"That'll be a hundred and twenty dollars and fifty-six cents." Said the Indian salesman as he rang up the price for Peters purchase.
Peter whimpered pathetically as he pulled his foax leather wallet out. Peter searched his billfold and produced a one hundred dollar bill, a twenty-dollar bill, and a one-dollar bill, handing them to Mr. Aziz, owner and manager of Broadway Costume Shop.
Mr. Aziz grabbed the money and entered a short-lived tug of war with Peter, who finally let go of the large sum of money. Aziz opened the cash register, putting each bill in the proper slot and handed Peter his forty-four cents in change.
"Shops only add the pocket change to something expensive just to piss people off, don't you?" Peter asked the smiling Indian man.
"Pretty much, yes."
"Figures." Peter took his purchased item by its hanger and left the small costume shop.
Peter had bought a simple costume made of a light fabric. It was primarily red and black, reminiscent of the black widows infamous color scheme. Up to the elbows were deep red 'gloves' that were cut off by black fabric that stopped at the shoulders and transferred back to the red colors. The red part of the suit was most prominent on his upper body, and narrowed as it descended to the waist. The sides of the body and lower back were completely black in color. Around the waist was a 'belt' like strip of red fabric. The pants were almost all black except for 'boots' that were about three inches below his kneecaps.
In a separate bag placed inside the large plastic bag that held the costume was a red face mask that would fit snuggly over the wears head with thinner fabric around the nose, ears and mouth areas for breathing, hearing, and speaking to be uninhibited. The eyes were covered by a large pair of white one way lenses that dominated much of the face and were surrounded by black lining.
This would be Peter's costume for the contest. He had already come up with the greatest stage name, The Glamorous Arachnoman! With his powers, this Titan guy would go down in two! Easiest ten grand he ever made. Well, really the only ten grand Peter had ever made.
Peter looked around the street. It was surprisingly un-crowded today. Well, Peter figured he might as well take advantage of the situation. Peter casually walked into an ally, avoiding a puddle of suspicious smelling liquid. The spider powered youth gave a small jump and shot out his arm and fired a blast of the sticky white rope from his wrist and swung high into the air and out the other side of the ally way.
Peter had narrowed down the spot, which the webs launched from as being just twixt the two blood vessels on his wrists, from the finding of two small bumps. He found when he bent his wrists back the bumps would spread open just slightly for the webbing to pass out from what were most likely spinnerets in his arms.
Peter flew high in the air of The Big Apple, wind rushing through his chestnut hair. He found it tricky swinging with one arm, his other hand occupied carrying his costume, but he quickly adapted.
Peter preformed dazzling Arial stunts. He back flipped, spun around, orbited around poles atop buildings, and bounced from building to building. He quickly cleared the Queensborough Bridge and entered Queens. Peter dropped into another alleyway and calmly walked out, holding his costume.
Peter arrived at his home a little earlier then he had expected, so he crawled up the side of the house to his bedroom window, which he had left open just a crack and pushed it open silently. Peter carefully dropped the suit on the floor of his room, and dropped to the ground. Peter then walked to the front door and walked in, announcing his return to his Aunt and Uncle.
"Hey, Aunt May, Uncle Ben, I'm back!" Peter hollered.
"Hey Peter." Uncle Ben said, coming out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee. "Aunt May went into town to pick up some bread."
Peter nodded as he went up the squeaking stairs to his room. Peter quietly closed the window and stuffed his new costume under the bed. He flopped onto his bed, closing his eyes as he slowly drifted to sleep, dreaming off his coming fortune.
"OH GOOD GOD!" Peter panicked as he saw the clock. "I NEED TO GO NOW!" Peter grabbed his costume and undressed. He slipped the main part on and redressed effectively hiding the costume, shoving the mask in his pocket while. Peter dashed out of his room, remembering to grab his book bag to hold his clothes. He couldn't believe he over slept!
"Hey Uncle Ben, Aunt May, I'm going out with Gwen, Harry and MJ for a few hours, is that okay?" Peter asked his caretakers.
"Sure Peter dear just stay safe." May said with a smile.
"No problem Peter." Ben said with a caring look.
"Thanks! I'll be back in a few!" Peter waved to them as he shot out the door.
"Are you sure it was good idea letting him go out at this hour?" May asked Ben.
"As long as he doesn't get himself killed, I'm fine." Ben said, changing the channel.
Peter swung high above the streets of New York. Peter web slung as fast as he could across roads, over and between buildings. He dropped down in the shadow of the Sports Dome. Peter quickly stripped himself of his clothes, reviling the red and black suit underneath. Peter pulled the mask down over his head and hurriedly entered the modern Coliseum. Peter followed the signs to the registration desk for the match on the second floor.
The hallways Peter ran through did not smell the most pleasant. The odor of old glue and sweat hung heavy in stale air. The carpeting had a distinct sticky feeling to it and squelched each time Peter moved his feet.
Peter spotted a group of costumed men who looked to be in their middle-ages, one of them literally as he was dressed in tinfoil knight armor. Peter fortunately, was right behind him, meaning, he was third in line.
"Private Pain huh? Well go on through." The receptionist a plump black women, told the man in front. Private Pain passed by her and disappeared down a narrow passage that was filled with blue, illuminated smoke. Peter heard the announcer call out Private Pain's name and then heard, the screams and cries echo out of the passage. Peter gulped, having second thoughts about his plan.
"Hey, kid, kid!"
Peter snapped back to reality. The receptionist called to him, annoyance clear on her face. Peter quickly walked up to her in a robotic fashion.
"Uh, first off, are you sure you want to go ahead and do this?" she asked, her question punctuated by the sudden outburst of pained screams from who the announcer had called the 'Black Knight'.
"Yes." Peter said, his voice cracking.
"All, right. First I need you to sign this affidavit saying that we are not liable for the injuries that you," She paused for a second, looking over Peters thin physique, "WILL receive. You're costumed name is fine."
Peter jotted down 'The Glamorous Arachnoman' on the line.
"The Glamorous Arachnoman? Cha, whatever, go on through." She waved Peter away.
Peter walked through the thick mist, choking on the rancid smelling gas. He stopped behind a man dressed in a twinkling blue vest, holding a microphone and screaming at the crowd in a Carnival Talker voice.
He leaned over to Peter, who was still obscured by the blue mist. "What's yer name kid?" He asked, his grease bathed hair dripping thick globs of moose on the dirty black floor.
"Th-the Glamorous Arachnoman." Peter said, his suit clinging to his sweaty body.
"The Glamorous Arachnoman? Can you get any gayer kid?" He asked Peter before straightening back up. "All right folks, here is the next challenger, the stupendous, fantastic, AMAZING SPIDERMAN!" He cried throwing his arms wide.
"That's not my name!" Peter complained.
"Trust me kid, I saved you from a small portion of ridicule to come, now get down there!" He shoved Peter from the shadows to greet the, boos and jeers of the crowd. Peter nervously stepped down the steps to the ring, as he was bombarded by popcorn and candy.
Peter stood in front of the ring ready to get in. most people would use the ropes for a boost into the square arena. But Peter simply jumped into it, easily clearing the five feet. The crowd hushed as he landed on all fours in the ring.
Peter, or maybe now, Spiderman would be more appropriate, stood up and came face to six-pack with the steroid fueled wall of pure muscle and rage that was Titan.
"Hey there handsome." Peter said, trying his hardest not to loose bladder control at the sight of the wrestler.
Ding-ding!
The bell rang and Titan rushed at Spiderman, arms spread wide in an attempt to grab him in what would undoubtedly be a crushing bear hug. His spider-sense blaring in his head, Spiderman bound over Titans head, using his head as a springboard. Titan stumbled and fell flat on his face, well in stark contrast, Peter landed gracefully behind him.
Filled with confidence, Spiderman struck a triangle stance something psychics 101 stated, easily distributed weight. "Oh come on big boy, what's the matter, you afraid of little ol' me?" Spiderman taunted. Peter didn't know what was coming over him. He felt, free, relaxed, in control.
Titan stood back up. His face was red and the veins buldged from his neck. "You little, I'm going to rip you to pieces!" Titan yelled in a rumbling voice.
"Oh, I'm so scared! Well come on tough guy, let's see what you've got!" Spiderman taunted.
"RRAAHH!" Titan charged like a mad bull at the scrawny teenager. He swung a meaty fist with surprising speed at Peter, who ducked under the blow, and back flipped away from the wrestler.
"Did I hurt you're feelings? Oh, poor baby!" The costumed boy said slyly.
"I'll snap you in two!" Titan roared angrily, throwing another punch.
Peter danced around the big lug with ballerina like grace. Spiderman leaped over Titan as he tried to capture him in a bone-crushing squeeze. "Seriously, I have enough practice in dodging idiots like you, its not even funny anymore!"
Titan's eyes bulged from his sockets in fury as his blood pressure, already dangerously high sky rocketed. "That's it! I am going to shove my fist so far up your ass, whenever I flex, you'll need to piss!"
"Is that a promise?" The daredevil struck the 'cute and innocent yet flirtatious' pose, mocking Titan more.
Titan screamed, charging Peter like a mad, bull or rhino, foam flying from his mouth. Spiderman ducked down at the last possible second and planted his open palmed hands right on Titans abs, and lifted him right over his head with the greatest of ease. When you could lift a Volkswagen over your head, what was some Neanderthal throw back?
The crowd went silent as a graveyard at the sight of this little pipsqueak holding the massive beast of a man over his head. Then, the crowd went wild with excitement. They hollered and cheered, as Spiderman twirled Titan around and around above him.
"My, my, isn't this crowd rather fickle," Spiderman observed, still spinning Titan above him, like a helicopter blade. "Well, I figure it's been about five minutes, so lets finish this big guy!"
Peter slammed Titan down on the canvass mat with a painful thump! He placed his red foot on Titans (who was rather unconscious and in no condition to fight back) back and the ref, who had just climbed into the ring, began taping the mat.
"1! 2! 3! Winner is, the Amazing Spider-man!" The referee called out, holding Spidey's hand over his head. The crowd cheered and applauded loudly, filling Spider-Man's ears with deafening noise. Spider-Man stood tall and proud, soaking up the adulation of the countless fans.
"Forty-nine, and fifty thousands dollars, enjoy kid." Said the sponsor in an aggravated tone of voice as he pushed the hefty stack of one hundred dollar bills to the still costumed Peter. "Now, get they hell out off my office!" He growled, thumbing at his door.
As Peter left, the sponsor thought to himself, I wish I knew how that skinny little wimp beat Titan!
Peter whistled to himself as he walked down the funny smelling hallway, bundle of cash in hand. "This was so easy! I could make a fortune doing this! From now on, every spider I see, I'm going to thank. Then I smash 'em." Peter smiled.
"Hey! Come back here!" Shouted a voice from behind Peter.
He turned around and saw a man dressed in a denim jacket, black shirt and blue jeans come tearing down the hall, chased by a security guard, who was in surprisingly good shape, but a poor runner. The man held a small duffle bag tightly in his right hand, most likely filled with pilfered money.
Peter realized he had two options. He could stick his fist out and knock the crook flat out or, mind his own business. Peter stepped aside. The crook ran past Peter and entered the elevator. He slammed down on the button for the first floor and looked back at Peter with an insidious smile and said in a wispy voice, "Thanks man." The metal doors made the thief vanish.
"What was that?" Demanded the guard, slamming his fist on the elevator door. "All you needed to do was stick your foot out or anything!"
"Hey! I don't stick my neck out for anybody from now on! I only take care of nomero uno, me!" Peter pushed past the guard and went for the stairwell.
Peter Parker, now wearing his street clothes with his costume underneath it, walked down the street to his home with a spring in his step. Peter had stashed the sizable amount of money in his book bag.
Peter's life couldn't get any better! With the money he had earned, he could help Aunt May and Uncle Ben fix up the house, pay their debts, and he should have enough money left over to get a few nice things, like an X-Box 360.
Poor Peter was still young and ignorant of how much all of that would actually cost. And he didn't know how to show his Uncle and Aunt the money without telling them about his powers. He did plan on telling them…eventually. Peter was also blissfully unaware of a certain little cosmic force called karma, and how every little thing you do, will come back to bite in the ass.
Peter's smile turned to a look of confusion and then to a look of fear as he caught sight of a group of police cars parked in front of his house. Peter broke into a run worry consumed him. Peter found a single cop standing beside a patrol car. The spider-powered youth grabbed the officer.
"W-what happened?" Peter asked trembling.
"Are you Peter Parker by any chance?" The cop asked with a grim face.
"YES! Now please tell me what happened!" Peter begged.
"You should brace yourself. A bugler, he broke into the house and surprised your Uncle. He was shot. I sorry." The cop turned his head, averting Peter's gaze.
"What about Aunt May?" Peter demanded his hands hanging limply by his sides.
"She's in shock, but alive." The police officer said, moments before his radio went off.
Bzzt Gordon! We chased the suspect into an old warehouse by the bay, but we need reinforcements!
"Roger, I'll be right over. Kid, your Aunts in…huh, must've already gone inside." Gordon got in his car and fired up the engine.
Peter ran down the road, faster then any man before him. His face was contorted in the picture of malevolence and thirst for vengeance. He ducked into an ally and let his book bag drop with a low slumping sound.
Those warehouses are like mini castles. The murderer could hold off an army for days. Peter ripped of his shirt and threw it to the ground, revealing his red and black costume. But he couldn't stop, a hunting spider.
The murderer was pressed against a wall, breathing heavily. He held a Walter P.38 in his hand. He hadn't meant to kill the old fool he just got in the way. He needed a plan. The cops were everywhere, so it would be hard to sneak past them. Maybe he could slip out into the water, and steal a boat. He was good at hot wiring things.
"Hello."
The criminal looked around in fear at the sudden voice, raising his gun. "W-who's there?" He demanded.
"Your worst nightmare." The voice said, its tone a low, sinister sound. There was a thin flash of silver, and the gun was yanked from the murders hand to vanish in the darkness.
"YAH! The criminal cried in terror. He looked up at the large stack of crates before him, and attached upside down to the wall of boxes was a figure with glowing white eyes. The criminal made a mad brake for the exit, flailing his arms.
"I don't think so!" The demon yelled as the murderer felt a light impact on the back of his leg. He was yanked from his feet and pulled roughly across the concrete floor. He was then pulled up off the floor and punched in the stomach.
The air flew from his lungs and pain clouded his mind as he was thrown against the opposite wall. He slumped weakly to the floor. The costumed vigilante strode over to him and pulled him up again.
He felt a series of punches smash into his face. Blood poured from his nose and forehead. He expected a final punch to crush his already ringing skull, but it never came, as a sense of recognition came over his attacker. He dropped to the ground and the glowing eyed monster stumbled back.
"No…no…i-its you! The thief from the arena!" Peter stuttered as he looked at the murderers face. It was swollen and bloody, but he recognized him. "I-I let you escape…it…its all my fault! You didn't kill him…I killed him! Oh God!"
Gordon stood by Sergeant Stacy and three other officers, listening to the plan. "It's simple enough, we hurl a few tear gas grenades through the windows with a couple of guys at both exits. The suspect runs to get out, and the moment he comes out, bam! We catch him!" George Stacy finished.
Gordon however, saw something rather unusual. "Um, Serge? I don't think that will be necessary. Look!" Gordon pointed to an upper floor window, where by a thick strand of a shiny substance and tied up nice and tight in a cocoon of the same substance, was the killer.
"Oh god…what, sniff, have I done…its all my fault…if…if I had just stopped him, sniff, Uncle Ben would still be…" Peter buried his unmasked head in his hands. Tears rolled out from between his fingers, the thin cloth unsuitable to absorb the salty liquid.
For some reason, the words Uncle Ben had spoken to him what seemed to be so long ago, wormed their, way into his head. With great power, comes great responsibility. Peter finally knew what those words, so simple in the sound, yet so very powerful, truly meant.
"I swear…I'll use my powers to help others, and protect people from harm. I swear Uncle Ben! I won't let you down!" Peter declared, standing to his feet, gripping his mask in his hand. "I will become, Spider-man!"
And so, with that promise, cried out to the heavens for whatever grand celestial being that may lie beyond to hear, and for the wicked to tremble, a new legend was born with a tear stained face.
Next Story Arc: Wings of Death!