He had been given one week off of school. That was more than enough time to put his plans into motion. When he wasn't comforting Aunt May, he was putting together a costume, a uniform that he would be remembered by. He didn't stop at his inherent spider powers. No, if he was going around the city saving people, he needed transportation. And what better way for a spider to travel than webs? So what did the child prodigy do? He designed webbing, of course. He took one of his father's old formulas for an adhesive substance and completed it. It was quite ingenious. The fluid was strong as steel, yet flexible, meaning it could be used as a multipurpose tool. Next, was the actual shooter. He took parts from anything he could, even watches. For now, the webshooter would be exposed. All he had to do was lift the lid, pop in a web cartridge, and voila, webs could shot out of the nozzle. A pressure trigger ran underneath his suit to his palms. Depending on the amount of pressure, webs would either squirt or shoot. The costume itself was more elaborate. With black-rimmed frames and gold lenses masking his eyes, the rest of the mask was an elaborate web pattern, with a honeycomb finish to boot. The chest, shoulders, boots, and gloves, were a dark red. The sides of the costume, arms, and legs were a dark blue, the honeycomb pattern all throughout. On the arms, a thin red strip ran, connecting the red on the shoulders to the red on the gloves. Last but not least, was the motif. A dark black spider began at his chest, four of its legs running a short length upwards, and two running medium length down his chest. The other two bottom legs extended completely to his torso. His costume had a separation between his top and bottom, an interior belt. The belt held room for his phone and extra web cartridges, in case he needed to switch on the go. Needless to say, he had been busy throughout the week.
It was Sunday night. His aunt was asleep. Tomorrow, he would have to go back to school. Now, it was time to go for a spin.
The door was wrenched open. Three men entered. One wielded a crowbar, the other a bat, and the last a pistol.
"Get the register, I'll keep watch," spoke the one with the pistol, obviously the leader.
"Gotcha."
The men stood in the closed store, money being stashed and breathing the only audible noises. Glancing around, the leader was getting nervous. What if we tripped a silent alarm?
"Hey, Marty! Hurry it up back there!"
"Almost done, boss."
Taking in his surroundings, his eyes widened when he spotted gold eyes peering at him through the shadows. Before he could fully raise his pistol, the figure sprang into action, knocking the gun out of his hand and clasping a hand over his mouth. He was dragged into the shadows. A sticky substance wrapped him in a cocoon, leaving his nose untouched so he could breathe. The two remaining men jumped as the gun clattered to the ground.
"Uh, Jeff?" whispered Marty, nervousness creeping into his voice.
Something moved in the shadows. His partner nudged him.
"Let's get outta here. Jeff would've done the same."
As they turned toward the exit, the figure pounced from behind.
A car thief was breaking into a blue sedan, attempting to pick the lock on the car door.
A whoosh of air and he was gone.
A drug deal was going down in some scum corner of the city. The suppliers were waiting for the consumer.
One of the two was flipping the pack of drugs in his hand.
Something attached to their backs.
They were pulled upward.
A hand reached out and snatched the drugs.
George Stacy was going home for the night. It was late. Much later than he usually left. And honestly, he was a little worried. He never liked being out late. There were always more freaks out. As he stepped out of the station, a plastic wrapper containing drugs was dropped in front of him.
First night on the job wasn't so bad. I never realized how much filth there was in the city. As he entered the hallway, the air grew still and everyone fell silent. So many stares. Why can't they just go away? The crowd parted for him, but he kept his gaze to the floor, refusing to look at any of them. He was almost at his first class, when a voice called out to him.
"Hey, Parker!" shouted Flash.
Peter ignored him.
"Parker!" repeated Flash.
Ignore him.
His warning sense went off as a hand was reaching toward his shoulder. Lightning fast, he turned around and threw the person to the ground. It was Flash. Shocked and motionless, he lay there, coughing. Peter glared at him, watching his every move.
"Pete, I'm sorry about your uncle, man. Feels good doesn't it? To take out all of your anger on someone else."
He's right. It feels really good.
"With great power there must also come great responsibility. You had the power to walk away and resolve this like a responsible person. Instead, you chose the irresponsible route, and fought back. Does that make sense?" whispered his uncle's voice in his head.
And Peter's eyes widened.
Yes, it makes sense, Uncle Ben. I won't fail you.
Flash waited for his reaction.
He extended a hand.
Flash hesitated.
And then he grasped it.
Agent 47 stepped into the plush office of the Kingpin. He adjusted his red tie before speaking. His employer sat with his chair turned, behind a large, oaken desk with a computer and briefcase atop.
"Target eliminated," spoke 47.
The Kingpin turned. He was an imposing figure in a white tuxedo, bald like 47 himself. Kingpin was extremely tall and broadly built, muscle rippling across his bulky frame.
"Excellent. Any witnesses?"
47 shook his head. "Clean kill. Untraceable poison."
Kingpin smiled. "Never expect anything less from you."
Kingpin opened the briefcase and turned it so he could see.
"Twenty-thousand dollars, as agreed upon."
Kingpin shut the briefcase and handed it to him.
"How much of this jewelry do we have left to unload?" grunted a broad man in a gray sweatshirt, his dark brown hair matted down with sweat.
"Dunno. Just keep it up," replied his partner.
His partner was tall, wearing a green stripped shirt. His brown, buzzcut hair was glimmering with perspiration.
"Damn Kingpin's working us too hard," grunted the man in a gray sweatshirt. "Right Marko?"
Marko didn't answer.
"Marko?"
A gloved hand clasped over his mouth. Using his strength, he tried to escape, but his adversary slammed him into a wall effortlessly. He came face to face with a pair of golden eyes.
"Your pal Marko is taking a nap. Now, I'm going to ask you a very straightforward question. If I like your answer, I'll consider not bashing your face in. Deal?"
O'Hirn didn't respond.
"I'll take that as a yes. Who is the Kingpin and where can I find him?"
His eyes widened. "I can't tell you that. Boss'll kill me."
Suddenly, his head snapped to the side. The man in the red and blue suit raised his fist again.
"I'll do worse than kill you," he hissed, his voice dangerously low.
"Alright, alright. He's a major crime boss. Runs anything from drug deals to having people executed."
"What's his name?"
O'Hirn raised an eyebrow. "I don't know, please man."
The man with the golden eyes studied him, watching his facial expression before sighing.
"Where can I find him?"
"Hell's Kitchen. That's all I know. I swear."
The man let go, before raising his arm and pressing in his middle and ring fingers, firing a sticky substance from his wrist, encasing O'Hirn's body.
"Who are you?"
The man fired a webline into the sky. "The Spider-Man."
And he swung away.
That night, Peter sat atop a roof, legs dangling off the edge. In full costume, he watched the city below. Rain splashed down upon the snow-filled city. Hell's Kitchen had become even more of a shithole these past weeks. He watched with anticipation, waiting. Then, his spider-sense went off, reverberating throughout his skull and down his spine.
"Dad!"
He picked up the cry.
"Dad!"
Louder. He sprang to his feet.
"No! Dad, help!"
He took off sprinting.
But he wasn't the only one.
A few blocks away, a figure clad in black was also making his way to the same destination.
Author's Note: I'm back, hopefully with a vengeance. School got really busy toward the end. I was planning on updating early in June, but a friend of mine passed away. Sorry for the delay and please rate and review. Also, I've been rewatching Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. and have come up with an idea for a fanfiction. So, look out for that one. Should be publishing the first chapter soon.