Peter Parker swung home through the dark skyline of New York city. Everywhere below, he could only see a job waiting to be done, a criminal that needed to be stopped. But he was in no shape for that tonight. Even Spider-man needed a rest once in a while.
His parents had died when he was very little. He knew they fought in the war, and that they were secret agents for the U.S. government. His uncle Ben was a scientist, working to create a larger arsenal for them to use in the fight against the communists.
Then there was the plane accident. At least the newspapers called it an accident. Peter had studied the data from the flight personally and found out it had been shot down. A commercial airliner blown from the sky, with over sixty innocent civilians on board, just so one man could satisfy his lust for revenge and power.
After that, Peter went to live with his aunt and uncle. They lived a relatively normal life and Peter grew up to be an unexceptional nerd. His I.Q. scores were off the charts, but he decided to get a job in photography. Taking pictures for the Bugle.
Just an average kid. Just what he wanted.
Then one night, the last night he would see his uncle alive, he went down to the workroom and found Ben working on a formula that his parents had recovered from Russia.
"Why?" Peter had asked.
Ben just looked at him, for a long time. Then he gestured him over, and said; "Peter my boy… I'd love to just pretend that I'm not who I am. I'd like to be a normal old man, taking care of his nephew, and his wife. But that's a lie. I'm a scientist. Pretending that I'm not is like pretending I don't have any arms. It's not who I am, and it's foolish to even consider. You see Pete, I've been given an amazing gift. A brain. A powerful brain. And I can't just take this god-given gift and ignore it. This incredible power… as long as I have it, it would be a waste to live a normal life. Remember that Peter. If there's one thing I want you to learn from me it's this; with great power, comes great responsibility. Your parents always understood that."
Peter left for work, annoyed at his uncle for not being normal. He went with J. Jonah Jameson on a drug raid. The police broke through the barricaded warehouse doors, and charged in, guns blazing. Peter stood on the sidelines taking pictures. It was one of Jameson's prides that he could be so influential to the police force. He was an investigative journalist, and had taught Peter how to snoop around. He prided his paper on being honest, and had alerted the police force about this shipping operation.
One thug in a pinstriped suit managed to evade the police. He ran straight at Parker, as a police officer stood at the warehouse door, telling him to trip him, stop him, to do anything. But he couldn't. He froze. He didn't have any power here. He couldn't stop the man.
He ran straight past, yelling at Jonah. "I'll get you Jonah! You and everybody around you will suffer!" Then he disappeared into the night.
Peter had his pictures and Jonah had his story. He drove Pete home.
When they arrived, the door was broken in. Peter rushed in, ignoring Jameson's calls to wait. There in the living room, the thug stood in the middle of a pool of blood. His aunt and uncle lay on the floor, bleeding out.
He looked over Pete's shoulder. "You were warned Jameson." He yelled as he cocked his gun and pointed it into Peter's face.
Peter realized something then; he had the power. He had it all along.
He launched himself at the gangster, and beat him within an inch of his life. He only stopped when Jameson put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't boy." He said. "Don't."
He didn't.
The Eddie 'The Spider' Brock died in prison anyway. Shanked by a cellmate who didn't want to share.
At the funeral, Jonah arranged to adopt Peter. He had treated him like a son ever since he'd lost his own anyway. Peter agreed and it was final.
Peter sulked for a month. Nothing could cheer him up. Then he went through his parent's and his uncle's stuff. He found the gadgets his uncle designed. He found the formula he'd been working on. He finished it. He improved it. It became a web, and he became a spider. A symbol to strike fear into the hearts of the city's underbelly. He and Jameson worked on a suit, worked to put Peter in peak physical condition. Peter took the web, and made different cartridges of the stuff for different occasions.
And Spider-man was born.
He had the power. And he accepted the responsibility.
He swung into the open window of the Jameson penthouse. Taking off his stuffy mask he winced, and went searching for an ice-pack. He was certain that some of his ribs had broken again as he'd been swinging.
He walked through the lobby. "J.J.? I'm back." He took off his costume's shirt and belt and checked under his bandages. Yikes.
"Sorry I was out so late." He called as he went to the kitchen. He took an ice pack out of the freezer, and a yogurt. He listened, and decided J.J. was already asleep. As he left the kitchen, he suddenly tripped on something.
He groaned, and slowly eased himself off of his chest. His hands were in something sticky. He lifted up his hand.
It was covered in blood.
He leaped up, and stared at the place on the floor where Jameson's body should be. It was cloaked in shadows; only a hand was visible clutching a phone. It was in the middle of dialing Peter's in-suit number.
J.J. would rather have had Spider-man save him than the police.
Peter knelt down on the floor and began to cry.
Liz Allen the news lady on channel thirteen had just finished talking about the city's newest gang violence. "And in other news today," She reported, "The business world is shocked by the death of J. Jonah Jameson, Editor in Chief of the Daily Bugle and C.E.O. of ONN."
"He was found in his penthouse by his adopted son Peter Parker Jameson, after he tripped over his coffee table and a piece of a shattered vase was driven through his heart."
"The famed business man took pride in his stand against crime and corruption, repeatedly printing stories in his paper that would have gotten any other man killed years ago. The first assassination attempt several years ago put several of the aggressors in the hospital before they went to jail."
"Theories about a gang attempting comeuppance continue to circulate, but the police insist it was all an accident." A fist drove through the T.V. set, punching straight out the other end.
"The old man left everything including his position as C.E.O. to his son Peter. He will be turning eighteen in two days, and has agreed with his adopted father's plan to take over the business when he has come of age. Although, he will be letting Mr. Robertson, the Daily Bugle's second-in-command take charge as Editor in chief until he 'feels ready'."
"But the business world has its trepidations about young Peter ever really being ready, and with the day he becomes C.E.O. fast approaching, stocks are going down." The fist crashed into the next screen.
"They certainly will now that you've said it." Peter hissed at the broken set.
There was a knock on the door. It was Harry, and his family. "Can we come in?"
Peter opened the door. "Sure." The Osborn family walked in to see the T.V. sets in a mess on the floor. There was only one left, still reporting on Jameson's death.
"Is this a bad time?" Gwen asked.
Peter smiled. "No, not at all. I'll just go get some drinks." He went into the kitchen and opened the fridge. He took a link to all the security cameras in the house out of the ice-box and looked at the living room.
Gwen carefully stepped over the broken glass and T.V. sets, as the baby in her arms eagerly gestured to them as if he wanted to play. Norman had his hand on his son's shoulder and was whispering in his ear. Smiling.
Peter put the link back and got out a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice. And went back to the living room.
Gwen was gingerly picking up the broken sets and putting them in a corner. Her baby was trapped behind a barricade of newspaper stacks.
Osborn stepped forward. "Peter, we've come to offer our condolences. This must be a very difficult time for you."
Peter nodded, glumly.
"If there's anything I can do to help, if you need any advice in running a company, you let me know."
"That's alright. I think I can manage."
There was a slightly awkward silence. "Do you have a broom Peter?" Gwen asked.
Peter smiled at her. He was almost certain that the Osborns were criminals, but he found himself hard-pressed to find anything against Gwen. "Don't trouble yourself Gwen. I'll clean up." He went to a nearby closet and took out a broom.
"Actually Peter, this isn't an entirely social visit."
Gwen glared at her father in law, and Peter gritted his teeth behind his false smile.
"I actually have a business proposition. If you were to sell me your stocks in ONN, I'd be able to take the role of C.E.O. off of your hands. You can take it back at any time of course…"
Peter swung the broom and knocked the last T.V. set against the wall. He glared at Osborn, and whispered menacingly. "Get. Out."
Gwen picked up her baby and the Osborn family retreated.
In the limousine, Norman glared at his son. "Get him while he's down?" He whispered. "Get Jameson out of the way and have a friend of yours into the prime spot? Manipulate his grief? Does that look like a boy who's going to be easily manipulated?"
Harry shook. "No sir. But I bet it's just a phase. We shouldn't have approached him so soon after the funeral. Let's back off, give him some space, let him cool down. Then when he's more rational, we can go."
'Pipe down.' Hannibal Osborn called out with his mind. 'I'm trying to concentrate here.'
Gwen was frozen, all brain functions ceased. The Osborn baby tossed his Sponge bob doll away and turned his eerie gaze on his grandfather. 'It was a good idea, you blew it. You jumped the gun too early. Pete's not going to be on our side any more. He's still your friend daddy, so you can go talk to him. But he is one-hundred percent against granddaddy taking over.'
The Osborns stared at each other. "Well." Said the eldest. "At least he can't be worse than Jameson.
Peter went to the fashion show early.
He showed his backstage I.D. and walked over to the door with a star on it. He knocked three times lightly, and then rolled his knuckles against the door. It was his signature knock.
The door flew open, and Mary-Jane Watson fell out and hugged him tightly. "Oh Pete, I am so sorry about what happened. I only just heard it on the news. Are you all right tiger?"
Pete kissed her and smiled. Mary-Jane had cheered him up instantly. She was New York's youngest #1 supermodel and the love of Peter's life. He'd first met her in an alley as Spider-man, taking care of some rapists. It was love at first sight. He dreamed about her, until one day taking pictures of a fashion show for the Daily Bugle. He'd kept some of hers for himself, and tried to get backstage to meet her. He failed. But as luck would have it, the next day they'd met on the street and went for lunch together. He's found out that she wasn't only gorgeous; she was the kindest person Peter had ever met. He attended all of her fashion shoots after that. she'd recently been out of town for a month.
He held up a bouquet of White roses for her. Her favorite. "No M.J., no I'm not. But all my other parents have died so far. I'm used to it by now."
She kissed him again, more urgently. "Don't get used to it tiger. Don't you dare. Nobody should lose as many people in a lifetime as you have."
He smiled. "I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to take a rain check on tonight's show."
She pouted. "And on messing up my make-up afterwards?"
"Yes. I'm sorry, I just have to sort some things out."
She smiled, sadly. "I understand. Do what you have to do."
Detective J. Howlett, Private eye.
That's what it said on the door to his apartment, and that's what he was.
James' stomach growled as he went in. He popped a can of beer with his claws, sank into his worn couch, and settled down to watch the Pink Panther. Elsee Dee walked in with a newspaper under her arms.
"So, how did the investigation go? Did you figure out who was behind that carjacking ring?" She opened her mouth and played back a recording of Jame's voice. "I swear to you, I will not rest until the carjackers are all behind bars."
"I'm sorry mom." He groaned. "Is this about me not calling last Christmas?"
Elsee Dee was a robot specifically designed to kill James. Every spare nook and cranny in her was packed with explosives or combustible material. She was a cute little girl in a pink dress with blonde hair and a pair of pigtails. Fortunately, she'd been programmed with genius level-intellect and gained sentience. After managing to reprogram her system she began to work as Jame's secretary.
She jumped onto the couch and bounced on his stomach, looking like a girl playing with her skipping rope. "Up and at 'em lazy head. I know you don't need to rest."
He grunted and pushed her off as the doorbell rang. "Saved by the bell." He said as he got up to answer it.
He opened the door to see Peter Parker. He paused. "Come on in." He finally said.
Jame's office was decorated all sorts of trophies. He had a bear, a shark, piranhas; all stuffed save for the Siberian tiger rug on the floor.
"All of these animals are endangered you know."
"They've been in the family a while."
He sat at his Victorian era desk in front of the glass case, where a suit of samurai armor and a sword rested. He went to the filing cabinet next to it, opened a vanilla binder and wrote 'Peter Parker' on the marker.
"So, Mr. Parker, what do you want?"
"I want you to find the man who killed J. Jonah Jameson."
He raised his eyebrows and closed the folder. "And why didn't you go to the police with this?"
"You mean those corrupt doughnut-dunkers down the street? They say it was an accident."
"Maybe it was."
Peter leaned forward. "J.J. once beat five professional hitmen into submission with his cane. He would not have tripped over a coffee table."
James sighed. "Alright. I'll help out. But you gotta know, that if I don't find anything I'm gonna have to rule the case closed. Everybody trips sometime."
Peter leaned closer. "Also, I want in."
James looked into his eyes. "In on what?"
"In on the investigation. I'm going to investigate regardless; I'm just paying for your help. And I'll be paying extra."
Jame's face was unreadable. "I suppose you've earned that right." He murmured. "But listen, a good detective needs three things. You have to know what other people don't, see what other people don't, and survive what other people can't."
Peter looked around the room. "I know you were in World War One and you hunted all of these animals yourself when it wasn't illegal. I see that the little girl in the corner is a robot. And if you want to see how much I can survive, attack me."
Elsee leaped out of the corner and onto Peter's back. He grunted under the weight, still recuperating from last week's beating. He flipped over, and landed on Elsee Dee. She had his left arm in a hold, and landed on her head when Peter did his flip.
Peter reached down with his other hand and pulled the tiger-skin rug out from under her, and she lost her grip and slid across the room with it, banging into the wall.
"How was that?" He asked.
James shrugged. "You only knew I was in world war one, because I told your old man Richard when I met him, and he wrote it in that little journal of his, which is where you found out about me and decided I'd help you. You guessed Elsee Dee was robot because she looked like she wasn't breathing, and you're right she wasn't, but you had no way of knowing for sure. And I'm glad you're confident enough to beat on a little girl, but you sure got beaten up pretty bad by the rhino last week Spider-man."
Peter was shocked, and sat back down.
"Okay Pete listen, I'll help you out here. But I'm in charge. You do what I say. And I'll take my money in advance."
Peter grudgingly took out a wad of hundreds.
