Public Enemy
A Spectacular Spider-Man Fanfic by Quill N. Inque
I do not own Spider-Man.
Chapter 2: A Trap Sprung
Peter didn't sleep well that night, filled with fear and anxiety. His thoughts swirled around in his head like a tornado, robbing him of slumber. As if battling ordinary thugs and supervillains wasn't enough, he now found himself the target of a city-wide manhunt, led by the same people he had risked his life, over and over, to protect. Being caught and summarily unmasked was bad enough, but the very thought of someone like the Green Goblin getting a hold of Aunt May or Gwen made him sick to his stomach. As Peter's eyes finally began to close, his alarm went off with a shrill BEEP!
Cursing with a passion that would make a sailor blush, Peter dragged himself out of bed in a foul mood and stepped into the shower, turning the water cold in an effort to shake off his drowsiness. As he scrubbed himself, Peter's thoughts turned to Captain Stacy. Gwen's dad had been one of his only supporters on the force, someone Spider-Man was almost positive he could trust. Perhaps the good Captain would be willing help him avoid New York's Finest, at least until all this anti-Spidey fever died down. Peter frowned. But was it safe to contact Stacy? His cell and e-mail could easily be traced, and it was too risky to go to him in person. And although each of them had a mutual respect for the other, he still wasn't entirely sure that Stacy would be willing to risk his career to help Spider-Man. The issue was worth thinking on. Later. Right now, Peter's main priority was to catch the bus. Normally this wouldn't have been a problem: he'd just slip on his costume and swing his way over to Midtown High. But with the stupid choppers and their six-hundred-round-per-minute Gatling guns flying all over the place, Spider-Man couldn't risk a public appearance. Peter had no doubt that if the pilots spotted him, he'd be pulverized into hamburger.
Grabbing his backpack on the way downstairs, Peter hurried toward the door as the tell-tale rumble of the bus's engines grew closer. The yellow doors opened with a hiss, and Peter took a seat near the front of the vehicle. There was a reason he didn't sit in the back anymore. And it was making a beeline towards him.
Flash Thompson, Midtown High's football extraordinaire and self-appointed nemesis of Peter Parker sat down next to his favorite victim with a thump. The vicious grin on his face was bigger than a peeled banana.
"Yo, Parker, you don't look so good. Whatsa' matter, baby? Life givin' you a hard time?" the bully crooned in a voice dripping with sarcasm.
If only you knew, thought Peter to himself. To Flash, he said, "Look, can we reschedule this or something?"
Flash grinned even wider. "No can do, Puny Parker. See, you're slated for a Nuclear Noogie right about…now!" He lunged toward Peter, grabbing his shoulder hard as he prepared to administer said physical abuse.
Peter usually had a pretty passive attitude toward Flash. The guy was, at most, a nuisance that he just ignored. He never struck back, for fear of severely injuring the jock with his enhanced strength. But, as one can imagine, Peter had more on his plate than usual, and his nerves were already fraying at the edges. Thus, it was at this moment that his exceptionally resilient temper finally snapped.
Peter deftly gripped Flash's hand twisted it back viciously, following up with a hard punch to his solar plexus. A less forgiving, darker part of him roared in vengeful joy as Peter's fist made contact with the center of the jock's torso. Instantly, Flash's face went dead white and he uttered a gasping whine. As the bus's yellow doors opened with their customary pneumatics, "Puny Parker" stepped over Flash's prone form and exited the bus as if nothing had happened.
Behind him, every other student was silent.
Peter shut his locker with a clang after getting the required books for his next class. When he did, Gwen Stacy, his longtime friend, was standing there. Her blue eyes were filled with concern. "I heard about what happened on the bus. You're lucky the driver said it was self-defense, or you would've been suspended."
Peter snorted, still in high bad temper. "Yeah, well, the jerk's had it coming for a long time."
She looked into his eyes. "But that's not the whole story, is it?"
"No, it's not."
"Then tell me what's bothering you. Maybe I can help."
A wave of emotions flickered over Peter's face. This was just the thing Gwen would say: she was kind, thoughtful, and moral to fault. But she had no idea what she could be getting herself into, and she had already been kidnapped by two of his enemies on two separate occasions. There was no way in hell he was going to risk his best friend/"secret" crush by burdening her with his terrible secret. After a few seconds, he turned away. "I can't, Gwen."Thoughhe didn't raise his voice, Peter's tone was firm. No matter how much I want to. Knowing would only put you in serious danger, and if something happened to you I'd never forgive myself, he finished silently.
Gwen squeezed his arm and smiled gently, knowing she couldn't force Peter to confide in her. "Well, if you change your mind, I'll be there," she said, her voice full of compassion and caring for her friend. "See you in class, Petey."
The rest of the day went by in a blur, and Peter only vaguely remembered the dismissal bell ringing. Forsaking the bus, and Flash's probable vengeance, he chose instead to walk the ten city blocks to his house.
What the hell. He needed the exercise anyway.
As he passed Broadway, a sudden thought came to his head. Maybe Spidey could pay a visit to Captain Stacy. Gwen's dad had been one of Spider-Man's staunchest supporters in the ranks of New York's finest. But with all the security, Peter didn't dare go near the station. But If it was too dangerous to talk to Stacy at NYPD headquarters, maybe it would be better to pay a house call. He had turned into an alley, his costume almost out, when he realized the error such a move would be. If Spider-Man knew the location of the Stacys' home, then the suspect pool would be narrowed down drastically. As tempting as the idea was, it was simply too risky. Peter gritted his teeth angrily as he walked up the front porch of his house. Aunt May, as usual, was waiting for him from her favorite spot on the couch. He could only pray that she hadn't received a call from the principal about what happened with Flash.
"Hi, sweetie! How was your- Oh, dear. You look terrible, Peter! Have you been staying out late again?" By the kind expression on her face, Peter assumed that his aunt had yet to be informed of Flash's beatdown.
"No, no, Aunt May, I'm just….a little stressed. School and stuff, ya know," Peter said casually, inwardly grimacing at himself for lying to her face. He sat down at the table, where he found a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, still warm from the oven, waiting for him. Peter felt a little bit better….until he saw the front page of the Daily Bugle.
"SPIDER-MAN COWERS IN FEAR AS NYPD MOBILIZES!" read the big, blocky letters. "DOYLE VOWS TO APPREHEND VILLAINOUS WEB-SLINGER!"
He scowled again. Of course Jameson would be the one covering New York City's pursuit of his alter-ego. The publisher was well-known for his rabid disapproval of Spider-Man. His former good mood banished, he bit into a cookie viciously as he hurried upstairs.
Filled with a myriad of conflicting emotions, Peter sat down on his bed wearily, facing the large mirror by his dresser as the young hero struggled with himself. God, I hate this! How can they hunt me like some kind of animal after all I've done to protect this city? I've given up the chance of a normal life for a greater purpose, and for what? The whole city has turned against me, and what few allies I had on the force have either been fired or gone over to Doyle's side! Why should I keep protecting them? Would anyone notice if I stopped?
"An excellent question," said an ominous, whispery voice.
Peter's head snapped up. "Who's there?" he demanded.
"Over here, stupid," came the voice again.
He stood up and was confronted-
-By his reflection. But something was wrong; the Peter staring back at him had shadows under his eyes, his hair was unkempt, his expression full of unspeakable malice. Peter Parker was staring at a twisted image of himself, and it was downright disturbing.
"What's the matter, Pete? Are you disturbed by what you see? You shouldn't be; I am you, after all," the image said in its raspy, sibilant hiss.
The web-slinger shook his head "Either I need to see a psychiatrist or I've got to stop eating pineapple pizza before bed."
"God, you are such an idiot."
"Okay, so assuming that I'm not psychologically disturbed and this is really happening, who the hell are you?"
"I am everything you choose not to be," it replied cryptically.
"Care to elaborate?"
Mirror-Peter smiled, and it sent chills down the hero's spine. "I am your most basic desires. I am your ambitions, your lust, your greed, your rage. I am the darker side of each and every human being. I. Am. You."
"But enough about me," he continued. "As I was saying, you raise a good question: Why keep protecting them? You risk a horrible demise every day for their sake, and for your heroics they reward you with hate and fear! Do you not recall how satisfying, how good it felt when you beat the snot out of Flash? The people you've tried to defend have declared war upon you; why not strike back? You could squash them without breaking a sweat!"
"With great power comes great responsibility," intoned Peter solemnly.
His reflection sneered again. "Oh, please. You don't honestly believe Ben's idealistic drivel, do you? Such thinking is the folly of morons. You want to revenge. You want to make them suffer! Don't deny it, Peter! Deep down, you long to let loose, to crush your foes underfoot, and to taste the sweet nectar of vengeance while those ingrates bow down in fear!"
Peter gritted his teeth. "That part of me doesn't get a vote."
"Then Doyle will catch you and have you put down like a dog."
He stared at his dark reflection. "So?"
His other side stared right back. "You could die, Peter," it said quietly. "Chances are you will. Do you not care about your own imminent, ignominious demise?"
Peter's voice was hushed, but at the same time determined. "I do care… I guess I just don't mind."
"Then you are doomed."
"And this conversation is over."
When Peter glanced at the mirror a second later, it was empty.
Except for his reflection.
Peter descended the staircase, his bag in hand. "Hey, Aunt May, I'm going out for a bit, okay?"
"All right, sweetie, just be back before curfew," his aunt replied absently as she concentrated on her quilting.
Curfew? I'll be lucky to make it home with all of my limbs still attached, he thought with a touch of bitter humor. Exiting through the back door, he entered the old tool shed that had been there when Uncle Ben bought the house. Less than a minute later, a flash of red and blue was vanishing rapidly into the distance. Beneath his mask, Peter's face was unusually determined and grim: outlaw or no, the city still needed him. Only this time, he'd have to lead the fuzz on a merry dance while performing his usual routine of webbing criminals to walls.
Spidey was back on the streets, filled with new hope and resolve for his mission. Landing atop a telephone pole with the grace of a trapeze artist, he scanned the immediate area for signs of trouble. As he listened intently, a loud crash and a scream echoed from the alleyway just ahead of him.
"A hero's work is never done," he told himself with a smile as he hurtled downward, his web-shooters poised and ready-
-And was startled to see that no one was there. "I know I heard something," he muttered to himself as he systematically searched the darkened corridor. Shoving aside a particularly noxious trash bag, he found a small walkie-talkie embedded amongst the rubbish. As he leaned over to inspect it, it emitted the same sound he had heard a moment before: a loud clanging, followed by a woman's shriek. Spidey picked it up, not knowing that the moment he did, the device promptly began to broadcast an inaudible signal to those who had planted it.
It all happened at once. As if by magic, dozens of SWAT commandoes appeared on the rooftops on either side of the web-head, armed to the teeth with automatic weapons, tasers, riot shields, and retractable batons. More of them spilled out of the SWAT vans that came out of nowhere to cut off his escape through the sewers, and the sudden arrival of an attack chopper prevented Spidey from web-slinging to freedom. The ominous "ch-chak" of safeties being flipped off came from every direction as countless firearms were brought to bear. The hero's spider-sense was buzzing so continuously that his head began to ache.
Spider-Man was trapped in an enclosed space, outflanked, outgunned and hopelessly outnumbered. As the gravity of the situation dawned upon him, he let out a sigh.
"Awww, crap…."
A/N: Yikes! How's Spidey gonna get himself out of this one? Will he escape with his secret identity intact? I know it's a brutal cliffhanger, but fear not, the next installment will be up and running as fast as my fingers can type it! I'll also take the liberty of telling you that there will be some Spidey-style ass-kicking in the next chapter, as well as a surprising twist that you'll have to read to believe!
And Quill N. Inque always keeps his word…