The Sensational Spider-Man (Collected)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Don’t be nervous, Pete. Don’t be nervous. You’ve fought Goblin, Electro, Vulture, Ock, and Sandman…at the same time, dammit! You’ve got this in the bag.

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

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

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

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

“Aw, really?”

“Yep.”

“He won’t even see someone like me?”

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

“Hi, Betty,” he said, smiling.

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

“B-Betty…” Peter struggled to say, “…you’re…crushing…me.”

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

Well. This became awkward.

“I, uhm… I do pilates,” he fibbed. “So…how’ve you been?”

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

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

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

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

“Sort of,” she said. “He heads Horizon Labs, doesn’t he?”

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

“Are you serious?!”

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

“Well, I… I’m really sorry to hear that, Pete,” Betty said apologetically.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm-hm.”

“. . . Send ’im in.”

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

“Thank you so much, Betty,” Peter said ardently as he began making his way to Jameson’s office. “I really appreciate it.”

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

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

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

“I, um… Uh… I…”

“Out with it, boy!”

Speak up, dammit!

“I noticed you guys had an opening here at the Bugle. For a photographer.”

“. . . You’re telling me you want your old job back?”

“Yes, sir,” Peter said, nodding.

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

Peter dipped his head. He knew it. He was right.

“Ha ha ha haha haha haaa!” hollered Jameson as he banged his fist on his desk. “Ha ha! Ohhh, God! Hahahaaa!”

“I’ll— I’ll go, then,” Peter said quietly. He turned to leave.

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

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

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

“Mm-hm. I think so.”

“Great. Get me a great photo of Spider-Phony in the morning by deadline, and the job’s yours.”


Later That Night…

“Woooo-hoooooooo!”

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

“Woo! Yeahhh! No unemployment, baby!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hoof! This…is…kinda heavy…

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

“You guys okay?” he asked them.

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

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

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

“Hmmm. Black truck… Black guns… Black uniforms… Is you guys’ favorite color pink, by chance?”

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

“I mean, take it from me—black is just…a bit on the nose, y’know?” Spider-Man webbed up both of their guns, flinging the weapons out of the truck. “The only people I know of that look good in black are… Well… A couple people, I guess. But you guys? Blech! Pardon the trite joke, but, you guys need a visit from the Fashion Police.”

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

“Oh no! Knives! My kryptonite!”

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Balloon? Not the balloon! The horror!

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

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

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” said a curly-haired woman, no doubt the boy’s mother.

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

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


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

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

Then, I met the Spider. I became obsessed with defeating him. It wasn’t long before I made a crucial discovery. I uncovered Spider-Man’s identity. His name was Peter. Peter Benjamin Parker. I know how to defeat him now. Today’s the day. Today will mark the death of the Spider. I know how his mind works. I know his every weakness. He can be manipulated, just like anyone else. How? He is compassionate. He cares for the people of this city. Such useless sentiments, in my opinion. Compassion can be used as a weakness. It is the perfect bait to set a trap.

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

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

“Help! Someone help us! Please!”

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

“Uncle Ben…?” murmured Spidey, his eyes wide in shock.

Without a second thought, Spider-Man went into action. “Hey!” he yelled at the burglar. “Here’s a lame joke about a guy who decided to pester some everyday pedestrians!”

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

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

“Someone get me outta here!” the crook cried. “Heeelp!”

Spidey turned to three people he’d saved. “You guys okay? Your lunches’re still down?”

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

“Hey, no biggie. I’m just glad you guys are oka—”

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

“What the what?!” Spider-Man exclaimed. What the hell was happening?

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


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

“Hey, what’s…going on?” he asked, still a little drowsy. “Where—? Where am I…?”

“Welcome back to OsCorp, Mister Parker,” came a slithery, high-pitched voice. “I am so happy that you’re here.”

“Osborn…? Osborn, ’zat you? Ugh… My head…”

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

“Yes, Parker, it’s me,” the voice continued. “It’s us. Your greatest adversary. Ha ha ha ha haaa!”

“Wh-why—? What—? How—?”

“You’re wondering how I managed to capture you. Well, ‘tiger,’ it was all so…simple. Yes, simple.”

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

“Right behind you, old friend.”

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

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

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

“So long, Spider,” giggled the Goblin.

Spider-Man was dead.


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

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

Because you’re weak, Norman. Ineffectual.

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

—his thoughts and dreams of killing Spider-Man.

It would happen someday. Someday…


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

“Aghuhuhuhu…” groaned Peter, burying his face into his pillow.

“Peter! You don’t want me coming in here banging pots together, do you? Wake up!”

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

“Good. Now get showered.”

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

Fifteen Minutes Later…

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

“There you are. I’m just making some breakfast for you.”

Peter smiled appreciatively. “That’s okay, Aunt May. Thanks, but…I can make my own breakfast. It’s no big deal.”

May scoffed. “Peter, I’ve made you breakfast since you were little. While you’re here, I don’t have any intention of stopping that. Besides, I personally don’t think cereal counts as ‘making your own breakfast’.”

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

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

“You’re welcome, Peter,” she said. “. . . Peter?”

“Mm-hm?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure. What’s up?”

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

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

“Bothersome? How?”

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

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

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

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

That made Peter laugh a little. “Very helpful, May.”

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

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

Later…
The Daily Bugle.

“Wow, Parker, this is crap.”

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

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

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

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

Robbie Robertson, one of Peter’s greatest friends at the Bugle, and also father of his former roommate Randy, rushed in immediately. “Yeah, Jonah?”

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

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

“You bet your haircut you are!” Jameson barked.

Robbie left without saying another word to Jameson. As he did, he patted Peter on the shoulder, saying, “Good to have you back, Pete.”

“Don’t you walk away from me!”

“Am I done here, Mister Jameson?” Peter asked.

“Hang on, Parker. I have an assignment for ya.”

“An assignment? Really? Already?”

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

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

“You ever heard of Stark Magazine Weekly?”

Oh dear God.

“Uh… Yeah?”

“Their swimsuit issue’s coming out this month—”

No. Please, God, no.

“—and I need you to go to the release party. Most o’the models are gonna be there.”

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look! Up in the sky!”

“Is… Is that him?”

“It is! It’s him!”

“It’s Iron Man!”

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

Wow. Guy sure loves to make an entrance.

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

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

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

“Great to hear. Oh, and just to let you guys know…you’re all going home with a free copy of the swimsuit issue. Also, as you’re leaving, please, feel free to pick up the first issue of my new comic series.”

Peter’s face met the palm of his hand.

“Y’know, I wanna do something that…I don’t often do. I wanna say…thank you.”

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

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

Is that a compliment or an insult?

“So, I just want to say…thank you. Without you guys, I couldn’t—”

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

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

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

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

“Electro,” said the armored hero. “Mind telling me why you’re here?”

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