Well, I decided to go ahead and write a do-over of USM. My hopes is when Fanfiction.net launches their Ultimate Spider-Man fanfic section that this fic will be the first one to be added. However, I am only writing two chapters currently as a test of the story. The first two chapters are a redo of Paul Dini's pilot, and after that the fic would go in its own direction. The tone of the fic is similar to Young Justice. I am also using many of USM's ideas (in an attempt to do them better), as well as doing some deviant takes on Marvel heroes to give a unique flavor, much like how Young Justice did some deviating with existing DC heroes.
So . . . tell me what you think of chapter one. Want to see chapter two?
___________________________________________________________________
All that I wanted, and I will be haunted, this gift is my curse for now.
One: Gifts and Curses
"Hi, this is J. Jonah Jameson, thank you for watching the Daily Bugle tonight. Spider-Man: Reckless Menace or Street-Level Hero? That is the subject of Sound Off tonight.
"Tomorrow makes it a year since Spider-Man made the switch from his days fighting in the MMA cages in downtown New York . . . illegally, I might add, to becoming what some people call a 'hero of the streets'. But is he really?
"The truth is, no other so-called 'superhero' outside the Incredible Hulk has caused as much property damage in all of New York City as the so-called 'Amazing Spider-Man'. The bill from each of his 'exploits' has neared the $5 million mark! That is $5 million New York City could have put into different, more beneficial services, than cleaning up from the wall-crawler's wreckage! Does anyone not see that?
"Here's the deal. If any enterprising adult hero out there, bing this menace under control or otherwise stop him so New York City can finally know some peace! Oh, and bring the Hulk under control too, if that's somehow possible.
"Look, I am a simple man. But the budget of New York City is at stake, and so is the lives of everyone in it. Same with every city nationwide that has had to deal with the influx of superheroes over the last couple of years. Our budgets, our peace of mind, and our daily lives just plain can't take it anymore! But it all starts with Spider-Man. Unlike the Hulk, there is no excuse for Spider-Man's behavior. Control him, or stop him however possible, so New York City can finally sleep at night knowing that only professional superheroes are out there protecting them from the freaks of nature in the world!
"Now, for analysis, we have Police Captain George Stacy of the NYPD . . ."
***
And so this is the lovely junk I have to listen to in the morning, Aunt May's DVR recording of last night's Daily Bugle. Every morning, I come downstairs, and here's J.J.J. critizing me for the zillionth time and displaying his inability to find a synonym for "menace". I mean, at least make it less obvious that you're rehashing the same points over and over again. Not asking for much here. Other than adoration, respect, and hosting a private party for yours truly. Okay, maybe that last point is going a bit too far.
"Peter, as good as it is that you're finally watching the news, you have ten minutes before you have to go to school. It's your first day, you can't be late," Aunt May says from behind me.
"I know, I know," I reply, tuning J.J.J. out as he attempts to rip into George Stacy. Captain Stacy is a strong man, a good man. He just lets J.J.J. bluster about for twenty seconds, and when J.J.J. finally stops, Stacy responds.
"The truth of the matter is that crimes attempted by the common criminal, no superpowers, has dropped by seventy percent since Spider-Man began his activities. The rise in supervillain activity, to me, seems to be correlated to a general rise in the number of supervillains."
"This does not explain the abnormally high property damage and-"
"Peter, please!" Aunt May grabs the remote and switches it off. "You're down to nine minutes now."
"Okay, okay."
Aunt May is forty-four years old, and seems about five or six years younger, she hasn't even started to go gray yet and her voice still sounds like it could come out of a twenty or thirty-something. She's active and strong, and . . . well, let's just say she's direct. There's no naunces, no censorship, no flip-flopping. She tells you exactly what she thinks.
Flash Thompson, the guy who is out to make my school life miserable, like to say about . . . you know what, why should I care? I promised myself, and promised Gwen, that I wasn't going to let Flash run my life this semester. It's the start of mo sophomore year. I'm done! That's what Aunt May would want too.
May sighs as she prepares her duffel bag. She works at a rehab center for professional athletes, helps condition and get them back on their feet. Among her clients is the current backup goalie for the New York Islanders.
"Just remember, Peter, you have some place to be after school. Don't forget, please."
"Yeah, I know. I'm not going to forget this for the world."
"You mean it, Peter?"
My recent history is coming back to haunt me, there's subtle skepticism in her voice. "Yeah, I do."
***
This means that Spider-Man can't be active after school, but that doesn't mean Spider-Man can't take a swing through the city before school. I'm going to look really bad to Aunt May if I don't make it this time, so I can't even risk taking a patrol through the city once school is over. If something is going down, I'm going to have to intervene, because that's my responsibility. Though I guess that avoiding responsibility isn't what Uncle Ben had in mind for me.
Now I don't know what to do. Argh.
All right, just take a swing through Manhattan. Try to ignore His Jolly Loudness blasting away on the Times Square screens. How the heck does J.J.J. even get the money to do that?
To make things worse, he's ranting about me again. This isn't a new recording by our happy, intrepid commentator either, it's like an advertisement for his Daily Bugle program, showcasing the "best of the Bugle" or something. J.J.J. seems to think that his rants about me are the "best of the best" because these rants seem to mention me every other time.
What does he have against me? I mean, his car was only dented slightly when I slammed Montana into it six months ago. And there was the time when I made the Spot's wormhole gun malfunction and it transported J.J.J. to the top of the Empire State Building. And then there was the time when I was playing bullfighter with Rhino and he wound up slamming into the Daily Bugle ground-floor recording studio.
Uh . . .
Okay, I think I know why the guy has a beef with me. But still!
Let's just take one last look through Manhattan, and then it's time to swing over back to Queens and get to school. It's only a half-day today, and then it's meeting up with May, and just have a nice peaceful night, without any Spidey-related-
Boom.
Spoke too soon, as always.
I swing in the general direction of the explosion. Seems like it happened a couple of blocks away. I hope this isn't Mysterio robbing yet another bank, frankly, Mysterio's shtick got old the fifth or sixth time. And he's attempted a bank robbery twelve times since I started this gig. He seems to break out of prison just to get caught by me. I wonder if he likes me or something.
I see crowds below me running away from a street in panic. Seems that I'm close to the. chaos.
A police car is suddenly sent flying through the air past me.
Yup, this is it.
Express elevator to the ground floor time.
The crowd's mostly cleared as I hit the ground. Looks like someone's attacked a armored car full of cash, considering the twenty-dollar bills flying everywhere and unconscious security guards, and, well, a smoking armored car. Not Mysterio's M.O.
There's a bald guy with a giant black pack on his back holding a beige sack of cash. He turns around as I approach him, and I recognize him immediately. He's rather infamous around New York.
"Trapster."
Trapster. Real name: Peter (yes, really) Petruski. He's a bank robber much like Mysterio, but unlike Mr. Goldfish Bowl Trapster here is actually good at what he does. He's gotten away before. He's not my typical enemy, though, Trapster is usually associated as a Fantastic Four foe, along with the rest of his Frightful Four friends, who are funded by Trapster's cash grabs.
Trapster grins as he sees me. "Well, well, if it ain't the bug boy. Fancy meetin' you here."
"Uh, technically, spiders aren't bugs, they're-"
"Who cares?" And he aims his gun/Super Soaker/nozzle right at my face.
I know what's coming, I've read the stories. Even one of the greats, Iron Man, got caught by this. Trapster is found of this weapon, where he showers you in something akin to cement, though it weakens over time, like glue. It's been said that this is deliberate by Trapster so he can't be accused of attempted murder.
I jump aside as Trapster does a quick spray of his gunk, and thankfully it flies past me and goes into a storefront. I do the run-around, eventually taking cover behind the smoking armored car as Trapster tries relentlessly to hit me.
Okay, so far, he hasn't got me glued up. Good start so far.
Trapster trying to goad me out. "So, this is the Amazing Spider-Man? What's the matter? You a coward?"
No, but I think I'm coming up with a plan.
I take a peek under the armored car. There's Trapster's feet, nice and exposed.
Plan: trap the Trapster. Yes, I had to say that.
I put my left hand under the car and spray both of his feet with my webbing. I get the intended effect, because after the typical "What the?" reaction, he starts wobbling back and forth, completely off balance.
Perfect.
I jump on top of the armored car, and he barely has time to even look at me before I'm already leaping at him.
My right fist has a short and not entirely pleasant meeting with his face.
He's knocked backwards and somersaults down the road, but that wasn't a finishing blow. This guy has a thick skin, he forces himself back up, and suddenly he doesn't look anywhere near as amused about the situation as before.
I wonder if he was underestimating me, and now he's going to go all out.
"A punk kid isn't going to be the one who catches me!"
Here comes the goop.
I run and swing to the left to jump on the side of a building and try to get a shot at him, but traces of Trapster's cement-style mix get attached to my costume, and when I stick on the building, I stay stuck. And no amount of struggling is going to allow me to break free. Not in enough time.
Trapster laughs as he walks towards me and aims that nozzle at me. "See? Not even the Fantastic Four can catch me. What makes you think you can?"
His eyes narrow. "Here's a taste of your own medicine!"
I aim my free arm at the nozzle. It's risky but I have no choice. I am not going to to be engaged in a pile of goop while this guy got away.
I fire, and I realized immediately that my aim's true. My webbing clogs his nozzle, and I immediately see steam rising out of his pack. My goop versus his goop, and my goop wins.
Come to think of it, that sounds really, really wrong. Forget I said that.
Trapster just gives me this look of forlorn resignation . . . no, I'm lying. He looked really, really mad, before his pack explodes, and when the smoke clears, he is covered in his cement-esque stuff.
In the meantime, his material's worn off enough that I'm able to force myelf free and I get back on the ground.
I almost can't believe it. I caught him. I caught a guy who isn't one of my regulars. A guy not even the Fantastic Four could catch! I caught him good! My mature reaction: "Yes! I got you! Who's da man, Trapster? Who's da man? I da man, that's what!"
Trapster just gives me a pair of evil eyes, and then his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.
Uh oh.
Though my Spider-sense should be going off if something bad really was coming. My Spider-sense is like a alarm clock that never runs out of batteries, set to danger rather than to the time. So why wasn't it . . .
Oh wait. Whatever's coming is a bad thing for Trapster, but not for me.
I turn around, and I see a tall, African-American man with an eyepatch over his right eye staring at me.
"Oh! Uh . . hi there, dude. Do I know you from somewhere? You kinda look like this actor . . ."
The man raises an eyebrow.
"Or did I see you on the news and I'm mixing you up with someone else . . ."
He sighs. "Typical teenager. Never pays attention. I'm Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD."
Now I remember. Every superhero knows who these guys are, it's SHIELD's responsibility to keep us in line, and keep the free world secure in general. "Oh. Well, am I supposed to know who you are? I mean, SHIELD's supposed to be like 'super-secret' spy stuff."
Fury's eyebrow goes up again. It's becoming apparent that I'm coming off as a total idiot.
"I am a public figure, Spider-Man. I am the face that SHIELD presents to the public as well as the person who runs it. Just like the directors of the CIA and FBI."
"But not the NSA's leader guy. Nobody knows who he is," I say.
Fury's eyebrow not only raises, but twitches. "You're missing my point."
"I wasn't aware there was a point to-" As I'm trying to finish, I hear a crack behind me, and I turn to see that Trapster has gotten himself free at last.
"Hold on a second, bad guy getting-"
I'm interrupted again, this time by Nick Fury. "Wait."
He fires his weapon, which looks to be some kind of futuristic laser gun thing, into the road, sending a piece of the asphalt flying into the air. The asphalt piece bounces off the armored car and crashes right into Trapster's skull, and he's down in an instant.
"Okay, that was cool," I couldn't help but say.
"It's a specialty weapon, meant to break up the ground and create projectiles," Fury says. "Though if it was used on humans . . . the results would not be pleasant. It takes a lot of responsibility to wield this weapon as it was intended."
"With great power must also come great responsibility," I say, almost automatically. Uncle Ben's final words to me, before I foolishly stormed out that door, the night he died, still stays with me. I almost say those words reflexively at this point.
"Good words from a good man," Fury says.
That takes a moment to register. "Wait . . . what?"
"Your uncle was a good man, Peter Parker. I suspect he knew what was going on with you and he wanted to give you the best advice he could. It's advice that rings true for everyone in the world."
Fury's trying to dress up his statement as something else, but I'm not going to have any of it. The words "Peter Parker", my real name, are ringing in my head. "How do you know? How could you know?"
"I am the best at what I do," Fury says.
"You've been spying on me the whole time?"
"It is my responsibility to make sure the super-powered among us don't cause any more chaos! Look at what's happened to this street, 'Spider-Man'."
I look around. Trapster's goop is everywhere, in places I hadn't even noticed. Cars were destroyed, multiple storefronts were smashed, and even a lampost had buckled and fallen at the nearest intersection. It almost looks like a war zone.
Fury resumes. "You made multiple errors that could have shortened the fight and reduced the collateral damage. Is this how a responsible superhero would behave, or would he work harder to reduce the possibility of costly damage and human casualties?"
"You're missing the point! I caught him! The Fantastic Four have spent years trying to get this guy and I did and you're going to lecture me on responsibility? What gives you the right to tell me what to do? And who gives you the right to watch my every move?"
"Typical answer," Fury says. "But don't disregard me, Peter. You have the potential to be much greater than you are. You could be the 'Ultimate' Spider-Man."
"And you're saying you can bring me there." I was not asking a question. Right now, I didn't want to ask Fury anything. I just wanted to get out of here.
"I can. SHIELD's been working on an academy to help train young superpowered types such as yourself into becoming a true generation of heroes . . . heroes that can keep instances like this from being commonplace like they are now. We have multiple teams, and you have a spot reserved for you. You have a lot of responsibility to learn, Peter Parker, and I'm giving you the offer to learn it."
That's it. Creepiness factor has reached its max. Done now. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm not exactly a team player. I'm always the last kid picked anyway."
And with that, I aimed and fired my webbing at a building and took off.
I'm not going to be controlled. Nick Fury is going to need to work harder than that if he wants me.
A lot harder.
***
This is Norman Osborn:
A businessman who never apologizes. He has built his empire from the bottom-up through his ruthlessness and genius-level intelligence. His ingenuity has inspired many new weapons and biological advancements. His unmatched business skills makes him able to not only keep his company evolving, but allow it to stay unified.
His company, Oscorp, is his baby. It is like a child to him, more a child than his actual child, Harold Osborn. It is also more his wife than any of the three wives he has married and divorced. It has grown and matured along with Norman himself. However, just like Norman does not look like he is in his mid-forties, his company doesn't look like it's aging either. Norman is always out to improve himself, and his company does the same.
He is disappointed in the life of his real-life son. Harry isn't good enough. He isn't showing the passionate drive that Norman feels. Norman is afraid for the future of his company, for the time will come when he will have to step down, but his baby will live on without him, unless some idiot comes and kills it. That cannot be tolerated. If Harry turns out to be incompetent, Oscorp must be strong enough to survive such foolishness.
Norman Osborn is also an accomplished manipulator. That is how he has roped in his strangest new ally, former employee, and former foe, Dr. Otto Octavius. Octavius is almost more machine than man now, his grievous wounds suffered at the hands of a spandex-clad vigilante has left the good doctor in a pathetic physical state. But nothing is wrong with Octavius' mental state other than the psychotic dementia so many of Octavius' kind tend to have. And Osborn appreciates intelligence.
Osborn also appreciates secrets. No one knows what he is truly up to. He will tell a person one thing, and tell a different person another, and he could be lying or telling the truth in both cases. His agenda is known only to himself, and he is always ready to adjust it on the fly.
He won't have it any other way.
So . . . tell me what you think of chapter one. Want to see chapter two?
___________________________________________________________________
All that I wanted, and I will be haunted, this gift is my curse for now.
One: Gifts and Curses
"Hi, this is J. Jonah Jameson, thank you for watching the Daily Bugle tonight. Spider-Man: Reckless Menace or Street-Level Hero? That is the subject of Sound Off tonight.
"Tomorrow makes it a year since Spider-Man made the switch from his days fighting in the MMA cages in downtown New York . . . illegally, I might add, to becoming what some people call a 'hero of the streets'. But is he really?
"The truth is, no other so-called 'superhero' outside the Incredible Hulk has caused as much property damage in all of New York City as the so-called 'Amazing Spider-Man'. The bill from each of his 'exploits' has neared the $5 million mark! That is $5 million New York City could have put into different, more beneficial services, than cleaning up from the wall-crawler's wreckage! Does anyone not see that?
"Here's the deal. If any enterprising adult hero out there, bing this menace under control or otherwise stop him so New York City can finally know some peace! Oh, and bring the Hulk under control too, if that's somehow possible.
"Look, I am a simple man. But the budget of New York City is at stake, and so is the lives of everyone in it. Same with every city nationwide that has had to deal with the influx of superheroes over the last couple of years. Our budgets, our peace of mind, and our daily lives just plain can't take it anymore! But it all starts with Spider-Man. Unlike the Hulk, there is no excuse for Spider-Man's behavior. Control him, or stop him however possible, so New York City can finally sleep at night knowing that only professional superheroes are out there protecting them from the freaks of nature in the world!
"Now, for analysis, we have Police Captain George Stacy of the NYPD . . ."
***
And so this is the lovely junk I have to listen to in the morning, Aunt May's DVR recording of last night's Daily Bugle. Every morning, I come downstairs, and here's J.J.J. critizing me for the zillionth time and displaying his inability to find a synonym for "menace". I mean, at least make it less obvious that you're rehashing the same points over and over again. Not asking for much here. Other than adoration, respect, and hosting a private party for yours truly. Okay, maybe that last point is going a bit too far.
"Peter, as good as it is that you're finally watching the news, you have ten minutes before you have to go to school. It's your first day, you can't be late," Aunt May says from behind me.
"I know, I know," I reply, tuning J.J.J. out as he attempts to rip into George Stacy. Captain Stacy is a strong man, a good man. He just lets J.J.J. bluster about for twenty seconds, and when J.J.J. finally stops, Stacy responds.
"The truth of the matter is that crimes attempted by the common criminal, no superpowers, has dropped by seventy percent since Spider-Man began his activities. The rise in supervillain activity, to me, seems to be correlated to a general rise in the number of supervillains."
"This does not explain the abnormally high property damage and-"
"Peter, please!" Aunt May grabs the remote and switches it off. "You're down to nine minutes now."
"Okay, okay."
Aunt May is forty-four years old, and seems about five or six years younger, she hasn't even started to go gray yet and her voice still sounds like it could come out of a twenty or thirty-something. She's active and strong, and . . . well, let's just say she's direct. There's no naunces, no censorship, no flip-flopping. She tells you exactly what she thinks.
Flash Thompson, the guy who is out to make my school life miserable, like to say about . . . you know what, why should I care? I promised myself, and promised Gwen, that I wasn't going to let Flash run my life this semester. It's the start of mo sophomore year. I'm done! That's what Aunt May would want too.
May sighs as she prepares her duffel bag. She works at a rehab center for professional athletes, helps condition and get them back on their feet. Among her clients is the current backup goalie for the New York Islanders.
"Just remember, Peter, you have some place to be after school. Don't forget, please."
"Yeah, I know. I'm not going to forget this for the world."
"You mean it, Peter?"
My recent history is coming back to haunt me, there's subtle skepticism in her voice. "Yeah, I do."
***
This means that Spider-Man can't be active after school, but that doesn't mean Spider-Man can't take a swing through the city before school. I'm going to look really bad to Aunt May if I don't make it this time, so I can't even risk taking a patrol through the city once school is over. If something is going down, I'm going to have to intervene, because that's my responsibility. Though I guess that avoiding responsibility isn't what Uncle Ben had in mind for me.
Now I don't know what to do. Argh.
All right, just take a swing through Manhattan. Try to ignore His Jolly Loudness blasting away on the Times Square screens. How the heck does J.J.J. even get the money to do that?
To make things worse, he's ranting about me again. This isn't a new recording by our happy, intrepid commentator either, it's like an advertisement for his Daily Bugle program, showcasing the "best of the Bugle" or something. J.J.J. seems to think that his rants about me are the "best of the best" because these rants seem to mention me every other time.
What does he have against me? I mean, his car was only dented slightly when I slammed Montana into it six months ago. And there was the time when I made the Spot's wormhole gun malfunction and it transported J.J.J. to the top of the Empire State Building. And then there was the time when I was playing bullfighter with Rhino and he wound up slamming into the Daily Bugle ground-floor recording studio.
Uh . . .
Okay, I think I know why the guy has a beef with me. But still!
Let's just take one last look through Manhattan, and then it's time to swing over back to Queens and get to school. It's only a half-day today, and then it's meeting up with May, and just have a nice peaceful night, without any Spidey-related-
Boom.
Spoke too soon, as always.
I swing in the general direction of the explosion. Seems like it happened a couple of blocks away. I hope this isn't Mysterio robbing yet another bank, frankly, Mysterio's shtick got old the fifth or sixth time. And he's attempted a bank robbery twelve times since I started this gig. He seems to break out of prison just to get caught by me. I wonder if he likes me or something.
I see crowds below me running away from a street in panic. Seems that I'm close to the. chaos.
A police car is suddenly sent flying through the air past me.
Yup, this is it.
Express elevator to the ground floor time.
The crowd's mostly cleared as I hit the ground. Looks like someone's attacked a armored car full of cash, considering the twenty-dollar bills flying everywhere and unconscious security guards, and, well, a smoking armored car. Not Mysterio's M.O.
There's a bald guy with a giant black pack on his back holding a beige sack of cash. He turns around as I approach him, and I recognize him immediately. He's rather infamous around New York.
"Trapster."
Trapster. Real name: Peter (yes, really) Petruski. He's a bank robber much like Mysterio, but unlike Mr. Goldfish Bowl Trapster here is actually good at what he does. He's gotten away before. He's not my typical enemy, though, Trapster is usually associated as a Fantastic Four foe, along with the rest of his Frightful Four friends, who are funded by Trapster's cash grabs.
Trapster grins as he sees me. "Well, well, if it ain't the bug boy. Fancy meetin' you here."
"Uh, technically, spiders aren't bugs, they're-"
"Who cares?" And he aims his gun/Super Soaker/nozzle right at my face.
I know what's coming, I've read the stories. Even one of the greats, Iron Man, got caught by this. Trapster is found of this weapon, where he showers you in something akin to cement, though it weakens over time, like glue. It's been said that this is deliberate by Trapster so he can't be accused of attempted murder.
I jump aside as Trapster does a quick spray of his gunk, and thankfully it flies past me and goes into a storefront. I do the run-around, eventually taking cover behind the smoking armored car as Trapster tries relentlessly to hit me.
Okay, so far, he hasn't got me glued up. Good start so far.
Trapster trying to goad me out. "So, this is the Amazing Spider-Man? What's the matter? You a coward?"
No, but I think I'm coming up with a plan.
I take a peek under the armored car. There's Trapster's feet, nice and exposed.
Plan: trap the Trapster. Yes, I had to say that.
I put my left hand under the car and spray both of his feet with my webbing. I get the intended effect, because after the typical "What the?" reaction, he starts wobbling back and forth, completely off balance.
Perfect.
I jump on top of the armored car, and he barely has time to even look at me before I'm already leaping at him.
My right fist has a short and not entirely pleasant meeting with his face.
He's knocked backwards and somersaults down the road, but that wasn't a finishing blow. This guy has a thick skin, he forces himself back up, and suddenly he doesn't look anywhere near as amused about the situation as before.
I wonder if he was underestimating me, and now he's going to go all out.
"A punk kid isn't going to be the one who catches me!"
Here comes the goop.
I run and swing to the left to jump on the side of a building and try to get a shot at him, but traces of Trapster's cement-style mix get attached to my costume, and when I stick on the building, I stay stuck. And no amount of struggling is going to allow me to break free. Not in enough time.
Trapster laughs as he walks towards me and aims that nozzle at me. "See? Not even the Fantastic Four can catch me. What makes you think you can?"
His eyes narrow. "Here's a taste of your own medicine!"
I aim my free arm at the nozzle. It's risky but I have no choice. I am not going to to be engaged in a pile of goop while this guy got away.
I fire, and I realized immediately that my aim's true. My webbing clogs his nozzle, and I immediately see steam rising out of his pack. My goop versus his goop, and my goop wins.
Come to think of it, that sounds really, really wrong. Forget I said that.
Trapster just gives me this look of forlorn resignation . . . no, I'm lying. He looked really, really mad, before his pack explodes, and when the smoke clears, he is covered in his cement-esque stuff.
In the meantime, his material's worn off enough that I'm able to force myelf free and I get back on the ground.
I almost can't believe it. I caught him. I caught a guy who isn't one of my regulars. A guy not even the Fantastic Four could catch! I caught him good! My mature reaction: "Yes! I got you! Who's da man, Trapster? Who's da man? I da man, that's what!"
Trapster just gives me a pair of evil eyes, and then his eyes widen to the size of dinner plates.
Uh oh.
Though my Spider-sense should be going off if something bad really was coming. My Spider-sense is like a alarm clock that never runs out of batteries, set to danger rather than to the time. So why wasn't it . . .
Oh wait. Whatever's coming is a bad thing for Trapster, but not for me.
I turn around, and I see a tall, African-American man with an eyepatch over his right eye staring at me.
"Oh! Uh . . hi there, dude. Do I know you from somewhere? You kinda look like this actor . . ."
The man raises an eyebrow.
"Or did I see you on the news and I'm mixing you up with someone else . . ."
He sighs. "Typical teenager. Never pays attention. I'm Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD."
Now I remember. Every superhero knows who these guys are, it's SHIELD's responsibility to keep us in line, and keep the free world secure in general. "Oh. Well, am I supposed to know who you are? I mean, SHIELD's supposed to be like 'super-secret' spy stuff."
Fury's eyebrow goes up again. It's becoming apparent that I'm coming off as a total idiot.
"I am a public figure, Spider-Man. I am the face that SHIELD presents to the public as well as the person who runs it. Just like the directors of the CIA and FBI."
"But not the NSA's leader guy. Nobody knows who he is," I say.
Fury's eyebrow not only raises, but twitches. "You're missing my point."
"I wasn't aware there was a point to-" As I'm trying to finish, I hear a crack behind me, and I turn to see that Trapster has gotten himself free at last.
"Hold on a second, bad guy getting-"
I'm interrupted again, this time by Nick Fury. "Wait."
He fires his weapon, which looks to be some kind of futuristic laser gun thing, into the road, sending a piece of the asphalt flying into the air. The asphalt piece bounces off the armored car and crashes right into Trapster's skull, and he's down in an instant.
"Okay, that was cool," I couldn't help but say.
"It's a specialty weapon, meant to break up the ground and create projectiles," Fury says. "Though if it was used on humans . . . the results would not be pleasant. It takes a lot of responsibility to wield this weapon as it was intended."
"With great power must also come great responsibility," I say, almost automatically. Uncle Ben's final words to me, before I foolishly stormed out that door, the night he died, still stays with me. I almost say those words reflexively at this point.
"Good words from a good man," Fury says.
That takes a moment to register. "Wait . . . what?"
"Your uncle was a good man, Peter Parker. I suspect he knew what was going on with you and he wanted to give you the best advice he could. It's advice that rings true for everyone in the world."
Fury's trying to dress up his statement as something else, but I'm not going to have any of it. The words "Peter Parker", my real name, are ringing in my head. "How do you know? How could you know?"
"I am the best at what I do," Fury says.
"You've been spying on me the whole time?"
"It is my responsibility to make sure the super-powered among us don't cause any more chaos! Look at what's happened to this street, 'Spider-Man'."
I look around. Trapster's goop is everywhere, in places I hadn't even noticed. Cars were destroyed, multiple storefronts were smashed, and even a lampost had buckled and fallen at the nearest intersection. It almost looks like a war zone.
Fury resumes. "You made multiple errors that could have shortened the fight and reduced the collateral damage. Is this how a responsible superhero would behave, or would he work harder to reduce the possibility of costly damage and human casualties?"
"You're missing the point! I caught him! The Fantastic Four have spent years trying to get this guy and I did and you're going to lecture me on responsibility? What gives you the right to tell me what to do? And who gives you the right to watch my every move?"
"Typical answer," Fury says. "But don't disregard me, Peter. You have the potential to be much greater than you are. You could be the 'Ultimate' Spider-Man."
"And you're saying you can bring me there." I was not asking a question. Right now, I didn't want to ask Fury anything. I just wanted to get out of here.
"I can. SHIELD's been working on an academy to help train young superpowered types such as yourself into becoming a true generation of heroes . . . heroes that can keep instances like this from being commonplace like they are now. We have multiple teams, and you have a spot reserved for you. You have a lot of responsibility to learn, Peter Parker, and I'm giving you the offer to learn it."
That's it. Creepiness factor has reached its max. Done now. "Thanks but no thanks. I'm not exactly a team player. I'm always the last kid picked anyway."
And with that, I aimed and fired my webbing at a building and took off.
I'm not going to be controlled. Nick Fury is going to need to work harder than that if he wants me.
A lot harder.
***
This is Norman Osborn:
A businessman who never apologizes. He has built his empire from the bottom-up through his ruthlessness and genius-level intelligence. His ingenuity has inspired many new weapons and biological advancements. His unmatched business skills makes him able to not only keep his company evolving, but allow it to stay unified.
His company, Oscorp, is his baby. It is like a child to him, more a child than his actual child, Harold Osborn. It is also more his wife than any of the three wives he has married and divorced. It has grown and matured along with Norman himself. However, just like Norman does not look like he is in his mid-forties, his company doesn't look like it's aging either. Norman is always out to improve himself, and his company does the same.
He is disappointed in the life of his real-life son. Harry isn't good enough. He isn't showing the passionate drive that Norman feels. Norman is afraid for the future of his company, for the time will come when he will have to step down, but his baby will live on without him, unless some idiot comes and kills it. That cannot be tolerated. If Harry turns out to be incompetent, Oscorp must be strong enough to survive such foolishness.
Norman Osborn is also an accomplished manipulator. That is how he has roped in his strangest new ally, former employee, and former foe, Dr. Otto Octavius. Octavius is almost more machine than man now, his grievous wounds suffered at the hands of a spandex-clad vigilante has left the good doctor in a pathetic physical state. But nothing is wrong with Octavius' mental state other than the psychotic dementia so many of Octavius' kind tend to have. And Osborn appreciates intelligence.
Osborn also appreciates secrets. No one knows what he is truly up to. He will tell a person one thing, and tell a different person another, and he could be lying or telling the truth in both cases. His agenda is known only to himself, and he is always ready to adjust it on the fly.
He won't have it any other way.
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