Scarlet Spider: Lost Years
Synopsis: Ben Reilly was only the clone of Peter Parker, but he grew to be so much more. During his lost years he struggled with his identity in the shadow of the spider. These are the untold stories of his journey across America, and how he rediscovered the path to heroism.
Category: Marvel
Genre: Drama/Angst
Rating: PG13 for violence, language, and adult themes.
Authors Notes: I haven't decided yet if this is canon or AU, and that will largely depend on how many mistakes I make. I will do my best to keep it on the canon path, though. The usual disclaimers apply here, as I am not employed by Marvel comics group and do not own any characters other than the OCs that I will dream up as I go along. I'm still new to the Fanfic scene so your comments and suggestions are appreciated.
Prologue:
How long does it take for a world to end?
Anyone who wants the answer to that question should not ponder the philosophical considerations or the mathematical theories of the foremost physicists. All that you would have to do is ask the man whom posterity would record as having the name Ben Reilly. It was not the name that he was born with, and some would say that he was not born at all, but it was the name that he died with. This story is not concerned with that sad day or the events that it involved. This story cannot change what happened that day or bring him back to the land of the living. Ben Reilly is now a part of history, but he is an enigmatic part. Everyone talks about the way that he died. No one seems concerned with the way that he lived. Ben Reilly was a hero that day, and on others like it, but no one seems to know why. The reason is as obvious as it is puzzling. Ben Reilly chose to make the decisions that he made, and do the things that he did, because he knew exactly how long it took for a world to end.
It only took one split second.
The world seemed to take on a weight, a gravity, that it had never seemed to have before. The fingers, so blessed with power that could cling to all but the slickest of surfaces, slid over the brick wall as if it was made out of butter. His muscles, hard as cordoned steel, were slack and feeble. His mind, bright and gifted, was numb and incoherent. Because the world had ended, and the man that had only seconds ago been absolutely sure of who he was now had no idea. If he was not Peter Parker, if he was not Spider-man, than how could he cling to this wall? How could he have superhuman strength? How could he be alive at all? It was that momentary surge of doubt that robbed him of his amazing powers and caused him to fall. As he fell, his enhanced reflexes made time seem to slow down, and it seemed as if he was falling at the same rate of speed as the droplets of water around him. His spider-sense exploded in his skull; something neither sight, hearing, taste, smell, or even a feeling. It was something else, and it was that which saved his life.
Almost of its own volition, his arm shot out and fired a web line. It was enough to stop his decent, with a savage jerk, but - without the presence of mind to grasp it - the line snapped off at the end of the steel bracelet around his wrist. He hit the pavement of the alleyway like a sack of potatoes and laid there, very still, for a long time. The pouring rain soaked him, and he lay in the puddle, hoping that if he laid there long enough he would become of body what he already was of soul. A dead man. A man without a mother, father, a past, or even a name. A thing. Nothing but a genetic Xerox of a man that his mind screamed at him that he was. But it was that picture, that scene, that he could not get out of his mind. It was Peter Parker, the one that had defeated him and left him for dead, kissing Mary Jane.
I'm the clone The thought had exploded like a bomb in his brain He's the real one and I'm the fake.
It was a thought without reason, logic, or any kind of support. Yet it was the truth in his mind, so deep in his mind that he could not deny it. It had been something creeping in his brain, denied at every turn, since he was locked in combat with himself. When he awoke in the smokestack, with only the vaguest memories of the battle, it did not occur to him. As he swung across the city, just as his mind had told him he had done a thousand times, it did not occur to him. But when he looked through the window of the apartment, seeing Peter Parker's lips meeting Mary Jane Watson's, he could not escape the thought. It was like the talons of an eagle gripping his brain in a death grip. He writhed in the puddle, clutching his skull and howling a silent scream. It was all gone, his identity and his life. He was left with nothing. He was nothing. But there was one cosmic joke that's punch line had just occurred to him.
He was still alive.
The nameless man sprung to his feet and jumped five stories straight up, clinging to the wall and scrambling up it with incredible speed. His eyes were still pressed shut with all his strength, but he did not need them. He knew this part of town like the back of his hand, and his spider sense would warn him of any unforeseen dangers. Not that he cared. Because he was already dead and was only waiting for his body to figure it out. Because there was only one place to go, and it was the last place in the world that he wanted to go. He leapt from building to building, leaping impossible distances effortlessly… with his eyes closed. Handsprings, back flips, somersaults, and cartwheels all came more effortlessly than they could be executed by an Olympic gymnast, but none of that mattered to him. Because these powers, amazing though they were, didn't belong to him. They were stolen, like his entire genetic code and all of his memories. He was a freak, but more than that he was not even a unique freak. He had no home to go to, no sanctuary to hide from the world that would destroy him. He only had one place to go… and that was the place where he was going to die.
When he opened his eyes, still hidden behind the opaque white lenses of his mask, he was unsurprised by the scene that greeted him. It seemed as if he had just been here. His memories told him that it was so. He could almost feel the chains that had been wrapped around him, locked in place by the Jackal. He could almost feel the strong hands of the Tarantula, throwing him from the bridge. He could almost feel himself falling toward the water… an inevitable doom awaiting him. At this point, it did not seem all that terrible a fate. For it had been here that he failed. In a moment of weakness he had watched the Green Goblin pitch Gwen Stacy from the bridge, and instead of diving after her he had fired a web line to snag her like the tongue of a frog snatched a fly from midair. Even now he could hear that sound, that flat crack, echoing across the water. But these were not his memories. His tears blinded him behind his mask, and he tore that mask away. If he could have he would have torn away the face inside it, for it was as much a mask as the scrap of red cloth.
He looked down to the darkness, and it drew him in. He could hear the voice calling to him. That dark, cold, voice that was inside us all. Telling him that this was all there was. That one short plunge into darkness and oblivion would be his reward. No thought, no feeling, no pain. Just one step forward and it could all be over. But there was another voice, quieter, but somehow more self assured. The voice told him that wasn't who he was. That all was not lost. That where there was life there was hope. His fists clenched and unclenched , and his breath came in ragged gasps as these two inner voices dueled. It was at this moment, and not at that moment of his biological generation, that Ben Reilly was born. For he did not make that leap into darkness. He chose, for better or for worse, to live. The next day he left New York City behind, and the shadow of the spider with it.
Sometimes the end of the world is only the beginning of a journey.