A/N: None
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At 3:14 A.M., Spider-Man ended his vigil over Manhattan, webslinging back to the window of his modest apartment. He quietly slid the window upward and climbed inside, then shut the window behind him and closed the blinds.
He pulled his sweat-drenched mask off, revealing the soaked visage of Peter Parker, young freelance photojournalist trying to get a steady job with the Daily Bugle and concerned primarily with this month's Visa bill.
Damn the concept of opulent spending, he thought, flipping his mask onto the empty bed. MJ was out of town, hunting down her own career for a while. Leaving him to worry about his troubles the way he liked doing it best.
By being pessimistic.
He pulled the clinging scale-mesh top of his costume up over his head, noting the pain coursing through his right shoulder as he did so. He tossed the sweat-stained garment next to his mask, then rotated his right arm. Again, pain lanced across his shoulder. He reached up to it with his left hand and massaged it, then decided it was probably bruised. Some Ben-Gay should do it.
He slipped his web-shooters off his forearms and placed them on the bedside table, more carefully than the previously stripped items. Unlike the costume, the web-shooters were delicate technology and could suffer damage, encased though they were in thin titanium plating. Excessive jostling could cause something to come loose, or cause one of his reserve web-pellets to explode. That could make quite a mess.
Peter sat on the bed, shucked out of his boots and pants, emptied the top of its varied contents -- tracers, spare change, a memo to himself -- and tossed the entire costume to the floor beside the bed. He had another one exactly like it; this one could wait to be washed until morning.
Right now, all he needed was sleep.
***
On a small island near Manhattan, four silhouettes of varied shape and size appeared.
The leader. "How close to completion is the weapon?"
The shortest. "I need another two or three days."
"Perfect. By that time, we shall have increased our ranks."
The woman. "What makes you so sure he will join us?"
"Why would he not? He knows the sting of discrimination, just as we do. It would be only natural for our cause to become his. We have had this conversation once already."
The tallest. "I don't believe he has potential."
"You'll see his true potential when he joins us."
The woman. "And if he doesn't?"
"If he is not our ally, then he is our enemy. And we will deal with him accordingly. Were you able to track him?"
"Only to a general area. I'm not sure how his ability to sense danger operates, so I'm not sure how to proceed. I didn't follow him beyond the border of a residential area."
"Stay well-meaning. Keep the optimistic objective in mind. Present no threat. He can't sense danger where it isn't present."
***
The next morning found Peter waking up at 8:47 A.M. He groaned and dragged his skinny self out from under the warm covers of his bed.
I can't thrive on five hours of sleep... maybe I should just take it easy for a while and let the others have their turn at it. "The others" was his term for the various superheroes and hero organizations that could be found all over the NYC area. He wasn't quite sure what made NYC and Manhattan such prime targets for the first stage in world domination, galactic domination, or what have you... all he really had time to worry about was getting rid of the bad guys infesting the streets.
He stumbled into the kitchen and raided the fridge. He found four different kinds of meat, all wrapped in foil and all looking quite edible. He pulled them out, plopped them onto one of his cheaper plastic plates, hacked at them hastily with a knife, and stuck the portions in the microwave for a minute. As they heated up, he replaced the meat he wasn't planning on eating... he could have put it all in one of the sheets of foil he'd originally removed.
He topped the double-cooked meat with two slices of toast and an extra large glass of orange juice. The food was okay, but the OJ tasted somewhat peculiar. It had more of a kick to it than he generally liked. He shrugged as he put his dishes on the counter and headed into the bathroom to take a shower.
But if I don't do the Spidey bit for a while, I won't have any pictures to bring in to Jonah. Peter snorted as he turned the spigot. I can just hear him now: "Parker! Where the hell is Spider-Man? I tell you, that damn webhead is up to nothing good!" Wonder how I could respond to something like that... "Well, J.J., I guess that just means you can't live with him and can't live without him."
Peter chuckled again and grimaced as he stepped into the cold stream. "Yeah," he said aloud, "That'd be good."
Still, he thought, no Spidey means no paycheck. I got away with it last night after that bonus, but it's not gonna carry me over for a week. Guess I'd best get to some of the other assignments, anyway... maybe they'll have something good in store for me. After all those elections, it's good not to have to stand outside churches and bug people about who they voted for.
He turned the cold water up to one of the hotter marks, and soon he was rolling his shoulders and flexing his considerable muscles as the hot water helped get rid of some of the kinks.
Whatever they have for me today, please don't let politics be involved...
***
Ben Urich smiled as he saw the despairing look in Peter's eyes. "Sorry, Peter, but you can't always take those snapshots of the webslinger, now, can you? Especially not during the day."
Don't I wish, Peter thought. Out loud, though, he groaned. "I really didn't want politics today."
Ben shrugged. "Politics are what run the city. Otherwise there'd be nothing here for that hero of yours to defend."
Don't I wish. Peter sighed. "All right, fine. When's the meeting?"
"About two hours. You've got a little free time until then."
Peter snorted. "What do you suggest I do to amuse myself with a measly two hours? You know traffic's impossible."
Ben offered another shrug. "Go ogling your most recent accomplishment?"
"What, Spider-Man pics?"
"No, seeing smoke come out of Jonah's ears at the sight of your Spider-Man pics."
Peter laughed. "Is he on another one of his 'I can't take that damn webhead anymore!' trips?"
Before Ben could answer the question, however, a fast-talking, slightly accented, and extremely loud voice exclaimed, "I can't take anymore of that damn webhead!" This exclamation was followed by a muffled bang.
Ben tsked. "You'll never be the master until you can predict him word for word."
Peter shrugged. "Close enough."
A louder bang accented Peter's words, and across the floor came storming a short man wearing the stereotypical journalist's clothing and an expression more suited to that of Adolf Hitler staring into the face of an American soldier. His features did nothing to improve this image, and the cigar he perpetually held in a death grip between his gray teeth was the capper. He bore a rolled-up newspaper in his hand, and his squinting, beady eyes were locked on Peter.
"Um, I'm gonna go," said Ben, a small smile flitting across his features. He stepped away to his cubicle.
"Parker!" J. Jonah Jameson roared, loud enough to be heard two floors in either direction. "What the hell do I pay you for? I tell you to bring me pictures of Spider-Man, and you bring me this! What the hell is this, anyway?!"
JJJ shoved the front page of the issue of the Daily Bugle he was holding in Peter's face, and Peter stared at it for a moment. "Um... an ad for Hoagie-Oagie's?"
"Keep talking, Parker. Each word is a hundred bucks off your paycheck." Jonah pulled the paper away from Peter's face and pointed straight at the picture in the center of the paper. "I'm talking about this!"
Peter shook his head. "You wanted pictures of Spider-Man. Unless I'm blind, that's a picture of Spider-Man."
"You are blind, Parker! That's your problem!" Jonah reached out a fist and rapped on the side of Peter's head. "Can't you see what he's doing? Look at it, for God's sake!"
Peter decided to play along and made a big show of leaning in, staring at it for a moment, and stroking his chin thoughtfully before slowly responding, "Well... it seems to me... that he's fighting a gang."
Jonah shook his head fiercely. "Open your eyes, Parker! He's rallying the gang!"
Peter was genuinely confused. "Huh?"
"I say every punch that he threw was nothing but a light tap! It's a challenge to see how many gang members it'll take to 'beat' him! He's looking to rally a huge gang to take over our streets! These kids weren't busted up nearly as bad as if anybody else had done it!"
Peter shook his head. "I've got no idea what you're talking about. All I saw him do was fight a gang. I took a picture of it. You're paying me to take pictures of him, right?"
"What I want, Parker," Jonah barked, "is for you to capture the spirit of what he's trying to do. Get me some snapshots soon and I'll show you what I mean." He sneered at Peter. "I'm sure that mind of yours will figure out where he strikes next, being the bright boy you are."
Jonah rolled up his paper and marched away, the black cloud over his head quite evident across the entire floor.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Ben stepped up to Peter. "Hmm... how many points for you this time around? I think I counted four."
Peter snorted. "Probably means forty less to go to my Visa bill."
"I wouldn't worry about it too much. Jonah doesn't make a habit of knocking money off people's paychecks. And anyway, he's not the one who fills them out." Ben winked at Peter. "The man's just a blowhard. I'd love to see Spider-Man crash right through his window and give him a talking-to."
Peter shook his head. "That would only reinforce Jonah's belief that Spider-Man's out to get him."
"True. But it'd still be fun to see."
"I suppose it would, at that."
"Glad you see things my way." Ben smiled. "The council meeting isn't for a while. Grab yourself a candy bar or something. Call Mary Jane... I'm sure she'd love to hear from you. A beautiful woman like that shouldn't be left in the cold."
"Don't I know it." Peter grinned, but inwardly, he realized that Ben was more right than he could know. And especially with being Spider-Man, she's always worrying about me. I really should call her.
He nodded, his decision made. He made his way out of the Bugle and to a nearby line of phone booths, all empty. Arbitrarily choosing the one farthest left, he slipped a few coins into the money eater and tapped in MJ's cell phone number.
"Hello?"
He smiled; hers was the most beautiful voice he'd ever heard. "Hi, honey. I just wanted to call... see how you're doing."
"Tiger! Wow. Who put you up to it?"
Peter chuckled. "I had that one coming."
"And many more, but I love you anyway. What're you up to?"
"Have to go with Ben to a council meeting. They're gonna be discussing the so-called mutant crisis."
MJ snorted. "That sounds like fun."
"Yes, indeed." Peter smiled sadly. "I miss you."
"I miss you, too, tiger," she responded. "But there's a lot of opportunity out here. I just can't miss it."
"I know. And I hope that you'll land something big. Then we can move to some resort and I won't have to worry about the superhero act."
"Hard times?"
"No, actually... the crime's down around here, for once. I'd been thinking about taking a couple nights off."
"Then you probably shouldn't."
Peter grinned and frowned, two expressions vying for the majority of his face. "Why do you say that?"
"Because trouble always stirs whenever you're not around."
Peter slapped his forehead. "I knew it! You've fallen for Van Damme! Couldn't handle the handsome photographer, could you?"
MJ giggled. "Don't worry, tiger, I'll explore how handsome you are when I get back."
Peter smiled. "Lucky me."
"You should consider yourself lucky." MJ harrumphed amusedly. "Well, I've got to get going, tiger. I've got an interview in a little bit. Gotta make sure I look the part."
"Okay. Love you."
"Love you, too. Stay safe."
Peter hung up, smiled, and headed back to the Bugle. There, now... was that so hard?
***
Two and a half hours later, Peter and Ben were listening in on a city council meeting. The councilmen were plodding their way through discussions of reports of mutant activity in Manhattan. Supposedly, it was on the rise. This was no surprise to Peter... many members of the millennial generation had genes that were undergoing hyperaccelerated evolution. To scientists, it was a natural occurrence... to a couple of these councilmen, it was an abomination.
Ben leaned next to Peter and whispered in his ear. "It's not as if the mutants have a choice, one way or the other..."
Peter really couldn't help but agree. After all, he himself was a mutant. Perhaps he hadn't been born with his abilities, as had the mutants currently being debated, but he still had been a victim of random chance, as they had... he had extraordinary abilities, as they did... and he was feared and hated for what he was, as they were.
It wasn't a comforting thought, and he suddenly found himself wondering if there were other mutants sitting around the room... outcast from their human brothers, now sitting in the midst of the most powerful men in the city.
If a mutant were to make a point, there's no better place than these council chambers...
Peter shuddered.
"...and I, for one, say that new facilities should be made to hold the offenders!" Councilman Daniels was declaring. His brown hair whipped about his head, his pudgy face red from the exertion of talking.
"There is little point to such an action," said Councilman Farrand, an older gentleman with a salt-and-pepper beard. "Building a new facility would take months, and in the meantime the mutants would simply take that to mean that they would eventually all be hunted down like wild animals and made to stay within the facility. A new prison would only ensure that they act against us. It would be as if we were forcing their hand, not the other way around."
Councilman Randall, a middle-aged, balding man with a bristly mustache, interrupted. "Even if we were to build such a facility, it would require us to make accommodations for every mutation documented. What of a mutant that can walk right through solid walls? How would we contain such an individual? And what of those that can use their powers to simply blast their way out? Such a containment facility would be impossible to build."
"And unnecessary, in any case," said Councilwoman Zamis, a short, olive-skinned woman with black hair. "After all, a majority of the mutants here have not caused us any trouble. Those that have caused trouble have been contained effectively."
Peter sighed as he took photos. At least some people sympathize...
Faintly, ever so faintly, his spider-sense tickled him behind the eyes.
He frowned and slowly turned his head to the right, and then to the left. What danger?
Peter searched the crowd for nearly a minute, but there was nothing to indicate anything dangerous was about to happen. Ben noticed Peter's attention having deviated from the council meeting and discreetly nudged him in the elbow. "Peter, that's got to be one massive crick."
Crunch!
"Ooh! Ow!" Peter muttered, reaching one hand behind his head instinctively. There had been a crick in his neck. The cracking sensation had shot all the way through one side of his tongue, where his nerves now throbbed painfully.
Ben chuckled. "You might as well be falling asleep, for all the attention you're paying."
Peter scoffed. "Hey, you wanted pictures, I've got pictures. A whole roll, which is more than some of these blowhards deserve."
Ben nodded silently and turned his attention back to the meeting.
Peter continued to look for the reason his spider-sense was going off. What's going on here?
He looked over his right shoulder once more, and this time he spotted an old, gentlemanly-looking figure in a black trenchcoat and matching wide-brim hat. His steely eyes were beholding the council with an interest somewhat akin to that of someone taking interest in an ant hill.
Peter frowned just slightly. I wonder who he is...
The man watched the council for another few moments, and then adopted a look of something like disappointment before turning on one heel and exiting the chambers.
The spider-sense let up.
Peter's frown deepened. What was all that about?
He turned back around and stared at the council members as they continued to bicker.
But his mind was no longer on them.
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Ooh, what'll happen next? Review, please!