The Spider and the Man:

From the viewpoint of the average man, a superhero's job is an easy one. He shows up, beats up the criminals and thugs, makes up some clever one-liner, leaves and that's it. All in a day's work for your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man…Isn't it? What if there was more to it than that?

Issue One of Three

Spider

The Parker Home

Peter slipped in through the window of his apartment, his costume was drenched in sweat and he could feel a cold already coming on. He cursed himself for not wearing underwear, especially with it so frosty outside. But then again, the extra weight would have thrown his balance while swinging off. Better to be sick for a couple of days than go splat on the street, he told himself.

"Is that you, tiger?" Mary Jane called from the den.

"Yes." Peter replied pulled his mask off and stretching his arms out wearily, "I just got back." He walked into the den, to find Mary Jane sitting on the floor surrounded by financial papers. "Made any progress?" Suddenly, he felt guilty, she was here slaving over trying to find a solution out of this mess, and here he was going out for joy-rides.

MJ yawned loudly and rubbed her eyes, "No…You're okay? You look worse than I feel."

"I've had a rough week that's finally coming to an end." Peter responded, his face betraying a number of somber emotions.

"What happened?" MJ inquired.

He shrugged, "Just—I don't know. I don't want to bother you, you're busy."

"I could use a rest." MJ responded, "I'll get a cup of coffee brewing, you can tell me while we wait."

Peter sighed, "Yeah, ok." He leaned his head back, "You know, it days like the last couple ones I've had…they really make you think, you know? About this crime-fighting business, I mean. Funny, when this started I thought it'd be routine, clean and dry. It was anything but…"

Several days ago in Harlem

"You ready to go through with this, man?" Tyrone asked pulling the bandana over the lower half of his face, "It's going to be some pretty hardcore shit, man."

Jacob's eyes darted up nervously, "I-I don't know."

"Man, you better be ready." Tyrone exclaimed rather exasperated, "The second those Crips come out of that door, we bust a cap in every one of those sucker's heads. You're not having second thoughts are you?"

"I am." Jacob shamefully admitted, "I mean…I don't know if I want to go through with this. I never killed a person before, you know?"

Tyrone anxiously eyed the other Bloods members waiting by a trash-can just down the block. "Listen to me, fool. You need the money, right?"

"Yes."

"And you can't get it from nowhere else, right?" Tyrone asked demandingly.

Jacob slowly nodded his head, "Yeah."

Tyrone laughed, "Then I don't see what you're thinking about. Everyone involved is going to be getting nice big paychecks as soon as this is over. Now, I'm your friend, I had to call in a lot of favors to get you in on this. Don't make a fool out of me, now. Got it?"

"I got it." Jacob replied lowering his eyes in defeat.

"Wait, I see them leaving." Tyrone smiled and snapped his fingers signaling the other gang members to advance on the blue-clad gangsters. "Remember; don't stop shooting until they're dead."

The gunshots began to echo. The Bloods opened fire dropping two of the Crips with ease. The remaining four scrambled behind cars for cover. Jacob's hands trembled. "Shoot, man!" Tyrone roared over the scream of gunfire, "Do it!"

Everything seemed to be almost in a state of slow-motion. Jacob could almost see the bullets zipping dangerously through the air. He wanted to go home; he wanted to forget that this had ever happened. But he couldn't, this nightmare was all too real, something he had vowed to his father that he'd never be apart of. And here he was, breaking that vow. One of the Crips emerged from his cover, weapon-drawn, and Jacob almost instinctively aimed and pulled the trigger. The jolt of the gun shattered his heart and he immediately collapsed in horror. He knew he'd hit the Crip before the sound of flesh being torn ever reached his ears.

"That's it suckers!" Tyrone screamed, almost in a blood-lust, "I'll take you all down, son! I'll bust a cap in each of your heads."

"Stop it! I think my ears are bleeding. Jeez, I'll just assume that you guys were sleeping during English class." Spider-Man enveloped two of the gang members with a spray of webbing.

Tyrone grimaced while backing away from the web-slinger who clung to the side of a fire-escape, "It's Spider-Man, shoot him!"

Peter Parker; raised an eye-brow, "Shoot me? I know that I may not be very good at making first impressions but I didn't think I was that bad." He dodged a barrage of bullets with impossible ease. "Here, let me take those off your hands." Peter fired a number of web-lines within the span of less than two seconds and yanked the weapons away from their owners.

He jumped down onto the street. Immediately two gang-members armed with knives: one Bloods and the other Crips; advanced on him. With a leg-sweep Peter brought down the Blood, while he knocked the other unconscious with an elbow strike to the jaw. "It's nice to see that I'm such a unifying force for the city."

Tyrone and the final Crip attacked next and with a somersault kick they went down before they ever knew what hit them. Peter brushed his hands together and smiled, "Spider-Man: 338. Crime: 0." His spider-sense, acting as a sort of sonar at the moment, picked up the presence of a man running through an alley less that three blocks away. "Far be it for me to let him miss out on all the fun. The cops should be here soon boys, just rap or something." Peter fired a web-line and went off on the track of the lone escapee.

The Jacob Mason Home

Jacob entered his small apartment, his heart still pounding. "Oh my God, my God." He chanted trying to keep from falling apart and almost crashed down onto the sofa.

"Daddy, you're home?" A young eight year-old boy emerged quickly followed by his younger brother from their bedroom, "Why were out so late?"

"Children, come here." Jacob ordered with his arms outstretched which his children showed no hesitation in doing. "I've done something stupid. I'm sorry."

His youngest son began to cry, "What happened?"

Jacob began to cry, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"You're sorry. Tell that to the guy you-." Peter interjected standing in the apartment beside an open window. He would have finished the sentence but he had just begun to realize the nature of his surrounding. The apartment was uncomfortably small; the smell of urine assaulted his nose from the dwelling below. One look at the children and he could see how gaunt they were: like skeletons. "Jesus."

The Parker Home

Mary Jane raised her eyes in alarm, "What happened?"

Peter sighed, "Well, the guy basically got on his knees and confessed to killing one of the Crips and then he pleaded with me, begging me not to take him to jail." He shook his head slowly, "That smell, I still vividly remember it."

"So, you did…what?"

He grimaced, obviously disappointed with himself, "I took him to jail."