Posted: 5/23/08 (Sooner than I expected).
A Debut Performance.
The person who wasn't Peter woke up in Peter's bedroom.
He cautiously got out bed and tried to gain his bearings. It was nighttime. He didn't recognize anything in the bedroom. He couldn't remember anything that had happened since getting the suit.
Speaking of the suit, he realized he wasn't wearing it anymore. He was instead wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants. He looked around the room, and something caught his eye. The closet door was open and there was a laundry basket on the floor inside. On the top of the basket was a black sleeveless shirt. What if…
He picked up the shirt and tried to remember. After the ooze changed into its suit form, it had the same texture as this shirt. If it could change from ooze to costume, then it wouldn't be unusual to change into another shape. That costume kept getting more and more useful. If it could transform, he could wear it under his clothes and no one would ever notice. He might even forget he was wearing it.
He held the black shirt in both hands and concentrated. Slowly, the shirt covered his arms and spread across his body, and it soon became his red and black costume again. He smiled from behind his mask.
Well, now he was in costume again. What to do with himself? He looked around the room. The bed was in one corner. A computer was on a desk, surrounded by notes and other clutter. A bookshelf was filled to the brim with books. Nothing caught his attention.
He decided that he felt like getting some air. He opened his window and crawled out into the night.
He traveled to the city, which was very close to the house, while easily keeping out of sight. He crouched on the ledge of a building and looked at the streets below. He had a good view, but was preoccupied by other thoughts swarming in his head.
He could remember nothing he did before waking up in the lab that afternoon. Nothing. He couldn't remember what he did afterward either. He couldn't even be sure it had happened that same day. Why had he just spaced out for most of the day?
He had waken up in a room he assumed was his, but he didn't even recognize it. What was wrong with him? The closest thing he had to memories were blurry images that seemed more like dreams.
He concentrated on them. He remembered a house, a room—his room, and two older people. That was it. No wait, one more thing. A voice, a voice he was really happy to hear. That was really it.
He couldn't remember anything that he did before the lab. It was worse than amnesia—it was like he didn't even exist before then. That thought made him shudder.
He heard someone yell briefly. He leaned over and looked down in the alleyway connected to the building he was perched on. He noticed two figures, but it was too dark to see the details. He quietly climbed down the wall.
A man wearing a white bandana over his head had cornered a middle-aged woman. He pointed his knife at her. "It's simple," he said with an annoyed tone. "I'm not interested in YOU, I just need some quick cash. Give me some, and you can go."
The woman held her purse protectively. "I-I don't have any cash, really!"
"That's hard to believe, considering that big purse you have." Bandana brandished his knife. "If you don't hand it over, I can always take it from you."
"Now, that doesn't seem like a very friendly or neighborly thing to do."
Bandana and the woman looked up. They saw Peter, covered by his costume, sticking to the brick wall by his hands and feet.
"The hell?! What are you, some mutant spider? Butt out!"
"I'm not butting out now. And you shouldn't be going around threatening innocent people like that. It's just plain rude."
"Don't go preaching to me, spider-man." Bandana raised his knife and tried to stab the wall-crawler, but Peter jumped down and landed behind him. Bandana turned around and swung his knife repeatedly, but each time he only hit air. "Hold still, damn it!"
Peter crouched and kicked Bandana's feet out from under him. Bandana dropped his knife and fell flat on his back, hitting his head on the ground. Peter saw his chance and took Bandana's namesake off his head, and quickly used it to tie his hands and feet together.
"Hey," Bandana said as he regained his senses. "Let me go, damn it!"
Peter looked at the woman, who was staring in shock. "You might want to call the police before he unties himself." With that, Peter jumped on the wall and began climbing up.
"Wait," the woman called. "Um… Spider-man?"
"Don't call me—" Peter stopped what he was saying. He hesitated, before looking down. "Yeah?"
"Well… it's just… Thank you."
He paused again, taking in what she said. "You're welcome," he said at last. Then he climbed away.
While crouching on the ledge of a different building, Peter was lost in his thoughts again. It wasn't until those people had given him the name "Spider-man" that he realized, he didn't know what name he had before.
Did he know anything about himself?
This suit allowed him to climb on walls and increased his reflexes, but that was nothing compared to the oddities in his consciousness. Even without the suit, he wasn't normal, and he knew that.
He climbed down the side of the building until he found a window leading into an empty apartment. There were no signs that anyone was inside, but the window was very clean. It reflected his red mask perfectly. Peter took a breath and pulled his mask off. Like a hoodie, the mask stayed attached to the back of his suit. Peter opened his eyes and faced his fears.
He had medium-length brown hair. He had brown eyes. His face looked young, he was sixteen at the oldest.
He didn't. Recognize. The face.
His face.
Peter dejectedly returned to the rooftop, not bothering to put the mask back on. As the wind blew through his hair, it hit him in full force.
I… don't know who I am.
And yet, it didn't feel like memory loss. It felt like he never had the knowledge to begin with.
It felt like he didn't exist.
He tilted his head up and spent a long time staring at the stars. He eventually lay flat on his back and continued staring. The idea scared him, not existing. Then, he remembered something.
"Well… it's just… Thank you."
Somebody thanked him. She couldn't have done that to a person who didn't exist.
That made him smile.
He sat up and laughed. "Ha! There must be something wrong with me. Letting something like a memory gap get me all depressed! As if." He returned to his normal crouching position, letting his arms rest between his legs. "I KNOW I exist. I may not know what I am, but that's nothing to get all teary-eyed over. Besides, I know I'll figure it out eventually."
If anyone could hear him speak, they probably would have called him incredibly simple-minded. And he probably would have laughed and agreed with them.
He heard someone yell briefly from the street below. He looked down and saw a teenage girl being chased by a man, and got an intense feeling of déjà vu.
He smirked. "Until I do get everything figured out, I can't very well support behavior like that. It's not at all chivalrous." He pulled his mask back on and climbed down the building.
Until I remember my other name, 'Spider-man' is the only name I need.
…Well, 'Spidey' makes a good nickname too.
Spidey reached the ground and went to work.
The next morning, Peter Parker walked down the stairs, yawning and scratching his stomach. He entered the kitchen and put some bread in the toaster, with all the youthful energy of a rock.
"Good morning, Peter," said Aunt May, as she entered the kitchen herself.
"'Morning," he mumbled.
"Is something wrong?"
"I don't know why, but I'm really tired this morning. I must have had a nightmare or something," he said with another yawn.
"I'm sure you'll perk up once you reach school," she said reassuringly.
Peter's toast popped up right before Uncle Ben called from the living room, "Hey, come look at this."
May and Peter (with toast sticking from his mouth) entered the living room and noticed the morning news Ben was watching. A male reporter stood on a street in what appeared to be downtown.
"Late last night and early this morning, the police and our news station received claims that a person calling himself 'Spider-man' traveled across the city and stopped several crimes such as mugging and attempted theft. We've gathered reports from a total of seven people who claim to have been either rescued by him, or stopped by him. These people describe Spider-man as wearing a mask with a red and black costume, and—strange as it sounds—able to stick to walls. One man, who has been arrested for attempted assault, had this to say;"
The screen switched to a police car. A man with a white bandana on his head was in the backseat. He was yelling, "It was me! I was the first mugger Spider-man stopped! And I coined that name! Doesn't that mean I get royalties for that?"
The screen switched back to the reporter, who chose not to respond to the man. "Beyond the eyewitness reports, there is no actual proof of Spider-man's existence. Is Spider-man an urban myth, or could he be a real vigilante fighting for the people? Our station will keep you informed as more information becomes available."
"Was that for real?" May asked. "A man in a costume ran around last night stopping crimes?"
Peter held his half-eaten breakfast in his hand as he spoke. "If seven people all said it, it couldn't be a coincidence."
Ben chuckled to himself. "It's just like something out of the comic books. Well, the crime rate in the city has been pretty high lately. If this 'Spider-man' is real, he just might be the thing to turn that around."
"I don't know," May replied. "I can't really trust a person who takes the law into his own hands like that."
Ben looked over his shoulder. "What about you, Peter?"
Peter swallowed the last of his toast. "I'm with Aunt May. Even if he helped some people, anyone running around in the middle of the night wearing a superhero costume has to be crazy." Peter suddenly sneezed.
Peter recalled a superstition that said you sneeze when somebody insults you. He silently wondered who insulted him right then.
Natasha Quarter and Howard Backyard sat side by side in the research lab they borrowed. On the other side of the desk, the client's messenger sat with his briefcase resting on an adjacent chair. His black suit matched perfectly with his long black hair.
When the messenger entered the room, he noticed that the window was spotlessly clean, as if it was brand new. There were also two new clocks hanging on the walls, in unusual spots. Duct tape was on the ceiling.
His eyes burned holes in the two people. Quarter cleaned her glasses with the bottom of her shirt. She made sure to avoid eye contact when she put them back on. Backyard looked off to the side as he scratched his hair.
The messenger was tired of their fidgeting. "Well…?"
The two looked at each other. They looked at their laps and finally said, "We don't have it."
"What are you talking about? I spoke with you just four days ago, and it was nearly complete then. You must have finished it by now."
"It's not that we didn't finish it," Backyard said. "We finished the prototype without any problems. But… then it was stolen."
Pause. "Stolen?"
Quarter confirmed, "Stolen."
The messenger said nothing. He let his gaze switch from Backyard to Quarter and back again. Then, he opened his briefcase and took out what looked similar to an answering machine. He placed it on the desk and turned it on.
"Just a moment, you will hear the Kingpin speak."
Seconds passed. A digitally altered voice came from the machine. "This is the Kingpin. Are Mr. Backyard and Ms. Quarter present?"
"Yes," the messenger answered. "It seems that they finished the prototype as scheduled, but it was stolen."
"Stolen? You mean, not confiscated? Was it somebody from outside Oscorp?" The Kingpin was confused, but surprisingly calm. At least, that's how it seemed through his electronic voice.
"Y-yes," Backyard replied. "It was a high school student."
"A student?"
"That's right. Two days ago, a high school held a field trip here in Oscorp. He wandered in this room by mistake, and saw the prototype. We tried to kill him, but he took the suit and used it to escape."
"Why did you try to kill him? Did he look suspicious?"
"Suspicious? Uh… no. It's just… you told us to make sure no one ever saw the prototype and you said you would even assist us in covering a murder. So…"
"I only meant that about the people in Oscorp. You know, people connected to Norman Osborn. He's the only one with the resources—or interest—in finding out who that suit was being made for. Why should I worry about a random civilian? You should have just let him pass through."
Backyard and Quarter were silent for a while. They turned their heads and looked at each other.
Backyard blinked at Quarter.
Quarter blinked at Backyard.
Slowly, they both looked back at the machine. Quarter stood up and slammed her hands on the table.
"WHY didn't you explain that to us in the beginning!! You said, 'NO witnesses, NO exceptions'!! How were we supposed to know that meant, 'no witnesses, except for anyone from outside Oscorp'!! If we had known that, we wouldn't have tried shooting him and none of this would have happened!!"
"You each have common sense and a brain of your own. It's not my fault if you don't think for yourselves."
It was Backyard's turn to shout. "You explicitly told us not to let anyone who saw it live! Did you expect us to subvert the orders of a crime boss!?"
"Please keep your voices down," the messenger said with an annoyed tone. "To prevent eavesdropping, if nothing else."
"They do have a point, however. Perhaps I am partly at fault as well. I should have been more selective in my words. Thus, I'll give you ten percent of the payment for your effort, even though I didn't receive anything."
Quarter sat back in her seat, confused. "You aren't angry?"
"Not that much. The important thing is that Osborn doesn't suspect what's happening. Like I said before, I don't need to fear a civilian, whether he has the suit or not. At the moment the only ones who came out behind are you two."
Quarter and Backyard chose not to respond.
"Getting back to business, I want you to begin work on another prototype bio-suit for me."
"What? You want us to steal even more supplies than we already have?"
"Of course. Otherwise, you'll walk away only with the ten percent. That's what happens when you allow the first suit to get stolen."
"We'll do it," Quarter said. "If you increase the first payment to thirty percent."
The Kingpin considered this for a moment. "Very well. We have a deal. You'll get one hundred thirty percent total upon delivery."
Backyard spoke up. "What should we do about the thief?"
"Nothing. I shall take care of him on my own. After all, if I catch him I get an extra suit for free, do I not?"
Backyard and Quarter narrowed their eyes. They could almost hear the Kingpin's sneer.
Author's notes: When I started my other, summary-format fanfiction, I had a lot of it already written on my computer. After I used those chapters up, it took me five months to do the next update. After that, I promised never to complain about a slowly updating story again (although, I still check for updates very frequently, but I don't complain when they're not there).
A lot of the time I read all sorts of stories on and I consider a lot of them to be just plain pitiful in their quality. Well, now that I'm writing a story-format fanfiction, I understand that high-quality stories are not easy.
I have many plot points in my head, but they're mostly about stuff in the future. Right now, I'm kind of writing this as I go. Still, I'll try my best.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own "Spider-Man" or anything connected with it (or anything else that inspires parts of this story).