Disclaimer: Welcome back. I guess you could stomach this story after all. Then again, you could have just accidentally hit the wrong link and winded up here...though I sincerely hope that isn't the case. But now that I have your attention...HEY!!!! GET BACK HERE!!!

Bishoujou Senshi Sailor Moon is property of Naoko Takeuchi, as Ultimate Spider-man is property of Marvel Comics. (Yeah yeah, you heard me say this before...you just never know what the law system will sue me for if I don't say this in every freaking chapter.) Anyway, without further warning, I give you:

Logan Alastor (A.K.A SomeguyY2k) presents:

Spider-man/ Sailor Moon: The Life and Death of Spiders.

Spiders are and incorrigible breed...

New York City. Manhattan Island. 2:46 A.M.

POV of Spider-man.

One thing you gotta know about New York, aside from the fact that it's a virtual Hell hole, and the fact that it almost has this big, fat, freaking sign that tells almost every super villain and cheap thug in the whole damn multiverse to come on over, is probably that you get very few storm warnings. Weather is strangely predictable over here. So, I don't often find myself hovering over a couple of thugs getting lit in an alleyway at 2:30 in the morning, freezing my buns off in a hail/thunder/rain storm. I mean, it just doesn't happen! If it did happen a lot, I would always be wearing a spandex uniform. Ok, so maybe it's not exactly skintight spandex. I sort of began to realize that wearing tight clothing around the crotch could get somewhat embarrassing. Especially when fighting agenst or beside certain...heh heh...more attractive members of the female "good guy" clubs. So I decided to pad the costume down some. Now it only looks like I'm wearing tight jeans...oy vey...

Humiliation aside, my point is that it's really cold. Really, really cold. And being stuck in an alleyway with nothing to keep me interested but a couple of clueless thugs and the smell of dog urine wasn't my ideal choice of surroundings for a stake out. Stakeouts usually have nice cars, doughnuts, binoculars and, in some cases, dirty magazines. But do I get dirty magazines on a stake out? NOOOO! I get pegged by hail and only have a half torn issue of a Playstation gaming magazine!...hey...Metal Gear Solid 3 is coming out? I thought it was just a myth...!

But getting back to why I'm up here...I forgot myself...oh wait. Right. Maybe I wasn't completely honest about the two guys I'm spying on. They aren't really run-of-the-mill thugs. These guys are called Terry and Duce. A couple of badasses that just hit town a week ago. Now, see, I'm not really one to give praise to bad guys once they do something naughty, but let's face it: these two are pros. They're practically a two man army. Well, sort of. As far as guys with no super powers go, they we're pretty good. About a month ago, I heard from a thug that a huge cocaine shipment was going to arrive at the docks. Funny how thugs kind of just spill information like that in fear. I know that they think Spider-man is scary, but I wonder what they would think if they knew that behind the mask, a 17 year old was laying them flat and...whatever...anyway; it was supposed to arrive 3 days ago. So I show up to make sure none of it hits the streets. Here I am, thinking I hit pay dirt, as about 30 heavily armed thugs show up to receive the shipment. That when something weird happened. Not only did the cargo not show, but a bomb had gone off. At first, I didn't know what was happening. All I could see was this big, blinding flash in the distance. I later learned on the news it was a bomb, and according to what I learned from the street, these two were responsible.

The one on the left is Terry. Light brown hair, 5'10, somewhat skinny, black leather jacket. But from what I've heard, he's a pure genius. Guy in his early twenties, but is, well, some kind of master strategist. Though some people say this is only due to the fact that he does a lot of acid and weed. He's smoking pot right now, actually, even though he has to keep lighting the blunt every 15 seconds, due to the rain. He was supposed to have planed a two-man attack on the cargo ship, steal the coke, and then sink the ship with some calculated explosions. I found it kind of hard to believe this guy, no matter who he was partnered up with, could pull something like that off, and still get out in one piece. Until I actually SAW the guy he was partnered up with.

His name was Duce. Big Green Mohawk, 6'7, built like a tank with tattoos. This guy is the pure invisionment of 'American Badass.' I'm guessing that what Terry is in brains, Duce is in brawn. He literally has arms like a gorilla. No joke. I heard only a little about him, and they said he managed to murder seven guys in a bar fight with his bare hands. One strike each. Whoever this guy is, he's a human killing machine. Let's face it: I can bench press more then any two X-men. I can shatter concrete walls with my fists. I'm reasonably sure I can handle this guy. But just thinking about fighting him gives me the jibblies. Then again, I've always been kind of a pansy about fighting...well...anyone.

Fortunately, until these guys either find they're ride (if they in fact have one) or start talking about who they work for and why they pulled that job on the ship, I'm not aloud to beat on them. On the bright side, thought, I still have this gaming magazine to read...damn, Lara Croft is soooo hot...

Author: Ok, so I wasn't totally honest. This isn't the Ultimate Spider-man story line. I've...well...kicked the story two years ahead. Peter Parker is 17, and Eddie Brock (Venom) is 21. The Senshi, however, I wanted to only have them in the first season. Unfortunately, this is after the last season. And since I'm not really all that good with memory, I've invented new weapons, and some new attacks for them, while keeping the olds ones, of course. Since there popping up in later chapters, you probably want to know this. The again, maybe you don't. Ok! Moving on...

New York City, Long Island. 2:58 A.M.

Funny, isn't it?

Ok, ok. Let's start with what before we get to humor. New York City these days, well, isn't a safe place. Crime Syndicates. Mutant Terrorists. High Tech mercenaries. New York is pretty much a scum bucket strong hold. You learn that after a while, the ONLY way to get by is to kill, steal, and backstab just to keep out of real trouble. Hell, half the people in the City don't realize this until they're dead. Others learn this because people are dead. A lot of them will tell you this, like how they didn't get enough love as kids which they didn't deserve because they we're psycho's even THEN...but back to the point at hand. The term "super-villains" kinda makes you giggle, doesn't it? Just the thought of dweebs making idiots of themselves, running around in spandex costumes, makes you wonder why anyone takes them seriously. Why on earth anyone would anyone in their right mind DO something like that, and still keep coming back in that ridiculous costume, with a name like 'Molecule man'? Well let's face it.

Super-Villains are, pardon my language, FUCKING SCARY.

Sure sure, they don't look so scary when you see a picture of some moron in his pajamas in the paper, but when you meet them in person, you realize a few things. Your not really paying attention to the fact that the guy has a lightning bolt on his head, your more likely paying attention to the actual lightning bolt he's holding in his hand, and pointing at you. Most of the Super-villains you see in comic books are stereotypes. Actual Super- villains don't wear spandex. They wear high tech armor, and are loaded to the teeth with weapons and gadgets. And if you do meet a bad guy in a skintight suit, then that's even worse. It means he doesn't need armor or weapons to hurt you or protect himself. He is the weapon. He is the armor. And he's not afraid to show you this.

The cops in this city are almost useless. They do they're best to keep order, but the real hero's behind this are the cities vigilantes. Super powered good guys. Some people call them Super-hero's. But anyone who's seen what they can do, and seen what they can do to you, KNOWS their vigilantes. A Super-hero is someone who fights for truth, justice and the American way. There aren't many people like that anymore. Less then a handful. Even the good guys are corrupt in some way. They fight for vengeance. They fight because others can't. They do it because the law can't, and because often, the legal "justice", hurts the innocent more then the guilty. Vigilante's...hell, in this city, they are, in fact, the ONLY system of justice.

This is the most dangerous City on earth, and neither the good guys OR the bad guys, are making it better.

Long Island, well, it has its fair share of poverty and bad neighborhoods, but it's also got a nice touch. There are a lot of nice houses, even mansions. Quiet, suburban areas. Of course, looks are deceiving. More often then not.

One of these mansions belongs to one of the biggest and most well known thugs of all. His name is Thomas Rohdney. But he's best known in the underworld crime circuit as "Rock" Rohdney. He has a name for himself, sure, but who doesn't? Most of it was made up. The only reason he has his reputation was because the Don Fortunato, the newly crowned king of the underworld, owed him a favor. He gave him money, men, and real estate. Rumor was he had a part in taking down the Kingpin of Crime, Wilson Fisk. Of course, that was a bunch of bullshit. The only protection racket he owned was a bunch of defenseless old oriental men and woman who can barely afford to pay "protection". A lot of them get their stores burnt down by common thugs, and if they can't pay even after that...well, I'm sure you can imagine.

POW.

Sad, isn't it?

Let's face it, though. His place is almost a strong hold. It's crawling with security. And when I say security, I mean a bunch of guys in black suits and sunglasses and you can't even tell the difference between them! But it hardly matters what they look like. No body can get it. See, Rock had always had this nagging problem, where he always felt like everyone was agenst him. If a football team he was betting on lost, he would shoot the television, then kill off some of his bodyguards, saying it was there fault, and that they bribed the team to lose, or some incredibly stupid reason like that. Tonight, though, he would be getting a special guest.

Rock found himself being quarantined inside his office, surrounded by those same identical bodyguards. It never really occurred to him how robotic his men were. He was surrounded by 6 of them, each armed to the teeth with heavy equipment, wearing those hot black suits, and they were all huddled together, blocking Rock off from the rest of the room. The circle reeked of sweat, but it was all Rocks. His armpits smelled worse then the guard dogs, but the bodyguards didn't even flinch at the smell. But once again, his thoughts were interrupted by another explosion, and soon afterwards, the sounds of gunshots, screaming, and most puzzling and terrifying of all, was the roaring.

Rock had no idea what was going on. What he did know, was that someone had breached security. But it had to be a lie. Obviously, it was an army of some sort. It had to be. A single intruder couldn't have broken through the front gates this way. It was impossible. But, once again, he heard the all- too familiar roar echo through the walls of the mansion. It was still a bit feint. It sounded far away, but he wasn't sure if it was just because of the gunshots or the screams were drowning them out. The roars had to belong to some kind of mutant terrorists, or maybe a sort of sonic disruptor...he didn't know what kind of technology the new groups of terrorists had...

Once again, his thoughts were interrupted. But this time, it wasn't by animalistic roar, but the roar of something different. He looked beside his shoulder, and saw for the first time something he hadn't thought possible. One of his bodyguards was showing emotion. It would have had great amazing impact, if he hadn't realized that the mans 'emotion' was nothing but pure raged. The veins in his neck looked like they would pop out. He spat saliva when he spoke...err...yelled. But there was no mistaking what he was mad about. All Rock had to do was listen.

'...what do you MEAN they've broken through the front gate??' He screamed into the cheap walkie-talkie Rock had provided all his men. For a few seconds, dead static filled the room, but finally, a voice replied.

'....not...they...broken...hold...' The voice was broken into fragments by a see of static. Rocks guard was not amused. But at the same time, he heard a loud noise from outside the office. A noise that reminded him all to well, of hinges being torn off large doors.

The guard looked in the direction of the noise. Apparently, he was thinking the same thing. The front doors to the mansion had been torn down.

'Thirty two...' The guard said quietly. As quietly as he could under the feint sound of gunshots. '...what was that noise?'

'...In!...it....doors...hold...' The voice said. But this time it was different. Rock could tell. It was more frantic. Most stressed then the last transmission. Rock felt sick as he heard this. Not because the voice sounded frantic, but because he could hear it more clearly. That could only mean that the sound of gunshots was getting fainter. Meaning that his men outside were losing.

'Thirty two...' the guard said, speaking into the walkie-talkie again. But this time, Rock noticed that he wasn't the only one sweating in this room anymore. 'Did they or did they not breech the front doors?'

This time something interesting happened. The walkie-talkies static was gone. But at the same time, so was the sound of gunshots. Rock stopped breathing. So did everyone else in the room. Pure, untouched, silence. Once again, the shaking guard spoke into the walkie-talkie.

'Thirty-two? Do you read me? Did they breech the front gate?' Again, there was a few seconds of silence. Then, Rock slightly jumped when he heard the other end pick up. A soft chuckle could be heard on the other line. But it didn't sound like the security guard. He sounded lower, deeper, and for some reason, more savage. Rock then knew it wasn't the guard when he finally heard the voice speak.

'Not "they", my good man...' the voice said. '...we.'

In that same instance, a small squeak could be heard in the distance. Then it began to intensify. Neither rock, nor anyone else in the room could confuse the sound. It was a scream. And it was rapidly getting closer. Rocks office door was made of pure Iron. When the window-shattering scream finally became unbearably close, the door suddenly dented. Rock yelped like a little girl in a horror movie when he saw it. Everyone jumped back at the sight of it. Someone fired off a couple of shots into the ceiling. When Rock finally got the courage to look, he felt his stomach turn.

The dent was shaped in a sphere-like form on the wall, and the curves on it were sickeningly perfect. He recognized it immediately. The dent was in the form of a human head. The security guard known as thirty-two. The screaming man. His head had been shoved into the iron door like Han Solo in the second Star Wars. Rock felt his vision beginning to fade. He couldn't take it anymore. He threw up on himself, and feinted.

Author note: Ok. Well one thing is for sure. This definitely was NOT worth waiting for. I wanted to add more, bit I didn't think it was such a good idea to "indulge" you too much in this chapter, since we still have to get to the POV of the Senshi. So the conclusion to this will probably be in the chapter after this one. Until then...