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 Five
"So, get this, apparently she's a sweet girl," Peter related to Eddie and Harry walking into school the next morning.
Harry shook his his head. "Yikes, man, that's rough."
"And what would you know about it Osborn?" Eddie snorted. He turned to Peter. "You never know, she could just be really sweet."
"Or she could be a wildebeest," put in Harry with a chuckle.
Eddie shrugged. "Or she could be a wildebeest."
"As much as I appreciate the help, guys, I don't think I'm even going to the dance," Peter said. "Weren't we gonna go to the movies that night?"
Harry shook his head sadly. "Not anymore. Norman told me last night that he'd cut me off if I didn't go to this dance. He said only when my grades were as good as yours could I afford to be a social retard."
Peter exhaled. "Come on Harry, that isn't true. You're his son, he's proud of you."
Harry just shrugged. "Regardless, he set me up with the daughter of some rich publisher who's looking for his paper to do a piece on Oscorp."
"Did you get her name at least?" Eddie asked.
"Uh... Kate Bishop, I think. Or something like that," Harry responded.
"Sounds good Harry, maybe you can at least get a dress color to match before the dance," Peter chuckled. "For the corsage."
Harry shot a glare at Peter. "At least she isn't sweet."
"You never know Harry, she could be," Eddie laughed. He patted Harry on the back and nodded at Peter. "If you'll excuse me, we've got fifteen minutes before class and I'm gonna go find Felicia. You see boys, she's my girlfriend who I've actually seen before."
Eddie guffawed and threw his lettermen jacket over his shoulder, leaving Peter and Harry to stare blankly after him.
"Do you sometimes just hate him?" Harry asked.
Peter could only nod. "Yep."
…
Despite his desire for independence, Quentin Beck had to admit that there was some benefit to being in the employ of someone with the resources of Tombstone. The suit he currently wore, Kiton K-50, cost a cool sixty grand. He had six sent to his base of operations. His shoes, custom Italian leather, came in at around six grand. His timepiece, a white gold Roman dial watch from Rolex, came in and four and a half. This was, of course, discounting the various tools he would need for his actual criminal enterprises. But when one wanted the best, as Quentin undoubtedly was, price was hardly an object.
It may have been ostentatious, sure, but this was the price you paid for the perfection that Quentin Beck offered to your organization. And after proving his abilities with his latest success, Quentin doubted Tombstone would be willing to part with his company so easily. If Tombstone was half as clever as he seemed, then he would have realized the damage Quentin could do to his organization if he were employed somewhere else. Therefore any price should have sufficed.
Quentin savored the sound of his heel clicking against the fine marble of Tombstone's front company as he made his way down the hallway for a meeting with the man. The front itself, Lincoln Holdings, was involved in a variety of different enterprises. Tombstone had explained this was necessary so that no single person would get a close enough look at his financials to make a connection to his less than legal activities. He even gave a significant amount of money to various charities every year and made sure to be on the forefront of every progressive cause and idea that circulated around New York. This year alone, he came out in favor of full rights for the city's growing mutant population. Quentin could appreciate this kind of subterfuge. He doubted that Tombstone cared at all about the rights of mutants, but having the support of a businessman like L. Thomson Lincoln was enough to sway some of the leaning politicians in the city. In that way, it served its purpose. The progressive would have a champion, Lincoln Holdings would gain significant access to other pro-mutant businesses like Worthington Enterprises, and the politicians would feel indebted to Lincoln and be more willing to pass the laws he wanted.
If anything, Quentin appreciated the way Tombstone carried on his act as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Unlike his brief time as a mole with Fisk, who never seemed adapt with the fineries that life offered, Quentin truly felt that he could have a wonderful experience working for someone like Tombstone. It was almost a shame that Tombstone would have to be removed for Quentin to truly get what he was entitled to. But, someone would have to fill Tombstone's shoes, and it might as well be Quentin Beck. It was the first stop to domination of the city. And he looked so fine in custom leather.
He strode with a purpose toward the office at the end of the hallway. His swagger changed slightly to show someone with deference approaching the door. It would not due for Tombstone to feel as if Quentin was willing to betray him. No, for this ruse to work Quentin needed to play the part of a servant or employee. Really, both were the same thing. Only then could he gain the resources he needed to take control of the organization and do away with Tombstone and then the Kingpin. And, while he was at it, take out that fool of an errand boy Hammerhead and even, if his plan was perfect like he figured, the remains of the Manfredi family. He would leave no stone unturned.
Sitting outside of Tombstone's office was a pretty young blonde bedecked in typical, yet expensive, office attire. Quentin imagined that being the personal secretary to Lincoln paid well. If she was any good at this job, maybe Quentin would even keep her around after he took control. Good help was often hard to come by.
"Hello my dear," he began in his most charming voice. "I have an appointment with Mr. Lincoln. My name is Quentin Beck."
The girl nodded and looked down at the computer in front of her. After a moment, she nodded again. "I'll buzz you in. Mr. Lincoln should be waiting for you Mr. Beck."
"Thank you, dear. Have a wonderful day."
After a moment, a buzz sounded and the doors to the office opened. Upon stepping inside, Quentin was greeted with two sitting figures at a large, ornate desk in the back of a circular room in front of a large, plate glass window. Around the room were various ornate vases and painting worth more than Quentin would make in a single year as a special effects coordinator.
However, the centerpiece of the office confused Quentin. Away from any of the finery, situated in the exact middle of the office, was a single, red punching bag that looked as though it had seen better days. It was stitched up and repaired various times. It seemed to Quentin that the cost of the repairs had to be more than the bag itself at this point. Quentin assumed that Tombstone did not take many meetings in this office, it wouldn't do to have any associates or enemies know of this thuggish aspect to his personality. When Quentin took over, it would be the first thing to go. After Tombstone himself, of course.
Carved from a rich, reddish mahogany, and covered in small, runic designs, the desk in the back was as ornate as any of the show pieces in the room. Sitting to the side was that foolish errand boy, Hammerhead, in his own custom suit and looking in impotent rage at Quentin as he entered. It was clear that the man felt his position in Tombstone's esteem slipping away. But any intimidation Quentin felt from that insipid twit was nothing compared to his employer. Even with his pale, ghastly hands folded and a clam expression on his face, Tombstone was an imposing figure. He was as large as any man Quentin had ever laid eyes on. Even though he appeared calm, there was a dangerous gleam in his eye that spoke to his past as a simple mob enforcer. To Quentin's trained eye, it seemed as though Tombstone was the kind of man who would get his hands dirty if needed.
Tombstone barely nodded his head in greeting, his icy blue eyes training on Quentin. "Mr. Beck, right on time and I see you got the suits we sent over. I hope everything is to your liking."
"Yes, thank you again Mr. Lincoln."
Tombstone waved a hand. "Please, when I discuss this kind of business I prefer to be called Tombstone. It helps keep my interests separate."
"Very well Tombstone."
"Now then, down to business. You have a list of the rest of the items you need from me?"
Quentin reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a meticulously folded piece of paper. "My background with special effects and misdirection should be able to cover most of what I need. However, there are a few... more practical items that I need help obtaining. Or creating, if you will."
Tombstone nodded. "I understand Mr. Beck. I figured something like that. Hammerhead, if you will go and fetch Phineas for me?"
Hammerhead grumbled something unintelligible, but got up nonetheless and walked out of the room.
"While Hammerhead is running this errand, let me see this list."
Quentin handed over the list to Tombstone, who then preceded to scan the items required. "Yes, Phineas will be perfect for this endeavor."
"Is he a thief?" Quentin asked. Some of the items he felt he needed were conceptual and he could not see them being anywhere outside of the Baxter Building or maybe locked in Stark Tower.
"No, nothing of the sort. He is, however, the finest mechanical engineer I have ever met."
"We'll still need someone to steal the parts required."
"Given significant access to your kitchen should suffice enough for Phineas."
Quentin raised an eyebrow. "Surely you jest."
"This is as important to me as it is to you Mr. Beck. Do not think I am wasting either of our time," Tombstone growled.
Gulping in involuntary terror, Quentin held his hands up in surrender. "My apologies Tombstone."
The door to the office opened and Hammerhead entered, followed by a slight, older man with a cloth cap and glasses. He was not the type to strike Quentin as the genius Tombstone had proclaimed. NO, he seemed more suited to the library or, perhaps, driving a taxi. He stood behind Hammerhead and rubbed his glasses on the sweater he was wearing, all the while silently appraising Quentin.
"Mr. Beck this is Phineas Mason, or as he is known in some circles, the Tinkerer. Tinkerer, this is Quentin Beck. He is going to take care of our bug problem. Provided, of course, that you can help him with some of the technical aspects," Tombstone stated, handing the list to Hammerhead who, in turn, handed it to Phineas.
The older man squinted down at the list for a moment. "This shouldn't be too difficult. I'll need access to a kitchen and, maybe, two weeks. But this can be done."
"You'll have everything you need sent to a lab on the premises Tinkerer. Does that suit your needs?"
"Of course Tombstone."
"Very well then, I'll let you get to your work," Tombstone concluded with a nod and a wave to dismiss the man from the room. After he had gone, Tombstone turned back to Quentin. "I believe this concludes our business save for one matter."
"That would be?" Quentin asked. It seemed as if he had everything he needed. If Tombstone wanted to add on another stipulation to their deal, Quentin would make his death that much more painful.
"You need a codename for us to refer to you by. Something to protect your identity from those who wish to do you, or us, harm. Any ideas?"
Quentin had, of course, thought long and hard about what his alias would be in case he needed one. When one was an known as Quentin Beck, it wouldn't do to be seen as a criminal before he had the influence he needed to escape incarceration. He did not need his adoring public to turn on him before he was ready.
Quentin smiled at Tombstone. "Just the one. From this moment on, I will be known as Mysterio, master of the arcane arts."
"Fine. You are dismissed."
With a flourish, Quentin left the room, mind already whirling with the possibilities of power as soon as he obtained the position he was destined for.
…
Tombstone flicked his eyes toward the monitor on his desk, watching as Beck left the building. Beck was a moron, of that there was no doubt. He was vainglorious, prideful, and full of himself. But he was also stupid and easily controllable. Tombstone had privately acknowledged to himself that he was not the planner Fisk was. He couldn't play chess in the way his rival could. He couldn't plan thirty steps ahead for any given scenario. But he knew how to stack a deck of cards. It was a skill he picked up working under Silvio Manfredi as an enforcer. He knew a good card when it was flipped over. And Mysterio would be an asset. Or, if not, easily disposed of.
"Hammerhead, I would like you to keep an eye on Mysterio during this project. I believe if he succeeds against Spider-Man, he will come for us next."
"Yes, boss. I'll get right on it."
Hammerhead was a another good card. He was the perfect employee. Competent, but not ambitious. Not stupid, but not too bright. Just good enough at his job to be beneficial, but without the talent for any long term plan. No power play potential. Tombstone could keep giving him a little more power and he would continue to follow along as loyally as a dog.
"Just make sure to keep you distance and remember there are two good outcomes for us in this endeavor. If he takes out Spider-Man, then the hero is eliminated as a threat. We can then send the bulk of our forces at Mysterio, or simply confiscate Tinkerer's designs. Or, if he fails, then one potential threat is taken care of and we can give the tech to someone a bit more loyal. Either way, we win."
Tombstone knew in his heart he could never plan in the way Fisk could. He didn't have the mind for it. But he knew an ace when he saw one. And right now, he was holding the Ace of Spades.
End of Chapter Five
Again, another short chapter for which I apologize. As always, reviews are appreciated.
Eddie Brock
Age: 17-18
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Blue
I.Q.: 152
Peter's childhood friend and older brother figure. Eddie is both a giant geek and the star player on the football team. The rare teen who seems comfortable with himself, Eddie has led a blessed life and doesn't know how to deal when things do not go his way.
Eddie has a teasing nature to him. He is at his happiest when he is able to needle Peter about his crush on Liz or a multitude of different subjects. But, there is no malice in his actions. He simply wants what is best for Peter. He is also incredibly protective of Peter and has made an open declaration that anyone who messes with Peter messes with Eddie.