Serial Spider

5/20/08

The Legendary Spider-Man

Volume One

Issue One

"Inconvenience Store"

"Morning, Captain Stacey."

"Good morning, Parker," replied the tall police captain. He stepped to the side to let Peter into his apartment. "Gwen's in the kitchen. Gwen!"

From the archway at the end of the small hall, a pale, blonde teenager peered towards Peter Parker. "Peter," she said, leaning nonchalantly on the back of a dining chair. "How was work?"

"Eh, fine, I guess," he replied, ditching his sling on the worn cushion of an old rocking chair. "The people they hire to do inventory, though, jeez. I spent like ten minutes in the stock room trying to find this guy a copy of Windows."

"If that's the worst thing that's happened to you today," said Captain Stacey, checking in on his daughter's work, "you really can't complain."

"Oh, I know, Captain Stacey. I'm just saying." Peter sat beside Gwen. "Did you have a rough day back, sir?"

"They gave me a desk today," he muttered. "Work was supposed to take my mind off the funeral, and they left me alone to think."

"But you're the police captain!" replied Peter. "Don't you have some sort of power over them? Can't you like—I don't know—order them to do the paperwork for you so that you can go fight crime and save peoples' lives?"

"They know what they're doing, Parker. Why don't you two get to work on your school stuff? I'm gonna go out and pick up some milk. Gwen, Peter, you need anything?"

"No, dad. See you when you get back."

"Bye, sir."

Captain Stacey left the apartment, swinging his long beige overcoat over his broad shoulders. Gwen turned to Peter as the door closed. He was taking his glasses off and rubbing the lenses in his shirt.

"You look tired."

"I am," he replied. "I've got two more tests this week. Bio and Chem. Oh, and I asked him, but Mr. Keller won't move the deadline on science fair."

"Peter!" Gwen moaned, "I thought you said that if you talked to him he'd do it!"

"He said he's worried about getting everything set up for the judges, so he won't delay the due date."

"Oh, this blows," she said, shifting towards the table. Across the surface was a large white poster board with words laid out on wild-colored construction paper: hypothesis, objective, procedure. Two bottles of glue and a pair of scissors nested at the corner of the table. "I still need to write up the analysis."

"Here's the handout," said Peter, pulling it out of his bag. "It looks like you're doing fine, though, Gwen. We've got plenty of time."

"How far are you, Peter?"

"Um. I'm done."

"But I thought you said that you were—ugh! Peter, you kill me sometimes. You know Dr. Connors is gonna be there? The geneticist from Oscorp? He's gonna hire you in a second. I'll never be ready in time to impress him."

Peter responded indignantly. "I already have a job; and besides, you're a better student than me. I mean, let's be real, you'd be done too if your mom hadn't…"

He regretted it instantly. Silence fell as if it were a great stone that had crashed over their heads. Gwen's eyes clenched tightly shut, and she faced away from Peter.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"No. No. It's fine." She breathed in deeply through her nose. Peter shifted in his seat, grimacing.

"I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it. Help me with Chem."

Captain Stacey was upset to discover a blatant lack of two percent milk at the corner store. He held a quart of whole milk in one hand and one percent in the other, debating the destiny that lay in his dairy.

It was late afternoon in Manhattan, which meant that it looked like night through the drab skies. Car headlights wavered over the storefront as the evening rush pounded along the streets.

"That's three dollars and forty-two cents, sir," said the cashier in the front.

Captain Stacey turned to see a young man, maybe late twenties, early thirties, buying cigarettes at the register. He had a thin, scraggly black beard, and a gray knit cap on his head.

The Captain turned back to his midlife crisis as the register rang open.

And that was when the gun was raised, drawing the immediate attention of the entire shop.

"Alright, let's do this fast," said the customer. "Everything in the register. No alarms. No phones. We get this done, cop-free, and no guns go off. How's that sound?"

Captain Stacey pivoted fast, dropping the milk to either side of him as he drew a handgun from his jacket.

"Sounds unlikely," he snapped. "Officer Stacey of the Manhattan—"

Bang.

One bullet from the burglar's gun was all it took to jam the tendons in the Captain's shoulder. His arm shot aside in pain, simultaneously firing a bullet against the overhead lights. Glass rain fell down on the shelves, chiming like ice crystals over the canned soup. The Captain crashed to the ground.

"Let's try that again," said the customer, stepping back for a better angle between the Captain and the register. "Get me the money. Hurry the f—k up!"

Stacey shoved forward, flailing for his semi-automatic as the customer edged forward to do the same. Blood pooling from his bicep, the Captain somehow managed to still swing on his hip and kick his leg forward, which knocked out the robber's shin as another bullet just missed him.

The man slammed to the ground as Captain Stacey held his gun forward, throwing the burglar's aside. "Alright, asshole," he barked, wincing as his arm throbbed. "You're under arrest. Anything you say can and will be used against you in the Court of Law."

"Who was that?" asked Peter.

"It's the hospital," said Gwen. "My dad. He's been… he's been shot…"

"He just went to get milk! He's not on duty!"

"I know," she said. "Peter, please. I need you to come with me."

"Yeah," he said. "Sure thing." They rushed through the hall; Peter grabbed his sling and Gwen snatched her coat.

They fired through the emergency room doors ten minutes later, diving to the Captain's bedside. Gwen's heart was thrumming like a hummingbird's. She grabbed her father's hand.

"Dad, are you alright?"

"Sort of. There was a robbery at the store. The guy was some petty crook, but he shot me good. They pulled the bullet out fine. My arm's gonna need some time to heal, though. It tore up some of the tissue pretty bad, and I ripped a muscle."

Gwen made a face.

"That sounds horrible."

"Well, it sounds worse than it is," said the nurse, sliding into the room beside them. "But it's some nasty business, and he'll need plenty of rest. Who's in the house to take care of him?"

"Just me," she said.

"Well, just you will do just fine. And maybe your boyfriend here can help?"

"Oh," she murmured. "No, uh… he's not…"

"We're not," cut in Peter, "uh… we're not dating."

The nurse laughed. "Sorry, then." She pulled a tray towards her, taking out a syringe and vial. "This is morphine," she told them. "He'll need this for the pain. It'll make him a little groggy, so you may want to let him be soon. We can't release him for a couple of days, but you're welcome to visit whenever you'd like."

"Thanks," Gwen said. She looked at her father. "You're sure you're okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, sweetheart. Why don't you and Peter go finish your project? Okay? Try not to worry about me."

Gwen kissed her father; Peter smiled awkwardly and followed her out. Gwen ran her fingers over her hair, tossing a long sweep of blonde behind her head. As she did that, she sighed, breathing in to calm herself.

"What exactly is your project, Peter?" she asked distractedly.

"It's an adhesive," he said. "It sticks like crazy glue on first contact, but then you can mold any parts that are exposed to the air. It's like a strong Silly Puddy."

"What good is that?" she asked.

"Well, the moldability is just a side-effect. It's really just the strongest adhesive I can make; it tops Crazy Glue. Easy."

"You're making super glue for science fair, Peter?"

"Yeah."

"Peter?" she said, stopping her walk.

"Yeah, Gwen?"

"You've got to be the weirdest person I've ever met."

"That's an understatement if I ever heard one." It was Harry Osborn, the wealthy heir to the multinational Oscorp throne, somehow Peter and Gwen's best friend. He was dressed in slacks and a several hundred dollar shirt, but for once in his life, he looked disheveled. It occurred to Peter that Harry had actually been considerate enough to hurry over and check on Captain Stacey. Sometimes, in the midst of Harry trying to find his identity in his copiously disastrous teenage life, he forgot how to be chivalrous, but today he lived up to expectations.

"Your dad alright, Gwen?" he asked.

"He'll be okay," she said. "We can't go in now; they're drugging him."

"I'm sorry. I ran late, I left when you called—"

"It's fine, Harry," said Gwen. She turned to Peter, who had put his hand on her back to comfort her. He lowered it when Harry gave him a stare.

"How's your science fair coming along?" Harry asked.

Peter fixed his glasses and sniffed nervously. "It's a molecularly enhanced—"

"He's making glue," said Gwen.

"That's… well… that's special, Peter."

"What are you making?" Peter murmured. "A volcano?"

"Ok, wise guy, I worked on a synthetic DNA strand, for your information."

"You made synthetic DNA?" Peter asked, dumbfounded. It wasn't like Harry to push the limits of science. Or school. Or anything.

"No. I didn't understand it. Some scientist at dad's work told me about it, so I tried to do it on my own."

"What did you make?"

"Soup. Or something. But it definitely smelled like clam chowder."

"Wow, man. That's… well… that's special, Harry."

Harry sneered and shoved Peter, pushing him lazily aside. Peter feebly tried shifting his weight, but stumbled a bit. They both laughed.

"Let's go back to my place and de-stress, guys. We'll get ice cream. On me."

"I can't," said Gwen. "I have to keep working."

"Alright then. Peter?"

"You okay without me, Gwen? I feel bad leaving right now."

"It's fine," she said genuinely. "I'll walk. I need some fresh air and some space anyway. Thanks for your help today."

"Sure thing," said Peter. "Ladies first, Harry."

"Well, then I'm right behind ya, Pete."