- Zealot -
Spiderman fanfic by Simon P.
This is my first attempt at fanfic of any sort, so please be patient. Also, I'm from Canada, so I spell colour and humour with a u.live with it! And I don't put a hyphen in 'Spiderman.' This is based more on the movie than the comics. Anyways, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or anything so don't sue me. Feel free to distribute, but please leave this disclaimer intact along with me email and name (Simon P, whygodwhy@imstressed.com). Oh, and if you make money from this story, I want a cut. ;)
Chapter One
Spiderman sat on the parapet of a New York City skyscraper, staring down at the traffic stories below him. It had been a quiet Saturday afternoon, criminally speaking. No bank robberies, car chases or muggings at all. Spiderman was bored out of his mind.
"I suppose that I should be glad that there's no crime," he thought aloud, "but I can't help but feel so.bored." It's not that he liked seeing innocent civilians being threatened by megalomaniac super villains, but his job seemed so tame since his bout with the Green Goblin ten months earlier. Spiderman yearned for more action.
He stood up and looked around. Wind pushed against his suit and the sounds of car horns could be heard from down below. He leaped off the building, dropping a few stories before shooting out a string of webbing and swung down the street. Whenever he was swinging, the wind roared into Spiderman's ears and blocked out the sounds of the people and cars below him. The only sound he could hear was his webbing shooting from his wrists and his stomach growling.
"I'd better go home and get something to eat." Spiderman changed directions and headed for his apartment.
Ramses looked up to see the wall crawler swing off. He lit a cigarette and took a puff. He was a rather tall man and very muscular, although no one could guess it because of the loose trench coat he wore. He would have been a handsome man, had it not been for the scars on his face. Rough stubble covered his jaw.
He walked back to the apartment he was renting. He had made sure to get a place that Spiderman often passed by. Ramses had been following and watching the spider for weeks. Learning his tendencies, his patterns and his movements. He knew the superhero like no other. He looked out his window at the city of New York. If was loud, polluted and vulgar. He hoped this was not his hometown. "Where am I from?" he thought.
His cell phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket. "Hello?"
"Mr. Ramses?" The voice was deep.distorted to disguise the caller's identity.
"Speaking."
"This is your employer. I'd like to know when you are going to attack the target."
"Soon. I'm still watching him."
"Well, I have good news," the voice had heavy bass. "I have a new tool for you."
"What is it?"
"I would rather not talk about this on the phone. I will send some men to your apartment in one hour."
"Very well."
"Goodbye." Click.
Ramses grunted. This was one of the most secretive employers he'd ever had. "Why bother?" He asked himself.
Ramses had a strange cerebral disorder. His brain couldn't hold a memory for more than two years. With each day that passed, he forgot one day that had happened to him two years before. He had no knowledge of his home, why he lost his memory or even if 'Ramses' was his real name. Frankly, though, it didn't bother him much. Employers seemed more trusting in him this way, and they paid handsomely. Ramses was content with his nomadic life as a hired assassin.
Ramses walked over into the bedroom. The whole apartment was very bare, and this room was no different. He slid a large black leather briefcase out from under his bed and placed it on top. He undid the locks, and with two clicks, opened it. The metallic silver of the guns contrasted heavily against the black felt inside of the suitcase. He took out a .50 calibre Desert Eagle with a 10-inch barrel, and popped an ammo clip into it. He put it into his holster, concealed beneath his coat, and waited for his guests to arrive.
He loved guns. He had thought about quitting and trying to cure his mental problem, but there were some things he loved about his job: the adventure, the action, the sound of a gunshot, and the pay. Ramses felt like a hunter, and people were paying him to do his hobby. Over the years, he'd killed businessmen, politicians, and one Colombian drug lord.
Just a few weeks ago, this employer contacted him at his Italian home and flew him to New York in a private jet. Almost as soon as the plane touched down, Ramses was whisked away to this apartment. A black leather bag was waiting on the table. Ten thousand dollars were in that bag, along with a letter describing the job.
Kill Spiderman! To do such a thing would be almost impossible, and if Ramses could do it, he'd know that he was the best assassin alive. It was the supreme challenge.
There was a knock at the door. Through the peephole, Ramses could see a pair of large men waiting. He unlocked the door and swung it open. The two men looked at him without saying a word. He moved out of the way and they walked into the apartment, placed a large metal case on the table, then turned around and walked out the door.
Ramses walked over to the table and opened the case. There was a note sitting on top of the weapon. It read:
"Mr. Ramses,
In this case you will find a weapon to help you deal with the target. After having read the enclosed instructions, destroy the documentation and make sure that the authorities do not find this weapon, it could be traced back to us. Good luck.
-Your bosses."
Spiderman fanfic by Simon P.
This is my first attempt at fanfic of any sort, so please be patient. Also, I'm from Canada, so I spell colour and humour with a u.live with it! And I don't put a hyphen in 'Spiderman.' This is based more on the movie than the comics. Anyways, enjoy.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or anything so don't sue me. Feel free to distribute, but please leave this disclaimer intact along with me email and name (Simon P, whygodwhy@imstressed.com). Oh, and if you make money from this story, I want a cut. ;)
Chapter One
Spiderman sat on the parapet of a New York City skyscraper, staring down at the traffic stories below him. It had been a quiet Saturday afternoon, criminally speaking. No bank robberies, car chases or muggings at all. Spiderman was bored out of his mind.
"I suppose that I should be glad that there's no crime," he thought aloud, "but I can't help but feel so.bored." It's not that he liked seeing innocent civilians being threatened by megalomaniac super villains, but his job seemed so tame since his bout with the Green Goblin ten months earlier. Spiderman yearned for more action.
He stood up and looked around. Wind pushed against his suit and the sounds of car horns could be heard from down below. He leaped off the building, dropping a few stories before shooting out a string of webbing and swung down the street. Whenever he was swinging, the wind roared into Spiderman's ears and blocked out the sounds of the people and cars below him. The only sound he could hear was his webbing shooting from his wrists and his stomach growling.
"I'd better go home and get something to eat." Spiderman changed directions and headed for his apartment.
Ramses looked up to see the wall crawler swing off. He lit a cigarette and took a puff. He was a rather tall man and very muscular, although no one could guess it because of the loose trench coat he wore. He would have been a handsome man, had it not been for the scars on his face. Rough stubble covered his jaw.
He walked back to the apartment he was renting. He had made sure to get a place that Spiderman often passed by. Ramses had been following and watching the spider for weeks. Learning his tendencies, his patterns and his movements. He knew the superhero like no other. He looked out his window at the city of New York. If was loud, polluted and vulgar. He hoped this was not his hometown. "Where am I from?" he thought.
His cell phone started to ring. He pulled it out of his pocket. "Hello?"
"Mr. Ramses?" The voice was deep.distorted to disguise the caller's identity.
"Speaking."
"This is your employer. I'd like to know when you are going to attack the target."
"Soon. I'm still watching him."
"Well, I have good news," the voice had heavy bass. "I have a new tool for you."
"What is it?"
"I would rather not talk about this on the phone. I will send some men to your apartment in one hour."
"Very well."
"Goodbye." Click.
Ramses grunted. This was one of the most secretive employers he'd ever had. "Why bother?" He asked himself.
Ramses had a strange cerebral disorder. His brain couldn't hold a memory for more than two years. With each day that passed, he forgot one day that had happened to him two years before. He had no knowledge of his home, why he lost his memory or even if 'Ramses' was his real name. Frankly, though, it didn't bother him much. Employers seemed more trusting in him this way, and they paid handsomely. Ramses was content with his nomadic life as a hired assassin.
Ramses walked over into the bedroom. The whole apartment was very bare, and this room was no different. He slid a large black leather briefcase out from under his bed and placed it on top. He undid the locks, and with two clicks, opened it. The metallic silver of the guns contrasted heavily against the black felt inside of the suitcase. He took out a .50 calibre Desert Eagle with a 10-inch barrel, and popped an ammo clip into it. He put it into his holster, concealed beneath his coat, and waited for his guests to arrive.
He loved guns. He had thought about quitting and trying to cure his mental problem, but there were some things he loved about his job: the adventure, the action, the sound of a gunshot, and the pay. Ramses felt like a hunter, and people were paying him to do his hobby. Over the years, he'd killed businessmen, politicians, and one Colombian drug lord.
Just a few weeks ago, this employer contacted him at his Italian home and flew him to New York in a private jet. Almost as soon as the plane touched down, Ramses was whisked away to this apartment. A black leather bag was waiting on the table. Ten thousand dollars were in that bag, along with a letter describing the job.
Kill Spiderman! To do such a thing would be almost impossible, and if Ramses could do it, he'd know that he was the best assassin alive. It was the supreme challenge.
There was a knock at the door. Through the peephole, Ramses could see a pair of large men waiting. He unlocked the door and swung it open. The two men looked at him without saying a word. He moved out of the way and they walked into the apartment, placed a large metal case on the table, then turned around and walked out the door.
Ramses walked over to the table and opened the case. There was a note sitting on top of the weapon. It read:
"Mr. Ramses,
In this case you will find a weapon to help you deal with the target. After having read the enclosed instructions, destroy the documentation and make sure that the authorities do not find this weapon, it could be traced back to us. Good luck.
-Your bosses."