A good man once told me "with great power comes great responsibility."
It took his death for me to fully understand what he meant.
I decided then to use my powers for good and not for profit.
Leap across the alley.
Click.
Swing down this block.
Click
Stick to this wall and happen to look up at the right second.
Click.
Dress up in tights and prance around for the camera.
Click.
Show off my "great powers".
Click.
Whore out my "great responsibility".
Click.
Get paid.
***
Spider-Man
Issue #2
A Rose By Any Other Name
by Jason Kenney
***
The plane followed the Potomac River as it descended toward Regan National Airport. Richard Fisk looked out at the Washington DC skyline and allowed himself a smile.
A new start away from the Kingpin.
But he lost the smile at that thought.
No, not away. One could never be out of reach from Wilson Fisk. And while Wilson did not have a stranglehold on DC as he did on New York, he did have influence and a presence.
And that's what he intended to go after, Kingpin's influence and presence. He already had the plans in motion.
There was only one hurdle left.
Spiderman.
Richard had seen the articles and reports from DC and noted the lack of wallcrawler in New York.
What brought Spiderman to DC he did not know, but Richard had a plan to handle him.
And he smiled again.
***
Sparky sighed as he flipped through the photos. That was not a good sign. Sighing generally implies boredom, frustration, annoyance. Sure it could be pleasure, but you can tell when it's that kind of sigh. I could tell this was not one of them.
"Peter," he said as he rocked his chair, "pictures. Pictures, pictures, pictures."
"Yes, sir," I said back as I just leaned forward in my chair across the desk from him.
"I've got all the pictures I could ever want, Peter," said Sparky as he flipped through the photos I had taken the night before. "I need a story to go with them." He pulled one picture out. "How'd you get this one?"
The picture was Spider-Man clinging to an alley wall and looking at the camera while two guys were neatly bundled in a ball of webbing on the ground below, the sun piercing the horizon in the background.
"Right place at the right time," I said with a shrug.
"Did you ask him any questions?" asked Sparky as he stood up and started to pace behind his desk.
"He leapt away before I could."
"Of course..."
And then he was quiet.
Now, I feel for the guy here, Sparky's a good guy, in the couple years I've been here he's helped me out a lot, and I know he's probably under huge pressure from good ol' J.J. Jameson for some juicy tales of Spider-Man doing something wrong in the nation's capital.
But the man should be happy I'm getting him photos. I don't want this gig, I really, really, REALLY don't. I don't want to set myself up again, I don't want to be the butt of Jameson's inadequacies and compensations therein.
"Peter," said Sparky as he sat back in his chair. "You've been on the Spider-Man story for three weeks now. You taken plenty of photos, hell, photos of times there weren't even reported sightings, but no story. I need words to go with the pictures, Peter, and real words, an article, anyone can report the sightings, everyone does. You got a lot of this guy in New York, can you get me something here?"
I just nodded.
Sparky sighed and stood up again.
"You don't want to cover this, do you?"
And, of course, what do you say to that?
"Yes, of course I do." Sap.
"Because I can switch you," continued Sparky. "I can give you a beat that suits you better, something you're more motivated about."
What he didn't say was understood. Something you can handle.
"Sparky, I'll get you a story."
He just nodded.
"Peter, how have you been doing lately?"
What?
"What do you mean?" I shifted a bit. The boss getting personal, Sparky DEFINATELY was no JJ Jameson.
"How have you been? Are you okay?"
"Sure, yeah, I'm okay."
An uncomfortable silence. Here I am all down and bummed with my life and here's my boss trying to get me to say that.
"Okay, get on outta here and get some sleep," Sparky said as he sat back down and handed me back my photos, "and drop these off on your way out, please, I want to use that one picture."
"Sure," I said standing up and taking the pictures.
"And, Peter," said Sparky as I was about to step out of his office, "if you need anything, let me know."
I nodded. "Thanks, Sparky."
Yep, definitely not JJJ.
***
This was not his first meeting of the day. He had met with others already, all with varying degrees of results, some positive, a few negative, but no failures, not yet.
This one would be the one that paid off.
"You want to what?" Senator Lewis Young leaned forward in his chair and stared hard into Richard Fisk's eyes.
"I want your ear, Senator," said Richard with a smirk, "and I want you to take every cent you received from Wilson Fisk and his cronies and send it back and not pass a single piece of legislation in his favor ever again."
"Mr. Fisk," said Young, "your father is a very well known and upstanding businessman with lots of ties here. All associations are completely legal with him."
"Legal, yes, but are they ethical?"
Young exhaled deeply and leaned back. "What are you getting at, son?"
"Wilson Fisk is known as the Kingpin of crime in New York City. Numerous trials, numerous accusations, even convictions on employees. You associate with him and that shadow looms over you."
"Mr. Fisk, are you hinting at..."
"Senator, I am hinting at nothing, I simply feel it would be in your best interest to distance yourself from my father and his money as soon as possible."
"Mr. Fisk," said Young as he stood up, "you come in here and tell me to turn away an upstanding citizen who wishes to express his opinions and have my ear by telling me I am associating with a criminal? Then you make veiled threats to me? Why should I listen to you, a convicted felon who has a known history of contempt for his father and a desire to take over his financial empire?"
Richard Fisk leaned back and let his smirk pull into a full smile.
"Because, Senator Young, I simply wished to express my concerns as a citizen and constituent. And give you a way out."
"A way out? Mr. Fisk, my door is behind you, I suggest you make YOUR way out."
Richard stood up and pulled an envelope from inside his suit coat, setting it on Senator Young's desk.
"Senator, the information in that envelope details illegal dealings Wilson Fisk is associated with, everything from money laundering to drug running to murder by his own hands, most of this well documented and known by the Government and it's elected officials. This information will make its way into the hands of the press in the next few days and at that time, anyone still associated with Wilson Fisk will be pulled down with him in one of the largest scandals this town has ever seen. You can keep his money and hope this pans out, or you can take the easy way out now and distance yourself."
Senator Young simply stared at Richard Fisk, the envelope lying on the desk between them.
"Mr. Fisk, I have asked you to leave once, I do not like to repeat myself."
Richard smiled and turned to leave.
"Please think about it, Senator, I left my contact information in the envelope."
And he was gone.
***
Like all large cities, Washington DC has it's dark underbelly. The eastern side, being more industrial, tends to be more run down. That on top of the lower buildings makes swinging around hard as hell. Easier to leap, really.
So, I'm leaping around, right, hating myself, you know, the theme as of late.
Then the sense starts acting up, yelling at me like it normally does when it feels like something's wrong.
I stopped on one roof corner and looked around.
Nothing.
What's up, spideysense? False alarm?
Then an explosion tore the roof from under me.
Instinct made me lash out and shoot webbing at a near by wall, the line catching and swinging me right before I hit the ground, just long enough to break my fall but not long enough to keep me from hitting the ground.
I tucked, rolled, and landed on my feet in time to leap on the far wall as rubble from what used to be the building I was standing on rumbled across where I just was.
I looked up to see three folks stumbling around a couple blocks away, and thought that I should probably go check on them, you know, being the good samaratin I am and all.
So, I leap over towards them and just as I'm ready to call out to see if they're okay, one of these guys, oh, you're gonna love this, one of these guys turns around and shoots at me!
Yeah, me, fun lovin' Spiderman's shot at for no reason! Go figure.
So I dodge that bullet and the next and the next and finally shoot out a wee bit of webbing at the gun and hit the gun directly and encase it and his hand in this neat stuff.
It was when the guy started screaming and clutching his hand that I realized I used the contracting webbing on his hand when I should have used the regular stuff.
Maybe it was some spidey-hearing kicking in or something, but I heard the bones in his hand break from a block and a half away.
I leapt over to the gun and pushed him on his back and leaned in real close.
"Now what would happen to be the reasoning behind you shooting at poor ol' me?" I asked as I reached up with both hands and shot REGULAR webbing at the legs of the two other guys who were trying to stumble away, entangling their legs and tripping them up.
"You little bastard," spat the guy I was questioning, literally, a lob of spit hitting my mask. Glad this thing's waterproof. Then the guy's eyes got real big like as he looked behind me.
And then my spidey sense starting telling me something like "hey, spidey guy who possesses me, turn around".
So, I turn around just in time to see this huge, pale white hand backhand me. Head reeling I tumble off to the side and fight the darkness coming at me. Then the owner of the wicked backhand picks me up by the front of my costume and looks right in my eyes.
"This is none of your business, insect," he said, his pale face giving me an ugly look.
"Spider's aren't insects, whitey," I said as I was still trying to get my bearings, "and I've got your nuts in a sling." I shot some regular webbing into the guy's crotch and he dropped me, scrambling to grab at the intruder. Yeah, sure, I could have used the contracting stuff, but that's just mean.
I stumbled and fell as I hit the ground, my head still spinning. Then I finally heard sirens in the distance. Hopefully they were coming here. The big white guy heard them too, his head quickly looking down the road and then back to me.
He clenched his fists, grunted, and then ran away.
Yeah, I have that effect on most people.
"Yeah," I yelled after him, still trying to get my bearings, "that's right, run!" Then vertigo kicked in and I struggled to get the bottom of my mask, pulling it up just in time to throw up. I wiped my mouth and shot constricting webbing at a nearby building, pulling myself to the wall and climbing to the roof where I sat as the police arrived and I cleared my head, all the while wondering what Lonnie Lincoln, better known as Tombstone, was doing in Washington DC.
***
Once my head cleared I made a quick call to the Bugle desk and informed them of some neat little happenings in eastern DC. Then I decided I'd had about enough for the night and swung towards my apartment.
About a block away the senses started tingling.
"Danger, Peter Parker, Danger!"
When I got to the roof of the building across the street from my place I saw the warning.
I was sure I turned out my light when I left earlier this evening, but there they were, bright and shiny and on.
A million different possibilities popped in my head, only too looking remotely pleasing.
I left my lights on.
Or.
MJ was lying in my bed all naked just waiting for me to come home.
I quickly said the second wasn't possible, but a boy can dream.
I went down a couple blocks to where I had some street clothes tucked away for just such an occasion. Not the MJ occasion, just all the others where I don't want them to see Spiderman leaping into Peter Parker's apartment.
Then I went down to the street and walked home.
***
The door was ajar when I stepped to it and that did not ease my mind at all. A quick glance showed that it wasn't forced open so either they had a key or they were good.
Please be the landlady.
I quickly pushed the door open and leapt into the room.
And he was standing there.
"Hello, Mr. Parker, I was wondering when you'd be coming home."
I just stood there a little shocked.
What was he doing here?
"I hope you don't mind," he said raising the glass of wine in his hand to me, "but I helped myself, someone will be dropping off a replacement bottle for you later this week." He took a sip and lowered the glass, a smile on his face, me still standing there.
"Oh, how rude of me," he said, shifting the glass from his right hand to his left and stepping towards me. "My name is Richard Fisk," he said extending his hand, "and I have a proposal for you that will make your career."
It took his death for me to fully understand what he meant.
I decided then to use my powers for good and not for profit.
Leap across the alley.
Click.
Swing down this block.
Click
Stick to this wall and happen to look up at the right second.
Click.
Dress up in tights and prance around for the camera.
Click.
Show off my "great powers".
Click.
Whore out my "great responsibility".
Click.
Get paid.
***
Spider-Man
Issue #2
A Rose By Any Other Name
by Jason Kenney
***
The plane followed the Potomac River as it descended toward Regan National Airport. Richard Fisk looked out at the Washington DC skyline and allowed himself a smile.
A new start away from the Kingpin.
But he lost the smile at that thought.
No, not away. One could never be out of reach from Wilson Fisk. And while Wilson did not have a stranglehold on DC as he did on New York, he did have influence and a presence.
And that's what he intended to go after, Kingpin's influence and presence. He already had the plans in motion.
There was only one hurdle left.
Spiderman.
Richard had seen the articles and reports from DC and noted the lack of wallcrawler in New York.
What brought Spiderman to DC he did not know, but Richard had a plan to handle him.
And he smiled again.
***
Sparky sighed as he flipped through the photos. That was not a good sign. Sighing generally implies boredom, frustration, annoyance. Sure it could be pleasure, but you can tell when it's that kind of sigh. I could tell this was not one of them.
"Peter," he said as he rocked his chair, "pictures. Pictures, pictures, pictures."
"Yes, sir," I said back as I just leaned forward in my chair across the desk from him.
"I've got all the pictures I could ever want, Peter," said Sparky as he flipped through the photos I had taken the night before. "I need a story to go with them." He pulled one picture out. "How'd you get this one?"
The picture was Spider-Man clinging to an alley wall and looking at the camera while two guys were neatly bundled in a ball of webbing on the ground below, the sun piercing the horizon in the background.
"Right place at the right time," I said with a shrug.
"Did you ask him any questions?" asked Sparky as he stood up and started to pace behind his desk.
"He leapt away before I could."
"Of course..."
And then he was quiet.
Now, I feel for the guy here, Sparky's a good guy, in the couple years I've been here he's helped me out a lot, and I know he's probably under huge pressure from good ol' J.J. Jameson for some juicy tales of Spider-Man doing something wrong in the nation's capital.
But the man should be happy I'm getting him photos. I don't want this gig, I really, really, REALLY don't. I don't want to set myself up again, I don't want to be the butt of Jameson's inadequacies and compensations therein.
"Peter," said Sparky as he sat back in his chair. "You've been on the Spider-Man story for three weeks now. You taken plenty of photos, hell, photos of times there weren't even reported sightings, but no story. I need words to go with the pictures, Peter, and real words, an article, anyone can report the sightings, everyone does. You got a lot of this guy in New York, can you get me something here?"
I just nodded.
Sparky sighed and stood up again.
"You don't want to cover this, do you?"
And, of course, what do you say to that?
"Yes, of course I do." Sap.
"Because I can switch you," continued Sparky. "I can give you a beat that suits you better, something you're more motivated about."
What he didn't say was understood. Something you can handle.
"Sparky, I'll get you a story."
He just nodded.
"Peter, how have you been doing lately?"
What?
"What do you mean?" I shifted a bit. The boss getting personal, Sparky DEFINATELY was no JJ Jameson.
"How have you been? Are you okay?"
"Sure, yeah, I'm okay."
An uncomfortable silence. Here I am all down and bummed with my life and here's my boss trying to get me to say that.
"Okay, get on outta here and get some sleep," Sparky said as he sat back down and handed me back my photos, "and drop these off on your way out, please, I want to use that one picture."
"Sure," I said standing up and taking the pictures.
"And, Peter," said Sparky as I was about to step out of his office, "if you need anything, let me know."
I nodded. "Thanks, Sparky."
Yep, definitely not JJJ.
***
This was not his first meeting of the day. He had met with others already, all with varying degrees of results, some positive, a few negative, but no failures, not yet.
This one would be the one that paid off.
"You want to what?" Senator Lewis Young leaned forward in his chair and stared hard into Richard Fisk's eyes.
"I want your ear, Senator," said Richard with a smirk, "and I want you to take every cent you received from Wilson Fisk and his cronies and send it back and not pass a single piece of legislation in his favor ever again."
"Mr. Fisk," said Young, "your father is a very well known and upstanding businessman with lots of ties here. All associations are completely legal with him."
"Legal, yes, but are they ethical?"
Young exhaled deeply and leaned back. "What are you getting at, son?"
"Wilson Fisk is known as the Kingpin of crime in New York City. Numerous trials, numerous accusations, even convictions on employees. You associate with him and that shadow looms over you."
"Mr. Fisk, are you hinting at..."
"Senator, I am hinting at nothing, I simply feel it would be in your best interest to distance yourself from my father and his money as soon as possible."
"Mr. Fisk," said Young as he stood up, "you come in here and tell me to turn away an upstanding citizen who wishes to express his opinions and have my ear by telling me I am associating with a criminal? Then you make veiled threats to me? Why should I listen to you, a convicted felon who has a known history of contempt for his father and a desire to take over his financial empire?"
Richard Fisk leaned back and let his smirk pull into a full smile.
"Because, Senator Young, I simply wished to express my concerns as a citizen and constituent. And give you a way out."
"A way out? Mr. Fisk, my door is behind you, I suggest you make YOUR way out."
Richard stood up and pulled an envelope from inside his suit coat, setting it on Senator Young's desk.
"Senator, the information in that envelope details illegal dealings Wilson Fisk is associated with, everything from money laundering to drug running to murder by his own hands, most of this well documented and known by the Government and it's elected officials. This information will make its way into the hands of the press in the next few days and at that time, anyone still associated with Wilson Fisk will be pulled down with him in one of the largest scandals this town has ever seen. You can keep his money and hope this pans out, or you can take the easy way out now and distance yourself."
Senator Young simply stared at Richard Fisk, the envelope lying on the desk between them.
"Mr. Fisk, I have asked you to leave once, I do not like to repeat myself."
Richard smiled and turned to leave.
"Please think about it, Senator, I left my contact information in the envelope."
And he was gone.
***
Like all large cities, Washington DC has it's dark underbelly. The eastern side, being more industrial, tends to be more run down. That on top of the lower buildings makes swinging around hard as hell. Easier to leap, really.
So, I'm leaping around, right, hating myself, you know, the theme as of late.
Then the sense starts acting up, yelling at me like it normally does when it feels like something's wrong.
I stopped on one roof corner and looked around.
Nothing.
What's up, spideysense? False alarm?
Then an explosion tore the roof from under me.
Instinct made me lash out and shoot webbing at a near by wall, the line catching and swinging me right before I hit the ground, just long enough to break my fall but not long enough to keep me from hitting the ground.
I tucked, rolled, and landed on my feet in time to leap on the far wall as rubble from what used to be the building I was standing on rumbled across where I just was.
I looked up to see three folks stumbling around a couple blocks away, and thought that I should probably go check on them, you know, being the good samaratin I am and all.
So, I leap over towards them and just as I'm ready to call out to see if they're okay, one of these guys, oh, you're gonna love this, one of these guys turns around and shoots at me!
Yeah, me, fun lovin' Spiderman's shot at for no reason! Go figure.
So I dodge that bullet and the next and the next and finally shoot out a wee bit of webbing at the gun and hit the gun directly and encase it and his hand in this neat stuff.
It was when the guy started screaming and clutching his hand that I realized I used the contracting webbing on his hand when I should have used the regular stuff.
Maybe it was some spidey-hearing kicking in or something, but I heard the bones in his hand break from a block and a half away.
I leapt over to the gun and pushed him on his back and leaned in real close.
"Now what would happen to be the reasoning behind you shooting at poor ol' me?" I asked as I reached up with both hands and shot REGULAR webbing at the legs of the two other guys who were trying to stumble away, entangling their legs and tripping them up.
"You little bastard," spat the guy I was questioning, literally, a lob of spit hitting my mask. Glad this thing's waterproof. Then the guy's eyes got real big like as he looked behind me.
And then my spidey sense starting telling me something like "hey, spidey guy who possesses me, turn around".
So, I turn around just in time to see this huge, pale white hand backhand me. Head reeling I tumble off to the side and fight the darkness coming at me. Then the owner of the wicked backhand picks me up by the front of my costume and looks right in my eyes.
"This is none of your business, insect," he said, his pale face giving me an ugly look.
"Spider's aren't insects, whitey," I said as I was still trying to get my bearings, "and I've got your nuts in a sling." I shot some regular webbing into the guy's crotch and he dropped me, scrambling to grab at the intruder. Yeah, sure, I could have used the contracting stuff, but that's just mean.
I stumbled and fell as I hit the ground, my head still spinning. Then I finally heard sirens in the distance. Hopefully they were coming here. The big white guy heard them too, his head quickly looking down the road and then back to me.
He clenched his fists, grunted, and then ran away.
Yeah, I have that effect on most people.
"Yeah," I yelled after him, still trying to get my bearings, "that's right, run!" Then vertigo kicked in and I struggled to get the bottom of my mask, pulling it up just in time to throw up. I wiped my mouth and shot constricting webbing at a nearby building, pulling myself to the wall and climbing to the roof where I sat as the police arrived and I cleared my head, all the while wondering what Lonnie Lincoln, better known as Tombstone, was doing in Washington DC.
***
Once my head cleared I made a quick call to the Bugle desk and informed them of some neat little happenings in eastern DC. Then I decided I'd had about enough for the night and swung towards my apartment.
About a block away the senses started tingling.
"Danger, Peter Parker, Danger!"
When I got to the roof of the building across the street from my place I saw the warning.
I was sure I turned out my light when I left earlier this evening, but there they were, bright and shiny and on.
A million different possibilities popped in my head, only too looking remotely pleasing.
I left my lights on.
Or.
MJ was lying in my bed all naked just waiting for me to come home.
I quickly said the second wasn't possible, but a boy can dream.
I went down a couple blocks to where I had some street clothes tucked away for just such an occasion. Not the MJ occasion, just all the others where I don't want them to see Spiderman leaping into Peter Parker's apartment.
Then I went down to the street and walked home.
***
The door was ajar when I stepped to it and that did not ease my mind at all. A quick glance showed that it wasn't forced open so either they had a key or they were good.
Please be the landlady.
I quickly pushed the door open and leapt into the room.
And he was standing there.
"Hello, Mr. Parker, I was wondering when you'd be coming home."
I just stood there a little shocked.
What was he doing here?
"I hope you don't mind," he said raising the glass of wine in his hand to me, "but I helped myself, someone will be dropping off a replacement bottle for you later this week." He took a sip and lowered the glass, a smile on his face, me still standing there.
"Oh, how rude of me," he said, shifting the glass from his right hand to his left and stepping towards me. "My name is Richard Fisk," he said extending his hand, "and I have a proposal for you that will make your career."