The Sensational Spider-Man

Hi there, everyone! I'm one of the biggest Spidey fans in the world, but I feel that Marvel is mistreating him nowadays. This fic is meant to be my own "run" on Spider-Man. It takes place in a separate universe where not all of Spidey's baddies have been introduced yet. This is a more personal story that tries to balance Peter Parker's life as a regular guy growing into adulthood as well as his life as a struggling super hero. Stan Lee, Brian Michael Bendis, and J. Michael Straczynski's runs served as inspiration behind this title, as well as the Sam Raimi movie trilogy. Enjoy, and please don't be afraid to leave some feedback! I take comments seriously, so I won't be mad if you're critical, as long as it's constructive.

Thanks! - LGW

#1: The Life of Peter Parker, Part 1

"Go to college, they said. Get your science degree, they said. It'll brighten your future, they said. Well, here I am. Two degrees and one hundred fifty credit hours later, here I am. The Daily Stinking Bugle." Peter Parker, a handsome brown-haired young man, leaned his forehead against the wall as the elevator rose higher and higher.

He continued talking to himself: "God… What am I even gonna say to Jonah? 'Please, Mister Jameson, take me back! My dream of being a scientist isn't working out! Please hire me!' Actually… Face it, Pete, that is what you're gonna say to him. And he's gonna laugh in your face. He'll make fun of you for quitting and leaving them in the dust like you did. And I'll admit, it was a bit fiendish to do that. I could've just brought myself down to part-time, but time management's tough when you're also a frickin' super hero.

"I hate you, Max Modell. You come up to me—personally—and say, 'Hey, we'd love to have you work at Horizon Labs. You'd be a fantastic addition to our team.' Okay, cool. I'm down with that. So, immediately after I graduate from Empire State, I head straight to Horizon Labs and they tell me, 'Oh, sorry, we're not looking for new scientists at the moment. In about two years, though, we'll be holding a convention where you can show us what you're made of.' Two years?! Thanos could destroy the planet by then! That's just…baloney. That's simply baloney."

Peter tightened his tie, then hurriedly combed his hair with his fingers. Instead of continuing to ramble aloud, he opted to talk to himself in his head.

It's been seven years since that spider bit you and gave you your powers, Pete. Since then, a lot of stuff's gone down the crapper. This is probably one of the Top 5 things that have gone down the crapper—losing a golden career opportunity. Screw Horizon Labs. They tell you to work for them once you graduate, and then they tell you, "Oopsies! Looks like we lied!" Screw 'em. And hey—taking photos for the Bugle isn't all that bad. The pay sucks, but if you're persistent and explain your situation to Jonah, he might budge a little. Probably. Maybe. . . . Not likely.

Geez, I'm twenty-two and I still feel like that high school loser from back in the day. Great things have happened since then—amazing things, even—and I should appreciate that, but…when's the universe gonna stop throwing its droppings at me like a chimp? Uncle Ben always said, "Hey, that's just the classic Parker Luck," but still…

Peter closed his eyes and took a deep exhale. His breath shook as if it was on rails. His whole body quivered like it was freezing, and light sweated formed around his head.

Don't be nervous, Pete. Don't be nervous. You've fought alongside the Avengers, darn it! You've got this in the bag.

I seriously need to stop referring to myself in the second person. . . . Or is it third person?

Binnng! The elevator stopped and the bell rang; Peter had reached his floor. He adjusted his tie for the final time before stepping out. It was as if he never left—the newsroom was as busy as ever. Peter couldn't help but smile as he inhaled, taking in the wonderful scent of coffee and printers. It was like a second home. He weaved his way through the hustle and bustle, going toward the desk of a familiar face.

Peter spoke up once he got there. "Hi, can I see Mister Jameson, please?"

The woman didn't even look up from her paperwork. "Sorry, Mister Jameson's really busy right now. He's not seeing anyone today."

"Aw, really?"

"Yep."

"He won't even see someone like me?"

The woman looked up. Her eyes went wide as they fell upon the young man standing in front of her desk. "Pete?!"

"Hi, Betty," he said, smiling.

Betty Brant leapt out of her seat, running around her desk and giving Peter a giant embrace. "Oh my god! It's so good to see you!" she exclaimed. "How've you been? Did you like college? Did you—?"

"B-Betty…" Peter struggled to say, "…you're…crushing…me."

"Oh. Sorry." The secretary let him go, but she kept her hands on his shoulders. Needless to say, he felt a little uncomfortable. She started looking him up and down. "Wow… You've really muscled up."

"I, uhm… I do pilates," he fibbed. "So…how've you been?"

"Oh, you know—same ol' same ol'," Betty said, shrugging. She turned and sat back down at her desk, her professional demeanor returning. "What can I do for you, Pete?"

"Well, I, uh…" He sheepishly scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed. "I wanted to talk to Jonah, and see if he needs— Well, you know…"

"Oh," Betty said, slowly nodding. "I thought you were gonna be a big-shot scientist when you graduated."

"Yeah, but, you know what they say: 'The best-laid plans of mice and men oft' go awry.' I, um… I never really had a back-up plan, you know? You ever heard of Max Modell?"

"Sort of," she said. "He heads Horizon Labs, doesn't he?"

"Yyyep. That's him. He came to Empire State one day to check out the projects we were working on. He loved mine, and he told me personally that he'd reserve a spot for me at Horizon until I graduated."

"Are you serious?!"

"Yeah. And… Well, no back-up plan." Peter shrugged. "Either he made a mistake, or that spot got filled. I'm not sure what my next move is. I was hoping I could get a couple jobs until I figure out what to do."

"Well, I… I'm really sorry to hear that, Pete," Betty said apologetically.

"Hey, it's okay." Peter shrugged his shoulders. "Stuff happens. It'll be okay, though. . . . So, is Jonah still too busy? Should I come back later, or…?"

"No, no, I'll buzz him and tell him you're here." She pushed the button on the phone for Jonah's office. "Mister Jameson? I have someone special here who wants to see you."

"I'm not taking any appointments today, woman!" came the editor's voice…from his office.

"You know how you keep complaining about no Spider-Man pics? Your solution's standing right in front of me."

"You sure?" his voice came again, this time from the phone.

"Mm-hm."

". . . Send 'im in."

Betty took her finger off the button. "Good luck, Pete," she said, giving him a friendly smile.

"Thank you so much, Betty," Peter said as he began making his way to Jameson's office. "I really appreciate it."

All right. Here goes nothing. Just be cool and confident, and don't pee your pants, Peter. . . . And there I go with the second-slash-third person speak again. Ugh.

Peter took a quick deep breath as he grabbed the doorknob. This was it. He turned the knob, opening the door to his former boss's office. Jameson, who was also sitting at his own desk, nearly choked on his cigar as he saw the young man.

"Parker? The hell're you doing here?" he demanded. His red-with-fury skin contrasted oddly with his black mustache and gray flat-top haircut, and that was just him on a good day. Peter arrived at the right time, it seemed.

"I, um… Uh… I…"

"Out with it, boy!"

Speak up, dammit!

"I, uhm… I noticed you guys had an opening here at the Bugle. For a photographer."

"You're telling me you want your old job back?"

"Yes, sir," Peter said, nodding.

At first, Jameson's stare was completely blank. After nearly ten seconds of silence, he suddenly burst into a storm of exaggerated laughter.

Peter dipped his head. I knew it.

"Ha ha ha haha haha haaa!" hollered Jameson as he banged his fist on his desk. "Ha ha! Oh, God! Hahahaaa!"

"I'll— I'll go, then," Peter said quietly. He turned to leave.

"Wait! Hee hee… Hold on, Par— Ha ha! Hold on, Parker! Heh. Heh heh…" Jameson put his hand on his chest as he regained himself. "Hang on for a minute, sonny. Phew. You're right, we do have an opening. We haven't had a decent photo of the spider-freak ever since you left for school four years ago. Four years. We haven't sold papers like we used to since then. We barely make enough money to get by. I, er… I didn't realize how important you were to the paper. I mean, not that important, don't get me wrong. But…important enough. And why're you here anyway? I thought you wanted to become the next Reed Richards."

Peter was nearly too busy feeling his heart swell to hear Jameson's question. "Yeah. Horizon Labs offered me a job for when I graduate, but…it didn't work out. I'm just trying to figure out what to do from here. It just feels like going to college was…pointless, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Your photo skills are still good, though, right?" asked Jameson, clearly uninterested in Peter's predicament.

"Mm-hm. I think so."

"Great. Get me a great photo of Spider-Phony by morning, and the job's yours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later That Night…

"Woooo-hoooooo!"

The whooshing wind. The spectacular speed. The frantic freedom. It always felt amazing to web-swing. Peter, now in his famous Spider-Man uniform, masterfully navigated his way through the city, like an ape swinging through its jungle. The webbed super hero threw himself in between two buildings with the speed of a bullet. He fired a web line directly above his head, then yanked on it with tremendous force, shooting himself straight up.

"Woo! Yeeeaaah! No unemployment, baby!"

Seven years ago, I learned a hard lesson in responsibility. When I first had my powers, I used them for selfish reasons—getting money, mostly. I wasn't the webhead you see right now. Before he was murdered, my uncle, Ben, told me the most important advice I've ever received: "When you have special gifts and talents—gifts and talents people can only dream of—it's your job and responsibility to use them to help others. With great power comes great responsibility." I would have that saying tattooed on my arm if I wasn't so scared of needles.

Growing up, I dreamed of becoming a scientist, just like my dad. After Uncle Ben died, I got a job at the Daily Bugle so that my aunt May and I could get by. I was just fifteen years old then. I'm twenty-two now. I like being twenty-two. I'm old enough to say that I've been through some life-changing experiences, but I'm still young enough to discover what else the world has to offer. My dream almost came true. Almost. With people like me—super heroes—you get crapped on more often than not. It sucks, but it's something you gotta learn to live with it. (I need to learn to take my own advice.) Being back at the Bugle isn't the most glamorous thing ever, but at least it's employment.

All righty, my camera's set up a few blocks from here. I'll do a neat trick, get the shot, and that'll be that.

Gah, it sucks so much! I was really looking forward to working at Horizon. They might as well've thrown a pie in my face as they rejected me. God! Now what am I gonna do? Aunt May's letting me stay at her place for the time being. I lived in the dorms all four years, so no apartment to go to (even though I had every reason to get an apartment). Aunt May knows what I'm going through. I've ranted to her for hours and hours about how pissed I am. She's pissed at Horizon, too. She gave them a couple of…wordy phone calls. She's the best. She is honestly the best.

I'm just not sure where to go from here. It feels like my life's on a standstill.

Spider-Man was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost forgot what he was doing. He needed to take a picture of himself for the Bugle. The camera was coming up, hanging from a flagpole in a mini-web hammock. The spot was perfect. The lighting would be just right with the bright decorations of the theater below, so the Webbed Wonder didn't have to worry about being shrouded by the city night. The camera flashed as he swung by, taking the photo. Spider-Man swung back the way he came, pulling the small web-hammock of the flagpole, and the camera along with it.

He landed on the corner of a roof, where he took out of his camera and went to his recent photos. The picture he'd just taken showed up on the screen.

Niiice. I still got it. The suit's a little loose around the keister area, but hey, what're ya gonna do?

Spider-sense! It was a handy part of Spider-Man's powers that alerted him whenever there was danger. He heard police sirens down the road…and gunfire. Spidey webbed up his camera like a backpack, then slung it over his shoulders. He swung off, ready to save the day—or, night.

I could stretch my legs a bit. I don't put on the costume as much as I used to. Too busy… Well, looks like I'll have plenty of time these days.

It wasn't long before he found what his spider-sense had picked up. Two police cars were chasing a black armored truck. It didn't look like anything the cops couldn't handle… But then, the back of the truck opened up, revealing three black-uniformed men, each carrying a machine. They opened fire on the two police cars. They both swerved out of the way to avoid the rain of bullets, but one swerved too powerfully and hit a parked truck. The car caught some big air, rolling like a tumbleweed.

Spider-Man set to work. Innocents before bad guys, he always told himself. He web-zipped forward, sending him at a great speed with little aerial arc. From that moment on, his spider-sense decelerated everything down to slow-motion. As he caught up to the tumbling police car, he put his hands on its underside, grabbing on. The world around him began to speed up again. He and the car rolled in the air two times before they descended to the ground. Spider-Man put his feet out in front of him, landing safely with the car held over his shoulders.

Hoof! This…is…kinda heavy…

The red-and-blue-clad hero gently set the car down, making a small thud. The two cops inside were barely harmed. The extent of it was that the cop in the passenger's seat had a little blood trickling down his nose.

"You guys okay?" he asked them.

"Yeah. Yeah, I… I think we're good, Spidey," said the cop in the driver's seat, clearly short of breath. "Thanks. Now go get 'em."

That was all Spider-Man needed to hear. He swung away, ready to finish his job. He soon spotted the black armored truck, with the three uniformed men in the back, shooting at anything that moved. Spider-Man dived into the truck, tackling one of the men. He punched him in the face, knocking him unconscious.

The other two gawked at Spidey with eyes wide and full of shock. He stood up, looking at them.

"Hmmm. Black truck… Black guns… Black uniforms… Is you guys' favorite color green, by chance?"

The two opened fire on him, but he flipped over their heads, nimbly dodging the rush of bullets.

"I mean, take it from me—black is just…a bit on the nose, y'know?" Spider-Man webbed up both of their guns, flinging the weapons out of the truck. "The only people I know of that look good in black are Black Widow and maaaybe Daredevil. But you guys? Blech! Pardon the trite joke, but, you guys need a visit from the Fashion Police."

The two men took sharp knives out of their uniforms and charged at Spider-Man.

"Oh no! Knives! My kryptonite!"

Spider-Man shot small doses of webbing at their heads, completely covering their faces and blinding them. They both dropped their knives as they tried to claw off the gooey material.

"Gut shot!" called Spider-Man as he kicked on of them in the stomach, sending him bowling over. "Cheap shot!" The webbed hero drove his fist directly into the other man's groin, making him squeal like a baby pig.

Well, now that you two are taken care of, let's see what the driver's up to…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The driver roared the truck through traffic, letting nothing get in his way. He wasn't afraid of the cops. The only person he was even remotely fearful of was—

Nok nok! "Hey, I need a lift! Is this a taxi service?"

The driver saw, to his horror, Spider-Man outside his side window.

"Aw, you're wearing black too? Well, I could give you the same speech I gave to your friends, but I think I'd rather do this…" Spider-Man effortlessly thrust his fist through the window, punching the driver in the face.

"Wow, you guys sure do go to sleep rather quickly. Or it could be the super-strength. Let's go with super-strength. I wouldn't want you guys to sell yourselves short." Spider-Man fired a heavy amount of web fluid on the brake pedal, making the truck come to a complete stop.

Looks like my work here is done. I better head home before Aunt May gets worried. Ugh… I feel like a manchild saying that.

Spider-Man swung off as the armored truck became surrounded by a myriad of police cars. The masked hero barely made it ten blocks before his spider-sense picked up a little boy crying, "My balloon! It's flying awaaay! Nooo!"

Balloons? Not the balloons!

He quickly spotted the floaty object, with the words "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" written in red zany letters. As fast as his webs could take him, Spider-Man rushed forward, grabbing the balloon by its string. He softly descended to sidewalk below. After landing, he looked around, saying, "Someone lose a balloon?"

Just then, he felt a strange creature grab hold of his leg. Looking down, he saw that it was the boy, whose height was almost up to Spidey's knee.

"Thank you, Spider-Man," said a curly-haired woman, no doubt the boy's mother.

"Hey, that's why I do this," Spidey said modestly, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. "For the kids. "Well, mostly for the dental plan, but also for the kids." He gave her the balloon once she was able to peel her child off his leg.

With a bright smile under his mask, Spider-Man swung away, heading home.

NEXT ISSUE: Spider-Man…Dies?

#2: The Life of Peter Parker, Part 2

My name is Norman Osborn—the Green Goblin—and I can kill Spider-Man.

It was seven years ago when my torment and humiliation from him began. Ever since childhood, I was obsessed with strength and power. I ached for it like a dying plant thirsting for water. Under my company, OsCorp, I set out to develop a serum that could give me what I craved so dearly. The chemical compound gave me exactly what I wanted—it brought my body to peak physical condition, and it sharpened my senses and reflexes. I was the perfect human being. But the compound did so much…more. It made me lose my mind. I became schizophrenic. I developed a second personality: the goblin. The goblin and I wanted to display my newly-gained power, so we donned a costume, calling ourselves the Green Goblin. I terrorized New York.

Then, I met the Spider. I became obsessed with defeating him. It wasn't long before I made a crucial discovery. I uncovered Spider-Man's identity. The person—the boy—under the mask was a friend of my son Harry. His name was Peter. Peter Benjamin Parker. I know how to defeat him now. Today's the day. Today will mark the death of the Spider.

I know how his mind works. I know his every weakness. He can be manipulated, just like anyone else. How? He is compassionate. He cares for the people of this city. Such useless sentiments, in my opinion. Compassion can be used as a weakness. It is the perfect bait to set a trap.

All I can do is sit back and relax as I watch my plan unfold. I can't help but smile as the words slither out of my mouth, "Peter Parker is dying today."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was close to the end of the afternoon. The sun was just about set under the horizon, painting the city with a vibrant orange glow. Down below, closer to the streets, one could've assumed that it was night, as the tall buildings cast giant shadows over the busy avenues. The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man swung and flipped through the city, his form as elegant and masterful as ever. And then…

"Help! Someone help us! Please!"

Time seemed to freeze as the webhead looked down, trying to spot the danger. It wasn't long before he saw a middle-aged man pointing a pistol at three innocent civilians—two elderly people, and small boy. The elderly man in particular closely resembled—

"Uncle Ben…" murmured Spidey, his eyes wide in shock.

Without a second thought, Spider-Man went into action. "Hey!" he yelled at the burglar. "Here's a lame joke!"

The burglar spotted the super hero and aimed his gun at him, ready to put a bullet into the webhead.

As he landed, Spider-Man fired a large glob of web-fluid at the crook. He screamed as his entire hand was ensnared by the substance. He could still move his fingers, so he fired the gun repeatedly, hoping it would free his hand—but to no avail. Seconds later, he found himself within a giant ball of webbing, with Spider-Man laughing at him like an infant.

"Someone get me outta here!" the crook cried. "Heeelp!"

Spidey turned to three people he'd saved. "You guys okay? Your lunches're still down?"

"Son…" said the elderly man—the Uncle Ben look-alike. He stepped towards Spider-Man, putting his hand on his shoulders. "…thank you."

"Hey, no biggie. I'm just glad you guys are oka—"

Like a scene straight out of a horror film, the man's face opened like a car door, revealing a black nothingness inside his head.

"What the what?!" Spider-Man exclaimed. What was happening?

Then, a green mist poured out of the man's head and rushed into Spider-Man's face. His vision started becoming foggy, and the world started spinning around him. He lost his balance fell flat onto the cement. The world… Spinning… Trap… Uncle Ben… No…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spider-Man awoke with a start. One second—complete darkness. The next—a large office at the top of a skyscraper. It was completely dark, with giant, ominous curtains protecting the room from the carroty light outside. He was tied to a chair…and his mask was off.

"Hey, what's…going on?" he asked, still a little drowsy. "Where—? Where am I…?"

"Welcome back to OsCorp, Mister Parker," came a slithery, high-pitched voice. "I am so happy that you're here. Hee hee heeee…"

"Osborn…? Osborn, 'zat you? Ugh… My head…"

Suddenly, the room erupted with light. It almost blinded him. After closing his eyes for a few seconds, they regained the strength to see just the important things. Everything was incredibly blurry.

"Yes, Parker, it's me," the voice continued. "It's us. Your greatest adversary. Hee hee ha haaa!"

"Wh-why—? What—? How—?"

"You're wondering how I managed to capture you. Well, 'tiger,' it was all so…simple. Yes, simple!"

"Where are you, you coward?!" Peter yelled, his vision still too cloudy.

"Right behind you, old friend."

Peter froze as he felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head.

"It was so simple. I could've attacked your auntie May. I could've bombed the Daily Bugle. I could've murdered every single organism that's ever looked at you. But I didn't, you see? Ha ha! No, I didn't need to worry about what was under the mask; I just needed to find your greatest weaknessss… I studied you, Spider. I analyzed you. Compassion. That is your greatest weakness. You jump into battle without thinking twice—not one care about you or your well-being. You view it as your greatest strength, don't you? Hahahaaa! Well, trick-or-treat—the joke's on you! The planning was extensive, but it paid off, didn't it? Hee hee! I obtained four life model decoys—a generic burglar, a small boy, an elderly woman, and…a frail old man, resembling your precious Uncle Ben. You couldn't resist, could you? But then again, how could you have known? Ha! The whole thing was staged, Parker! Ha ha hahaha haaa! All I needed was for you to get closer enough and… Rooock-a-by, baaaby, iiin the treetooops… Ha ha!" The gun clicked as Goblin turned the safety off. "Any last words, old friend?"

BLAM! Peter didn't have time to answer. His body sit silently in the chair, limp and lifeless.

"Ssso long, Spidey," giggled the Goblin.

Spider-Man was dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Norman Osborn's eyes slowly opened, his mind reluctant to let the dream end. Someday…it would happen. Someday, he would kill Spider-Man. But for the time being, he could only wait patiently, and dream.

Osborn was a patient as the Ravencroft Institute for the Criminally Insane. In one month, the second year of his stay at the asylum would begin. Needless to say, he hated the place. For nearly two years, he hadn't seen the outside world… Memories of New York were fading away. He tried with all his might to remember OsCorp Tower—the building of his own company—looked light. It was…elegant. He remembered that much. But elegant how? How…? According to the doctors, Osborn's other personality, the Green Goblin, was taking away the memories in an attempt to fully control Norman's body. But…that couldn't be correct. Osborn and the Goblin were friends, and they wanted the same thing: the total annihilation of Spider-Man. They'd been together for six years! Why would the Goblin want to…take over?

Because you're weak, Normie! Ineffectual! Ha haaa!

And alone. Osborn was all alone. Harry had severed his ties to him completely. He'd been kicked out of his own company. All he could do was rot inside a mental asylum, alone with his thoughts and dreams—

—his thoughts and dreams of killing Spider-Man.

It would happen someday. Someday…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was the morning of Peter's first day back at the Bugle. Peter learned this fact from Aunt May herself. She was worse than a hundred alarm clocks. She burst into his room and shook him awake, yelling, "Peter! Wake up! You don't want to be late!"

"Aghuhuhuhu…" groaned Peter, burying his face into his pillow.

"Peter! You don't want me coming in here banging pots together, do you? Wake up!"

"'Mup! I'm up," he said, finally sitting up. His hair was embarrassingly messy, and his eyes were slightly swollen from sleep. "I'm up…"

"Good. Now get showered."

She didn't need to tell him twice. He dashed into the bathroom and turned the hot water, then stripped down and got in.

Fifteen Minutes Later…

Dressed in white dress shirt, black slacks, and red polka dot tie, Peter trekked down the stairs to the kitchen. It was there where he saw May at the stove, cooking some eggs. She had her black, graying hair tied up in a bun, and she wore a simple orange shirt with jeans. She saw her nephew and smiled.

"There you are. I'm just making some breakfast for you."

Peter smiled appreciatively. "Th… That's okay, Aunt May. Thanks, but…I can make my own breakfast. It's no big deal."

May scoffed. "Peter, I've made you breakfast since you were a child. While you're here, I have no intention of stopping that. Besides, I don't think cereal counts as 'making your own breakfast'."

Peter sat down, conceding; there was no use arguing with her. She turned off the stove and put his eggs on a plate, setting it on the table for Peter to dig in. While he did, she poured a glass of orange juice for him as well. He never drank coffee, claiming that it made him too jittery. She sat down next to Peter and commenced eating her own breakfast.

"This is really good, Aunt May," Peter said, smiling at her again. "Thank you."

"You're welcome, Peter," she said. ". . . Peter?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure. What's up?"

"Are you ashamed of being back here, living with me?"

He gave her a puzzled look. ". . . What? No. No, of course not. It's just… I'm just worried about being…bothersome."

"Bothersome? How?"

"I just…" He tried to think of a good way of explaining it. "I know we expected for me to get my own place right after college, and then the whole Horizon thing happened—"

"Peter. We should've known… Life's never gone according to plan. Not for us. What happened at Horizon Labs was completely out of your control. They told you they had a job for you, and then they didn't."

"I know, but… I was really looking forward to working there. Max Modell is, like, my idol. And then he just turns around and rejects me, like I never even existed. Working at the Bugle again is fine and all, but…it's not really what I want to do for the rest of my life. I was born to be a scientist. I wanna help people. I wanna change the world."

May put her hand on her nephew's shoulder. "Peter, a lot of times…we just don't get what we want. No matter how hard we work for it. You put your heart and soul into your studies. You deserve to work at Horizon Labs. But…maybe that's not what life truly wants for you. Maybe you're meant to go down a different path. Or, maybe you are going to be a scientist, and this is just a very large bump in the road. Who knows? I certainly don't."

That made Peter laugh a little. "Very helpful, May."

"Heh. I try. My point is…don't give up, and don't be ashamed to ask for help." She gave his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. "It's what I'm here for. I'm glad you're in this house with me again. Keeps me from feeling lonely." She looked at the clock on the other side of the kitchen. "Oh no, you're gonna be late! Quickly, finish eating. You don't want to miss the bus."

Ugh. Okay, now I really do feel like a manchild. Oi.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later…
The Daily Bugle.

"Wow, Parker, this is crap."

Peter sat back in the chair, not surprised by that comment. "Yes, Mister Jameson."

Jameson looked at the Spider-Man photo like a snobbish critic. "I'm serious. This is horsecrap. I'm talkin' fresh, gooey, straight-outta-the-ass horsecrap."

"Well, I'm…sorry. It was really short notice, so Spider-Man didn't have as much time as usual."

Jameson let out a deep exhale through his nose. "Robbie! Get in here! Now!"

Robbie Robertson, one of Peter's greatest friends at the Bugle, rushed in immediately. "Yeah, Jonah?"

Jameson held out the photo to him. "Here's your front page for tomorrow. For the headline, I was thinkin': 'Dangling Degenerate Puts City in Peril!'"

"I am not printing that, Jonah," Robbie said as he took the photo from Jameson.

"You bet your haircut you are!" Jameson barked.

Robbie left without saying another word.

"Don't you walk away from me!"

"Am I done here, Mister Jameson?" Peter asked.

"Hang on, Parker. I have an assignment for ya."

"An assignment? Really? Already?"

"Yeah. One of my photographers' mom died suddenly. He's headed out home to Oklahoma. You're all I got."

"O-okay. Yeah, sure. I… I'd be more than happy to. . . . Wait, what're you wanting me to do?"

"You ever heard of Stark Magazine Weekly?"

Oh dear God. "Uh… Yeah?"

"Their swimsuit issue's coming out this month—"

No. Please, God, no.

"—and I need you to go to the release party. Most o'the models are gonna be there."

My favorite word ever: ugh. I absolutely hate Stark Magazine Weekly. And just Tony Stark in general. Their swimsuit issues half-convince me that women were just created to be objects for guys to gawk at. Even Playboy would be like, "Whoa, you guys need to chill down a bit." It's revolting.

"Sure thing, Mister Jameson, sir," Peter said in a façade of enthusiasm. "I would…love to do that."

"Perfect, 'cause no one else did. I'm actually kinda judging you right now. Anyway, the party's tomorrow night at 8. Be there."

It took every atom in his body for Peter not to roll his eyes. "Yes, sir."

"Perfect. Now go with Mister Urich and take pictures of pigeons or trees or something."

Peter got up from his seat and walked out of Jameson's office, heading back into the newsroom. He simply could not wait to go to that party. Yippee…

NEXT ISSUE: Mary Jane Watson!

#3: An Electric Entrance

So, here I am, the "esteemed" photographer Peter Parker, at a release party for a sleazy billionaire's magazine's swimsuit issue. Woo-wee. You know, when I'm done here, I'm gonna stop by a church and pray for forgiveness for about half-an-hour. Then, when I get home, I'm gonna wash out my eyes with soap. Then, right before I go to bed, I'll pray a little more.

Y'know, I love Tony Stark. I really do. He's a science god, and the stuff he's done as Iron Man is honestly incredible. And I think it's great that he's devoting so much time and money to that tiny section of the city that was destroyed in the Avengers battle from a few weeks ago. But… He's such a…dick. He has his own magazine, Stark Weekly, which has very little to do with science, and uses it to be a less weird Hugh Hefner.

Peter stood with the rest of the press, taking photos of each model as they walked down the carpet. Only Tony Stark could make the release of an issue like the release of a movie. Peter felt like he was the premiere of a summer blockbuster. Surprisingly, the models were dressed very elegantly, comforting the young man somewhat. Ten or so women came out, and Peter got some quality photos of all of them.

He scrolled through the pics on the screen of his camera, and right away he noticed something. One of the girls looked very familiar—too familiar, actually.

Is… Is that Mar—? No, no, it can't be. She's too slim, and her hair's blonde. It's not her. It's not—

Peter kept his stare on her. There definitely was that sense of familiarity exhuming from her. Especially in her smile. He…knew her. He was sure of it. There was still a small part of him that refused to believe it. No way would he be lucky enough to see one of his old close friends—

"Look! Up in the sky!"

"Is… Is that him?"

"It is! It's him!"

"It's Iron Man!"

Peter looked around in stupor as the horde of photographers around him started firing off their cameras toward the orange evening sky. A faint sonic boom cracked among the clouds, splitting them open. A figure emerged from those clouds and dived headfirst toward the party. Light blue lights were decorated over the signature red and yellow suit. Peter watched as the figure fell faster and faster. Just before he hit the ground, the invincible Iron Man slowed to a complete stop, then softly landed. Everyone clapped and cheered, basking the Golden Avenger in thunderous applause. Peter only clapped slowly, scowling to himself.

Wow. Guy sure loves to make an entrance.

The suit opened up, revealing the man inside. Everyone applauded even louder as Tony Stark stepped out, dressed in a fitted tuxedo. He closed his eyes and spread his arms outward, as if all the adoration powered him—like Superman and the sun. He turned and ran up on the podium (which is something many people confuse with a lectern), where he could get even more ovation and approval.

He strolled to the left side of the podium, where a microphone was standing. He grabbed it and held it up to his bearded face, saying, "You all having fun tonight?"

The reply was a resounding "Yeah!", followed by more clapping and cheering. Peter was a little irritated that his fellow Photographers of the Press were acting so immature. Then again, whenever Tony Stark was involved, any sense of maturity was thrown out the window.

"Great to hear. Oh, and just to let you guys know…you're all going home with a free copy of the swimsuit issue."

Peter's face met the palm of his hand.

"Y'know, I… I wanna do something that…I don't often do, I want to say thank you."

Peter looked up at the billionaire, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. WHAT?!

"If it wasn't for all of you—aaall of you—the magazine wouldn't be where it is today. You guys helped it shape into what it's become."

Is that a compliment or an insult?

"So, I just want to say…thank you. Without you guys, I couldn't—"

Zzzzzzzzzzzatt! Just then, the power went out. Every person started panicking as everything was shrouded in nothing but black darkness. Tony was trying to say something to calm everyone down, but his microphone wasn't working, so no one could hear him.

Peter's spider-sense was going off like crazy. He'd been in the Spider-Man game long enough that he could guess what was about to happen. Blackout? That almost always meant a certain sparky villain was on his way.

And he was right. Peter hated it when he was right. A yellow beam of light erupted from one of the light fixtures above. The beam touched the floor, and a human figure started to form… All hell broke loose. Peter almost fell down as the waves of people rushed past him, running for their lives. Tony stayed on the podium, slowly walking backwards into his Iron Man armor. Peter joined the horde of people, looking for a spot where he could change into his other clothes…

As the electricity ceased its pouring from the light fixture, it formed into a man—a man dressed in a green suit decorated with two large thunderbolts, coupled with a yellow mask. The power came back on, revealing the area to be completely empty. Everyone had run off to safety. Now it was only Iron Man and—

"Electro," said the armored Avenger. "Mind telling me why you're here?"

"I thought I'd crash your party," the villain replied, bursts of yellow energy sparking from his fingertips. "I wanted to dish out some…payback."

"Payback for what?"

"Destroying my home."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Few Weeks Ago…
Belmont, Southern Bronx.

"Hahahahaaa! Freeze, everybody! Freeeeze!"

People ran for their lives as spheres of blue light flew this way and that. Whenever a sphere hit something, large clusters of ice grew from the spot. And whenever a sphere hit a person, ice would cover them like a blanket and send them into a statue-like state.

There, standing in the middle of the street on top of a wrecked car, stood Donnie Gill, but to most people he was known as the super-villain Blizzard. He fired more and more spheres with his arms cannons like an erratic maniac—because he was an erratic maniac. He laughed like a toddler as he watched himself cover the area in ice. He wore power armor similar to Iron Man's. The top half of his torso and his arms were black-colored, and his helmet, his legs, and the bottom half of his torso were light blue.

"Run, ants!" he screamed at the fleeing civilians. "Ruuun! Hahaha!"

He spotted a fleeing woman with an infant in her arms. Smiling underneath the helmet, Blizzard pointed his arm cannons at them, ready to kill them personally. Once a sphere of light had formed within the cannon, he fired. But it didn't hit the woman and her baby. Just before it could, a red laser beam pierced through it, making it erupt into a harmless cloud of steam.

"Aw, hell," Blizzard muttered. "Iron Man's here. Iron Man— No, no, this is what I wanted. He's supposed to be here. I'm gonna kill him once and for all."

"Huh. As interesting as that proposition sounds," said a voice, "I'm sadly gonna have to decline. You're done here, Donnie." The Golden Warrior dropped down from the sky, landing only a few yards in front of Blizzard.

"Ohhh, you know I won't be done 'til this whole city's nothing but ice. I'm not afraid of you anymore, Stark."

"C'mon, Gill, let's be—"

"Not afraid!" Blizzard repeated spastically.

"Let's be big boys and stop this before anyone else gets hurt, yeah?" Iron Man suggested, acting as if he knew everything was under control. Oh, how wrong he was…

"Not afraid!"

The frosty villain tackled the armored hero, using the thrusters on his feet and back. Iron Man could only grunt as he skidded along the street, black pavement getting all over his suit. Blizzard's static but maniacal laughter penetrated his sensors, making his ears feel like they were going to explode.

"Hahahaha! Y'like that, Stark? Bet you do. I can fly now, too. Let me show ya…"

Blizzard wrapped his arms around Iron Man, and the two took off into the sunny sky. He screamed in panic as he squirmed in the villain's arms, struggling feebly to escape. He rapidly fired repulsor rays from his hands in hopes of hitting…well, something. He yelled again as Blizzard laughed into his helmet—not only messing up his audio sensors, but his visuals as well; all Iron Man could see was static. He writhed in Blizzard's grip and fired off his repulsors as fast as his suit could let him. Finally, a beam brushed against the side of the chilled villain's left arm cannon, causing him to pull his arm away. However, the cannon sparked, and a blue sphere of light launched from it…

…and hit the roof of a building, painting it in a thick layer of ice.

"Oh no…" Iron Man said as he freed himself from Blizzard's grasp, returning his visual and audio sensors to normal. "Thermal scan. Go."

Iron Man's eyes turned red as visual settings changed. In the building, he saw a huge myriad of people.

"My god… It's an apartment complex. Great."

"Keep your guard up, old man!" Blizzard yelled as he charged into the Golden Avenger again, sending him flying backwards.

Gah… Things are probably gonna get ugly. I need those people out of that building.

He raised his left arm, releasing a small, teardrop-shaped drone from his armor. The tiny gizmo dived downward toward the complex. It entered through an open window, where a bald man sat on his bed watching television. His name was Max Dillon, though he was more commonly known as the villain Electro. The drone started emitting a fashing red light, and it spoke in a light, female voice: "WARNING. IT IS NOT SAFE HERE. PLEASE EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

The drone zipped out of his apartment, repeating, "WARNING. IT IS NOT SAFE HERE. PLEASE EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

Max and many of his fellow tenants stepped out of their apartments, understandably confused. One of them, an aged man with a mustache, stuck his head out of the window and looked up. "Hey, guys, in th'sky, Iron Man's fighting…er, Icebot, or whatever th'hell 'is name is."

Max trekked down the hall and grabbed the guy's shoulder, saying simply and firmly, "Move." He pulled the man away, almost making fall. Max poked his head out to see, and, sure enough, Iron Man and Blizzard were fighting high in the sky, directly above the complex. Max could also see sharp, slanted icicles on the roof.

He pulled his head back in, closing the window. "We should probably do what that little gadget said," he stated as he made his way to the stairs. Everyone else quickly followed.

Back outside, Blizzard fired a small sphere at Iron Man, hitting him in the chest. The Avenger panicked as he descended—slow at first, but as he fell further, he quickly picked up speed. His body slammed onto the frozen roof, causing tens of skinny cracks to sprawl out from him like water. He tried to get up, but no avail; his suit just wouldn't let him. Inside, Tony felt like he was under the world's heaviest blanket. All he could do was watch helplessly as Blizzard landed on top of him, feetfirst.

Max and every one of the apartments tenants had made it outside when they heard a chilling THOOMMM!

"Holy hell!" someone shouted. "That guy just slammed his full weight on Iron Man!"

"On his feet, too! Probably hurt like crap…"

Kkkrrrrrrrck… The icicles suddenly snapped, falling to the ground below. Cracks and crumbles dropped from the roof. Max couldn't believe it… The building was—

With a sound like thunder, the roof collapsed onto itself. Then the top floor… Then floor below that… Then the floor below that… Max and the tenants could only look on in horror as the building tumbled down like a brittle piece of plastic. A giant cloud of gray dust swallowed them as the complex let out one last thud of destruction. Luckily, no one was hurt. The worst of it was that they were all coughing, and dirty.

Blizzard cackled again as he flew off. With a yell of rage, Iron Man emerged from the dust and took off after him. Electro watched, his brows tight and his lips scowling. Yellow energy flashed across his eyes.

"WARNING. IT IS NOT SAFE HERE. PLEASE EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY."

The teardrop-shaped drone was still flying around, as if the danger hadn't even happened yet. Max's eyes fell upon it.

"WARNING. IT IS NOT SAFE HERE. PLEASE EVA—"

Zat! A tiny bolt of lightning came out of Max's finger and weaved violently through the drone, splitting the device in half. It fell to the cement.

"You'll pay for this, Stark," Max growled.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present Day.

"That's why I'm here," Electro said, finishing his story. "I finally—finally—had a home, and you destroyed it."

"Electro, I… I'm sorry," Iron Man said. But, unsurprisingly, he continued with, "But Blizzard destroyed that building, not me. Wasn't my fault—I was just trying to fend him off."

"That building wouldn't've gotten destroyed if you weren't so…incompetent!" Electro said, pointing his finger at the Golden Avenger (which made him flinch).

"I reimbursed every person that lived there. I set up a phone number just for those people. All you had to do was contact me and—" He stopped, as a realization occurred to him. "Wait. You didn't get a check, did you? No, you didn't. You couldn't. You would've been exposed as Electro, so you weren't able to. That what this is really about, Max?"

"Shut up!" He threw a dense lightning bolt at Iron Man, but he slipped out of the way, making the bolt rip through the stage curtain instead. "God, you're almost more annoying than the spider-yutz…"

"'Almost more than'? Very eloquent, Mister Dillon," said a voice. Spider-Man swopped in and hung upside-down from a light fixture. "Are you breaking up with me, sparks? What—you're with Iron Mannow? I… I thought there was something special between us, Max! What does Stark have that I don't? . . . Uh, please don't answer that."

"Shut up!" Electro shouted again. He formed a ball of electricity in his hand and threw it at the webslinger, but Spidey was quick and front-flipped over it. He web-zipped forward, lunging himself at Electro and ready to land a serious punch. He was only mere feet away from him when a repulsor beam hit him. He skidded along the red carpet, groaning in pain.

He looked up at Iron Man and yelled, "You just repulsor-blasted me! What gives, man?!"

"Not your fight, kid," Iron Man said. "Go home before you really get hurt."

"No! I won't let you ruin a good relationship!"

In a literal flash, Electro appeared in front of Iron Man. "Your suit runs on electricity. Nice." He put his hands on the armored hero's chest and unloaded as much electricity as his fingers could let him. Iron Man let out a blood-curdling scream, making a demonic smile appear on Electro's face.

Two lines of webbing stuck themselves onto his back. Spider-Man used all of his strength to pull back and yank him off Iron Man. Electro turned around and put his hands on the two webs.

Oh dear. Oh no. Oh f—

Electricity coursed the web-fluid and into Spider-Man's web-shooters. He yelped as they both exploded, flying off his wrists.

Well, this is just perfect! No web-shooters. That's frickin' fantast—

Electro put both fists together and released one giant wave of yellow energy. It rushed into Spider-Man like a giant punch, making him crash through a wall and fly out the building. He was so used to his webs that he actually trying pressing the trigger to his 'shooters, but was quickly remind that they weren't even there. Arms and legs flailing helplessly, he soared into the night sky. Once he was approximately 50 feet in the air, he started falling. The press, models, and other guests all gasped as they watched the Webbed Wonder spiral down like a meteor. He closed his eyes, ready for impact.

And yet, his fall was cushioned. Spider-Man landed in a small huddle of five or six models. Most of them were okay, but Spidey's butt had landed on one's head, causing her to slam her face into the pavement. All became quiet, expect for Spider-Man.

"No no no no no!"

He helped the woman lie on her back. Her nose had been absolutely destroyed.

Crap, crap, crap, crap! Please don't let it be a career-ender, please don't let it be a career-ender... Just my luck too that I would land on a supermodel.

Relief washed over him when she let out a cough. She opened her eyes, immediately glaring at him. "Thanks, asshole! You broke my damn nose! I'm gonna sue!"

A couple of gentlemen in suits rushed to her side, one of them covering her nose in a thick stack of tissues. As they helped her up, she muttered, "God, I think I got a concussion, too…"

"Uh… S-sorry," he said as she and gentlemen walked off. He gave a defeated shrug, shaking his head. "Well, it's a good thing I'm a paperweight. Ugh."

A hand was put on his shoulder. "She'll be fine…Pete," a voice whispered.

Spider-Man looked up to see Mary Jane Watson herself standing over him.

#4: Blonde-Haired Stranger

M.J.?!

Spider-Man stared up at the green-eyed radiance, completely taken aback. It was her. But she looked so…different. She seemed much more mature. Her hair was now dark blonde, and her skin tone was a shade of tan Spider-Man didn't think was possible. She was…

…beautiful.

Of course, Peter always thought she was beautiful, which is why he was stammering non-stop.

"Uh— Heh… H— I… Wha— Um… Mah… Fu—"

Mary Jane could only laugh. "God, you're such a dork, Peter."

His face was redder than his mask. One could easily visualize pink hearts popping around him like bubbles. He was pulled out of his dreamy state when a harsh cry of pain erupted from the auditorium. Electro and Iron Man were still at it. Spider-Man's eyes fell half-lidded as he managed to stand, face-to-face with Mary Jane.

He tried speaking again. "I, um… I gotta— I need to, um… They need—"

"Go get 'em, Pete," she said. "I'll call you later, okay? You still have the same number?"

"Er… Uh…. Y-yeah," he mustered.

"Great! I gotta go. Kick Electro's ass for me, okay? You and I can talk later."

With that, Mary Jane walked away, joining the horde of people surrounding the girl with the broken nose. The wall-crawler just stood there, completely dumbfounded. It felt as if a million things had occurred all at once, in a span of just seconds. He was battling Electro, and then Mary Jane Watson was…talking to him?

. . . Riddle me this—what just happened?

This was all a hallucination—he was sure of it. That electric blast had knocked him unconscious and now he was dreaming. This was all so quick and too sudden. He didn't even convey a complete thought to Mary Jane.

"Hey! Spidey!" someone yelled. "Wake the hell up an' go back in there!"

Spider-Man roused from his stupor and fired a web. Or, at least, he tried to, and nothing happened.

Dammit, my web-shooters are still blown to smithereens…

And so, Spider-Man had to run back into the dome on foot. He dashed through the glass doors, where he saw Electro whaling on Iron Man with his electric fists.

Keep your head in the game, Pete. Pretend that whatever just happened didn't really happen. . . . God, M.J. looked fantastic. It's so cool that she gets to do stuff like this, going all over the place and— Focus, Pete, focus! Electro's about to take the "Man" part out of "Iron Man." Max must've really gotten screwed over by him. 'Course, he's probably part of a looong line.

I need to get Electro's attention. I'll unleash one of my signature devastatingly clever quips.

"Hey! Mister Electric!"

Electro swung his head backward, shooting the webslinger a deathly glare. Iron Man melted to the floor like a ragdoll as he was let go. "Why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Hey, lay off Stark, okay? The guy's probably jelly inside his suit by now."

He wasn't, however. Those few seconds Spider-Man had given him were all he needed. The arc reactor in the middle of his chest changed from a light blue to a dark crimson. Electro turned back around just in time to feel a Unibeam punch directly into him.

"I'd hate…to…do this," Iron Man grunted as the Unibeam stormed into Electro like heat vision, "but…I'm done…holding…back."

"Gaaaaaaahhhh!"

Electro's scream shook Spidey to his core. It wasn't just any cry of pain—

Oh God… He's— He's killing him!

Electro's skeleton was completely visible as the beam grew larger and engulfed him. The red energy rushed past him and into the wall, like a train running off its tracks.

"Raaaaaaaaagh! Aaaaahhhhh!"

"Stark! What the hell are you doing to him?!" yelled Spider-Man through the clamor. It was as if there really was a train storming past.

"I'm unzipping his molecules."

He's what-ing his what?

"Aaaaaaarrrgh!"

"You're gonna kill him!"

"I know. I'm sorry…"

No way was anyone dying tonight. Spider-Man leapt into the air and dropkicked the Golden Avenger, knocking the Unibeam off-course. The turn of Iron Man's body forced the beam to tear into the ceiling, delivering a jumble of rubble and debris to the floor. Iron Man shut the beam off before he could tear the whole ceiling in half—just in time.

Electro collapsed to the floor, his body glowing a bright pink. Crimson strings of electricity crackled around him.

"What—did—you—do?" Spider-Man demanded.

"I have no idea," said Iron Man.

Electro let out one final groan, then retreated into the nearest light fixture, disappearing completely. The webhead and the shellhead remained sitting, both completely exhausted.

"I… I had to do it," the armored hero said. "Didn't want to, but I had to. There wasn't any other option."

Spider-Man scoffed. "Dude, c'mon—there's always another way."

People began filling the area again, knowing the danger was gone. Despite all the wreckage (ninety percent of it from Iron Man), they began to clap and cheer for the two heroes. Spider-Man immediately sat up, trying to spot Mary Jane in the crowd, but failed. She'd already left, he figured.

"See ya around, Spider-Guy," Iron Man said, standing up and flying away.

"It's Spider-Man," he muttered as he watched him zip into the night sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Next Morning…
The Daily Bugle.

"Christ, Peter…" Robbie said, holding the photo in his hands. "This is… Wow."

"It's good?" the young man asked.

"Hell yeah it's good. Ben, come out here an' look at this!"

Ben Urich came out of his office, shutting the door behind him. He hurried to the middle of the newsroom, where Robbie and Peter were. The reporter put his glasses on as the photo was handed to him.

His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets. "Dang… You took this, Peter?"

He nodded. "Yep. Almost got my butt zapped off, too."

"Wow. This is like— I don't know, like a poster to an action movie or something."

"Let me see," said Betty, joining in. The secretary gripped the photo from Ben. "Man, that's— Woo. Great job, Pete."

"How'd you even take that, Peter?" Robbie asked.

Peter only shrugged, pretending to be nonchalant. "Eh, I was just…really hungry for the shot. I, um, found a good place to hide and…snap."

"Damn…" mused Robbie as he, Ben, and Betty took one last glance at the photo.

Of course, that's a fib. When I was changing into my suit I hid my camera near a corner in a web. And I actually did get my butt zapped off.

"You think Jonah will like it?"

"Definitely. Let's go show it to 'im."

The group of three crossed the newsroom into Jameson's office.

The editor-in-chief glared at them. "What, you guys never heard of knocking?"

"Look at this, Jonah," Robbie said, handing him the photo. "Peter took that."

Jameson held it a slight ways in front of him so his eyes could see it clearly. The image was Spider-Man, Iron Man, and Electro fighting. Electro's body was in the foreground, his back turned to the camera. Spidey and Iron Man were in front of him in the background. It was like the cover of a comic book.

"Eh. 'Spretty good," Jameson said simply. He gave it back to Robbie. "Title it, 'Iron Man vs. Electro and Spider-Man!'"

Robbie rolled his eyes and left, Ben and Betty following close behind.

"What're you still doin' here, Parker? Waitin' for money? You get paid at the end of the week, like everyone else."

"I was just wondering, what're you going to do with the photos I was supposed to take? The ones of the Stark Weekly models?"

"Huh?" His eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, those! We'll just put 'em on the website or something. Good work to you and all that, Parker. There's the door."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later That Evening…

It'd been a long day at work for Peter. The perfect ending to a disappointing day was a good web-swing through the city. The gentle breeze rushing past… The sight of all those ant-sized people under his feet… The thrilling sensation of complete and glorious freedom… Of course, that was when Spider-Man still had his webs. Peter sulked like a sad teenager knowing that he'd have to make the trip from Manhattan to Queens…on foot.

On a good day, it would only take him thirty minutes to swing from the Bugle over to Forest Hills. It took Peter over two hours. His options were a bus—which he hated—or the train—which he also hated—or putting on the suit and jumping from rooftop to rooftop like an imbecile. Peter chose the train.

Exhausted yet triumphant, he made it to Aunt May's house. The sky was nearly black with night, save for the layer of orange over the horizon. Peter walked into the house. He expected to see his aunt in the kitchen making dinner, but instead she was at the dining table, fast asleep. An array of papers surrounded her slumbering form. Peter was never one to snoop, especially when it came to Aunt May, but his piquing curiosity got the better of him. He picked up one piece of paper. It was a letter…from the bank. Peter let out a long exhale as he read the big, red letters: "FORCLOSURE – Final Notice".

May began to stir. Peter quickly put the letter where he found it and ran upstairs to his room. Instant regret coursed through him. Running his fingers through his hair, he paced around his room distraughtly.

Wh…why didn't she tell me this? I thought we were doing…well for once. When we got the first notice, she said everything was gonna be fine. We went from that to "final notice"? Hell, a big part of the reason why I ran back to the Bugle was because it was the best way to make good money quickly. Why hasn't that been helping? God, I really am a burden. I… I don't even know what's going on anymore. There's the whole thing with Mary Jane. Electro's still out there. I have to make completely new web-shooters. Stark's still making money with that stupid magazine. And now we might lose this house.

This house… Peter grew up in this house. He kissed Mary Jane in this house. Uncle Ben died in this house. It held too many memories; it couldn't be swiped from them. How did—?

Nok nok! "Peter, are you in there?" came Aunt May's voice.

"Yeah. Just a sec."

Crap crap crap crap! What should I do? Should I tell her that I know? Should I keep quiet? Neither of those options is desirable, so I guess I'm screwed.

Nok nok!

"Coming." He opened his door, revealing Aunt May and her weary but kind smile. "Hey, Aunt May."

"When'd you get home? You're usually back an hour and a half from now."

"Oh. Yeah." He shrugged, trying to be casual and carefree. "I had to take the train, so…"

She gave him a quizzical look. "Don't you always take the train?"

Peter froze. "Uuuuuuummm. It was…a different train. I was late for the one I usually take."

"Ah. I see. Well, I'm sorry I didn't make dinner. I just… Whew. Don't know what came over me. I just fell asleep. I'm only 52, not 80."

Peter smiled. "Heh. I could make something, if you wa—"

"No, no, it's okay, Pete." She turned to leave, then moved to him again. "Oh! Have you heard from Mary Jane yet?"

"Nope. Not yet."

"Well, I for one am glad that you two are gonna reconnect. She was always a sweet girl. You had a crush on her the second you two met."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Ugh, don't remind me."

"Good night, sweetie." She gave him a kiss on the cheek, ruffling his hair affectionately. He watched her as she left. There was his chance. He could've nonchalantly reminded her about the first foreclosure notice. Or, he could've flat-out said that he noticed the letter from the bank. But he didn't. He only closed his door as May went downstairs, and he didn't even know why.

#5: The Date, Prelude

Ravencroft Institute, 11:47 PM.

Norman sat upright on his bed, arms crossed and eyes closed, and his breathing slow & deliberate. His eyes opened as the green lights in his cell suddenly turned pink. He didn't even blink as a concentrated stream of cotton candy-colored electricity poured from the lights onto the floor. His eyebrows did rise slightly as the electricity swirled like a small tornado, forming into a human figure—a figure that looked directly at Norman.

"Dillon," Osborn said simply, not a trace of surprise or intrigue in his voice. "Pink. New color scheme? It suits you."

"OzZzborn," Electro said. His voice was heightened in pitch and heavily distorted. He sounded like a person speaking into a thousand fans at once. "I neEeEd your help. Iron MaAan and Spider-Man—they did this to me. I want to sSstrike back. Make 'em pay."

Norman finally showed some expression with a smirk. "I'm listening."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Next Morning…

The Daily Bugle.

"Close your eyes, Mister Jameson, and imagine. Imagine a world without Spider-Man—a world where we don't have menaces in masks or crazies in costumes. Can you picture it?"

Jameson nodded firmly, a fairly pleasant look on his face—much different from his usual cherry-skinned, nostrils-flared expression. "Yes. Yes, I do."

The man grinned. Behind him was a poster of Spider-Man, but with a red circle around him with a diagonal line cut through it, a typical symbol for contraband such as drugs or rock music. The man in question was Thomas Wynn, a candidate for the position of Manhattan district attorney. His thin, black hair was slicked back, and the shape of his eyebrows gave him a consistently arrogant disposition.

He continued his speech. "For years, Spider-Man has been at the forefront of conflict and unrest. It's my belief that, if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have these abominations such as the Green Goblin, Sandman, or Electro. Wasn't it odd how they popped up shortly after Spider-Man came along? He's the problem, not them." He paused, catching himself. "Er… I mean, he's most of the problem. People like the Vulture or Mysterio or Kraven or Shocker are definitely part of the problem too, but Spider-Man was—um, what's the word? Cat…catalyst? Yeah—the catalyst for all of them. If, or—heh—when, elected, I, Thomas Wynn, will solve the spider-problem efficiently and personally. People like Captain America and Iron Man and the Fantastic Four are fine, but Spider-Man? He works alone. He answers to no one. We don't even know his name, or anything about the guy under the mask for that matter. He's brought pointless violence to this great city."

"Didn't Iron Man tear a hole in the middle of his own party?" asked Robbie, who was standing in the corner.

"Hey, stuff happens," Wynn replied. "Mister Jameson, with your endorsement, it will only boost my confidence that there are people that think Spider-Man is a detriment to New York, and that there are people that think something should be done about him." He paused again, thinking of anything to add. "He's poisoning the minds of our children, too. Halloween's only a couple months away, and can you even fathom the number of kids that'll be wearing Spider-Man costumes? It's gross. It'd despicable. It's— It's like they're in a cult."

Robbie squinted at Wynn, whispering to himself, "What?" Ben, who was standing next to him, only shook his head.

"Last Halloween, all these kids dressed as Spider-Man kept coming to my house at Oyster Bay Cove, and it—it almost made me cry. I saw all these kids, hypnotized by that freak. Not one month later, I saw this fashion show where the girls were walking down the runway, wearing Spider-Man-colored dresses. Dresses! He's got so many people strung up in his web. When I'm elected, Mister Jameson, people won't even remember who Spider-Man was by my third week in office. He'll be dealt with that swiftly."

"Are you saying Spider-Man should be…killed?" asked Ben.

"What? No! No, I'm saying he should be arrested. No. I wish I could kill him, but then I'd be no better than him, now would I? I'd be betraying this justice system that I hold so dearly." He turned again to Jameson. "So, whaddaya say, JJ? Are you in?"

The editor-in-chief stood up, staring at Wynn. "Yes. Yes!" He started clapping with glee. "Yes! You're exactly the guy I've been hoping for! You have the Bugle's full support, Mister Wynn. How about on Friday, we'll do a piece on you. I can send Urich and Parker—"

"Ooo." Wynn winced. "You mean Peter Parker?"

"Uh, yeah?"

Wynn shook his head. "That won't do. Peter Parker takes pictures of Spider-Man, right? They're all stylized and cheesy?"

"'Stylized'…?"

"Yeah. He and Spider-Man are most likely friends. I don't want a photo by him attached to my campaign, if you catch my drift. I… I was hoping you could do the piece, just by yourself. Peter is just…yuck. And Mister Urich, no offense to you, but you're a little too, uh…nosey."

Ben raised his eyebrows. Jameson slowly sank back into his chair, his enthused aura slowly fading.

"I mean, JJ, I don't mean any of this personally, but your staff is just a little… I don't know. Subpar, I guess."

He furrowed his brow. "Subpar."

"Yeah. Again, no offense to anyone. But I'm here for you, JJ."

"Stop calling me that."

Wynn nodded. "Yeah, sure. Definitely. It's just that…I think you're a genius, Mister Jameson. It's sad to see you working, well, here. Again, no offense to anyone. I'm sure you're all great people, but you're just not…good press, I guess. Aside from you, Mister Jameson. And again, no offense. With both our stances on Spider-Man, I feel like we cou—"

"Get out."

". . . What?"

"I said get out."

"B-but… But I thought we were—"

"Yeah, we were, 'til you went and attacked my staff. Now get out."

"A-attack?! I didn't mean any offense, and—"

"Just between you and me, pal," Jameson said, leaning forward, closer to Wynn, "the phrase 'no offense' means jack-diddily to me. I respect a man that doesn't beat around the bush, which you clearly are not doing. Now get out! Out of my office, out of my building, and out of my life!"

"Fine!" Wynn said, standing up. He threw his hands in the air. "I'll just…go to the Times, then!"

"Good! Go insult their staff! Lord knows they need it."

Wynn rolled his eyes and sighed like a disgusted teenager. He stormed out of Jameson's office, taking his anti-Spider-Man poster with him.

Peter was sitting at his desk, working in Photoshop on his computer. He looked up to see the slick-haired man grumbling past. He gulped quietly as Wynn shot him a scornful glare. Jameson, Robbie, and Ben followed him to the elevator, making sure he was leaving.

"Before ya go," Jameson said as Wynn stepped into the elevator, jabbing a finger in his direction, "if you ever spew verbal vomit on my staff again, your own mama won't recognize you."

Wynn was just about to show the editor a certain finger until the doors closed.

"God," Jameson muttered. He shook his head as he started making his way back to his office, hands on his hips. "I was really liking that guy, too. Robbie. Do any of the other candidates have Spider-Freak as part of their campaign? Any that we could endorse?"

"No."

"Crap!"

"Hey, Ben," Peter said before the reporter walked past his desk. "What was that all about? Who was that guy?"

"Thomas Wynn. He's running for district attorney. He's using Spider-Man as the basis of his campaign. That's it—that's all he focuses on."

"Oh, like, he supports Spider-Man?"

Ben gave Peter a look.

"Yeah, didn't think so."

"Yeah. Then he started giving us crap in the most passive-aggressive way possible. 'You kinda suck! No offense.' I think he was just trying to butter Jonah up."

Peter leaned back in his chair as Ben went to his own office. He ran all ten of his fingers through his hair, sighing deeply.

Life just doesn't stop with the surprises, does it? Now there's a guy running for district attorney, using me? Have these past years meant nothing? Why is it that, out of all the super heroes in the world, I'm the one that gets the most flack? Never mind Iron Man, who literally was about to kill a guy. I don't even wanna think about the guys he's already killed. Meanwhile, my body count is approximately zero point zero zero zero, and guys like Thomas Wynn want to get rid of me? Oof.

I just… I can't let it get to me. I don't do this for wealth or fame—even if a few "thank yous" would be nice. I do it because it's my job to. I have nothing to worry about anyway; Wynn's probably not gonna elected in the first place.

His mood now becoming more content, Peter set back to work, a little smile on his face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later…

This time, Peter's commute home only took him one hour and forty-five minutes. He was moving on up. As he tiredly dragged his heavy feet into Aunt May's house, he was surprised to see her nowhere. She wasn't in the kitchen, or in the dining, or even in the living room. Out of habit, panic started to well up within Peter's gut.

"May? You here? Aunt May?" he called.

Peter couldn't fight the sense of dread coursing through him. Probably his biggest fear was his enemies finding out who he was and going after the people he loved. He resisted jumping that conclusion, and walked through the house to search for her. Relief washed over him as he peeked into her room and saw her lying on her bed, fast asleep. But it was only 7:15… He thought about going in, just to check on her, but then she rolled on her side, her back facing him. He went back to the living room and grabbed his phone, then ordered a pizza.

An idea struck him. He walked a few paces into the dining room, spotting May's wallet on the dinner table.

I… I shouldn't do this. She would hate me if I did. But…this is something I need to do.

Peter reached into his own wallet. He had thirty dollars. He would need ten to pay for the pizza, so that only left him with twenty. As quietly as he could, he took out fifteen dollars and put it into his aunt's wallet. She never would've accepted the money person. Peter doubted she would even take one cent from him, so he had to do this in secret. God knew she needed it more than he did. He moved her wallet back to its original position and hurried back to the living room. He crashed onto the couch, exhaling deeply.

I know that I just did something really good, but why does it feel so…wrong?

Peter brushed it off. That was the last thing he needed to eat at him then. He turned on the TV, putting on Family Feud. He sat back and relaxed, letting his mind continue to reel.

Jeez, I still need to make new web-shooters. From scratch. I can barely even remember how I made the originals those years back. I'm sure I made blueprints, or at least took notes, right? All I can remember for sure is that it was ex-pen-sive. Ironically I had more money then than I do now. Man, I am not looking forward to the inevitable affair when Dock Ock goes on another rampage and I have to fight him without webs. I'm supposed to be saving money to get my own place, but instead I'm spending it on Spider-Man and giving it to Aunt May. I'm not bothered by the latter at all, but the former? Yeah, kinda. At least I'll be saving money by not having to make web-fluid. So that's something, right? Maybe I can—

Doooo doo doo! Doooo doo doo! His cell phone was ringing. Peter grabbed it off the coffee table, half-expecting it to be the pizza place telling they'd run out of ingredients for the dough or something. He answered it without even looking. "Hello?"

"Hi, Pete, it's me. Sorry for taking so long to call."

Peter immediately sat up. "Em…M.J.? H-hi! God, it's—it's so nice to hear from you! How've you been?"

"I'm great! I'm really, really great. It was so awesome to see you at the release party the other night. How've you been?"

"Oh, uh, pretty good. It's… It's pretty much been same ol' same ol' for me. I moved back in with Aunt May after I graduated—"

"You were at Empire State, right?"

"Yeah. After I graduated, some stuff happened—of course—and May let me stay with her until we get things sorted out. I'm working at the Bugle again."

"Yeah, I saw that photo on the front page the other day. It was— That was definitely something. You… You've always been a really good photographer."

Peter blushed. "Heh… Well, I literally get paid to take selfies, among other things, so…yeah. It's great. I didn't realize how much I missed the Bugle until I came back, y'know?"

"Yeah…"

". . ."

". . ."

". . ."

Mary Jane finally broke the silence. "So, my schedule got cleared up for next Friday, so I was calling to see if maybe you wanted to go to a movie? Maybe eat something afterwards?"

"Y-yeah! I'd love to, definitely. What were you thinking about seeing?"

"I was thinking The Emoji Movie."

". . . Really?"

"Sure! It's sooo bad, and I just wanna see it for myself. It'll be a lot of fun, Pete. A friend of mine called it The Room of animated movies."

"Um, o-okay. If you say so. I think I'd be down with that."

"Great! We can meet at the Cinemart. I looove the reclining seats, and the prices are a lot better than the Regal in Glendale and the U.A. in the Hills. The showing's at 8. We could eat before the movie, if that's okay."

Peter was having the struggle of his life trying to keep up with her. "Yeah, that'll work. I love the Cinemart too. I might be able to get off work a little early. I'll text you if I'm not."

"Sounds like a plan, then."

He smiled. "Yeah. Sounds like a plan."