Back to GatefoldIssue #39 by Bryan Locke
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"BOSOM BUDDIES"
“Okay…here goes nothing.”
Peter never thought that he would be afraid to enter his own apartment but today he had plenty reason to. Betty Brant, his longtime crush and sometime babysitter, had stayed with his infant daughter, May, while he went out on what he thought would be a quick talk with the Black Cat.
It didn’t turn out that way*.
(*- check out the last two issues for that info- pimpin’ Bryan)
But, really, that wasn’t why he was dreading this. Peter was dreading the fact he was going to have draw out a lie that he had started, to one of his oldest and most trusted friends…someone that…
Someone that what, Parker? That can handle May in a way you wish you could? That knows what’s it’s like to live around masks and costumes? That you’ve had a crush on for ten years? Whatever. Shake it off, man. This is your front door.
Peter put his key into the door and slowly turned the lock. Immediately, the sounds of cartoons filled his ears.
“Betty!” Peter called, as he walked into the living room.
Betty was there. She was on the couch, May in her lap grinning at the television. When May saw her father in the corridor, she started reaching out to him.
Betty didn’t look at him right away, but she said, “You know…I think this is a bit above and beyond the duties of a babysitter.”
Peter scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah, did you see Spidey? So you know what was going on?”
Now Betty looked at him. There was a scowl on her face that he had seen earlier. She sighed, “Yeah, I saw him. He tried to feed me some story about you taking photos for him. Peter…you told me that you don’t need to take his photos anymore. I thought you were done with this. I don’t have to remind you about—”
“May.” Peter sat down next to them on the couch. “I know, I promise you, Betty. Please, I’m sorry about last night. Believe me, something like that won’t happen again.”
“I believe you, Peter.” Betty looked right into his eyes. “It’s Spider-Man I don’t trust. Just…I don’t know, it’s not even my place! I’ve already said too much. I haven’t slept at all, and I gotta meet Ben Urich in an hour…”
“Let me pay for your cab!” Peter said quickly, reaching for his wallet. “Let me pay you for the night! It’s the least I can do.”
Betty stood up, and she still looked ravishing in her outfit, the same that Peter had seen her in hours earlier. She grabbed the hand that was reaching for his wallet. “He was there when Ned died. He was there when Gwen died, Peter…”
“I know, I know.” The words were out of Peter’s mouth before he knew it. “But he’s a good person. I know he is.” God, this was horrible. Peter wiped sweat from his brow.
“Okay, okay.” Betty raised her hands. “You don’t have to listen to me, really. I was just telling you, Peter.” She pushed past him toward the door.
“Oh, come on, Betty!” Peter followed after her, “Please. I know you care. I care about you, too. I mean, last night…”
“Nothing happened last night. Let’s just forget about it.” Betty shook her head, and tried for the door again.
Peter grabbed Betty’s hand and held it in his. “I don’t know if I want to do that.”
Betty took her hand away. “Peter, I think you need to look at last night and figure a few things out before…I can see you again. I thought you were being responsible with your schooling and taking care of May—”
“Betty!” Peter interrupted, “Look I know people don’t understand why I do it but…”
Betty didn’t interrupt him, but he trailed off. The way she tried to avoid his gaze now, it was like she knew he was lying. Just like she knew Spider-Man was lying.
Peter pulled something out of his jacket pocket. “Wait. Look at this. Here.”
Betty examined what Peter had for her. It was a CD, in a clear plastic case. She took it from him curiously.
“And what is this supposed to be?” Betty asked, cock-eyed.
“What do you know about ‘The World’?” Peter asked.
Betty took two steps back. “How do you know about that? That’s something Ben Urich and I have been working on since I came back to the Bugle.”
Peter smiled. “See? It wasn’t all bad. Spider-Man and the Black Cat, they gave this to me to make safe. I can think of no better way to do that than by giving it to you.”
Betty’s face was actually turning into a smile. “You’re kidding. What’s on this?”
Peter shrugged. “I haven’t checked yet. That’s what you journalists are for.”
Betty moved past Peter toward the door. “Well…even if I can get something off this, you’re still in the penalty box—”
“Penalty box?” Peter smiled.
Betty continued, “—because you still need to tell me when you do something like that, Parker. I do not need to be kept up at nights worrying about nerdy photographers.”
Betty, with a flick of her neck to fluff her hair a little, was out of his apartment. Peter watched her walk all the way to the elevator without looking back. When she entered the elevator, she stared at Peter with her arms crossed, until the doors closed.
Peter dropped his shoulders and let out a huge heave. “That sucked.”
He walked farther into the apartment, to the living room, where May played with blocks on the wide, thick carpeting. Peter picked up his daughter and she laughed at him.
“Okay, Mayday, let’s see if we can get some Blue’s Clues reruns going, so you can play yourself to sleep in your crib, and your daddy can sack out…”
Peter awoke to feeling his cell phone in his back pocket again. He had fallen asleep in his clothes. He daftly tapped at his entire body to find the pocket with the phone. He did, coughed a few times to clear his throat, then said, “Hello?”
“Peter! It’s Robbie!”
“Hey!” Peter smiled and rubbed his eyes. It felt good to talk to one of the most influential figures in his life, Joe “Robbie” Robertson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, even if it was interrupting a dead sleep. Peter yawned, “What’s new, Robbie?”
“Look, Peter, I know how…busy you are and I’d hate to interrupt anything, but I’ve got some pretty bad news.”
Peter felt his stomach drop. “What’s that?”
“Jonah’s back in the hospital.”
Peter nearly dropped the phone. While he had not been especially close to his publisher, and he had been even less close as Spider-Man, J. Jonah Jameson was a man to respect. Already, Jonah had risked his life for Peter*, and it was only Jonah’s information that allowed Peter to regain his daughter. Peter owed Jonah big time.
(*- Jonah was shot by a mysterious someone in issue 23 – Bryan, wishing he could read issue 24)
“What happened?” Peter said with harshness in his tone he didn’t necessarily mean.
Robbie sighed, “He won’t say. He insists he’s fine. But he was assaulted by a taxi driver and left on a street at four in the morning in upper Manhattan. He lost his wallet, his shoes, his jacket, got a few bruised ribs from some muggers…but he won’t talk about it.”
“Yeah? Same-old Jonah there…what’s really wrong, Robbie?”
Robbie sounded a bit flustered, “It’s just…well, I wanted you to know…Jonah’s going to abandon the approach we’ve taken to the paper for the last few months. He’s going to…well, he’s started to call out Spider-Man again.”
Peter almost slapped his forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I thought the Bugle was starting to become the haven for radical journalism*! Ben Urich and Sally Floyd were nominated for Pulitzers for their work on that steroids in baseball thing.”
(*- the Bugle has been taking a more honest approach to journalism since around issue 33- Bryan)
“He’s making Spider-Man his number one priority as soon as he gets out, Peter. I can’t figure out why, but I know for sure it has something to do with last night. And now he wants to meet with you.”
Peter sat up in his bed. “Meet? Really? Why?”
“What else? He wants you back snapping pics of Spider-Man. You’re the best he says.”
“Are you serious?” Peter said quickly. This was starting to get ridiculous. How many friends would he have to lie to today? “Look, Robbie, I’ll meet with him, since I want to see how he’s holding up and everything but…”
“I know, Peter. I…got your message*, and passed it on to Jonah. But you know how he is. Thanks for meeting with him. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
(*- don’t forget! Robbie discovered Peter’s secret identity in issue 32!- super-secret Bryan)
“Well.” Peter grinned. “Maybe when I turn him down, he’ll realize he doesn’t have photos for a smear campaign!”
“Well…Angela Yin’s taking some great shots recently. Did you see the photos of the fight at the old Oscorp plant? They’re front page, Peter. Put them to press just this morning.”
Angela Yin? Peter slapped his forehead. He hadn’t even seen the Daily Bugle’s new top photographer last night with the Ghost and Felicia! A nosy girl he had to watch out for now. Just great.
“Er, no.” Peter said, “I’ve missed the last few editions of the Bugle. Sorry, but I’ll grab one on the way to class tonight.”
“I’m sure Jonah will put one in your hand when you meet with him. Look, I don’t want to keep you any longer, Peter. I know you’re busy with May and school and…everything.”
“Thanks, Robbie. I’ll let you go, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Be careful, Peter.”
As Peter shut his phone he pondered for a second Robbie’s strange choice of salutation. Then he pondered, Jonah, mugged? Ol’ Sourpuss is probably just upset he got mugged and he’s blaming Spider-Man again. Eh, it sure isn’t the press I could use right now…
Then, Peter heard a sound from outside his room, in his apartment. It was the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing.
“We hear you on the phone, Pete! Come on out! I made mac’n’cheese!”
Peter jumped out of bed, recognizing the voice, though he desperately wanted to be wrong. Nope. So much for his spider-sense warning him of imminent danger…
“Agent Bronson and I just let ourselves in.” agent Daniel Toy said, decked out in a nice formal suit, casually sitting on Peter’s couch, with his wingtips on Peter’s coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind. You know, Pulp Fiction is on.”
Peter looked to the corner of the living room and, in the reclining chair, was Charlene Bronson, dressed in a tanktop, loose cargos and a jean jacket, and rocking back and forth…with baby May gurgling in her arms.
“What is this?” Peter outstretched his arms. “This is breaking and entering! This is still my house! You people need to knock!”
Toy stood up. “Pete, calm down. We’re technically your landlords. We can get in here whenever we want. And you’re lucky we’re here too. You know May was going to wake you about four hours ago if we hadn’t given her some formula?”
“You’re touching my daughter too?” Peter walked briskly over to Bronson and took his daughter from her. “Does SHIELD have a protocol for all this?”
“Relax, webhead.” Bronson cooed, “It’s not SHIELD anymore who’s footing your bill.”
Peter frowned. “And who’s that now?”
Toy laughed, “You’re handling has been transferred to the Aladdin Agency. SHIELD has been undergoing…an infrastructural crisis as of late.*”
(*- you can catch all that action over with concurrent issues at the X-branch- Bamfin’ Bryan)
“Aladdin?” Peter asked. “Never heard of you.”
Toy nodded, but shrugged like it was nothing but a thing. “We got too big for the CIA. But we’re all still bosom buddies, webslinger.”
Peter put his hands on his hips. “Bosom buddies don’t enter your house unannounced, Danny. They don’t make infant children watch Tarantino movies.”
Toy sighed, shot a look at Bronson, and sat down again. “I hate when other people are right.” Toy motioned with his arm for Peter to sit next to him on the couch. “You’re right. You are master of your domain.”
“Just, please, no Tarantino before noon on weekdays.” Peter grabbed the remote, and flipped the channel. “Besides, it’s time for Teletubbies. Now, tell me why you’re here. I thought we were square.”
“Pete,” Toy said casually, “it’s like I said, we’ve done all this for you—because no one wants you to fall back on that life insurance you’ve invested—so we’re just here hoping for a few favors in return.”
Peter laughed, “Again? What, I’m your errand boy or something? I can’t leave my daughter alone like this all the time, Toy. It’s not healthy…for either of us. You don’t understand the night I’ve had.”
“We understand, but—”
“You don’t understand.” Peter corrected him.
Toy sounded much more serious as he continued, “—but we think you’d be especially interested in this. It regards Phineas Mason, the Tinkerer.”
Peter’s eyes flashed as he remembered the decrepit old man who had kidnapped his daughter. It was true, without the help of Toy and Bronson*, Peter might not have been able to get her back at all. Apparently, the data and technology recovered from Mason would help in tracing terror networks all over the world, but it didn’t erase what else Mason had taken from Peter: one of his best friends, Jill Stacy, was shot in cold blood during the kidnapping*.
(*- in issues 35 and 28, respectively- Bryan)
“What’s up?” Peter asked grimly, with a look at his daughter. May was mesmerized by the television.
Bronson walked over, to the other side of Peter. Toy got closer on his other side. The agents eyed each other wearily before eyeing Peter.
Toy said carefully, “We’ve made some interesting discoveries as to where Mason’s technology has been ending up.”
Peter shrugged. “Could you spill the beans? I think May just used my lap as a toilet.”
Toy and Bronson eyed each other again. Toy continued, “You remember Dmitri Smerdyakov, the Chameleon?” Toy went on, not needing to see Peter nod, “Contacts in Moscow, Madrid and Rome tell us he’s back in New York. He has in his possession information on Mason’s tech. Since our team-up,” Toy smiled as he remembered, “his tech’s been up for grabs, a free-for-all. Not hard to imagine the Chameleon got in on it.”
Peter nodded as he stood and stepped briskly to get a new diaper. “So, which one of you is going to give her a bath?” He called from the room, “And which is going to feed her?”
The agents eyed each other one last time, with much more fear etched in their faces.
Peter pulled his shirt down over the wires taped to his chest.
“So how will I recognize him?” Peter asked, pulling on the gloves.
“He’ll be using holographic technology,” Toy said, pulling a small white case out of his pocket, “so these lenses should be able to recognize his wavelength.” He watched Peter put in the lenses, then finally, pull down his the mask.
Spider-Man could feel the strong mid-afternoon breeze at his back, as he gazed upon the scene beneath him. “Car 54, where are you?” People looked like ants, and the waves crashing along the shore sounded like thunderous applause.
Spidey approached the edge of one of the seven spikes atop the pinnacle of ‘Liberty Enlightening The World’, or as most Americans called it, the Statue of Liberty. Toy stood atop the relative safety of the Lady’s hair. Spidey crouched.
“We don’t know who Smerdyakov is meeting, unfortunately.” Toy said, constantly glancing at his watch, “Various data has been hacked from terrorist networks we’ve been busting all over the world. Anyone and everyone could be trying to move it off the Chameleon. Be on your toes.”
Spidey rolled his eyes. “Got it. Call Bronson and make sure she’s using the childproof soap. And calm down. First time I beat the Chameleon I was fifteen years old. I can handle him now.”
Toy nervously glanced at his watch again. “I’ll calm down when we have that data in our hands, uploaded on our network. I know you’re not used to things on this scale, Spidey,” Toy glared at him when he spoke next, “but this is big. Mason was up to something big.”
Spider-Man stood from his crouch, much more serious, “There’s Waldo!”
“Huh?” Toy asked, realizing Spidey wasn’t talking to him anymore.
Spider-Man said simply, “Stoke me a kipper, I’ll be back for breakfast!” Not bothering to look back at Toy, the webslinger jumped into a high arc and dived.
Toy smiled as he watched the streak of red and blue cross Lady Liberty. He heaved a big sigh, and tried to reassure himself that he had nothing to worry about. Pulling out his cell, he called Bronson to make sure she used the childproof soap.
Sister Lillian Maguire breathed deep the salty air. The wind was nice over her robes and headdress. Only once a month would the Sisterhood of Saint Tibulus visit the monument on Liberty Island, but for that Sister Lil was truly grateful. Though it was her duty to the Lord, Sister Lil wasn’t comfortable with the prisoners of Ryker’s Island Maximum Security Prison her sisterhood accompanied on these trips.
They are children of God, just as I am, Sister Lil halted her ill thoughts, and they deserve a respite from their punishment, if only for an hour once a month.
Sister Lil turned her gaze inland. Along the perimeter of the island, were the Ryker’s security guards, armed with tazers, mace and shotguns. Sister Lil shuddered and looked past them. Breathing a bit easier, she saw her Sisters with the prisoners: some read with them from the Good Book, some were praying, but most were just talking and gazing over the blue distance.
Sister Lil felt a smile spread across her face, then she heard--
“Ladies and gentlemen? Excuse me! ACHEM!!! Helloooo? Up here, people!”
He was a red and blue speck against the vastness of Lady Liberty’s skirt. Sister Lil had watched enough of the five o’clock news to know who this was.
“Could I have everybody’s attention PLEASE!” Spider-Man crawled along the dress of the statue, scurrying like his namesake to the ground.
The Ryker’s guards quickly raised their shotguns. Spider-Man waved at them.
“As you were, gentlemen.” The wallcrawler sounded jolly under the mask, “This is gonna sound weird, but the killers and thieves surrounding me are not the reason I’m here!”
Sister Lil frowned. Spider-Man was not here for one of the criminals? She knew that it was still up in the air whether Spider-Man was truly on the side of angels, but Sister Lil hoped for the best in people. She prayed he was not here to ‘spring’ anyone.
“I’m actually here for…” Spider-Man ran his index finger across his view of Liberty Island. It bounced in a ‘duck-duck-goose’ type of way, over the police, nuns and convicts until it finally landed on…
“You!” Spider-Man yelled, and a stream of expanding webbing flowed from both of his wrists, past the main crowd around him…to the island’s perimeter…right into the back of a Sister of Saint Tibulus!
“Sister Katarina!” Lillian shouted.
Katarina was an older, quieter member of the Sisterhood, only three weeks fresh from transferring from her diocese in Moscow. The woman was a hermit, intensely secretive, and because of her age, the other Sisters rarely bothered her. But what could Spider-Man want with an eighty-year-old servant of God?
“Gotcha!” Spider-Man yanked hard on the eighty-year-old servant of God. She screamed when she flew backward, like a wayward crow. When Katarina rolled to a halt, Spider-Man’s fist was arched back, as if to deliver a finishing blow.
“No!” Sister Lil yelled, “Good Lord, why?”
Spider-Man whipped his head toward her. “Sister, this ain’t no Sunday choir girl!”
“Hold it right there!” It was a policeman. He had gotten to Spider-Man’s back, pointing a shotgun right between his shoulder blades.
The next instant, all Spider-Man heard was the clicking of shotguns, all cocked and pointed at him. He quickly looked down at the leathery false face kneeling before him. She was smiling.
Without looking away from her, Spider-Man said, “Officers. There is clearly a case of mistaken identity going on here. You see, this lady of the cloth is in fact a world-class terrorist, and I, in the colorful spandex, am in fact the hero saving the day.”
“I said hold it!” The cop behind him shouted again, “You let that woman up! I said let her up! Or I swear—”
Still not turning around, Spider-Man reached over his shoulder, grabbing the shotgun. Its shaft was crushed. The policeman watched it fall, useless, to the green grass.
Sister Katarina was on her feet, with agility not common for a woman her age, Sister Lillian noticed. When the Sister delivered a swift punch to Spider-Man’s jaw, Lil was shocked stiff.
“Spider-Man!” Katarina snarled, knowing the police wouldn’t dare shoot her, “A decade of embarrassment ends now!” Her hand seemed to disappear into her frock, and reemerge with a pistol, that reminded Sister Lil of those old Flash Gordon serials.
There was no doubt about it now. “Stop!” Sister Lil ran as fast as her wiry legs could pace. “Good God! Don’t shoot him!”
Spider-Man was faster than Sister Lil. He wrenched at the wrist of the ‘nun’ in front of him. The pistol’s tip began to glow fiery red.
Spider-Man raised his other hand, clinched, and was just a split-second from cracking the Chameleon’s jaw…when Sister Lil arrived. It was easy for the Chameleon to pull the peaceful woman into the path of Spider-Man’s fist!
But Spider-Man let go of the Chameleon. The wallcrawler’s fist stopped nary an inch from the bulbous nose of Sister Lillian Maguire. The pistol rose again. It stopped nary an inch from the masked face of Spider-Man.
The fiery tip of the Chameleon’s pistol erupted in bright, chaotic red energy, but again, Spider-Man was faster. The Chameleon’s wrist was crushed, but not before the energy was directed away…toward another target.
The chain, the thick connector cable that ran through the handcuffs providing electric current to keep in custody every pedophile, rapist and murderer on Liberty Island that one holiday a month—it glowed red, then shattered to pieces.
“Uh-oh.” Spider-Man whispered.
The Chameleon took his chance, dropping Sister Lillian, smashing his one good hand into Spider-Man’s chin.
Gunshots! The prisoners were free from the chains, and they were making a run for it! The policemen tried sending directions to each other—too little, too late. Splashes! Spider-Man heard the convicts hit the water to freedom, even as his jaw swelled from the Chameleon’s punch. Screams, shrieks! The nuns were covering their heads, on their knees, praying in a language Peter didn’t understand.
“Nonononono!” Spider-Man forced Sister Lillian to the ground, as he pushed himself upward, confident his spider-sense would warn him if any bullets were sent his way.
Webbing flung from his wrists again. The Chameleon’s entire form shimmered as though in a prism, and the more familiar suited Chameleon came into view. The webbing made contact, right at his heels. The Chameleon was flung face first, hard into the grass.
Spider-sense! To his left! To his right! Crossing his arms, webbing again flew from his wrists, tangling two prisoners trying to cross over the guardrails to the Atlantic below.
“Spider-Man!”
“Hands in the air!”
“You’re under arrest!”
Peter did raise his hands, and looked around him. The Ryker’s guards were slowly converging on him…Spider-sense! They’re gonna fire!
They did. Spider-Man flipped head over heels backward, feeling the heat of bullets sail under him. Then, he rolled to his left six feet, feeling more heat singe against his back.
“Hold your fire!” At least one guard had the sense.
“Don’t shoot!” That was Sister Lillian Maguire again.
The guards lowered their guns, and Spider-Man’s eyes shot toward the Chameleon again. Smerdyakov had something in his hand! He was trying to throw it toward the Atlantic! The object—a flash drive—was already in the air…
But Spider-Man was always too fast: his webbing snagged it from a watery fate. A second later, impact webbing expanded over the Chameleon, leaving him motionless.
“Up here, wallcrawler!” it was a familiar voice in a megaphone.
Spider-Man stretched his arm as high above him as he could, hoping this jet of webbing could catch hold of the Aladdin helicopter soaring to his rescue. Contact!
He was torn from the ground as the helicopter took off toward the mainland. He could hear the cops call and shout and shoot after him. Spider-Man crawled up his webline using all four limbs, safely and easily boarding the cabin alongside Daniel Toy.
“How’s May?” Spider-Man immediately asked, over the roar of the helicopter blades.
“Napping!” Toy responded, “Give me the information!”
Spider-Man handed over the flash drive. A laptop suddenly appeared in Toy’s grasp, and the flash drive was inserted. Toy’s fingers glided across the keys. The screen was at first black, then blue, then flashed repeating ones and zeros, before finally arranging in some sort of equation or code that Peter couldn’t keep track of. Toy, though, looked like he was enjoying himself.
“Got it!” Toy shouted, “It’s a video! It’s called…‘the World’.”
“What?” Spider-Man asked, though he had heard him.
“The World,” Toy repeated. “The stuff dreams are made of…and now we have video…”
At first all you see is a mountain valley. But, slowing ever so slightly as you go, you draw closer to the valley and its lush scenery: flowers, shabby roads that lead to quaint little cottages. You observe that most of them are farms, with various animals pulling hoes through rich soil. For some reason, you hear nothing.
Along the dingy, cobblestone roads, there are small European cars and horses pulling buggies. You follow this road and its vehicles farther, and see people. Hundreds of people, all dressed in simple, woolen clothing. You’ve reached a row of shops now, where the people cross the streets, greet each other with laughs and waves, going about their own unspoken business. Their faces flash by you, almost unnoticed.
It’s almost as though you can feel that they aren’t who you seek…that you’re searching for something much more than farms and cordial neighbors. You pass them, like you’re riding the wind.
But there is one person, farther down the road…you can barely see them. They’re on a bicycle, almost to the point where the town ends and the road becomes unpaved once more. You’ve got to move much faster to catch them!
Closer, and closer still, you can make out your quarry: a woman with long, crimson locks…slight freckles on her shoulders…the sun’s so bright, you can’t make out the face you know is hiding behind those curls…the wind is beating against your face so hard, you can barely breathe…
But she stops! She looks over her shoulders. Her emerald eyes make the only sound:
“Come and get me, Tiger.”
“Mary-Jane!” Peter cried. It was true. It was her! There! On the screen!”
The screen was blank.
“What?” Daniel Toy looked at him like he was crazy.
“Play it again!” Spider-Man screamed at him, “That was my wife! Play it again!”
“No—no, what—there wasn’t anything like—”
Spider-Man grabbed him by his collar, “I saw her! That woman! It was Mary-Jane!”
Daniel Toy didn’t back away from him, “No, Peter! I’m telling you!” He slapped Spider-Man’s hands off him, “There was nothing on that video file! It was blank! I saw nothing! What did you see?”
But Spider-Man slumped farther into the helicopter’s cabin, “No, it couldn’t…it was…”
“Who?” Toy began to shake at Spider-Man’s shoulders, “Spidey? Hey! Can you hear me? Are you awake? Spidey? What did you see? You have to tell me what you saw!”
But Peter Parker’s head was spinning.
Mary-Jane…Mary-Jane…Mary-Jane…
NEXT ISSUE: Was it Mary-Jane? Was it a trick? What is the World? Answers next ish! All that, plus Alexander Lukin! To check up on Peter’s supporting cast, and to read the Bugle’s reaction to the Liberty Island Disaster, check out the Amazing Spider-Man Annual 2007!
Peter never thought that he would be afraid to enter his own apartment but today he had plenty reason to. Betty Brant, his longtime crush and sometime babysitter, had stayed with his infant daughter, May, while he went out on what he thought would be a quick talk with the Black Cat.
It didn’t turn out that way*.
(*- check out the last two issues for that info- pimpin’ Bryan)
But, really, that wasn’t why he was dreading this. Peter was dreading the fact he was going to have draw out a lie that he had started, to one of his oldest and most trusted friends…someone that…
Someone that what, Parker? That can handle May in a way you wish you could? That knows what’s it’s like to live around masks and costumes? That you’ve had a crush on for ten years? Whatever. Shake it off, man. This is your front door.
Peter put his key into the door and slowly turned the lock. Immediately, the sounds of cartoons filled his ears.
“Betty!” Peter called, as he walked into the living room.
Betty was there. She was on the couch, May in her lap grinning at the television. When May saw her father in the corridor, she started reaching out to him.
Betty didn’t look at him right away, but she said, “You know…I think this is a bit above and beyond the duties of a babysitter.”
Peter scratched the back of his head. “Uh, yeah, did you see Spidey? So you know what was going on?”
Now Betty looked at him. There was a scowl on her face that he had seen earlier. She sighed, “Yeah, I saw him. He tried to feed me some story about you taking photos for him. Peter…you told me that you don’t need to take his photos anymore. I thought you were done with this. I don’t have to remind you about—”
“May.” Peter sat down next to them on the couch. “I know, I promise you, Betty. Please, I’m sorry about last night. Believe me, something like that won’t happen again.”
“I believe you, Peter.” Betty looked right into his eyes. “It’s Spider-Man I don’t trust. Just…I don’t know, it’s not even my place! I’ve already said too much. I haven’t slept at all, and I gotta meet Ben Urich in an hour…”
“Let me pay for your cab!” Peter said quickly, reaching for his wallet. “Let me pay you for the night! It’s the least I can do.”
Betty stood up, and she still looked ravishing in her outfit, the same that Peter had seen her in hours earlier. She grabbed the hand that was reaching for his wallet. “He was there when Ned died. He was there when Gwen died, Peter…”
“I know, I know.” The words were out of Peter’s mouth before he knew it. “But he’s a good person. I know he is.” God, this was horrible. Peter wiped sweat from his brow.
“Okay, okay.” Betty raised her hands. “You don’t have to listen to me, really. I was just telling you, Peter.” She pushed past him toward the door.
“Oh, come on, Betty!” Peter followed after her, “Please. I know you care. I care about you, too. I mean, last night…”
“Nothing happened last night. Let’s just forget about it.” Betty shook her head, and tried for the door again.
Peter grabbed Betty’s hand and held it in his. “I don’t know if I want to do that.”
Betty took her hand away. “Peter, I think you need to look at last night and figure a few things out before…I can see you again. I thought you were being responsible with your schooling and taking care of May—”
“Betty!” Peter interrupted, “Look I know people don’t understand why I do it but…”
Betty didn’t interrupt him, but he trailed off. The way she tried to avoid his gaze now, it was like she knew he was lying. Just like she knew Spider-Man was lying.
Peter pulled something out of his jacket pocket. “Wait. Look at this. Here.”
Betty examined what Peter had for her. It was a CD, in a clear plastic case. She took it from him curiously.
“And what is this supposed to be?” Betty asked, cock-eyed.
“What do you know about ‘The World’?” Peter asked.
Betty took two steps back. “How do you know about that? That’s something Ben Urich and I have been working on since I came back to the Bugle.”
Peter smiled. “See? It wasn’t all bad. Spider-Man and the Black Cat, they gave this to me to make safe. I can think of no better way to do that than by giving it to you.”
Betty’s face was actually turning into a smile. “You’re kidding. What’s on this?”
Peter shrugged. “I haven’t checked yet. That’s what you journalists are for.”
Betty moved past Peter toward the door. “Well…even if I can get something off this, you’re still in the penalty box—”
“Penalty box?” Peter smiled.
Betty continued, “—because you still need to tell me when you do something like that, Parker. I do not need to be kept up at nights worrying about nerdy photographers.”
Betty, with a flick of her neck to fluff her hair a little, was out of his apartment. Peter watched her walk all the way to the elevator without looking back. When she entered the elevator, she stared at Peter with her arms crossed, until the doors closed.
Peter dropped his shoulders and let out a huge heave. “That sucked.”
He walked farther into the apartment, to the living room, where May played with blocks on the wide, thick carpeting. Peter picked up his daughter and she laughed at him.
“Okay, Mayday, let’s see if we can get some Blue’s Clues reruns going, so you can play yourself to sleep in your crib, and your daddy can sack out…”
Peter awoke to feeling his cell phone in his back pocket again. He had fallen asleep in his clothes. He daftly tapped at his entire body to find the pocket with the phone. He did, coughed a few times to clear his throat, then said, “Hello?”
“Peter! It’s Robbie!”
“Hey!” Peter smiled and rubbed his eyes. It felt good to talk to one of the most influential figures in his life, Joe “Robbie” Robertson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, even if it was interrupting a dead sleep. Peter yawned, “What’s new, Robbie?”
“Look, Peter, I know how…busy you are and I’d hate to interrupt anything, but I’ve got some pretty bad news.”
Peter felt his stomach drop. “What’s that?”
“Jonah’s back in the hospital.”
Peter nearly dropped the phone. While he had not been especially close to his publisher, and he had been even less close as Spider-Man, J. Jonah Jameson was a man to respect. Already, Jonah had risked his life for Peter*, and it was only Jonah’s information that allowed Peter to regain his daughter. Peter owed Jonah big time.
(*- Jonah was shot by a mysterious someone in issue 23 – Bryan, wishing he could read issue 24)
“What happened?” Peter said with harshness in his tone he didn’t necessarily mean.
Robbie sighed, “He won’t say. He insists he’s fine. But he was assaulted by a taxi driver and left on a street at four in the morning in upper Manhattan. He lost his wallet, his shoes, his jacket, got a few bruised ribs from some muggers…but he won’t talk about it.”
“Yeah? Same-old Jonah there…what’s really wrong, Robbie?”
Robbie sounded a bit flustered, “It’s just…well, I wanted you to know…Jonah’s going to abandon the approach we’ve taken to the paper for the last few months. He’s going to…well, he’s started to call out Spider-Man again.”
Peter almost slapped his forehead. “You’ve got to be kidding me! I thought the Bugle was starting to become the haven for radical journalism*! Ben Urich and Sally Floyd were nominated for Pulitzers for their work on that steroids in baseball thing.”
(*- the Bugle has been taking a more honest approach to journalism since around issue 33- Bryan)
“He’s making Spider-Man his number one priority as soon as he gets out, Peter. I can’t figure out why, but I know for sure it has something to do with last night. And now he wants to meet with you.”
Peter sat up in his bed. “Meet? Really? Why?”
“What else? He wants you back snapping pics of Spider-Man. You’re the best he says.”
“Are you serious?” Peter said quickly. This was starting to get ridiculous. How many friends would he have to lie to today? “Look, Robbie, I’ll meet with him, since I want to see how he’s holding up and everything but…”
“I know, Peter. I…got your message*, and passed it on to Jonah. But you know how he is. Thanks for meeting with him. Maybe you can talk some sense into him.”
(*- don’t forget! Robbie discovered Peter’s secret identity in issue 32!- super-secret Bryan)
“Well.” Peter grinned. “Maybe when I turn him down, he’ll realize he doesn’t have photos for a smear campaign!”
“Well…Angela Yin’s taking some great shots recently. Did you see the photos of the fight at the old Oscorp plant? They’re front page, Peter. Put them to press just this morning.”
Angela Yin? Peter slapped his forehead. He hadn’t even seen the Daily Bugle’s new top photographer last night with the Ghost and Felicia! A nosy girl he had to watch out for now. Just great.
“Er, no.” Peter said, “I’ve missed the last few editions of the Bugle. Sorry, but I’ll grab one on the way to class tonight.”
“I’m sure Jonah will put one in your hand when you meet with him. Look, I don’t want to keep you any longer, Peter. I know you’re busy with May and school and…everything.”
“Thanks, Robbie. I’ll let you go, and I’ll see you soon.”
“Be careful, Peter.”
As Peter shut his phone he pondered for a second Robbie’s strange choice of salutation. Then he pondered, Jonah, mugged? Ol’ Sourpuss is probably just upset he got mugged and he’s blaming Spider-Man again. Eh, it sure isn’t the press I could use right now…
Then, Peter heard a sound from outside his room, in his apartment. It was the unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing.
“We hear you on the phone, Pete! Come on out! I made mac’n’cheese!”
Peter jumped out of bed, recognizing the voice, though he desperately wanted to be wrong. Nope. So much for his spider-sense warning him of imminent danger…
“Agent Bronson and I just let ourselves in.” agent Daniel Toy said, decked out in a nice formal suit, casually sitting on Peter’s couch, with his wingtips on Peter’s coffee table. “I hope you don’t mind. You know, Pulp Fiction is on.”
Peter looked to the corner of the living room and, in the reclining chair, was Charlene Bronson, dressed in a tanktop, loose cargos and a jean jacket, and rocking back and forth…with baby May gurgling in her arms.
“What is this?” Peter outstretched his arms. “This is breaking and entering! This is still my house! You people need to knock!”
Toy stood up. “Pete, calm down. We’re technically your landlords. We can get in here whenever we want. And you’re lucky we’re here too. You know May was going to wake you about four hours ago if we hadn’t given her some formula?”
“You’re touching my daughter too?” Peter walked briskly over to Bronson and took his daughter from her. “Does SHIELD have a protocol for all this?”
“Relax, webhead.” Bronson cooed, “It’s not SHIELD anymore who’s footing your bill.”
Peter frowned. “And who’s that now?”
Toy laughed, “You’re handling has been transferred to the Aladdin Agency. SHIELD has been undergoing…an infrastructural crisis as of late.*”
(*- you can catch all that action over with concurrent issues at the X-branch- Bamfin’ Bryan)
“Aladdin?” Peter asked. “Never heard of you.”
Toy nodded, but shrugged like it was nothing but a thing. “We got too big for the CIA. But we’re all still bosom buddies, webslinger.”
Peter put his hands on his hips. “Bosom buddies don’t enter your house unannounced, Danny. They don’t make infant children watch Tarantino movies.”
Toy sighed, shot a look at Bronson, and sat down again. “I hate when other people are right.” Toy motioned with his arm for Peter to sit next to him on the couch. “You’re right. You are master of your domain.”
“Just, please, no Tarantino before noon on weekdays.” Peter grabbed the remote, and flipped the channel. “Besides, it’s time for Teletubbies. Now, tell me why you’re here. I thought we were square.”
“Pete,” Toy said casually, “it’s like I said, we’ve done all this for you—because no one wants you to fall back on that life insurance you’ve invested—so we’re just here hoping for a few favors in return.”
Peter laughed, “Again? What, I’m your errand boy or something? I can’t leave my daughter alone like this all the time, Toy. It’s not healthy…for either of us. You don’t understand the night I’ve had.”
“We understand, but—”
“You don’t understand.” Peter corrected him.
Toy sounded much more serious as he continued, “—but we think you’d be especially interested in this. It regards Phineas Mason, the Tinkerer.”
Peter’s eyes flashed as he remembered the decrepit old man who had kidnapped his daughter. It was true, without the help of Toy and Bronson*, Peter might not have been able to get her back at all. Apparently, the data and technology recovered from Mason would help in tracing terror networks all over the world, but it didn’t erase what else Mason had taken from Peter: one of his best friends, Jill Stacy, was shot in cold blood during the kidnapping*.
(*- in issues 35 and 28, respectively- Bryan)
“What’s up?” Peter asked grimly, with a look at his daughter. May was mesmerized by the television.
Bronson walked over, to the other side of Peter. Toy got closer on his other side. The agents eyed each other wearily before eyeing Peter.
Toy said carefully, “We’ve made some interesting discoveries as to where Mason’s technology has been ending up.”
Peter shrugged. “Could you spill the beans? I think May just used my lap as a toilet.”
Toy and Bronson eyed each other again. Toy continued, “You remember Dmitri Smerdyakov, the Chameleon?” Toy went on, not needing to see Peter nod, “Contacts in Moscow, Madrid and Rome tell us he’s back in New York. He has in his possession information on Mason’s tech. Since our team-up,” Toy smiled as he remembered, “his tech’s been up for grabs, a free-for-all. Not hard to imagine the Chameleon got in on it.”
Peter nodded as he stood and stepped briskly to get a new diaper. “So, which one of you is going to give her a bath?” He called from the room, “And which is going to feed her?”
The agents eyed each other one last time, with much more fear etched in their faces.
Peter pulled his shirt down over the wires taped to his chest.
“So how will I recognize him?” Peter asked, pulling on the gloves.
“He’ll be using holographic technology,” Toy said, pulling a small white case out of his pocket, “so these lenses should be able to recognize his wavelength.” He watched Peter put in the lenses, then finally, pull down his the mask.
Spider-Man could feel the strong mid-afternoon breeze at his back, as he gazed upon the scene beneath him. “Car 54, where are you?” People looked like ants, and the waves crashing along the shore sounded like thunderous applause.
Spidey approached the edge of one of the seven spikes atop the pinnacle of ‘Liberty Enlightening The World’, or as most Americans called it, the Statue of Liberty. Toy stood atop the relative safety of the Lady’s hair. Spidey crouched.
“We don’t know who Smerdyakov is meeting, unfortunately.” Toy said, constantly glancing at his watch, “Various data has been hacked from terrorist networks we’ve been busting all over the world. Anyone and everyone could be trying to move it off the Chameleon. Be on your toes.”
Spidey rolled his eyes. “Got it. Call Bronson and make sure she’s using the childproof soap. And calm down. First time I beat the Chameleon I was fifteen years old. I can handle him now.”
Toy nervously glanced at his watch again. “I’ll calm down when we have that data in our hands, uploaded on our network. I know you’re not used to things on this scale, Spidey,” Toy glared at him when he spoke next, “but this is big. Mason was up to something big.”
Spider-Man stood from his crouch, much more serious, “There’s Waldo!”
“Huh?” Toy asked, realizing Spidey wasn’t talking to him anymore.
Spider-Man said simply, “Stoke me a kipper, I’ll be back for breakfast!” Not bothering to look back at Toy, the webslinger jumped into a high arc and dived.
Toy smiled as he watched the streak of red and blue cross Lady Liberty. He heaved a big sigh, and tried to reassure himself that he had nothing to worry about. Pulling out his cell, he called Bronson to make sure she used the childproof soap.
Sister Lillian Maguire breathed deep the salty air. The wind was nice over her robes and headdress. Only once a month would the Sisterhood of Saint Tibulus visit the monument on Liberty Island, but for that Sister Lil was truly grateful. Though it was her duty to the Lord, Sister Lil wasn’t comfortable with the prisoners of Ryker’s Island Maximum Security Prison her sisterhood accompanied on these trips.
They are children of God, just as I am, Sister Lil halted her ill thoughts, and they deserve a respite from their punishment, if only for an hour once a month.
Sister Lil turned her gaze inland. Along the perimeter of the island, were the Ryker’s security guards, armed with tazers, mace and shotguns. Sister Lil shuddered and looked past them. Breathing a bit easier, she saw her Sisters with the prisoners: some read with them from the Good Book, some were praying, but most were just talking and gazing over the blue distance.
Sister Lil felt a smile spread across her face, then she heard--
“Ladies and gentlemen? Excuse me! ACHEM!!! Helloooo? Up here, people!”
He was a red and blue speck against the vastness of Lady Liberty’s skirt. Sister Lil had watched enough of the five o’clock news to know who this was.
“Could I have everybody’s attention PLEASE!” Spider-Man crawled along the dress of the statue, scurrying like his namesake to the ground.
The Ryker’s guards quickly raised their shotguns. Spider-Man waved at them.
“As you were, gentlemen.” The wallcrawler sounded jolly under the mask, “This is gonna sound weird, but the killers and thieves surrounding me are not the reason I’m here!”
Sister Lil frowned. Spider-Man was not here for one of the criminals? She knew that it was still up in the air whether Spider-Man was truly on the side of angels, but Sister Lil hoped for the best in people. She prayed he was not here to ‘spring’ anyone.
“I’m actually here for…” Spider-Man ran his index finger across his view of Liberty Island. It bounced in a ‘duck-duck-goose’ type of way, over the police, nuns and convicts until it finally landed on…
“You!” Spider-Man yelled, and a stream of expanding webbing flowed from both of his wrists, past the main crowd around him…to the island’s perimeter…right into the back of a Sister of Saint Tibulus!
“Sister Katarina!” Lillian shouted.
Katarina was an older, quieter member of the Sisterhood, only three weeks fresh from transferring from her diocese in Moscow. The woman was a hermit, intensely secretive, and because of her age, the other Sisters rarely bothered her. But what could Spider-Man want with an eighty-year-old servant of God?
“Gotcha!” Spider-Man yanked hard on the eighty-year-old servant of God. She screamed when she flew backward, like a wayward crow. When Katarina rolled to a halt, Spider-Man’s fist was arched back, as if to deliver a finishing blow.
“No!” Sister Lil yelled, “Good Lord, why?”
Spider-Man whipped his head toward her. “Sister, this ain’t no Sunday choir girl!”
“Hold it right there!” It was a policeman. He had gotten to Spider-Man’s back, pointing a shotgun right between his shoulder blades.
The next instant, all Spider-Man heard was the clicking of shotguns, all cocked and pointed at him. He quickly looked down at the leathery false face kneeling before him. She was smiling.
Without looking away from her, Spider-Man said, “Officers. There is clearly a case of mistaken identity going on here. You see, this lady of the cloth is in fact a world-class terrorist, and I, in the colorful spandex, am in fact the hero saving the day.”
“I said hold it!” The cop behind him shouted again, “You let that woman up! I said let her up! Or I swear—”
Still not turning around, Spider-Man reached over his shoulder, grabbing the shotgun. Its shaft was crushed. The policeman watched it fall, useless, to the green grass.
Sister Katarina was on her feet, with agility not common for a woman her age, Sister Lillian noticed. When the Sister delivered a swift punch to Spider-Man’s jaw, Lil was shocked stiff.
“Spider-Man!” Katarina snarled, knowing the police wouldn’t dare shoot her, “A decade of embarrassment ends now!” Her hand seemed to disappear into her frock, and reemerge with a pistol, that reminded Sister Lil of those old Flash Gordon serials.
There was no doubt about it now. “Stop!” Sister Lil ran as fast as her wiry legs could pace. “Good God! Don’t shoot him!”
Spider-Man was faster than Sister Lil. He wrenched at the wrist of the ‘nun’ in front of him. The pistol’s tip began to glow fiery red.
Spider-Man raised his other hand, clinched, and was just a split-second from cracking the Chameleon’s jaw…when Sister Lil arrived. It was easy for the Chameleon to pull the peaceful woman into the path of Spider-Man’s fist!
But Spider-Man let go of the Chameleon. The wallcrawler’s fist stopped nary an inch from the bulbous nose of Sister Lillian Maguire. The pistol rose again. It stopped nary an inch from the masked face of Spider-Man.
The fiery tip of the Chameleon’s pistol erupted in bright, chaotic red energy, but again, Spider-Man was faster. The Chameleon’s wrist was crushed, but not before the energy was directed away…toward another target.
The chain, the thick connector cable that ran through the handcuffs providing electric current to keep in custody every pedophile, rapist and murderer on Liberty Island that one holiday a month—it glowed red, then shattered to pieces.
“Uh-oh.” Spider-Man whispered.
The Chameleon took his chance, dropping Sister Lillian, smashing his one good hand into Spider-Man’s chin.
Gunshots! The prisoners were free from the chains, and they were making a run for it! The policemen tried sending directions to each other—too little, too late. Splashes! Spider-Man heard the convicts hit the water to freedom, even as his jaw swelled from the Chameleon’s punch. Screams, shrieks! The nuns were covering their heads, on their knees, praying in a language Peter didn’t understand.
“Nonononono!” Spider-Man forced Sister Lillian to the ground, as he pushed himself upward, confident his spider-sense would warn him if any bullets were sent his way.
Webbing flung from his wrists again. The Chameleon’s entire form shimmered as though in a prism, and the more familiar suited Chameleon came into view. The webbing made contact, right at his heels. The Chameleon was flung face first, hard into the grass.
Spider-sense! To his left! To his right! Crossing his arms, webbing again flew from his wrists, tangling two prisoners trying to cross over the guardrails to the Atlantic below.
“Spider-Man!”
“Hands in the air!”
“You’re under arrest!”
Peter did raise his hands, and looked around him. The Ryker’s guards were slowly converging on him…Spider-sense! They’re gonna fire!
They did. Spider-Man flipped head over heels backward, feeling the heat of bullets sail under him. Then, he rolled to his left six feet, feeling more heat singe against his back.
“Hold your fire!” At least one guard had the sense.
“Don’t shoot!” That was Sister Lillian Maguire again.
The guards lowered their guns, and Spider-Man’s eyes shot toward the Chameleon again. Smerdyakov had something in his hand! He was trying to throw it toward the Atlantic! The object—a flash drive—was already in the air…
But Spider-Man was always too fast: his webbing snagged it from a watery fate. A second later, impact webbing expanded over the Chameleon, leaving him motionless.
“Up here, wallcrawler!” it was a familiar voice in a megaphone.
Spider-Man stretched his arm as high above him as he could, hoping this jet of webbing could catch hold of the Aladdin helicopter soaring to his rescue. Contact!
He was torn from the ground as the helicopter took off toward the mainland. He could hear the cops call and shout and shoot after him. Spider-Man crawled up his webline using all four limbs, safely and easily boarding the cabin alongside Daniel Toy.
“How’s May?” Spider-Man immediately asked, over the roar of the helicopter blades.
“Napping!” Toy responded, “Give me the information!”
Spider-Man handed over the flash drive. A laptop suddenly appeared in Toy’s grasp, and the flash drive was inserted. Toy’s fingers glided across the keys. The screen was at first black, then blue, then flashed repeating ones and zeros, before finally arranging in some sort of equation or code that Peter couldn’t keep track of. Toy, though, looked like he was enjoying himself.
“Got it!” Toy shouted, “It’s a video! It’s called…‘the World’.”
“What?” Spider-Man asked, though he had heard him.
“The World,” Toy repeated. “The stuff dreams are made of…and now we have video…”
At first all you see is a mountain valley. But, slowing ever so slightly as you go, you draw closer to the valley and its lush scenery: flowers, shabby roads that lead to quaint little cottages. You observe that most of them are farms, with various animals pulling hoes through rich soil. For some reason, you hear nothing.
Along the dingy, cobblestone roads, there are small European cars and horses pulling buggies. You follow this road and its vehicles farther, and see people. Hundreds of people, all dressed in simple, woolen clothing. You’ve reached a row of shops now, where the people cross the streets, greet each other with laughs and waves, going about their own unspoken business. Their faces flash by you, almost unnoticed.
It’s almost as though you can feel that they aren’t who you seek…that you’re searching for something much more than farms and cordial neighbors. You pass them, like you’re riding the wind.
But there is one person, farther down the road…you can barely see them. They’re on a bicycle, almost to the point where the town ends and the road becomes unpaved once more. You’ve got to move much faster to catch them!
Closer, and closer still, you can make out your quarry: a woman with long, crimson locks…slight freckles on her shoulders…the sun’s so bright, you can’t make out the face you know is hiding behind those curls…the wind is beating against your face so hard, you can barely breathe…
But she stops! She looks over her shoulders. Her emerald eyes make the only sound:
“Come and get me, Tiger.”
“Mary-Jane!” Peter cried. It was true. It was her! There! On the screen!”
The screen was blank.
“What?” Daniel Toy looked at him like he was crazy.
“Play it again!” Spider-Man screamed at him, “That was my wife! Play it again!”
“No—no, what—there wasn’t anything like—”
Spider-Man grabbed him by his collar, “I saw her! That woman! It was Mary-Jane!”
Daniel Toy didn’t back away from him, “No, Peter! I’m telling you!” He slapped Spider-Man’s hands off him, “There was nothing on that video file! It was blank! I saw nothing! What did you see?”
But Spider-Man slumped farther into the helicopter’s cabin, “No, it couldn’t…it was…”
“Who?” Toy began to shake at Spider-Man’s shoulders, “Spidey? Hey! Can you hear me? Are you awake? Spidey? What did you see? You have to tell me what you saw!”
But Peter Parker’s head was spinning.
Mary-Jane…Mary-Jane…Mary-Jane…
NEXT ISSUE: Was it Mary-Jane? Was it a trick? What is the World? Answers next ish! All that, plus Alexander Lukin! To check up on Peter’s supporting cast, and to read the Bugle’s reaction to the Liberty Island Disaster, check out the Amazing Spider-Man Annual 2007!