In case you missed it:
-Peter and young May Parker have in recent months come under the patronage of the mysterious Aladdin Agency, prompting Peter to do special ‘favors’ for Aladdin agents Daniel Toy and Charlene Bronson out of respect for their arrangement. (issue 32)
-One of these ‘favors’ was the investigation of a mysterious weapon system entitled ‘The World’, which seems to have some connection to the Tinkerer, as well as Spidey’s foes the Ghost and the Chameleon. (issues 39-40) But the one man who seems to hold all cards is Alexander Lukin (issue 40)…and who knows what he’s thinking!
-Peter’s arch-nemesis, Liz Osborn, has told Peter she’s staying on the sidelines while Peter raises his daughter, (issue 37) but the Rose Goblin has always been two-faced…
-Randy Robertson has returned to Peter’s life…and futon (Annual 2007)
-Peter and Betty Brant have been enjoying each other’s company for a little while but nothing has really developed, except a date this Saturday! Betty’s been busy with her partner at the Daily Bugle—Ben Urich—in the meantime, working on a story involving the World. (issue 38)
-The Hobgoblin has come back to town, after having his company stolen out from under him. He’s declared his vengeance on those who’ve wronged him…particularly Alexander Lukin. (issue 41)
-Angela Yin told Peter point-blank that she wants to be Spidey’s new photographer. And nothing is going to stand in her way. (Annual 2007)
-A new Foolkiller has, laughing, spread his wings and has started a strange pattern of murders and assaults in order to crush Spider-Man. These victims include J. Jonah Jameson (issue 38) and Curt Connors (Annual 2007). He’s yet to reveal his plans, nor has he confronted Spidey just yet.
-Eugene Patillo-Slodnik, the formerly fabulous Frog-man, disappeared from Peter’s life (issue 36) but he’s reappeared wearing a stolen costume from Spidey’s old friend, the Prowler (Annual 2007, issue 41). He’s also being followed by enigmatic ninja who might just know Peter’s secret identity…
-However, Eugene has been instrumental in giving Peter more information on the World, leading Spider-Man to the New York Harbour…where our story begins…
-Peter and young May Parker have in recent months come under the patronage of the mysterious Aladdin Agency, prompting Peter to do special ‘favors’ for Aladdin agents Daniel Toy and Charlene Bronson out of respect for their arrangement. (issue 32)
-One of these ‘favors’ was the investigation of a mysterious weapon system entitled ‘The World’, which seems to have some connection to the Tinkerer, as well as Spidey’s foes the Ghost and the Chameleon. (issues 39-40) But the one man who seems to hold all cards is Alexander Lukin (issue 40)…and who knows what he’s thinking!
-Peter’s arch-nemesis, Liz Osborn, has told Peter she’s staying on the sidelines while Peter raises his daughter, (issue 37) but the Rose Goblin has always been two-faced…
-Randy Robertson has returned to Peter’s life…and futon (Annual 2007)
-Peter and Betty Brant have been enjoying each other’s company for a little while but nothing has really developed, except a date this Saturday! Betty’s been busy with her partner at the Daily Bugle—Ben Urich—in the meantime, working on a story involving the World. (issue 38)
-The Hobgoblin has come back to town, after having his company stolen out from under him. He’s declared his vengeance on those who’ve wronged him…particularly Alexander Lukin. (issue 41)
-Angela Yin told Peter point-blank that she wants to be Spidey’s new photographer. And nothing is going to stand in her way. (Annual 2007)
-A new Foolkiller has, laughing, spread his wings and has started a strange pattern of murders and assaults in order to crush Spider-Man. These victims include J. Jonah Jameson (issue 38) and Curt Connors (Annual 2007). He’s yet to reveal his plans, nor has he confronted Spidey just yet.
-Eugene Patillo-Slodnik, the formerly fabulous Frog-man, disappeared from Peter’s life (issue 36) but he’s reappeared wearing a stolen costume from Spidey’s old friend, the Prowler (Annual 2007, issue 41). He’s also being followed by enigmatic ninja who might just know Peter’s secret identity…
-However, Eugene has been instrumental in giving Peter more information on the World, leading Spider-Man to the New York Harbour…where our story begins…
Back to GatefoldIssue #42 by Bryan Locke
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"MOONLIGHTING"
Ben Urich zipped his beige leather jacket. It was supposed to be getting warmer, but nights like this, with the wind off the Hudson, he kept wondering why after all these years he still didn’t bring more layers.
“Betty…” Ben hummed to himself, “where oh where are you?” He checked his watch. Yes, it was just about midnight. He could see the lights of their freight pulling slowly closer to the harbor.
The moon was high and bright. Ben hadn’t pulled up too close to the dock; if he had to sneak in, at this hour, he didn’t want to bring any attention to himself. But Betty was supposed to meet him here already…
“Come on, Betty.” Ben sipped at the coffee he’d picked up at 7-11 before heading over to the Harbor. “Who knows what my wife thinks we’re doing on all these late nights…”
There was a tapping at his window. Ben almost spilled his coffee. “Gah!”
He looked out the passenger side window, expecting to see Betty Brant. He was wrong.
“Angie?” Ben squinted, but opened his passenger side door.
“Mister Urich.” Angela Yin quickly jumped in the passenger side door. “So what am I missing?” Her camera hung limply from her neck.
Ben frowned at her. “What are you doing here?” The girl was wearing a tight black jumpsuit, but her hair was still tied up in her trademark pigtails.
“Well…” Angela grinned. “It’s been such a dull week, that I started studying the late night patterns of this guy, the Prowler? You’ve heard of him in recent weeks, right? I saw him! Led me right to the docks, where I saw you. How ‘bout that?”
Ben’s frown didn’t fade. “You were following a vigilante?”
Angela giggled. “Well, yeah. Girl’s gotta make a living.” She patted her camera. “And now that I’ve found you, I know there’s something big just waiting to be put on film.”
Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose, just above where his glasses had slid. “Nothing better catches your attention at midnight?”
Angela shrugged. “Nothing like a man running around in tight spandex.”
Ben sighed, and sipped at his coffee again. “Well, settle in. It’s looking like the start of a long night.”
“You need to go already? Damn, Salazar, why didn’t you take care of that before we left? I told you it was going to be a long way to Dulles Airport.”
Lieutenant Kenneth Fuller took a sip of his coffee and then sat it back down in between his legs. It was good to keep warm. It wasn’t like there was any real way to heat this tin can, this NYPD-converted U-haul truck.
“Shit, man. It won’t take but fifteen seconds. There are bushes all along this state road. Nobody’s gonna notice.” Lieutenant Jeremy Salazar pleaded, “These midnight transfers are killer. I’ve had to chug so much coffee on this trip already…”
“This is a serious scumbag we got back there, Salazar,” Fuller continued. “I can’t just pull over and let you go in the bushes.”
“Oh, come on, Kenny,” Salazar said. “What’s that guy’s name? The Chameleon? He’s just a jewel thief or something. A washed up spy. And we got him chained up like he was some Russian pitbull, but he ain’t more than a hundred-sixty pounds at best. He ain’t said one word. I don’t think he’s gonna mind if I take a piss.”
Fuller laughed, and then turned up the country music on the radio. “You’re gonna have to tie a knot in it, pal.”
“Dude, come on—”
-POP!- The truck suddenly veered left, and Fuller had to react so keenly to keep from driving into the roadside ditch. He felt his coffee splash all over his crotch.
“Jesus!” Salazar gasped, grabbing hold of the dashboard. “What the hell?”
Fuller pulled the truck to a stop as soon as he could. The truck bobbled and bucked every inch of the way.
“Well, Sal.” Fuller slapped the steering wheel. “Looks like you got your wish. We blew a damn tire. We’re gonna be late for sure.”
Salazar opened his door. “Let’s just be quick about it. They can’t blame us for a flat tire, can they?”
Fuller sighed and opened his door. “Watch ‘em.”
It was a chilly night. Fuller zipped his police issue jacket up a bit. He heard Salazar rustle through the brush on the other side of the road, looking a place to drain the dragon. “Hurry up, will you?” Fuller called over the truck, “It is such a bitch to change one of these things…”
Fuller looked out across the opposite side of the state road from where his partner was relieving himself. It was the Hudson Bay. This was the only road that ran uninterrupted to Dulles Airport in D.C. where a jet was waiting for the Chameleon. It was long and lonely at times, but at least there was a gorgeous view of a bay that didn’t have very many gorgeous views anymore. Fuller took a few more looks at the different freights moving in the moonlight to the Harbor, then reminded himself of his task.
“What the hell?” Fuller examined the front, left side tire, just under where he had been driving. It was completely shredded. An animal couldn’t have made damage like this. Anything sharp or big enough to do this he would have seen unless…his eyes widened.
Fuller rushed toward his partner. “Sal! Get the fuck back here, man!”
He could see his partner in the distance, but…was Salazar kneeling? No. Something was wrong. His partner was on his knees, falling into the brush. Fuller tried to pick up his pace into a full run, to catch his partner before something caught--
His foot! It was upended and Fuller felt a face full of grit and concrete. There was something tightly spun around his ankles; he couldn’t move his legs!
Fuller pushed himself over onto his back. When he saw who was attacking him, he couldn’t hold back. “Gaaaahhhh!”
His face was completely covered by dark leather, except for slits for eyes and a mouth. If it wasn’t for the dim street light above them, Fuller wouldn’t have been able to see him. His hair was big and red and fluffy, like a clown’s. He wore a long, yellow raincoat.
Quickly, just as Fuller had been trained, his gun was out of his hands and pointed in front of him.
“No!” his assailant said, his lips a bit muffled by the thin slit in his mask.
Wait, there was something in his hands too, that Fuller didn’t see. The masked man was faster than the policeman. The Foolkiller shot first.
“Ackkkk…” Fuller felt a burning all over hand, and it made him drop his gun. He could see the muscles of his hand beginning to contort and cramp. The muscles that ran up his entire arm began to cramp one by one, and finally he felt it spread to his chest.
“You fool. Why did you do that? I wasn’t going to kill you. I’m…sorry for what happens now.”
The muscles in Lieutenant Fuller’s chest started to seize, and at the tender age of thiry-one, he died of a heart attack.
The Foolkiller shook his head. “Another one bites the dust.”
Flipping the gun around in his hand, the Foolkiller cracked open the lock of the police truck’s payload. He pushed upward and the door slid open to reveal Dmitri Smerdyakov, the terrorist called the Chameleon. There were multiple chains binding his wrists, ankles, throat, waist, chest and thighs. Oddly, the police had left the Chameleon with his trademark, blank mask.
Using keys pulled from Fuller’s body, the Foolkiller pulled the chains off the Chameleon. All the while, Smerdyakov sat there, motionless. Cars roared by on the state road, but none even bothered to slow down to a speed where they could see anything.
Finally, the Foolkiller pulled the Chameleon out of the back of the truck, and threw him onto the cold concrete outside. Smerdyakov hit the ground in the crumpled heap.
“Oh, for the love of God,” The Foolkiller grumbled. “Get up, Chameleon!”
When the Foolkiller bent over to pull him up, the Chameleon softly whispered, “Are you going to kill me?”
“Not if you do as I say.” The Foolkiller put his hand underneath the Chameleon’s arm and lifted him up. “After all, you have nothing to live for. You’re going to be tried and convicted for espionage if you don’t help me. If you do, you’re still going to be caught in the end. I’m using you, you see. It’s your choice. So, choose wisely.”
The Chameleon said nothing. He made nary a move.
The Foolkiller pulled a thin, bent file out from the inside of his raincoat. He threw it on the concrete next to the Chameleon. “Well? Get to work.”
The Ghost knew he had to work fast. He had watched the freight from afar ever since Lukin revealed it to him, and he was eager to get this job done. The last of the crew had finally left and he was able to go to work. He slinked along the vast, metal ceiling of the ship’s hull.
The ship’s…empty hull. The Ghost shook his head. There was nothing here in this vast vessel, except one lone box. Slightly larger than a casket, and heavy. His suit didn’t give him strength so--
Wait! What’s that? The light in the ship’s hull is dim already…the night-vision lenses weren’t the best in such an enclosed space but…there was definitely something up there. A flashlight’s beam was bouncing around.
Switch to heat vision. Yes! Something there…a person…a woman…and she was looking in the box! His box! The job that he just spent weeks preparing for! A woman was about to ruin everything!
His electromagnetic aura allowed him to slide without a sound down the wall of the hull. He could see the lid to the box had been pushed open.
The woman was too busy looking at the contents of the box to notice when the Ghost slipped behind her and wrapped his hand tightly around her mouth.
She immediately dropped the flashlight, and tried to struggle. Her muffled cries were still enough to echo across the cold, metallic frame. The Ghost quickly wrenched her arm behind her back, silencing her cries with pain.
“Hold it, girl,” The Ghost sneered, becoming visible, though he knew she couldn’t see him without the flashlight. “Who are you? When I move my hand, don’t dare scream.”
She was panting, but tried to stay quiet. “Betty,” she said simply. “I’m a reporter.”
The Ghost said nothing. Instead, he kept up his grip on Betty’s arm, moving her so he could see into the box. Light shined from luminescent globules arranged on his mask.
“Nothing!” the Ghost shouted. “There’s nothing here!” He wrenched harder on Betty’s arm and pulled her hair hard with his other hand. “Where is it?”
Betty yelped, “Arrraahhh! I don’t know! It was empty when—”
“Liar!” the Ghost yelled. “What have you done with the weapon? Where have you—”
The Ghost felt a light vibration along the edge of his ear. Slightly tapping the tiny device resting there, the Ghost said, “Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the harbor! We’ve been tricked! There’s nothing in the box! We shouldn’t—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Change of plans. The weapon…is in safe hands. You are not to engage anyone you should see down there, do you understand?”
The Ghost let go of Betty and pushed her to the cold, hard floor. “Change of plans? What about this ship? I thought—”
“It’s been taken care of. Trust me. It will look like Kingsley got the drop on Lukin. Just get out of there.”
The Ghost felt the vibrations along his ear cease. He no longer cared about the woman in front of him. He just wanted to get this job over with. It was better when he was working freelance, rather than by contract…
Then his night vision exploded with a burst of light! The Ghost couldn’t help it: he dropped to his knees, pressing his palms hard against his eyes. There was a sound in his ears that he recognized as flares.
Quickly, he changed the setting on his lenses. It was amazing; the flares had illuminated almost the entire cavernous hull with flickering, yellow light. About twenty feet in front of him was a lone figure, clad mostly in black.
The Ghost knew enough to recognize Japanese robes. “No time for interlopers, ninja.”
Taking a step back, the Ghost started to fade from sight. In a graceful movement, a baton appeared in the ninja’s hand. Smooth and reflective in the light of the flares, the Ghost saw the baton sail through the air…straight toward his face.
The Ghost was finally invisible, but he couldn’t move from the baton. “Ack!” The baton smashed right into the bridge of his nose, and everything flashed white for the Ghost for a second.
In the next second, the Ghost was on his back. He felt warm blood around his chin, and a numb feeling in his nose and upper lip. Gnarled cartilage pressed against his cheek. He was visible…which meant he must have blacked out for that split second…
Move! The Ghost rolled to his right, just as the heel of his attacker swiped at the steel floor where he’d been laying.
The masked man was relentless. He threw a few quick, long kicks. The Ghost was able to dodge them, but barely. The robes threw off any estimation of this man’s weight, and the way he kept crouching, springing his attacks, threw off any estimation of his height.
“You darn kids! Makin’ a ruckus on a school night!”
The Ghost felt a familiar substance expanding around him, and the more he tried to pull at it impulsively, the more the substance fought against him.
“Spider-Man!” he yelled when he saw a familiar red and blue pattern in the flare-light.
The webslinger had gotten to the Ghost’s opponent as well. The ninja fought against the webbing, which had expanded across his back. The Ghost activated the standard response: as his suit started to heat itself, the webbing started to melt and shrivel away.
Spider-Man landed in the middle of the pattern of flares. He pointed at the ninja. “You and me are gonna talk, Power Ranger.” Then, he pointed at the Ghost. “I owe you this.”
This webbing wasn’t melting fast enough! Spider-Man’s fist pulled back and cracked the Ghost right in the nose, the exact place the ninja had hit earlier. The Ghost dropped, screaming and writhing. Spidey snickered, “That’s what you get for hitting girls.”
Spider-Man turned to Betty. “I think you should get out of here.”
Betty was staring wide-eyed at the scene and then quickly nodded her head. “Yeah, right. I’m gone.” She scampered off, toward a thin ladder that led upward to a sliver of light.
Spider-Man turned his back to the reporter, confident she could find her own way out. He turned back to the Ghost, who was on his knees, fading in and out of sight. The ninja was kneeling, content with his position it seemed: the webbing covered him like a tent.
The Ghost snarled, “In a city that never sleeps, sometimes your only companions are ghosts and spiders. Shame I can’t linger. Trust we will meet again, Spider-Man!”
The Ghost started to fade from sight.
“I don’t think so, Casper.” Spider-Man shot more webbing at his fading foe.
The webbing hit the Ghost’s invisible form, but immediately melted, letting the Ghost slip by unscathed. Spidey soon lost him.
“Let him go,” the ninja surprisingly said, his voice was deep and distorted. “We have to find what happened to that weapon…”
Spider-Man’s eyes scanned the interior of the ship, though he knew it was useless to track the Ghost now. Spidey turned to the ninja and kneeled down, “Who are you? You were at my apartment earlier.”
The ninja stiffened, clearly not wanting to talk with him. Finally after a few seconds of silence, he said to Spider-Man, “My name is Ronin. I’m…a friend. It seems like you need a bit more help around here than you think.”
“Heavy talk from a man covered in sticky white stuff.” Spidey said.
Ronin’s shoulders slumped. Then…there was a movement so quick that by the time Peter’s spider-sense began ringing, it was already over. There was a shiruken in Ronin’s hand, and it sliced through the webbing easily. The ninja stood fully, spun on his heel, swinging a foot under Spider-Man’s own. The webhead hit the metal hull hard.
Spidey tried to move but there was a metal staff extended against his Adam’s apple. He gasped, “What happened to the friendly banter?”
Ronin raised the staff. Spider-Man rolled to his feet.
“Okay.” Spidey rubbed his throat. “Quid pro quo, Samurai Jack: what was in the box?”
“The shipment was gone. Betty Brant was here when I crept in.”
“Betty…” Spidey said, trailing off.
Ronin suddenly said quickly, “Do you hear that?”
SPIDER-SENSE~! It was all Peter needed to hear. “Yeah. I hear it.”
“Rockets.”
Spider-Man suddenly stood upright…his whole body stiffened. “No…not just rockets. That’s a goblin glider…”
Ben Urich could hear something overhead, probably just a plane that’s running a bit too low…it didn’t distract him from the ship in front of him, emblazoned on the side with the letters ‘KRONAS’.
Betty had never shown up. Angela had never gone home. How come girls like these don’t have boyfriends or something?
“Do you hear that, Mister Urich?” Angela asked, whispering a bit louder than necessary, “It sounds like…”
“Shh!” Ben said. “Hear that? Inside the ship! Something’s happening in there!”
Angela quickly flicked off the lens cap of her camera. “Well, then we better get in there.”
Ben didn’t even get a chance to hate that idea before Angela started to run from the car to the ship itself. “Angie!” Ben called. Of course, Angela didn’t slow down in the slightest. Ben sighed and looked at his watch. Okay…so maybe Angela had the right idea.
He quickly got out of his car and followed Angela’s lead. They both came to a stop behind a stack of crates marked ‘SINGAPORE’, situated just in front of the wooden plank leading into the ship.
“Tonight’s the night I get rich, Mister Urich.” Angela’s smile was as wide as the moon in the sky. “I can feel it.”
Ben put his hands to his ears. “I think that might just be rockets.”
Angela stuck out her tongue at him. “These kinds of risks made you famous, old man.” Then, she hopped up on her heels, and started to run for the ship.
Ben sighed again but was up quickly following her. With their footsteps making what seemed like deafening echoes throughout the harbor’s silence, they came to a halt on the freight’s deck. The mist poured off the water, onto the sides, and whatever noise they heard—except for the rockets—had ceased.
“Well?” Angela called over the rockets, thumbing her camera, “Let’s look—”
“What are you doing here?” a voice called from behind them.
Ben spun on his heel, and saw someone he didn’t recognize immediately. The cape billowed around his shoulders, and his mask was dark. The sharp pointed fingers on his gloves shimmered in the moonlight. Ben remembered who he was.
“You need to get off this ship.” The Prowler said, “Now.”
Ben was ready to comply, but Angela Yin was not so easy to move. “Oh yeah?” Se crossed her arms and stood defiantly. “Says who?”
“Angie…those rockets sound like they’re getting closer…”
“Girlie,” the Prowler continued, “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me…”
Angela scoffed. “I’ve seen what you do, you know. I’ve watched the break-ins. Stane, Osborn, Silvermane…even Fisk. You’ve broken into all their businesses.”
Ben cut in again, “Angie, I think I see someone in the sky…in the moonlight…”
The Prowler outstretched his hands. “You two really need to follow me…”
Angela yelled, “I don’t think so. What are you trying to prove? Are you just trying to get even with these people? You’re nothing more than a common thief!”
Ben squinted toward the sky. “Uh, Angie…I really think we should listen—”
“WHOA!” There was a scream from above them.
Their necks craned upward. There was the familiar Spider-Man jumping from a huge opening in the deck just a few yards away. There was someone else with Spidey…but he blended so well with the darkness, Angela and Ben had a hard time seeing anyone at all.
“I don’t remember calling a meeting of my fan club!” Spidey said as he ran up to the three of them. “Last one to dry land is a rotten egg!”
Angela’s eyes got wide, but she didn’t say anything. They all just started running toward the edge of the boat. Spider-Man was quicker than all of them. He hooked his arms around Angela’s waist, while the Prowler grabbed a hold of Ben Urich.
Seconds later, all five of them were in the air, the damp ground of New York Harbor coming up fast to meet them. The wail of the rockets turned to the high-pitched scream of missiles. Spider-Man saw the figure that fired them: the silhouette of a Goblin against the moon’s blank face.
The ship erupted into a giant ball of flame, smoke and noise, throwing Spider-Man off his webline and the Prowler off his grappling cable. They soared twenty extra yards into the mainland. When they finally hit the ground, they stumbled and rolled another ten.
Spider-Man was up before all of them. He looked back, shielding his eyes from the intense heat, at the charred, burning piece of metal on the Hudson. The fire crackled and roared, licking the moon, but that wasn’t what was loudest.
Loudest was the laughing. The cracking cackle of a Goblin. A Rose Goblin. And it was true. The scarlet of her ravaged cape, and the pale of her fleshy leather costume were apparent in the unforgiving moonlight.
Spider-Man watched the shadowy figure fade deeper and deeper into the night’s darkness. His head was dizzy, pumped with adrenaline, and he pondered, The Rose Goblin, the World. What’s the connection? “Liz…” he said, remembering the confrontation they’d had just a week earlier*.
(*- issue 38- Bryan)
He spun back around. “Is everyone okay? Angela? Ben? Eu—” He stopped himself before that got out.
Ben Urich sat up stiffly, holding his shoulder and favoring his back. “I can’t believe I don’t get a pension for this.” He examined his glasses for cracks.
Angela Yin was just feet away from Spidey and had not yet moved. He crouched down and felt her pulse on her neck. It was beating…rapidly. She shivered a bit, and when she opened her eyes, her pupils were dilated. She mumbled, “My hero.”
“Don’t move, Angie,” Spidey said softly. “You might be hurt.”
Angie shook her head and sat up. “Hrrrmmm…no way…I live for this.” When she looked at him, a lucid smile widened her lips. “Where to now, cutie?”
Spidey touched her shoulder to make sure she was steady. “You’re a regular Calamity Jane. Next stop: Empire State General. Ben, how’re you doing?”
Ben stood up, brushed at his pants, “Well, my wife is gonna kill me for ruining this suit…and you know, the almost dying and stuff. But, otherwise, I’m good.”
Spidey shook his head. They were all in a daze from the explosion. But where was the Prowler? Spider-Man looked in all directions: toward the fiery, sinking ship, across the rooftops of the Harbor that led to the city, toward the warehouses…no sign of him.
But…Ronin. Spider-Man could see him, the flames reflecting off his stark, black robes. He was staring right at the webslinger.
“We’ve gotta go,” Spider-Man called to him, acknowledging the sirens in the distance.
Ronin cocked his head. “You need to go home.”
“What?” Peter squinted at him.
“I’ve been watching you.” Ronin marched over to him, angrily. “I’ve seen you. You were responsible for the release of a dozen criminals from custody. A little boy died in one your gunfights—” *
(*- that would be young Eric Wilkins, killed in a shootout in issue 34- Bryan)
Spider-Man interrupted, growling. “Is this how your parents taught you to make friends?”
Ronin continued, and got right into Spider-Man’s face. “Now, here’s another fiery wreckage, by another of your enemies, the weapon hidden inside is probably lost—”
That’s when Peter remembered. “Betty.” Spider-Man looked away from his accuser. “Betty!” he ran as close as he could to the inferno before thick heat kept away.
“Betty…Brant?” Ben Urich kneeled over Angela Yin. “But Betty was never here, right?”
“Oh no, not again…” Spider-Man could only hear his whispering over the raging fire. “Please…not again. She got out. I know she did…”
A firm hand grasped his shoulder. Spider-Man glanced up and saw Ronin. He flung the hand away. “Go wax off somewhere else, Karate Kid. Better yet, you wanna make friends, make sure those two get proper medical attention.”
Spider-Man sprung to his feet. He started to march back toward the city.
Ronin called, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to visit my favorite single mom.” Spider-Man didn’t even turn around to say it. “And I wish I was talking about Angelina Jolie.”
Ronin yelled, “No! Haven’t you done enough, already? Go home!”
Spider-Man didn’t respond, in just a couple leaps, he was already a rooftop away, springing to the next one.
Angela Yin jumped to her feet and screamed after him, “Get ‘em, Spidey! Kick that ass!”
Lightning flashed in front of the thirtieth floor of Osborn Industries Tower and Elizabeth Allen Osborn saw Spider-Man.
“What took him so long?” she smiled.
The rain started to come down in pellets. They hit the glass of the wide window in front of Liz, making eerie hollow noises in the dark of her vast office.
Lightning flashed again, and there he was. Clinging to the window in front of her, his arms and legs bent and pressed against the window, Spider-Man was snarling. Liz could see it even under his mask.
“Oh, Gobby!” Spider-Man tapped gently at the glass with his finger. “It’s that spider on your shoulder! He’d like a word with you.”
“Is it really me you want to see, Spider-Man?” Liz pressed her face up against the glass, in front of her nemesis. “Or the Rose Goblin?”
Spider-Man growled, “Oh, I think I’ve got them both right in my sights.” Spider-Man arched his fist backward, ready to hurl it through glass.
“Do you?” Liz’s mouth opened like she was going to laugh, but no sound came.
But Spider-Man heard laughter. Even through the thunder, the wind and rain, even through the thick glass of Osborn Tower, there was a shrill, venomous laughter.
And the Rose Goblin appeared, out of the darkness, slipping into the tiny halo of light, just over Liz Osborn’s shoulder. Peter blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing double. He wasn’t.
“I told you, Parker!” Liz screamed through the glass, over the laughter, “I gave you a truce! I told you that I wouldn’t come to kill you, Parker! But I never promised a Goblin wouldn’t! Ah-hahahahaha—”
Now Spider-Man could hear nothing but blood rushing in his ears. All he could see was Uncle Ben, then Gwen, then MJ, then Jill, then Russ Anderson and Eric Wilkins. But, finally, he saw Betty and Mayday. His arm reached back and then forward like a slingshot, shattering glass, reaching toward Liz Osborn’s neck.
But his hand never made it. Something stopped him. There was another hand, wrenching hard around Spider-Man’s wrist. From someone Peter didn’t know was there.
The Ghost viciously cracked his backhand across Spider-Man’s face, sending Peter rocketing back through the shattered pane.
Plummeting thirty stories to the wet, cold concrete below, Spider-Man heard laughter and thunder, and for some reason, his daughter crying.
NEXT ISSUE: Finally! The return of the Lizard! And…what happened to Betty?
“Betty…” Ben hummed to himself, “where oh where are you?” He checked his watch. Yes, it was just about midnight. He could see the lights of their freight pulling slowly closer to the harbor.
The moon was high and bright. Ben hadn’t pulled up too close to the dock; if he had to sneak in, at this hour, he didn’t want to bring any attention to himself. But Betty was supposed to meet him here already…
“Come on, Betty.” Ben sipped at the coffee he’d picked up at 7-11 before heading over to the Harbor. “Who knows what my wife thinks we’re doing on all these late nights…”
There was a tapping at his window. Ben almost spilled his coffee. “Gah!”
He looked out the passenger side window, expecting to see Betty Brant. He was wrong.
“Angie?” Ben squinted, but opened his passenger side door.
“Mister Urich.” Angela Yin quickly jumped in the passenger side door. “So what am I missing?” Her camera hung limply from her neck.
Ben frowned at her. “What are you doing here?” The girl was wearing a tight black jumpsuit, but her hair was still tied up in her trademark pigtails.
“Well…” Angela grinned. “It’s been such a dull week, that I started studying the late night patterns of this guy, the Prowler? You’ve heard of him in recent weeks, right? I saw him! Led me right to the docks, where I saw you. How ‘bout that?”
Ben’s frown didn’t fade. “You were following a vigilante?”
Angela giggled. “Well, yeah. Girl’s gotta make a living.” She patted her camera. “And now that I’ve found you, I know there’s something big just waiting to be put on film.”
Ben rubbed the bridge of his nose, just above where his glasses had slid. “Nothing better catches your attention at midnight?”
Angela shrugged. “Nothing like a man running around in tight spandex.”
Ben sighed, and sipped at his coffee again. “Well, settle in. It’s looking like the start of a long night.”
“You need to go already? Damn, Salazar, why didn’t you take care of that before we left? I told you it was going to be a long way to Dulles Airport.”
Lieutenant Kenneth Fuller took a sip of his coffee and then sat it back down in between his legs. It was good to keep warm. It wasn’t like there was any real way to heat this tin can, this NYPD-converted U-haul truck.
“Shit, man. It won’t take but fifteen seconds. There are bushes all along this state road. Nobody’s gonna notice.” Lieutenant Jeremy Salazar pleaded, “These midnight transfers are killer. I’ve had to chug so much coffee on this trip already…”
“This is a serious scumbag we got back there, Salazar,” Fuller continued. “I can’t just pull over and let you go in the bushes.”
“Oh, come on, Kenny,” Salazar said. “What’s that guy’s name? The Chameleon? He’s just a jewel thief or something. A washed up spy. And we got him chained up like he was some Russian pitbull, but he ain’t more than a hundred-sixty pounds at best. He ain’t said one word. I don’t think he’s gonna mind if I take a piss.”
Fuller laughed, and then turned up the country music on the radio. “You’re gonna have to tie a knot in it, pal.”
“Dude, come on—”
-POP!- The truck suddenly veered left, and Fuller had to react so keenly to keep from driving into the roadside ditch. He felt his coffee splash all over his crotch.
“Jesus!” Salazar gasped, grabbing hold of the dashboard. “What the hell?”
Fuller pulled the truck to a stop as soon as he could. The truck bobbled and bucked every inch of the way.
“Well, Sal.” Fuller slapped the steering wheel. “Looks like you got your wish. We blew a damn tire. We’re gonna be late for sure.”
Salazar opened his door. “Let’s just be quick about it. They can’t blame us for a flat tire, can they?”
Fuller sighed and opened his door. “Watch ‘em.”
It was a chilly night. Fuller zipped his police issue jacket up a bit. He heard Salazar rustle through the brush on the other side of the road, looking a place to drain the dragon. “Hurry up, will you?” Fuller called over the truck, “It is such a bitch to change one of these things…”
Fuller looked out across the opposite side of the state road from where his partner was relieving himself. It was the Hudson Bay. This was the only road that ran uninterrupted to Dulles Airport in D.C. where a jet was waiting for the Chameleon. It was long and lonely at times, but at least there was a gorgeous view of a bay that didn’t have very many gorgeous views anymore. Fuller took a few more looks at the different freights moving in the moonlight to the Harbor, then reminded himself of his task.
“What the hell?” Fuller examined the front, left side tire, just under where he had been driving. It was completely shredded. An animal couldn’t have made damage like this. Anything sharp or big enough to do this he would have seen unless…his eyes widened.
Fuller rushed toward his partner. “Sal! Get the fuck back here, man!”
He could see his partner in the distance, but…was Salazar kneeling? No. Something was wrong. His partner was on his knees, falling into the brush. Fuller tried to pick up his pace into a full run, to catch his partner before something caught--
His foot! It was upended and Fuller felt a face full of grit and concrete. There was something tightly spun around his ankles; he couldn’t move his legs!
Fuller pushed himself over onto his back. When he saw who was attacking him, he couldn’t hold back. “Gaaaahhhh!”
His face was completely covered by dark leather, except for slits for eyes and a mouth. If it wasn’t for the dim street light above them, Fuller wouldn’t have been able to see him. His hair was big and red and fluffy, like a clown’s. He wore a long, yellow raincoat.
Quickly, just as Fuller had been trained, his gun was out of his hands and pointed in front of him.
“No!” his assailant said, his lips a bit muffled by the thin slit in his mask.
Wait, there was something in his hands too, that Fuller didn’t see. The masked man was faster than the policeman. The Foolkiller shot first.
“Ackkkk…” Fuller felt a burning all over hand, and it made him drop his gun. He could see the muscles of his hand beginning to contort and cramp. The muscles that ran up his entire arm began to cramp one by one, and finally he felt it spread to his chest.
“You fool. Why did you do that? I wasn’t going to kill you. I’m…sorry for what happens now.”
The muscles in Lieutenant Fuller’s chest started to seize, and at the tender age of thiry-one, he died of a heart attack.
The Foolkiller shook his head. “Another one bites the dust.”
Flipping the gun around in his hand, the Foolkiller cracked open the lock of the police truck’s payload. He pushed upward and the door slid open to reveal Dmitri Smerdyakov, the terrorist called the Chameleon. There were multiple chains binding his wrists, ankles, throat, waist, chest and thighs. Oddly, the police had left the Chameleon with his trademark, blank mask.
Using keys pulled from Fuller’s body, the Foolkiller pulled the chains off the Chameleon. All the while, Smerdyakov sat there, motionless. Cars roared by on the state road, but none even bothered to slow down to a speed where they could see anything.
Finally, the Foolkiller pulled the Chameleon out of the back of the truck, and threw him onto the cold concrete outside. Smerdyakov hit the ground in the crumpled heap.
“Oh, for the love of God,” The Foolkiller grumbled. “Get up, Chameleon!”
When the Foolkiller bent over to pull him up, the Chameleon softly whispered, “Are you going to kill me?”
“Not if you do as I say.” The Foolkiller put his hand underneath the Chameleon’s arm and lifted him up. “After all, you have nothing to live for. You’re going to be tried and convicted for espionage if you don’t help me. If you do, you’re still going to be caught in the end. I’m using you, you see. It’s your choice. So, choose wisely.”
The Chameleon said nothing. He made nary a move.
The Foolkiller pulled a thin, bent file out from the inside of his raincoat. He threw it on the concrete next to the Chameleon. “Well? Get to work.”
The Ghost knew he had to work fast. He had watched the freight from afar ever since Lukin revealed it to him, and he was eager to get this job done. The last of the crew had finally left and he was able to go to work. He slinked along the vast, metal ceiling of the ship’s hull.
The ship’s…empty hull. The Ghost shook his head. There was nothing here in this vast vessel, except one lone box. Slightly larger than a casket, and heavy. His suit didn’t give him strength so--
Wait! What’s that? The light in the ship’s hull is dim already…the night-vision lenses weren’t the best in such an enclosed space but…there was definitely something up there. A flashlight’s beam was bouncing around.
Switch to heat vision. Yes! Something there…a person…a woman…and she was looking in the box! His box! The job that he just spent weeks preparing for! A woman was about to ruin everything!
His electromagnetic aura allowed him to slide without a sound down the wall of the hull. He could see the lid to the box had been pushed open.
The woman was too busy looking at the contents of the box to notice when the Ghost slipped behind her and wrapped his hand tightly around her mouth.
She immediately dropped the flashlight, and tried to struggle. Her muffled cries were still enough to echo across the cold, metallic frame. The Ghost quickly wrenched her arm behind her back, silencing her cries with pain.
“Hold it, girl,” The Ghost sneered, becoming visible, though he knew she couldn’t see him without the flashlight. “Who are you? When I move my hand, don’t dare scream.”
She was panting, but tried to stay quiet. “Betty,” she said simply. “I’m a reporter.”
The Ghost said nothing. Instead, he kept up his grip on Betty’s arm, moving her so he could see into the box. Light shined from luminescent globules arranged on his mask.
“Nothing!” the Ghost shouted. “There’s nothing here!” He wrenched harder on Betty’s arm and pulled her hair hard with his other hand. “Where is it?”
Betty yelped, “Arrraahhh! I don’t know! It was empty when—”
“Liar!” the Ghost yelled. “What have you done with the weapon? Where have you—”
The Ghost felt a light vibration along the edge of his ear. Slightly tapping the tiny device resting there, the Ghost said, “Yes?”
“Where are you?”
“I’m at the harbor! We’ve been tricked! There’s nothing in the box! We shouldn’t—”
“Shut up and listen to me. Change of plans. The weapon…is in safe hands. You are not to engage anyone you should see down there, do you understand?”
The Ghost let go of Betty and pushed her to the cold, hard floor. “Change of plans? What about this ship? I thought—”
“It’s been taken care of. Trust me. It will look like Kingsley got the drop on Lukin. Just get out of there.”
The Ghost felt the vibrations along his ear cease. He no longer cared about the woman in front of him. He just wanted to get this job over with. It was better when he was working freelance, rather than by contract…
Then his night vision exploded with a burst of light! The Ghost couldn’t help it: he dropped to his knees, pressing his palms hard against his eyes. There was a sound in his ears that he recognized as flares.
Quickly, he changed the setting on his lenses. It was amazing; the flares had illuminated almost the entire cavernous hull with flickering, yellow light. About twenty feet in front of him was a lone figure, clad mostly in black.
The Ghost knew enough to recognize Japanese robes. “No time for interlopers, ninja.”
Taking a step back, the Ghost started to fade from sight. In a graceful movement, a baton appeared in the ninja’s hand. Smooth and reflective in the light of the flares, the Ghost saw the baton sail through the air…straight toward his face.
The Ghost was finally invisible, but he couldn’t move from the baton. “Ack!” The baton smashed right into the bridge of his nose, and everything flashed white for the Ghost for a second.
In the next second, the Ghost was on his back. He felt warm blood around his chin, and a numb feeling in his nose and upper lip. Gnarled cartilage pressed against his cheek. He was visible…which meant he must have blacked out for that split second…
Move! The Ghost rolled to his right, just as the heel of his attacker swiped at the steel floor where he’d been laying.
The masked man was relentless. He threw a few quick, long kicks. The Ghost was able to dodge them, but barely. The robes threw off any estimation of this man’s weight, and the way he kept crouching, springing his attacks, threw off any estimation of his height.
“You darn kids! Makin’ a ruckus on a school night!”
The Ghost felt a familiar substance expanding around him, and the more he tried to pull at it impulsively, the more the substance fought against him.
“Spider-Man!” he yelled when he saw a familiar red and blue pattern in the flare-light.
The webslinger had gotten to the Ghost’s opponent as well. The ninja fought against the webbing, which had expanded across his back. The Ghost activated the standard response: as his suit started to heat itself, the webbing started to melt and shrivel away.
Spider-Man landed in the middle of the pattern of flares. He pointed at the ninja. “You and me are gonna talk, Power Ranger.” Then, he pointed at the Ghost. “I owe you this.”
This webbing wasn’t melting fast enough! Spider-Man’s fist pulled back and cracked the Ghost right in the nose, the exact place the ninja had hit earlier. The Ghost dropped, screaming and writhing. Spidey snickered, “That’s what you get for hitting girls.”
Spider-Man turned to Betty. “I think you should get out of here.”
Betty was staring wide-eyed at the scene and then quickly nodded her head. “Yeah, right. I’m gone.” She scampered off, toward a thin ladder that led upward to a sliver of light.
Spider-Man turned his back to the reporter, confident she could find her own way out. He turned back to the Ghost, who was on his knees, fading in and out of sight. The ninja was kneeling, content with his position it seemed: the webbing covered him like a tent.
The Ghost snarled, “In a city that never sleeps, sometimes your only companions are ghosts and spiders. Shame I can’t linger. Trust we will meet again, Spider-Man!”
The Ghost started to fade from sight.
“I don’t think so, Casper.” Spider-Man shot more webbing at his fading foe.
The webbing hit the Ghost’s invisible form, but immediately melted, letting the Ghost slip by unscathed. Spidey soon lost him.
“Let him go,” the ninja surprisingly said, his voice was deep and distorted. “We have to find what happened to that weapon…”
Spider-Man’s eyes scanned the interior of the ship, though he knew it was useless to track the Ghost now. Spidey turned to the ninja and kneeled down, “Who are you? You were at my apartment earlier.”
The ninja stiffened, clearly not wanting to talk with him. Finally after a few seconds of silence, he said to Spider-Man, “My name is Ronin. I’m…a friend. It seems like you need a bit more help around here than you think.”
“Heavy talk from a man covered in sticky white stuff.” Spidey said.
Ronin’s shoulders slumped. Then…there was a movement so quick that by the time Peter’s spider-sense began ringing, it was already over. There was a shiruken in Ronin’s hand, and it sliced through the webbing easily. The ninja stood fully, spun on his heel, swinging a foot under Spider-Man’s own. The webhead hit the metal hull hard.
Spidey tried to move but there was a metal staff extended against his Adam’s apple. He gasped, “What happened to the friendly banter?”
Ronin raised the staff. Spider-Man rolled to his feet.
“Okay.” Spidey rubbed his throat. “Quid pro quo, Samurai Jack: what was in the box?”
“The shipment was gone. Betty Brant was here when I crept in.”
“Betty…” Spidey said, trailing off.
Ronin suddenly said quickly, “Do you hear that?”
SPIDER-SENSE~! It was all Peter needed to hear. “Yeah. I hear it.”
“Rockets.”
Spider-Man suddenly stood upright…his whole body stiffened. “No…not just rockets. That’s a goblin glider…”
Ben Urich could hear something overhead, probably just a plane that’s running a bit too low…it didn’t distract him from the ship in front of him, emblazoned on the side with the letters ‘KRONAS’.
Betty had never shown up. Angela had never gone home. How come girls like these don’t have boyfriends or something?
“Do you hear that, Mister Urich?” Angela asked, whispering a bit louder than necessary, “It sounds like…”
“Shh!” Ben said. “Hear that? Inside the ship! Something’s happening in there!”
Angela quickly flicked off the lens cap of her camera. “Well, then we better get in there.”
Ben didn’t even get a chance to hate that idea before Angela started to run from the car to the ship itself. “Angie!” Ben called. Of course, Angela didn’t slow down in the slightest. Ben sighed and looked at his watch. Okay…so maybe Angela had the right idea.
He quickly got out of his car and followed Angela’s lead. They both came to a stop behind a stack of crates marked ‘SINGAPORE’, situated just in front of the wooden plank leading into the ship.
“Tonight’s the night I get rich, Mister Urich.” Angela’s smile was as wide as the moon in the sky. “I can feel it.”
Ben put his hands to his ears. “I think that might just be rockets.”
Angela stuck out her tongue at him. “These kinds of risks made you famous, old man.” Then, she hopped up on her heels, and started to run for the ship.
Ben sighed again but was up quickly following her. With their footsteps making what seemed like deafening echoes throughout the harbor’s silence, they came to a halt on the freight’s deck. The mist poured off the water, onto the sides, and whatever noise they heard—except for the rockets—had ceased.
“Well?” Angela called over the rockets, thumbing her camera, “Let’s look—”
“What are you doing here?” a voice called from behind them.
Ben spun on his heel, and saw someone he didn’t recognize immediately. The cape billowed around his shoulders, and his mask was dark. The sharp pointed fingers on his gloves shimmered in the moonlight. Ben remembered who he was.
“You need to get off this ship.” The Prowler said, “Now.”
Ben was ready to comply, but Angela Yin was not so easy to move. “Oh yeah?” Se crossed her arms and stood defiantly. “Says who?”
“Angie…those rockets sound like they’re getting closer…”
“Girlie,” the Prowler continued, “I’m going to have to ask you to come with me…”
Angela scoffed. “I’ve seen what you do, you know. I’ve watched the break-ins. Stane, Osborn, Silvermane…even Fisk. You’ve broken into all their businesses.”
Ben cut in again, “Angie, I think I see someone in the sky…in the moonlight…”
The Prowler outstretched his hands. “You two really need to follow me…”
Angela yelled, “I don’t think so. What are you trying to prove? Are you just trying to get even with these people? You’re nothing more than a common thief!”
Ben squinted toward the sky. “Uh, Angie…I really think we should listen—”
“WHOA!” There was a scream from above them.
Their necks craned upward. There was the familiar Spider-Man jumping from a huge opening in the deck just a few yards away. There was someone else with Spidey…but he blended so well with the darkness, Angela and Ben had a hard time seeing anyone at all.
“I don’t remember calling a meeting of my fan club!” Spidey said as he ran up to the three of them. “Last one to dry land is a rotten egg!”
Angela’s eyes got wide, but she didn’t say anything. They all just started running toward the edge of the boat. Spider-Man was quicker than all of them. He hooked his arms around Angela’s waist, while the Prowler grabbed a hold of Ben Urich.
Seconds later, all five of them were in the air, the damp ground of New York Harbor coming up fast to meet them. The wail of the rockets turned to the high-pitched scream of missiles. Spider-Man saw the figure that fired them: the silhouette of a Goblin against the moon’s blank face.
The ship erupted into a giant ball of flame, smoke and noise, throwing Spider-Man off his webline and the Prowler off his grappling cable. They soared twenty extra yards into the mainland. When they finally hit the ground, they stumbled and rolled another ten.
Spider-Man was up before all of them. He looked back, shielding his eyes from the intense heat, at the charred, burning piece of metal on the Hudson. The fire crackled and roared, licking the moon, but that wasn’t what was loudest.
Loudest was the laughing. The cracking cackle of a Goblin. A Rose Goblin. And it was true. The scarlet of her ravaged cape, and the pale of her fleshy leather costume were apparent in the unforgiving moonlight.
Spider-Man watched the shadowy figure fade deeper and deeper into the night’s darkness. His head was dizzy, pumped with adrenaline, and he pondered, The Rose Goblin, the World. What’s the connection? “Liz…” he said, remembering the confrontation they’d had just a week earlier*.
(*- issue 38- Bryan)
He spun back around. “Is everyone okay? Angela? Ben? Eu—” He stopped himself before that got out.
Ben Urich sat up stiffly, holding his shoulder and favoring his back. “I can’t believe I don’t get a pension for this.” He examined his glasses for cracks.
Angela Yin was just feet away from Spidey and had not yet moved. He crouched down and felt her pulse on her neck. It was beating…rapidly. She shivered a bit, and when she opened her eyes, her pupils were dilated. She mumbled, “My hero.”
“Don’t move, Angie,” Spidey said softly. “You might be hurt.”
Angie shook her head and sat up. “Hrrrmmm…no way…I live for this.” When she looked at him, a lucid smile widened her lips. “Where to now, cutie?”
Spidey touched her shoulder to make sure she was steady. “You’re a regular Calamity Jane. Next stop: Empire State General. Ben, how’re you doing?”
Ben stood up, brushed at his pants, “Well, my wife is gonna kill me for ruining this suit…and you know, the almost dying and stuff. But, otherwise, I’m good.”
Spidey shook his head. They were all in a daze from the explosion. But where was the Prowler? Spider-Man looked in all directions: toward the fiery, sinking ship, across the rooftops of the Harbor that led to the city, toward the warehouses…no sign of him.
But…Ronin. Spider-Man could see him, the flames reflecting off his stark, black robes. He was staring right at the webslinger.
“We’ve gotta go,” Spider-Man called to him, acknowledging the sirens in the distance.
Ronin cocked his head. “You need to go home.”
“What?” Peter squinted at him.
“I’ve been watching you.” Ronin marched over to him, angrily. “I’ve seen you. You were responsible for the release of a dozen criminals from custody. A little boy died in one your gunfights—” *
(*- that would be young Eric Wilkins, killed in a shootout in issue 34- Bryan)
Spider-Man interrupted, growling. “Is this how your parents taught you to make friends?”
Ronin continued, and got right into Spider-Man’s face. “Now, here’s another fiery wreckage, by another of your enemies, the weapon hidden inside is probably lost—”
That’s when Peter remembered. “Betty.” Spider-Man looked away from his accuser. “Betty!” he ran as close as he could to the inferno before thick heat kept away.
“Betty…Brant?” Ben Urich kneeled over Angela Yin. “But Betty was never here, right?”
“Oh no, not again…” Spider-Man could only hear his whispering over the raging fire. “Please…not again. She got out. I know she did…”
A firm hand grasped his shoulder. Spider-Man glanced up and saw Ronin. He flung the hand away. “Go wax off somewhere else, Karate Kid. Better yet, you wanna make friends, make sure those two get proper medical attention.”
Spider-Man sprung to his feet. He started to march back toward the city.
Ronin called, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to visit my favorite single mom.” Spider-Man didn’t even turn around to say it. “And I wish I was talking about Angelina Jolie.”
Ronin yelled, “No! Haven’t you done enough, already? Go home!”
Spider-Man didn’t respond, in just a couple leaps, he was already a rooftop away, springing to the next one.
Angela Yin jumped to her feet and screamed after him, “Get ‘em, Spidey! Kick that ass!”
Lightning flashed in front of the thirtieth floor of Osborn Industries Tower and Elizabeth Allen Osborn saw Spider-Man.
“What took him so long?” she smiled.
The rain started to come down in pellets. They hit the glass of the wide window in front of Liz, making eerie hollow noises in the dark of her vast office.
Lightning flashed again, and there he was. Clinging to the window in front of her, his arms and legs bent and pressed against the window, Spider-Man was snarling. Liz could see it even under his mask.
“Oh, Gobby!” Spider-Man tapped gently at the glass with his finger. “It’s that spider on your shoulder! He’d like a word with you.”
“Is it really me you want to see, Spider-Man?” Liz pressed her face up against the glass, in front of her nemesis. “Or the Rose Goblin?”
Spider-Man growled, “Oh, I think I’ve got them both right in my sights.” Spider-Man arched his fist backward, ready to hurl it through glass.
“Do you?” Liz’s mouth opened like she was going to laugh, but no sound came.
But Spider-Man heard laughter. Even through the thunder, the wind and rain, even through the thick glass of Osborn Tower, there was a shrill, venomous laughter.
And the Rose Goblin appeared, out of the darkness, slipping into the tiny halo of light, just over Liz Osborn’s shoulder. Peter blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing double. He wasn’t.
“I told you, Parker!” Liz screamed through the glass, over the laughter, “I gave you a truce! I told you that I wouldn’t come to kill you, Parker! But I never promised a Goblin wouldn’t! Ah-hahahahaha—”
Now Spider-Man could hear nothing but blood rushing in his ears. All he could see was Uncle Ben, then Gwen, then MJ, then Jill, then Russ Anderson and Eric Wilkins. But, finally, he saw Betty and Mayday. His arm reached back and then forward like a slingshot, shattering glass, reaching toward Liz Osborn’s neck.
But his hand never made it. Something stopped him. There was another hand, wrenching hard around Spider-Man’s wrist. From someone Peter didn’t know was there.
The Ghost viciously cracked his backhand across Spider-Man’s face, sending Peter rocketing back through the shattered pane.
Plummeting thirty stories to the wet, cold concrete below, Spider-Man heard laughter and thunder, and for some reason, his daughter crying.
NEXT ISSUE: Finally! The return of the Lizard! And…what happened to Betty?