Issue #1: Stranger in A Familiar Land

"Stop! Stop right there!" Spider-Man didn't bother to heed the calls of the guards as he raced along the passage halls. His heart was racing even faster than it normally did, as he knew that even a moment's hesitation would mean a one-way ticket back into that cell, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Besides, he reminded himself as he rounded a corner. Just a few more feet and you're home-free.

As he made it around the bend, he saw that a blockade had already been put in place to halt his progress. It was composed of several hurdles, some armed guards, and a sheet of Plexiglas over the exit way. No problem, he tried to comfort himself. You've made it this far, after all.

When he didn't stop, the guards opened fire on him. He was able to dodge the bullets without too much trouble, thanks to his spider-sense, but having to deal with so many at once did slow him down a bit.

Thankfully, the closer he got, the less the guards fired. Guess they don't want to risk a ricochet, he hypothesized. More to my advantage.

When he reached the blockade, he leapt over the hurdles with ease, knocking one of the guards over and unconscious with the side of his arm as he did so. He then kicked the other in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and allowing him to snatch the gun away.

Once he had the weapon in his hands, he turned it to the Plexiglas and opened fire, shattering it. And that's one good use for these things, he thought as he tossed the weapon aside.

Racing through the new opening, he dodged into the small room that had been blocked. Inside were hundreds of locked cabinets, but Spider-Man was only interested in one, and thankfully, his spider-sense was once again able to guide him right to the one he needed.

It was about a story up, but that didn't mean anything to someone who could crawl on walls. He scaled up to the box and tore out the lock before opening it up.

Nestled inside were exactly what he was looking for: a belt with loaded with web cartridges and a small pouch of spider-tracers.

Thanking his lucky stars that these were still here, he hooked the belt around his waist, and clipped a few of the cartridges into his web-shooters into place. He was ready to go.

He was just in time, too, as at that very moment, more guards shot into the room and opened fire on him. Spidey didn't waste a moment, crawling up the wall to the roof, he reached one of the windows at the top. Smashing it open, he crawled out into the night.

Once he made it out, he was greeted by a blast of cold wind. Geez, I guess it's not summer out here, he thought, now thoroughly upset that his costume wasn't fully insulated. Not that I have time to look for a jacket, though.

He crawled around the side of the building, looking around for any mode of escape. He knew he didn't have much time, since the searchers in the building would find some way to reach him, even out here, if he waited too long.

Thankfully, help came in the form of a boat whistle. Not waiting for a moment, he leapt down to the nearest ledge, which lead him down to what he could tell was a body of water, probably the sea or ocean by the smell of it. Once there, he could see a ferry moving out, just within webbing distance.

Backing up, he got a running start and leapt out. His jump took him just far enough to shoot out a web, which latched right on to the side of the boat.

Unfortunately, it also meant he landed in the water and was pulled along behind the boat from there. Ah! Cold! he thought. Oh, this is so much colder than the wind!

Still, he had made it away from his pursuers. By the time he had pulled himself up the side of the ferry and taken shelter among some of the cars, he was far away from the facility.

"Well, Peter, you're home free, now," he told himself as he huddled down to try to shield himself from the cold.


At the facility, a number of guards stood in the ruined lock box room, looking up at boss. He was using a lift to examine the destroyed lock-box. "He got it all," the man said, and there was a tone of anger in his voice. "You let your guard down, and he was able to get out and take everything we had left."

"We're sorry, sir," the head of the guards said. "We were certain that he had been made completely complacent."

"Well, he hadn't now, had he?" the boss asked. "Just go call in the hunters. They should be able to bring him in without much difficulty. Without any other supplies then what he took, he shouldn't be strong enough to escape a second time." The guards threw a salute and hurried out, leaving the man alone with his thoughts.

Turning back to the lock box, the man frowned. "Everything's been taken from you, Parker. All you have is your name. Where can you run to now?"


It was now Thursday, September 8, 2067. Or, at least, that was the calendar at the back of the charity department store read.

It had been fortunate for Peter that this store had even been here. When the ferry had pulled into the dock, he had been able to sneak off of it and into the town, which was a small town that looked rather touristy in nature. The first thought on his mind at that point was covering over his costume, which would mark him as different in a moment if he was seen.

He snuck into the shop in early morning through an unlocked window and made quick work of pulling on a long-sleeved button-down shirt, a sweat shirt, jacket, pair of jeans, and shoes over his costume, all of which he found in the unsorted donation pile. Unfortunately, socks weren't available, but he'd have to worry about that later.

Once he had changed, he tucked the mask and web shooters into the hand-warmer pocket of the sweatshirt. Unfortunately, his spider-sense then went off, warning him there was someone behind him.

"Hey, buddy, what do you think you're doing here?" Peter turned at the question to see a man standing at the entrance of the store.

"Oh, uh, sorry," Peter said, his mind racing to come up with a reasonable response. "I'm sort of, uh, lost, and I wanted to figure out where I am."

"Lost?" The man frowned. "How do you get lost out here? There's nothing around until you reach the city."

"Just my luck, I guess," Peter replied, giving an awkward laugh. "So, where am I? What town am I in, I mean?"

The man shrugged and rolled his eyes. "You're in Joycelyn, New York, about five hours outside of New York City. How you could have gotten here from there without noticing is beyond me."

Hearing the comment, Peter tilted his head in confusion. "Wait a minute, how do you know I'm from NYC?"

The man gave a deadpan expression. "Really? You're going to ask that in that Queens accent of yours? Besides, how did you even get in here? We're still closed."

Peter blanched, realizing the window he had gotten in by was a good two stories up. He scanned behind him and noticed, to his relief, something that would help with his cover story. "The back door is unlocked."

Glancing over Peter's shoulder, he noticed that was the case. "Darn it, Margery always leaves that door open. I'll have to talk to her about that." Turning to Peter, he scowled. "Just get out of here, kid, before I call in the cops on trespassing charges."

"Yes, sir," Peter replied, shoving his hands into his pockets and hurried out into the streets, where some sort of fall festival was going on.

So, Pete, he thought to himself as he wandered out into the town, time to get back to Queens. Which leaves me with one very important question: how am I going to get there?

As he was wandering, he felt a sharp twinge in his stomach. And what am I going to eat in the meanwhile, he added. In all the excitement of his escape, the adrenaline rush had caused him to forget that he hadn't eaten for ages. Now that he could somewhat relax, however, his stomach decided to sharply remind him of that fact.

The fact that there was a festival going on didn't help. Smells of popcorn, funnel cakes, corn dogs, and other fair foods drifted in the air, exacerbating his already intense hunger. Almost instinctively, he drifted from food stand to food stand, only to tear himself away because of his lack of money.

"I've got to find something to take my mind off of this," he muttered quietly to himself. "At least until I can get some cash."

"Help! Help me!" Peter turned around in an instant when he heard the cry. A distance off, he could see a man rushing away from one of the stands right towards him, holding goods he had stolen in one arm and a gun in the other. An old man, who had been the stand owner, was the one who had called out.

"Ask and you shall receive," Peter commented to himself. He didn't have his costume or time to put on his mask, so he'd have to make this discrete. Slipping his hands into his sweatshirt pocket, he clipped one of the web-shooters on, backed into a clothes stand so no one would see him, and utilizing his spider-sense, shot a glob of webbing right where the thief was about to step.

The trick worked perfectly. As soon as the thief stepped into the mass of webbing, his foot became trapped, and he face planted on the sidewalk. While he was on the ground, Peter hurried out, trying to look as if he were in a hurry, and kicked the now fallen gun out of its owner's reach.

It still took a while for the police to arrive, but the thief was trapped fast, and would be trapped until that webbing dissolved. Peter couldn't exactly remember how long that was, but an hour sounded about right.

Feeling proud of himself, Peter hooked around and hid back in the clothes stand, trying not to see too interested in what happened but still wanting to see the results of his handiwork. He was glad he did so, as it was even better than he could have expected.

In an effort to escape the webbing, the thief had started tearing at it with his bare hands. This, however, had only succeeded in trapping him by his hands as well as his feet, meaning that until the police would arrive, he'd be trapped in a hunched over, semi-fetal position.

Seeing this, Peter couldn't help but smother a laugh. It was always amusing when the bad guy got themselves caught in an awkward position trying to escape.

"See anything you like, Tiger?" Peter stood up in shock when he realized someone was speaking to him. He spun around and saw that it was a black girl around his own age. She was strikingly pretty, with dark hair that turned bright red as it went down her back.

"Uh, what?" he asked, his mind racing for something, anything, better to say.

The girl seemed to ignore this faux-pas in favor of reinstating her question. "You seemed to be looking pretty intently at the cloths," she said, pointing out the rack he had been previously hiding behind. "See anything you like?"

"Oh, oh, yeah," Peter stumbled out quickly. "I'm really interested in…uh…" He glanced back at the rack to find out what it was they were talking about. "…bridesmaid's dresses." His face flushed with embarrassment and he internally wished that, for once, he could have been near something that would have made a bit more sense. "They're really well made," he finished, trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't result in the girl judging him in some way.

The girl gave a laugh. "Why thank you! It took me and my partner forever to work on those."

"Wait? You made these?" Peter replied, glancing back at the work. Despite his comment being mostly a cover, they really were well made, and he had assumed they were factory made.

"Yep, those are Watson & Stacy exclusive, alright," the girl replied, flashing a grin. "Took me and my her about a full three days to sew each of them. The details, you see. Even with an embroidery machine, they take ages. Those were an order, so the buyer will be coming to pick those up soon, and I like to have already-finished products out so people can see what they'll get when they order. It lets me kill two birds with one stone." She held out her hand to him. "I'm Mary Jane Watson, by the way. Interested in anything you see?"

"Peter," he replied, shaking her hand. "And, no, I'm kind of…broke at the moment." At that moment, his stomach let out a loud growl, firmly reminding him that he still had not had anything to eat. "And looking for free food, I guess," he said, feeling another blush creep over his face.

Mary Jane nodded. "I see. It's almost my lunch, too. If you wait a little while, the buyer should come around here, and you can join me at that restaurant." She pointed out a burger shop a distance off.

The offer was tempting, but Peter's lack of funds still weighed heavy on him. "Thank, but I can't afford it."

"No worries, it's my treat," she replied, giving him a wink.

He was going to continue arguing, but his stomach let out another audible growl, effectively ending the conversation. "Alright, sounds good."

She flashed a smile at him. "See you there, Tiger."


"Come on, where are you," Trapster muttered to himself. The mercenary was currently seated in a van a small town festival, keeping a watch on the people moving around. He knew his mission well, and it was supposed to be incredibly simple. Just some kid who got out of containment in the high-level facility, so he got sent out to round the kid up. Simple as that.

So then why hadn't the kid made an appearance?

Trapster groaned to himself before turning to look at the kid's file. Maybe things would have moved along faster if the kid, Peter Parker, actually had some sort of identifying feature. As it was, he was just about as generic as possible. A brown haired, brown eyed white kid around twenty years old, average height and somewhat underweight for his size, but not to a degree that it was noticeable. Of course, he was Spider-Man, but with that sort of wanted-file, the kid would have to be nuts to go out in that costume for long.

"Of course that's the sort of target who's practically invisible in suburbia," Trapster groaned to himself. "Wonder why they didn't get Cassidy to take this one."

He leaned back, wondering whether or not it would be safe to take a nap, when he spotted something. It wasn't much, just some kid in a green sweatshirt crouched behind a row of dresses. However, it was enough for Trapster to get a good look at his face. Sure enough, it was the target.

Grinning to himself, he reached back for the trapping polymer gun. It was a long, thin weapon, and had a holster at the side of his pants where it could stay hidden. In his pocket, he tucked away a smaller gun that had a canister of a liquid and a syringe attached. He would have to keep these hidden until he could lure the kid away from any witnesses, but it would be easy from there.


Just as Mary Jane had predicted, it didn't take too long for her buyer showed up. Once she had arrived, the two of them set to talking about how the payment was going to be made and how transportation was going to work.

While they talked, Peter waited by a fountain that had been nearby. The police were, by now, finishing getting the still webbed-up thief off to the station, and Peter couldn't help but feel a sense of pride as he watched.

He didn't have too much time to enjoy the moment, as his spider-sense when off without warning. Turning his head, he scanned the area for the approaching threat.

The threat revealed himself in an unexpected form. An unassuming looking man was coming up to him. "Hey, buddy, can you help a guy out?" he called out. "My car got a flat and I'll need to change the tire. Mind lending a hand?"

Something about this man was making Peter's spider sense go off like crazy, but he tried to hide it. "Actually, my friend's waiting for me," he said quickly, "and I don't have a phone, but maybe if you'd-"

"Oh, it won't take long," the man replied, cutting Peter off and seizing him by the shoulder.

The moment the man placed a hand on him, Peter's spider-sense intensified, and he got the feeling that if he didn't get away right now, he'd be in major danger. Trying not to use too much of his strength, he jerked away and got up, backing up a few steps in the process.

Unfortunately, this didn't deter the newcomer, who followed him. He dropped his voice so low that it was hard to hear with the noise of the festival, but Peter received the message loud and clear. "Alright, kid, I tried to do this the nice way, but you're coming with me, one way or another."

Peter took off running before the message was finished. He wasn't sure why the man was after him, or what he wanted to do with him, but he doubted it was anything good. Not wanting to wait around and find out the specifics, he hurried as fast as his feet would take him and didn't bother to look back.

As he ran, he could hear the man swearing at him, as well as Mary Jane calling out to him. He felt a small twinge of guilt for running off without responding to her, but it wasn't enough to make him stop running. I hope she doesn't think too badly of me, he couldn't help but think, but I'd rather disappoint her than go with Mr. Grabby-Mitts over there.

Dodging down an alleyway, Peter paused for a moment to catch his breath. As he paused, he felt another twinge in his stomach, this time from hunger again. Oh, come on! Not now! he thought with annoyance as the feeling came over him.

Looking both ways, he made certain that no one was looking. When he was sure no one was there, he took off his shoes as fast as he could, tied the laces together, and flung them over his shoulders as he started scaling one of the walls.

He was about halfway up when his spider-sense went off again, telling him to dodge to the right. He obeyed, and moved out of the way just in time for a glob of adhesive to land right where he had been. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the man standing on the ground beneath him, aiming some sort of weapon at him. Great, so he's prepared.

Peter didn't slow down for a moment. Moving up the wall, he avoided two more shots, making it up on to the roof before another shot could zip above his head. Once he was up, he allowed himself to slump against the roof's edge and take a breath.

As soon as he took a pause, his stomach let out another growl. "Can you just keep quiet for now?" he scowled to himself. "We're in a life or death situation here!"

Taking a chance, Peter edged up and glanced down to the alleyway he had just emerged from. It was completely empty, and other than the globs of glue that were stuck to the side of the building, there was no sign anyone had ever been there.

Good news/bad new moment, Peter thought to himself. Good news: that creep's not making pot-shots at me anymore. Bad news, that's probably because he's making his way up here right now. I'd better get out of here before he finds me.

Scanning around to make sure no was looking, he took a few steps back and leapt from the roof to the one nearby. He attempted to land on his feet, but mid-jump, a wave of dizziness overcame him, and as soon as he came in contact with the roof, he tumbled over.

As he lay on his side, another wave came again, along with another twinge from his stomach. Great, now my hunger's messing with my head. Once I've gotten away, I'll have to dig up something to eat, even if it's out of a dumpster. He made a face, not pleased with the thought of eating garbage, but even less happy with the thought of the glue-gun wielding creep catching up to him.

As he pulled himself back up to his feet, he was only just able to dodge as another glue-blast zipped past his head. Just as he had assumed, the man had run through the first building to come after him, and was now standing, aiming his weapon. "Get back here!" he snarled.

"Why don't you come here and get me yourself?" Peter replied. "After all, I'm sure there's some granny who's going to want her glue-gun back for scrap-booking club."

Another blast was shot at him, and Peter was forced to back up again to avoid the shot, this time up to the far wall. "Laugh all you want, Parker, but this little tool's going to be all I need to bring you in."

He shot again, and Peter jumped forward to miss it, but another wave of dizziness overcame him and he fell to his knees…right into a puddle of the glue from earlier. Feeling himself stuck in the goop, he desperately looked for something to pull himself free with. Unfortunately, nothing made itself available, and he was firmly stuck.

It appeared that the pursuer was aware he had trapped his quarry, too, as he gave a grin when he saw Peter fall and fail to get up. Hurrying back to the door, he rushed over, certain that he had made the catch.

Peter knew well he had only a short amount of time to escape, so he searched for anything that might be of assistance. He didn't dare try to tear at the glue with his hands, as he could remember just how well that worked out for the thief from before. That meant that he'd need to find something else to pull himself free

Without any other option, he shot out a web line to the far wall. It latched on, and hoping that the web and the wall were made of firmer stuff than the glue, he began to try to pull himself free.

It was a struggle, and it took a while, but his efforts were not in vain. He was rewarded for his struggle when, with a sudden jerk, he tore himself free of his entrapment.

When he was free, however, he found that it wasn't the glue that had given way, but his pants. He had torn himself out of them completely, leaving the lower half of his costume completely exposed.

So much for those new clothes, he thought to himself. This might be my only chance of escape. He made quick work of removing the sweatshirt and button-down. Once that was done, he pulled his mask on.

Peter finished this just in time, as once the mask was on, his spider-sense went off. He was only just able leap down the side of the building and start crawling down when his pursuer caught up. Another glob of glue shot by his head, but he leapt over and clung to the new building. "You're going to have to do better than that, Granny!" Spider-Man called out before shooting out a web and swinging off. He could hear the man swearing in his direction, but he didn't bother with responding. All that mattered now was escape.

Unfortunately, escape was going to be difficult. The buildings keep getting lower and lower the further I move, he thought in dismay. I might as well be walking with how many single story buildings there are here.

As he moved on, he soon discovered there was another problem as well. "Look!" he heard a woman shriek. "It's him! It's Spider-Man!"

They know about me here? Spider-Man couldn't help but think. "I'm sorry," he said aloud. "I don't have any time for autographs."

"Get away from here, you menace!" a man yelled. He grabbed a rock and flung it at Spidey, and he was soon joined by others. Before long, everyone was either fleeing in terror or hurling debris and insults at him.

"Murderer!"

"Monster!"

"Criminal!"

"Hey! What did I do?" Spider-Man asked, leaping out of the way of the hurled debris. "Doesn't anyone have any love for the Web-Head?"

He was forced to crawl along the roof to escape from the crowd, where he had to duck into an alleyway. "Geez, between Captain Glue-Gun and the angry mob, I might not make it out of here in one piece." He was cut off as his stomach grumbled again. "And I still haven't eaten. Really, can't I catch one break?"

"Hey, Spidey! Over here!" he heard Mary Jane call out to him. He searched around the alley and saw her standing at one end of the alley. She was seated in a beat-up blue pickup truck, and was motioning for him to come. "Come on!"

Not stopping to question how she had found him, Spider-Man hurried over and slipped into the passenger seat. "Thanks for the assist Ma-er, ma'am."

"No need to keep up pretenses, Pete," she replied handing him a new sweater. "Also, I recommend you take that mask off and put this on. I'd rather not have my windows broken."

"Wait, how do you know who I am?" he asked, pulling his mask off ask he spoke.

"Same reason I'm not throwing bricks at you," she said. "I saw you climb up that wall without your mask when that creep chased you. It wasn't hard to put the pieces together from there."

That still left so many question which raced through his mind as he got the sweater on. "Wait, so why were they throwing stuff at me? What did I do to deserve that?"

She picked up her phone and handed it to him. "Here. This should catch you up while we go. I warn you, I will have questions for you over lunch." Without another word, she moved the truck into gear and hurried off.

Not wanting to distract her as she drove, he turned to phone. It was opened to a Bugle Media webpage. A picture of a younger Peter was staring out back at him and the article's headline was written across the top in bold lettering: 16-Year-Old Queens Boy Murdered by Spider-Man.

To be continued…