Spider-Man Noir: Dead Man's Ghost
One
December 1933.
After Midnight.
Seventh Heaven.
Harlem:
The tables were shattered. The walls were blanketed in blood, it leaking down into the cracks in the floor. A smell, the smell of liquor, drugs and blood circulated throughout the building, the scent so strong you could smell it from a mile away.
People, both men and women, about 123 to be exact, were on the floor. All dead. From head to toe, they were covered with bullets. the gunshot wounds were critical. Some died instantly, not even feeling a thing. Others bled to death, whimpering in pain of their last moments.
In one room, the only one where no victims were to be found, five men stood in there. Three men behind another man, who held another person against the wall.
One man wore a fedora, wearing a egg white suit, having a black tie neatly pressed in. He held a lariat in his hand, tightly gripping it. His face was covered with blood, dots of it everywhere.
Another man wore a turtleneck sweater, having a black sleeveless vest over it. He held a crowbar in his hand, blood stains mostly covering it.
Unlike the other two gangsters, the man had pale skin. He wore a black suit, having a red tie stuffed in. He was is tall and built, carrying two 1928 Thompson Sub Machine Guns. His nose was scrunched down, showing he's been in many fights. He was ugly and deformed, having a flat, thick skull, which set him apart from everybody else. His eyes where pure black, showing the emptiness of emotion. This man was a monster, an inhuman creature, a killing machine.
The man against the wall was none other than Larry, his more common name being Fat Larry. He had blood on his face, most of it coming from his nose, which stained onto his mustache. His clothing was torn in many places. The shoulder area having tear marks, revealing scratches that dug into his skin, where red, fresh flesh was revealed.
The man holding him, his face was hidden in the shadows. To what was shown, he wore a light brown suit, in the lighting it looked as if it was orange. He had a light purple tie, also stuffed in. The gloves on his hands were brown also, matching his shoes, which were brown loafers.
"Larry, I'm very disappointed. You were an associate of the Goblin, Donato Moretti and the Crime Master. I would of expected you to have more information of what I want." The man in the shadows said calmly, his voice sounding metallic.
Larry swallowed in, tasting the blood as it swam down his throat. He choked some of out, regurgitating it onto the floor. The man still held him by his neck, Larry being unable to get past any of them.
"L-Look, I...I don't know who he is...I've only met him twice before, t-that was when the Crime Master was in control of the city, but that was long ago..."Larry replied, stuttering every few seconds.
The man stared at Larry briefly, then responding by hitting him across the face, his left cheek now bruised, turning to a light shade of purple. Larry looked at the man with a crazed expression, horrified completely.
The man sighed, dropping Larry to the floor. He walked in the opposing direction while Larry slumped against the wall, making whimpering noises. Muffling noises came from him, now groaning too.
"Boss, whatcha want us to with this twit?" The man with the flat, thick skull asked.
"Leave him alive, for now. He'll might make good use to us. This will get the bug's attention." The man in shadows replied, his voice turning deep.
As everyone was set to leave, Larry managed to speak, but stutter as well. "W-W-Who...Who are you?"
The man smiled at this, stepping into the light, revealing a grotesque facial appearance. For the exception of his brown slick hair, his skin was orange. Scales covered the skin everywhere, looking as if it was reptilian like. His right eye was deformed. The eyeball was yellow, larger than the other. Having a small black dot that replaced the iris.
"Call me...The Hobgoblin." The man replied, smirking as he turned, then walking out of the room along with the other men.
Larry dropped against the floor, his head backed up against the wall. Stuck in a void, a trance, he looked up in terror as the men left, never forgetting that face, that familiar face.
One Hour Later:
Small flakes fell from the sky. Wind blowing in all directions. The snow quietly brushed against both the ground and rooftop's.
It was dark out. The moon was glowing, it looking bigger than most days. There, on a rooftop, a person, a man, stood in the shadows. His name was Peter Parker, otherwise known as the Spider-Man.
He wore his causal outfit, including the trench coat, though minus the fedora. The goggles on his mask reflected in the moonlight, shining. Due to the strong wind patterns, his trench coat blew furiously, it flapping to the side.
He held onto the ledge of the building, looking at the streets below, seeing officer's surrounding the Seventh Heaven club. Raising his head in interest, he watched the crime scene before him.
(The Spider-Man): Ever since the Crime Master and Dr. Octavius's downfall at Ellis Island, for months now, it left a huge gap open. Now a new gang of Enforcers are in, The authorities are call the leader the Rose, due to the madman leaving a single rose at his victims.
The Spider-Man, still staring at the building, saw the officers, the photographers, and the people crowding in around the club. The people anxious were anxious to see what was going on. The detectives studied the blood stains
Coming in and out through the front doors, everyone finally saw the corpses being taken out in clear white sheets, all being put and transported in separate vehicles.
(Spider-Man): Sending trigger men to do your dirty work... huh Rose? Reminds me of an old, ugly green fellow. I must say, causing the deaths of many of New York's underworld scum is a great way to get many hits on you, especially by other crime lords competing. This man, this Rose figure, thinks he and his men, his Enforcers, are above the Law, thinking he can do as he pleases...reminds me of Crime Master, that dead bastard. It's time that someone showed this punk justice, and I'm the man for the job.
Brooklyn
Abandoned Apartment Building:
Moments after arrival, he landed on a nearby building. He stared across the street, now noticing that the breeze was getting heavier.
(The Spider-Man): And here's one of the many locations of the Rose. Here, in this place, from what I heard, is where they get all the counterfeit money from. There having a meeting here tonight, and I intend to stop it.
Analyzing the building breifly, he then hopped off the building, landing through a window that seemed to have no glass. He kept hidden in the shadows, up against the wall as he followed into another room, where there was only two men down the hallway.
One man was bald, muscular, having a thick mustache on his face, though the other man being having a full head of hair, more lean than the other.
"Hey, did you hear the news?" The mustached man whispered to the other.
"What's that?" The other man replied.
Peter peered in, silently watching the two chat, wanting to know if they had any info of the Rose and his associates.
"There's rumor's goin' around that the Rose is related to the Kingpin, most likely his kid." The man said once more.
"Really? You mean the man who was in control of New York years ago, fought that Daredevil creep... Thought he died?" The other man responded.
"That's what the papers and the cops say, but from what I heard, he moved down to to California, bought out an estate and was never heard from again." The man talked in a dramatic tone.
"Damn, some story...Anywho, the boss, the Rose, what's he got plannin'?" The man spoke, now trying to change the subject.
The Spider-Man pressed his hands against the wall, still in the shadows. He crawled up it slowly, turning up to the ceiling as he went out of the room, continuing into the hallway.
"Heard that he holds a grudge against the Spider-Man. Got no idea why. The wall crawler was probably messin' with him at the wrong time, but I know he's planned something big for him, he told me himself." The man exclaimed.
(The Spider-Man): The Rose...wanting the Spider-Man? Hmmmm...not surprised really, wonder what the big, powerful lord will attempt to do?
The Spider-Man crawled once more, now above the two men. He peaked his head down, his eyes glowing in the darkness.
"Y'know, I also heard he got more men on his side, some of whom who hold their own demons against him." The man continued to speak.
The other man closed his eyes for a moment, then replying, "yeah? Who are they?"
"Some guys, don't know their real names, but they refer to themselves as the Ox and Montana, a bunch of amateur crooks...like us. Then there's this man, an actor who can cast illusions, some creep. There's Hammerhead, and from what I said, I do mean 'Hammerhead' literally, dull too. Last but not least, this guy scares me the most...he's like a ghost, even the other crime lords fear him. The psycho calls himself the Hobgoblin, he may possibly be Norman Osborn, no one has any idea." The Man responded nervously.
Peter's eyes widened to this, gulping in deeply as he fell to the floor, landing on both of them. All three getting up slowly, the men smirked at the Spider-Man, as they knew if he was coming.
Pulling out their guns-1911's- they attempt to fire, but they aren't gonna be fast enough.
Spider-Man, now in mid-air, connects with the Mustached man, slamming him violently across the face. The lean man is firing his 19ll at him, though didn't bother to aim straightly, the bullets flying everywhere.
His Spider-sense warning him of the incoming danger, Spider-Man dodged the shots. firing a burst of webbing at his hand, the man pulling the trigger at the same time, causing the gun to explode.
His Spider-sense tingling once more, he gave no indication that he was aware of the Mustached man, who, seconds ago, recovered from the hit, holding the pistol in his hand.
Spider-Man took a quick moment, kicking off the lean man, flipping backwards to punch out the powerfully built man, knocking him out with a final blow.
Turning his attention at the end of the hall, where he saw a light. Running down the hall, his feet pounding against the floor, he ran to the entrance, crashing through the old, wooden, rotten door.
More gangsters appeared, most carrying Tommy Guns while others held other various firearms. All tried to directly aim at him, though it was already to late, as the Spider-Man came at all of them.
Now, in mid-air once again, he stepped on one man's head, kicking another, while casting a huge web upon a whole group.
Spider-Man draws backwards, bullets shot aimlessly in the air, all missing him. Landing on one's back, his leg's around his neck, he tossed him forward, the man's head crashing against the floor.
"YOU ALL KNOW WHO I WANT." Spider-Man spoke in a rough, deep tone.
Another man aimed at his head. Already warned seconds ago, Spider-Man fired another cast of webbing over the gangster's shoulder, which wrapped around the man's upper body and the gun.
Kicking the man across the face, he fell to the floor unconscious. Turning in the opposing direction, he saw that he was met by a few more men, three left.
"WHO IS HE?" Spider-Man continued on.
Spider-Man hauled two of the three men by their jackets, throwing them up against the ceiling, moans of pain being released from their mouth's.
Spider-Man and the last man stare at each other, eye to eye level. The man pulls out a knife, the blade of it glistening in the reflecting light.
The man ran at Spider-Man, ready as anyone can be. Swiping his blade at him, Spider-Man easily dodged the knife, then proceeding to grabbing the man by his wrist, dropping the weapon on the the ground.
Spider-Man tosses the man against a wall, hitting it beside the gangster's head with a pile driver punch that smashes deep inside. The gangster squirms as splinters of brick break off, some getting into his eyes.
"WHO IS THE ROSE? WHO THE HELL IS THE HOBGOBLIN?! WHO IS THE HOBGOBLIN?! ANSWER ME!" Spider-Man screamed, holding him against his jacket, pushing him tightly against it.
He heard the Police sirens blaring, coming from outside. Not wanting to get in between the Officer's and their business, Spider-Man held his hand out, webbing shooting out against the man, for the exception of his head, wrapped like a cocoon.
Running out of the room, he jumped out of the window, landing against the side of another building.
(Spider-Man): Say your prayers, Rose and Hobgoblin. Here come's the Spider-Man!
As the Spider went off in the night, a man, an federal agent stared at him from behind. This man's name was Jean De Wolfe.
Later.
Peter was in a void. He felt trapped. Contained to what was happening.
Under his goggles, his eyes were filled with pure sadness. He felt his body numb, from head to toe. Oddly he couldn't move, he was stuck on the ledge of the roof, in costume, staring down at the building that was just a jump away.
(Spider-Man): The Black Cat's been running poorly lately. Still up to the roots in the criminal underworld, but otherwise not as much.
He continued looking at the building, noticing the female figure on the balcony, having a robe wrapped around her, a mask covering her face, for the exception of her eyes and hair.
He sighed. Looking at the woman before him. He was torturing himself. Why was he doing this? Why?
He slapped his head, trying to get some common sense struck into him. He slowly turned, his trench coat blowing in one direction.
As he was about to leave, he nodded back at her one last time. Just to see her before he left. He needed to end this, but first see her once more.
At last, she noticed him, both their eyes met. She didn't show happiness, anger, sadness...nothing.
She walked in the opposing direction, away from him, closing the doors behind her.
Peter momentary continued to stare, but shifted back in his previous state, leaping in the air. Away from the Black Cat. Away from Felicia. Away from her.
The Next Day.
Bowery Welfare Center.
A Few Hours Before Noon.
Peter sat at the table. By himself. Tired as usual.
He had coffee set aside of him. He held a paper in his hands. A copy of The Daily Bugle.
One report stated that a man by the name Gordon Phillips, nominal head of the Hellfire Club, was recently found dead at the front steps. His neck snapped.
Another report was said that of the disaster at Seventh Heaven, the bodies are not known to be stored until being buried. All connection of sorts are unknown.
Last was for the Rose and his Enforcers, saying that they need to be brought down. Dead or alive.
As Peter sat there, browsing through the articles. The front doors opened.
Peter raised an eyebrow to this, knowing no one rarely came this early.
Peter turned his head. He saw a man walking in, about his age or so. He looked familiar in a way to him, he didn't know how though.
He had brown slick hair, he was Caucasian. He looked about average size between scrawny and buff. He had green eyes. He wore a turtleneck sweater, a coat on top of it. He wore brown pants. He carried a brown, leather suitcase.
The man walked in Peter's direction, seeing that he was the only one here.
"Umm...Hello Sir. My name is Harold 'Harry' Osborn. I was wondering if you had a spare room I could use for a couple days?" The man, obviously Harry, said.
Peter put down his paper, looking in the direction of the man. He raised an eyebrow at the man, not knowing what to say.
"...Osborn? You wouldn't by...any chance, be related to Norman Osborn?" Peter replied suspiciously.
Harry moved his shoulders back, sighing before looking back to Peter.
"Yes, I am. I really don't want to go in detail about it. But anyways, do you have a spare room?"
Peter felt as if his brain to were explode. Norman Osborn, the Goblin, had a kid?
It never got to him. He didn't look into his enemies' personal lives that much. What next, Toomes has a daughter? The Vulturess? Raptor?
"Oh yeah. Sure...There should be a one room left upstairs. You can stay for as long as you want. Breakfast is 8:30, Lunch is at 12:30 and Supper is at 5:30. Make sure to be back before 7:00, then we don't allow people back." Peter replied, his eyes staring down at the table.
"Ahh...Thank you...sir?" Harry said.
"Peter...and your welcome."
Before anything else could occur, another person, a familiar red head, walked into the room. She wore a white dress, an apron covering it.
"Hello Peter, whose your friend?" Mary Jane said, smiling at them both.
Before Peter could say anything, Harry smiled at her. "My name's Harry Osborn, what about you doll?"
Mary Jane blushed at the comment, her leaning against a wall.
"My name's Mary Jane Watson. It's nice to meet you."
"As it is to meet you too." Harry once more said, smiling at her.
Before the two could go any further, Peter spoke, "Well Harry, why don't you get those things to your room? Can't stay here all day."
"Heh. Yeah, your right. I'll be back down in a bit." Harry replied, walking up the stairs, leaving Mary Jane and Peter to themselves.
"Peter, what was that?" Mary Jane said, now aggravated.
"What do you mean?" Peter said confused.
Mary Jane put her hands are hips, sighing briefly. She walked away from him, going into the kitchen.
Peter literally felt like he wanted to shoot himself. Seriously.
(Peter): Looks like I found out who Hobgoblin is. That was easy...too easy. I can't be too sure he is the Hobgoblin, I mean Norman Osborn couldn't be the only one in the world whose face was that deformed...right?
Five Hours Ago.
An Office. There was blinds covering the window, filing cabinets stocked up against one wall, while pictures of charts were on another.
At the desk a man sat there. The man wore a darkish purple mask, which was plain. It hid everything, for the exception of his eyes, where he wore glasses.
He wore a a white suit, his purple tie being stuffed in. His gloves were purple too, while his shoes being black. In his breast pocket, there was a rose.
Picked piece's of rose's were on the desk, along with a candle too. The mixture of the candle and the scent of rose's filled the entire room, making it feel freshened.
Hobgoblin and Hammerhead walked through the doors, facing towards the man.
"Hello my two wonderful Enforcers, what have we got?" The Rose said.
"We did as you asked. You've probably heard about it already." Hobgoblin replied to him.
"Good. Good indeed. Very well with that stunt, Beck would of liked it." The Rose responded.
"Great boss, now when does this happen? When do we kill the Spider-Man?" Hobgoblin said in an eager tone.
"Will do it when I say we do it. We gotta lead him out. Bring him out of the open. Make him suffer before he dies." The Rose stated.
"Why not just kill him?" Hammerhead spoke between the two.
The Rose sighed. He placed his hands on the table, looking down at both of them.
"Because you simpleton, why kill someone before making them feel empty? I plan to destroy Spider-Man, but first, I will by killing everyone he love's. He'll have nothing to live for." The Rose said, his voice now deep.
"Wait, kill everyone? I thought our initial plan was to destroy the bug, not other innocent people." Hobgoblin responded.
The Rose sighed. He turned his head down. He grabbed a rose from the table, brushing against it.
Picking at the pedals of the rose, they fell slowly on the table. He continued this act until all were off, then throwing it aside the other used ones.
"Hobgoblin, I've noticed you were soft from when I first met you. I mean I even heard you killed no one at Seventh Heaven, that Hammerhead did all the work. I'm disappointed." The Rose finally said.
"I-I'm sorry sir. I wanna kill the Spider. Get this finished. Move on already." Hobgoblin spoke, his voice shaken.
"It's acceptable...for now. And don't worry, your gonna be the one killing Spider-Man. Me and my men will just be...observers." The Rose stated.
"But...boss, Rose...When should we strike? He already took down some of your men not too long ago." Hobgoblin said, is voice going high.
"The bug is good with groups. He finds a way to turn their weaknesses against each other. Best to attack him one at a time and wear him down, and we're just the group for that type of job." The Rose replied, him smirking under his mask.
Suddenly, a knock came at the door.
"Come in." The Rose said, his voice deepened now more than ever.
In came Montana. One hand in his pocket, his other holding a cigarette. He blew the smoke at Hammerhead, who growled in a monstrous tone. His hat was tipped down, creating darkness that concealed his eyes in darkness.
"Beck has his gear ready. He just finished creating more of his little fear gas. He said it would take up to almost a week to get everything functioning and all that stuff. The geek freak didn't tell me anymore besides that, he was too busy enjoying his victims, as always." Montana said, slouching against a wall.
The Rose stood from his chair, walking around his desk and before Montana. "Good, now all we can do is wait for the big day, as well as now turning our priorities to the Spider-Man, our only threat."
To Be Continued.
I know it wasn't that great for a first chapter, though review or follow if you would like more. Few suggestions are acceptable, though no negative reviews.