Back to GatefoldIssue #20 by Mike Exner III
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"LIKE SAND THROUGH AN HOURGLASS"
Previously in the Amazing Spider-Man: Spider-Man was having a good old time after the tragedy of the Rose Goblin affair with his friends Randy and Eugene. All that was cut short however, as the Brotherhood of Mutants paid New York a visit. For revenge against humanity for the death of the young mutant in Tampa, the Brotherhood detonated a bomb in a local coffee shop with members of the Friends of Humanity inside. Spider-Man inadvertently set off the bomb himself and was forced to watch as the patrons were engulfed in fire.
Detective Russ Anderson stood in front of the smoking remnants of the Starbuck’s coffee shop and grimaced as the scent of charred flesh and smoldering plaster came to his nostrils. A smell like this stuck with you for a long time. A scene like this stuck with you even longer. Moments ago he had ordered his men to apprehend Spider-Man for his part in the tragedy he was looking over right now. The web-slinger had escaped easily enough and Anderson had watched him flee with hatred boiling in his heart. He knew now that he wasn’t angry at the wall-crawler. He was angry at the situation. He was angry at what had happened here.
Spider-Man would be blamed for the tragedy though. Of that there was no doubt. There had been enough press around and enough statements given to clear the web-slinger eventually. He had just attempted to save those people, not condemn them to death. But dedicated spider-haters such as J. Jonah Jameson would attempt to bury Spider-Man for this. For a while public trust of the vigilante would be at an all time low. Even Anderson himself had wanted the web-slinger in chains and burned at the stake for his mistake. Anderson was a rational man. Others would not be so kind.
“God help you, Spider-Man,” muttered Russ Anderson as he took a long drag on the cigarette perched between his lips. “God help us all,”
A knock on the door finally caused Randy Robertson to blink. He had been staring at the television non-stop for the last half hour. The scene that transformed before his unbelieving eyes grew more intense and more violent with each passing second. After everything that had happened to the city over the past few months – the terrorist attacks and the weird collapsing of buildings and the battle at the museum* – he had been hoping for some kind of a peaceful resolution. It never came.
[*See issues of Marvel Fanfare, Cable and this very title itself for details – Dino]
Randy tore his eyes away from the television screen and moved stiffly towards the door. Some cameraman had just gotten a shot of the corpse of the guy Spider-Man had pulled away from the coffee shop. Reporters were saying that Spidey’s actions had set off the bomb itself. The police weren’t saying anything, but there had been a shot of the piece of strange paper attached to the dead guy’s back. Randy had read what it said there. There was no doubt in his mind. Spidey had screwed up big time.
Randy opened the door and there standing in front of him was Jill Stacey and Peter’s Aunt May.
“Randy, is Peter here?” asked Jill and Randy could tell by her tone of voice that neither of them had any idea what had just happened. They had probably been on their way from Forest Hills when it went down.
“Naw, Jill. Pete ain’t here. He went down to Times Square on a photo gig,” said Randy and both of the women in front of Randy visibly deflated before his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he can though. Why don’t you two stick around until he gets back?”
Aunt May walked into the apartment and made her way to the sofa. “Thank you, Randy. That’s very kind of you.”
“What’s going on down at Times Square?” asked Jill and Randy grimaced slightly.
“Something big. It’s all over the news. I think you should sit down,” said Randy and led Jill to the couch. Soon all three were watching the action intently. All with thoughts of Peter dancing through their heads.
“Please, Toad. I don’t know what this is about. We’re supposed to be friends!” said Eugene through a mouthful of his own blood as Toad held him suspended in the air.
“Don’t make me laugh, kid. Do you know what I was back then? I was a nobody. I was nothing! The thought of us joining up with that Spider-Kid idiot and forming a team haunts me now. It shames me. My compatriots make fun of me for just that kind of crap. If I could, I’d go back and kill everyone I knew from those days. I’d kill the Spider-Kid punk. I’d kill Spider-Man. Hell, I’d even kill Magneto if I could,” growled Toad and as Eugene struggled to blink thick blood out of his eyes, he watched Toad lift a gnarled and blood soaked fist in front of his face. Eugene knew it was his own blood spattered on the curled fingers of Toad.
Toad crashed the fist into Eugene’s face with tremendous force and sparks lit brilliantly before his fading vision. “But I guess you’ll have to do, buddy.”
Suddenly Eugene felt Toad’s hands ripped away from his throat and he dropped to the ground in a jumbled heap.
“I suggest you give up because I’m in no mood to play nice,” said a voice and to Eugene it was as if someone was speaking the sweetest poetry into his ears.
“S-Spidey?” said Frogman as he struggled to get to his feet. All the strength was drained from his legs and he could feel a sick pulsing in his head that was accentuated by rivulets of blood flowing down his face.
“Don’t try to get up, Frogman,” said Spider-Man and Eugene could hear something in Peter’s voice. Whatever Spidey had rushed off to prevent earlier, something must have gone terribly wrong.
Toad chuckled, a raspy and harsh sound that grated on Spider-Man’s ears. “We were just talking about you, Spider-Man. I was hoping to finish off old Froggie before you arrived. But I suppose I can kill two birds with one…tongue.”
Toad’s tongue whipped out and lashed in the direction of Spider-Man’s face. With reflexes like lightning, Spider-Man reached out and caught the tongue in his fist.
Toad screeched as Spider-Man squeezed his tongue in a grip of steel. “W-what are you doing? L-Let me go! Let me go!”
“I don’t think so, Toad,” said Spider-Man as he continued to squeeze Toad’s tongue with his clenched fist. The acid on the villain’s tongue was beginning to eat its way through Spidey’s glove but he didn’t care. He yanked Toad towards him with all his might and Toad left his feet, hurtling at Spider-Man with tremendous velocity.
Spider-Man reared back his fist and then connected forcefully with Toad’s jaw. “Give my regards to the Brotherhood, you slime.”
Toad rocketed back in the direction he came and Spider-Man released his tongue. The villain crashed headfirst into the street and bounced up comically before crashing down onto the pavement again. Spider-Man watched the mutant killer for a few long seconds. He didn’t get up.
“S-Spidey,” muttered Eugene from behind Spider-Man and Peter turned towards him. Spidey could hear sirens approaching in the distance. Someone must have seen the struggle and called the police. He gathered Eugene in his arms and leapt for the nearest wall. “You were great.”
“Don’t talk, Eugene. I’ve got to get you to a hospital,” replied Spider-Man and Eugene slumped against him as Spidey rushed up the side of a building. Soon he was swinging through the city on his way to the nearest medical facility.
“All this whispering in my head. I can’t stand it anymore,” whispered the man in the green and black striped shirt and the dark brown slacks as he slipped his hand along the grimy ground of the alley he sat within.
“This is stupid. I’m the Sandman. Ain’t nobody tougher than me. I can beat this,” said the man as he formed one of his massive hands into an even more massive fist of solid sand. He crashed the fist into the wall of the alley and the brick shattered with the force of his blow.
“What did you do to me, Wizard!” he shouted to the gray air around him as his entire body trembled with small spasms. “I ain’t got no control over nothing! I don’t know what’s happening to me!”
The Sandman grasped at his head and howled in pain as images flashed before his eyes. Visions slipped into his mind and grated on his senses. The images had been attacking him for weeks now and they were always the same. There he was as William Baker standing in front of the Avengers – in front of Captain America – and being awarded probationary membership with the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. There he was standing with Spider-Man after Dr. Octopus had killed his surrogate family and he had been transformed into glass. He had fought and defeated Doc Ock that day. He had been a hero.
“Why ain’t I still a hero? Why do I wanna do bad stuff now?” muttered the Sandman and other images flashed into his mind. These images were of his old friend, the Wizard. The Wizard had William Baker strapped to a small table with all kinds of machinery poised above his head. The Wizard turned the machinery on and then William Baker slipped away like sand through an hourglass. The only thing left was Clint Marko. And Clint Marko was bad. Clint Marko was mean. Clint Marko was in charge.
“I’m Clint Marko,” muttered Sandman and then peered over his outstretched arms at the sight across the street from him. Could it be possible that he had just been holding his arms in front of him as if to ward of a blow? As if he were scared? He was Clint Marko. He was the Sandman. Nobody and nothing scared the Sandman.
Sandman formed his body into a thin trail of sand and slipped from the alley to the street. He crawled around the traffic and the parked cars and the security guards moving to and from the doors of the building he was intent on entering. As he passed the doors a sign to his right caught his eye. It read: Bank of New York. The Sandman smiled an unseen smile. It was time for big bad Clint Marko to get paid.
Spider-Man carried his body on the currents of wind slipping through the concrete caverns of New York and let his mind wander. He was on his way back to his apartment after having dropped off Eugene at the hospital. He had carefully removed Gene’s frog-suit and replaced it with Peter’s own clothes. Explaining why Eugene was dressed up in a Frogman outfit was not something Spider-Man was prepared to do today or any other day for that matter.
When he had alit on the ground in front of the emergency ward, bystanders had either screamed obscenities and jeered him or just simply fled in terror. One man in a wheelchair had attempted to escape from Spider-Man so quickly that he had toppled off the curb and crashed to the ground, breaking his arm.
He carried Eugene into the hospital and explained that Eugene had been one of the people at the scene of the coffee house explosion. He told the doctor – luckily, a rational man – that he believed that Eugene had been struck by a hurtling projectile. The doctor briefly examined the head wound and then asked Spidey to place Eugene on a stretcher. The nurse that had been with the doctor had given Spidey a wide berth and then when Spider-Man had placed Eugene safely where he needed to, the doctor had politely asked him to leave.
Spidey had wanted the doctor to tell him if Eugene would be all right, but he knew that the doctor couldn’t possibly know and that asking was just wasting valuable seconds. So Spider-Man left and was now moments away from landing on the fire escape that led into his apartment. A slight tingling of his spider-sense warned him that Randy was still inside and he swung on a tilt upwards toward the roof.
Peter stashed extra clothes on the roof and he sorted through them momentarily before picking something similar to what he had left in. It wasn’t exactly the same, but he hoped Randy would be too flustered by what had happened on the news to take any notice.
Pete climbed down the building out of sight of the people milling by on the sidewalk and then made his way around to the front of the building. He took the lone, grungy elevator up to the third floor and made his way to the door of the apartment. His key clicked within the lock and Peter walked in. Randy was there sitting on the couch and barely took any notice of Peter walking in the door. Pete was dismayed to see the news was still showing footage of Spider-Man pulling the body away from the coffee house and the explosion that immediately followed.
Peter moved over to the couch and plopped down right beside Randy. Randy moved a hand over to grasp Peter’s shoulder and then looked over at his roommate. Peter looked back at Randy and they stared at one another for a long moment.
Randy cleared his throat finally and then swallowed dryly. “You ok?”
“Yeah, but Eugene caught a piece of shrapnel on the top of his head. Spider-Man was there and took him to the hospital,” replied Peter and Randy blinked.
“Jesus, that’s horrible. Is he going to be ok?”
“I hope so, but the doctor rushed me out of there pretty quick once I got there,” said Peter as Randy’s hand fell from his shoulder and just settled limply in his own lap.
“I don’t know what happened, Randy. One moment everything was normal and then the next there was nothing but…”
“Chaos,” Randy finished for him. Peter nodded dully and then slumped lower onto the couch. “I can’t believe Spider-Man was involved in something like this. I always thought he was one of the good guys.”
Peter flinched and looked down at his own hands. “I don’t think he meant for this to happen, Randy. He was just trying to do whatever he could to help.”
“Yeah, well a fat lot of good it did those people that died,” said Randy and Peter shut his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “When the cops started shooting at him I almost hoped one of those bullets would put him out of the city’s misery.”
“You sound like J. Jonah Jameson,” replied Peter as he continued to rub his head. An intense feeling of dread had closed around his heart. He never would have expected to feel any worse than he did after the explosion, but Randy’s words made him want to cry out in agony.
“Yeah, well maybe that old buzzard was right about the wall-crawler the whole time,” said Randy.
Peter opened his mouth to reply but then suddenly a special bulletin came onto the screen and Randy increased the volume on the tube. Peter watched as film crews captured footage of Sandman tossing bank guards around like they were toys. The reporter came back onto the screen and told viewers that though the Sandman had robbed the bank, he was not fleeing and had been battling any and all comers for the past fifteen minutes.
“I’ve got to get over there and get some pictures,” said Peter and Randy looked up at him incredulously.
“Are you insane, Pete? You want what happened to Gene to happen to you too?” Randy frowned as Pete reached for his jacket and slung it over his shoulders. “Your Aunt and Jill came by looking for you, man. If you knew what was good for you, you’d ignore this and go talk to them instead.”
“I have no idea what’s good for me, Randy,” said Peter as he made his way towards the door. “I never have.”
The Dark Beast known as McCoy sat in his small office and laughed hysterically as the news reported over and over and over again the success of his mission. Everything had worked out exactly as he had planned. There had been a few glitches of course – losing Mastermind and Toad to name but a few – but overall the plan had worked to perfection.
Prelate had grumbled and Marrow had been enthusiastic and Avalanche had scratched his helmeted dome in confusion. But in the end none of it mattered for they were safe and successful and ready to rumble.
“The world in my oyster,” mumbled the Dark Beast to himself as he chuckled over another lengthy news report on the explosion at the coffee house. He had hoped for some police officer to set off the bomb but the unforeseen wildcard of Spider-Man had been even better. Eventually the public would learn that the Brotherhood was responsible for everything, but chasing Spider-Man for a week or so would give them plenty of time to escape and formulate another plan.
Ah, but where oh where did your brilliant plan come from, McCoy? Spoke a sinister voice within the Dark Beast’s mind and immediately McCoy’s good humor faded. His desk cast a shadow on the ground in front of him and from that shadow a being of pure darkness began to materialize. It rose before the Dark Beast and then stepped from the shadow entirely. The Dark Beast looked at the man in front of him and opened his mouth to howl in terror, but no sound came out.
You do not remember me, McCoy. That is as it should be. All you must know is that I am the one who summoned you and it was for I that you did what you did on this day. You and your followers were useful to me, but now your usefulness has come to an end. You will remember nothing of this encounter just as you remembered nothing of our previous encounters. I may call on you again one day when I make my final move onto this world. But until that day you must forget…forget…forget… spoke the apparition within McCoy’s mind and the eyes of the Dark Beast rolled up into his head and a slick drool slipped from his sharpened teeth. The Dark Beast slumped forward and when he awoke he was alone in his office. He scratched at his ears in confusion for a brief moment and then noticed the television still showing images of the carnage from earlier that day. Soon McCoy was laughing along with the news again and did not notice the slivers of darkness that slipped into the shadow of his desk and disappeared.
“You want some of this, pigs!” screamed the Sandman in a rage and formed his hands and arms into giant battering rams of sand. He smashed them into the two patrol cars that had arrived to block his escape from the bank. The police cars went skidding across the street and crashed into a news van that was filming his rampage.
The police scattered when Sandman destroyed their cars but immediately leveled their weapons and began firing at him again. The bullets punched into his sandy exterior but the Sandman felt nothing.
“Doesn’t even tingle, pigs. Now if you’ll excuse me,” the Sandman growled and swatted at two of the police officers. Sand buried both of the cops and Sandman pushed the sand into a nearby wall. The police officers slammed into the wall and fell unconscious.
The Sandman looked where the cops had been standing and saw a clear path to a sewer grate jutting from the sidewalk across the street. Other police were firing at him but the bullets were nothing to him. All he had to do was cross the street and sift through the grate and he’d be home free with all the money.
Sandman struggled to move his body but could not. Something was holding him rooted to the spot and he couldn’t understand it. Clint Marko growled as the police continued to fire at him. Not being able to move was a weakness and Clint Marko was not a weakling. William Baker was the weak one. The Wizard had made sure that William Baker was gone forever.
The Sandman yelled out in frustration and thrashed violently. Though his arms and legs shook wildly and transformed into sand, he could not move.
“Fine, Willie. If you want to keep me here that’s just fine,” said the Sandman to himself through gritted teeth. “But if you don’t let me go, I’m killing every single innocent bystander here. And there ain’t nothing you can do to stop me!”
Detective Russ Anderson leveled his gun at the Sandman and fired again. He couldn’t understand it. He had encountered the Sandman before. Even when he’d been in uniform walking the streets he’d taken a few shots at the Sandman. The guy always swatted the cops around for a while and then booked. Why was he just sitting there? It was like he was waiting for some hero like Daredevil or the Human Torch or…
“Detective,” said a voice at his back and Anderson stiffened. He was a cop and he rarely forgot things. He knew the voice that spoke well enough from the coffee he had shared with the man only a few days before.
“Spider-Man,” replied the detective as he turned on his heels and faced the vigilante. Spider-Man was standing directly behind him with his hands raised into the air. Obviously the wall-crawler didn’t want any trouble. Anderson noticed that half of his men had already drawn a bead on the web-slinger and quite a few of them were itching to pull their triggers.
“I’m not here to fight you or your men, Anderson,” said Spider-Man and the detective could sense the truth in his words. He had heard enough people lie in his line of work to know that Spider-Man was being as honest and forthright as he possibly could.
Spider-Man slowly lowered his hands and Anderson’s men tensed. “I just want to help.”
“Stand down, men,” spoke Anderson harshly and then flashed a tight smile that felt fake and foreign on his skin. “You screwed up, web-slinger. We’re going to have a talk before long. I promise you that.”
“Anything you want, detective,” replied Spider-Man and then jumped into the air and shot a web-line towards the raving lunatic known as Sandman. Anderson watched him jump into a living mass of sand and insanity and grimaced. Spider-Man would do whatever it took to redeem him and avenge the people that had died on his watch…even if it cost him his life.
“I was wondering when one of you spandex-types would show up,” said Sandman as Spider-Man crashed into his face with the full force of his body. Sandman’s face exploded into a fine spray of sand-colored mist and then reformed itself almost as quickly. Spider-Man let his momentum carry him to the wall of the bank and clung to the side of it.
“You getting dumber in your old age or what, Sandy? Normally you would have turned tail and ran by now,” said Spider-Man as he avoided a spike of sand hurtled from Sandman’s body. He jumped down to the sidewalk and peered up at Sandman with narrowed eyes.
“Just shut up and fight, Spider-wuss,” growled Sandman and lunged for Spider-Man again with a huge mass of sand shaped like a wrecking ball. Spidey dodged to the side and fired a double shot of webbing into Sandman’s face.
“You know, I can never get an honest opinion from anyone, Baker. But does my webbing taste good? I’ve been experimenting with adding flavor to it. That was a shot of chocolate-chip cookie webbing. I’m trying to be the super-hero Martha Stewart.”
“Don’t call me Baker!” screamed Sandman in a shrill voice and absorbed the webbing into his face. He spit it out of his mouth onto the ground and then whipped a mass of sand shaped like a spike-covered bat at Spider-Man.
Spider-Man jumped into the air and avoided the bat. He watched it swing under his legs and grinned. “Hey, if you don’t like it you don’t have to be mean about it. A simple no is all I ask.”
Sandman puffed out his chest and spikes of sand came hurtling from his skin. “I’ll kill you, you freaking insect!”
“C’mon, Sandy. Just because your last name is Baker doesn’t mean you know what good cooking is. I guess if I want a true critique I’m going to have to send a sample of my recipe to Yan-Can-Cook!”
“My name is Clint Marko! My name is not William Baker! Stop calling me William Baker, damn you!” screamed Sandman at the top of his lungs and began raining a torrent of spikes in the direction of Spider-Man. Spidey avoided the spikes as best he could and watched as Sandman howled and convulsed violently. The strain on Sandman was intense.
“I’m Clint Marko! Clint Marko! Clint Marko!” shrieked Sandman at the top of his lungs. Spider-Man watched as his adversary formed back into some semblance of solidarity and then crumbled to the ground. Spider-Man approached cautiously, trusting his spider-sense to warn him of any treachery from the Sandman.
“You’re not trying to lull me into a false sense of security so you can steal my recipes are you, Sandy?” Spidey asked as he slipped a toe underneath Sandman and flipped him over. Spider-Man sighed at the sight before him and unclenched his fists. The Sandman was crying.
“Spider-Man. You’ve got to help me. The Wizard did something to me. He messed with my brain,” said the Sandman through his sobs. Spidey leaned in close and when his spider-sense didn’t even tweak, he rested a hand on Sandman’s shoulder hoping to comfort him.
“I was trying to go straight, man. I was trying to be somebody people could look up to. I was even trying to be an Avenger, you know?” said Sandman and Spidey nodded. “But the Wizard thought it was stupid. He thought I was just being dumb. He strapped me to some table and he brought out all the bad in me. I don’t want to be bad, Spidey. You gotta help me.”
Spider-Man looked up in the direction of the police and caught Anderson’s eye. “I will.”
“So that’s it, Dr. Kafka,” said Spider-Man as he watched members of the medical staff at Ravencroft wheel Sandman into the facility. “I think the Wizard did something to Sandman to make him forget all the good things he did as William Baker and bring his Clint Marko side into the light.”
“Well, whatever the case is, it seems as if he genuinely wants to be helped. I’ll be sure to aid him in anyway I can,” responded Ashley Kafka. “This is the second person you’ve brought to me with some sort of mental issues stemming from brainwashing. You’re making this business of mine a pretty lucrative one.”
“How is Liz Osborn?” asked Spider-Man with true concern seeping from every nuance of his body. Ashley Kafka noted it all with a professional clarity.
“She’s doing a little better, Spider-Man. She’s still unconscious and still struggling everyday to survive, but I have no doubt that she’ll make it.”
“That’s good to know, doctor.”
“And how about yourself?” asked Kafka as Spider-Man flicked his wrist and shot a web-line into the darkening sky.
Spider-Man turned towards Kafka for the briefest of moments before lifting into the air. “Oh you know me, doctor. I’m just peachy.”
Ashley Kafka watched Spider-Man swing away and gnawed at her lower lip absently. “I certainly hope so, Spider-Man. I certainly hope so.”
Randy slipped out of his doorway and pushed the key into the lock as soundlessly as possible. A few minutes ago he had heard someone moving around outside of his apartment and had just known it was his landlord looking for the rent. He had made an attempt to go down the fire escape but to his dismay had seen that his landlord was down at the bottom of the alley, smoking a cigarette.
He would have usually waited for the old-timer to head back inside, but he was late for work. So now he was doing his best to sneak out of his apartment as silently as possible so a bitter confrontation could be avoided. Randy was against confrontation. Randy was all about avoiding confrontation whenever he could.
The lock on his door slipped into place and Randy danced silently down the hallway. The elevator was just a few feet away and Randy thought only momentarily about taking it. This was a sneaky operation. And for any sneaky operation you had to use the stairs.
Randy opened the door to the stairs and immediately felt a chill go down his spine. The light in the stairwell for the third floor had burnt out. He could see the dim illumination flickering up at him from the second floor and down at him from the fourth, but for the moment he was trapped in darkness.
“C’mon, Randy. This ain’t the Outer Limits. Just head down one flight of steps and you’re home free,” Randy muttered to himself as he began slowly walking down the flight of steps leading to the second floor.
“Oh, Jesus!” squeaked Randy as a shadow passed over the dim light below him. “Is anybody there?”
There was no response. Randy felt sweat begin to creep down from his armpits and run over his ribs. His palms were moist and he had to force himself to loosen his grip on the railing.
“If anybody’s there, just say so and stop playing!” called Randy down the stairs and then gasped as the shadow came again. The shadow was larger now and to Randy that meant…
“Whoever you are…you’re getting closer,” muttered Randy to himself as he took a single step back up the stairs. A shriek of anger and pain sounded from behind Randy and he screamed himself. An intense shot of pain sliced into his leg and Randy spun on his heels. He caught just a glimpse of Smoke slipping upwards on his way to the fourth floor.
“Stupid cat! I’m going to kill you!” yelled Randy after the cat and then froze as a cool hand placed itself on his neck.
“Oh, Randy. You should worry about yourself,” said a voice that was as sweet as honey but as deadly as poison at the same time. Randy tried to cry out but another cold hand closed itself around his mouth and Randy knew nothing more as all the lights in the stairwell went black.
Next Issue: Oh no! What’s going to happen to poor Randy! Who is the mysterious person accosting everyone’s favorite roomie in the dark? Is Spider-Man ever going to get a break from all this insanity? Not if J. Jonah Jameson and the Enchantress (huh?) have anything to say about it!
Detective Russ Anderson stood in front of the smoking remnants of the Starbuck’s coffee shop and grimaced as the scent of charred flesh and smoldering plaster came to his nostrils. A smell like this stuck with you for a long time. A scene like this stuck with you even longer. Moments ago he had ordered his men to apprehend Spider-Man for his part in the tragedy he was looking over right now. The web-slinger had escaped easily enough and Anderson had watched him flee with hatred boiling in his heart. He knew now that he wasn’t angry at the wall-crawler. He was angry at the situation. He was angry at what had happened here.
Spider-Man would be blamed for the tragedy though. Of that there was no doubt. There had been enough press around and enough statements given to clear the web-slinger eventually. He had just attempted to save those people, not condemn them to death. But dedicated spider-haters such as J. Jonah Jameson would attempt to bury Spider-Man for this. For a while public trust of the vigilante would be at an all time low. Even Anderson himself had wanted the web-slinger in chains and burned at the stake for his mistake. Anderson was a rational man. Others would not be so kind.
“God help you, Spider-Man,” muttered Russ Anderson as he took a long drag on the cigarette perched between his lips. “God help us all,”
A knock on the door finally caused Randy Robertson to blink. He had been staring at the television non-stop for the last half hour. The scene that transformed before his unbelieving eyes grew more intense and more violent with each passing second. After everything that had happened to the city over the past few months – the terrorist attacks and the weird collapsing of buildings and the battle at the museum* – he had been hoping for some kind of a peaceful resolution. It never came.
[*See issues of Marvel Fanfare, Cable and this very title itself for details – Dino]
Randy tore his eyes away from the television screen and moved stiffly towards the door. Some cameraman had just gotten a shot of the corpse of the guy Spider-Man had pulled away from the coffee shop. Reporters were saying that Spidey’s actions had set off the bomb itself. The police weren’t saying anything, but there had been a shot of the piece of strange paper attached to the dead guy’s back. Randy had read what it said there. There was no doubt in his mind. Spidey had screwed up big time.
Randy opened the door and there standing in front of him was Jill Stacey and Peter’s Aunt May.
“Randy, is Peter here?” asked Jill and Randy could tell by her tone of voice that neither of them had any idea what had just happened. They had probably been on their way from Forest Hills when it went down.
“Naw, Jill. Pete ain’t here. He went down to Times Square on a photo gig,” said Randy and both of the women in front of Randy visibly deflated before his eyes. “I’m sure he’ll be back as soon as he can though. Why don’t you two stick around until he gets back?”
Aunt May walked into the apartment and made her way to the sofa. “Thank you, Randy. That’s very kind of you.”
“What’s going on down at Times Square?” asked Jill and Randy grimaced slightly.
“Something big. It’s all over the news. I think you should sit down,” said Randy and led Jill to the couch. Soon all three were watching the action intently. All with thoughts of Peter dancing through their heads.
“Please, Toad. I don’t know what this is about. We’re supposed to be friends!” said Eugene through a mouthful of his own blood as Toad held him suspended in the air.
“Don’t make me laugh, kid. Do you know what I was back then? I was a nobody. I was nothing! The thought of us joining up with that Spider-Kid idiot and forming a team haunts me now. It shames me. My compatriots make fun of me for just that kind of crap. If I could, I’d go back and kill everyone I knew from those days. I’d kill the Spider-Kid punk. I’d kill Spider-Man. Hell, I’d even kill Magneto if I could,” growled Toad and as Eugene struggled to blink thick blood out of his eyes, he watched Toad lift a gnarled and blood soaked fist in front of his face. Eugene knew it was his own blood spattered on the curled fingers of Toad.
Toad crashed the fist into Eugene’s face with tremendous force and sparks lit brilliantly before his fading vision. “But I guess you’ll have to do, buddy.”
Suddenly Eugene felt Toad’s hands ripped away from his throat and he dropped to the ground in a jumbled heap.
“I suggest you give up because I’m in no mood to play nice,” said a voice and to Eugene it was as if someone was speaking the sweetest poetry into his ears.
“S-Spidey?” said Frogman as he struggled to get to his feet. All the strength was drained from his legs and he could feel a sick pulsing in his head that was accentuated by rivulets of blood flowing down his face.
“Don’t try to get up, Frogman,” said Spider-Man and Eugene could hear something in Peter’s voice. Whatever Spidey had rushed off to prevent earlier, something must have gone terribly wrong.
Toad chuckled, a raspy and harsh sound that grated on Spider-Man’s ears. “We were just talking about you, Spider-Man. I was hoping to finish off old Froggie before you arrived. But I suppose I can kill two birds with one…tongue.”
Toad’s tongue whipped out and lashed in the direction of Spider-Man’s face. With reflexes like lightning, Spider-Man reached out and caught the tongue in his fist.
Toad screeched as Spider-Man squeezed his tongue in a grip of steel. “W-what are you doing? L-Let me go! Let me go!”
“I don’t think so, Toad,” said Spider-Man as he continued to squeeze Toad’s tongue with his clenched fist. The acid on the villain’s tongue was beginning to eat its way through Spidey’s glove but he didn’t care. He yanked Toad towards him with all his might and Toad left his feet, hurtling at Spider-Man with tremendous velocity.
Spider-Man reared back his fist and then connected forcefully with Toad’s jaw. “Give my regards to the Brotherhood, you slime.”
Toad rocketed back in the direction he came and Spider-Man released his tongue. The villain crashed headfirst into the street and bounced up comically before crashing down onto the pavement again. Spider-Man watched the mutant killer for a few long seconds. He didn’t get up.
“S-Spidey,” muttered Eugene from behind Spider-Man and Peter turned towards him. Spidey could hear sirens approaching in the distance. Someone must have seen the struggle and called the police. He gathered Eugene in his arms and leapt for the nearest wall. “You were great.”
“Don’t talk, Eugene. I’ve got to get you to a hospital,” replied Spider-Man and Eugene slumped against him as Spidey rushed up the side of a building. Soon he was swinging through the city on his way to the nearest medical facility.
“All this whispering in my head. I can’t stand it anymore,” whispered the man in the green and black striped shirt and the dark brown slacks as he slipped his hand along the grimy ground of the alley he sat within.
“This is stupid. I’m the Sandman. Ain’t nobody tougher than me. I can beat this,” said the man as he formed one of his massive hands into an even more massive fist of solid sand. He crashed the fist into the wall of the alley and the brick shattered with the force of his blow.
“What did you do to me, Wizard!” he shouted to the gray air around him as his entire body trembled with small spasms. “I ain’t got no control over nothing! I don’t know what’s happening to me!”
The Sandman grasped at his head and howled in pain as images flashed before his eyes. Visions slipped into his mind and grated on his senses. The images had been attacking him for weeks now and they were always the same. There he was as William Baker standing in front of the Avengers – in front of Captain America – and being awarded probationary membership with the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. There he was standing with Spider-Man after Dr. Octopus had killed his surrogate family and he had been transformed into glass. He had fought and defeated Doc Ock that day. He had been a hero.
“Why ain’t I still a hero? Why do I wanna do bad stuff now?” muttered the Sandman and other images flashed into his mind. These images were of his old friend, the Wizard. The Wizard had William Baker strapped to a small table with all kinds of machinery poised above his head. The Wizard turned the machinery on and then William Baker slipped away like sand through an hourglass. The only thing left was Clint Marko. And Clint Marko was bad. Clint Marko was mean. Clint Marko was in charge.
“I’m Clint Marko,” muttered Sandman and then peered over his outstretched arms at the sight across the street from him. Could it be possible that he had just been holding his arms in front of him as if to ward of a blow? As if he were scared? He was Clint Marko. He was the Sandman. Nobody and nothing scared the Sandman.
Sandman formed his body into a thin trail of sand and slipped from the alley to the street. He crawled around the traffic and the parked cars and the security guards moving to and from the doors of the building he was intent on entering. As he passed the doors a sign to his right caught his eye. It read: Bank of New York. The Sandman smiled an unseen smile. It was time for big bad Clint Marko to get paid.
Spider-Man carried his body on the currents of wind slipping through the concrete caverns of New York and let his mind wander. He was on his way back to his apartment after having dropped off Eugene at the hospital. He had carefully removed Gene’s frog-suit and replaced it with Peter’s own clothes. Explaining why Eugene was dressed up in a Frogman outfit was not something Spider-Man was prepared to do today or any other day for that matter.
When he had alit on the ground in front of the emergency ward, bystanders had either screamed obscenities and jeered him or just simply fled in terror. One man in a wheelchair had attempted to escape from Spider-Man so quickly that he had toppled off the curb and crashed to the ground, breaking his arm.
He carried Eugene into the hospital and explained that Eugene had been one of the people at the scene of the coffee house explosion. He told the doctor – luckily, a rational man – that he believed that Eugene had been struck by a hurtling projectile. The doctor briefly examined the head wound and then asked Spidey to place Eugene on a stretcher. The nurse that had been with the doctor had given Spidey a wide berth and then when Spider-Man had placed Eugene safely where he needed to, the doctor had politely asked him to leave.
Spidey had wanted the doctor to tell him if Eugene would be all right, but he knew that the doctor couldn’t possibly know and that asking was just wasting valuable seconds. So Spider-Man left and was now moments away from landing on the fire escape that led into his apartment. A slight tingling of his spider-sense warned him that Randy was still inside and he swung on a tilt upwards toward the roof.
Peter stashed extra clothes on the roof and he sorted through them momentarily before picking something similar to what he had left in. It wasn’t exactly the same, but he hoped Randy would be too flustered by what had happened on the news to take any notice.
Pete climbed down the building out of sight of the people milling by on the sidewalk and then made his way around to the front of the building. He took the lone, grungy elevator up to the third floor and made his way to the door of the apartment. His key clicked within the lock and Peter walked in. Randy was there sitting on the couch and barely took any notice of Peter walking in the door. Pete was dismayed to see the news was still showing footage of Spider-Man pulling the body away from the coffee house and the explosion that immediately followed.
Peter moved over to the couch and plopped down right beside Randy. Randy moved a hand over to grasp Peter’s shoulder and then looked over at his roommate. Peter looked back at Randy and they stared at one another for a long moment.
Randy cleared his throat finally and then swallowed dryly. “You ok?”
“Yeah, but Eugene caught a piece of shrapnel on the top of his head. Spider-Man was there and took him to the hospital,” replied Peter and Randy blinked.
“Jesus, that’s horrible. Is he going to be ok?”
“I hope so, but the doctor rushed me out of there pretty quick once I got there,” said Peter as Randy’s hand fell from his shoulder and just settled limply in his own lap.
“I don’t know what happened, Randy. One moment everything was normal and then the next there was nothing but…”
“Chaos,” Randy finished for him. Peter nodded dully and then slumped lower onto the couch. “I can’t believe Spider-Man was involved in something like this. I always thought he was one of the good guys.”
Peter flinched and looked down at his own hands. “I don’t think he meant for this to happen, Randy. He was just trying to do whatever he could to help.”
“Yeah, well a fat lot of good it did those people that died,” said Randy and Peter shut his eyes and rubbed at his temples. “When the cops started shooting at him I almost hoped one of those bullets would put him out of the city’s misery.”
“You sound like J. Jonah Jameson,” replied Peter as he continued to rub his head. An intense feeling of dread had closed around his heart. He never would have expected to feel any worse than he did after the explosion, but Randy’s words made him want to cry out in agony.
“Yeah, well maybe that old buzzard was right about the wall-crawler the whole time,” said Randy.
Peter opened his mouth to reply but then suddenly a special bulletin came onto the screen and Randy increased the volume on the tube. Peter watched as film crews captured footage of Sandman tossing bank guards around like they were toys. The reporter came back onto the screen and told viewers that though the Sandman had robbed the bank, he was not fleeing and had been battling any and all comers for the past fifteen minutes.
“I’ve got to get over there and get some pictures,” said Peter and Randy looked up at him incredulously.
“Are you insane, Pete? You want what happened to Gene to happen to you too?” Randy frowned as Pete reached for his jacket and slung it over his shoulders. “Your Aunt and Jill came by looking for you, man. If you knew what was good for you, you’d ignore this and go talk to them instead.”
“I have no idea what’s good for me, Randy,” said Peter as he made his way towards the door. “I never have.”
The Dark Beast known as McCoy sat in his small office and laughed hysterically as the news reported over and over and over again the success of his mission. Everything had worked out exactly as he had planned. There had been a few glitches of course – losing Mastermind and Toad to name but a few – but overall the plan had worked to perfection.
Prelate had grumbled and Marrow had been enthusiastic and Avalanche had scratched his helmeted dome in confusion. But in the end none of it mattered for they were safe and successful and ready to rumble.
“The world in my oyster,” mumbled the Dark Beast to himself as he chuckled over another lengthy news report on the explosion at the coffee house. He had hoped for some police officer to set off the bomb but the unforeseen wildcard of Spider-Man had been even better. Eventually the public would learn that the Brotherhood was responsible for everything, but chasing Spider-Man for a week or so would give them plenty of time to escape and formulate another plan.
Ah, but where oh where did your brilliant plan come from, McCoy? Spoke a sinister voice within the Dark Beast’s mind and immediately McCoy’s good humor faded. His desk cast a shadow on the ground in front of him and from that shadow a being of pure darkness began to materialize. It rose before the Dark Beast and then stepped from the shadow entirely. The Dark Beast looked at the man in front of him and opened his mouth to howl in terror, but no sound came out.
You do not remember me, McCoy. That is as it should be. All you must know is that I am the one who summoned you and it was for I that you did what you did on this day. You and your followers were useful to me, but now your usefulness has come to an end. You will remember nothing of this encounter just as you remembered nothing of our previous encounters. I may call on you again one day when I make my final move onto this world. But until that day you must forget…forget…forget… spoke the apparition within McCoy’s mind and the eyes of the Dark Beast rolled up into his head and a slick drool slipped from his sharpened teeth. The Dark Beast slumped forward and when he awoke he was alone in his office. He scratched at his ears in confusion for a brief moment and then noticed the television still showing images of the carnage from earlier that day. Soon McCoy was laughing along with the news again and did not notice the slivers of darkness that slipped into the shadow of his desk and disappeared.
“You want some of this, pigs!” screamed the Sandman in a rage and formed his hands and arms into giant battering rams of sand. He smashed them into the two patrol cars that had arrived to block his escape from the bank. The police cars went skidding across the street and crashed into a news van that was filming his rampage.
The police scattered when Sandman destroyed their cars but immediately leveled their weapons and began firing at him again. The bullets punched into his sandy exterior but the Sandman felt nothing.
“Doesn’t even tingle, pigs. Now if you’ll excuse me,” the Sandman growled and swatted at two of the police officers. Sand buried both of the cops and Sandman pushed the sand into a nearby wall. The police officers slammed into the wall and fell unconscious.
The Sandman looked where the cops had been standing and saw a clear path to a sewer grate jutting from the sidewalk across the street. Other police were firing at him but the bullets were nothing to him. All he had to do was cross the street and sift through the grate and he’d be home free with all the money.
Sandman struggled to move his body but could not. Something was holding him rooted to the spot and he couldn’t understand it. Clint Marko growled as the police continued to fire at him. Not being able to move was a weakness and Clint Marko was not a weakling. William Baker was the weak one. The Wizard had made sure that William Baker was gone forever.
The Sandman yelled out in frustration and thrashed violently. Though his arms and legs shook wildly and transformed into sand, he could not move.
“Fine, Willie. If you want to keep me here that’s just fine,” said the Sandman to himself through gritted teeth. “But if you don’t let me go, I’m killing every single innocent bystander here. And there ain’t nothing you can do to stop me!”
Detective Russ Anderson leveled his gun at the Sandman and fired again. He couldn’t understand it. He had encountered the Sandman before. Even when he’d been in uniform walking the streets he’d taken a few shots at the Sandman. The guy always swatted the cops around for a while and then booked. Why was he just sitting there? It was like he was waiting for some hero like Daredevil or the Human Torch or…
“Detective,” said a voice at his back and Anderson stiffened. He was a cop and he rarely forgot things. He knew the voice that spoke well enough from the coffee he had shared with the man only a few days before.
“Spider-Man,” replied the detective as he turned on his heels and faced the vigilante. Spider-Man was standing directly behind him with his hands raised into the air. Obviously the wall-crawler didn’t want any trouble. Anderson noticed that half of his men had already drawn a bead on the web-slinger and quite a few of them were itching to pull their triggers.
“I’m not here to fight you or your men, Anderson,” said Spider-Man and the detective could sense the truth in his words. He had heard enough people lie in his line of work to know that Spider-Man was being as honest and forthright as he possibly could.
Spider-Man slowly lowered his hands and Anderson’s men tensed. “I just want to help.”
“Stand down, men,” spoke Anderson harshly and then flashed a tight smile that felt fake and foreign on his skin. “You screwed up, web-slinger. We’re going to have a talk before long. I promise you that.”
“Anything you want, detective,” replied Spider-Man and then jumped into the air and shot a web-line towards the raving lunatic known as Sandman. Anderson watched him jump into a living mass of sand and insanity and grimaced. Spider-Man would do whatever it took to redeem him and avenge the people that had died on his watch…even if it cost him his life.
“I was wondering when one of you spandex-types would show up,” said Sandman as Spider-Man crashed into his face with the full force of his body. Sandman’s face exploded into a fine spray of sand-colored mist and then reformed itself almost as quickly. Spider-Man let his momentum carry him to the wall of the bank and clung to the side of it.
“You getting dumber in your old age or what, Sandy? Normally you would have turned tail and ran by now,” said Spider-Man as he avoided a spike of sand hurtled from Sandman’s body. He jumped down to the sidewalk and peered up at Sandman with narrowed eyes.
“Just shut up and fight, Spider-wuss,” growled Sandman and lunged for Spider-Man again with a huge mass of sand shaped like a wrecking ball. Spidey dodged to the side and fired a double shot of webbing into Sandman’s face.
“You know, I can never get an honest opinion from anyone, Baker. But does my webbing taste good? I’ve been experimenting with adding flavor to it. That was a shot of chocolate-chip cookie webbing. I’m trying to be the super-hero Martha Stewart.”
“Don’t call me Baker!” screamed Sandman in a shrill voice and absorbed the webbing into his face. He spit it out of his mouth onto the ground and then whipped a mass of sand shaped like a spike-covered bat at Spider-Man.
Spider-Man jumped into the air and avoided the bat. He watched it swing under his legs and grinned. “Hey, if you don’t like it you don’t have to be mean about it. A simple no is all I ask.”
Sandman puffed out his chest and spikes of sand came hurtling from his skin. “I’ll kill you, you freaking insect!”
“C’mon, Sandy. Just because your last name is Baker doesn’t mean you know what good cooking is. I guess if I want a true critique I’m going to have to send a sample of my recipe to Yan-Can-Cook!”
“My name is Clint Marko! My name is not William Baker! Stop calling me William Baker, damn you!” screamed Sandman at the top of his lungs and began raining a torrent of spikes in the direction of Spider-Man. Spidey avoided the spikes as best he could and watched as Sandman howled and convulsed violently. The strain on Sandman was intense.
“I’m Clint Marko! Clint Marko! Clint Marko!” shrieked Sandman at the top of his lungs. Spider-Man watched as his adversary formed back into some semblance of solidarity and then crumbled to the ground. Spider-Man approached cautiously, trusting his spider-sense to warn him of any treachery from the Sandman.
“You’re not trying to lull me into a false sense of security so you can steal my recipes are you, Sandy?” Spidey asked as he slipped a toe underneath Sandman and flipped him over. Spider-Man sighed at the sight before him and unclenched his fists. The Sandman was crying.
“Spider-Man. You’ve got to help me. The Wizard did something to me. He messed with my brain,” said the Sandman through his sobs. Spidey leaned in close and when his spider-sense didn’t even tweak, he rested a hand on Sandman’s shoulder hoping to comfort him.
“I was trying to go straight, man. I was trying to be somebody people could look up to. I was even trying to be an Avenger, you know?” said Sandman and Spidey nodded. “But the Wizard thought it was stupid. He thought I was just being dumb. He strapped me to some table and he brought out all the bad in me. I don’t want to be bad, Spidey. You gotta help me.”
Spider-Man looked up in the direction of the police and caught Anderson’s eye. “I will.”
“So that’s it, Dr. Kafka,” said Spider-Man as he watched members of the medical staff at Ravencroft wheel Sandman into the facility. “I think the Wizard did something to Sandman to make him forget all the good things he did as William Baker and bring his Clint Marko side into the light.”
“Well, whatever the case is, it seems as if he genuinely wants to be helped. I’ll be sure to aid him in anyway I can,” responded Ashley Kafka. “This is the second person you’ve brought to me with some sort of mental issues stemming from brainwashing. You’re making this business of mine a pretty lucrative one.”
“How is Liz Osborn?” asked Spider-Man with true concern seeping from every nuance of his body. Ashley Kafka noted it all with a professional clarity.
“She’s doing a little better, Spider-Man. She’s still unconscious and still struggling everyday to survive, but I have no doubt that she’ll make it.”
“That’s good to know, doctor.”
“And how about yourself?” asked Kafka as Spider-Man flicked his wrist and shot a web-line into the darkening sky.
Spider-Man turned towards Kafka for the briefest of moments before lifting into the air. “Oh you know me, doctor. I’m just peachy.”
Ashley Kafka watched Spider-Man swing away and gnawed at her lower lip absently. “I certainly hope so, Spider-Man. I certainly hope so.”
Randy slipped out of his doorway and pushed the key into the lock as soundlessly as possible. A few minutes ago he had heard someone moving around outside of his apartment and had just known it was his landlord looking for the rent. He had made an attempt to go down the fire escape but to his dismay had seen that his landlord was down at the bottom of the alley, smoking a cigarette.
He would have usually waited for the old-timer to head back inside, but he was late for work. So now he was doing his best to sneak out of his apartment as silently as possible so a bitter confrontation could be avoided. Randy was against confrontation. Randy was all about avoiding confrontation whenever he could.
The lock on his door slipped into place and Randy danced silently down the hallway. The elevator was just a few feet away and Randy thought only momentarily about taking it. This was a sneaky operation. And for any sneaky operation you had to use the stairs.
Randy opened the door to the stairs and immediately felt a chill go down his spine. The light in the stairwell for the third floor had burnt out. He could see the dim illumination flickering up at him from the second floor and down at him from the fourth, but for the moment he was trapped in darkness.
“C’mon, Randy. This ain’t the Outer Limits. Just head down one flight of steps and you’re home free,” Randy muttered to himself as he began slowly walking down the flight of steps leading to the second floor.
“Oh, Jesus!” squeaked Randy as a shadow passed over the dim light below him. “Is anybody there?”
There was no response. Randy felt sweat begin to creep down from his armpits and run over his ribs. His palms were moist and he had to force himself to loosen his grip on the railing.
“If anybody’s there, just say so and stop playing!” called Randy down the stairs and then gasped as the shadow came again. The shadow was larger now and to Randy that meant…
“Whoever you are…you’re getting closer,” muttered Randy to himself as he took a single step back up the stairs. A shriek of anger and pain sounded from behind Randy and he screamed himself. An intense shot of pain sliced into his leg and Randy spun on his heels. He caught just a glimpse of Smoke slipping upwards on his way to the fourth floor.
“Stupid cat! I’m going to kill you!” yelled Randy after the cat and then froze as a cool hand placed itself on his neck.
“Oh, Randy. You should worry about yourself,” said a voice that was as sweet as honey but as deadly as poison at the same time. Randy tried to cry out but another cold hand closed itself around his mouth and Randy knew nothing more as all the lights in the stairwell went black.
Next Issue: Oh no! What’s going to happen to poor Randy! Who is the mysterious person accosting everyone’s favorite roomie in the dark? Is Spider-Man ever going to get a break from all this insanity? Not if J. Jonah Jameson and the Enchantress (huh?) have anything to say about it!