here's a little treat from me to you. I got very excited to introduce this character to ya'll. Please R & R!
REM sleep is a beautiful thing. Then again, fear and exhaustion are tag team motivators for the win. Dreams are often portrayals of deep subconscious emotions and stimuli. Sure, there is the typical "accidentally forgot to put my pants on and now I'm naked in public," or "did I lose my teeth?" or best yet, "I'm being chased."
Spiderman didn't even need the last one to be dug up from his subconscious; he is living his freaking nightmare.
Peter occasionally had dreams throughout drawn out and stressful past few weeks as he found his footing in the real world. As a freshly graduated high school student with little work experience, finding a job is fairly challenging in the Big Apple. Peter's CPS appointed guardians were as hands-off as near abandonment could get. Fortunately for him, he recently graduated into the reality of adulthood.
This meant that Aunt May and Uncle Ben's apartment was finally in Peter Parker's name. After untangling himself from this mess of politics, Peter would immediately change the locks. He would finally find peace and safety in his own home. He wouldn't have to wonder if his distant relatives would barge in on a Saturday afternoon looking for quick cash to supply their vices.
The young Spider had already decided to take the year to gain experience with a couple of research companies. He wanted to build up his savings first prior to college applications. College is certainly not cheap. Peter had so, so many dreams for the future. His future as Peter Parker, as Spiderman.
Yet, this dream was different. It felt more real than anything Peter had experienced in a long time.
He was on a boat.
The boat was swaying violently in the middle of a vast ocean. Oscillating to and fro, Peter dodged waves angrily grabbing at his legs while he looked around frantically. He sought out any sign of human aid as the tiny rowboat was slowly sinking in the middle of what appeared to be a voracious storm.
From the horizon, Peter thought he saw something grey and flat that looked like land. As he leaned forward, squinting in anticipation of the sight but froze at the changing scene before him. It was definitely not land. Land did not grow in depth or height. It is the kind of wave that comes once a century.
The thought drudged up a memory from his art history course, a woodblock print from ukiyo-e artist Hokusai. The Great Wave off of Kanagawa. Tall tales of sailors in open seas where massive waves emerged out of nothing to claim their ships and their lives.
Peter's little wooden rowboat was quivering in tension from the water strain. He stood frozen in panic, unable to escape the rapidly approaching doom. Craning his head to glance at the looming body of murky water Peter cried out as he raised his hands in a feeble attempt to protect himself from the icy water.
The wave arrived.
Its tentacles curving into Peter's creaking rowboat. Incredible amounts of pressure and weight of water disintegrating the wood boat beneath Peter's feet as he felt the jarringly cold hands envelop his frame. The grabby, foam-like hands crashed into him with such force Peter lost his breath at the ice against his skin. The curling hands trying to drown him into the depths of Davy Jone's locker.
The crashing, splintering sounds of the water and wood startled Peter awake. He thrashed wildly attempting to gain traction and stability in his web silk hammock. Slowly, he came to in the real world. Grabbing at his hammering chest with both hands, still swaying slightly in the hammock, Peter frantically investigated around the room for water.
The back of his neck buzzed in retrospect of his nightmare. Releasing a frustrated sigh, he ran a hand over his mask. Usually, he doesn't get so spooked with nightmares as Spiderman recurrently dealt with the wickedest side of humanity on the daily. Get a grip Peter.
Briefly, something smelled like it was burning. Maybe it is coming through the vents? Peter's anxiety was already on edge from lucidly dreaming his watery grave but now became exacerbated as the throbbing grew into a shrieking of his senses.
Peter turned to make his way down the ceiling corner when the slick white ceiling exploded with a violent white light. His sensitive hearing became muffled by the rapid detonation of sound. Speckled dust and chunks of wall plaster rained in all directions.
Losing his balance in surprise at the flying projectiles, Peter fell ungracefully to the floor. Halting his thud with his left wrist was not exactly Peter's smartest idea as he realized the pain reverberating up his wrist. Usually, Spiderman had his web-shooters to pad harsher blows and silly mistakes but that option was crushed during his playtime with the Avengers.
Holding back a hiss of pain as his torso pulsated in reminder of his still healing bruises, Peter hastily shielded his head with his hands as more of the tile collapsed. Curling in on himself, he attempted to protect his head from tumbling debris of shards and steel scraps as the residual ceiling entirely caved into his holding cell.
Spiderman cough wetly through his mask as the fine dust and black smoke filled his lungs. Peter's eyes burned from the smoke and dust particles. What. The. Hell. Just. Happened. I thought this place was bombproof, literally. Maybe it's just HULK proof?
Opening his eyes, a fraction at a time, Spiderman sluggishly sat up and haphazardly brushed off chunks of plaster from his suit. Giving a silent thanks, Peter was relieved he wasn't buried head to toe and sustained no other injuries. Aside of course from his own clumsiness.
The lights had gone off, leaving an uncanny red light blinkingly slowly as the emergency generators still hadn't kicked into reboot.
Spiderman's vision regained focus in the now dusky room as he started to more fully wake from his lingering nightmare. His spidey-senses were going haywire, perceiving threats in every direction. Thankfully, his ears were no longer filled with cotton.
Peter gazed sharply into every corner. He was unable to visualize any threats apart from the hefty piles of debris littering the room. Broken tile, beams of splintered wood, and sharp glass created a pile bulky enough to hinder anyone from noticing Spiderman from his patch on the floor.
Deciding to take precaution, Peter silently crawled behind one of the piles littering the floor. Straining his ears, he listened for rustling of any kind. All he heard was the crackling of electricity and groaning of fragmented metal.
Spiderman concluded it was safe enough to try and escape the cell. Maybe I should go through the ceiling? He desperately needed to find his way out of this hell hole. Every nerve in his body was on high alert; something was not right in the room. The quiet eerily mixed with the unnatural static energy. Spiderman's neck prickled as his hairs stood on end.
Sucking in a deep breath, and finally deciding to stop being a chicken, Peter gingerly began to peek his head out from behind the mound of debris.
To his confusion, a mirror red mask peered up simultaneously.
So, so many thoughts race through Spiderman's mind. Did I hit my head? Am I seeing doubles? Maybe that's the double-sided glass? Until he settled on one. That's not my reflection. Heart in his throat, Peter was stunned.
"Eeek! It's a SPIDER!" An extremely high-pitched voice squealed out in terror, startling the living daylights out of Peter.
Amidst confusion and surprise, Spiderman flailed backward until he hit the wall. He hurriedly stood up to apprehend the intruder. Now with the man in full view, as he stepped out from behind the pile, Peter watched his very large muscular frame come to full height.
He was ironically also wearing a red suit. What a copy-cat. Peter guessed he fell into the cell when the ceiling exploded. Wait. Is he holding a pair of swords? What the fu-
"Tell me, are you poisonous? OH, oh, sorry I mean venomous. I mean, political correctness and all. Am I right?" Eyebrows bounced happily underneath the strange black and red mask as the man looked squarely at Spiderman with an inquisitive gaze.
Peter felt the tingle of his senses down to the tip of his spine. He is definitely a dangerous man. I think...I think I know him? Where have I seen his face before?
"No, I know he knows. Yes. Well DUH! That's the point. What? You want me to ask him what? Mmhm…Yeah, I probably should make sure before I squish him."
Spiderman stood mouth agape as he tried to figure out who this stranger was talking to, Peter threw a brief glance behind the stranger. It may be a com on the other side? Wait...wait...squish me?
"I mean, yeah chimichangas are pretty important. Oh, so NOW you want to taco-about it? You know, if you bring up the beef with tacos again, I'm gonna sour cream the hell out of…" The man in the red suit was still talking to himself, jumping from various subjects in a span of mere seconds. Peter was speechless at the odd display.
"Really though, are you venomous?" Suddenly, the man moved closer to Spiderman's stiff figure.
Peter's delicate senses picked up a subtle waft of gunpowder and a coppery sent from the man. He stiffened but did not recoil in fear. He would not show fear. Peter Parker may be anxious and nervous at the wall of muscle but Spiderman has dealt with worse.
"Because that would make my day more annoying than my favorite taco standing closing early. A good, hard-working individual like myself deserves to be able to spend my earnings. Don't you agree? Do you know how annoying it is to have your favorite taco stand close early?" The red-clad figure tilted his head waiting for an answer from Spiderman. The man stepped closer, further closing the gap between them.
"What?" Peter uttered in confusion as he drew a shuddered breathed at the looming figure.
Spiderman is not one to cower. Sure, retreat or tactically avoid the ruckus, but cower? No. Spiderman did not quite understand why this random, probably psychotic appearing man was giving him such bad vibes. Every ounce of common sense was screaming at Peter to MOVE.
He would have felt better if he had both web-shooters working rather than barely just half of one. Subtly, Spiderman positioned his hands behind his back, to check that his right web-shooter was in its place status post his fall. The thought that he still had some web protection in addition to his defense skills somewhat eased his mind.
The man had finally stepped into the red light of the room. Spiderman now made out the "debris" that cloaked his suit.
Weapons.
Every single type of weapon Peter could think of. Hand grenades, knives, handguns, what looked like a long-distance rifle with a silencer, and oh my God, are those actual swords?
The whites of Spiderman's eye widened as he took in the artillery clinging to the figure. He should have escaped the room before the lunatic man shuffled even closer, now only a few feet away.
"My eyes are up here sweetums." The armed figure smirked in amusement as Spiderman's gaze trailed the weapons littering his suit in bewildered awe.
Spiderman usually dealt with small-time robbers who occasionally had the nerve to carry a handgun. Singular usually unloaded, and the perp with no gun training whatsoever. Disarming or simply webbing the weapon was Peter's go-to strategy. The past had not been kind to Peter, or to his Uncle Ben. Peter Parker hated guns.
Spiderman's eyes zoned in the belt where most of the weapons were located. If I could just get him away from his weapons...I could side pass him get out of here. Maybe I could try and web them down?
"Gotta say, I'm a pretty big fan of where this is heading Spidey, normally I'd offer dinner first, yah know me being a gentleman and all, but unfortunately I'm on the clock."
Peter's addled brain was working on overtime to put the puzzle together, figure out who this man was, and possibly what he wanted.
The name of this weirdo was on the tip of his tongue. Spiderman remembered seeing his face on a wanted poster at a police station once a few months ago. What was his name? Something about a drowning accident? Dammit!
Suddenly the aimless talking stopped. Clock. On the clock. Okay, so he works. He's on a job. HE IS ON A JOB. Peter's eyes nearly popping out of his sockets at his realization.
Spiderman was the job.
If there was a big red panic button in Peter's brain, he would have pressed it by now. Wide hazel eyes flashed up to meet the red and black-masked mercenary as he connected the dots. Spiderman briefly held his piercing gaze before uncomfortably looking away from the calculating stare.
"Mmmm," the menacing figure let out a low, slow chuckle, "so the venomous Spider does know?" A Chesire cat-like grin spread across his face.
The dark, hooded eyes outlined Spiderman's lean frame against the wall. The eyes lingered, shamelessly. Peter felt a blush creep onto his cheeks as he shifted nervously under the scrutiny.
With every nerve on edge against the killer, Peter gathered up his courage. In defiance, he ferociously glared up to meet the dark orbs flashing back at him.
"Deadpool."
"Aww, see baby boy? You do know me."