Chapter 01: With Great Power
Peter Parker couldn't help but wonder, as he stared across the nighttime city skyline… would Uncle Ben be proud of him, if he could see him now? Or would he just be utterly terrified?
Perched high atop one of the latest sky-scraping testaments to Norman Osborn's ego— seriously, every time Peter thought that Osborn had already bought the whole of the city out from under them all, boom, hey, hi, surprise, there's yet one more obnoxiously O-branded property on the books— he knew on some level that he should probably be more fearful. He'd never been afraid of heights, not really, even before that spider bit him back in October and turned his world upside down and inside out— right along with his DNA— but he in some small part of his lizard brain that human beings just weren't meant to be so high above the ground that the cars and people below looked almost like ants.
It was just that…
Ever since Ben—
He closed his eyes beneath the specialized lenses of his red and black-webbed mask. Shutting out the lights, the ants, just for a moment. Nothing but the strong winds and his thoughts to plague him.
He didn't want to die. Even in his darkest moments, he wanted to make Uncle Ben proud of him. He wanted to take care of Aunt May. He wanted— needed— to make up for the horrible mistake he had made that had ruined all their lives. Or try to, anyway.
But he just couldn't let fear dictate his actions. That was the thing. He understood that fear was an evolutionary gift, in its own way. That was basic science. That small part of his lizard brain nagging him about heights and the spectacular mess he would make if he were to slip and have a violent meeting with the pavement so far down below— that was just his mind doing its level best to keep his genes propagating out there in the world. The Parker lineage, all that.
Not that he was having much luck in that department. Liz was still all but hanging off of Flash's arm. Though, she had given him a small, almost sympathetic smile after his uncle's funeral. That was nice. Flash, for his part, had seen fit to utterly ignore him for the last few days. Maybe less out of some sudden attack of conscience, and more out of a general understanding that picking on the kid whose uncle had just been brutally murdered would be looked down upon.
"Lucky me," Peter chuckled dryly.
He was pleased to see that the mask, at least, was starting to feel more comfortable against his skin.
He couldn't let fear dictate his actions, helpful though that might've been— because he just had too much important stuff to get done. Who had time for fear, really?
Certainly not the Amazing Spider-Man…!
Again, he laughed to himself, although that was maybe being a bit charitable. It was more of a snort.
Iron Man, flying around, saving the day— giant publicity stunt for Stark Enterprises though he very likely was— the Fantastic Four, popping in and out from their jaunts into other dimensions long enough for Johnny Storm to upload the latest of his compilation videos from their explorations to YouTube, save the world again once or twice, then dip back out for more fame and fortune in the supposed pursuit of bettering mankind.
New York's heroes were awe-inspiring, sure. But Peter kept hearing Uncle Ben's words, bouncing around in his head, time and again:
"With great power… there must also come great responsibility."
Maybe it wasn't his place. But it seemed like the city's super-powered community wasn't exactly being what he'd call "responsible".
Stark's Iron Man suit was a huge leap forward in technology. The stuff Peter had seen that rig accomplish in the videos on the web— just… insane. Utterly, completely, delightfully insane. Flight, force fields, a seemingly endless arsenal that could topple buildings, cripple armies…
"Really," Peter mused aloud, "I'm sure Iron Man even gets to kick back and catch up on Thrones while he's piloting that thing. Suit probably does ninety-five percent of the work."
But that was the thing— the Iron Man armor was a modern miracle of tech. So why the heck was Stark just limiting to whatever square-jawed money-minded private security lunk he'd contracted to zip around in the thing? If he would even just start pushing some of his tech to the police… man, New York would be the safest place on the planet overnight.
The FF were all right, really. Peter admired Reed Richards greatly. He'd read his book Fantastic Possibilities at least a dozen times, and he'd had Negative Theory and Modern Man on pre-order within twenty minutes of its announcement on Twitter. But Doctor Richards and his family were scientists and cosmic explorers before they were any sort of super heroes. It's not that they weren't interested in helping people, far from it… they just had a very different idea from Peter of how to do it.
Were they right, though?
Maybe the FF were spending a little too much time phasing in and out between the planes getting research for Reed's next book to stay in touch with the little guy.
"Yeah, well," Peter mused. "I can bench jeeps now. At least… pretty sure I can. Could get the back wheels off the ground easily enough. Could tip the thing like it was nothing."
At least no one else would be up here to hear him talking to himself. One of the added benefits of his newfound powers. It'd suddenly gotten a whole lot easier for him to break away and have some intelligent conversation.
With himself, more often than not.
"Yep," he said, spreading his arms wide. "All the power in the universe. Still no friends. Prime material for a Tumblr blog."
What could he name his hypothetical, angst-ridden Internet soapbox?
Lone Spider?
Crawl Space?
The Tangled Web?
A scream cut into his sardonic tangent.
"Sweet! Hero time! Don't worry, old-timers. Spider-Man can look out for the little guy while you're off saving the world or whatever."
Maybe it was just as well that Stark had Iron Man battling domestic terrorists and the odd super powered freak that had started popping up now and again the past couple years. What else was the so-called "Golden Avenger" gonna do? Vaporize muggers with his unibeam?
He leapt without thinking about it. Gravity rushed to try to get a hold of him, but Peter threw out one of his arms, firing off a webline with practiced ease towards a nearby building, then wrapping the line around his arm and allowing physics to take care of the rest.
Web slinging, he thought. Probably the new safest way to travel, statistically speaking. Since I'm the only one doing it, and hey, look at that, so far— I have not fallen to my death!
At least his legendarily awful Parker Luck hadn't yet seen fit to rear its ugly head when it came to Peter and giving gravity the metaphorical middle finger.
Focusing in on the source of the distress was easy enough. His spider sense pulsed at the back of his skull the closer he got to the danger. Again, though, he was going to have to ignore countless years of evolution and go towards said danger instead of far, far away from it.
This is the best, he thought. No matter what else might be going wrong in my life— no matter how hard things get— I am never going to get tired of this…!
Enrico felt hot under the ski mask. It itched horribly, chaffing against his skin while Javi continued shouting at the poor bastard behind the counter.
"You wanna die today? Just give me the money!"
The gun came up, and Enrico felt his blood run cold— but then Javi just whacked the guy across the face with it, instead of…
Instead of…
Mama, he thought, I am so sorry. This is so… this is out of control… why did I agree to this…!
But that was stupid. He knew exactly why.
"What're you gonna do, just keep working that bullshit job, getting paid crap just so the old man can yell at you all day? Nah, man. That's not gonna work for me. Sure as hell ain't gonna work for you!"
Javi sure knew how to get under his skin. He always had, ever since they were kids.
"You think Teresa's gonna notice you? Flipping burgers, looking like trash? New plan, man— we grab life by the balls. We do this, we make more in ten minutes than either of us make in a week!"
Hard to argue with that. Especially not when Javi was being so… intense.
So now, here they were. Holding some guy at gun point, threatening his life for what? A few thousand dollars?
We're done. We're done, he thought, remembering that screaming from outside the store, as soon as their guns came out. Some tourist, probably. Spied them through the window, couldn't hold it together. Scared out of her mind.
How much longer until the cops showed now?
I've never even kissed a girl, he thought.
Javi was still yelling. Money, the money, give up the money— did the guy behind the counter even speak English?
And now the gun was coming up again. The clerk's eyes were wide. Wet. His skin looked muddy and gray under the fluorescent lights. Enrico realized, in a sort of detached, far away fashion, that this man probably had family.
That was when it happened.
Some sort of… thread… this grayish white… stuff… like… silly string, or something… shot past Enrico's head in the blink of an eye, latching onto Javi's gun like some sort of alien creature.
Javi gave a start, crying out as the gun went off, firing harmlessly into the ceiling.
Then, as Enrico watched, the gun went sailing back, out of Javi's hand, arcing past him— he turned— Javi, too— and they saw—
"What the hell, man?" Javi exclaimed, sounding so shocked it was almost funny, in spite of all this.
He was dressed in what might have been spandex, head to toe. Like one of those morph suits the nerds wore to their conventions or whatever. Red, blue, covered in this weird web-like pattern, with a jagged spider emblem right in the center of his chest.
The eyes, though. The eyes were the worst part. They were this big white things— so large they seemed to take up two thirds of the masked man's face— assuming he even was a man at all.
He stood there, casually twirling the gun about on the end of the gross thread-like substance he'd snagged it with.
Then he started… talking.
"You boys really need to work on your communication skills. Trust me, nobody understands more than me how hard it is connecting with people, but— I mean, geez, your social skills need a lot of work. See this?"
He nodded to the gun on the end of his line, before tossing it straight up into the air. He did something weird with his hand— it looked almost like sign language or something— and more thread shot out from him. It clung to the weapon, plastering it to the ceiling, far out of reach.
"This is not how we make friends, guys, all right?"
This isn't happening, Enrico thought, looking around wildly for wherever the reality show crew must've been hiding. Clearly, this was all one big joke at his expense, and he really, really wanted it to be over with, already.
Striding forward, the masked man moved for Enrico. He tried to run, but his legs felt sluggish— and the masked man was far too fast for him, anyway.
"Nope, nope, nope," he said, snatching Enrico up as easily as if he were a doll, before using more of his weird arm-stuff to stick him fast to a display shelf. It was so damn quick— it hadn't even taken more than a second, but now Enrico was covered throat to toe in this stuff.
"No cutting out early," the masked man said. "We've really gotta work on these disruptive behaviors of yours. The therapy only works if you want it to, you know?"
Enrico tried moving. Tried to work himself free. The stuff didn't look that strong, how hard could it—
He couldn't move an inch.
He was trapped.
Oh, Enrico thought. Oh, yeah. A spider. Spider. It's his… web. I'm… covered in… webs…
He wanted to vomit.
Now the spider-guy was moving for Javi, who was seemingly frozen to the spot in fear.
"What the hell are you?" he asked.
The masked man leapt forward— impossibly fast, impossibly far, knocking Javi to the floor. Javi made a noise like a kicked puppy, as those huge, alien eyes loomed over him.
"I'm Spider-Man," he said simply.
Then, he sprang back up, twisting in mid air, and—
Planting his feet on the ceiling.
Because, you know. Of course he did. Of course. Enrico had just given up being surprised by anything at this point.
The masked man— "Spider-Man"— threw more of his webbing down on Javi, holding him fast.
Annnd I win!" Spider-Man said, chuckling. He proceeded to do a truly awful victory dance there on the ceiling, taunting physics right along with Enrico and Javi.
"Well. Thanks, guys. It's been grand. I hope you'll both reflect on this moment and use it as a real opportunity for personal growth!"
He turned, and started walking towards the door— again, on the ceiling.
"H— hey—!" Javi called out.
Spider-Man turned his head to look down at them from over his shoulder.
"How long are we gonna be— y'know— stuck like this?"
Spider-Man looked at them for a few long moments before answering.
"Forever," he said.
Javi's face went white. Enrico started struggling again, fighting like his life depended on it, but to no avail.
Then Spider-Man started laughing at them.
"Oh! Oh, man! You guys. Geez. Wow. That was— that was priceless—!"
He twirled on the ceiling like a ballerina, before dropping back to the floor, finally, and twisting again to face them.
"I'm messing with you. An hour. That's all."
He paused.
"I think. Still tweaking the formula, honestly. But— look, don't worry, you guys are fine… probably."
Now the sounds of sirens started to reach their ears. Enrico didn't even care anymore. He just wanted this to be over.
"That's my cue!" Spider-Man said, giving them a jaunty wave. "You guys don't mind sticking around, do you?"
He winced.
"Ouch. Sorry. That was cheesy, even for me."
And with that, he bounded out the door.
As Spider-Man vanished back out into the night, the clerk— still shaking with adrenaline— glared mightily at the two helpless boys, and said— in perfect English—
"Yeah— see that shit? That's what happens to punks like you! Serves you right!"
Enrico just hung his head.
Jail was fine, at this point. He just wanted to go to bed.