-I started this fic in like, September, and now its been -counts on fingers- 3 months since I last updated-roughly…dang…okay, but that'll all be corrected now that I'm out of school due to year-round planning-HAHA TRADITONAL SQUIRTS! No offense meant, of course. I just love being home, and free to laze around. Plus, it gives me ample time to work on this fic! Ch. 3-rolling-SF12
New York was an odd state, and an even odder city. Frequent supervillain attacks, men with spider-powers beating said supervillians up…yeah, it's a strange place, all right.
So no one was surprised a man in black and gold tights swung form building to building via grapple-gun, followed by a figure dressed in red-and-blue, chasing a stolen Lexus, whose owner, a Latverian businessman on vacation, ran behind yelling obscenities.
Ah, the peace of New York.
"Get back here, you stupid Lexus!" Crossfire shouted swinging closer and closer to the speeding car.
Surprisingly, the Lexus did not respond.
"Alright, dude," said Crossfire, this time more logically addressing the carjacker, instead of the car. "You are starting to REALLY get on my nerves! Pull over!"
For his part, the carjacker actually did respond, in stark contrast to his exceptionally rude stolen luxury vehicle. But before you get too impressed with his politeness, let's see what his response was:
The man made a very rude hand gesture at the crime-fighting duo.
"That does it." Grumbling about "rude carjackers", Crossfire signaled to Spider-Man, and they put their simple, but very effective plan to work.
The carjacker was a Bronx hoodlum by the name of Jackson Douglas " Big JD" Rowling, short of mind and full of muscle. He wasn't even all that tall-the "Big" part was added due to his strength. Cars and fights were about the only things he was good at-he'd failed elementary school the first year EOG's were held-third grade. The Lexus was his rite of passage, his ticket into the Bronx King Cobras, a mid-level gang that had its eye on his engine and vehicular skills. Not that he understood the meaning of the word "vehicular".
Big JD was unprepared, however good he was behind the wheel of a car, for the wall of webbing that appeared right in front of him as he turned into another street. Letting out a girlish scream, he waited for the moment that when he would bounce against the web and hit a building on rebound.
Had he completed, or even started the fourth grade, he would have discovered that you don't bounce off webs.
You stick to them.
Bracing himself for a crash, Big JD prepared for his death by tucking his head into his arms-he'd seen it on TV once.
The crash never came, to his mystification.
Big JD opened his eyes, mumbling in wonder. " Is this heaven?"
A glob of webbing hitting his window answered his question.
At that moment, watching the heroes advance towards the Lexus, Big JD came up with a brilliant, complex plan that only a genius like him could've thought up:
Run.
Before he could put said plan into action, justice caught up with him. Crossfire landed gracefully next to the stolen car, aiming a revolver at Big JD. But before he could come up with a good quip, a very angry Latverian businessman, whose vacation was not going very well, caught up with them, screaming in an odd language that no one in the vicinity understood.
Crossfire grinned at poor Big JD. "I dunno what he's saying, but I don't think he's complimenting you." Spidey shot a web, pinning Big JD to his seat.
With that he and Crossfire were off.
"Oh, crap!" yelled Crossfire, coming to an abrupt halt on a rooftop. He pointed at the digital clock on the side of the building. "I was supposed to meet Alyson ten minutes ago!"
Spider-Man sighed. "Go on."
Mock-saluting his partner, Crossfire swung away, heading for a little restaurant in Manhattan Village.
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Matt Dale rushed into Charley's, a little establishment that was loved by those who attended, and was always homey and warm, even during the bitter cold winters of New York.
Matt scanned the room anxiously, only grunting slightly at the proprietor's "Hey, Matt". From a corner table, a girl in her late teens with platinum blonde hair, no older than Matt himself watched his progress, smiling slightly.
Locating the teen at the corner tale, Matt shrugged apologetically, sidling past an off-duty cop who was exhaustedly slumped over his own meal.
Matt sat down opposite the other teen. "Sorry I'm late, Alyson. Rough day at the Bugle-you have a job, you know how it is."
Alyson sighed. "Yeah, okay. Fine. Its just that…" She broke off. "Never mind."
Matt looked at her earnestly. "Its just that what?"
"Well, ever since you started working overtime at the Bugle, you're always late, or you're working all the time…its just getting a little old."
Matt shrugged again. "I'm sorry, Ally, but I do have to feed myself, you know. Speaking of which, which one's our waiter?"
Perhaps it was the use of that pet name, the one she really loved, that made Alyson drop the subject.
The dinner was actually rather long, but it seemed to last but a few minutes.
Matt stood up, kissing Alyson. Then, grinning, he said, "We'll have to do that more often."
"What, kissing, or dinner?"
"Both. Let me walk you back to your apartment."
As they walked by, arm in arm, a man who looked very much like a policeman sneered malevolently into his food. His nametag read PAULSEN, but if you were to call NYPD asking for Officer Paulsen, they'd tell you that he'd been missing for three days.
Two weeks later…
The house was the brightest on its street with Christmas lights hung everywhere possible, peace floating through the air around it. It sat in one of the few genuinely quiet suburban sections of New York City, a bright center of happiness among so many sad places in the world.
Smiling, Matt Dale stepped up to the front door and knocked loudly.
There came a cry of "He's here!" and the door swung open. A middle-aged couple stood in doorway, beaming at Matt. The man had hair the same shade of mixed blond-brown that Matt's was colored, although it was graying slightly, and the woman was pretty in a plain sort of way.
"Matt, it's been too long." Ashley Dale embraced her son, and began fussing immediately. "Why take extra hours at the Bugle-you're living okay. Just stay and learn at college-you could even save money on gas by selling that unsafe hunk of junk that you call a car! That…that Sun thing."
Before Matt could come up with a sizeable excuse, they were interrupted by another shout, this one of "Matt!"
A preteen boy with pleasant features and a wide smile raced down the stairs.
Matt's own grin went a few watts brighter. "Hey Jake!" He eyed the boy up and down for a moment. "Well, you're almost up to my shoulder. Growing up fast, aren't you?"
"I sure hope so. Merry Christmas!"
"In fact," Matt remarked slyly, "I think you'll be taller than Mom in a year or so."
"Oh, hush, you. I don't need reminders of that-It's bad enough with one son taller than me!" Ashley Dale said quickly.
Matt and Jake's father spoke at last. "Hey, he's taller than me-I don't mind."
Matt mock-glared at his mother. "See, I'm glad he cares!" He burst into unrealistic tears.
"Very funny-just because you live away now doesn't mean I can't ground you, you know!"
"Yeah, yeah." Matt rolled his eyes and headed for the fridge.
"What are you getting now?" His mother called back exasperatedly.
"Eggnog-the non-alcoholic kind." he responded.
"And how do you know we bought eggnog?"
"You always buy eggnog."
"How do you know it's non-alcoholic?"
"Because Jake loves eggnog, and you'd HAVE to get him some, or he'd like, explode." Matt joked, Jake laughing endlessly in the background.
Ashley Dale collapsed onto a couch, rubbing her temples. "You two wear me out."Matt winked at his little brother. "Its our job-our duty."
But he let it drop.
"So where's Alyson tonight?"
Matt shrugged. "Ah, well, I asked her, but she's visiting her parents up in Seattle, so…"
"And that Peter Parker person you keep mentioning. Your photographer friend? I told you to invite him, too."
"I did!" Matt said indignantly. "But he was busy, too. He and his wife were spending the Christmas Eve dinner with her sister."
The conversation grew and grew, branching out into other topics. Topics that mattered so little to the man hidden in the little-used closet, pointing a listening device at them. He barred his teeth whenever Peter Parker, or for that matter, Spider-Man, was mentioned.
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Norman Osborn glared at the man sitting across from his desk, high up in the Oscorp building, long in disrepair. The two hated each other, but there was a mutual goal in their sights. If they played their cards right, their revenge would oh so sweet.
They still hated each other.
No one knew exactly what Dmitri Smerdyakov looked like. He wasn't called the Chameleon for nothing. His plain, expressionless white mask hid his face…and more dangerously, his intentions. He held the honor of being the first super-villain to face Spider-Man…and the first one to lose.
His plan of revenge was simple-shoot Parker and his darling wife. Mary Jane Watson-Parker had beaten him up with a baseball bat, causing amnesia to seize his brain, and he forgot who Spider-Man truly was.
The Goblin had cleared that up for him before he took this job. Furious, the Chameleon was all for setting off into the night and pumping the Parkers full of shotgun shells. But the Goblin had warned him that he'd be bludgeoned to pieces if he tried-Parker belonged to the almighty Green Goblin, Norman Osborn. If he was lucky, Smerdyakov would get to witness and have a hand in the downfall of the web-slinger.
At first, he was outraged. Dmitri Smerdyakov was no one's underling, no one's servant. But, he was a coward when faced with the awesome power of the Goblin. He knew, if he killed Parker, the Goblin would be true to his word, and would destroy him. Osborn had destroyed so many-Gwen Stacy, for one, whose only crime had been loving a man who Osborn hated. The Chameleon's lip curled at the thought. He on the other hand, was, although he liked to pretend otherwise, a physical weakling. Spider-Man could dispatch him two seconds flat, were he not armed, perhaps. He was, deep below the egotistical surface, a coward in the face of the super-strong men. He would bide his time…he had an agenda of his own
Clearing his throat, the Chameleon looked up at Osborn. "I have the file…"
He got no further. "Yes, you imbecilic twit, you do, or you'd not be here."
Suppressing his rage into a silent wave of anger, the Chameleon tried again. "He is quite close to his immediate family. They are easy targets, and obvious ones. He seems to have a bond with his father, Martin Dale and his mother, Ashley, who seems ready to go to the end of the Earth to save him." Here the Chameleon paused, snorting, as if he found such dedication amusing. "But the part you'll love is the brother. He's twelve, and he idolizes his older brother. Wants to be just like him."
Absentmindedly snatching the file from Smerdyakov's hand, Osborn flipped through it until he found Jake's bio. "Oh, yes. Yes, this is quite good." He murmured, then stopped and cocked an eyebrow. "Jacob Richard and Matthew-Christian?"
The Chameleon shrugged. "The mother must have a liking for double names."
"Apparently. Anyone else?"
"Well…there's the matter of the girl."
Osborn looked up abruptly. "Girl? What girl?"
"She appears to be his girlfriend. Her name is Alyson Minolta. They're very much in love." This time the Chameleon did not snort. He laughed, and laughed at the thought of those doomed lovers.
"What color is her hair?" Osborn demanded, a strange glint in his eyes.
"Hair? Blond, I think."
Oh yes, it was so delicious. Perfect-Dale and Parker would never see the similarities until… A chillingly cold smile accompanied the Goblin's chilling cold thought.
"Very good, Smerdyakov. Await my orders and lay low, I'm going to set up a plan."
Something snapped in the brain of Dmitri Smerdyakov. "I'm not your servant! I'm your partner, and I demand respect!"
Osborn reached out and pushed the Chameleon. Actually, it was more of a tap, but from Norman Osborn, it sent Smerdyakov sprawling.
Osborn spoke, in a voice as cold as his smile. "Do that again, and there will be hell to pay. I will make your life a living hell. And then, as you beg for death, I'll grant it. Get out of my sight!"
He had plotting to do. He'd planned Parker's death for so long…it would finally happen and his revenge would be complete.
-Well, I'm sure of it now. That was my best chapter so far! I hope you liked the humor at the beginning-its my favorite part. Review, and if I don't update I time, have a very merry Christmas…or Kwanzaa or Chanukah…you get the picture, Happy Holidays!-SF12
