Goodwill Presents... Spider-Man!


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Along Came A Spider-Man Part One of Three

Coming tomorrow!
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Spider-Man #1
Along Came a Spider-Man Part One of Three

Queens, New York… Presently

When Peter blacked out three years ago, it was as if he never woke up. After the repercussions of the accident had panned out, with his uncle dead, and the other driver seriously injure, Peter could not shake the fact that it was ultimately his own doing. His irresponsibility led him down a destructive path, killing his hero and crippling his independence. Now, Peter was a prisoner of his own guilt and failed to move further from that point in his life. The power that he had once felt was still a poignant feeling, however, it was more of an obese person sitting on Peter’s shoulders than a motivation. After the accident, he had been allowed his freedom, but at the expense of his uncle. He would never forgive himself for that night where he was far too proud of himself to swallow what was in the back of his throat.

So, on a day where the charcoal clouds hung and rain was itching to free itself from them, Peter stood before Ben’s grave.

“Hey, Ben,” He said out of the corner of his mouth. His cowardly tone was obvious, although it was quite brave of him to visit his uncle, Peter still couldn’t muster enough strength to hold his head high out of respect. “I know that it has been a while since we last spoke,” Peter continued, finding it difficult to words that would convey the meaning he wanted to. “Three years to the day, in fact.” A chilling wind blew through as Peter struggled to hold back tears. His movements were wooden and his voice remained ridged. “I’m a freshman at Empire State now. I’ve gotten involved with the science department… I think what my professor, Dr. Connors, has going is really interesting. Something with genetics, really quite fascinating,” Peter paused, deep in devotion. His life had changed without him really taking it in. “I’m rooming with Harry… City life is a lot different than I expected. It’s faster. Stressful. Good thing I have a good relationship with Aunt May now.” Peter let slip a smirk at this comment. “Since you passed, her and I have really made an effort with each other. She’s even given up alcohol. We’re strong Uncle Ben… Not nearly as strong as you are, but we’re getting there.”

* * *

Since college, Peter had hung up his gangly “punk” appearance for a more socially suitable one. Not only did he have an internship at the Daily Bugle that required that he dressed fittingly to the office, but Parker felt that his old look symbolized his immaturity. It was Uncle Ben that first made the effort to make the best of things although things have happened that would discourage him and Peter wanted to continue in that same vein.

So, as Peter walked solemnly from his last class to his dormitory, he found himself enjoying the weather. It was an odd marriage between selfishness and pride that swarmed into Peter’s head, both points valid, but he found himself immersed in the sun and subtle breeze. For the first time in three years he had felt relieved perhaps because of his visit to his uncle’s gravesite. Finally going to see where he was buried was something that weighed heavily on Peter.

Peter looked at the city above and around him and noticed a lot of things. First, he noticed the Baxter Building, where Reed Richards, who Peter only wished he could be, worked as head of Fantastic Inc., and went on to see the other landmark skyscrapers that made New York so famous. The bustle of the city was a difficult thing to keep up with, but there was something about it that Peter needed in his life.

Finally, he reached his dorm room, only to find that the door had been left open. Half concerned and half convinced that Harry foolishly neglected to close it, Peter apprehensively pressed in.

“Hello?” He bellowed through the seemingly empty apartment.

Aunt May’s voice answered. “We’re in the living room, sweetie.” Her voice sounded on edge, almost unnatural. Peter’s climax of concern was not coming in to find that people were actually in the house, but what was wrong with them.

“What’s the--” Peter interrogated as he furiously dashed into the room.

Harry sat reclined in one of the chairs and May stood, jaw drooping at what was flashing up on the television screen. There were a lot of things buzzing across the screen, but only vivid images of the word “missing” and a shuttle launch were all that Peter could bear to make out in the confusion.

“Good afternoon, New York, I’m Trish Tilby, located at Cape Canaveral. If you’re just tuning in, the Herbie Shuttle that Fantastic Inc. head Reed Richards helped pilot alongside wife Sue, her brother Johnny, and friend and military personality Ben Grimm has lost communications with the NASA headquarters at 6:16 a.m. They have been pronounced dead…” The reporter’s voice seemed to trail into a monotone, reminiscent of the Peanut’s where the adults simply yakked with annunciating their words.

“Some kid ran into my Psychology class about this. We were dismissed… Isn’t this insane? If we’re getting out of class, it’s gotta be something huge,” Harry muttered in strides.

Peter glanced at May, who was giving him a concerned look. She knew what was weighing on him after this particular moment. Another accident claimed four innocent victims. Among the lost, it was the one person in the world that Peter cared to admire, his uncle aside. Reed Richards had been the reason why Peter was so involved in the sciences at his school and now, in a swift and hideous event, he had perished. Now, Peter was without his heroes.

If Aunt May named the most discouraged face on the planet at this point, Peter would have won.

Without a word spoken, Peter turned around and headed out the door, the images too warped, in his mind, to even look at them. He bounded down the stairs and across the street, where Central Park was embedded in the steel playground. Here, was where Peter felt comfortable letting his guard down so that Mother Nature could pacify him. The whirling maelstrom of emotion inside of his head was so out of control that even the usually mild-mannered Parker found it difficult to not have his fists clenched.

“Would you like to know what Ben told me before you and him went off that night?” A voice shattered the dangerous silence behind Peter. He whipped his head around to find his aunt standing there, wrapped in one of Harry’s jackets. Peter responded with a sneer, clearly too depressed to talk about his uncle, however May thought that it was a necessary evil. “Ben and I were arguing about letting you go to that concert. I said that it was irresponsible that Ben had even offered to go with you so that you would have a good time. Then, I remember him smiling. It wasn’t his usual grin, but it was a toothy smile. He said, ‘Honey, would you want to take him instead?’ I looked at him slightly insulted at the time,” May said thoroughly, not looking at Peter but the lake before her. “Then, I looked at myself. I was holding a wine glass. It was my third glass that night. Here, I was talking to Ben like he wasn’t doing this family any good when it was me that was harming it. By drinking, I wasn’t being any more responsible than I thought Ben taking you to the concert was…”
“Why are you telling me this?” Peter shot at his aunt, not to be indignant, but he wanted to know why his aunt was putting him through this.

“I want you to stop blaming yourself,” his aunt explained. “Today, I saw the same face as I did at Ben’s funeral for a person you didn’t even know… Was Reed Richards ever going to pay tuition for you?” May laughed a bit; Peter merely smirked. “Y’see, you’ve just gotta role with the punches, as they say. There will be things in life that will happen without notice and you’ve got to choose how to deal with them. You can choose to stay in one place or you can do something about it…” May trailed off, lost in the lake, now glistening with starlight. “You know, ‘with great power comes great responsibility’.”

Peter turned from the lake and looked at his aunt, inspired. He was glad that he and May had strengthened their relationship. For the first time since May could remember, Peter grinned.

* * *

“Hey, Peter!” Doctor Curt Conners said smirking. “You’re just the student I hoped to see today… Come along!”

Peter had only just walked into the lab to hand him a paper when his stout and balding professor Curt Conners ushered him towards a lab experiment he had started on a table. He seemed to be extremely eager about letting Peter in on what he was doing, so Peter didn’t think to take any precautions before walking over to the table. Since Conners had been slaving over whatever it was since before the sun came up that morning, he donned the proper attire needed to toy with scientific tools.

“Here, put these on,” Conners said, sounding like he hadn’t breathed since he pulled Peter into the room. He handed him goggles. Not actually knowing whether or not Peter had put them on yet, Conners cranked a knob on a device that looked similar to that of a microscope. He waited for the machine to warm up and said, “So, did you hear about Reed Richards? Really a tragedy, huh?”

Since his conversation with his aunt, he hadn’t really thought too much about Reed’s demise. Like May said, he wasn’t going to ever pay his tuition, why look up to him anymore? Surely his childhood heroes had to be stowed away in the back of his head eventually. Still, realizing that his death would have a lasting impression on the science community, Peter responded, “Yeah, it’s a real shame… He did a lot of good for this place.”

“… The world, too.” Conners said. “He’s going down as one of the greats, you know.” Conners suddenly jumped from his perch on the machine. “Oh, it’s ready!” He said eccentrically. Peter laughed; Professor Conners was certainly one of the most animated people he knew, even with one arm. “Now look, Peter. Whether you know it or not, locusts are ravaging Central Park and all kinds of scientists-even some in Europe- are trying to preserve it. Now, the tricky part, though, is that they don’t want to harm the locusts… It’s the whole circle of life thing. You can’t convince a scientist to kill… Anyway, I think I’ve come up with a solution,” Dr. Conners said with an awkward smile on his face.

Peter examined the microscope-looking device. Under, a flask sat there with a spider lurking about. He wondered what a spider would be doing to help preserve Central Park from the “imminent” threat that Conners spoke of. It was always funny to Peter that scientists never too anything lightly. Surely this wasn’t something that was going to become as life-altering as even Conners suspected.

“This,” Conners said, again resting his hand on the device. “Is a Phillips RT-100 Superficial. Well, a much smaller one, anyway. They would usually take up a good portion of this room, but thanks to the late Mr. Richards, we’re able to have it here on our table. Anyway, this is something used to treat skin cancer and something I’ll use to help this spider become more of an effective hunter and hopefully find a ‘cure’ to the locust epidemic naturally.”

“What, can the radioactive treatment serve as a stimulate for these spiders? It can make them stronger?” Peter asked. His knowledge of the subject was apparent.

“Well, yes, but not without my help,” Contested Conners, whose voice was very severe. “One’s genetic make-up can be altered… This is how diseases come about at birth and what not. Now, most people don’t know there can also be positive side effects. For instance, if you’ve got the make-up to be tall, that could potentially make you a much better basketball player than someone that is short, do you see? If I were to use radioactivity to alter this spider, I could make him a much more effective predator than he actually is… In a sense, I’m turning this spider into a weapon.”

“Can I see what he does?” Peter asked, drawing towards the dish where the spider was crawling around. It’s dark purple design grew more and more interesting to Peter.

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get you a pair of gloves… Handling this guy correctly is really important. I’ve worked for a couple of months on this!”

Conners tip-toed towards a table well across the room, leaving Peter consumed in his mysticism over the spider. Each second ushered Peter closer towards it. Then, without thought, he reached his finger in and touched the spider on it’s back. It swung itself around in defense and moved its pincer-like mouth threateningly. Peter sort of huffed at it, amused. He tried to provoke it, trying desperately to see if there was any visible sign that Conners had altered the spider’s make-up. The result was the part of science that Peter had always found to be most interesting.

Then, the spider wound up, and pierced its fangs into Peter’s hand. It happened so swiftly Peter didn’t even know what happened at first. “Ah! Jesus, what the…” Peter scowled, pulling his finger to his chest and slowly pulling away from the table.

Conners turned around to see what was the matter, but it was too late. “Peter, what’s wrong?!”

Peter’s forehead was littered with beads of sweat and his skin was shot into a pale complexion matched only to a ghost. Conners could see Peter’s legs failing him, so he rushed over as soon as he could, but Peter fell unconscious before could get reach him. He struck the ground hard. Conners slapped his forehead and sighed, striking the table violently with his other hand. He dropped the gloves and, cursing profusely, looked at the spider. It sort of looked up at him mockingly. He then looked down at Peter and realized that he had to do something.

“C’mon, guy,” Conners pleaded. “You’ve got to get up!”


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Thank you!

Also, the next issue should be up by the 30th of November, so if you haven't read this issue, be sure to get that done!


Don't expect me to take you with me when I go to s
Wow, this is excellent. I love the Fantastic Four mentions. I hope you eventually bring them in as supporting characters.
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Yeah, this is really good. :rockon::rockon::rockon::rockon::rockon: out of 5, for the first two chapters. There is nothing I can really suggest to make it better.


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ProjectX2 said:
Wow, this is excellent. I love the Fantastic Four mentions. I hope you eventually bring them in as supporting characters.

But they're dead! :) We'll see what happens to them...


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Again, thank you... I hope that I can set up and infer a lot of future plots through these issues I've written. Things seem straightforward now, but the plot will soon thicken. I think you'll see what I mean by the next issue, actually.


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nice start....i don't really have anything good or bad to say. (thats a good thing). but im impressed with the thoughtfullness and layout. ok, well i did have something good to say.
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I think a lot of people really ignore emotion when it comes to characterizing. Look at Luke Skywalker in A New Hope... His aunt and uncle die... "I want to help you Obi Wan!"... when Obi Wan dies... "OBI WAN! NOOO!" Inconsistancy, man. Hate that.


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I expect the next issue will be out next week. I will say tentatively Nov. 30th (Weds.). For those of you who haven't read the issue... Hurry!


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Spider-Man #2: Along Came A Spider-Man Part Two of Three

Peter was just bitten by a radioactive spider, but, life goes on... Not only is a hero going to emerge, but a dangerous villain that will shake New York City forever!

Coming Soon!


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Along Came a Spider-Man Part Two of Three

Doctor Curt Conners instinctively held his breath until he turned blood red. He was on his knees with his student, Peter Parker, in his arms attempting to bring him back to consciousness. It was a frenetic moment and Conners couldn’t imagine the option of throwing in the towel. Conners chose to do anything in his power to revive Parker, no matter the cost. Truth told, it wasn’t so much his life at stake; it was the spider in the dish that was the dilemma. If the authorities were to find out that one of his experiments caused someone to perish, than he would surely be fired. So, as he slapped his face with no response, the frustration was beginning to snowball over the confusion, making it an extremely tense situation.

He looked around frantically and noticed activity at the door. He looked down at Peter’s body and looked at the door. It was his lab assistant Debra Whitman. Conners mounting fear that it could be someone that would bring him into the police subsided and quickly approached Whitman with a certain amount of urgency.

“Doctor Conners, I didn—Oh,” she said as she first noticed Conners was in the facility and then when she noticed he was in dire need of her assistance. Peril was written all over his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I don’t have that much time,” Conners gasped. “Could you get me a glass of water?” He ran back to Peter as Whitman, without asking any more questions, retrieved a glass of water.

Bearing a cup of water, she walked towards the stooped Conners. “Doctor, why on Earth--” She had seen Peter’s body and noticed that he wasn’t breathing. She would’ve dropped the glass, too, if it weren’t for Conners, who was anticipating her reaction. She put a hand to her chest and sighed heavily.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Conners failed to find a legitimate explanation without calling himself a murderer. “He just stopped breathing a second ago… He’ll be fine, just give me the glass of water.”

Whitman leaned down to hand over the water; however, she hand drew back quickly. “Is that Peter Parker?” She exclaimed under her breath. She was shocked at seeing one of her peers before her. Seeing a person her own age on the verge of death was too much for her to bear.

Conners grabbed the cup and placed it to Peter’s side. He tore off his shirt and proceeded with CPR; it was the last option he had. When Conners put his palm down he felt a lurching feeling. There, he noticed that Peter’s muscles were unusually tense. Conners took this find extremely seriously, however, ignored it for the time being. Saving Peter’s life was his top priority. He beat Peter’s chest in frustration and gave him breaths of air when necessary.

Then, Peter began to take his own breath. His lungs drew in and out without Conners’ help. Conners leaned for the cup of water, and tossed it on Peter. He shot up as if he were struck by lightning.

Conners pressed his arm against Peter’s shoulders. The shock from Peter getting water splashed in his face could have hurt his neck or spine. “Peter… Peter, it’s ok! Calm down.”

Peter couldn’t help but look around with a new kind of awareness. Instead of his eyes being foggy and unable to determine his location, his stunning reaction time immediately told him that he was on the floor in Curt Conner’s laboratory with Debra Whitman and the doctor looming over him. He shook the remaining adrenaline from his arms and gave his two spectators a look.

“What happened?” Peter asked, rubbing the back of his head. Pain was beginning to pierce his skull.

“That’s what I would like to know,” Debra sighed.

“Quiet, Deb,” Curt snapped, frustrated with having to deal with her on top of what was already on his plate. “Peter, you were bitten by the spider and you blacked out… You were only down for about three, may four hours.” Conners got to his feet and took small strides towards the spider and the device. There, he was fidgeting with a beaker and the spider with the utmost care. “Are you allergic to spiders?”

“Wait a second,” Peter said, getting to his feet, ignoring that Debra Whitman was still in his face. “You’re saying I was bitten by a radioactive spider? What if something happens to my--” He paused and looked into a glass that was sitting on the table. The contours of his body were much more defined than he remembered; he could feel more muscle in his step and when he moved his arms. “Woah…” Peter didn’t have to be told that there were side effects to the spider bite.

“Yes, eh, uh, there are, unfortunately… Repercussions,” explained Conners apprehensively. “The spider that bit you must’ve reacted to whatever you were doing to it and attacked, passing the venom throughout your blood stream… It is probable that, since the spider’s genetic make-up was still reconstructing itself and your skin was broken when the spider bit you that, your genetic make-up, too, has been reconstructed.”

Peter was in awe of his new appearance; apparently, so was Whitman. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Well…” Conners said oddly. It was as if he had something up his sleeve. He inched his fingers towards the beaker in which Peter laid his eyes on first to see his new build and, without thinking, chucked it at him intentionally. Peter, instinctively, turned around, caught the container and placed it on the table. Conners smirked, “It all depends on how you look at things, Peter.”

Curt Conners seemed to sound a lot like Aunt May at that point.

Peter observed his body once again, his arms out to either side, consuming his new improvements. Next to the splitting pain in the back of his skull, Peter couldn’t think of anything negative about the spider bite. Here Peter was with an astounding amount of muscle, and awareness unmatched by anyone he knew. Furthermore, Peter noticed two white knobs where his wrist met the palm of his hands. He reached over and felt the delicate skin and, all of a sudden, a white stringy substance shot out, attaching itself to part of the counter.

“Now that’s just weird,” Peter said, awestruck.

Conners bolted over to the strand of white substance that shot from Peter’s wrist. He examined it with a magnifying glass he concealed in his lab coat and began to study it profusely. Debra shot a look at Peter with which Peter only responded with a shrug. Peter admitted his reaction to the changes wasn’t natural, but he had become a physical specimen in the blink of an eye.
Conners cut off the strand of string and put it in a beaker, too. “Peter,” he said. “I’ll need you to come back tomorrow. I want to run a few tests to see how you’re doing and to make sure you’re healthy.”

“Doc, I haven’t felt like this since I was in high school,” Peter said, grinning from ear to ear. “What could be so wrong about this when it feels so right?”

“A lot,” Conners frowned. “And if you like me and respect me enough as your teacher and friend, you’ll come back tomorrow so that I can check up on you. I’m not losing my job over you, Peter.”

Peter nodded and left the laboratory with a new outlook on life. No longer would Peter mope around life, dwelling on what had happened in the past, but now Peter would focus on the miraculous new abilities he would have. This was the opportunity in which his aunt was speaking. He could choose to treat this as a disease and search far and wide for a cure, returning to his regular, or, he could use these abilities to his advantage and make life all the more easier for himself? The temptation was far too strong for Peter to ignore the latter. He was a Spider-Man!

He took in his surroundings at last. Not noticing any people and still dwelling on his new abilities, Peter longed for a chance to see his powers’ potential outside of the lab. He starting toying with the knobs on his wrists, seeing how long the strands of string would last and how durable they were. At one point, Peter had thought to attach it to the streetlight in front of him. He kept his hand on the other end and picked up his feet in an effort to see how much weight it could hold. As he swung back and forth until he no longer moved, he realized that it could, at least hold his weight.

Then, from the streetlight, Peter attempted to cling to a building with his webs. He swung from there to the building, but didn’t think of a means to stop or avoid crashing through the window. The mounting adrenaline seemed to convince his arm to stick straight out and his other hand to cling to the string in which he was swinging on. He even stuck on his feet to see if they could break his collision. Instead of an abrupt stop against the window, Peter’s fingers stuck to them as if they had glue sprinkled on the tips. He let go of his string and tried his other hand. It was able to do the same thing. Twelve feet from the ground, Peter hung from his fingertips to a building.

Peter laughed heartily. “…And they said white men can’t jump!” He wailed as he shot another strand towards another building and swung to it. He was beginning to get comfortable with his powers. Whether too comfortable or not, wasn’t able to be determined, but Peter now had a great amount of power.

* * *
“Harold Osborn,” his father, Norman, snapped as he entered his son’s apartment. “Harry, where are you?” There was a demeaning urgency to his voice that made any who heard it feel far inferior to the speaker.

Norman Osborn reeked of importance. Donning a business suit and an expression worn only by politicians’, it was obvious that Norman took himself extremely seriously. Wrinkles and scares etched his face, symbolizing the long and deep devotion to his career and how it has taken a toll on him. He prided himself with these “scars” even though his efforts as a scientist and head of Oscorp weakened the integrity of his family.

“We’re on a tight schedule, son,” Norman insisted, growing impatient at his son’s absence. “I’m not going to miss Dr. Harrow’s presentation.”

Harry showed up, rubbing his nose busily. “Why do I have to go with you, anyway?”

“We’ve been over this, Harold,” Norman grunted. “I’m tired of you thinking that band of yours will get you anywhere. You’ve gotta know what the real world is like.” He turned around and smiled, as if expecting a rebuttal from his son. As he had wanted out of giving him that look, he got nothing.

The limousine ride was quiet, in fear that a confrontation might occur between father and son. The limo snaked around New York’s streets until it reached the bay area, where Oscorp resided a few hundred feet away from the Statue of Liberty. From afar, it would have looked like an industrial kingdom, complete with smoke stacks and innovative new architecture. It certainly made an impression the landscape of the bay area.

Both of the Osborn’s got out of the car and were greeted by a frail old gentleman who seemed to be working well beyond his years. This was Norman’s most respected scientist, Doctor Jonas Harrow. Harrow took his boss through the interior of Oscorp and into his lab, where another man waited.

“Norman, this is Abner Jenkins,” Jonas explained in a high, raspy voice. “He’ll be, eh, modeling the suit today.”

“Good to meet you,” Norman said with a contrived smile.

Harry nearly laughed. Jenkins stood in only a pair of what seemed like latex paints. He was extremely scrawny with an awkward haircut that was shaven around the sides and bushy on the top. He certainly didn’t look the part of being a model that Harrow was building up to.

“Now, Mr. Jenkins, please stand on the red ‘x’,” Harrow muttered, indicating the red ‘x’ marked in tape on the floor. The doctor walked over to a computer and sat down. “Tony Stark has designed a suit of armor, designed durable enough to withstand all sorts of combat. The suit that I designed, however, is far more superior than that.” He pressed a few buttons on the computer, enabling robotic arms around Jenkins to function, putting all sorts of metal objects, of all sizes, onto his body. “Not only can my suit enter combat and come out on top, but it is faster, more equipped, and more organic than Mr. Stark’s.”

The machine seemed to be putting together puzzle pieces forming around Abner Jenkins. The metal shards seemed to define whatever feature it was attaching itself to, and leaving complicated mechanics around, too. Harry noticed wires neatly tucked into Abner’s sides where the kidneys might be.

The machine finally finished and left a finished product that Harry did not expect. The scrawny Jenkins now looked capable and Harry would’ve even bet that he would have a fighting chance against a tank with the weapons that he noticed on his palms and wrists.

Harrow shuffled over to another table and picked up what seemed to be a helmet of some sort. “Here,” Harrow said. “This helmet has two prongs at the top for state-of-the-art communication systems and even has night-vision capabilities. It’s the perfect covert machine.”

“Can I see it fly?” Norman asked.

“Why, certainly,” Harrow said with a crooked smirk.

Abner pressed a button on his chest and six jets spouted from his back, pointing in an outward, sideways motion. He lifted off the ground with ease. With shifting his weight back and forth, the suit moved smoothly throughout the area in which he was standing.

“I call him,” Harrow said, giving Norman the toothiest grin. “The Beetle!”
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OK, I liked how the first few chapters came off as a realistic take on the story, it was cool to see everything come off without powers.
But, as I already knew the downward slope of this was definitely to come (as you can't have a Spiderman story without Spidey). However, this was well done I thought. I liked it.
Quite enjoyable. :rockon::rockon::rockon::rockon: out of 5.
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Introducing the powers to all of this was something I even had a difficult time with, too. Funny because it's a super hero title. Things pick up from here so we'll see how the change goes. Hopefully it's not that jarring.


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The solicitation for the next issue will be up tomorrow... Stay tuned and, for those of you who haven't read my issues, you better get cracking! The third and final chapter of "Along Came a Spider-Man" is going to leave you breathless!


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Spider-Man #3
Along Came a Spider-Man Part Three of Three

The moon shown well above all of the buildings and, for the first time, Peter Parker stood staring it head on. On top of the tallest buildings he could find in New York City, the Empire State Building, Peter balanced himself on top of the needle, gathering what he could see out of his new perspective. The city looked significantly different from such an awkward place and Peter reveled at the sight. Here, Peter was able to get away from the bustle of the city, with the moon and stars to keep him company, if only for the few minutes that he had to spare. He loved the city a great deal, as he would’ve told anyone he thought it matched his personality, but there was always that desire to step away from it for a while. The opportunity was now there for Peter and he took advantage of it.

The only thing Peter could think to say, though, was, “Man, I really gotta think about joining a gym.” In his effort to balance himself, he was always attempting to catch his breath. Since he had walked out of Conner’s lab, Peter had taken the liberty to test out his new abilities all day to get the hang of them, without knowing that it would take so much out of him. It was an incredible rush and one that even he needed, if only to get his mind off of fate. Peter, with a new power and a new perspective on life, seemed to blame destiny for what had happened in the past and treated it as if it were a valid argument to prove his innocence.

When Peter made the mature decision that it was time to come off his high, he slinked down the needle and pushed off hard. Peter plunged head first down the side of the building. When he found that he came dangerously close to crashing on the pavement, he found that putting his feet to the windows and actually grinning down was a much safer bet. He enjoyed having the wind toss his hair around like a salad and was at peace even in a tense situation.

He finally found himself walking again, along the streets of New York City. It was relatively quiet, at least for the city, and Peter couldn’t help but walk on airs. Peter headed towards his apartment, hoping that Aunt May would be there preparing dinner for him and Harry as she had done the night before. It was unlikely, but Peter didn’t feel like making dinner.


A raucous bark came from one of the alleys that Peter walked by. He peered in and, to his surprised, a man laid in the fetal position, clutching his stomach. Blood seeped from the seams between his fingers. He cringed in pain each time his fingers twitched and reacted to the wound and Peter couldn’t help but run down to him, take a knee, and help him. He couldn’t have just left him there.

“Everything’s gonna be all right, sir,” Peter assured the victim. He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and put it to his ear once he retrieved it. “Eh, yes, operator? Eh, ok… I found a man on the street. He’s been shot!” Peter began panted into the phone; the sight of the man was beginning to wear on Peter. “Yes…yes,” Peter pleaded in desperation, he wished they would just dispatch an ambulance already. “65th street, yeah. Two blocks left of the Empire State Building… Ok.” Peter concluded his plea for help and hung up the phone. “Help’s on its way, sir.”

“Not soon enough, I’m afraid,” A voice called out behind Peter.

Peter turned his head to find the most horrifying thing. There, in the middle of the air, hovered a robot, whose menacing gaze bore down on Peter like an undeniable burden. The threatening build was backed by an arsenal of all sorts of weapons sprouting from the palms of the hands. Here, Peter’s fears were realized; along with the man in a puddle of his own blood, he would die.

The robot landed and started stalking towards Peter, who was wrapped in the victim’s arms trying to support him. “People look a lot different when they are about to die, don’t they?” it said, taking a knee beside Peter. “Even though he was, like, ninety, Jonas Harrow seemed, eh, what’s the word? Statuesque,” Now, the robot held the victim’s chin, as if talking to him. Peter realized that he was holding the renowned scientist, Jonas Harrow in his arms. He suddenly became more frightened. He was a celebrity in the science community that Peter had divulged in. “Dr. Harrow was a helluva nice guy, too, promised me a lot of money, but when his superiors didn’t like what he had put together, he betrayed me… Said the money wasn’t mine if I didn’t do a good job.” The robot began to grow more hostile. “He was being irresponsible, not me! Dr. Harrow should’ve removed the suit from my back before he told me he wasn’t going to pay me…”

Peter’s chords were struck; even in this tense second where the villain was apparently explaining why he left Harrow to die. So the man’s conclusion was that it was his responsibility to claim the life of another human being because things didn’t go in his direction? Peter had gone through his fair share of ordeals and in no situation did he feel he had to take that sort of power into his own hands. Peter could see the abuse of the power that this man had, compared it to the powers that he had acquired, and most importantly about what Aunt May had told him about a situation like this coming about. He would have to put an end to this man’s plot before the death occurred.

The robotic man got to his feet and stood where he first landed. He stuck out his arm and pointed his palm towards Peter, saying, “Sorry, kid. I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re in my way…” Peter could tell his voice was vying with gritted teeth.

In one moment’s time, Peter tossed Harrow onto his shoulder and leapt onto the wall before him, while a jet of fire shot from the robot’s hand. It consumed the entire alleyway and even forced its way up the wall, but Peter’s speed, even with an unconscious body draped carelessly over his shoulder, could not be matched. The fire soon subsided, which gave Peter a minute to catch his breath. Because he could react easier to his surroundings he had escaped the clutches of a very dangerous person.

Peter was convinced that it was over, but he couldn’t have been further from the conclusion.

The robot man flew up to the top of the building, where he found Peter and the limp Harrow. Six jets shot from his back, which made him seem stronger now. He pointed his palms out again.

“He called this suit the Beetle suit,” the man cackled insanely. “But I woulda called it th—ARRGH!”

Peter’s wrist had flicked downward, and a stream of the web-like string found itself on the Beetle’s mask. Instead of picking up Harrow and gunning for it again, Peter decided that he needed to take responsibility full on; he needed to make sure that, this time, the Beetle wouldn’t bounce back. He had never fought in his life before, but thought he was now prepared to do so, even against what seemed to be impossible to apprehend. It was no matter to Peter, though, he was convinced that fate would have its way tonight and with his new powers he would try to avoid what he thought would pan out.

He lunged at the Beetle feet first and caught him in his chest, sending him through a building across the street. Peter, luckily, bounced off and landed on the street below. He waited in the street for Beetle to fly out, but something else caught his attention.

The ambulance was pulling up.

Peter leapt to the top of the building again with his spider-like dexterity and retrieved Jonas so that he could place him in the ambulance. He was losing more blood, however, Peter finally put him in the proper care of the nurses that had tagged along to bring him away. Peter was deep in conversation, explaining what happened to the man, but always kept a weary eye on the window that he sent Beetle through. There was now mass pandemonium going on in and around that particular building, including a fire, which had cropped up as Peter was talking to the two gentlemen.

“Look,” one of them called out, stunned. “That building’s on fire! Someone call the fire department!”

Peter looked around frantically, attempting to find a solution to the impending threats all at one place. He had spurred these tragedies into movement; he had to solve them fast before he was found guilty.

“Get this guy outta here!” Peter cackled at the ambulance hands. “He’s gotta get to a hospital… I’ll take care of the fire! Go!”

People poured onto the streets and watched as the blaze took advantage of the building. Other building’s residents also poured on to the streets to see what was going on; Peter didn’t think this was looking hopeful.

Peter couldn’t have been more right when the Beetle took flight out of the hole in which Peter put him. His jets were lagging and the grace of the robotic suit had been stripped because of the collision he had endured, yet, he proved extremely durable. The Beetle shot his wrist in an awkward position and bullets spewed from a small opening. Peter felt an odd vibrating feeling in his head and flipped backwards, missing getting hit by the bullets within a fraction of a second. The bullets continued to rattle on and, as Peter avoided them with certain dexterity, his head was also buzzing as to how he should bring Beetle down to his knees. Peter knew that he should aim for the jets, they would likely put an end to this, but he found it hard to take the advantage.

Then, Peter came up with an idea.

Bending his wrist back, he summoned a wad of the string substance and shot it at one of the streetlights. When the string was taught enough so that he could swing, he lunged forward and attached himself to a building that was just a little further from the streetlight. The Beetle turned around to get Peter in his sights and aimed for him. Peter, instead of paying any attention to the Beetle, swung to another building, this time to a higher perch than last, and landed safely. The Beetle followed, as Peter had hoped he would do and, this time, Peter shot his webs at the Beetle’s feet and watched as they snaked around them. After he figured, or, rather, hoped, that it was durable enough, he lunged downwards towards the street, pulling the Beetle along at an alarming rate. The new weight that he added to the jets was unable to be countered by its power; it wasn’t designed for two people. Peter swung away before he could touch the pavement, landed on a building’s side and watched as the robotic suit crippled into a heap of technological ruin. The jets snuffed themselves out and Abner Jenkins, who manned the suit, fell unconscious.

The fight was over and, as the officials and the people began to get taken care of, Peter slinked away; his job was finished.

* * *

“It’s been three days since I last talked to you,” Peter said solemnly to his uncle’s headstone. His head hung and his shoulders sunken, Peter came bearing the same weight that he had when he came before. “I would’ve come sooner to tell you how much my life has changed in these few days, but I would’ve spoken too soon. I would’ve told you then that things were looking up… By coming here before, a weight that I had carried for three years vanished and I allowed myself to take in the world around me. For once, I was enjoying myself. Then, something happened to me.” Peter sighed, in deep thought his reaction to the spider bite and what his aunt had told him prior. “May told me that with great power comes great responsibility,” Peter sort of laughed. “It reminded me of something you would’ve probably said.” The memory of his uncle waned. “She said once I am given something, that I must choose how it effects me. Immediately following, I was given the gift that she was talking about. It was so odd,” Peter said. “So, with this gift, I could do right, or I could do wrong. When wrong stared me in the face,” Peter imagined the Beetle’s horrific mask, battered in the street and sneered. “I thought of you, Ben. I thought of you and I did what I thought was right because that’s what I was capable of.” Peter stood and gazed at the slab of stone one more time, etching out Ben’s name with his eyes. “I’ve learned a lot and will do everything in my power to prove it.”


Well-Known Member
Well done. I liked the idea of using Beetle early. So, is this going to get more traditional with let's say a costume? And :rockon::rockon::rockon::rockon: out of 5.