Back to GatefoldIssue #40 by Bryan Locke
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"MY SO-CALLED LIFE"
He said, “Stop the car,” and the limousine slowly pulled to a halt.
He stepped out onto the docks, feeling the damp wood bend under his weight. Slowly, he pulled a thick pair of gloves from his coat and put them on. Temperatures like this made no difference to him; Alexander Lukin had seen worse…winters than this.
He breathed deep. “New Jersey. Pungent, just like I remember.”
The sleet had calmed, but it cast an eerie halo over Philadelphia in the distance, the orange, red, and purple hues, beautiful in their toxic aurora. They were an unfortunate symbol of human expansion, development, and progress.
Just like Lukin himself. Absently, he wiped the moisture from the KGB issue medals that hung along the outside of his trenchcoat.
From the limo behind him, another man shuffled into the cold. He emerged like a bear out of a cave, standing at least a foot over Lukin’s head. He wore a simple red striped t-shirt, and that same scarred scowl. If he could feel anything at all, it wasn’t this icy night in New Jersey.
Lukin gazed up at his compatriot. He knew virtually next to nothing about this man, save his reputation and nationality: he was Russian.
Lukin began to walk along the dock, and the limousine faded into the haze behind him. He heard the heavy footsteps of the Russian follow him.
“Again, I apologize for the planes,” Lukin said quietly. “I know you hate planes. But it was necessary. New York City is simply too dangerous for men of our…profession at the moment. FBI, MI5, SHIELD, CIA, WHO…the list goes on, all since the Tinkerer got sloppy. Outsourcing our projects was risky. Especially to someone who willfully names himself ‘the Tinkerer’. Times are hard indeed.”
The Russian said nothing. He never did. Lukin wasn’t talking to him anymore anyway.
“I can still broker these…weapons,” Lukin continued. “They’re all I have left. But some even I won’t reveal. Some…are just for me.”
Lukin came right up to the edge of the dock. Peering out of the Delaware, his reflection quivered.
“So you better stop hiding and talk to me. Who knows what I might have for you?”
“You’re in no position to threaten anyone, Lukin.” The voice was not American, and the owner of it was not visible. “You’ve been slowly jettisoning your life’s work just to stay alive. Forgive me if I don’t feel exactly intimidated.”
The Russian finally moved. He flung out his arm, just to his side, and there was an audible crunch. His fist made contact with something that obviously was not thin air.
The air flickered with a ghoulish blue glow, and a human form appeared.
The Ghost held his jaw. “Dammit, Lukin! I just have to press one button—one button!—and you’re on your way back to Moscow in chains. I bet Putin would love to see your head on a pike!”
Lukin sighed, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “Hmmm…you know my price?”
The Ghost backed away from Lukin and the Russian, in a stance that showed he was ready, eager even, to attack. “There is no deal, Lukin. The Chameleon’s been busted. * We never got your…gesture of good faith. We have no proof of this weapon’s power.”
Now, Lukin peered over his shoulder. “You want it. That’s why you’re here. If you really cared about the data I gave to Smerdyakov, you’d have called the police to meet me here. I say again: you know my price?”
“And I’m telling you again,” the Ghost said, not wavering from his stance, “I was there! I watched the Chameleon get ambushed by Spider-Man! * You set up Smerdyakov!”
(*-that’s the EC-winning issue 39- Bryan, looking too smug for his own good)
Lukin turned toward his accuser. “Are you really that dumb?”
The Ghost said nothing. Lukin said nothing. The Russian stood, monitoring the two men around him like a colossus. Cool breezes swept off the Delaware, whistling by their ears.
Finally the Ghost said, “We know where to find you. Remember that.” He held up an envelope. “This is what you want. A ticket to a new life.”
Lukin shook his head. “Not a new life. I’m merely reinvigorating the life I already lead.” He walked over to the Ghost, not scared in the slightest, and snatched the envelope out of the techno-terrorist’s hands. “But thank you, nonetheless. Your weapon is on the ship.”
The Ghost again backed away from Lukin and the Russian. “Ship? What ship? There’s nothing out here, Lukin!”
Lukin started to walk past the Ghost, leaving the docks. The Russian stomped behind him like a loyal Schnauzer. “You should be one to know the eyes can be deceived.”
In front of the Ghost, the polluted mist along the Delaware River parted like a curtain. The Ghost almost fell over when he saw the massive frigate, cold and painted stark red against the moonlight. It had not been there a moment ago. Waves crashed along its metallic hull, splashing just underneath the bold word, ‘KRONAS’.
“Lukin!” the Ghost cried and spun around to catch him.
But all that was left of Alexander Lukin were the taillights of his limousine as he disappeared into New Jersey’s pungent sleet, on his way to reinvigorate his life.
“Peter?”
He threw the blankets off himself. They were soaked with his sweat. He jumped up, and the sheets stuck to his naked body. His throat burned so badly, and his eyes were more than heavy.
“Peter? Are you alright?”
The voice…he recognized it, but for some reason, he didn’t pay any attention to it. What is this place?
“This is our bed. Come back to it.” She answered him but he didn’t remember speaking.
He wiped stinging sweat out of his eyes. It was dark, except for the rising sun, which was peeking through the shutters. Birds echoed throughout the lush farmland outside. Outside? Lush farmland?
“That’s not right.”
A warm hand caressed his wet back, running down to his buttocks. She pinched him.
“Gaaah!” He jumped ten feet into the air. Without thinking, he tucked in his feet, only stretching them when he felt the ceiling under (over?) them. Then, he realized what he was doing, and fell to the floor.
A light clicked on.
“Peter! What are you doing?”
He said the only thing running through his mind at that moment. “Mary-Jane?”
Peter Parker turned around, and saw the woman laying in his bed. The sheets barely clung to her voluptuous frame, her breasts clearly visible through it. A long, smooth leg reached from under the sheets to caress against him. Her crimson hair was bountiful, and stretched bouncily down past her shoulders, almost to her elbows.
The light was dim, from a lone, small lamp, but her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, feeling his forehead. It was burning hot. “I think I might just be getting a cold or something.” ‘Or something’ was right.
“Thirteen hour days will do that to you.” Her lips tightened into a smile. “Now come back to bed. Your uncle and aunt aren’t expecting you for another two hours.”
Mary-Jane let the covers fall from her body. Peter was starting to forget about his cold. He smiled and crawled slowly over her, feeling smoothness with every brush. When she kissed him, her lips, moist, parted for his tongue easily. Peter felt so weak and so…so…
“Happy.” Peter pulled away from her.
“What?” Mary-Jane smiled again.
Peter stood up from the bed. “That’s wonderful. I haven’t felt this way since…” He put his hand to forehead again. What the hell was wrong here?
“Since last night.” Mary-Jane came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You remember last night?”
Peter was about to say ‘no’ because until that moment, he didn’t. But now he did. Every bit of it, every bit of Mary-Jane. That feeling…that happiness that was so foreign…it returned, and it wasn’t feeling so foreign anymore. This was his wife, this was his cottage, this was his country. And his uncle and aunt were waiting for him, just down the cobblestone road, to come to work at…the shop…this was his life…?
“Wait.” Peter tried to pull away from her. It was one of the hardest things he could’ve done. Her hands were so warm scrolling across his chest…“Please. Stop.” He got free.
Peter walked to his room’s doorway, taking a look around his cottage. It was quaint: the bedroom connected through a high archway to a large living room, which evolved into a small kitchen. The toilet was immediately to Peter’s left. Good, because he felt like he could vomit at any moment.
“Peter?”
He decided to stop Mary-Jane before she got any closer. He spun around, putting his hands out, keeping her naked body just out of arm’s reach.
A deep breath. “You said…my uncle? Uncle Ben?”
Mary-Jane nodded, giving him a strange look. “Yeah. You know, the man who raised you your entire life? Are you okay? You said you felt sick. Maybe you shouldn’t go anywhere today—”
“Uncle Ben,” Peter repeated.
No. That wasn’t right. Not at all. His uncle was dead. That was true. That was true. Was that true? Yes. He died. No, he was killed. No, he was murdered. Was that true?
“Yes. Uncle Ben.” Mary-Jane peered into his eyes. “What’s going on, Peter?”
Heavenly green eyes, glistening like emeralds, were the last things Peter saw before he fainted, crumpling into a sweaty heap on the hardwood floor.
And he dreamed.
“Sooo…are you gonna change her diaper?”
“Whoa, whoa, my man. I don’t recall that being in the rules.”
“I thought I told you that the rules were subject to change at any time, considering I am king and this is my castle.”
“I don’t recall that in our contract.”
“Contract? Hahaha—what contract?”
“The contract I drew up personally to protect me from any cruel and unusual demands.”
“Like changing my infant daughter’s diapers?”
“Any court in this great country would call that cruel and unusual.”
“No, ‘cruel and unusual’ would be making me and my infant daughter watch ‘24’.”
“This is the best show on television. I am doing you both a favor right now! It’s better than those reruns of ‘the X-Files’ and ‘the West Wing’ you keep watching. Two shows that lasted five years longer than they should have.”
“Okay, firstly, there is no way ‘24’ is better than ‘Scrubs’. I mean, this show is less realistic than Reed Richards’ diary, and more conservative than USAgent’s underwear. And Kiefer Sutherland sounds like he has throat cancer.”
“Says the guy who sounds like he’s been choked by metal tentacles his entire life! Besides…you know I just watch this for the hot chicks and the explosions.”
“Hot chicks and explosions? That’s doing me and my daughter a favor?”
“Hey. Look on the bright side, I could be watching ‘Nip/Tuck’ or ‘Grey’s Anatomy’.”
“Ugh. Just tell me when ‘The Simpsons’ rerun comes on.”
“Aww, come on back, Pete! Aw come on! Okay, okay, I changed the channel! Geez! I was watching the Yankees game anyway.”
“You know the Mets game is on. Our hated rivals, the Braves are in town.”
“But Ichiro is at Yankee Stadium.”
“See? We are soooo watching the Mets. After you change May’s diaper.”
“There you go again. Peter, you’re the one who spontaneously had a daughter—still waiting on that explanation, by the way—so you should hold the doggie bag.”
“Consider it practice. For when I go out of town.”
“Out of town? Don’t joke like that. You’re not joking, are you? You’re going out of town? When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“What! What? No, don’t repeat yourself! I heard you! You’re leaving tomorrow? And you’re leaving May with me? And you’re not joking? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. You’ll be fine. By now, you know what kind of food she likes, you know that Pampers give her a rash unless you use baby powder, you know what dolls she’ll play with when she’s cranky. Your father would be proud.”
“My father wouldn’t trust me with a baby carrot. Peter…really, I am being completely honest…you don’t want me taking care of May. What about that babe you introduced me to that once—what was her name? Felicia?”
“Randy, you can handle this. It’ll only be for a couple of days. I would’ve had my Aunts do it, but they’re in Atlantic City.”
“A couple of days? Is that in real time or Peter Parker time?”
“Cross my heart. It’s just a quick jaunt to Boston…for school. You know, science stuff. It’s been planned for, like, a year now.”
“Yeah…a field trip, sure. Pete, I can’t take care of this little girl. There’s stuff I’ve been meaning to tell you, and…look, I just can’t do it, man.”
“Randy…dude, it’s not like I’m asking you to give up ESPN. Come on, I just need someone I can trust. I can trust you, can’t I?”
Silence.
“What was that?” Peter sat up quickly.
“Peter?” Mary-Jane was sitting at his bedside next to him. “Oh thank God,” She said, “You’ve been out for hours! I’ve already called your uncle. You are not going anywhere today, much less work.”
Peter rubbed his eyes. That dream…it was so real, but so dark, like he was blind. He could only hear voices. One of the voices was his, clearly, but the other…
“My head hurts,” Peter said.
It was true. Ever since he had gotten out of bed, even before he fainted, there had been a strange feeling in his scalp. A tingling. He was sure it meant something.
“Oh, my poor baby.” Mary-Jane felt his forehead…and the tingling seemed to get worse.
“Ahh! No-no! Don’t!” Peter shakily got out of the bed, and away from his wife’s grasp.
He felt the cold floor underneath his sticky body, and he tried to figure as much out as he could before Mary-Jane got to him again. And still the tingling persisted. And Peter didn’t want it to stop. It was like this…burning at his scalp was assuring him that he wasn’t crazy.
This was not his world. This was…danger. He was in danger!
Peter sprung to his feet. He didn’t know what was going on, but his wife—his own wife of going on five years—was in on it. Who knew how much deeper this went? His uncle and aunt, who had raised him, watched him graduate, helped him start his own business…maybe this whole town was in on it…where the hell was this place anyway?
“Peter!” Mary-Jane jumped back from him, shocked at his posture.
“Don’t,” Peter said, “I know something’s wrong. This…this…what’s going on? I own a house in the countryside, I’m late for a regular job at a business I own, I’m sleeping with the woman of my dreams, and my scalp feels like its on fire! You’ll never guess which of those is actually supposed to be happening.”
Mary-Jane frowned. “Peter, what are you talking about? You’re not making sense.”
“I’m saying,” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the beads of sweat flow down his face, “that everything about me right now—this so-called life that I’ve been living—is not supposed—”
There was a noise that stopped Peter. It was faint…but it was there. Crying. The sounds of an infant.
“May,” Peter said simply.
Then, in another series of quick leaps, he was out of his room, across the hall, to the only other bedroom there. Blue and yellow wallpaper covered it from floor to ceiling. You couldn’t see the floor because there were so many blocks, dolls, matchbox cars, books, crayons littered around. The crib in the center of the room was massive.
Another bound, and Peter was peering inside. There she was. The strongest part of him personified with green eyes and brown curls.
“Does she feel wrong?” Mary-Jane leaned in the doorway. “Is she supposed to be happening?”
Peter felt like such an idiot. How could he doubt his own wife? How could he doubt the lovely thing in front of him? He couldn’t…
He couldn’t…escape another feeling. Even as he gazed into May’s big green eyes, and her tiny smile, another name was on his lips…another woman was taking up time in his mind…
A woman named…
“Betty?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Yes, yes, oh, Jesus, I’m sorry, Ben.” She sat back in her rolling chair and sighed hard. “I…haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
Ben Urich swiped his shaggy hair out of his oversized glasses. “Yes. I can see that. You can go home, you know.” He ceased his typing.
“No, no, really,” Betty rubbed her eyes, shook her head, put on that smile, “it’s just been forever since I had to pull the all-nighter. Working with H4H wasn’t exactly nine-to-five but I at least got to bed before the bartenders.”
Ben chuckled. “Oh, come on. This is why you spent all your money on a journalism degree: to lose sleep and get yelled at by your boss all day.”
Betty groaned. “I’ve never been so exhausted, Ben. I mean, it’s like losing that great job made me realize things just aren’t ever going to slow down in my life. I love the Bugle but…”
Ben chuckled again. “Hey. You don’t have to finish that sentence. I know how it is. You see the same people, you do the same thing, you start to wonder if you’re actually making progress in your life if everything seems to be standing still.”
Betty peered over at Ben, more curious than ever in him. She studied the lines of his face, behind the glasses, and realized he was probably not much older than she was. There was a smirk on his face. She asked, “How do you do it, Ben?”
Ben shrugged. “I’ve been thinking the same thing for the last fifteen years of my life and yet…I got married, won a Pulitzer, shook hands with Captain America and…I dunno, maybe it’s like peering down on the Earth from space…it doesn’t look like it’s moving but its really traveling at a thousand miles an hour.”
Betty laughed. “Sometimes it feels that way. But I look at how much some people can accomplish with so little…like Peter Parker…”
“Uh-huh. Peter Parker.” Ben squinted. “You know, he asked about you the other day.”
Betty’s face perked up. “Really? What did he say?”
Ben was holding back a laugh. “Just asked where you were. You know, I’ll tell you another secret to a happy life, and not just because it’s four AM and I’m sleep deprived.”
Betty giggled. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“A steady sex life.” Ben raised his eyebrows.
Betty laughed outright. “I cannot believe you just said that! You are not suggesting that me and Parker should—”
Ben sat back. “No. I’m just an old Jew who likes to play matchmaker with his friends.”
Betty exhaled like she was insulted, and threw a pen cap off the desk at Ben. “I can see why all the girls call you ‘Doctor Love’.”
The pen cap bounced off Ben’s forehead. “Betty, think about everything you and Peter have been through. After ten years, maybe the world’s been spinning at a thousand miles an hour to bring you both to this point.”
Betty brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and bit her lip. She was thinking about it.
Ben took his glasses off his face and wiped them with his tie, “Okay, okay. Whatever. We’ve got more important things to worry about than nerdy photographers.” Ben pulled a small note from his pocket. “What are we gonna do with this?”
Betty snatched the paper out of Ben’s hands and examined it again. “We’ve got to check it out.” Then, she shrugged. “It’s all we can do.”
Ben sighed, “Yeah. Another all-nighter…” His eyes scanned the thin typeface again.
Forty-eight hours. Hudson Bay. Their World is threatening ours. This goes farther than you think. Signed, your friendly, neighborhood Prowler.
“The Prowler? Spidey, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Like how we’re going to deal with the illegal release of a dozen convicted criminals!”
“I thought my guys at the Aladdin Agency were my bosom buddies. My, how things can change when I’m the one asking for the favor.”
“Peter, don’t turn this around on me. I’ve put my ass in the fire here for you! You know how many other heroes Aladdin has this arrangement with? Try ‘none’.”
“Danny, it’s not like you’re paying me for this.”
“No, but we’re paying your room and board. Your phone and Internet. Your damn TiVo. And we’re gonna help you catch the Prowler, as soon as we capture a dozen convicted criminals, who we helped escape.”
“And as soon as we find out what’s going on in Russia. Right. Busy schedule.”
“Ahead of schedule actually. We passed over Russian airspace two minutes ago.”
“Oh joy. How should I set my watch? Do Russians believe in Daylight Savings?”
“Seriously, Peter. You have no idea how close my bosses were to pulling the plug on our little arrangement. It took me over a week to convince them to let you in on this! We cannot screw this up. We do, and it’s over. You’ll only have the life insurance you invested to fall back on. That means even less time for little May—”
“Hey. I get it, okay? Don’t use my daughter to intimidate me. It makes you look bad. And I’m serious too: first, we find my wife, then we do things my way.”
“Spidey…”
“I don’t think what I’m saying is so hard to—”
“Spidey…your wife is dead.”
“I know that. That’s not what I meant. I meant…you know what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know what you meant. Spidey…this is not something for the weak-hearted here. If you don’t remember that, you’re not going to make it. This place has already shown some kind of mental manipulation with the video—” *
(* All this last ish – Bryan)
“I said I get it, man. Lay off.”
“No, Peter. I need to hear you say it. It’s only us in here. The other agents can’t hear us. Just say it so I know for sure, okay?”
“Say what? That my wife is dead? That I didn’t even get a chance to save her? That there is no hope at all that I might see her again? Fine, Agent Toy. My wife is--
“Dead,” Peter heard his own voice say it..
“Peter?” That was MJ’s voice. “You blacked out again. Come back to bed. I know I can make you feel better, if you’d just let me.” She was so calm…as loving as he could remember.
Warm hands were soothing the tension in his shoulders. It did nothing for the tension in his head, a sensation that he could now name.
“Spider-sense,” Peter mumbled. “The truth tingles.” A smile spread across his face.
His face? Yes, he could feel it now. He was wearing a mask. His wrists, there were web-shooters around them. His hands, they were balling into fists.
“Who are you?” He said quietly, “This is not my life. No matter how much I may want this. Happiness, peace, predictability…it just wasn’t in the cards. I’m sure there are worlds out there where Mary-Jane and I are happier than ever…but not my world.”
Spider-Man looked down again, at the tiny thing he knew wasn’t his daughter. He reached down, gently caressed her cheek. Yes, it was soft just like her. This world…what was it doing? Why did he feel like this? Ecstacy, sadness, denial, satisfaction…with rage boiling under it all, swirling everything into confusion.
Still smiling, Peter turned around to the beautiful creature that wasn’t his wife, but looked like his wife, smelled like his wife, felt like his wife, tasted like his wife…
And she was smiling too. Spider-Man wagged a finger at her, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Mary-Jane put her hands on her hips. “No…thank you.”
Spider-Man’s spider-sense actually started to subside…even as she walked closer…
She put her thumbs under the edges of his mask, pulling up. His lower face was uncovered, and when she kissed Peter, he realized that he couldn’t feel any tingling except the sensation he got from her lips…
He pulled away.
Peter swiveled his neck; his house was changing. The furnishings were gone; it was but a barren slab, with nothing in it at all. There wasn’t even a roof covering his head. A gentle, warm breeze was running over his mask, and he could see for miles into the countryside. There had been a town here once…but it was long deserted.
Mary-Jane was still Mary-Jane though. In her nightgown and bare feet, she walked through the dusty cottage.
“I really do want to thank you.” She said, “I think my…programming is complete.”
Spider-Man pulled his mask down fully. “Programming? What are you? This place…”
“…is a science experiment,” Mary-Jane finished. “You know all about those, don’t you?”
Spider-Man crossed his arms. “But…the video I saw with Toy…how did you do that? It felt so real…from half a world away…”
Mary-Jane laughed. “You know, Peter…there are entire cultures afraid of a camera, because they believe it steals a piece of their soul.”
Spider-Man stared, “Wait…what does that mean…?”
Mary-Jane just shook her head, and her form finally started to change, and it reminded Peter of Uncle Ben’s antique television…the one where you control the positive and negative.
Smooth skin was erased by tight, black…was that leather? It looked like flesh. The form grew more muscular, the bones grew twelve inches. Swollen patches formed on the flesh before bursting open to reveal pulsing electrodes. They were all over him. Other pointed antennas sprung across his body, directing whatever energy from the electrodes.
His face…there was nothing. It was blank but for one swirling pool of energy that functioned as an all-seeing eye.
“I am Ultimaton.” His voice was now much more suitably…alien. “You and I are very much alike. Such denial…such loneliness, only half of a whole, given life by an experiment gone wrong.”
Spider-Man didn’t back away when Ultimaton walked closer to him; his spider-sense was still not ringing.
Peter asked, “I’ve met robots that think they’re human…I’ve met humans turned into robots…”
“I am neither,” Ultimaton said flatly. “I am a post-modern Prometheus, the crossroads where all that humans create—both technology and flesh—meet and work in rhythm.”
“And this is…the World?”
Ultimaton’s deep black skin only seemed to get darker. “It was. My creators abandoned my World and I. They never loved us, never like a parent loves their child. They only saw a breeding ground for weapons and technology, a place to play with time and evolution. But when they were done playing, they stripped us of our insides and left only husks. And…they stole my love…the love they created for me.”
“But you survived,” Peter said quickly.
“Just like you survived the same thing,” Ultimaton said. “I’ve seen it. In your mind. The pain, the rage, the tragedy, the love…it was these things that nursed us back to health.”
“Wait.” Peter now took a step back. “What? You survived because of me?”
“We fed on pure emotional torture.” Ultimaton shrugged. “Don’t blame me. You came of your own accord. My World and I…we owe you so much. Thank you.”
“Wait…” Peter’s head was swirling. “All of this…I thought you were my wife and…you were just using me to heal yourself…”
“Yes.” Ultimaton continued, “Completing our programming: you can create life in a laboratory, but not a soul. That must be learned. You’ve taught me.”
Spider-Man dropped to his knees. The World spun so fast. “You’re just like all the rest. You’ve used me and my loved ones for yourself…how long have you kept me here?”
“Time is so abstract…especially here in this World.” Ultimaton said, “Six months could pass like a few days. A few hours could feel like months. You know how life is.”
Spider-Man brought his hand to his chest, pressing against the sharp pain there. “You feed on this, don’t you? All this anxiety I’ve been feeling…it’s driven you insane.”
“No,” Ultimaton said, almost whimsically. “It’s made me…alive.”
Then, though he was staring at the cold ground, Spider-Man could hear explosions in the distance. He had to fight to raise his chin. When he did, Spider-Man watched clouds swirl, like eggs being whipped into batter. The sky was changing colors too: blue, red, pink…and Ultimaton’s own electrodes blinked their own colors in response to the World.
“Invaders,” Ultimaton said. “They’ve finally broken through again. You can’t see them, but they’ll be here soon, to rescue you.”
“And…” Peter’s throat was so tight, but he forced the words out. “What will you do?”
“You’ve taught me well,” Ultimaton said, beginning to walk away, leaving Spider-Man in a crumpled heap, manipulating more empathic energy between them. “I’m going to find my mate. I’m going to bring to justice to those that manipulated my life. Farewell.”
Mercifully, Ultimaton walked away…a few steps later, there was only mist where he had been walking.
Spider-Man only lay there, hunched, crying until his eyes couldn’t make any more tears. But Peter blacked out long before he reached that point.
NEXT ISSUE: Peter doesn’t come close to catching his breath. Fresh out of the hospital, he gets a visit from the Prowler! But who is that other fellow lurking in the shadows? Plus, the return of Roderick Kingsley!
He stepped out onto the docks, feeling the damp wood bend under his weight. Slowly, he pulled a thick pair of gloves from his coat and put them on. Temperatures like this made no difference to him; Alexander Lukin had seen worse…winters than this.
He breathed deep. “New Jersey. Pungent, just like I remember.”
The sleet had calmed, but it cast an eerie halo over Philadelphia in the distance, the orange, red, and purple hues, beautiful in their toxic aurora. They were an unfortunate symbol of human expansion, development, and progress.
Just like Lukin himself. Absently, he wiped the moisture from the KGB issue medals that hung along the outside of his trenchcoat.
From the limo behind him, another man shuffled into the cold. He emerged like a bear out of a cave, standing at least a foot over Lukin’s head. He wore a simple red striped t-shirt, and that same scarred scowl. If he could feel anything at all, it wasn’t this icy night in New Jersey.
Lukin gazed up at his compatriot. He knew virtually next to nothing about this man, save his reputation and nationality: he was Russian.
Lukin began to walk along the dock, and the limousine faded into the haze behind him. He heard the heavy footsteps of the Russian follow him.
“Again, I apologize for the planes,” Lukin said quietly. “I know you hate planes. But it was necessary. New York City is simply too dangerous for men of our…profession at the moment. FBI, MI5, SHIELD, CIA, WHO…the list goes on, all since the Tinkerer got sloppy. Outsourcing our projects was risky. Especially to someone who willfully names himself ‘the Tinkerer’. Times are hard indeed.”
The Russian said nothing. He never did. Lukin wasn’t talking to him anymore anyway.
“I can still broker these…weapons,” Lukin continued. “They’re all I have left. But some even I won’t reveal. Some…are just for me.”
Lukin came right up to the edge of the dock. Peering out of the Delaware, his reflection quivered.
“So you better stop hiding and talk to me. Who knows what I might have for you?”
“You’re in no position to threaten anyone, Lukin.” The voice was not American, and the owner of it was not visible. “You’ve been slowly jettisoning your life’s work just to stay alive. Forgive me if I don’t feel exactly intimidated.”
The Russian finally moved. He flung out his arm, just to his side, and there was an audible crunch. His fist made contact with something that obviously was not thin air.
The air flickered with a ghoulish blue glow, and a human form appeared.
The Ghost held his jaw. “Dammit, Lukin! I just have to press one button—one button!—and you’re on your way back to Moscow in chains. I bet Putin would love to see your head on a pike!”
Lukin sighed, not bothering to look over his shoulder. “Hmmm…you know my price?”
The Ghost backed away from Lukin and the Russian, in a stance that showed he was ready, eager even, to attack. “There is no deal, Lukin. The Chameleon’s been busted. * We never got your…gesture of good faith. We have no proof of this weapon’s power.”
Now, Lukin peered over his shoulder. “You want it. That’s why you’re here. If you really cared about the data I gave to Smerdyakov, you’d have called the police to meet me here. I say again: you know my price?”
“And I’m telling you again,” the Ghost said, not wavering from his stance, “I was there! I watched the Chameleon get ambushed by Spider-Man! * You set up Smerdyakov!”
(*-that’s the EC-winning issue 39- Bryan, looking too smug for his own good)
Lukin turned toward his accuser. “Are you really that dumb?”
The Ghost said nothing. Lukin said nothing. The Russian stood, monitoring the two men around him like a colossus. Cool breezes swept off the Delaware, whistling by their ears.
Finally the Ghost said, “We know where to find you. Remember that.” He held up an envelope. “This is what you want. A ticket to a new life.”
Lukin shook his head. “Not a new life. I’m merely reinvigorating the life I already lead.” He walked over to the Ghost, not scared in the slightest, and snatched the envelope out of the techno-terrorist’s hands. “But thank you, nonetheless. Your weapon is on the ship.”
The Ghost again backed away from Lukin and the Russian. “Ship? What ship? There’s nothing out here, Lukin!”
Lukin started to walk past the Ghost, leaving the docks. The Russian stomped behind him like a loyal Schnauzer. “You should be one to know the eyes can be deceived.”
In front of the Ghost, the polluted mist along the Delaware River parted like a curtain. The Ghost almost fell over when he saw the massive frigate, cold and painted stark red against the moonlight. It had not been there a moment ago. Waves crashed along its metallic hull, splashing just underneath the bold word, ‘KRONAS’.
“Lukin!” the Ghost cried and spun around to catch him.
But all that was left of Alexander Lukin were the taillights of his limousine as he disappeared into New Jersey’s pungent sleet, on his way to reinvigorate his life.
“Peter?”
He threw the blankets off himself. They were soaked with his sweat. He jumped up, and the sheets stuck to his naked body. His throat burned so badly, and his eyes were more than heavy.
“Peter? Are you alright?”
The voice…he recognized it, but for some reason, he didn’t pay any attention to it. What is this place?
“This is our bed. Come back to it.” She answered him but he didn’t remember speaking.
He wiped stinging sweat out of his eyes. It was dark, except for the rising sun, which was peeking through the shutters. Birds echoed throughout the lush farmland outside. Outside? Lush farmland?
“That’s not right.”
A warm hand caressed his wet back, running down to his buttocks. She pinched him.
“Gaaah!” He jumped ten feet into the air. Without thinking, he tucked in his feet, only stretching them when he felt the ceiling under (over?) them. Then, he realized what he was doing, and fell to the floor.
A light clicked on.
“Peter! What are you doing?”
He said the only thing running through his mind at that moment. “Mary-Jane?”
Peter Parker turned around, and saw the woman laying in his bed. The sheets barely clung to her voluptuous frame, her breasts clearly visible through it. A long, smooth leg reached from under the sheets to caress against him. Her crimson hair was bountiful, and stretched bouncily down past her shoulders, almost to her elbows.
The light was dim, from a lone, small lamp, but her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Uh, yeah,” Peter said, feeling his forehead. It was burning hot. “I think I might just be getting a cold or something.” ‘Or something’ was right.
“Thirteen hour days will do that to you.” Her lips tightened into a smile. “Now come back to bed. Your uncle and aunt aren’t expecting you for another two hours.”
Mary-Jane let the covers fall from her body. Peter was starting to forget about his cold. He smiled and crawled slowly over her, feeling smoothness with every brush. When she kissed him, her lips, moist, parted for his tongue easily. Peter felt so weak and so…so…
“Happy.” Peter pulled away from her.
“What?” Mary-Jane smiled again.
Peter stood up from the bed. “That’s wonderful. I haven’t felt this way since…” He put his hand to forehead again. What the hell was wrong here?
“Since last night.” Mary-Jane came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You remember last night?”
Peter was about to say ‘no’ because until that moment, he didn’t. But now he did. Every bit of it, every bit of Mary-Jane. That feeling…that happiness that was so foreign…it returned, and it wasn’t feeling so foreign anymore. This was his wife, this was his cottage, this was his country. And his uncle and aunt were waiting for him, just down the cobblestone road, to come to work at…the shop…this was his life…?
“Wait.” Peter tried to pull away from her. It was one of the hardest things he could’ve done. Her hands were so warm scrolling across his chest…“Please. Stop.” He got free.
Peter walked to his room’s doorway, taking a look around his cottage. It was quaint: the bedroom connected through a high archway to a large living room, which evolved into a small kitchen. The toilet was immediately to Peter’s left. Good, because he felt like he could vomit at any moment.
“Peter?”
He decided to stop Mary-Jane before she got any closer. He spun around, putting his hands out, keeping her naked body just out of arm’s reach.
A deep breath. “You said…my uncle? Uncle Ben?”
Mary-Jane nodded, giving him a strange look. “Yeah. You know, the man who raised you your entire life? Are you okay? You said you felt sick. Maybe you shouldn’t go anywhere today—”
“Uncle Ben,” Peter repeated.
No. That wasn’t right. Not at all. His uncle was dead. That was true. That was true. Was that true? Yes. He died. No, he was killed. No, he was murdered. Was that true?
“Yes. Uncle Ben.” Mary-Jane peered into his eyes. “What’s going on, Peter?”
Heavenly green eyes, glistening like emeralds, were the last things Peter saw before he fainted, crumpling into a sweaty heap on the hardwood floor.
And he dreamed.
“Sooo…are you gonna change her diaper?”
“Whoa, whoa, my man. I don’t recall that being in the rules.”
“I thought I told you that the rules were subject to change at any time, considering I am king and this is my castle.”
“I don’t recall that in our contract.”
“Contract? Hahaha—what contract?”
“The contract I drew up personally to protect me from any cruel and unusual demands.”
“Like changing my infant daughter’s diapers?”
“Any court in this great country would call that cruel and unusual.”
“No, ‘cruel and unusual’ would be making me and my infant daughter watch ‘24’.”
“This is the best show on television. I am doing you both a favor right now! It’s better than those reruns of ‘the X-Files’ and ‘the West Wing’ you keep watching. Two shows that lasted five years longer than they should have.”
“Okay, firstly, there is no way ‘24’ is better than ‘Scrubs’. I mean, this show is less realistic than Reed Richards’ diary, and more conservative than USAgent’s underwear. And Kiefer Sutherland sounds like he has throat cancer.”
“Says the guy who sounds like he’s been choked by metal tentacles his entire life! Besides…you know I just watch this for the hot chicks and the explosions.”
“Hot chicks and explosions? That’s doing me and my daughter a favor?”
“Hey. Look on the bright side, I could be watching ‘Nip/Tuck’ or ‘Grey’s Anatomy’.”
“Ugh. Just tell me when ‘The Simpsons’ rerun comes on.”
“Aww, come on back, Pete! Aw come on! Okay, okay, I changed the channel! Geez! I was watching the Yankees game anyway.”
“You know the Mets game is on. Our hated rivals, the Braves are in town.”
“But Ichiro is at Yankee Stadium.”
“See? We are soooo watching the Mets. After you change May’s diaper.”
“There you go again. Peter, you’re the one who spontaneously had a daughter—still waiting on that explanation, by the way—so you should hold the doggie bag.”
“Consider it practice. For when I go out of town.”
“Out of town? Don’t joke like that. You’re not joking, are you? You’re going out of town? When?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“What! What? No, don’t repeat yourself! I heard you! You’re leaving tomorrow? And you’re leaving May with me? And you’re not joking? Are you out of your mind?”
“No. You’ll be fine. By now, you know what kind of food she likes, you know that Pampers give her a rash unless you use baby powder, you know what dolls she’ll play with when she’s cranky. Your father would be proud.”
“My father wouldn’t trust me with a baby carrot. Peter…really, I am being completely honest…you don’t want me taking care of May. What about that babe you introduced me to that once—what was her name? Felicia?”
“Randy, you can handle this. It’ll only be for a couple of days. I would’ve had my Aunts do it, but they’re in Atlantic City.”
“A couple of days? Is that in real time or Peter Parker time?”
“Cross my heart. It’s just a quick jaunt to Boston…for school. You know, science stuff. It’s been planned for, like, a year now.”
“Yeah…a field trip, sure. Pete, I can’t take care of this little girl. There’s stuff I’ve been meaning to tell you, and…look, I just can’t do it, man.”
“Randy…dude, it’s not like I’m asking you to give up ESPN. Come on, I just need someone I can trust. I can trust you, can’t I?”
Silence.
“What was that?” Peter sat up quickly.
“Peter?” Mary-Jane was sitting at his bedside next to him. “Oh thank God,” She said, “You’ve been out for hours! I’ve already called your uncle. You are not going anywhere today, much less work.”
Peter rubbed his eyes. That dream…it was so real, but so dark, like he was blind. He could only hear voices. One of the voices was his, clearly, but the other…
“My head hurts,” Peter said.
It was true. Ever since he had gotten out of bed, even before he fainted, there had been a strange feeling in his scalp. A tingling. He was sure it meant something.
“Oh, my poor baby.” Mary-Jane felt his forehead…and the tingling seemed to get worse.
“Ahh! No-no! Don’t!” Peter shakily got out of the bed, and away from his wife’s grasp.
He felt the cold floor underneath his sticky body, and he tried to figure as much out as he could before Mary-Jane got to him again. And still the tingling persisted. And Peter didn’t want it to stop. It was like this…burning at his scalp was assuring him that he wasn’t crazy.
This was not his world. This was…danger. He was in danger!
Peter sprung to his feet. He didn’t know what was going on, but his wife—his own wife of going on five years—was in on it. Who knew how much deeper this went? His uncle and aunt, who had raised him, watched him graduate, helped him start his own business…maybe this whole town was in on it…where the hell was this place anyway?
“Peter!” Mary-Jane jumped back from him, shocked at his posture.
“Don’t,” Peter said, “I know something’s wrong. This…this…what’s going on? I own a house in the countryside, I’m late for a regular job at a business I own, I’m sleeping with the woman of my dreams, and my scalp feels like its on fire! You’ll never guess which of those is actually supposed to be happening.”
Mary-Jane frowned. “Peter, what are you talking about? You’re not making sense.”
“I’m saying,” Peter squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the beads of sweat flow down his face, “that everything about me right now—this so-called life that I’ve been living—is not supposed—”
There was a noise that stopped Peter. It was faint…but it was there. Crying. The sounds of an infant.
“May,” Peter said simply.
Then, in another series of quick leaps, he was out of his room, across the hall, to the only other bedroom there. Blue and yellow wallpaper covered it from floor to ceiling. You couldn’t see the floor because there were so many blocks, dolls, matchbox cars, books, crayons littered around. The crib in the center of the room was massive.
Another bound, and Peter was peering inside. There she was. The strongest part of him personified with green eyes and brown curls.
“Does she feel wrong?” Mary-Jane leaned in the doorway. “Is she supposed to be happening?”
Peter felt like such an idiot. How could he doubt his own wife? How could he doubt the lovely thing in front of him? He couldn’t…
He couldn’t…escape another feeling. Even as he gazed into May’s big green eyes, and her tiny smile, another name was on his lips…another woman was taking up time in his mind…
A woman named…
“Betty?”
Her eyes fluttered open. “Yes, yes, oh, Jesus, I’m sorry, Ben.” She sat back in her rolling chair and sighed hard. “I…haven’t been sleeping well lately.”
Ben Urich swiped his shaggy hair out of his oversized glasses. “Yes. I can see that. You can go home, you know.” He ceased his typing.
“No, no, really,” Betty rubbed her eyes, shook her head, put on that smile, “it’s just been forever since I had to pull the all-nighter. Working with H4H wasn’t exactly nine-to-five but I at least got to bed before the bartenders.”
Ben chuckled. “Oh, come on. This is why you spent all your money on a journalism degree: to lose sleep and get yelled at by your boss all day.”
Betty groaned. “I’ve never been so exhausted, Ben. I mean, it’s like losing that great job made me realize things just aren’t ever going to slow down in my life. I love the Bugle but…”
Ben chuckled again. “Hey. You don’t have to finish that sentence. I know how it is. You see the same people, you do the same thing, you start to wonder if you’re actually making progress in your life if everything seems to be standing still.”
Betty peered over at Ben, more curious than ever in him. She studied the lines of his face, behind the glasses, and realized he was probably not much older than she was. There was a smirk on his face. She asked, “How do you do it, Ben?”
Ben shrugged. “I’ve been thinking the same thing for the last fifteen years of my life and yet…I got married, won a Pulitzer, shook hands with Captain America and…I dunno, maybe it’s like peering down on the Earth from space…it doesn’t look like it’s moving but its really traveling at a thousand miles an hour.”
Betty laughed. “Sometimes it feels that way. But I look at how much some people can accomplish with so little…like Peter Parker…”
“Uh-huh. Peter Parker.” Ben squinted. “You know, he asked about you the other day.”
Betty’s face perked up. “Really? What did he say?”
Ben was holding back a laugh. “Just asked where you were. You know, I’ll tell you another secret to a happy life, and not just because it’s four AM and I’m sleep deprived.”
Betty giggled. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“A steady sex life.” Ben raised his eyebrows.
Betty laughed outright. “I cannot believe you just said that! You are not suggesting that me and Parker should—”
Ben sat back. “No. I’m just an old Jew who likes to play matchmaker with his friends.”
Betty exhaled like she was insulted, and threw a pen cap off the desk at Ben. “I can see why all the girls call you ‘Doctor Love’.”
The pen cap bounced off Ben’s forehead. “Betty, think about everything you and Peter have been through. After ten years, maybe the world’s been spinning at a thousand miles an hour to bring you both to this point.”
Betty brushed a strand of hair out of her face, and bit her lip. She was thinking about it.
Ben took his glasses off his face and wiped them with his tie, “Okay, okay. Whatever. We’ve got more important things to worry about than nerdy photographers.” Ben pulled a small note from his pocket. “What are we gonna do with this?”
Betty snatched the paper out of Ben’s hands and examined it again. “We’ve got to check it out.” Then, she shrugged. “It’s all we can do.”
Ben sighed, “Yeah. Another all-nighter…” His eyes scanned the thin typeface again.
Forty-eight hours. Hudson Bay. Their World is threatening ours. This goes farther than you think. Signed, your friendly, neighborhood Prowler.
“The Prowler? Spidey, we’ve got bigger fish to fry. Like how we’re going to deal with the illegal release of a dozen convicted criminals!”
“I thought my guys at the Aladdin Agency were my bosom buddies. My, how things can change when I’m the one asking for the favor.”
“Peter, don’t turn this around on me. I’ve put my ass in the fire here for you! You know how many other heroes Aladdin has this arrangement with? Try ‘none’.”
“Danny, it’s not like you’re paying me for this.”
“No, but we’re paying your room and board. Your phone and Internet. Your damn TiVo. And we’re gonna help you catch the Prowler, as soon as we capture a dozen convicted criminals, who we helped escape.”
“And as soon as we find out what’s going on in Russia. Right. Busy schedule.”
“Ahead of schedule actually. We passed over Russian airspace two minutes ago.”
“Oh joy. How should I set my watch? Do Russians believe in Daylight Savings?”
“Seriously, Peter. You have no idea how close my bosses were to pulling the plug on our little arrangement. It took me over a week to convince them to let you in on this! We cannot screw this up. We do, and it’s over. You’ll only have the life insurance you invested to fall back on. That means even less time for little May—”
“Hey. I get it, okay? Don’t use my daughter to intimidate me. It makes you look bad. And I’m serious too: first, we find my wife, then we do things my way.”
“Spidey…”
“I don’t think what I’m saying is so hard to—”
“Spidey…your wife is dead.”
“I know that. That’s not what I meant. I meant…you know what I meant.”
“Yeah, I know what you meant. Spidey…this is not something for the weak-hearted here. If you don’t remember that, you’re not going to make it. This place has already shown some kind of mental manipulation with the video—” *
(* All this last ish – Bryan)
“I said I get it, man. Lay off.”
“No, Peter. I need to hear you say it. It’s only us in here. The other agents can’t hear us. Just say it so I know for sure, okay?”
“Say what? That my wife is dead? That I didn’t even get a chance to save her? That there is no hope at all that I might see her again? Fine, Agent Toy. My wife is--
“Dead,” Peter heard his own voice say it..
“Peter?” That was MJ’s voice. “You blacked out again. Come back to bed. I know I can make you feel better, if you’d just let me.” She was so calm…as loving as he could remember.
Warm hands were soothing the tension in his shoulders. It did nothing for the tension in his head, a sensation that he could now name.
“Spider-sense,” Peter mumbled. “The truth tingles.” A smile spread across his face.
His face? Yes, he could feel it now. He was wearing a mask. His wrists, there were web-shooters around them. His hands, they were balling into fists.
“Who are you?” He said quietly, “This is not my life. No matter how much I may want this. Happiness, peace, predictability…it just wasn’t in the cards. I’m sure there are worlds out there where Mary-Jane and I are happier than ever…but not my world.”
Spider-Man looked down again, at the tiny thing he knew wasn’t his daughter. He reached down, gently caressed her cheek. Yes, it was soft just like her. This world…what was it doing? Why did he feel like this? Ecstacy, sadness, denial, satisfaction…with rage boiling under it all, swirling everything into confusion.
Still smiling, Peter turned around to the beautiful creature that wasn’t his wife, but looked like his wife, smelled like his wife, felt like his wife, tasted like his wife…
And she was smiling too. Spider-Man wagged a finger at her, “Thanks, but no thanks.”
Mary-Jane put her hands on her hips. “No…thank you.”
Spider-Man’s spider-sense actually started to subside…even as she walked closer…
She put her thumbs under the edges of his mask, pulling up. His lower face was uncovered, and when she kissed Peter, he realized that he couldn’t feel any tingling except the sensation he got from her lips…
He pulled away.
Peter swiveled his neck; his house was changing. The furnishings were gone; it was but a barren slab, with nothing in it at all. There wasn’t even a roof covering his head. A gentle, warm breeze was running over his mask, and he could see for miles into the countryside. There had been a town here once…but it was long deserted.
Mary-Jane was still Mary-Jane though. In her nightgown and bare feet, she walked through the dusty cottage.
“I really do want to thank you.” She said, “I think my…programming is complete.”
Spider-Man pulled his mask down fully. “Programming? What are you? This place…”
“…is a science experiment,” Mary-Jane finished. “You know all about those, don’t you?”
Spider-Man crossed his arms. “But…the video I saw with Toy…how did you do that? It felt so real…from half a world away…”
Mary-Jane laughed. “You know, Peter…there are entire cultures afraid of a camera, because they believe it steals a piece of their soul.”
Spider-Man stared, “Wait…what does that mean…?”
Mary-Jane just shook her head, and her form finally started to change, and it reminded Peter of Uncle Ben’s antique television…the one where you control the positive and negative.
Smooth skin was erased by tight, black…was that leather? It looked like flesh. The form grew more muscular, the bones grew twelve inches. Swollen patches formed on the flesh before bursting open to reveal pulsing electrodes. They were all over him. Other pointed antennas sprung across his body, directing whatever energy from the electrodes.
His face…there was nothing. It was blank but for one swirling pool of energy that functioned as an all-seeing eye.
“I am Ultimaton.” His voice was now much more suitably…alien. “You and I are very much alike. Such denial…such loneliness, only half of a whole, given life by an experiment gone wrong.”
Spider-Man didn’t back away when Ultimaton walked closer to him; his spider-sense was still not ringing.
Peter asked, “I’ve met robots that think they’re human…I’ve met humans turned into robots…”
“I am neither,” Ultimaton said flatly. “I am a post-modern Prometheus, the crossroads where all that humans create—both technology and flesh—meet and work in rhythm.”
“And this is…the World?”
Ultimaton’s deep black skin only seemed to get darker. “It was. My creators abandoned my World and I. They never loved us, never like a parent loves their child. They only saw a breeding ground for weapons and technology, a place to play with time and evolution. But when they were done playing, they stripped us of our insides and left only husks. And…they stole my love…the love they created for me.”
“But you survived,” Peter said quickly.
“Just like you survived the same thing,” Ultimaton said. “I’ve seen it. In your mind. The pain, the rage, the tragedy, the love…it was these things that nursed us back to health.”
“Wait.” Peter now took a step back. “What? You survived because of me?”
“We fed on pure emotional torture.” Ultimaton shrugged. “Don’t blame me. You came of your own accord. My World and I…we owe you so much. Thank you.”
“Wait…” Peter’s head was swirling. “All of this…I thought you were my wife and…you were just using me to heal yourself…”
“Yes.” Ultimaton continued, “Completing our programming: you can create life in a laboratory, but not a soul. That must be learned. You’ve taught me.”
Spider-Man dropped to his knees. The World spun so fast. “You’re just like all the rest. You’ve used me and my loved ones for yourself…how long have you kept me here?”
“Time is so abstract…especially here in this World.” Ultimaton said, “Six months could pass like a few days. A few hours could feel like months. You know how life is.”
Spider-Man brought his hand to his chest, pressing against the sharp pain there. “You feed on this, don’t you? All this anxiety I’ve been feeling…it’s driven you insane.”
“No,” Ultimaton said, almost whimsically. “It’s made me…alive.”
Then, though he was staring at the cold ground, Spider-Man could hear explosions in the distance. He had to fight to raise his chin. When he did, Spider-Man watched clouds swirl, like eggs being whipped into batter. The sky was changing colors too: blue, red, pink…and Ultimaton’s own electrodes blinked their own colors in response to the World.
“Invaders,” Ultimaton said. “They’ve finally broken through again. You can’t see them, but they’ll be here soon, to rescue you.”
“And…” Peter’s throat was so tight, but he forced the words out. “What will you do?”
“You’ve taught me well,” Ultimaton said, beginning to walk away, leaving Spider-Man in a crumpled heap, manipulating more empathic energy between them. “I’m going to find my mate. I’m going to bring to justice to those that manipulated my life. Farewell.”
Mercifully, Ultimaton walked away…a few steps later, there was only mist where he had been walking.
Spider-Man only lay there, hunched, crying until his eyes couldn’t make any more tears. But Peter blacked out long before he reached that point.
NEXT ISSUE: Peter doesn’t come close to catching his breath. Fresh out of the hospital, he gets a visit from the Prowler! But who is that other fellow lurking in the shadows? Plus, the return of Roderick Kingsley!