Catman_prb
Sad Clown
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And you know that we'd mob you AND the goat.
Nothing makes sense to me anymore.
Granted, ever since I was fifteen, my life has essentially boiled down to such moments of absolute weirdness and unexplained phenomena. Before that period kicked in, though, I considered myself somebody fixated on the ideals of science and, more importantly, absolute logic. So much so that I used to spend just as much time stuffed inside my own locker as I actually spent inside my own room. With the little time I used to get between the swirlies, I was studying off of the greatest minds that the world - and my High School library - had to offer me, on the theories of relative quantum physics and human physiology. I was literally obsessed with trying to figure out what made my fellow man tick, and unravel some of mankind's greatest mysteries.
One radioactive spider bite later, and I had to throw that mentality out the proverbial window.
Years of trying to become a mental prodigy had suddenly become wasted, and I found myself spending my free time trading in books for a pair of webbed tights, and making myself a clown on national television. It was not long after that I learned, the hard way, that whenever my life seems to be going on the clear road to a vast improvement that someone has to go out of their way to strike me down, right as I reach the climax of fulfilling the all-important dream of finding true happiness. Whether it's a nameless mugger that shot down my Uncle Ben, a six-armed lunatic trying to destroy the city with an oversized ball of god-like energy, or even something as simple as the landlord trying to collect the rent that I can't possibly pay in full, it's never seemed to fail. My life was meant to be the metaphorical kicking bag for all of the bullies of the world, ripened only when I was sure that I had finally figured out how to slip out of the grasp of my infallible bad luck.
Exhibit A. I began the year by finally balancing out the bills and settling some long overdue debt that had been threatening us with a mean ole' foreclosure on the house that I grew up in. My Aunt May had allowed me and MJ to live there after she decided to move out of Queens, and I had managed to return the favor by working overtime on two jobs a week, turning severely reduced pay into a moderate paycheck. Needless to say, I was pretty happy with myself, so much so that I had overlooked the small matter of housing insurance.
A week later, and a roaming Sentinel demolished half of the property. After they took the thing down following a lengthy battle that destroyed several other homes on the block, The X-Men offered to reimburse me for the damage, but I hesitantly declined, feeling it wouldn't have been fair to the dozens of other people that didn't have the luxury of superhero sized connections. So my wife and I had to relocate back into the city - the noisy, mean, often foul smelling city, and start paying a monthly rent for an apartment. In the middle of Manhattan, which meant that rent wasn't going to be anything but mind-boggling. All because I - in my infinite wisdom and unparalleled stress - made one simple mistake.
Exhibit B actually makes that story seem like little more than a bump in the road. A few weeks after my bout of buyer's remorse, given the apartment we found looked like the previous owner had been the Mole Man, I happened to run into an old friend of mine from The Daily Bugle. Nice guy, tall as ever. Had the faint musk of "dangerous alien symbiote ready to eat my face". Yeah, it was Eddie Brock, my not-so-handsome enemy of... gosh, how many years now? Five? Six? You tend to lose track after the six dozenth attempt to viciously murder me.
Anyway, whenever Venom enters my life, it's usually bad news. This time was no exception, because he had gotten it into his sludge filled head that I had killed an innocent and needed to be 'punished' for my apparent wrongdoing. Nevermind the fact that, for one thing, who he was referring to was an imposter that was easily apprehended after a three minute hostage crisis, and secondly, I was the one that apprehended him. Oh, and no one had actually gotten killed, so Eddie boy was wa-ha-ay off the mark on this one. Nevertheless, we exchanged words, had a falling out... with me threatening to commit him to an outer space asylum, and him lusting after my 'delicious, delicious brains', no less... and went at eachother with little provocation.
Now, normally, this would have been fine. Apart from the occasional appearance by a random nutjob that sounds like a villain from a 90's saturday morning cartoon, my recent spats with Venom had usually ended abruptly and comically. Somehow, Brock had began sustaining some brain damage from the way that the symbiote had been feeding off of his body, making him a bit dimmer and a heckuva alot duller. You'd think Mac Gargan was taking another joyride on Eddie's coattails. But no, this was definitely Brock, and he was as angry as usual. But I was prepared. We had done this song and dance before, and without the cunning mastermind that lurked beneath that slimey exterior from when he first bonded to the symbiote, he was a fairly simple opponent to take down.
What I didn't realize was that, the entire time, he was being baited for a trap. Y'see, Venom had managed to make some enemies during his time as a 'lethal protector', or whatever garbage excuse he came up with to avoid being hunted down by SHIELD and everyone's mother, and they came looking for him. In Venom's haste to catch up with me and right the wrongdoing that he had felt I committed, they had killed about thirty innocent people on the freeway in order to catch up with him, after causing a collision that resulted in an oil tanker truck's explosion. Thirty people, because of Venom's rush to judgement that I had gone bad. So in essence, because of me. Even though I took both Venom and the high-tech jerks that caused the accident down, I still haven't forgotten it, and I probably never will. I've been told that it's a silly thing to be guilty over, but that's me in a nutshell. I've stayed in bed for weeks over less. Thirty people is still thirty people. And if I had never existed, never been a thorn in Venom's side, then maybe, just maybe they wouldn't have been dead.
Well, when I think about it, that's really nothing, now. Not in comparison to Exhibit C. And this is the big one, the one so huge that I cannot even fathom how this chain of events could have possibly transpired, other than the stark realization that God must really hate my guts. A few days before our seventh anniversary, MJ and I had began planning a spur of the moment getaway to the Bahamas. We decided that, between my duties with The Avengers and her acting roles beginning to line up, we weren't going to get much time to ourselves for the foreseeable future. And we had it all planned out, down to the very last detail. After a mid-day stroll across the beach and a quick swim, where she was determined to teach me how to surf, we would have returned to the honeymoon suite we were going to rent out and tried for a new baby. Enough of the pain had subsided between us from the loss of our first child, a couple of years ago, that it allowed us to consider whether we truly wanted a family of our own to raise. And the answer was, we wanted nothing more. So we were finally going to get our wish, consequences be damned.
I had spoken too soon. Because the next day, while I was out and about with the likes of Iron Man and company, MJ had been kidnapped by The Green Goblin. A sore subject with me already, considering memories of Gwen always arose whenever that maniac tore his way back into my life, but this was even worse. Norman Osborn had been responsible for what happened to my first child, and the minute we decided it was safe to have another, he had ripped our chance away from us. Not this time, I thought to myself, as I put the mask on and swung my way back to the same bridge he had murdered my girlfriend on. This time, I was going to make Norman pay for the horror he had inflicted onto me and my wife, and the suffering I had lived with for the years after. I was finally going to take Osborn down for good, even if I had to spend my life webbing him to the ground to do it.
But it wasn't Norman that I was directing my anger towards. After all of that hatred... that pure, fathomless, instinctual creed of rage that I felt flowing through my body had reached it's absolute pinnacle, I discovered that The Green Goblin that I was fighting wasn't Norman Osborn at all. It was his son, and my one time best friend. A man who was supposed to be dead. Harry had managed to claw his way out from the grave, in what I suspected from the beginning was his father's doing, and reach back into the depths of madness. He had targeted MJ with some sort of mind control that nearly killed her, and I was helpless to stop him. I couldn't lay a hand on Harry without trembling, it had been so long since I saw him. Had it not been for some guy calling himself The Iron Patriot, I probably would have lost her, and Harry would have escaped rehabilitation and committed countless atrocities under his father's mantle.
Now, because of all of what happened, MJ can't even bear to look at me. She's just finished moving all of her things out of the apartment, and it looks like she's close to filing a notice for legal separation. In what should have been the happiest weekend of our lives, our marriage could be ending, if it's not already over. The woman I love now questions whether she ever loved me at all, and rather than convince her that she did, that we never once lied to eachother about the fact that I believe nothing in this world could ever separate us for good, I'm actually letting her leave... and by doing so, proving my own sentiment wrong. I've never felt more alone in my entire life, and looking down at New York now, I'd sooner leap from this building's ledge than safely crawl back down, or shoot out a webline to save myself from the last minute. It's simply the only decision that seems to end my suffering, and relieve the people I love of the burden of knowing me.
But I'm not that kind of guy. I'm not the one that takes the easy, irresponsible way out. Whenever I became Spider-Man, I subscribed to a single paradox. That with great power, there must also come great responsibility. And even with every facet of my life seemingly in shambles, because of everything that I've allowed to happen, I know that I can't find the part of myself that just wants to put it all to an end. Instead, I'll move ahead, and preserve the memories of fleeting happiness that I shared with Mary Jane. Whether she'll decide to return to me is anyone's guess. But I love her too much to pressure her into trying to make it work, if she truly feels it can't anymore. I just have to wait. And pray that this isn't my darkest hour.
Though with news like this, that's becoming harder for me to believe...
I think it was there, in that moment, that the 'nothing makes sense to me anymore' part truly reared it's ugly head. Exhibit D, ladies and gentlemen.
Norman Osborn, The Green Goblin, a man who I hate with such a passion that he's had the honor of being the one man I've nearly killed on several occasions, is now running the world's most covert spy organization. Their headquarters alone makes several small countries look insignificant. They have weapons of mass destruction for target practice. The files that they store contain some of the most vital secrets of our national security, and the identities of several costumed individuals whose lives are in a constant flux because such files exist. The only reason they ever agreed to let SHIELD keep them was because they trusted Nick Fury, and while he's not the most pleasant man in the world, I have to say that I trusted him, too.
But now Norman Osborn, who I consider to be the most dangerous individual on the planet, has the keys to everything that Fury had. He could flatten Latveria with a single killstrike order if he wanted to, not to mention the amount of leeway he could possibly possess with the government. He could have me hunted down and chained to the middle of Central Park, unmasked, for all the world to see and have everyone I care about arrested, if he hasn't already considered showing my face on national television anyway, outright telling the country who I am over Larry King Live. But beyond myself, if he controls SHIELD, he can have leverage over the asylum that Harry's been committed to. He could brainwash his son even further to use as a pawn against allied nations. He could...
Honestly, what can't he do now? He's running SHIELD. He might aswell have been handed the remote control to the entire world. And knowing how unpredictable he can get, there's no way to be sure of how he'll use this. I think I honestly preferred it when his most dangerous weapon was a pumpkin bomb and fashionably criminal purple briefs.
I don't even have any good jokes to make off of this. This is just too much. A nightmare come true doesn't do it justice. Norman Osborn has the keys to the world. He has the freaking country in his pocket. And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. I can't just go marching in to deck the leader of SHIELD. And I certainly can't speak out against him, for obvious reasons. He knows too many of my secrets, and more than that, my vulnerabilities. If I lift a finger to stop him, what's to say he won't just ruin my life even worse than he already has with little more than a phonecall and paperwork? He literally has that power now. The power of the most dangerous individual on the planet.
Like I said, I've never felt more alone in my entire life.
My wife is leaving me, probably for good.
My best friend is alive, but clinically ill and suffering a psychotic breakdown.
The Avengers have problems of their own to deal with, The Fantastic Four are off-planet, Daredevil's in jail, and I don't really have any other friends to talk to.
And my worst enemy has just been handed the single most devastating trump card imaginable.
I've dealt with some rough times before, and I've always tried to take the most responsible resolution. But this is honestly the first time I've ever had to stop, and ask myself the all-important question that's always lingered at the back of my mind. Because it's in that moment that I realize, I may have nothing left.
"Where do I go from here?"
BEST NEWCOMER - J'ADORE (Silver Sable)
Honorable mention goes to MichaelChen for the crazy inventiveness he brought to his portrayal of The Mandarin. But I'd say the prize must go to J'Adore, for a seamless entry into our RPG Universe.