Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Marvel, and certainly not any millimeter of the Spider-Verse. However, if I were to acquire even a tiny bit in the stock, it would be wonderful - wouldn't it?
I hope you enjoy! Warning: None.
Trigger: None.
Navigating The Curve
By Juliette Lyst
You Got It All
Time marches on for everyone. That's a painful reality for many. Some enjoy the time they have and try to get out as much enjoyment as they can, taking every day one at a time. The one-day-at-a-time crowd generally are more laid back and easy going. It's not always the case, but seems to be the general consensus. There are the 'planners' who work daily towards an overarching goal that will be completed at some time in the future.
The range of these types of planners could be vast. Some look to three months, four… some look ahead for years.
Those plans, like all things, might never reach fruition. Those with the world at their feet could so easily topple off the pedestals they've elevated themselves on. What recourse would someone like that have? If they were foul to others, stepping on them on the way to the top… just how would those same ones treat them as they tumbled back down?
There is an old saying, nearly as old as time… "Let the one who thinks he is standing beware that he does not fall." The saying could be seen in a variety of ways depending on the person. However, when it comes to the hearts of men… What will some decide to do with their days? After all, they aren't in great supply.
Otto wasn't certain which category he fit under anymore. At one point, he reached out and struck without any goal. His blows never landed nearly as hard as he hoped, because his ultimate goal was the betterment of himself in the eyes of others. Instead of trying to just be better, he wanted to be the best. The man was a genius, no doubt, but he forgot to acknowledge that no matter how hard and how long he worked - there was always someone else out there who was better. He was just beginning to stretch towards the realization of his limitations.
Once safely inside the remains of his lab, he had walked among the destroyed machinery - heart aching. His creations were extensions of his own self… In a way, they could be called his best friends. The small boy who had started creating "trinkets" to play with when his own father didn't want to recognize him - he had only grown bigger with the brain to make bigger trinkets. His work was good, with capabilities only limited by his imagination.
Where had things gone so wrong? Were he to think about it, ever since he acquired his extra arms - he had become a different person. Gone was the idealistic young man who dreamed of making the world a better place for all. Instead, the last few years had consisted of Otto trying to make the world change to fit him . Were his wants feasible? Was his desire even within his grasp? At this point, even if he were to try to turn around, it would be difficult for anyone to truly trust him.
His face was too readily recognizable, which was why he needed to make the trip under the cover of night. Most of his devices were ruined, but he could always go back and rebuild. I'll show them, he thought, his gaze a bit wild and unfocussed. They'll learn why it's never a good idea to cross me!
His own inner reflections after the fact would be ignored, just as they were over the years. When his conscience pricked him over his own deeds, he turned to stabbing it in turn. His moments of deliberation on the declining grasp of morals behind his decisions were few and far between.
Hissing in pain abruptly, he doubled over near the wall that led to the small, cramped bathroom located in one of the few parts of his lab not smashed to pieces. Sinking to the ground on his knees, he struggled for air. Instead of what he wished, he had to deal with not only the sound of his own wheezing, but a mere trickle of air that his body required to function.
What is this? Since he'd been in prison, he had never felt such pain. It was excruciating, as if a vice was wrapped around his entire chest and was squeezing him.
The tightness in his chest was unbearable, and he began to pray for the unmoving darkness of unconsciousness to save him from the pain. The vice eased temporarily, and Otto sucked into a much- needed breath - only to let it out in an agonizing scream as grip returned. His heartbeat was increasingly more erratic, sweat popping up on his forehead.
A dull ache under his jaw on the right side became more pronounced with pain beginning to run down his left arm, and he shivered.
I'm… I'm…. He struggled to string two sentences together in his head, the oxygen deprivation beginning to overcome him. Black spots began to dance in his vision. My heart… Indeed, the muscle was pounding away irregularly.
Ironically, it wasn't entirely his intelligence that powered him, but in fact a small organ that weighed at most twelve ounces. If that was giving up on him now… He almost wanted to be able to hold his breath as the very vital organ seemed to twist inside his chest. Thankfully, he sunk into merciful unconsciousness.
Much Later…
When awareness returned to the scientist, several hours had passed.
At least as far as he could tell.
Sunlight was peeking in through a hole in the ceiling. Am I dead? It was an honest question. The way he had felt before everything had grown dark, he believed he would never awaken again. And yet… he did. Everything hurt, his entire body was twisted in an uncomfortable position on the floor. Dried saliva was both on his mouth and the floor. Had he experienced a seizure as well?
Forcing himself to stand was difficult, his muscles spasming unpredictably. Otto wasn't certain which was worse… the lingering ache in his chest or the pains in the rest of his muscles. Leaning against the wall for support, he made his way to the bathroom. Not bothering to turn on the lights - what would be the use without running electricity - he grabbed the sink and struggled to straighten up. He looked in the mirror, a very weak and haggard face staring back at him.
What just happened to me? There was only one way for him to check to be sure… but how was he going to be able to get to a hospital to check on himself? Had his machines worked at peak efficiency, it wouldn't have been hard to do his own exam. A hospital could test for cardiac enzymes… If he'd experienced a heart attack, he needed to find out why. He needed medication to hold off another heart attack, to save his life. Then he needed to find out what caused it.
Was his shortness of breath due to his heart or did that trigger it? He watched himself as his face crumpled up, genuine fear taking hold. There were risks to exposing himself so soon. He wasn't supposed to be out of prison. Had he still been inside though, he doubted any of the hospital staff would have had any modicum of compassion for him. I'll end up back in there…
Gradually, his features hardened again. No… Maintaining his distance for now would likely be best - but what if he had another episode? There was no way for him to exact revenge… from six feet under.
I don't like this… There was a possibility that he hadn't wanted to think about. He had a few 'favours' that he could call in. More than a few in fact. Pulling off his glasses and setting them on the sink, he pinched the bridge of his nose a moment. Turning on the faucet, he was pleasantly surprised the water still ran. Grabbing handfuls of it, he splashed his face a few times. Exhaling heavily, he straightened up fully and put his glasses back on. Leaving the bathroom, he picked up the brimmed fedora he'd dropped earlier and put it back on.
Ensuring that the long coat he wore securely hid his 'extra' arms, he began to carefully pick his way out of the ruined lab. Was it a good idea to move during the daytime? He wasn't sure. Eyes narrowed, Otto headed for the nearest manhole cover that he saw, ducking down to appear smaller.
The Bugle - The Next Day
The meeting wasn't going well. Mossy-green eyes struggled to focus both on the notepad being scribbled onto and the commanding presence of J Jameson. Ashley Gardiner lightly chewed on her bottom lip as she struggled to keep up with JJ's rapid-fire speech. To say that the man had been upset over the sudden disappearance of Peter Parker was an understatement.
No matter how much the older man had tried to claim otherwise, the quality of work at the Bugle had declined significantly.
The young man seemed to be the only one who was able to capture photographs of the elusive Spider-Man. Harder to find now… Not only were sightings of Spider-Man now rare… They were nonexistent. The headlines the last few weeks detailed a subtle uptick in violence.
In fact, today's cover was by Ashley herself.
The photographs showed damaged cars and buildings burning as firefighters raced to put out the blaze. "BREAKING: NEW YORK ON FIRE! WHERE IS THE MIGHTLY SPIDER-MAN? THREE WEEKS, NO SPIDER-MAN!" Jonas had suggested the cheesy title, in a bid to lure out the webslinger. He had compared it to fishing. If you put out the right bait, eventually you'd get a bite.
Pursing her lips, and tapping her pen tip against the notepad as Jameson called for an end to the meeting, Ashley remained seated as everyone else filed out of the boardroom.
Jameson folded his arms, nodding as every employee dutifully headed out the door. Once it was only him and Ashley, he let out a pained groan and ran both hands through his graying black hair. "Miss Gardiner, what are we doing?"
Surprised, the young woman sat up straighter in her seat. "Sir?" She wasn't at all sure what he wanted to hear. The most that she could prove to be was a sounding board.
The older man at first was frustrated when Peter hadn't responded to his calls. The frustration gave way to anger, then concern when he'd heard from Parker's fiancée. They had Peter Parker listed as a Mission Person. Even now, his picture was featured on the inside of the Daily Bugle.
They were beginning to give up hope though, and steam. Just how much went into a small section of a paper? He wanted to put other material there, but with Peter's absence, he wasn't certain what it should be.
"When is it the right time to give up, Miss Gardiner?" Jameson turned to her, wrinkles of worry around his blue eyes. Jameson had seemed to age another ten years overnight. He felt responsible for keeping the notice in the paper. He still remembered hearing Mary Jane crying into the phone - begging him for help.
At first, the request hadn't seemed so bad… but the search had been going on for weeks now. "We have other stories to run." The sad fact was, the 'lackluster' jobs that he'd sent Parker on had to be covered by other photographers, and their work was nowhere near as good as Parker's.
Ashley spread out her hands helplessly. What did he expect her to say? "It's not my place to say, sir." Thinking she needed to elaborate, she added, "It's your company. I have no say in the paper."
Jameson's normally animated features lost all expression. His head bobbed as if he had made a decision. Regret flickered over his face before he responded.
"You can return to your desk, Miss Gardiner. Tomorrow, we'll putting up a three-page spread on the 'Ink-Blot' thefts and the destruction in the city. Scratch anymore posts about Parker. If he wants to be found, he'll be found."
Capping her pen, Ashley stood and walked around the long boardroom table to the exit.
In the time since Spider-Man and Parker disappeared, whoever was leaving letters with ink splotches on them had turned to petty theft. Jameson knew there was a divide over who was responsible. Because the blotches were all variations of spiders, some were beginning to wonder what Spider-Man's connection to them was.
Suddenly Jameson's eyes lit up. "Miss Gardiner…" Hearing his words, Ashley paused, turning to him.
"See if you can stretch this out into a questions and answers session with city residents. Do they think Spider-Man is behind the thefts?"
She looked a little confused.
"If he is, it would explain why he's not helping the city now. He's never been so quiet, not since he started swinging from the skyscrapers." Jameson elaborated.
"Understood." As Ashley headed to her desk, she felt the phone buzzing in her purse. Pulling it out of her purse discretely when she was seated, she unlocked it and stared at the message she'd received.
Update. ' It asked. The image for this contact was that of a robotic, glowing red eye.
Don't worry, sir.' She typed quietly in reply after reading the single word message. 'Things are looking up now. I'll check in soon!' Done, she sent the message and slipped her phone back into her purse. She supposed she should feel guilt, but people like her never felt guilty. Guilt was a sad flaw that humans had, and one she was grateful to avoid in full.
Present Day
While his travel had begun during the night time, the sun was rising and he needed to stop. Peter had moved from using his web shooters to just traveling by crawling around on buildings. There was no guarantee that he would be able to replace the webbing once he exhausted the cartridges. He had plenty of materials back at his house. Wincing then, he wondered what had come of his home. Everything is cut off likely. Then he froze. Did he even have a home anymore?
He really should have thought ahead before embarking on his 'trip'. Selling his house would have seemed so final though, especially when he was dealing with a broken heart. It had been months, but to him it might has well have been only days. The house… His brows furrowed in resolution. He'd have to pass by the house and figure out if any of his materials were still there.
Clambering down to an area full of trees, he scaled one of them and quickly changed into the clothing he'd worn when he worked for the Knott family. He didn't mind much being shirtless and barefoot walking down the sidewalk. Locating a small shop outside of Jersey, he traded in his worn-out duffel bag for a newer one with more of a rustic look to it.
The lady in the store seemed overly eager to help him find what he was looking for. He was so grateful, that he spent a little extra for his supplies.
An old-fashioned razor was among his purchases, but it was for show. Both of them knew this. He wasn't planning to use it any time soon. Lightly scratching his chin after he left the shop, he adjusted the black sunglasses that he'd bought and straightened out the wide brimmed sunhat on his head. Resuming his trek back to Jersey, he mentally reviewed the fastest route to get him back into New York.
His lips curled up at the corners as he walked. He couldn't believe he was doing this.
Passing a window as he headed straight towards a park, he paused. Tilting his sunglasses down, both of his brows shot up. He didn't at all recognize the man in front of him. It had more to do with the changes to his upper body from such intensive labor… than from the lack of a mirror. The beard also helped a lot. He looked nothing like his formerly lanky self.
He'd been muscular before, but this was on another level. I wish the Knotts had a mirror. Or something for him to have seen himself in. His entire goal while there had been to blend in and work to support himself.
I wonder what everyone is going to think… He wasn't exactly sure. Resuming his walk, he ignored a lone whistle he heard. Peter hoped that the sound was not intended for him. To avoid confronting that possibility, he kept his gaze forward, his filthy feet taking one step at a time.
Going by land was going to take him a few days longer than he wanted. He knew realistically the trip back to the heart of New York City should only take him at most… twenty hours. He planned on stopping to eat and sleep.
A Few Hours Later
One thing that he hadn't noticed before as he walked were the signs in the widows of eateries and shops. They all seemed to have similar messages. 'No shoes, no shirt, no service.' The first few that he passed, he had ignored. Now though, he was becoming annoyed. He felt hungry, irritation twisting his features. Finally finding a submarine shop, he blatantly ignored the sign and stepped inside. Almost immediately, an employee approached him. "Hello." He spoke softly, hoping to get off on the right foot. First impressions were important, right?
"Sir, did you read the sign on the door?"
Relaxing his hands, Peter allowed his eyebrows to rise in a way that conveyed confusion. He was going to try to play off not understanding fully.
"No shirt, no shoes. No service, sir. You need to leave."
"I understand that. Can I still buy a sandwich? I've been traveling all this time to get to-" Peter wasn't allowed to say much before the employee became aggressive.
"I don't care. Get out of here before I have to call the police!"
At that, the young man perked up. Folding his arms and standing straighter, Peter tensed his jaw as if he was deeply in thought. He nodded in understanding and then spoke.
"Sure. Go call them. Ask them to bring some food." At the employee's annoyed expression, the young man refused to leave the shop. Peter had been walking for far too long to be refused a meal. He knew that most of the grocery markets around would treat him in a similar fashion… if not worse.
"Man, just give him something to eat!" One of the patrons yelled at the front. The older man with dark shades and strikingly white hair - which was slicked back - had been standing at the counter when Peter first came in and was about to place his order. He then turned to Peter. "What're you looking for?"
"Just chips, a sub and soda. I've come up here from Pennsylvania and haven't had much to eat on the road." Or anything. It would have been a good idea to pack some staples before he'd left… but he'd more or less been fleeing for his life when he'd left the Knott's land.
The older man frowned, his expressions accentuated by his white moustache and almost comically bushy eyebrows. "Nothing in your car?"
"What car?" Peter countered. He wiggled his toes for emphasis. "I walked here." It wasn't entirely honest, because he had cut a lot of time off the trip by web swinging, but he couldn't admit to that.
The older man seemed to notice that Peter's pants were held up with suspenders, not a belt loop in sight. Looping his fingers around the suspenders he wore himself, he turned back to the counter.
"Get him whatever he wants," the older man demanded of the employee in the shop. "Or I and my family will go somewhere else," he paused a moment and added. "And I have a lot of family!"
"Fine, fine! No problem, sir!" The employee replied quickly, nervous.
Peter was surprised to see the employee's attitude change so quickly. Just who was his unlikely friend? Possibly someone of high importance?
The older man turned to him. "Go ahead and order, son." he said with a grin.
Unable to resist smiling back, Peter placed his order of two subs and chips. Before Peter fully pulled out money to pay, the older man shook his head.
"I have it." Grin still in place, he turned to the worker behind the counter and slid his card into the reader to pay.
The two of them received their beverages, silence filling the eatery for a moment. The older man sipped on his beverage before looking up and exclaiming: "Excelsior! Still the best soda-pop this side of the river!"
Peter couldn't hold back a laugh then. They collected their food to-go and as Peter headed out of the eatery, he paused. Turning a bit, he addressed the older man. "Thank you so much. I'll repay you when I can."
The older man lightly tapped Peter on the shoulder. "Lee. Call me Lee."
His lips quirked at that.
"The only payment you have to do, young man, is pass on the kindness to someone else. Then you'll be able to say: 'You know, I guess one person can make a difference.' And you'll remember me."
Peter wasn't sure what to say.
"Nuff said. Have a good rest of your day." With that said, the old man walked out of the eatery.
Peter turned in the opposite direction. He stopped, realizing something as he adjusted the grip on his bag.
"Ah… Lee?" He realized the older man's order of chips were accidentally placed into Peter's to-go bag. However, when the young webslinger turned to where the older man should have been, there was no one there. Peter blinked, eyes wide. Strange… Deciding not to think about it too much, the young man sought out a bench to sit down and eat.
Devouring one of his sub sandwiches didn't take very long at all, but he held onto the chips for later. He resumed walking after disposing of the wrapper. Shrugging his duffel back in place, he looked up at the buildings around him. None of them were close to the skyscrapers that he was used to seeing everywhere.
Was he biased? For months now, Peter hadn't seen anything but open flat farmland, trees and the occasional chicken or goat. Why did the chicken cross the road? he asked himself as he began whistling a tune he'd picked up from locals that lived back in Pennsylvania.
Why Peter, the chicken crossed because it wanted to. Four Ago…
Otto's legs swung idly as he sat in the private medical suite of Roderick Kingsley. He'd just been examined by the businessman's personal physician. Reaching out to Roderick had been the last thing that he wanted to do. However, the situation he was in stated otherwise. The chest pain and shortness of breath had been intermittent but persistent.
"Doing that does nothing to make your results come any faster, Otto."
Instead of replying, the scientist continued to swing his legs. It was the only outlet that he had for the nervous energy that he'd been building since leaving his lab. It hadn't been a relatively easy matter to get in touch with the Hobgoblin, especially when such a man was so elusive. Roderick was slick and had the money to make himself disappear if he needed to. It didn't matter.
Otto knew where to push to get someone to spill the information he needed. In the interim between now and then though, he'd collapsed one more time however it was due to a sudden lack of balance. Or so he hoped. So far, 'I'm fine, just a little tired.' had been his mantra. It wasn't until he was with Roderick that he'd been honest over his affliction.
Now the two men were sitting here and waiting for the results of a blood test and scan. Neither of them looked directly at the other. It was just as uncomfortable for Roderick as it was for Otto, though for different reasons.
Someone within his syndicate had been weak and shared information of his whereabouts. Secured channels no longer were as secure. So, when Otto did reach him, Roderick had decided to conduct an internal review to find out who the snitch was.
When they were found, he would 'silence' them forever. The left side of his mouth curved up at the corner. The scientist had honestly begged for his help. Roderick was willing - this time. What was he to get in return though? Otto hadn't been fully outspoken on what he was going to do, only mentioning his need and a request for a favor.
Roderick had agreed to wipe clean his old debt with Otto, but he was beginning to wonder if that was a good idea.
The silence was uncomfortable for the both of them, yet neither felt the desire to say much of anything at all.
Mercifully, the physician returned to the examination room. "Well?" Roderick spoke up before the patient could.
Instead of saying much after Otto had come in for his second visit in a bit over a week, the doctor had merely told him to sit on the exam table.
"It's been a week, doctor. What have you found?" He was agitated, having to cancel a meeting for this.
Otto leveled a lingering glare at him. If anything, Roderick was renowned for his lack of patience. How he was a successful businessman was anyone's guess.
"Of course, Mister Kingsley." the doctor replied quickly.
Otto turned his attention to the physician. Something was wrong. He could tell in how tightly the young doctor was clutching his clipboard.
"Mister Post…" he began in a soft tone, his voice full of compassion.
Otto's knuckles had grown a bit white on the section of the exam bed he was grasping. His legs had stopped swinging as well.
"You're not well, Mister Post. You were right about the issues with your heart." As the doctor spoke, he walked over to a display and turned it on. Extracting the scan from the chart he held, he slipped it in place and pointed to areas of concern. "We checked for cardiac enzymes. The levels were very high. Here and here…" He pointed to the left and right ventricles first.
"These areas are enlarged. It's the same for the right and left atrium." His brows furrowed. "It's a wonder you hadn't thrown a blood clot before you got here, Mister Post." He directed the attentions of both men to a section of the muscled chambers of his patient's heart. "The muscle here has grown thin and the heart isn't functioning like it's supposed to."
Turning around after delivering the diagnosis, the doctor's eyes widened suddenly, and he reached out to steady Otto as the man nearly toppled headfirst off the exam bed. "Mister Post!" Looking up to his main employer, the doctor spoke up. "He needs a hospital, Mister Kingley. They can better treat his condition there. Dilated cardiomyopathy isn't something to play around with."
"No…" Otto choked out, startling both men. His hand wrapped around the doctor's wrist. "No hospitals…" Otto shook his head a little trying to regain some semblance of steadiness. Cardiomyopathy… His mind struggled to piece the definition together. Disease… my heart is diseased… "Just… just medication."
"O-Mark." Roderick interjected, nearly forgetting the alias they were using. "The doctor says you need a hospital."
Still, Otto stubbornly shook his head.
"What is the treatment… for this?" Otto asked, working hard to keep his breathing steady. He noticed when the doctor silently began to check his pulse.
Instead of immediately replying, the doctor glanced to his employer. "Mister Kingsley, we need to elevate Mister Post's feet." That said,
he looked to Otto, a grim frown in place. "My normal recommendation would be cardiac catheterization to figure out the extent of the damage from inside… followed up by surgery to repair the damage to your heart. It is extensive, Mister Post. I'd even see if you could be placed on the transplant list as soon as possible."
Roderick silently helped the doctor lift Otto's legs up into the bed. Then the businessman moved to a closet and pulled out two pillows. Gently, he slid them under Otto's legs to prop them up.
"A BiVAD would help you immensely."
Otto shook his head. That also required hospitalization.
"Angiotensin-converting enzyme inhibitors then… More extensive medications depending on how you handle it all."
At that, Otto nodded mutely. It was true that he'd felt lightheaded when first given his diagnosis… but he felt better with his legs elevated. It was unnerving to him all the same. He couldn't very well spend the rest of his life like this! But I just might… he reminded himself. This wasn't a papercut. One of his most vital organs could fail any day if he read deeper into the doctor's words.
"What's the long-term prognosis?" Roderick asked. He knew that Otto had plenty of questions, but the normally bold man had grown understandably silent. "That is…" With this, he looked at Otto. "If he doesn't get surgery?"
The doctor pursed his lips and shook his head. "I also detected indicators of accelerated cellular decay." He picked up the chart and looked at it again. "You said you worked in a place where you had mild radiation exposure?"
Otto nodded faintly.
Pulling a pen from his pocket, the doctor jotted down a few notes on the chart.
"The exposure is mild, and I kept myself protected." Was that the truth though? After all, he dealt with irradiated isotopes on a regular basis… There was a significant margin for error. By the stare he was on the receiving end of, his efforts hadn't been as smooth or safe as he had hoped.
"You need to leave that profession, Mister Post. Without access to proper medical treatment in a hospital, you are looking at a lifespan of eighteen months… if that. The left ventricle is the thinnest section of your heart. If the next heart attack is centralized there, you're at risk of a free wall rupture." He gently placed a hand on Otto's shoulder. "I know at this point that you don't want to go to a hospital, but please reconsider. For your sake." He lightly squeezed the man's shoulder.
Lifting his head, the doctor looked to his employer. "I'll leave a copy on your desk as soon as I compile everything together, Mister Kingsley. I'll also send over a rush order for the ACE Inhibitors today. I'd like Mister Post to follow his prescription to the letter." After he received a nod, he capped his pen and slid it back into his pocket. "I'll take my leave then. Good day to you both."
The room was quiet again, but for a completely different reason. After a few minutes, Roderick spoke up. "What…" He had to clear his throat a few times. "What are you going to do, Otto?" Distractedly, he ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. He hadn't expected any of this. Doctor Ashton was the best that money could buy. However, even he had suggested Otto go to a hospital. "This is pretty serious. It's worse than I thought it was."
The genius had been quiet during most of his visit. It wasn't fear that kept him silent, though he did not like the idea of his own impending demise bearing down on him. Instead of sitting upright like he normally would have, he moved like the old man that he suddenly had become. There were so many scenarios swirling through his mind. He had so much work to do yet. He wasn't ready to die.
"I'm going…" He spoke then, noticing with disgust that Roderick moved to help him up before he waved the other man off. "To turn back the clock." The scientist pulled off the ever-present thick glasses he wore to rub the skin right above his eyebrows. It is possible… He knew that there was a way for him to achieve what he wished… but his body was beginning to lose time. I need supplies…
"I don't understand." Roderick replied, crossing his arms. Was this the rambling of a man who was losing his mind? It was entirely possible.
"Roderick… I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you for another favor."
Roderick's brows rose sharply. Present Day
Tired, sore and hungry - Peter finally came to a building he'd found in a paper. He tilted his head a little to the right to look at the building again. His eyes drifted down to the image in the paper. The two buildings looked like night and day.
Pulling a face but quickly forcing his features to relax, Peter walked up the few steps to enter the youth hostel. Was this really the best that New York City had? He'd just made it to the city after hopping the Belford/Harbor Way Ferry heading to Pier 11/Wall Street. It sounded good, save for the fact that the young man pushed himself to travel overnight.
After having that wonderful meal courtesy of Lee, he'd opted to keep going. He wanted to remain as inconspicuous as possible the entire trip and no way would he be able to do that as Spider-Man. There was also an urgency involved. Why was Doc Ock promising his device would make the city safer?
"Can I help?" an aging woman at the front desk greeted him. Then her eyes tracked down to his bare feet.
Coughing lightly, Peter stepped closer to the desk. "Yes. I'd like to rent out one of the rooms her-"
"Forty per night." she interrupted, turning to an open book on the desk - immediately ignoring Peter's next words if he spoke any.
Her thick accent was interesting, but Peter wasn't sure where it came from.
Without preamble, she was getting down to business. If Peter was offended by being so roughly brushed off, she didn't seem to care. "The only open room is the attic suite." She wrote down a note in the book and stepped over to an ancient looking computer at the opposite end of the desk. "Breakfast is included and begins at 6:30AM. Ends at 7:30AM." She scribbled down something else into the book. "Lunch is not provided, but there is dinner. Stewed meat."
She looked up and offered a toothy grin.
There was plenty of brown visible between her teeth, and Peter was careful not to inhale too deeply… just in case.
"Dinner rolls are always available." The young man nodded.
"Unless they're not."
Peter's mouth worked a few times, but he was unsure of what to say.
With that said, she turned her attention back to the computer screen. "First time reservation is two nights mandatory."
Off his look of askance, she lightly shrugged her slender shoulders. "It is protection. We have been cheated before."
"Ah… I understand."
"First two nights payment cash only."
Sighing, Peter reached into his bag to get the money. He tried to pretend that he didn't notice how the old woman was trying to see exactly where he'd reached into the bag.
"Again, it is protection. After first two nights, we can take a card." Going to have to keep on my toes. Peter decided. He was going to
need to carry his wallet with him.
The woman was not even hiding how much she was looking forward to the money, already reaching out her withered hands for the cash.
Peter neatly handed it to her.
"Name?" She asked after she counted the money three times to confirm.
Fantastic.
It was good she had asked, otherwise she could have had an unknown man living there.
"Hammer. Edgar Hammer," he stated simply.
Now, it was she who gave him a mildly incredulous look before shrugging again after a long moment. She both wrote his name down and typed up something in the computer.
"How many nights?"
Hmm! That was a good question. Just how long did Peter need to foil Doc Ock's plan? Then there was the matter of the fact that he was low on supplies that were needed to fully stock his webshooters. And he needed to check out what had become of his house…
"Two weeks." That would give him some wiggle room.
Nodding, she typed something into the computer and suddenly he heard the humming of a printer. Stooping down a little, she grabbed a sheet of paper and handed it to him.
"T… Thanks."
"I will show the room to you." With that, she stepped from behind the desk and guided him to the nearby staircase. "The key is on the inside of the door. We have duplicates, but the loss key fee is ten dollars. Only key is for the room."
Peter's head bobbed in agreement, even though she couldn't see him.
"Curfew is eleven in the evening."
Peter had to admit, as he followed the old woman up the staircase, that she kept herself active. She was holding a full conversation and running up the stairs with only one hand on the rail for reassurance.
"If you miss curfew, you sleep outside. No excuses."
Of course, that makes perfect sense. Peter hoped that there was a window in the attic. Otherwise, coming and going was going to be a
problem.
The old woman stopped talking when she reached the top of the stairs. She took a few steps to the left and reached up to a metal chain with a link hanging from a square-shaped hole in the ceiling. As she pulled on it, the square's 'door' swung open and a ladder slid down to them.
"There is secure lockbox in the room. Only one key for it. Leave key for it when you go."
Peter held back a relieved sigh. Maybe she wouldn't be able to rob him. Then again…
"This door here is your room," she said as soon as they clambered through the square hole.
It looked like an addition had been put into the building fairly recently. The attic room's door was two steps from the ladder. He was going to have to be very careful if he had to come down in a hurry.
Pushing the door open, the old woman pointed out the solitary single bed there and the floor next to it where a flimsy looking lockbox was located.
Yep. He was not going to use that.
"Bathroom is downstairs to the left of the staircase. I take you brought own toilet paper, yes?"
That question alarmed him, but he nodded faintly. It was one of the few supplies he could carry on the road. Now he was glad he'd bought it.
"Good. Don't leave in the bathroom. It will disappear." Leaving him then, she carefully stepped back to the ladder. "Dinner is at 6:00PM and ends at 7:00PM. Do not be late." Offering him a strange smile, she began to descend the ladder.
"Thanks again, Mrs… uhh…"
At that, the old lady stopped and looked up at him.
"Anastasia Hayden. Call me 'Stasie.'" At that, she finished her downward descent, and Peter heard the sound of the ladder being pushed back up into place.
Now that he was alone, he could study the room more closely. There was only a small nightstand with a clock and not a hint of a dresser in sight. Truly, the room was pretty sparse. However, there was a window, which was what he hoped to have. The walls were all brick, save the wall where his 'door' was. That seemed to be composed of
a sturdy wood. Reading the time on the clock, Peter rubbed his eyes.
It was 9:30AM. Yawning, he pulled his wallet from his bag and tucked it down his pants, using the clip on the chain to fasten it to the front of his pants. Removing his costume and webshooters from his bag, he tucked them under the lone pillow on the bed and laid down for some much-needed sleep.
5PM - Youth Hostel
He never was sure about his timing, but today it was excellent. He'd woken up around five in the evening and scrambled downstairs to use the facilities. Splashing water on his face before he left the bathroom, he weaved himself a bit to the right to avoid being walked into by a burly man stalking into the bathroom. Opting to stay silent, Peter hurriedly pulled down the ladder again and returned to his room.
Unzipping his duffel bag, he pulled out a change of clothing. A shower was going to have to wait until after dinner. His stomach started grumbling loudly as he tried to plan out his evening. Moving around quietly, he tested the window and found that it unlocked with no problems. Looking around, he climbed onto the windowsill and then out the window. Quietly climbing up onto the roof, he stretched a little and used the new vantage to plan his travel route from there.
Webswinging was the fastest mode of transport. Only one problem! He thought irritably. Limitation on supplies. So, he'd have to travel by climbing on rooftops. Where should he go first? His old house? He was pretty sure he was an hour away on foot. Would Stasie be mad
if he was late getting back? Does she have to know? He wondered. If he went out the same way, she'd be none the wiser that he was gone. I hope she doesn't check to see if we're in our rooms.
Frowning a little, he noticed dark gray clouds rolling in. It was going to rain. Ah, I miss the comforting updates of the WeatherWasp app. He missed having most of the technology he'd grown up with. He'd gained something while he'd been gone though… and it wasn't just six months' worth of beard growth.
If I go back and reveal I'm back… He swallowed hard at the thought. Mary Jane might… Did it matter though? She had ended their engagement. Jameson was there too, but Peter doubted the man would hire him again. Peter Parker would need to find a different line of work.
His work for the Knott family had been relatively simple. A faint smile crossed his lips. Simple, but fulfilling. Could he find the same sense of purpose back here? Shaking his head and climbing back into the room, he noted with a start that he'd been on the roof for a while. It was almost six. Closing the window, he walked to the door and headed downstairs for dinner.
What were they having again? Stewed meat… he thought as he walked down the stairs. Didn't she say the dinner rolls were always there? He held back a laugh at the memory of her contradicting her statement right afterwards.
He located the dining area by smell alone and came to sit down at the long and roughly-hewn dinner table. He noticed new faces there. So, five of them were renting here. What was he supposed to call them? Roommates? He decided to engage none of them. He did notice the big guy from earlier grabbing four of the dinner rolls from the overloaded basket at the table. The man barely seemed to suck in a breath before he started eating the doughy bread.
"Dinner for you." Stasie stated as she placed the bowls down first in front of her five tenants with spoons in them and then served the stewed meat… one ladle at a time. Somehow all of the bowls were overflowing, even hers. Everyone started eating, with Stasie taking a seat at the head of the table. Thunder rolled overhead and soon; everyone heard the sounds of a heavy rainstorm outside. Because
no one was talking, dinner was a quick affair.
Peter rose and set his bowl in the sink once he was done eating.
"Thank you." he spoke, noting his hostess' surprise, before heading back up to his room. "Going to turn in early." He murmured as a way of explanation. He'd traveled all the way up the ladder to his room to retrieve his shower materials. When he reached the communal shower they all shared though, he found that he wasn't alone. It seemed that several families of spiders had taken residence inside the shower. Obviously, he wasn't terrified of spiders, and he did not want to frighten them.
With a grunt, he returned to his room. Grimacing, he scratched his back. He was so sweaty and grimy… It was really disgusting. Sitting on the bed, he rested his head in his hands.
An idea came to him then, and he looked at the window. Should he dare it?
Propping the window open and grasping the bag with his soap and scrubbing rags, he noticed no one out on the streets. Exhilaration filled him once he felt the rain pelting him as he climbed to the flat roof he'd been on earlier. He was doing it. He was really going to do this!
And this… Honestly.
This…
Was how Peter Parker showered in the rain while standing on the flat roof of a hostel during a massive storm.
Adrenaline pumping still after he'd returned to his room, he decided that he'd slept enough for now. Peter strapped the webshooters in place. Tucking his suit into his duffle bag, he put on his mask and changed back into his jeans. No shirt was needed after all, but a belt was sorely appreciated. He'd head to the house tonight. Walking in the rain wasn't going to do.
After appropriately setting his bed up to look as if he was sleeping there, he climbed outside with the bag secured diagonally across his body.
And he began to swing. Some Time Later
Locating his house had been easy. Getting inside was another matter. Someone had changed the locks. Searching around, he found a loose window that he'd used before and climbed inside. It was quiet and very cold. The lights were cut off… Pulling out a flashlight, he walked through his home. Everything in the house still seemed intact. Maybe someone had been taking care of it for him? He did see something on the ground near the front door, that twinkled a little in the scant light available.
Upon inspection, he found it to be a big chunk of glass. Had someone broken in here? As he checked all of the rooms, everything was just as he'd left it. Much to his joy, he found the materials he needed to create more of the spider webbing that he used. Deciding to stay there for a few hours to work on it didn't seem like a bad idea… until he heard the doorknob turning. Turning off his flashlight, he made sure the vials he'd grabbed were tightly stoppered and put them in his duffel bag.
He was quiet as his 'visitor' walked into the house and flipped on the lights. Thankfully he was in a different room. He scaled the walls quickly in the still dark room, staring down from the ceiling. Peter noticed a very familiar face walk right past him and into the guest room. His eyes widened in shock, but he stayed silent. Once he was sure it was safe, he left out the same way he came in, closing the window before slinging himself away.
One Month Ago
He couldn't believe it! Typing calculations into a tablet that rested in his lap, Otto used his right hand to navigate with the motorized wheelchair around the modified laboratory. The curtesy of course was through Kingsley Industries. Octavius had made a promise. Technology in exchange for help. Now, his primary means of travel was his wheelchair. He was more than capable of walking, but minimized it in consideration for his 'fragile' condition.
Even now, remembering the doctor's warnings agitated him. He didn't want to admit defeat to anything, much less to his own failing biology. In response, he had begun to build a 'solution'. If he could not fix his sick body… he was going to acquire another one.
"Status?"
Otto looked up from his tablet at the question. Strings. Those were attached to this arrangement. "Everything is progressing ahead of schedule," he replied. "The Neutral-Interfacing Muxponder is nearly complete."
"And… what does it do again?"
"It… copies the brain waves of others." That was part of it. The Muxponder was meant to subtly 'adjust' the brain patterns of whomever it was used on. It would tap into them first, was capable of mimicking the brain pattern - or even be used to overwrite the original brainwaves with those of someone else. In effect, whoever had it used on them would cease to exist.
Otto was certain that he could easily transfer himself into the newly 'vacated' body and regain his youth and vigor. Side effects were certain to be mild. He was working on a kill switch for it to prevent anyone else from reversing the process.
"And…" At that Roderick gestured to a small cylinder next to where they were standing. It was easily big enough to fit a grown man into.
"Oh…" At that Otto laughed. "New method of teleportation."
Roderick regarded the scientist with some skepticism. The businessman wasn't stupid. He knew there was more than what he was being told. Without any way to check without raising suspicion, he held his tongue.
"It's revolutionary." At that, the scientist grinned. "There are already methods of teleportation, Otto."
Keeping the smile in place, though now it seemed forced, Otto shook his head.
"No… I think you will find this to be… Quite unique." With that, Otto let his attention drift back to his tablet. He directed the wheelchair back to the table that held the Muxponder. The device looked
strange. It was in the shape of a half moon. There was a cradle where someone's head would go into… but who would voluntarily let themselves be tied to that thing?
"Sure, Otto." Roderick shook his head. "Keep me informed." he said as he left the lab.
"Always." Otto replied quietly, a devious grin crossing his lips. The Muxponder just needed mild adjustments and it would be ready. The… 'chamber' on the other hand… was more brutish in design. He'd named it the 'Reverse Recombination Chamber' and was in the process of installing a quantum field as a security on it. Whomever it 'disassembled at the atomic level' would be rid of entirely, or he could build them back from the ground floor. Using it would give him complete access to the 'secret' atomic code of any individual. It was possible to rebuild anyone and program them to work for him.
The Hostel - Present Day
Wow… Once Peter had returned to his room, he changed for bed. Thankfully, Stasie didn't rob you when she thought you were in your room. He still couldn't believe who had taken over his home while he was gone. Never thought Mary Jane would do that… Though, it made sense. His home was already paid for. Realistically, all she
had to do was just make sure all of the bills were paid. It bothered him a little that she had just moved herself back into the house.
It wasn't official that we had separated. And the house is secured. She had done an excellent job of maintaining the place from what little he'd seen.
In the past, Peter had spent many nights trying to imagine what his former fiancée's life must have been like. He'd imagined her moving on with someone else. Wait… What if she's not alone in the house? He'd been gone for months. The thought sickened him just a little. Fortunately, he was still able to sleep.
The next morning, at 6:29AM on the dot, Peter was sitting down at the table for breakfast.
"No lunch. Remember."
Peter nodded quickly. Breakfast was warm gruel, some slightly stale cereal bars… and dinner rolls. He opted for the gruel and ignored the dinner rolls. After breakfast, he splashed around a bit in the sink to wash up. He'd wanted to use the bathroom after breakfast… but had been horrified when he lifted the toilet seat. He wasn't sure who had done that… but he was not going to fix it.
Donning his costume suit bottoms only, he dressed in jeans and a t- shirt and headed out with his duffle in hand.
In case of an emergency, he could pull on his mask and go slinging bare-chested through the city. The other option was to risk bursting through the tightly woven shirt… not a good option. He needed to find work. During his quiet breakfast, Stasia had reminded him that he was due to re-up the next evening. Which meant he needed money. With what though? His passion had been photography, but there was no way he would resume working for Jameson again.
Walking down the street, he passed a florist's shop. Stopping, he turned around and walked in. It couldn't hurt, could it?
Ten Minutes Later
"So… tell me what your qualifications are. You have no resume. You just walked in here and asked if we would hire you." The middle- aged woman who owned the shop did not seem impressed.
"Well…" Peter began, sweating a little. I can't be counted out already! "I'm up from Pennsylvania. I did manual labor there, but-" He turned around and held his hands up while staring at the ceiling. "No work here for woodcutters."
"Can you lift anything over fifty pounds?" She asked. Peter rapidly nodded. "I can lift anything you want me to."
"Prove it." She challenged. This man only had his words to state that he'd be able to work with anything. He knew nothing at all about how to properly do floral arrangements. She did have to admit; she was glad he was honest about that. However, his newest claim… "Anyone can claim to be able to lift anything. I need solid proof of - uh…"
Peter had set his duffle down on the freshly swept floor. At first, he danced in a four-step, then backflipped into a breakdancing six step. He jumped around a few times on his hands before lifting himself into a headstand. His t-shirt flopped up to show all of his muscled stomach and part of his chest.
"That's not what I expected."
He had turned himself around so he was able to see her from upside down. Then, he tucked his left arm behind his back and bent his elbow.
The florist rubbed her eyes with her palms, not sure what she was seeing. Her eyes hadn't been deceiving her though. There was a grown man literally doing one-armed headstand push-ups in her flower shop! How was that even possible? His antics had been noticed by people outside the shop and some of them peeked in. Before she could say anything, a different man spoke up.
"That's pretty cool. I've never seen anyone do that before."
Returning to his feet, Peter resisted the urge to bow and turned back to the owner of the flower shop. "Proven." he said smoothly.
The man who had spoken earlier came all the way in the shop.
"When he's done buying flowers, I'd like to get some too." he smiled. "Must be pretty excited to do something like that."
While he was still talking, other people had begun to pile into the small shop as well.
"We'd like some flowers too!" a young woman chimed in, clutching her daughter's hand. "See, Sarah. He's done with that trick."
"I'm not a customer though," Peter explained, looking over his shoulder and turning slightly.
"He's right. He's my newest employee."
Peter spun all the way back around, his eyes wide.
"Get over here, Mister Hammer. We have orders to fill. I need you to handle the register."
Later That Evening
When Peter found himself nearly jogging up the front steps to the hostel, it had grown dark outside.
Stasie greeted him at the door. "You're late." she stated simply, pointing to a wall clock. 8PM. "Dinner is already over with, Mister Hammer."
Peter shrugged lightly. He had already eaten a light dinner before coming back, though he had been curious as to what everyone else was having.
"Stasie… do you still take cash after the first day?" He asked simply, pulling his wallet from his pocket.
"Yes. Remember, forty a night. Your payment for tomorrow is due before eleven tomorrow - Oh!"
The young man had pulled out a few large bills. After working at the florist's shop to help with the massive uptick in business, the man he had impressed asked if he could help haul a few things for him at his automotive store. Peter had done just that, and scrubbed up the stubborn and sticky oil that never seemed to want to leave the floor of the garage next door. The three jobs had all paid him straight out in cash for his work. Peter counted out enough for his full stay.
"Four hundred, eighty. And…" He pulled out an extra twenty, adding it to the stack. "Thank you so much for letting me stay here."
Her mouth hanging open, Stasie nodded almost absently and stumbled a little going to her computer. She counted the money and printed out his receipt.
He took it with a smile.
"Thanks, Stasie!" Turning, he headed to the stairs before her voice stopped him.
"Wait!"
He turned, quirking his brow in curiosity.
"There is some meatloaf left. I will heat food up for you in oven."
His smile widened, and he walked back with her to the kitchen. Who was he to turn her down?
Day Four
Instead of going to work, Peter took a day off and was busy trying to get his cartridges reloaded with a drastic difference in locations. They were not allowed to smoke in the house, so finding a heating source for the chemicals he was mixing was not easy. He'd found it though and carefully loaded the cartridges.
Heading to the bathroom, he used his fresh batch of webbing to make a suitable container for the spiders in the shower and took them to the roof. Peter, obviously was the first one in there to use that particular shower.
'Big Burly' had been surprised to see Parker coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and his hair dripping.
"Enjoy!" Peter stated as he walked past the bigger man and headed back to his attic room.
One of the other 'roommates' that still stayed there was a quiet man, who was very thin with eyes that protruded just a little too much. He always looked surprised, but didn't seem fazed by much.
"You fixed the shower?" The slight man asked when they met in the hallway.
Peter nodded. "Yep."
"Those were a lot of spiders…" He shivered.
Peter nodded; his expression grim. "Big ones too." Tucking his towel more securely, Peter swiftly climbed up to his room.
The other people that stayed there changed overnight sometimes, or so it seemed.
Day Seven
Taking a moment to catch his breath, Peter wiped the sweat off his forehead. Today, he'd taken on a painting job, and part of it involved him hauling buckets of paint up and secure them to the ladder he was using. Doing anything like this wasn't safe, but he wasn't going to complain. So far, he had painted a small corner of the house. The work was mitigated by others working with him.
Still… Even though it was hard going, there was no way he was going to be sloppy with his work. He was on a team with two other men. The work was supposed to be done in two days. Initially, he had jumped at the offer. After all, how hard was it to paint a house? And my mistakes… He thought drolly. I've made a few… And this was one of them. He was going to be here all day working. And was roped into working the next day.
Day Eleven
Walking back from a run to a deli to buy a special treat to share with his 'housemates', he stopped at a newsstand the bought a paper. The front cover caught his eye. Apparently, this evening, Otto was going to host an 'unveiling' of what he called the 'Peacemaker'. What surprised Peter was seeing the man in a wheelchair in the image. Just what was going on?
Folding the paper under his arm, he glanced at the simple watch he wore. It's four and the ceremonies start at six… He let out an aggravated sigh. That was fine. He could always have hogshead cheese at another date. Returning to the hostel, he greeted Stasie at the front desk. "I bought something for everyone."
Ever since his 'surprise' for the older woman, she'd been a lot nicer to him. Her eyes lit up when she saw him.
He offered the bag to her. "It's for dinner tonight."
Stasie lightly sniffed the bag and grinned widely at him. "Everyone is going to love this, Edgar."
He nodded. "Unfortunately, I have to leave. Today."
Her features fell, bewilderment on her face.
"Right now, actually. I'll collect my things and bring you the key." "You still have a few days left." She argued.
"It's fine. And I know, Stasie. 'No refunds.' I wasn't going to ask." He laughed softly at her slight glare. "Thank you for the stay and the food." He gestured to the bag he'd given her. "I hope everyone enjoys."
"Fine." She waved him on his way and went over to her computer. He heard what he thought was a slight sniffle as he ascended the
stairs.
Packing was quick, the benefit of living out of a duffle bag. Less than ten minutes passed before Peter was heading back down the stairs. He handed his key to Stasie.
Looking up at him, her eyes a bit red, she handed him his final receipt. "Whatever it is…" she began, having to pause to swallow. She rested a shaking hand on his chest. "Be careful."
Peter smiled, lightly patting her hand.
"I'll be back… Someday."
After he left the hostel, Peter headed toward the event hall chosen for Ock's speech. Maybe he could get the layout of the surroundings before figuring out what was happening. His first night he ached to patrol, but heard rumblings that things were very quiet. Maybe he was more of an outsider now, but he didn't understand why no super-powered villains had attacked in the city of late.
Maybe I missed them all.
Either way, he was going to reveal Spider-Man had returned tonight.
Goodbye Edgar Hammer. He thought with a wistful sigh. Peter Parker is back .
To Be Continued…
Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter! It was a lot of fun for me to work on. A big thank you goes to Sumira79 for helping me spot-check my writing. Thanks for encouraging me to keep going with a sore backside, sore wrist and with chronic fatigue… and staying up late with me.
Between chapters, I severely strained my right wrist. It's long-known now by those closest to me that extensive, long periods of repetitive action, such as typing can lead to this. In the past, I participated in NanoWrimo (3 years in a row -back-to-back) in the middle of the holiday season when my hands were needed at work. Lots of counting, repetitive motion only to rush home and plunge into another 1700-2000 words daily. I just this week obtained an ergonomic keyboard.
The first chapter of "Navigating The Curve" took less than 24 hours to create… and over two hours to edit to the best of my ability. This one took a bit longer.
And as a preview of the next chapter…
Otto noticed too late that they had left the ground entirely. He lost his grip on the helmet as Spider-Man hurled both of them headfirst towards the opposite wall, then abruptly changed the trajectory with his webs, both of them hurtling towards the open chamber door at terrifying speed.
The security field fully collapsed on itself; the former white mist inside having taken on a swirling and sparkling pattern often seen in space. It had extended out of the chamber, much like a thick fog.
Otto started screaming, in a mixture of fear and pain, having lost his glasses during the sudden flight. His bloodshot eyes stared into Spider-Man's. The scientist grabbed his chest, the veins bulging in his eyes before he began choking, blood bubbling up-
Until Next Time! ~ J. Lyst
Additional Note: This is an updated and revised version of the original chapter. The date for this revision is June 13, 2022. Thank you all so very much for your support and patience with me!
Additional Note To The Additional Note: This is an updated and revised version of the original chapter. The date for this revision is July 4, 2023.
Additional Note To The Other Notes: This Is yet again an updated and revised version of the original chapter. The date for this one is December 10, 2023. NanoWrimo 2023 was very kind to me.
I love you all!