Chapter 3
Disclaimer: All characters mentioned herein are property of Marvel Entertainment
Traffic had come to a halt in the city. It was that time of morning where nothing moved; there were two hundred new statues in the city, most of them yellow with black and white checkering on their sides. Angry drivers shouted and honked their horns as they, the ones unfortunate enough to have to drive themselves to work, prayed in frustration that they might be spared by a relentless boss. For some, it was J. Jonah Jameson. That overbearing, relentless, wealth-seeking media giant who signed their less-than-welfare checks. Peter Parker was lucky; he could grab the nearest building be across town from his apartment in ten minutes. But ten minutes wouldn't help when he was already late.
Struggling to stay awake as he crawled across buildings and leapt from one to another, Peter thought, "Oh man! Late again! Jameson is gonna fire me for sure! And time the secretary—ooh, she's saved my job seven times and I can't remember her name—won't be able to talk him out of this one." However, as important as keeping his job was, he couldn't help but think about the symbiote. Someone was going to have the misfortune of having it force itself onto him and slowly lose all ability to control mind and body. But that could wait until after he pleaded with Jonah.
"I don't care if you take pictures of that webbed menace like Keaggy plays a guitar! You're late, and I don't pay you enough to give you a pay cut! You're fi—"
"Wait, wait, Mr. Jameson, I can explain this! I was out late taking pictures of Spiderman with that new black costume he's been wearing for the past few days and—"
"What, pictures, where? Why haven't I seen these pictures? Where's my secretary? Where's my coffee?" Mr. Jameson's designated coffee-making walks in. "Why are you late? Why are you still here?" Before the poor page boy could say word, Jameson kicked him out of the office, taking the coffee cup from him.
Jameson's secretary walked in. "Yes Mr. Jameson?"
"Quick, write a new headline. Try this: Back in Black! Spider-menace has new duds for new crimes!" Jameson mused as he pictured the headline in midair with his hands formed into an "L" shape. The secretary scribbled the new convicting slogan on a Palm Pilot and left. As he panned across the air, Jameson accidentally knocked his cup of coffee over, spilling it across his shirt and into his lap. "Get my secretary in here!" Jameson screamed with brewing anger.
"Yes Mr. Jameson?" the secretary answered with learned cool.
"Get the coffee guy and tell him he's fired!" The secretary nodded, made another note, and left.
Jameson, obviously lost in the moment of his now marble—colored shirt and pants, said, "Parker, where were we?"
"The pictures of—"
"Right, the pictures. Give 'em here."
Jameson began to shuffle through the stack of nearly twenty pictures with limited interest. "Dud. Horrible. Faked. Failure. Useless. Parker, you're fired!" And with that, Jameson slid the pictures into his desk to be used in the next day's Daily Bugle.
As Peter came through Jameson's door, the secretary noticed the usual downtrodden look Peter had when he had been fired the other seven times, smiled, and said, "He's having an unusually bad day. First, he lost a cufflink at the gala last night and now he's got coffee on his new shirt. Same as usual. One hundred and fifty—five. See you tomorrow." Peter took the envelope she held toward him and walked toward the stairs. He would all twenty—three stories to the ground to catch his breath from today's near—firing experience. Suddenly, Peter's Spider—Sense went off. Peter looked out the window and saw a gang of thugs that had encircled a young man. The man was already bloodied a little from the initial skirmish and was beginning to lose his strength. Peter ducked into a shadowy alcove. Man, of all the times, he thought. Praying no one would see him changing, Peter slipped his mask over his face just as a janitor rounded the stairs. Peter made his way toward the window, opened it, and leapt out into the streets to save the young man.
But there was something lurking that posed more danger than any gang ever could. Having gotten to know Peter extremely well over the past week, the figure had learned to protect itself from Spiderman's foresight. A slender black hand reached itself onto the glass of the window Peter had just leapt from. The symbiote made its way to the next building, following Peter at a distance. It actually enjoyed seeing Peter in action. It loved seeing such power exerted in one man. One man that had been the ideal host. Spiderman finished lacing up the last thug into a webbing net, helped the grateful young man to his feet, and swung away, leaving the symbiote there at the block.
The symbiote smiled. It knew what it had conceived was a good plan, and so far it had gone just as planned. Its host was still oblivious, but not for long. It would play a game with her of sly tricks and gain the upper hand in the end. Things were going well. It was going to be fun. Tonight would be a night to be remembered.