And now, three years after meeting each other, here they sat, two seventeen year old best friends in the swirling cesspool of high school. Peter remembered hearing of high school when he was a kid, still in elementary school. He had interpreted it as a heaven, a facility of knowledge and safe from angry people that got a rush from stuffing someone's head down a toilet. All Peter could say to that now was…
What a load of crap.
But being at Midtown High did have its advantages, like the field trip to Oscorp that day. Peter had been so excited to take the permission slip home to his Aunt May and Uncle Ben, and they had been more than happy to sign it. Both encouraged Peter's love of science and would do anything to make him happy. He deserved it.
The reason Peter lived with his Aunt and Uncle was, simply put, no one knew where his parents were. They had left Peter at his father's brother's home and then left. They had said it was for "business", whatever that was.
All Peter could remember of their last moment together was his father kneeling in front of him, like he normally did for their 'man to man' talks.
"You need to stay with your Aunt and Uncle for a while," his father, Richard, had said. "You'll be safe here."
"Where are you going?" Peter had asked, full of childish curiosity.
"It's just something your Mom and I have to do," his father replied.
They had moved through to the foyer and it was Peter's mother, Mary, who had crouched in front of him next.
"I wanna go with you," Peter had said immediately.
Mary's response was to cup her son's cheek in her hand and sob. There was an unspoken moment between the two before Richard gently pulled Mary to her feet.
"Come on," he had said, "time to go."
Peter's parents left out the front door and dashed through the pouring rain and into a waiting car. Peter had watched them go.
-Midtown High-
"Pete!"
Peter jerked out of his stupor. Everyone was filing out of the cafeteria and heading in the direction of the main doors.
"The bus is leaving," said Harry, gesturing to the doorway.
"Right." Peter swept his untouched coffee cup into a bin along with the newspaper. He followed Harry out the door.
The ride to Oscorp was fairly uneventful. Harry was silent for the whole trip, and Peter knew why. The relationship between Harry and his father was strained to say the least. Norman wanted Harry to take up the mantle as CEO of Oscorp, but Harry wanted nothing to do with the company. He was happy to pass through Midtown High, having deliberately flunked out of every private school his father had ever sent him to. After Midtown, well, he guessed he'd make it up as he went.
Upon arrival at Oscorp, Peter and the rest of the student body gathered outside the main building.
"Where's Gwen?" Harry asked, looking around the throng of students. "You think she's going to grace us with her presence today?" he added sarcastically.
Gwen Stacy was the daughter of police captain George Stacy. Anyone who took one look at her would immediately assume she was in with the popular crowd. But anyone who got to know her would find a shocking truth. Gwen was smart. Really smart. She was nowhere near as smart as people like Tony Stark, but incredibly bright for someone her age. She and Peter had been friends since seventh grade, and when Harry came along, he was accepted into their little group with open arms. He had proven a valuable ally when it came to protecting Peter from Flash and his cronies.
"I don't know where she is," Peter replied, standing on his toes in an attempt to see over the rest of the students. "Last time we spoke, she said she was going to some convention with Captain Stacy, but that was a week ago."
"Hello, boys."
Harry turned around. "There she is."
Walking towards them was Gwen, her blonde shoulder length hair held back by a dark blue headband, accentuating her baby blue irises. Her book bag swung from her shoulder and Peter immediately fished his camera out of his own to snap a picture of Gwen.
Gwen was a model, taking any job she could and even appearing on magazine covers a few times. She was perfectly happy for Peter to come along to her photo shoots, sometimes even hiring him for any shots out in the city, instead of in front of a white cloth. She smiled and posed for the camera.
"Thought you weren't going to make it," Harry said as Peter's camera clicked.
"I slept in," Gwen replied, still posing. "Dad gave me a lift."
The school finally entered the building, picking up visitor passes as they went through the lobby.
The main room was set out like a market, stalls set up throughout the room displaying various projects currently in production. Peter took as many photos as he could, passing over four mechanical arms attached to a harness, something to do with genetics and lizards, performance enhancers and…
"Repulsion gauntlets!" a man in a white coat was calling out to anyone who would listen. Behind him in a glass case sat two white fingerless gloves. They were designed with a wide, electric blue strip over the fingers, probably were the repulsion originated.
"That's right, folks," the man continued, even though no one was looking at the gauntlets. They were all too busy with a live demonstration of the four mechanical arms, courtesy of Dr. Otto Octavius. Harry and Gwen were among the crowd. Peter didn't care for the arms; he had seen and read enough on the internet to know how the arms worked.
The four smart-arms were controlled by the wearer's brain through a neuro link. Nano wires fed directly into the cerebellum, allowing control over the arms. People had also wondered if the artificial intelligence in the arms was so advanced that it may affect the user. The good doctor had calmly and proudly told of an inhibitor chip he had invented that ensured he remained in control of the arms.
"How does it work?" Peter asked, addressing the man promoting the shock gauntlets.
The man immediately leapt at the opportunity to promote the gauntlets. "I'm glad you asked. The gloves contain vibro-shock units that, when activated by a pump-action thumb trigger, can project a concentrated blast of compressed air that vibrates at an intense frequency. This creates a series of rapid-succession high-pressure air blasts that result in a series of powerful impacts."
"Sounds impressive," Peter complimented. He raised his camera. "Can I get a picture?"
"Of course!" the man in the white coat stood beside the case, giving a double thumbs-up. Peter took the picture and turned back to Gwen and Harry.
Gwen was fascinated by Dr. Octavius' demonstration, while Harry was bored out of his mind.
"You know anything I don't already know?" Peter asked, standing beside Gwen.
"I don't think so," Gwen replied, "just that he can use the arms to execute experiments in an environment no human hand could enter. Their impervious to heat and magnetism, and…"
"I know all this, Gwen."
"Sorry."
Gwen was always easily excited by science and technology working together. It was her passion. She loved it. Sometimes she would stay behind after school just to work in the shop classes, taking things apart to see how they worked.
Everyone's attention was caught by a man stepping onto a balcony overlooking the room. He wore a simple yet stylish three piece suit, white shirt and red tie. He leaned on the railing and spoke to the room at large.
"Guests of Oscorp," he said, "I am Norman Osborn, CEO of this fine corporation."
There was a smattering of applause.
"Thank you," Norman said, politely raising his hand for silence, "first I must offer an apology. To those eagle eyed visitors down there, you may have already noticed that we are missing an item."
Peter glanced around and spotted a mannequin, completely bare. It looked like some sort of suit was meant to be on display, but it wasn't.
"I'm afraid the exo-suit will not be displayed due to technical difficulties," Norman continued, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief, "but, please, feel free to browse our other projects on display. Good day." Then he left through a set of automatic doors. A murmur ran through the crowd.
"Did Osborn seem a little… off to you?" asked Gwen.
"Who cares?" Peter replied. "I want to know what that exo-suit could do."
"Dad told me a little bit about it," Harry said, stepping into the conversation. "He couldn't resist showing off. He said something about it being for the military. Some sort of agility enhancer. I don't know. I never pay attention when Dad talks about work."
Gwen was still staring at the doors Norman had disappeared through. "Did Norman seem off to you?" she asked again.
Peter thought back. Had he been imagining it, or had Norman been shaking slightly? Even sweating a little?
"Can we not talk about Dad?" Harry asked, breaking Peter's train of thought. "Like, ever?"
"Sure, Harry," Gwen said. "Let's look over here." And she led him towards a tank full of reptiles, looking over her shoulder at Peter as if to say 'Let me sort this out'.
Peter continued to walk amongst the crowd, taking pictures and soaking up the science around him. As he passed a cage full of lizards, he heard Gwen talking to the scientist in charge of that project.
"They can grow any limb?"
"Yes, Miss. Whether it's arm, leg or tail, if it's lost, the reptile will just grow it back later."
"An interesting feature."
Peter sidestepped a stand holding what looked like mechanical wings when he felt someone collide with him. He fell to the floor, managing to twist his body to land on his back, protecting his camera. Papers and a suitcase fell around him, the suitcase making a loud thud on impact with the floor.
"Oh, God, I'm sorry," Peter said, sitting on his knees to gather the fallen papers. Before he could collect them all, he found the suitcase shoved into his hands, knocking the papers back to the floor. Peter immediately tried to push it back.
"Wait, this isn't mine…"
"You need to take this…"
"I don't…"
"Get rid of it…"
"Understand, what's…"
"Hide it, burn it…"
"Going on? Tell me…"
"Kid."
Peter stopped talking, finally looking up. The man that had run into him looked like a scientist. He wore glasses over grey eyes and had dark, cropped hair. Peter was pulled to his feet.
"Listen to me," the unnamed man said, handing over the suitcase, "and I mean listen, because I will not say this twice."
He spoke like a man in a hurry, but he was struggling to slow himself down so Peter could understand him.
"I need you to take this case – take it home – and get rid of it. You can hide it, burn it, drop it in the river for all I care, just make sure no one sees this case again."
"Wait, what's in it?"
"I can't tell you. Just, please, please, get rid of it."
The two stared at each other for what felt like forever. Then, quietly, Peter said "OK."
"Good. Now, forget this conversation ever happened."
"Sure."
He left, leaving Peter surrounded by technology and science. Peter tilted the suitcase in his hands, looking at a plaque with a name engraved into it.
Alistair Smythe.
