Chapter 16: The Makings of a Hero

In a single moment, all of Madison's life narrowed down to one single choice: sit up and attempt to help Peter with whatever strength she had left and give up her life, or stay here and live, with her powers intact, and let one of her only friends die. She bit her lip, unsure, and hating herself for her unwillingness. She knew instantly what Peter would do in this situation, that he wouldn't hesitate, that he would plunge into battle and protect the innocent without any thought for his own life. He was a hero, and Madison was reminded sadly at that moment that she was not, because even after all of this fighting she was still afraid to die.

Her brain sunk into a state of suspended horror, like a switch being turned off to protect her from the choice at hand, to keep her from screaming and screaming without stop. Images flickered through her mind, flashes of color, scenes of violence: Peter searching for her, frantic, through the streets of New York; Spiderman engaging the enemy in furious battle; The Red Death's triumphant arc of a steel blade as it slashed across Spiderman's chest, blood spraying to the ground, maniacal laughter in the air; and above everything The Red Death's voice telling her, over and over again that she was not a hero, that she was just as bad as he was, that she was only violence without conscience.

An image, stronger than the others, surfacedin her mind, of Peter lying limp on the ground, his suit torn and stained red, a pool of blood spreading outward from under his fallen body. As if emerging from dark water she struggled to the surface, pulling herself from her inertia, fighting to think clearly.

"No!" an anguished scream ripped itself from her throat. That would not happen, he would not die, she couldn't let that happen. Resolution set itself on her face, erasing her mask of fear. He was worth fighting for.

Ideas formed in her head, and she felt like she was thinking clearly for the first time in her life. She slid her arm upward, a careful, slow arc out of the coffin box and into the air. It hovered next to the syringe, which was held in place by a long metal arm and surrounded by screws. She tugged uselessly at the arm, but it wouldn't budge, and attempted to break the vial but it was not glass; instead it was made of some kind of clear, unbreakable substance that resisted all of her efforts to destroy it. Finally, desperate for another idea, she snaked her hand around and touched one of the small metal screws. Brow furrowed in concentration, she tightened her fingers around the screw and turned, willing it to move. It was stationary at first, but after a few long, agonizing minutes it began to turn. Her skin ripped as she dug the metal into her fingers, leaving her fingers bloody and stiff, but one by one she loosened the bolts. It was not enough to move the syringe away, at least not while she was lying in her stiff and trapped position, but it was loosened so that, if she sat up, she might be able to break the arm away from the remaining metal before all of the poison went into her system. It would buy her time, and more importantly, it would give her a weapon.

Her breath hitched in her throat. This was it, it was now or never. She had already wasted time with ridiculously selfish contemplations, and if there was any chance of saving Peter she would have to move now. She paused, studied the delicate syringe with its strangely beautiful pulsating liquid, and realized dimly that she had changed. He had changed her. She had never been willing to die for anyone before.

When she sat up she was like a blur of lightening; her chest flew straight into the syringe, the needle sinking deep into her chest, but even as some of the liquid was seeping into her veins her arms were moving, tearing the metal arm off of its hinge and flinging it away from her. The syringe ripped itself out of her chest and she screamed.

Flipping her legs over the side of the box, she collapsed to the floor, feeling liquid fire rush through her veins. The pain subsided after a few moments and she crawled to the fallen metal arm, yanking the syringe off of the twisted metal. A glance told her that it was roughly halfway full, and she smiled, a grim, bitter smile, and tucked it securely into her utility belt.

"Now let's see how long this stuff takes to do damage," she whispered hoarsely to herself as she aimed for an upper window and folded her fingers into position. A loud 'thwip' assured her that her webs were still functioning. She swung to the window and made her way to the roof, eyes scanning the horizon. Her heart dropped as she saw flames arcing, spreading like wildfire over a bridge, the same bridge that Peter had said his battle with the Green Goblin occurred on. Like father like son. A stray thought crossed her mind, intensifying her worry: she had assumed that Harry never figured out who his father really was. But if he didn't know, why this repetition of his father's acts? Did he know but was just so far gone that he no longer cared? She bit her lip and anchored a strand of webbing to the nearest building. It was time to move fast.

As Madison swung even more clumsily than usual with limbs that felt awkward and heavy, she was unaware that she was not the only hostage that night. At that moment, a girl was huddled on top of the bridge, her arms bound to the railing, watching a heavily scraped and bloodied Spiderman battling a black and red demon on a glider. They had been fighting in relative silence ever since the hero had arrived, drawn by the flames and her screams, but now he spoke.

"Harry, listen to me!" He shouted, and the girl felt a cold chill run through her at the sound of a familiar name. "I know that you hate me for what happened to your father, but it doesn't have to end like this! There are," he paused, not wanting to break his word but having no choice. "There are circumstances that you don't understand! Your father…"

"Was the Green Goblin?" The figure laughed coldly at Spiderman's shock. "Yes I know, just figured it out myself not too long ago. Did you really think that all of this was irony?" He waved his arms about, indicated the bridge they were on top of and the girl, bound and stranded, only a few feet from them. "I read the papers; I know what happened the night that you fought him. This is a tribute to his memory! He was a genius, and I am finally going to make him proud by finishing the work he began! I set up this night just as he did, so that you could finally die the way that you were supposed to!"

"He was a murderer! Don't you understand that? Don't you care that you are becoming one too?" The fighting had come to a complete stop as the two foes faced each other; Spiderman on top of the bridge, breathtakingly close to Mary Jane, and The Red Death hovering mere feet from him, snarling into his face.

"Not too long ago I would have cared, but everything has fallen into place now and I finally see what a true genius he was. He would be so proud of me if he knew that I would be the one to kill the great Spiderman!"

Peter took a deep, steadying breath under his mask, feeling more tired than he ever had before. The fight had been brutal so far, and he was beginning to wonder if the black and red figure was truly invincible.

"Ok, fine, you want to fight, crazy man? Then let's fight. But keep it between us, where it belongs. Let the girls go."

"Girls?" The Red Death rolled the word off of his tongue, seeming so relaxed as he arced in slow circles around the hero. "I don't see any girls. I see one girl, singular." He circled around, ending up behind the terrified redhead. "The only one you care about is right here, begging you to save her, aren't you, dear MJ?" He grabbed a handful of her vivid red hair and she yelped in pain and fear. Peter forced himself to stay in check, to think clearly and see through the anger blurring his vision.

"What about Madison? Is she safe? Where is she?"

"Do you care?" The figure countered. "Let me put it this way: which would you rather see die, the partner that you have actively professed to dislike, or your precious MJ? I knew that the worry over Madison alone would not be enough to make you fight me, but that if I threw in this little darling," and he yanked MJ's hair again, forcing her chin up so she was looking Spiderman in the face, "you would rise to the bait, no matter what the cost."

"Of course I want to save Madison!" He yelled, feeling frustrated and confused. "Why are you even saying these things?"

"To show you your hypocrisy! Of course you want to save any innocent who is in danger, but I know that for you to really give a damn there needs to be passion. Is Madison even your friend, you weak, pathetic excuse for a hero?" The Red Death snarled. "Look at yourself and see your weakness. You would save MJ in a second, wouldn't you?" When Peter was speechless, the figure seemed to smile. "And you never answered my question, hero. Which would you rather see die? Who would weigh less on your conscience at night?"

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