New York Sewer System, February 2100.
Off the Deep End.
“Tellin’ you, this is not the kind of thing I signed up for,” a Watchdog officer complained as he illuminated the darkness of the sewer tunnel with his flashlight. All he could see was cement walls, piles overhead, and pea-green water he didn’t want to inspect too closely. Even though he and a Stark-Fujikawa waste treatment worker were hip-deep in it.
The waste treatment worker shook his helmeted head. “So what did you sign up for, out of curiosity? Handing out as many citations as you can fit in a day?”
The Watchdog shrugged. “Hey, gotta make quota. But naw, I mean I didn’t sign up for roamin’ around the sewer all day.”
“Well, you are at least wearing a hazmat suit,” the treatment worker pointed out.
The Watchdog look a moment to examine his hazmat suit – standard-issue for jobs of this nature – for any possible leaks. “Yeah, but still. And then there’s the monster….”
“That ‘monster’ killed three of my friends, Officer….”
“Clancy. Call me Charlie.”
“I’ll stick with Officer Clancy. Listen, four people I work with were snatched up by this … spider thing. We found their bodies webbed up and drained of blood—“
“Like those, whaddyacall’em? Vampires?”
“—and the higher-ups insisted on police protection for us. So we’re stuck with each other, whether we like or not.” The tone of the treatment worker’s voice made it clear that he liked the team-up about as much as Clancy did.
“Hold on. I thought you said the monster killed three of your friends.”
“That’s right. So?”
“But then you said he killed four workers.”
The treatment worker turned to face Clancy, the light from the flashlight revealing a faint smile. “The fourth one wasn’t a friend. Truth be told, I didn’t like him very much.”
“Damn. That’s cold. Hey, uh … what’s your name?”
Sighing for a long moment, the worker replied, “MacNicol. Something on your mind?”
“Yeah. Why can’t Spider-Man take care of this spider monster?”
“For all we know, Officer Clancy, he could actually be the spider monster in question.” That had become the most popular theory circulating through the rumor mill.
“Nah, I don’t buy that. I saw ‘im with my own eyes. He’s not a monster.”
“That depends on who you ask,” MacNicol commented as they turned left to enter an adjoining tunnel. “After all, he seems to be in Alchemax’s pocket these days.”
“Yeah, don’t know what to think about that. He’s even the CEO’s bodyguard now. Saw it on the feeds. Got himself gene-spliced to look like … what’s-his-name….”
Another sigh from MacNicol. “Miguel O’Hara.”
“Yeah, him. What an idiot.”
“He seems determined to run his own company into the ground. To hear everyone tell it, he’s apparently gone insane.”
“Hell, can’t say I blame ‘im. His wife or girlfriend or whatever got killed. That’s gotta be--” He stopped when his flashlight illuminated an intricate net of webbing that stretched across the sewer tunnel. The silvery webbing glinted in the light.
“Oh, wonderful,” MacNicol commented. “That probably means the spider creature is--”
Something fast and solid slammed into the backs of the two men, knocking them face-first into the web. They dropped their flashlights into the sewer water below. Behind them, a ragged, inhuman voice shouted, “What did you say?”
Clancy could feel as well as hear MacNicol’s struggle against the webbing, which clinged to his hazmat suit – even the visor. “I said, ‘this probably means’—“ He felt a sharp blow to the back of the head even through his helmet.
“Not you! The other one!” The spider creature pointed at Clancy with one of his six hands. “You! What did you say?”
Sweating heavily, and on the verge of panic, Clancy searched his memory for the last thing he’d said, but he drew a blank. “I-I dunno! I dunno what I—“
“You said his girlfriend was killed! Miguel O’Hara’s!”
“Well, yeah. Was all over the feeds. I forget her name.”
The monster struck the back of Clancy’s helmet, cracking it. “Dana! Her name is Dana! Don’t forget it! Can’t forget it!”
MacNicol muttered something about the monster’s sanity, but the monster clearly overheard it, because he started pummeling the maintenance worker with multiple fists. The sharp sound of cracking bones echoed through the corridors. “Heard you! I heard you!”
As MacNicol whimpered in pain, the monster crawled along the tunnel’s ceiling, over the net of webbing. He clinged to the ceiling, and the flashlights which Clancy and MacNicol had dropped illuminated the monster in a sickly green radiance. He – or possibly it – was covered in bristly fur and possessed six arms and two legs – eight limbs, total. Between that and his arachnid-like head – complete with eight beady eyes – it was clear that this was the spider monster.
“You!” He shouted at Clancy. “How did she die?”
“I think she was shot. But Spider-Man an’ Venom had somethin’ to do with it.”
The monster bellowed something that could have been a roar of anger. “Spider-Man! Him! Always him! He took Dana from me! Made her die! I’ll kill him!”
“What about Venom?” Clancy couldn’t stop himself from asking.
The monster turned the Watchdog, hissing in outrage. “Venom? I am the Man-Spider! Nature’s perfect predator! You will feel my venom!”
And then he proceeded to use it on the two men.
Komori Martial Arts School, Midtown New York. The next day.
Youth and Enthusiasm.
“Ichi!”
“Ni!”
“San!”
“Shi!”
“Go!”
Tim Komori walked amongst his students as they continued to count to twenty in Japanese while performing high kicks. Some of his students’ kicks needed work, and he took the time to gently correct their technique. But Tim was surprised to find that one of them was Chad Lorenzo, a close friend of his who was normally one of the better martial artists in the class. He was even a bit of a showoff … but today he just seemed distracted.
“So are you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” Tim asked Chad after class, once they had changed out of their uniforms and back into their normal clothing.
Chad shrugged as he pulled on a well-worn green hooded sweatshirt. “What makes you think there’s somethin’ wrong?”
Tim pulled on a white jacket bearing his martial arts school’s logo over his red t-shirt. “You looked like you were distracted earlier.”
“I just … had a lot on my mind.”
“Looks like you still do. Something bad?”
Chad paused, then nodded. “Y’know those rumors about something called a ‘Man-Spider’? That thing that lives in the sewers?”
“Yeah?”
He let out a breath. “Turns out it’s real. It’s been killin’ sewer workers. More an’ more of ‘em. It got so bad they’ve got the Watchdogs goin’ with ‘em as security escorts.”
Tim frowned. “Your dad’s a Watchdog, right?”
“Yeah. He said that thing got his buddy Charlie last night. An’ Dad’s been doin’ sewer security, too, so he could be next.”
Tim placed a hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be okay?”
“I guess … I mean, Dad’s a jerk, but—“
“Hey, are you ready to go?” another teenaged boy asked them, poking his head into the locker room. “We’re all waiting on you.” Ryan Rutger held out a satchel filled with something. “I’ve just procured some twencen Japanese TV shows. I mean, vintage tokusatu. There’s even a show about—“ He paused, finally noticing his friends’ mood. “You’re in the middle of something, aren’t you?”
“You could say that, Ry,” Tim replied with a smile.
“It’s fine,” Chad assured them, walking past Tim on his way out of the locker room. “So you’ve got some more twencen shows, Ry? How big’s the collection now?”
The three guys exited the dojo, Ry chattering the whole way. “I’ve outdone myself this time. I managed to get my hands on a show about Spider-Man.”
Two girls waited for them outside; one was Tim’s younger sister Natsumi, and other was their friend Tatiana Delmarre. “What’s this about Spider-Man?” Nat asked, perking up at the mention of the legendary figure they all held in such high regard.
Grinning, Ry unzipped his backpack and removed a tiny data drive. “Turns out there was a show made about him in Japan in the twencen. It’s cost me quite a bit, but I now have the entire series right here.”
“Can’t wait to watch it,” Nat replied, smiling at him. Predictably, Ry blushed and looked down at the ground. He couldn’t help it. The combination of her cute smile and her yellow sundress had that kind of effect on him.
Tim chuckled at Ryan. “Between this and the UMF Spider-Man costumes you bought for all of us … sometimes I think you converted to Spiderism just so you’d have an excuse to buy all that twencen merchandise.”
Ry shrugged. “What can I say? Gotta worship at the altar.”
“You’re lucky,” Tatiana told them. “I still have to hide my religion from my dad. He doesn’t even like Thorites; he’d go off the grid if he found out his daughter’s a Spiderite.”
She turned to Chad as they walked to ChickenHopper, their favorite fast-food joint. She instantly picked up on his mood. “You okay, Chad?”
Since he knew better than to act like nothing was wrong and that the pink-haired, pink-clad black girl didn’t have him pegged, Chad told the rest of his friends what he’d just told Tim. When he was done, he added, “it’s kinda funny how there’s all this business with some Man-Spider, and here’s Ry talkin’ about Spider-Man.”
“Do you think Spider-Man will go after the Man-Spider?” Tatiana asked, falling in step with Tim.
“I hope so,” Tim answered. “That’s his job. Has been since the First Heroic Age.”
“And with the right amount of prep time,” Ry added, “he could beat anyone.”
Nat playfully nudged him in the ribs. “You and your ‘prep time’…”
“Ever wonder if it’s somebody else in that costume?” Chad asked.
Tatiana chuckled. “And you call yourself a Spiderite. The legends say--”
“Yeah, I know what the legends say. So? There can still be more of ‘em. S-Man’s an immortal; he’s just franchisin’ his powers, that’s all.”
Ry shot him a skeptical glance. “That’s highly unlikely.”
“Says who? You’re the expert: how many Spider-Woman were runnin’ around back in the day?”
Tim shrugged. “He’s got a point. Maybe one of these days the S-Man will smile on us, and franchise his powers out to us.”
“That would be so macro,” Nat agreed, sighing wistfully.
Seeing the dreamy expression on Nat’s face, Ryan blurted out, “let’s do it!”
The others stopped in their tracks. “Do what?” Nat asked.
“Find the Man-Spider and bring him to justice.”
“Isn’t that Spider-Man’s job?” Tatiana asked.
“Well … we could take the initiative,” Tim reasoned. “Give the S-Man a reason to notice us. Maybe then we’ll see if he really does franchise his power.”
Tatiana and Natsumi looked at them as if they’d lost their minds. “I don’t think it’s that simple,”
“Well, why not?” Chad reasoned. “We have the costumes, we can fight … c’mon, we have what it takes. We can handle some ugly sewer mutant.”
“Correction,” a man’s voice behind them declared, causing all five of them to turn around. They saw a man wearing a heavy brown overcoat. His hair was dark brown and graying at the temples, and his piercing gaze bore into them. “You kids have the youth and enthusiasm to take on this monster, but you lack the necessary power and experience.” He smiled. “Luckily, I can provide you with both.”
“Who the shock are you?” Chad Lorenzo demanded.
The man smiled and pulled a mask out of the pocket of his coat. “Allow me to introduce myself….”
Xina Kwan’s residence. Evening. Two weeks later: March 2100.
It’s Not You.
“Miguel O’Hara is here to see you,” the android named Jack introduced the moment Miguel reached Xina Kwan’s doorstep.
“Send him in,” Xina’s voice ordered from inside.
Jack ushered him in. “Right this way, Mr. O’Hara.”
“Miguel,” he corrected. As he entered the modest townhome, Miguel glanced at the robotic servant. He hadn’t quite made the connection the first time he’d been over here, but Jack was an excellent likeness of his namesake, the late President John Fitzgerald Kennedy. In the months since that first meeting, though, Miguel had done his research. “So, Jack … how’s life in the Oval Office?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Jack replied as they walked toward Xina’s basement workshop. “I’m not privy to the details of Donald Keyes’ presidency. But I did hear that an orbital satellite shaped like a handgun blew up the Senate. Does that count?”
Miguel smirked. He figured Jack wouldn’t have understood the joke, anyway. He glanced at the stack of Metro Express boxes lining the hallways.
Up ahead was Xina’s workshop, and he could hear her speaking to someone or something. “Initiate Verbal Command Subroutine A-Dash-Four. Repeat the following sentence: ‘Good morning, Xina’.”
A modulated computer voice responded, “’Good morning, Xina’.”
“Repeat the following sentence: ‘It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again’.”
“‘It puts the lotion on its skin, or it gets the hose again’,” the voice repeated.
“Very good. Now repeat, ‘Miguel stinks of elderberries’.”
Miguel repeated, “’Miguel stinks of elderberries’,” at the same time as the computer program, causing Xina to look up from her work.
“Miggy!” How’s it going?” Xina greeted, standing as Miguel and Jack entered her workshop. She wrapped her arms around Miguel, pulling him into a tight hug that wasn’t entirely unpleasant – even if it was loaded with all kinds of memories, good and bad.
“Hanging in there, Xina. Stinking of elderberries; same as usual. Hard at work, I see?”
“Between my cross-country vacation and getting my stuff shipped back to me from my cross-country vacation, I’ve used up most of my savings.” She issued a verbal command that saved her progress with the computer program. “So I’m doing some A.I. programming work, and teaching the programs all kinds of bad habits as a side bonus.”
The hug finally ended, and Miguel took a step back. “You had to get your stuff shipped back to you? What, you still haven’t heard from Tensen?” John Tensen, also known as the Net Prophet, had accompanied Xina on her vacation and had teleported her back to New York.
She shrugged and gestured for Jack to wander off. “Nope. Nobody’s seen him since the Goblin mess.” Involuntarily, she winced at the memory and gingerly touched her belly. The Goblin had zapped her with a searing energy blast, and while Alchemax doctors had repaired quite a bit of the damage, Xina’s Marilyn Monroe tattoo would never be the same again.
Miguel stared at her stomach, which was covered by a Godzilla T-shirt. He imagined the scar was fairly ugly, meaning she would be keeping her tattoo covered up for some time to come.
Xina studied his gaze and his furrowed brow. “What?”
“I’m just … glad you’re back.”
“Mig, I’ve been back for a couple of weeks. You’re just telling me this now?”
“What do you want me to say? I’ve been busy with work.” He let out a slow breath. “In fact, that’s the reason for my visit. I’d like to offer you a job.”
She quirked an eyebrow, skeptical. “At Alchemax?”
“R&D, yeah. Artificial Intelligence division, which would play to your strengths.” He gestured at the program on the computer, which at this point consisted of lines of coding and a voice synthesizer. “Unless your current project is fulfilling your needs.”
She frowned. “It’s some animatronic character for the Million Palms Family Fun Facility. Listen, Miggy … the offer’s tempting. But I’m more of an indy kinda gal.”
He frowned. “Despite going to Alchemax’s School for Gifted--”
“That was years ago. I’ve moved on to greener pastures.”
“Million Palms is every bit as corporate—“
“At least I’m not running the place.”
“Yeah, go ahead,” Miguel retorted, nostrils flaring. “Throw that in my face. I thought you were over that.”
“It’s not you, all right? You’re a scientist – and a misanthropic one at that – and you’re CEO of a corporation you hate. I’m amazed you managed to last this long, but … come on, Mig. Can you honestly tell me this is where you want to be in life?”
Miguel looked away and walked over to one wall, trying to collect his thoughts. But the wall bore a Fraggle Rock poster, which was not terribly conducive. “This is where I can do the most good.”
She moved to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why are you so obsessed with overhauling Alchemax?”
He turned to her, incredulous. “’Why?’ Xina, do you remember what was done to me?”
“You told me about the Rapture incident….”
“They hooked me on fake Rapture just to get me to stay with the company.”
“You want to be in the position to do that to someone else?”
“Xina, my point is that Tyler Stone and the rest of them have been doing that to the people! I want to change that! I’ve been getting rid of as many scumbags in this company as I can, and—“
“And what?”
Miguel took a breath, his chest rising and falling as he tried to rein in his temper. “And … I need people I can trust. I can’t fire everybody who’s ever done something shady, or else Alchemax would maybe a have a grand total of three employees. But I’m trying to turn this megacorp around.” He looked into her eyes. “I could use your help, Xina.”
Their faces drew closer, but Xina still kept him at bay. “My help? Is that all you want from me?”
He bit his lip. “Actually, there is one other thing: I want to see your tattoo again.”
She glanced down at her stomach. “Marilyn…? But it has a burn scar. It’s ugly.”
He moved his hand to the hem of her shirt. “I don’t care. I want to see it again.”
She let him lift up her t-shirt to expose the Marilyn Monroe tattoo. She sucked in a breath when he kissed the burn scar, but otherwise, she didn’t object. In fact, she decided the shirt was just going to get in the way, so she shed it and let it fall to the floor. Soon the shirt was followed by more articles of clothing and various electronics equipment as she and Miguel cleared off her worktable.
Hours later, she finally put her Godzilla shirt back on. Miguel was almost fully dressed by this point, but she wasn’t in as much of a hurry. “You needed that,” she said to him. It wasn’t a question so much as an observation.
“No argument there,” Miguel replied, buttoning up his overshirt.
“But now you’re leaving.”
“It can’t be helped. I stayed too long as it is. I have business to take care of.”
She looked away. Muttering under her breath, she started getting dressed.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” she answered, scowling. “Go ahead, take care of business. Just come over here for a roll in the sack whenever you want, then leave like you’re just passing through. I understand.”
Miguel swore under his breath. “Passive-aggressive, much?”
She tossed his jacket at him. “Just go, all right?”
He caught it and started walking toward the hallway. “Fine. Whatever. Just … think about my offer, okay?”
“You think I really want to work for Alchemax?”
He stopped and turned around. “In that case, how about doing something for me, off the record?” Seeing her about to retort, he hastened to add, “just hear me out. It’s about my brother. I found out recently that he’s the Goblin. “
Her eyes widened. “The Goblin…? That guy with the wings?”
“Yeah, him. Turns out he’s been brainwashed by some computer program to think he is and always has been the Goblin.”
“So, wait … you want my help with cracking the program?”
Miguel nodded. “The problem is catching him first. He blew up his own apartment and almost took me with it. There’s telling where he could be now.”
Downtown New York alley. Meanwhile.
Shady Dealings.
Soaring on bat-shaped wings, the green-and-purple anarchist known as the Goblin approached a street corner he knew very well. Landing atop a parked car – that arguably might have been there since the twentieth century – he awaited two contacts in heavy coats. He had business with them; he favored them with an eerie smile when they showed up. “So, do you have the merchandise?”
His contacts, Witt and Gonzales, glanced around nervously to make sure the coast was clear. “What’s with bringing’ that ugly costume to this deal?” Witt demanded. “People can see you a mile away. If the Watchdogs—“
“I can deal with the Watchdogs,” the Goblin interrupted, scowling with derision. “Now. The merchandise, so we can make this snappy.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Witt nodded to Gonzales, who produced a small package of electronics. “Y’know, you’re startin’ to get uppity in your ripe old age, Father. I think you’ve been forgettin’ where you came from.”
The optic sensors in the Goblin’s mask scanned the package to ensure he wasn’t being cheated. The Goblin then glared at Witt. “Don’t call me ‘father’. I’m not your dad, and you know it. The money will be wired to your account.”
With that, the Goblin leaped from the parked car and spread his wings, soaring toward the Uptown superstructure.
Witt and Gonzales looked at each other, baffled. “That was Lil’ Jenny, right?” Gonzales asked. “She acted like she didn’t know us.”
”Part of the cover, I guess,” Witt replied. “But she needs to give us some respect. She ran with us back in the day, then reformed in prison and made herself a preacher. Then when she wanted to be the Goblin an’ needed tech, who’d she come back to? Us.”
Gonzales shrugged. “Hey, at least she did us a solid and got us that Net Prophet guy.”
“Yeah, that one crazy lady paid a fortune for him. What was her name? ‘Sin’-something?”
“Sintilla, right?”
“Yeah! That’s her.”
“Wonder what she’d want with him, anyway?”
“Who knows? Maybe she wants him as performance art. That chick is skeltered in the head. Me, I make it a point not to ask questions.”
Genetics R&D Laboratory B, Alchemax Plaza. Early evening. Two days later.
Small Victories.
Xina’s questions circulated through Miguel’s head over the next two days:
“Can you honestly tell me this is where you want to be in life?
“Why are you so obsessed with overhauling Alchemax?”
Some days, he was pretty sure he knew the answers. Today was not one of those days.
Instead, this was a day that lived in infamy in Miguel’s mind. It was the one-year anniversary of the day -- in this very laboratory -- he’d tried to hack his own DNA and ended up with spidery genes instead.
Wondering why he’d even rolled out of bed, Miguel rubbed his eyes as he sat in the laboratory’s observation booth.
He watched as his head of Research & Development, Ivan Rutger, coordinated an experiment with two of his geneticists. The three scientists brainstormed ways to improve the process for rewriting one’s DNA. Once Miguel had banned the distribution and use of Rapture, he’d put the R&D people on the task of developing treatment methods for addicts.
By far the most drastic method, and the one Miguel had wanted to avoid, was the one he himself had once tried.
He’d been slipped Rapture, and it had been bonding to his very DNA as if it had always been a part of him. Sure, now he knew it had been a substitute that mimicked Rapture’s effects, but at the time he’d been led to believe it was the real thing. Desperate to remove the drug from his system, he’d overrode security protocols in order to enter the lab and use the equipment without leaving any traces of his activities.
He hadn’t counted on a jealous co-worker being there.
Miguel had intentionally acted like an obnoxious jerk to Aaron Delgato, his direct superior in the Special Projects Division, but he hadn’t realized just how much he’d pissed the man off until Aaron had sabotaged the genetics equipment. The file containing Miguel’s genome had been corrupted and merged with a file of spider DNA – the very best characteristics from hundreds of known species.
Or at least, that was what Miguel had pieced together later. At the time, it had been something of a miracle that he hadn’t been killed when the transformation chamber overloaded.
A miracle. Right.
He never had the chance to find out whether or not the gene-overwrite would have worked if Delgato hadn’t sabotaged the equipment. Maybe he would have ended up as something even worse than a part-man, part-spider.
In any event, he refocused his attention to the scientists’ discussion, and found that they were arguing over something. Standing up, he stretched his legs and entered the laboratory. “What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?”
The mood between the geneticists had been slightly on edge given their disagreement, but as soon as Miguel entered the lab, the tension became so thick he could have chipped his talons on it. Their posture immediately stiffened, and a couple of the scientists scowled and looked away, as if trying to keep their tempers under control.
“Well?” Miguel asked. “I’m waiting.”
“We’ve hit a snag,” Edward Macek, one of the newer scientists, assured him, his voice tight with irritation. “But we’re doing our jobs the best way we can.”
Seeing how on-edge the young man was, Miguel tried to diffuse the situation. “Well, glad to hear it. If you need any help, I’d be more than happy to offer my expertise.”
Macek gritted his teeth. “We’ve been doing just fine. We were having a simple discussion.” He sounded as if he were choosing his words carefully, to avoid saying something that would get him fired.”Your ‘help’ isn’t necessary.”
Miguel held his gaze, his nostrils flaring. “’Not necessary’? Now listen, you little punk: this place used to be my domain. Nobody knows this equipment better than I do. That hasn’t changed just because I’m now the CEO.”
That earned glares from everyone in the room. Ivan Rutger, the head of R&D, walked over to him. “Could I see you for a minute?” Rutger asked. Then, without waiting for an answer, he led Miguel over to one corner of the lab, out of earshot of the others.
“Ivan, what’re you--?”
“Could you leave the running of this department to me, please?” Rutger requested, leaving little room for debate.
“You do realize this is my company, right?”
Rutger remained calm. “Yes, and as you said, this used to be your domain. So whenever Tyler Stone or some other exec strode in and started micromanaging, what was your typical reaction?”
Miguel shrugged. “I let ‘em know they didn’t know what they were talking ab—wait, are you saying I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’m a geneticist, Ivan!”
“No, you’re a CEO now.”
“That shouldn’t change—“
“It changes everything, and you need to understand that if you’re going to remain in this position.”
Miguel turned away, clenching his teeth and fists with equal ferocity. “You’re saying I should give up genetics.”
Rutger sighed, running his fingers through what was left of his hair. “I’m saying, you put yourself in this position, Mig.”
“I was dragged into it.”
“You still agreed to it, and you’ve been fighting tooth and nail to keep it. You made a choice, and this is one of the consequences. I have a sixteen-year-old son at home, and I’m gonna tell you the same thing I’ve been trying to get through to him: Life’s not fair. You can’t expect everything to go your way.”
Miguel let out a breath, turning back to Ivan, one of the few people at Alchemax with whom he was actually on friendly terms. “It’d be nice if something went my way, y’know?”
“Small victories, Miguel. Find something simple that makes you happy, and start from there.”
Pondering this for a moment, Miguel smiled at Rutger. “Small victories, huh? I think I know just the thing.”
Uptown New York. Early Evening.
Spider Sighting.
Small, sharp talons etched deep lines into the limousine’s polished exterior. “Happy birthday to me,” he muttered to himself, practically humming as he defaced Tyler Stone’s limo, which was parked on the roof of a Stone Enterprises office building. Not even the resultant nails-on-chalkboard screech could ruin his mood.
“Freeze, Spider-Man!” a voice behind him ordered over a loudspeaker. He turned to see a small squad of security officers from the Stone Enterprises Enforcement Division, locked and loaded. “Step away from the CEO’s vehicle.”
Spider-Man glanced at the scratched-up limo then back at the officers. “Make me.”
The SEED officers complied, opening fire on Spider-Man, who leaped out of the way so that Stone’s limo could be peppered with stun bullets.
“Cease fire!” the leader ordered. “We can’t risk hitting—“ He was decked by Spider-Man before he could finish his sentence.
Spider-Man knew full well these men didn’t deserve the beating, as they were just doing their job of protecting Stone’s assets. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.
With their leader unconscious, the rest of the SEED officers scrambled to surround Spider-Man and restrain him. He dodged and weaved out of their grasp, but they were able to grab his arms and legs in an attempt to wrestle him to the ground. Spider-Man realized the SEED uniforms were much stronger and more well-armored than they appeared.
Finally, he sprayed an officer with a glob of webbing, completely covering her helmet’s visor. He used the distraction to wrench an arm free. Gaining the proper leverage, he hefted three of the officers off of him, then clawed his way free of the rest of the group.
Leaping over the crowd, he fired a webline at a nearby floating billboard for ChickenHopper to webswing away from them. Shots rang from their handguns, and bullets whizzed by his ears.
It didn’t take long for the officers to pursue him in their flybikes, so he led them on a merry chase between the skyscrapers of New York. They continued firing stun bullets at him, but as he soared on updrafts with his lyte-byte glider cape, the bullets all missed. Only a few more seconds, and he’d be home free in Public Eye airspace, out of SEED jurisdiction.
And then a bullet struck his right shoulder, numbing his arm. Shifting off-balance, Spider-Man plummeted. Suddenly, the only question on his mind was whether he’d become a stain on the Uptown walkways or on the Downtown pavement.
He chose a third option and fired a webline at a passing hover-taxi. The line snagged and stretched taut, allowing him to swing away. Problem was, the taxi was taking him further back into SEED jurisdiction. He let go of the webline and dropped to a walkway, relatively unharmed except for his still-numb arm.
Spotting an open manhole, Spider-Man figured it could be his salvation, considering there was a vast network of sewer tunnels that could take him back to Alchemax without any further hassle. Sure, the smell would be nightmarish, but at least he had excellent dark-vision, and he wouldn’t have to worry about running into any security—“
Just then, a rather harried-looking man in a heavily-soiled security officer’s uniform emerged from the manhole, firing his pistol twice into the sewer he’d just vacated. He took no notice of Spider-Man as he spoke into his communicator. “I repeat: Officer Lorenzo to Watchdog base! Man-Spider has been spotted! He just killed at waste worker I was assigned to, and now he’s coming after me! Send backup! Do you read me?” Grimy with sewer muck, his communicator fizzled. “Just great.”
Turning to run, he was startled when he saw Spider-Man standing there. “You deal with him.” He shoved Spider-Man toward the manhole; Spider-Man would have shoved back, but his arm was still numb.
“Did you say, ‘Man-Spider’?” But the Watchdog officer was already gone. Curious, he peeked into the manhole just in time to see three pairs of clawed hands grab at his face, trying to tug him into the sewer. After a brief struggle, Spider-Man managed to pull his attacker out into the open walkway. Sure enough, it was Antoine Tarantella, the Man-Spider in all his bristly-haired, nightmarish glory.
The Man-Spider shrieked, trying to cover his eight beady eyes from the bright city lights surrounding him. Deciding this made his job easier, Spider-Man walked over to him and swung his fist right at the Man-Spider’s face.
One of the creature’s six hands caught the fist, almost absent-mindedly. “Seen you before,” he declared in a hoarse, inhuman voice. “I know you! You’re Spider-Man!”
Behind his mask, Spider-Man rolled his eyes. “Well, duh. We fought before, remember?”
Shrieking in outrage, the Man-Spider-Man grabbed at Spider-Man with his other five hands. “I remember! The Man-Spider remembers! I hate you!”
Spider-Man clawed at his foe to break his grasp. “You must’ve been down in the sewers too long. You used to be a lot more articulate than this.”
Next thing Spider-Man knew, he was being punched from several different directions. He was doing a decent job of guarding his face with his forearms, right up until he heard the crazed man-Spider shout, “You killed Dana! Killed her!”
“Huh--?”
One punch to the jaw staggered him, while another dropped him to the ground like a sack of potatoes. Four more followed.
“Stop right there, Man-Spider!” some voice interrupted, causing the Man-Spider to stop pummeling.
Groggily, Spider-Man glanced over and saw five teenagers striding toward them while everyone else was running away. There were three boys and two girls, all wearing trendy civilian clothing. They also wore shiny metal bracelets on their left forearms, which they prominently displayed.
The Man-Spider hissed at them. “Don’t interfere!”
“Sorry, but it’s our duty,” an Asian boy in a white jacket declared, then glanced at his friends. “Ready, guys?”
“Ready!” they answered in unison. Then all five of them gripped their bracelets and shouted, “Spider … Henshin!”
Behind his mask, Spider-Man blinked. “Uh … geshundheit…?”
Pressing a hidden button on each of their bracelets, the teenagers’ clothing seemed to melt and shift into black fabric that flowed over their skin and covered them like form-fitting bodysuits.
Spider-Man’s eyes widened. Were they alien symbiotes like Venom? But no, a closer look revealed that they were made of Unstable Molecular Fabric. Their suits were even adorned with the same kind of Day-of-the-Dead designs Spider-Man’s own costume bore, but instead of red the designs were white, blue, pink, yellow, and green. The same colors the teens were wearing before their transformation, in fact.
Essentially, Spider-Man found himself staring at five teenagers dressed up in color-coded outfits similar to his. He sat up, scratching his head. “Let me guess: Spiderites?”
“As a matter of fact,” the one wearing blue answered.
The five costumed teenagers struck a group pose that made them look like a cross between a group of martial artists in a combat stance, and a bunch of cats about to claw someone’s eyes out. They shouted in unison, “We’re the Spiderite Five!”
TO BE CONTINUED
Next Issue:
Spider-Man will have to keep these kids from getting killed, but what secret aces do they carry up their proverbial sleeves? Find out in "Spiderite Sense" by David Ellis.