Spider-Man: Year One- A Spider-Man Fanfiction
Summary: Lonely sophomore Peter Parker was the most gifted student at Midtown High, until one day when a bite from a genetically modified spider turned him into something else. Now, he's just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Follow his journey. Rated Teen.
Disclaimer: I do not own Spider-Man
Chapter Three
"Jesus, Michaels, could you step on the gas? I don't know who'll get us first, the cops or Spider-Man."
"My foot is nearly pushing through the floor Marko. I could pull over and you could drive."
The driver of the vehicle continued to talk, but Flint Marko had long since tuned him out. It wasn't often that Marko decided to work with a partner, and this young kid Michaels was proving this notion correct with each passing minute. This was supposed to be a simple grand theft auto. The armored car was bought and paid for already. The drivers were on the payroll of the Kingpin. But Michaels still insisted on firing off his gun and then taking off like a bat out of Hell down the street, attracting every honest cop in twenty blocks... and probably Spider-Man too. And now when they had to go fast to avoid the trouble that wasn't supposed to be there, he slowed down. This kid was the definition of stupid.
Now Flint Marko wasn't a genius by any stretch of the imagination, and he was man enough to admit that to himself, but he had a been a criminal in New York long enough to pick up on a few simple truths. Truths like never plan to go rob a patriotic symbol. That will bring on a beating from the good Captain himself. Never steal Stark tech, same problem, different Avenger. And never go near the Baxter, you'll be lucky if it's that rock monster. If the fire kid or, God forbid, Richards himself get involved then the beatings become creative. Marko was in no mood to explain to a doc in the local jail how Mr. Fantastic kicked his ass using three feet of excess skin. It was embarrassing. And you just don't skulk around Hell's Kitchen. If one of the local gangs doesn't jump you for sport, then you'll run into Daredevil. Neither are particularly good options.
There were also the more universal truths. Don't piss off the cops if you can manage it. And, never complicate a simple job. In the last ten minutes, Michaels had managed to do both of these. Marko sure hoped the payout for this job would be worth it. That is if the Kingpin decides they should continue breathing after this fiasco.
Hearing the sirens in the background closing in, Marko again turned to his partner. "Seriously kid, where did you learn how to drive?"
"Shut it man and let me concentrate," Michaels hissed. The kid flipped his stringy red hair from out of his eyes and forced his foot down with more force. Marko was flown back against his seat and the sirens following them became more distant in the background. For a few miles, Marko said nothing as the street whizzed by under them, until he was sure they had shaken the cops.
"Good work kid. You had me worried there for a moment."
"Shut it, geezer. I was always in control," Michaels responded. He opened his mouth as if he was going to begin talking again, but a red first punched its way through the driver window, halting any conversation the two would have.
"Geezer? I don't know about that. Maybe forty at best. Doesn't the criminal element have any sense of respect for its elders?"
Marko sighed. "Spider-Man, I take it?"
"Right in one. And you are?" The superhero responded in a laughing manner. He reached insider the car and grabbed the wheel, jerking the entire vehicle to the left. "How about you guys pull over and let me drive. The driving ed teacher said I've gotten really good lately."
"Not gonna happen you freak," Michaels responded. He threw his own punch out the window, that Spider-Man easily caught, bringing Michaels' full weight against the door. Three more quick pulls and Michaels went limp, unconscious, but foot still bearing down on the gas.
"Now look what you did," Marko growled. "Get him out of here so I can stop this thing."
Spider-Man opened the door and pulled the unconscious Michaels from the front seat. He launched a web and swung quickly to a nearby building, attaching Michaels to a light post in the process.
Marko pulled himself into the driver's seat and slammed his foot on the breaks, screeching the car to a halt. Scrambling out of the vehicle, he made to run down the street only to come to face with the superhero he had hoped to avoid in the misdirection.
"Thought I forgot about you?" Spider-Man asked, crouching down into a fighting position.
"Hoped," Marko replied, adopting a fighting position himself. He jumped around a bit like he learned when he was younger and took a few years of boxing, motioning for Spider-Man to "bring it on". It was another one of his rules. If it looked like you were about to be caught, go down swinging. If he were sent to jail, at least he would have some sort of street cred for going up against the bug. He didn't want to seem weak.
Spider-Man chuckled, but adopted a similar pose, mock pushing his costume up his sleeves. "Fisticuffs, really?" he asked in a put on British accent.
Marko charged him and Spider-Man dodged, juking slightly with his hands still raised in front of him. "Or, I could float around like Ali."
Spider-Man kept dancing around, dodging Marko's punches, but soon sent pout a web of his own, pulling the criminal in tight. "But, I think I'll just end this and leave you for the police."
Holding Marko close with his web, he brought his fist crashing against the criminal's temple, smirking as Marko went limp in his arms. "Now, I'll leave you with your friend for the cops to find."
As he finished tying Marko up next to Michaels, Spider-Man heard the sirens pulling closer and he turned to wait. As soon as the cops appeared, he leaned himself back against a wall and began to clap. "The boys in blue! Looking good and coming to clean up, just what I needed!"
Eight or so cops emptied out of the cars, two rushing to attend to Marko and Michaels while the others turned their weapons on Spider-Man.
"Hands up!"
"Guys," Spider-Man said, holding his hands in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "I'm on your side here. Just caught the bad guys, doing my civic duty, promoting the red, white, and blue. You know, hero stuff?"
One of the braver cops stepped forward, gun trained on the hero. "You're under arrest! Get on the ground or we'll shoot, freak!"
Spider-Man sighed in frustration. "I do your job for you and get called a freak. Would you say that to Captain America?"
"Captain America doesn't hide behind a mask, criminal," the same cop responded.
"And that thing on his face is what then?"
"That's not the point. Captain Rodgers is an American hero. Not some smart mouth punk getting his jollies by getting into street fights."
"That's what you think I'm doing?" Spider-Man asked with incredulity. He watched the cop for a few more moments without change. "Look, I get how this works. I'll lay down and then I'll get shot at. I have seen the news."
"One more word and I will put you down. I mean it!"
Spider-Man sighed again, launching a web and swinging away, using the disbelief of the police to his advantage. Not the first impression he wanted to have the cops, but it would have to do. They'd learn to respect him eventually... he hoped.
Once he was out of range of the cops, he double backed quietly and landed on one of the roof tops situated in the middle of street. Connected to some webbing hanging off the side of the building was Peter's favorite camera, set on an auto timer to take pictures every few seconds.
"With this, I just may be able to put that windbag Jameson in his place and get a nice paycheck out of this shit show of a day. At least I caught the crooks."
…
Slightly out of breath from swing back to the Bugle at breakneck speeds, Peter changed out of his costume quickly and entered the front doors of the building, intent on getting his pictures to Jameson before the end of the day. There was a look on the faces of the employees of the Bugle as they saw the young man marched determinedly through the building toward Jameson's office bordering on shock. No one, after receiving a verbal lashing from Jameson, had the gaul to return in the same day. They had seen grown men run from that very office and now some kid was willing to face Jameson's wrath twice in a day. They had to admire his bravery, even if it wasn't the smartest thing to do in the world.
Intent on preventing a verbal massacre, Robbie sprung from his desk and approached Peter. "I appreciate the enthusiasm kid, but it may be misplaced. I told you not to come back unless you had pictures of Spider-Man."
Peter held up his camera, scrolling through about a dozen or so pictures of his last battle. "I guess I got lucky, he was chasing down some crooks when I left a couple of hours ago. I just followed and snapped these."
Robbie raised an eyebrow. "I thought I told you not to get yourself in any sort of trouble."
"I really wasn't in any danger. I actually climbed a fire escape and got up to a roof to take these pictures. He didn't see me and neither did the criminals. No harm, no foul, right?" Peter laughed in a nervous manner.
Robbie studied Peter for a moment, as if trying to suss out the lie he was telling, but eventually just nodded his head. "I'll go talk to the boss, give me a minute."
Peter fidgeted outside of the office for a few minutes, trying his hardest to ignore the looks he was receiving from the Bugle employees. Well... the looks that weren't from the hot secretary sitting outside of Jameson's office that is. She could look at Peter all she wanted.
Robbie opened the door slightly and motioned for Peter to come into the office.
Literally the moment he opened the door, Jameson was barking at him. "Let's see them then."
Peter approached the desk and showed Jameson the screen on his camera, quickly thumbing through the pictures. However, Jameson snatched the camera out of his hand, muttering to himself as he stared at each one. "Crap, crap, crap, crap... this one isn't bad."
He took a moment to look up at Peter. "These are crap," He said in a blunt tone making Peter wince. "But crap is better than nothing, which is what I've got from every other photographer in the city. Have Robbie print these out and I'll give you three-fifty for the lot."
"Three-fifty?" Peter exclaimed. "There's about a dozen pictures there!"
Jameson glared at Peter. "Four hundred, or you can walk. Final offer."
"Four hundred is fine, sir," Peter responded. "And," he stumbled for a second, searching for the words. "What about a contract?"
"Contract?" Jameson laughed. "Good one kid. Maybe if you could drive. No, freelance is the perfect thing for a kid your age."
He scribbled out a cheque quickly and handed it to Peter. "Give this to my assistant, Brant, outside and she'll pay you. Make sure Robbie has those pictures to me in the next ten minutes."
Peter nodded and scurried out the door. Outside of the office, Robbie was waiting for him, a smile on his face when he saw the cheque in Peter's hand. "Good job Parker. I'll take your camera and upload the picture. Go get yourself paid in the meantime."
After handing his camera to Robbie, Peter approached the desk marked "Betty Brant" and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was the same hot secretary glancing at him from before.
"Hi...um... Jameson sent me with this," Peter said. "Told me to give it to his assistant Brant. I'm hoping that's you."
"Assistant is hardly the word I'd use. Maybe slave, or lackey. Either way, I don't get nearly paid enough to be payroll as well," she began, running a hand through her chestnut hair in annoyance. "But, yes, I can pay you. I guess being overworked by Jameson is better than being unnoticed. It's the ones that he doesn't know who tend to get fired."
She smiled again and handed Peter a small stack of bills, her dark brown eyes flashing as she smiled at the boy. "Must have been some pictures to get Jameson to take notice. Congrats, Mr. Parker, and welcome to the Bugle."
Peter sheepishly rubbed his head. "Please, Ms. Brant, call me Peter."
"Only if you refer to me as Betty," she smiled again.
…
With only Marko to talk to, Michaels had decided long ago that this prison cell in New York simply wouldn't do. He was much too important to be locked up like some common criminal. But, he supposed it was for the best. After all, his was a mission that wasn't to be taken lightly.
He was a world class stuntman. A brilliant magician. A superb tactician and fighter. And, with his other abilities, unparalleled in the many fights in which he had never been bested. Had he known as a struggling young stunt man and special-effects guru he could make this kind of life for himself, without having to hit rock bottom first, he would have left Hollywood after one week. His skills were impressive and more suited for practical applications than helping some fat cat in a suit get wealthy off of whatever tribe blockbuster he was willing to sell to the American people. They didn't understand his gifts anyway.
His portion of the plan had worked out flawlessly. He had infiltrated Kingpin's gang with startling ease and, within the span of two months, gotten a high profile gig that was sure to attract the attention of the real prize, this new hero Spider-Man. The kid was good, he had to admit, but he was not impressed. Maybe in a few years he would pose a threat, but for now at least, he was nothing.
And, if he was to be immodest for a minute, he was shaping up to becoming the best actor in his generations. It was only a shame that the Academy wouldn't see his performance and gift him the Oscar he so richly deserved. Those hacks would just have to keep giving his prize to less deserving actors while he continued to shine on the only stage that mattered, the New York streets where he would soon be king.
But, to do so, he would need to remove himself from his current partnership. He was no man's lackey, not the Kingpin's nor his actual employer's. He was his own man, tremendously gifted, and he was ready to take his sizable cut from this job and strike out on his own. First act, set up the scene. Second act, deploy the effects. Third act, cast the hero Spider-Man. Fourth act, defeat the hero in single combat proving his superiority. Fifth act, rule New York as was his right. It was a perfect plan, full of the kind of dramatics reserved for the golden age of Hollywood. It was like he was a better version of Clark Gable and New York was his improved version of Gone With the Wind. Or better yet, as he recently became a man of many faces, he was Conrad Veidt and this was his The Man Who Laughs or, better yet, Casablanca and he would steal the show with his chilling portrayal of the perfect villain. The rest of the New York underground would soon realize his his superiority and fall in line or be crushed under his sheer brilliance.
Oh, how he wished to announce these claims in a most manly fashion, with some sort of Shakespearean monologue, and forever perfect the role of Iago in a way that neither Laurence Olivier nor Kenneth Branagh could ever hope to match. It was his birth right, but it would have to wait. For now he would play the stooge and special-effect errand boy to a larger power until he could strike. And much like Iago, he would strike and they would never see it coming.
"Michaels, you made bail," one of those squalid cops pulled him out of his much needed revery and back into the mundane real world for a moment. But in that moment, he smiled. It was time again to play second fiddle. Nothing but a effects lackey to a much bigger fish. But all that was about to change.
Stepping out of the police precinct, he smiled again as a large, black limo pulled up to the curve. Time to put on his mask, he figured. In a way it opaqued his vision like mirror. He could see his true self. His brilliance shone through to him, but was masked to everyone as a simple stooge. But he would have his day. All he needed was the go ahead to take down Spider-Man and he would be set.
The limo stopped right in front and he got in, setting himself down in a most elegant fashion and turning to face his employer and the oaf that followed his employer around.
"The plan went perfectly, but of course, since I was personally involved. And now, if you don't mind, I'm going to remove this dreadful disguise and become myself again," Michaels said. He reached up into his straggly hair and removed it, and the skull cap connected to it, revealing a mop of black hair that fell immediately into a bowl cut around his eyebrows. Removing a tissue from his pocket, he wiped the make-up from his face and aged about five years, going from the naive and rash kid he was playing into an older, more dignified man. The perfect disguise.
"Welcome back, Mr. Beck, and good job," his employer said, reaching out a pale hand and passing Beck a drink.
"Naturally," Beck responded. "When Quentin Beck is involved, success is the only possibly outcome."
"The Michaels identity is no longer needed, as I'm sure Fisk had already figured out your were my mole in his organization. As I too have figured out his moles in mine. Furthermore, it was the perfect distraction for the real event. I would bet that Fisk thought I was merely trying to sabotage one of his many crimes. Likely he still considers Daredevil to be the biggest threat to his organization. I would like for that notion to continue as long as possible. Long enough for Spider-Man to grow into his own. By that time, I will have moved Fisk into the perfect position to be the fall guy for all of New York crime and to become the first hit on Spider-Man's list. Then, it should be smooth sailing. Though I much prefer the direct approach, I've begun to see the benefit of planning for every possibly contingency. I would love to see the look on Fisk's face when he realizes that he was out played for once."
"Right you are boss," his associate, a large and square man called Hammerhead responded.
"Now then, Mr. Beck, I believe you are in need of a new identity so we can begin the second part of my plan. Whatever you think you need, Tombstone will provide."
End Of Chapter Three
Author Note: Sorry for the delay everyone. Here is the next chapter. As always, if anyone has a question, please let me know. Reviews are greatly appreciated.
Liz Allen
Age: 15-16
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Brown
I.Q.: 124
Liz is the most popular sophomore at Midtown and the next in line to be varsity head cheerleader. Secretly, however, she wants more out of life then to be a cheerleader and Flash Thompson's girlfriend. Since she was a kid, Liz has wanted to protect the environment and has decided law will be the best way to achieve that desire. For that reason, she has agreed to get tutoring from Petey.
It isn't that Liz hates Peter, but she finds him a bit arrogant and off putting. Furthermore, she doesn't quite understand the kids who aren't trying to be as popular as she is. Despite this, Liz is a kid and caring person once one can get past her shell. She has a lot of hidden potential.