August 16th, 2009

And you all thought I was dead.

Admit it.

You thought I was d-e-a-d dead, all because I didn't update my stupid blog. Well, I'm not dead. Sorry to disappoint. Although, I have to give you credit, for a good long month or so you guys really did think that was the case.

Oh, wait--you guys wouldn't know about that unless you'd see the news. And, let's face it, who really watches the news anymore?

Here's how it happened:

Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man is up and about, saving the city, you know, the usual. So, I was hanging around (no pun intended) when I heard this horrifying shriek. I went to investigate, being the selfless hero that I am, and I found a red headed woman cornered by a group of thugs. Normally, no problem. I took them out, it was all fantastic. You know, kick in the head here, punch in the gut there. My normal combat routine.

I approach the woman. I ask her if she's alright. She doesn't answer. "It's okay," I say. "People rarely thank me anyway. Can I at least drop you off somewhere? A woman shouldn't be out and about in the alleyways by herself at night." Well, she wasn't alone.

I'm honestly not all too sure what happened after that, but I blacked out. Turns out, the red head was the Chameleon in disguise. The thugs? Hired. The mastermind? The Green Goblin.

I wake up in what looks like a giant test tube. I don't know where oxygen is coming in and carbon dioxide is coming out, but I'm pretty much stuck. It's unbreakable. Believe me. I tried.

"I'm glad to see you're awake, Spider," the Goblin cackled. "I thought I'd hit you too hard."

"You know me, Gobby. Always thickheaded. Mind telling me what the hell I'm doing in here?" My hand pressed to the glass, looking out at some sort of laboratory. Goblin always was a schemer.

"Certainly, since you'll be dead soon anyway." Charming, as always. "I intend to figure out how you've obtained your powers, Spider-Man. And then I will create an army to overrun this damned city."

Huh. "I can't say you've gotten any saner, Gobby. But how about you e-mail me next time, instead? I would've been more than happy to tell you through Facebook or something."

The Goblin faced me from the right side of the glass, laughing that green ugly mug off, but didn't answer. He walked over to a big wall of computers and levers and flashing lights, and, me watching intently, he pressed some sequence that filled the chamber I was trapped in with some purple gas. I tried not to breathe in. That stopped working after half a minute.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. I felt like my skin was on fire. The Goblin walked over to the chamber, admiring his handywork. "That gas is a special concoction of mine, Spider-Man. It seeps into your bores and analyzes your blood type."

"Go get it from the hospital," I snapped. "I donate blood every year."

"Always a kidder," the Goblin said, in a good mood, surprisingly. Normally the bad guys are always grumpy like they jumped on their menstrual cycle or something. And I would've said that, too, but the pain got too much. I threw myself into the glass, holding my enflamed body, and soon sank to my knees. Soon it was just all numb.

"Aw, poor thing. I'd help you, but you know, I wish your demise. Which will come in due time, I promise you," the green menace barked. I kept quiet as the machines did all his work, analyzing my blood, separating this part from that. A white-faced, featureless Chameleon walked into the room through double-reinforced, steel sliding doors. "He's not dead yet?!" was the first thing out of his mouth.

"The process will take time, as I've already explained to you," the purple-dressed Goblin said. "You're a damned fool to think the building of an army can happen without the prime ingredient." And, may I say, nothing makes a person more sick than being called an ingredient.

And I'm not even kidding, I spent days in there. Weeks. All these tests...I told him the truth, but he didn't believe me. Said I was mocking his work and his science. I guess my real story of how I got my powers isn't what a madman wants to hear. But soon came my chance for escape. See, the problem with two psychopaths working together is that each individual psychopath has his own goal. The Chameleon's being my death, rather than an army. So while the Goblin was off in some other part of wherever I was analyzing data, the Chameleon started pressing buttons. "You're about to die, Spider," he chuckled. And soon there was this horrible pressure...it was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I realized that I was being squeezed to death. He was going to try and pop my brain out of my skull, my eyes out of my sockets, but increasing the pressure in the chamber.

However, I'm a superhuman. And the chamber wasn't meant for someone who can withstand what I can. And so, the chamber started cracking. Me being quick on my feet, I kicked at the cracks until it shattered, and I was home free. Flipping out and landing gracefully, I stared the Chameleon down a few seconds before he brought out a gun, and I brought out my hand. A trigger versus two fingers; guess which one won?

He was webbed up, and all that was left was to make sure the Goblin didn't have anything that could be used against me. A man's blood is a private matter. I stormed the place--well, not literally. I crawled on the ceilings so I wouldn't be seen. Not so heroic, but whatever. The Goblin, however, was not to be underestimated. Once I found him, he threw a pumpkin bomb at my position. However, I shot a webline at it and swung it back in his direction...right to the computer that held the data. He was furious now. Everything was lost. Everything. And I couldn't be happier.

"No! You damned fool! This was science!" He shouted at me with a waving fist.

"Sorry, Gobby. But if stem-cell isn't allowed, I'm pretty sure this isn't either. Next time, get a willing subject." Nedless to say, I got out of there. And so did the Goblin. The Chameleon, however, is safely tucked behind bars. One less weight to hold on my shoulders.