Post by DDofEire on Feb 7, 2019 0:12:07 GMT
New York City, 1:49 AM
The city that never sleeps, how could it? Any little piece of black was drowned out with the pinks and blues of the living, breathing night. Some might take comfort in that, the darkness being held at bay by the light.
Some might not however.
Peter AKA the Spectacular Spider-Boy, almost unconsciously, crawled backwards up the graffitied wall like the eight legged creature whose name he bore, seemingly recoiling from the sight of the neon signs that hampered his attempt at stealth. He just wanted some peace. A place where finally the eyes would stop watching him.
Peter knew why the city didn’t sleep. They wouldn’t let it. Those lights… each represented some carnivorous faceless corporation trying to leech yet another piece of some poor soul. Picking at their subconscious like mosquitos.
He’d had enough of that.
His subconscious wasn’t just picked at, it was a gaping wound. He felt like every small bit of minutiae around him was rushing into his mind like an infection. He was too tired to fight so he let it in… embracing the agony.
The buzzing of those blood sucking insects now drawing closer.
The irony of the Spider emblem on his chest wasn’t lost on him as he imagined a not un-biblical plague of gnats devouring his flesh.
He had tried. It’s seemed like it was so long ago but really just a few weeks had passed since he became “Spider-Boy”. He had burst on to the scene with such hope and enthusiasm. His first burgeoning of understanding had unleashed a fire in him. He was stronger, faster and he knew… he thought… that this meant something, that he had a purpose… the worst part is… he did.
Even now as he clung to the wall behind him with a preternatural touch of his sore hands and feet, he knew it was all for nothing. That fire in him had burned through him and left him nothing but a husk.
It was original sin, the foolishness of Adam and Eve. Ever since he could remember he just tried to get all the answers in life and now that he had them? He didn’t want it. He wanted the sweet ignorance of a childhood he had never really had…
The proverbial apple he had bit lay in front of him: the syringe smashed and the vibrant red-orange liquid spilling on to the ground… its fiery hue adding to deluge of penetrating lights filling up his vision.
The red… the Oni… Reaching out for him… Memories flashing through his mind, interspersed with the minute details of the city around him, colliding to form a kaleidoscope. Reality blending with perception in a violent torrent.
Amidst the hungry lights was his dear Uncle Gen who’d looked after him all his life but now his face was different… twisted. Where before he had only ever seen him mildly disappointed at best now it was a rictus of rage and bile he had never even imagined on the kindly older man’s face in a million years, like every doubt he had ever had about how Uncle Gen may actually feel about him given form in a monstrous mask that transformed his guardian into a nightmare.
He wore the face of the Red Oni. That horned demon of old, “grinning” with a snarling menace.
His Uncle Gen’s eyes burrowed into him and soon those same eyes appeared everywhere; in the slivers of darkness that managed to avoid the garish lights of the vampiric city. No safe harbors… not anymore. This buzzing, angry light was surrounding him and he couldn’t hold it back anymore.
So when he heard the sounds of approach it was almost a relief.
So instead of running like his gut told him to, he decided to give him once more: to let it happen. Rough hands grabbing him from off the wall.
His abused mind rushing back to the here and now, he had to make a choice: whether or not to even bother trying to live.
His right hook a moment too late, an elbow jab that just missed its mark. He once knew how to do this. It wasn’t just the drugs, dragging his limbs and fogging his mind. It was him: he just couldn’t make himself care anymore.
It was a dance he knew all the steps too and yet it didn’t matter. He done this all before, and he’ll do it all again… it would never end any differently…
None of it even seemed real anymore. The flash of those damn signs lighting his attackers in frantic color. Lighting their fiery orange hair and glaring off the metal of their switchblades as each cut was struck.
Worse of all was the way the light exaggerated their manic grins to grotesque proportions: mocking his bottomless well of melancholy.
“No quips today Spider?” One laughed, his voice as hysterical as his fists.
“Maybe he’s finally realized,” The other laughed back, a higher brow laugh than his counterpart, “He’s the real joke.”
And the thing was: he had.
Peter lunged for him but even as he did so his foot hit the puddle of bubbling hot liquid spilling out from the broken syringe and slipped out from under him. Somehow when he hit the ground it was almost a relief, an excuse to stop trying: to give in.
He was aware of the pain as they beat him but he was able to lift himself away from it, almost as if it was happening to someone else and he was just observing.
As he stared up at the starless sky, bloodied and broken on the alley floor it came as no surprise to see his Uncle Gen standing tall over him, as he always did but the image blurred once more but this time in his place was not the Oni but instead a svelt blonde man, pointed noise and squinted eyes.
“Time again old friend?” The man hissed in a crisp English accent, his consonants resonated with the buzzing sound, blending together, “Tell me: Are you getting as tired of dying as I am of killing you?”
Peter didn’t respond, even as blood gurgled out of his mouth.
“Yeah…” The Englishman laughed, “That’s what I thought you’d say.”
He let himself go limp as he saw, in the very same moment, his Uncle Gen leaned over him reaching out with a helping hand… alongside the image of the Englishman’s boot coming towards him violently as he at last found the shelter of sweet, safe darkness.
7:30 later that morning.
Pete violently fumbled for his alarm clock, now loudly blaring ‘War Pigs’ by Black Sabbath a choice that at the time he had found humorous a harbinger of another day at high school but one he now regretted with every fiber of his being.
Having won “victory” he promptly rolled back over as his mind both threated to return to the dream and at the same time refused to do so. He floated at the edge of a memory that wasn’t quite there. At once trying to forget even as he examined the imagery himself as some kind manic depressive version of that new hero: Spider-Boy.
The other images; Uncle Gen’s monstrous appearance, that odd British stranger… his apparent death. Lying just behind a veil of fog in his mind.
“You’ll be late at this rate.” The gentle voice contradicted the twisted vision of the face that accompanied it in Pete’s mind.
Pete turned and saw him: General Thaddeus “Thunderbolt” Ross himself, his kindly “Uncle Gen”. He smiled, internally laughing at himself; what got into his head? How could his subconscious come up with such a strange concoction?
“Yeah… I’m up.” Pete said gruffly.
“You’re alive?” The voice that asked this didn’t belong to anyone in the room, Peter whipped his head around even as the morning fog cleared and he began to forget the dream and even what the voice sounded like… was he just imaging it?
“Good!” Uncle Gen boomed bringing his attention back to the present, “No time for dreaming my boy! Responsibility!” Uncle Gen laughed, “Time to face the day!” He said, voice booming, as he pulled open the blinders on Pete’s bedroom window; the bright rays of the Sun pouring in, eliminating any chance of Pete catching even five more minutes of sleep.
As he shielded he sleep sand encrusted eyes from the light… some tiny corner of his mind remembered being afraid of it…
Midtown School of Science and Technology
“Is Spider-Boy One of Us?”
It was the headline of the Morning Mist, the school paper, a big splashy, yet blurry, picture of that new hero everyone was buzzing about: Spider-Boy himself. His elastic grin and bright costume contrasting the melancholic portrait trapped in the back of Pete’s mind.
“How is this school related Tana?” Jason sighed.
The two were co-editors and chief of the Mist but the way Peter and the others in the undersized spare room serving as their office positioned themselves it was clear that most of them deferred to Tana, with Jason’s ever more furrowed brow projecting exasperation with every glance.
“Maybe if you read the article, instead of looking at the pretty pictures you’d know.” The Asian girl snapped back with a buoyant chirp. Michelle “MJ” Jones laughed from where she sat over Peter’s shoulder on the windowsill.
Despite knowing her trademark austere, introverted nature he took her proximity and jovial display and allowed himself to imagine, if just for a moment, that they were good friends.
“Still Ms. Moon the question stands, why this story for our school paper?” Mr. Pauncholito their faculty advisor asked, lazily wiping at his glasses.
“She supposes based on his web-shooter tech, approximate physical age and general range of activity.” Peter listed off, almost on instinct, before looking to see the room staring at him: Jason in particular.
It was simple habit; Peter was used to getting questions right and he was used to the wafting aroma of resentment from a portion of the class as he did so but… he still answered them because he knew the answer. He had so many questions in life that he wished he had the answers to, so when he knows one… why would he hide it?
“Thanks Ross, just so you know: absolutely no one asked you.” Jason snarled, turning towards Pete only momentarily to glare at the younger boy like a kicked dog.
“You’re just sour because your story is on page 3.” Tana smiled at Jason, while casually throwing a wink in Peter’s direction, causing something warm to bloom in his chest.
“Three is pretty close to page one.” Jason’s girlfriend Sally whispered from the peanut gallery.
“It’s a six page newsletter…” Michelle stage whispered with a smirk.
“What are you doing?” It was the same mysterious voice as before; a young, male voice cutting through the confused thoughts racing through his attention deficit rattled mind. The one he had originally written off as just another part of his daydream. He whipped his head around over his other shoulder to look out the parallel window to MJ’s, just barely catching a glimpse of someone watching them before vanishing behind the school: only the briefest glimpse of purple identifying the stranger.
“Peter if you could pay attention, we’re at your bits.” Tana chirped, causing his head to whip back around, “The photos.”
“Yeah the one on the front page kindah sucks.” Seymour sniped.
“You can’t really expect me to get an image of Spider-Boy… I got this off the web.” Pete rolled his eyes.
“No of course not.” Tana rolled her eyes, “But SOME pictures would be nice. You’ve been pretty late lately on delivery.”
Peter felt that same feeling when your own self-denial is called out, in a group setting no less, and his natural instinct was to deflect.
“I’ll try and speed it up but let’s face it this glorified pamphlet has a cartoon bluebird on it, let’s not pretend we’re gonna break the next Watergate.”
Tana scrunched up her face but said nothing turning to another Mist staffer.
“Smooth.” MJ hissed in his ear, even as he mentally kicked himself.
As the meeting came to a close he swiftly gathered his things, narrowly avoiding the briny gaze of Jason and Seymour… only to nearly run over Michelle as he made his tried to make his exit as she came to a stop in the hallway.
He skidded to a halt and then immediately jumped back.
“Sorry MJ… Uh I mean… Michelle!” He squeaked.
“You know…” She drolled, slowly turning to face him, “Some people find that looking while moving generally improves one’s chances of getting to their destination safely…” She sighed before returning to what she had been doing, taping a poster to the wall; noticeably over a school announcement.
“Yeah I uh…” He laughed uneasily but it died in his throat as he saw an image on the poster, between the actually pretty well drawn figures dancing, the repeating phrase of ‘Get Gone’ and the many exclamation points was a red oni symbol. Similar to the image in his dream, the face that his Uncle Gen momentarily changed to…
“What’s that?”
Michelle or “MJ” as Peter had, only occasionally, been provisionally allowed to call her at decathlon or newspaper meetings, sighed once more but did not turn around this time as she finished her task.
“It’s called a party. I know you are unfamiliar with the phenomenon but go with me… it’s where fun happens. My cousin is DJing… the exclamation points are hers… obviously… and I have deemed it a barely passable event. You should go… take notes on human interaction...”
Peter smiled awkwardly.
“Yeah… maybe I will… that’s nice of you to…”
“No, no.” Michelle interrupted finally turning around, though she did seem to be stifling a smile at his sincere response to her sarcastic “invitation”.
“I know what a party is, that’s not what I meant.” He rolled his eyes, which hoped was enough to deflect from the blush on his face.
“Gone?” She took a quick glance at the poster then back at him, “You don’t want to get Gone. Trust me… far above your pay grade.”
As she said this his mind flashed back to the syringe in his dream… the bubbling red liquid…
Daydreaming he barely noticed as MJ used his distraction to slip her way around him unnoticed.
“See yah Ross.” She scoffed patting his head before walking away.
Peter blushed once more.
“No I meant…” but it was too late she was out of earshot, his eyes drifted back to the poster: that demonic little face mocking him with familiarity. It was just like the one from his nightmare and as he looked at it, he could almost envision it shifting to his dear Uncle’s face
“Gah…” He huffed to himself, shaking his head slightly, “It was just a dream.”
He laughed to himself, walking away.
“No time for dreaming...”
That same time, elsewhere in the city.
The alley looked different in the daylight, not as threatening. The neon lights were out and the natural light fell on every surface leaving the once dark corner illuminated revealing no demons or invading eyes but instead the tedious refuse of day to day life in the bustling metropolis.
If it wasn’t for the red-haired male twins who appeared to be dabbing at blood stains, it would be almost benign.
“Do you even think we need to clean up?” The rougher of the two snapped from where he knelt, his mess of hair flying wildly in the wind. His more prim and postured brother looked at him condescendingly but said nothing, “There’s hardly a back alley in the septic tank of a city that doesn’t have some bodily fluids in it. I think it’d be more suspicious clean!” He laughed a maniacal exaggerated, but seemingly natural to him, laugh.
“Jerome…” The foppish twin scoffed, saying his brother’s name as if it were a curse, “You and I both know why we’re here. You are idiotic enough without playing the fool on purpose.”
Jerome rolled his eyes and reached for a syringe lying just a foot or so in front of him. Some of the red-orange liquid still dripping from its jagged edges.
“I suppose… Jeremiah right again, as always… This IS after all hardly an advertisement for our product.” Jerome snickered to himself.
“Interesting.” Jeremiah tutted turning to where Jerome squatted in the alley, “You consider the product partially yours do you?” He hummed with a clinical air, a blood, dirt and shit covered cloth draping from his gloved hand with the effect of a gentleman’s handkerchief.
“You don’t?” Jerome snarled turning to his brother with an animalistic sneer.
“I try to only take pride in real achievements.”
“Are you forgetting last night? You don’t call slopping the waste of that Damn Daniel looking little mofo that we dragged out of here in the crack of the morning an achievement?” Jerome ranted, arms wailing as he did.
Jeremiah merely looked at him with nonplussed disgust.
“I don’t call squishing a spider and taking it outside an achievement. We’re glorified plebes Jerome.” Jeremiah sighed, “I’ll take pride in this if and when we get to make any real power moves. Or should say if I do.”
Jerome stared daggers at him but only for a moment before his rubbery face cracked once more into a manic smile. His laugh pealing through the alley.
“You sneer Jer bear but you’re still here.” Jerome singsonged.
“Yes and you know exactly why.” His brother snapped back ferociously.
For a moment it looked like they were about to attack each other but a sound caused them to stop.
Buzzing flies hovered around the nearby trash, usually an average sight in your run of the mill back alley but not the way it seemed to put both of them off their game. Cutting the argument in half, as a prickling feeling crawled its way up their necks.
“He’s not listening.”
“Keep telling yourself that.” Jeremiah scoffed to the back of his brother’s head, as the manic twin looked back at him with a wild glare.
The truth was the ‘he’ in question was not listening but someone was. Just out of view, from the roof above, another figure, with a shock of purple hair (done in a fauxhawk) and garish vintage clothes, watched them a look of utter disgust on his face. The image of Spider-Boy’s bloody body embedded in his head.
This was Quentin Quire, would be superhero calling himself Kid Omega and at the moment he couldn’t have felt less super.
Other people’s thoughts were sticky things, like the hands of children (another thing Quentin despised), and yet he waded into them once again in his search for truth; the trickiest and most elusive of prey. As a telepath he both loathed and yet was ultimately thrilled by mysteries great and small.
This current one was perhaps the greatest.
Having lost touch with his “partner” Spider-Boy, only to discover that he had perhaps been murdered… only to then find him acting as an ignorant teen boy at a local high school?
The breadcrumbs kept leading back to their shared quarry: The Goners. A drug ring with deep pockets and a supernaturally addictive product. The ring’s two left foot soldiers the Valeska twins seemed to think they had killed Spider-Boy but a faint telepathic “scent” had led him to Midway Science only to find that wasn’t the case. So what was the real answer?
Currently he followed the two as they made their rounds. His mental power allowing for a greater amount of stealth than a young man with purple hair and more buttons than a sky rise elevator should have. Sending of constant waves of “I’m nothing special”, “Don’t pay any attention to me”, etc.
Leaving his power “on” was taxing though and so he couldn’t press into their minds with the strength he’d normally abuse and it showed from his lack of discovery. So far all he was getting were vague insults about each other rising just above an endless buzzing noise.
He felt as tsunami of emotions boiled through each brother and tried to brush it inside and focus on cold hard facts: Was Spider-Boy dead? Who is masquerading as Peter Ross if that is the case? What is the Goners real endgame?
But the twin’s emotions were saturated to point of madness. Each feeling felt like a gale force wind. Even now Jerome could either murder his brother in cold blood or laugh off his condescension, no in between.
“You’ve got to lighten up brother dear.” Jerome laughed answering Quentin’s query, his laugh was like a hyena on ketamine, “The party should be good for you. Work or play, work and play, all rolled up together real tight like an Appalachian and his sister!”
“Yes dear brother, always so eloquent. You should enjoy yourself, your pleasures take a lot less effort than mine.” Jeremiah said venomously as he turned away, his eyes falling on the poster instead: the Red Oni in particular.
“Well, well…” Quentin murmured to himself with a snicker, “See you at the party then… yah soulless gingers.”
Willow Lake, New York City
The much lauded party was bustling to say the least. An empty warehouse, that Peter internally hoped was actually abandoned, served as the locale. Christmas lights and Halloween decorations were strewn about in a surprisingly effective motif.
Peter, for his part, had put on what he thought of as a “cool” outfit. Which mostly consisted of magenta cargo shorts, oversized sunglasses, and a Hawaiian shirt Pete found in Uncle Gen’s closet. He was “road testing” this look from the safety the wall the resident “wallflowers” had chosen.
The safety, like his chic air, was an illusion.
He discovered this as a hand came up by his ear, flipping his sunglasses to the ground with a flick of nimble fingers.
He nearly jumped as he turned to see Michelle had snuck up next to him, wielding a churro in one hand like nightstick, chomping like a stegosaurus, as he stared perplexedly as Tana danced with Jason, his mind not able to follow the linear flow of this from their enmity earlier, as much of teen social cues were lost on him.
“You know.” She muttered, sidling up next to him, “When I said you should take notes on human interaction… that was a jab.” She said taking another bite of her massive churro.
“I know.” Peter rolled his eyes but smiled.
“Meant to insult and/or mock you.” She went on in a dry monotone.
“Yeah, I get it.” Pete sighed, lying his head back against the wall.
“No you don’t. You get nothing and you will get nothing holding up the wall.”
As she said this the image of him, clad in red and blue spandex, from his dream, holding himself up against the wall through some innate ability came to him unbidden. He remembered how natural it felt. ‘Spider-Boy would know how to talk to people…’
“Earth to Ross.” Michelle snapped in his face, “Go talk to someone. Someone who is not Tana Moon. That girl over there, who stumbled out of some Fortune 500’s illicit vacation fantasy, has been giving you the eye. Go talk to her before she realizes she’s imaginary.” She waved vaguely to the other side of the dance floor.
He saw the girl she was referring to: a shy looking Asian girl in a parochial school uniform, hair an unexpected pale blond and done up in stylized pigtails, the tops of each forming a sort of meatball sized mini bun.
Her unusual hair style isn’t what caught his attention though, it was the way she looked at him. Like she was trying to figure him out and not in a “hey look at that cute boy” way. Not that he was ever used to getting that kind of a look either.
“You know” He said, shaking himself from his reverie, “actually it’d be nice to get to know you better...” Peter said welling up the courage just as he turned to see that Michelle… had walked away.
“Hit another one out of the park Ross.” Pete sighed.
With a shrug Peter walked towards the Asian girl with the “meatball” hair.
As he moved across the floor; Jerome and Jeremiah moved seamlessly in the other direction. Passing Peter as they did.
“Nice choice of shirt,” Jerome hissed at him, “It’ll hide the stains.”
Pete furrowed his brow and looked back but the two strange young men had already vanished into the gyrating crowd. He shrugged it off, this kind of “drive by” mocking wasn’t unheard of with him sadly. Though for some reason his gaze did linger on where they had been… if only for a moment.
Peter walked awkwardly up to the girl, hands in his pockets.
“Hey.” He said only for her to indicate she couldn’t hear him over the music.
“HEY!” He shouted this time, causing her to lean back but giggle as she did so, especially at his horrified expression at his own volume.
“Sorry.”
“No it’s okay.” She smiled, leaning back in.
“I’m Peter.”
“Usagi.” She gestured to herself.
“Did you maybe… wanna dance?” Peter asked in a two quick breaths.
“Oh…” She seemed genuinely shocked, “…no thank you.” The girl smiled sweetly, to which Peter gaped.
“Oh I thought…” Peter stumbled back, hand on the back of his head, “when you were looking before.”
“Oh no… that’s just because it took me a minute to figure out who you were.” She said excitedly, rushing into his personal space in a way that was sending him mixed signals at best.
“What?” He asked, bewildered.
“You’re Spider-Boy!”
Before Peter could digest this statement a faint buzzing could be heard. He swiped his head back around, only mildly curious assuming it was coming from the music but it did serve as yet another reminder of his nightmare… as he looked he saw those twins from before talking to MJ… and stifled the urge to harm himself at the sight.
“Is she your friend?”
“Sort of…”
“You should be careful after what those guys did to you the other night… Plus I think they’re the ones passing out the Gone… Which reminds me I’m supposed to be watching Linda…”
“I’m not… What do you mean the other night?” But when he looked back around she had disappeared into the increasingly rowdy crowd.
“Why do people keep doing that to me…” He asked no one in particular, staring at the spot where she used to be.
It seemed as the buzzing noise increased the kids on the dancefloor moves became wilder, less in control. Hard to tell where dancing ended and a spasm of sorts began.
And soon… he saw them.
Bugs. There was a cloud of chattering insects slowly filling the very air in the room.
The flies, hornets, mosquitos and other bugs swarming the crowd seemed to land on several partygoers shoulder and for some reason most of them barely noticed. Those who did screamed and swatted like mad, as anyone would, some falling to the ground even.
“Man… don’t you hate when a bad trip ruins a party.” Pete heard someone mumble to themselves even as a gnat burrowed into his left eyebrow.
“Watch out!” Pete shouted jolting forward to knock it off of him.
“Yo dude man… chill out.” The partier snapped, pushing Pete back forcefully.
As Pete hit the wall behind him he could almost feel it, that sensation from his dream that he could cling to the wall if he wanted to. As if, if he chose, he could simply ignore gravity… like Wile E. Coyote before he looks down…
Just as soon the moment passed and he hit the floor hard. Standing to his feet with a groan he looked around. Anyone who hadn’t already ran in a panic was acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Then he noticed. The guy who had pushed him… had a tourniquet on his arm. That odd girl had said those twins was distributing Gone to the partygoers.
‘MJ!’ he thought violently as he raced through the crowds even as he had to dodge the manic movements of the dancers. Real friend, fake friend, whatever, all he wanted to do in this moment was make sure she was still okay. The last time he’d seen her she’d been with them… she wouldn’t take drugs though right?
He scanned the place for those carrot topped hoodlums and finally saw a flash of their copper hair in the distance.
“Spider-Boy look out!” that girl from before shrieked, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards her.
“First of all no. Second of all if I were… don’t shout it!!! Third of all… what?!” He gasped in a hushed voice, only to have his question answered as a particularly manic pair gyrated their way through the very spot he was just standing in a frenzied rush.
“Listen… I need to find my friend. The girl you saw me looking at before.” Peter urged.
“I’m sorry I haven’t seen her… I’ve been looking for my friend too. I think I may have failed her. I was supposed to… I don’t know. It’s stupid.” The Asian girl muttered forlornly.
Peter didn’t have time for a peptalk but something in him made him stop and breathe before gently putting a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s not. I don’t even know what ‘it’ is but I know you care about it, about your friend too and that care? Is worth something. Don’t put that energy to waste. I may not be Spider-Boy but it doesn’t mean I can’t help my friend and get the hell out of whatever the fuck is going on here, excuse my French, and you too. So buck up and get moving.” He grimaced out a quick grin for her and when she met his eyes and smiled back he took that as a sign that his work here was done and raced off.
His ass sore from where he fell, his legs screaming at him to slow down and now his head pounding as he raced towards his target. His confusion and the adrenaline bringing on a migraine, the likes of which he’d never had.
Then in an instant the pain in his head was gone. It hadn’t just gotten “better”: in one clear moment it had simply vanished.
Even more disturbingly he soon noticed… so had the crowd. Literally the entire dancefloor was cleared he sat alone, the music had even drowned out into a soft, almost unnerving lull and a dim purple glow now covering the room.
The unsettling tableau was broken a bit by a slow, steady clapping coming from in front of him, with no visible source.
“Hello?”
“Hey there Charlotte, how’s the web?” A sardonic voice said.
Soon in front of him a person took shape, not unlike the effect of the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland; with each feature seeming to come into being individually… starting with a coif of bright purple hair.
“Oh my God Uncle Gen is going to kill me.”
“What?” Quentin asked, having added to his hipster style clothes with a myriad of buttons and metal jewelry.
“I’m tripping right? This is what tripping is? Tripping balls… I mean that is what the kids say right?”
“No. Never say that again.” Quentin rolled his eyes, pointing his finger out at Peter in a dramatic fashion.
“What is going on?” Pete asked, his voice exhausted, so tired of these endless forays into surreality.
“I’m wondering the same. You don’t know who I am do you?”
“Does this face make you think I have any idea what’s going on?” Pete gesticulated wildly to himself.
“Touché.” The purple haired boy laughed, “Call me Kid Omega.”
“Great call me Sargent Pepper.” Peter rolled his eyes, “Just tell me what’s going on?”
“As I said I’m as confused as you are. I’m something of an up and comer in the hero biz.” He puffed up his lapels, “Been working with another rookie for a while, trying to resuscitate an old franchise so to speak. Teen Titans...ringing any bells?" Quentin asked leadingly.
"I...may have had a lunchbox with them on it in elementary..."
"Yes well... skating right passed that..." Quentin cringed, "Most recently we were working on busting up a drug ring with ties to something far more sinister. Thing is this other young chap went MIA a week or so back…”
“Okay…?” Peter gaped.
“He called himself Spider-Boy.” Kid Omega prodded, by his tone it was clear he was trying to prompt some kind of response in Peter.
“Yeah I’ve heard of him.” Peter said in clearly the entirely wrong response, based on the crestfallen look on the Kid’s face.
“The thing is… Spider-Boy knows who I am… but you don’t?”
“Well that makes sense because as everyone who’s not hemorrhaging brain cells knows: I’M NOT SPIDER-BOY!”
“Then who are you?” Another voice, male, English and oddly familiar, reverberated through the oddly lit room, causing Peter to see glimpses of the crowd flicker in an out back where they were, still in various states of anarchy as the bugs still swarmed only for it to stabilize back in the quiet purple vision of the room.
The strange young man who seemed to be in control of this place looked panicked, he rushed forwards and grabbed Pete’s shoulders.
“Listen I don’t know who you are but you gotta run. Looking like you look is the worst possible thing right now. I will come for you, for real, shortly.” Quentin stressed meeting Peter’s eyes but the boy couldn’t help looking back at the intruder.
It was him… the blonde man who had “killed” Peter in the dream. That same English accent as well. He broke into the violet bubble in such a way that even the seemingly unflappable Quentin seemed unnerved.
“Run!” Quentin screamed at Peter, blasting him out of the mindscape. He hit the dance floor with a thud, those around him looking at him like he was having a fit, still seemingly oblivious to the insects burrowing into their bodies.
Peter jumped up. Should he run? He still hadn’t found MJ and the thing was she may not even still be here… why put his life on the line on the chance that a girl he barely knows may be in danger… But the part of him that remembered feeling like he was Spider-Boy… the part of him that always wanted to be a hero… wouldn’t let his feet move.
An arm slung its way around his shoulders, he turned to see one of the red-headed twins leering close.
“Going somewhere?” He smirked.
The arm constricted inhibiting Peter’s ability to breathe as the other twin grabbed his arm and twisted it around his back.
As he struggled to break the hold, that same blond man stormed through the crowd. This time seemingly here in the flesh.
“Now the party has really started.” He smarmed, the insects endless chatter becoming louder as he came nearer. A cloud of them billowing around him like an aura.
“We haven’t gotten much from this one Buzz. Seems like he may be a defective model…” The twin nearly breaking his arm snapped.
“Is that right?” The brit, “Buzz” apparently, laughed, and as he did so Pete just noticed through the fog of bugs there was a figure struggling under his arm.
Peter, having before been completely tired of daydreaming, now found himself praying he was simply doing just that. This had to be yet another waking nightmare, no? Things like this don’t just “happen” to him, to anyone he knew. These were things you read about…
“This can’t be happening…” Peter breathed roughly still in the twins vice grip, as he fought against felt a strange sensation. Like when your foot falls asleep but all over his body… the strangest thought came over him: that if he could just figure out how… he could hurl these guys off him like they weighed nothing.
“What did you think this was a coincidence?” Buzz continued, “That we just happened to attack this party? This is all for you my boy.” Buzz smirked, “The fact that this is happening to these people right now…” He said as he lifted up who he know recognized as MJ roughly, a particularly bulbous fly making a meal out of her cheek, “Is because of you.”
“Stop.” Peter spat angrily, “Leave her alone.”
“There he is, the boy I know…”
“I’m not who you think I am…” Pete whispered desperately, as he was thrown to the ground roughly. Face falling at Buzz’s feet.
“Then who are you?” The sinister brit repeated.
“I’m Peter Ross… I was orphaned at a young age… taken in by my Uncle, I get good grades, I’ve never been on a real date… I’m no one special…” He rambled.
“And yet you look exactly like Spider-Boy… did you know I’ve fought him multiple times now?”
“I didn’t…”
“I’m still talking.” Buzz snapped hurling Mj to the ground, before smiling again, “I’ve also killed him more than once. With my own hands no less and yet here you are. And the itsy-bitsy spider, climbed up the spout again…” He sing-songed.
Peter attempted to struggle to his feet only for Buzz to grab him by the throat as he did so.
“So here were are at last.” The blond man spat, “There should be no more mysteries for me you see… no more on Heaven, Hell and Earth to discover… but I must say boy, you flummox me… So right here, right now. You’re going to tell me who… what you are.”
The tense moment was broken by one of the redhaired twins noisily clearing their throat.
“If I may interject. Maybe this will work?” Jeremiah held out a syringe full of Gone.
“All it did last time was make him crazy and depressed… easier to kill maybe… not big with the info.” Jerome laughed.
“This time we won’t let him slip away.” Buzz deadpanned, “This is why we have our lovely room of bedlam.” He raised his hands to the party, still underway, “The Gone running through their blood makes them mine, body and soul. He won’t leave now, not without at least trying to save them…”
‘Last time, this time’ Pete thought furiously there words echoing in his head with that same sense of Déjà vu he’d been feeling all day, ‘next time…’ he finished for them. The memory of his dream; his Spider-Boy self’s nihilism filled his mind. If this would all just keep happening did anything really matter? Is that the answer to life? All the answers he’s ever wanted in one clear message of utter oblivion.
Jerome shrugged as Jeremiah flicked the syringe releasing just on steaming drop from it to void the air before closing in on Peter. More memories of that damn dream rushed back, though now fully formed, the syringe in the alley: he now remembered using it the strange awareness it broke in him. The demonic hunger eating him alive with misery. He remembered before that as well: being Spider-Boy…
He remembered the hope he had felt. The fire.
“No.” Peter spat just as Jeremiah was about to inject him. In one swift move he blocked Jeremiah’s hand and flipped out of Buzz’s grip.
The kids around them danced obliviously as if nothing was happening, eyes still glazed and movements still wild and rough.
“So… still say you’re not Spider-Boy?” Buzz said, only slightly taken aback.
Peter dusted himself off.
“Right here, right now… yes I’m your Spider-Boy… you want me? Let these people go.”
“Why on this godforsaken rock would I do that?” Buzz laughed, “I have you right where I want you. All of you. You got that once remember? With the heat running in your blood? You saw how pointless this so-called pursuit of happiness was… Hell is a place on Earth.”
“Calm down Belinda Carlisle.” Pete rolled his eyes leaping forward with unnatural ability, kicking up as he arced towards Buzz catching him in the chin hard, knocking him back before landing on all fours with grace.
“You’d need a miracle to get out of here alive boy.” Jerome sneered.
The thing is Peter knew he wouldn’t and he didn’t care. He’d done all this before and he’ll do it again. Quentin would come and try to save him but nothing would change. No surprises in Heaven, Hell or Earth as Buzz had said… he knew how this ends.
But this wasn’t gloom talking, not anymore, not again. This was hope. Hope that maybe this time he could do a little more good before the messy ending, incremental change… That’s how you beat a system stacked against you.
So he turned back to the twins, even as he heard Buzz rallying behind him.
But any witty retort Pete may have tried to muster was knocked out of his mind by the roof seemingly cracking open above them.
“Omega?” Pete gaped as a brilliant light broke through. He shielded his eyes as he looked up but for all the bemoaning he had done in some other version of life about the symbolic nature of light and evil… he was not afraid.
Instead of Quentin though it was a female figure who descended from the brilliant glow, a fiery halo about her that obscured her features, complementing the fiery wings stretched out from her back. Her lithe form covered in dark clothing from what Pete could tell but not much else was clear, especially thanks to the additional light of a flaming sword that seemed to appear in her hand.
“Woe betide creature of the Howling for your hour of judgement as come.” Came her resounding voice. Even the seemingly possessed dancers stopped and shook as they too stared at the sky.
“Well…” Pete gaped, “Maybe things will be different this time after all…”
TO BE CONTINUED...