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. (issues 39-40) But the one man connected to all of this 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 she’s hired the Ghost as a contract thug, and has gotten someone else to don the Rose Goblin costume instead! Liz also seems to have some connection to the World. (issue 42)
-Randy Robertson has returned to Peter’s life…and his spare room (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—working on a story about 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 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), the latter of whom has gone to jail for the Foolkiller’s crime. Foolkiller’s yet to confront Spidey himself.
-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 also brought with him Ronin, an enigmatic ninja who seems to know a lot more than he’s letting on.
-Eugene is eager to help Peter, however, and gave him informatoin regarding the World, specifically a weapons deal at New York Harbour - which ended explosively for our intrepid cast! (issues 41, 42)
-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. (issues 39-40) But the one man connected to all of this 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 she’s hired the Ghost as a contract thug, and has gotten someone else to don the Rose Goblin costume instead! Liz also seems to have some connection to the World. (issue 42)
-Randy Robertson has returned to Peter’s life…and his spare room (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—working on a story about 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 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), the latter of whom has gone to jail for the Foolkiller’s crime. Foolkiller’s yet to confront Spidey himself.
-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 also brought with him Ronin, an enigmatic ninja who seems to know a lot more than he’s letting on.
-Eugene is eager to help Peter, however, and gave him informatoin regarding the World, specifically a weapons deal at New York Harbour - which ended explosively for our intrepid cast! (issues 41, 42)
Back to GatefoldIssue #43 by Bryan Locke
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"ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT"
A shrill noise shattered the darkness!
Alexander Lukin—all instinct—grabbed the small pistol from under his pillow and sat up, flailing from side to side as his eyes adjusted to the night. But, after hearing the noise again, Lukin knew it was only his ringing phone.
Lukin breathed deeply and let the phone ring a few more times before he picked it up. After a swill from the glass of water as his bedside, he said into the phone, “Hello?”
“Sir. I’m sorry for waking you.” It was a young voice, speaking clear, crisp Russian. It was no doubt one of his many promising lieutenants that he had brought from Moscow with him, as employees of the new Kronas Corporation.
Lukin rubbed at his sinuses. “As long as it’s important.”
“Very much, sir. The Burden Of Atlas has been compromised.”
“No…” Lukin had been afraid of this. “How? For the second time?” *
(*- the first time was back in issue 39, when Spidey defeated the Chameleon – Bryan)
“The ship was destroyed, sir. We have evidence it was the Hobgoblin. As you know the Hobgoblin apparently murdered his alleged brother, Daniel Kingsley early yesterday, * just as we were closing the deal to absorb Kingsley, Limited.”
(*- issue 41- Bryan)
Lukin groaned, “So the Hobgoblin is defending his turf. He was supposed to be dead. Naturally, I wasn’t expecting his hostility. What about the weapon?”
“Unknown, sir. We haven’t heard anything from the client…so we assume everything went as planned. There are witnesses who say that Spider-Man was involved with the explosion, along with a few other individuals…journalists and such.”
“Journalists? Do they know anything?”
“We have no reason to believe so, sir. But, they work for the tabloid, the Daily Bugle. So, they’re under surveillance.”
Lukin relaxed a little. “Good work, boy. I can sleep well tonight. If the Hobgoblin wants a fight, we’ll bring him a fight. But he’s an unpredictable one, and will need to be handled carefully. If we hear anything from the client, immediately call me.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good night.” Lukin hung up the phone. As he closed his eyes he mumbled, “Spider-Man…” It sounded like a name he was going to be saying more and more these days…
“Wake up!”
Curt Connors had not been sleeping very well anyway. When he sprang from the thin mattress, rattling the loose metal frame, his face was clearly drenched in his own sweat.
“Sweet dreams, Doctor?”
It was dark in the cell, and Connors couldn’t see well at all. A dim light poured in through the bars, but the way the light flickered, it wasn’t much help. But Connors could see well enough to know he wasn’t alone in this cold, concrete cage.
“Who’s there?” Connors called, very loud, hoping the guards would hear him. “How did you get in here?”
“Can monsters dream, Doctor?”
Connors was suddenly aware of how cold it was in the cell. With only a blue jumpsuit to cover him, Connors pulled the tattered sheet around him, to disguise his shivering. “They let you in, didn’t they? The police. What do you want? I’m innocent in—”
“Stop!” the figure commanded him. His voice was so loud, Connors knew the guards had abandoned him. This voice didn’t give Connors time enough to react to that thought. “If there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s innocent!”
Connors froze. Not in terror…but because he knew this man was right.
His visitor leaned closer in the darkness. Connors could see the black sweatpants tucked into high boots. He wore a long coat, like something a butcher would wear. His gloves were leather, and the one hand Connors could see held a very suspicious object. The needle and syringe were the most horrifying things that Connors could have seen.
Connors pressed himself as far back as he could against the cold cement wall. “You. Foolkiller. You killed Gilbert…I saw your face. And they didn’t believe me.” Connors’s eyes suddenly bulged even wider. “You know them, don’t you? You’re friends with the police…or you’re a cop!”
The Foolkiller laughed. “The police today are useless. All the good men have died…”
Connors eyed the needle again. “If you want to kill me…just kill me.”
“I’ll admit something to you, Doctor.” The Foolkiller placed his elbow in his knee, and his masked chin in his gloved palm. “I don’t know if I’ve done you a favor by not killing you…or if I’ve left you to a fate worse than death.”
Connors felt his throat constrict. “What have you done?”
“There was only one prototype of your formula left, Doctor. The formula you produced with the late Professor Wiles?” The Foolkiller brandished the syringe.
“Oh god…”
“You were using your Lizard formula, weren’t you, Doctor? I examined the specimen myself and yes, it does indeed look like the formula you published in your report on your very DNA, back in the days after you outed yourself as the Lizard.”
“Please tell me you didn’t…”
“Have faith, Doctor!” The Foolkiller laughed again, “If you truly aren’t a fool, then I fully believe you can kick this from your system. Be strong, God willing, you’ll pull through.”
“Are you crazy?” Connors spat at him, sweat beads leaking now down his forehead, “You can’t just sleep off this serum!”
“Is that because deep down inside, you know you love being a monster?”
“Oh, Jesus, shut up!”
“Saturday,” the Foolkiller said. “You have until Saturday. If you haven’t changed by then, you aren’t a fool. If you have…well, we both know what happens then.”
Connors fell back to the bed, shivering. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the salty sweat slip through the cracks to burn his retinas. It felt good, because soon enough, he wouldn’t be sweating at all.
“Good luck, Doctor.” The Foolkiller stood up, and now a key had replaced the syringe in his hand. The key slid into the cell door and the Foolkiller let himself out. “Consider yourself guilty until proven innocent.” He was cackling all the way down the hall.
Curt Connors didn’t close his eyes for the rest of the night. All he heard was the laughter.
Peter opened his eyes. There was light, but he couldn’t make out much more.
“Randy! He’s waking up!”
“Huh?” Peter sat up quickly, but he was aware that his spider-sense wasn’t ringing.
Finally, his eyes focused and he saw Betty Brant. And he was in his apartment. Randy emerged from the bedroom around the corner. May was in his hands, safe and sound. Peter saw he was laying on his futon with a blanket over his legs.
Wait…Betty…Betty was alive?
“Betty!” Peter leapt across the futon and grasped Betty Brant into a tight embrace. It made Smoke, the cat, leap from Betty’s lap. “Oh god! I thought you were dead!”
Betty didn’t offer any resistance to the embrace, but she said, “Well…I could say the same thing about you! I showed up last night, and Randy told me you’d gone out with Spider-Man. We both passed out with May, and then this morning, we found you sacked out on the couch. Peter…you weren’t sleeping. You were unconscious.”
Peter’s head was spinning. Randy was still standing silently in the hall, with May clinging to his chest, sucking on her thumb, going in and out of sleep. Betty didn’t let Peter go far when he released the embrace. She stared right in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Peter remembered. He was falling. He had seen another Rose Goblin. He…did he have another panic attack? * No…it was something else, but he couldn’t think about it right now. How did he get back to his apartment?
(*- issue 38 – panicking Bryan)
Peter looked down at his clothes. He wasn’t wearing his Spider-Man costume. Where was his costume? Where were his web-shooters? Almost frantically, Peter glanced at his locked suitcase, still where he had left it since he arrived back from Russia. *
(*- issue 41- jet-lagged Bryan)
There was something on top of the suitcase, something that Betty and Randy had apparently not noticed. There were only a few pieces, but Peter recognized them immediately: rose petals, sprinkled over his briefcase.
The Rose Goblin, Peter thought, she must have brought me back here. And changed my clothes? Good god, Liz…how psychotic are you? Who is this new Rose Goblin?
But he also remembered the Prowler…Eugene Patillo, formerly the fabulous Frog-man. And then the mysterious ninja, Ronin, who had gotten the best of both the Ghost and Spider-Man the night before.
Yes, his head was absolutely swimming. Peter began to furiously rub at his temples.
“Pete?” Randy called, concerned from the hall.
Betty grasped Peter’s shoulder. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No,” Peter answered after a while. “I’m okay. There was an explosion.”
“Yeah, I know.” Betty said, still close to him, “Urich called me and told me all about it. And it’s all over the news. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there. Would you believe it took me an hour to get a cab out there? By the time I arrived, the fire department was already putting out the fire on the ship.”
“Huh?” Peter was confused. He had seen Betty…on the ship. She was there, with the Ghost, and Ronin. Peter had told her to leave as quickly as she could. “No, you were on the ship, right? Spider-Man told me—”
“Then Spider-Man lied to you.” Betty said quickly. “I wasn’t there. Urich said something about that too. I wasn’t there. I’m okay.”
Peter squinted. Why would Betty lie to him? “Okay.” Peter said quietly, “Right.”
Mayday had spotted her father. She reached toward him ecstatically. Peter’s face filled with color at the sight of her. He reached back. Randy obliged.
Peter squeezed May, hearing her laugh into his ear. “You sound so happy! You like Randy, don’t you, Mayday?”
Randy nervously rubbed his head, “Aw, she’s so well-behaved, all I gotta do is feed her and clean her butt.” Betty and Peter laughed out loud at that. Mayday’s smile grew wider.
Peter turned from his daughter, to the other girl sitting barefoot on the futon with him. Betty was dressed in a loose Derek Jeter jersey, and dark denim flares. Her eyes told Peter she was examining every inch of him, making sure he really was okay.
“Betty,” he chuckled, “I’m fine. Last night was just a bit hectic. I guess I got hit by a piece of shrapnel or something while I waited for Spidey. He must’ve brought me back here. But everything’s fine thanks to you two.”
Regardless of whether Betty felt it was necessary to hide where she was last night, Peter felt happy having her next to him. He couldn’t help it: his eyes began to move along her body, from her smooth ankles, up to her creamy neck. When his eyes finally met hers, Peter realized she’d been watching him admire her. A sly smile spread against her cheeks. A cautious look at each other’s lips—and all they could do was laugh.
“Hey.” Randy piped up, “Don’t let me interrupt anything.”
Peter and Betty only laughed louder and harder. Mayday joined them. It was strange: Peter saw his daughter and two of his best friends…and felt happy. It had been a harrowing night, but here were two people he’d let get close, and they’d made him and his daughter happy.
With everything that had been happening with the Ghost, Eugene, the Foolkiller, the World, and the Rose Goblin…Peter needed more time like this. He needed to pay more attention to his daughter, that was for sure. He needed to recharge the batteries. Then I can figure all this craziness out…just as long as nothing unexpected happens…
Peter suddenly felt a pain in his neck, and when he went to rub it, a haze of vertigo overtook him. But he steadied himself. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking so lucidly, I’ve probably got some sort of concussion…
Betty shook his shoulder again. Peter grasped her hand. “Thanks.” Peter looked her right in the eyes. “Are we still on for the Stacy Foundation dinner Saturday night?”
Betty snickered, “If you promise not to go out and get yourself killed before then!”
Peter raised two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Uh-huh.” Betty’s smile retreated into a smirk. “You remember what I told you when you were eighteen and you finally asked me out on a date for the first time?”
Peter blushed; he did remember. He wearily looked up at Randy. Randy smiled and said, “Oh yeah. I wanna hear this.”
Betty’s fingers were suddenly entwined tightly with Peter’s own. The room suddenly felt much smaller, and much hotter. Peter took a deep breath when he looked back at Betty’s grin. Her lips absolutely shined.
“I said, ‘Parker…you’re too much of a thrillseeker for a girl like me’.”
“Bwahahahaha!” Randy clutched his stomach. “Yeah, no kidding, right? You got some kind of adrenaline fetish or something, Pete my bro!”
Peter finally let go of Mayday and let her ramble about the carpet in front of him. Then, he raised his hands and shook his head at his friends. “Alright. This is not turning into an intervention. I’m starving. What do you guys want for brunch?”
“Pizza!” Randy said, “A big one. Because we deserve nothing less.” Betty joined his laughter.
The laughter didn’t fade from Peter Parker’s apartment for the rest of the day.
The Prowler chuckled as he hit the ‘Enter’ key. “Bingo was his name-o.”
The d-drive slid open quickly, silently. The Prowler picked up the disc swiftly with a razor-sharp finger and tucked into a pocket on his utility belt. One more down. This was getting easier and easier every night. Standing from the desk, shutting down the computer, the Prowler was sure to leave everything the way he had found it.
He made no sound whatsoever as he moved to leave the same way he’d--
“What are you so happy about?”
“Gah!” the Prowler spun around, almost tripping over his own cape. His night vision lenses saw him perfectly.
Ronin stepped closer to him in the dark office.
“Who are you?” the Prowler tried to keep his voice down. “Why are you following me? I’m telling you, man, you better back off or—”
“Or what?” Ronin scoffed. “You’ll run away again? What are you trying to prove with these break-ins, Eugene? That you can be a superhero?”
“It was never about that!” The Prowler was quick to answer, but then he realized what he gave away. His posture became more defensive. “How do you know my name?”
Ronin shook his head. “I’ve been watching you. Just like I’ve been watching Peter Parker. You need to answer my question.”
“Why should I?”
“Because in about thirty seconds, six heavily armed guards are coming through that elevator.” Ronin thumbed over his shoulder. “If you answer me nicely, I might help you.”
The Prowler stiffened. “You’re bluffing. I studied the security system. I got through it fine. The encryption system on the computer was a piece of cake—”
Ronin waved his arms about the vast office. “This is Mys-Tech! You think their security is just technological? Don’t you do any research? There was a complex series of runes protecting this room, and you upset their balance the first step you took in here!”
The Prowler’s shoulders slumped. It had been rather simplistic to break into this place. But Eugene had just assumed he was getting better at this mask-and-cape game. He’d avoided security at Wilson Fisk’s own buildings! Doesn’t that mean he was pretty good at this? Maybe, maybe not.
“Now,” Ronin’s tone was growing impatient, “why are you doing this? You led Spider-Man and me to New York Harbor and we saw how that ended up…”
“The World.” He said it simply. “That’s what I’m looking for. Stane, Silvermane, Fujikawa, they all have some sort of shady deal with a phantom company—”
“Kronas,” Ronin finished.
“Yeah.” The Prowler looked nervously at the elevator. “I can’t find any record of this company anywhere prior to a few weeks ago, when they suddenly bought up dozens of small firms and banks. There’s only one name I can find to link this all together—”
“Lukin,” Ronin finished again.
The Prowler sighed. “Damn. You’re good.”
Ronin shook his head again. “No…I do my research.” He looked over his shoulder at the elevator. Then, back to the Prowler. “You ready for this?”
The Prowler crouched, ready for action. “Honestly? No.”
The elevator behind them opened smoothly without so much as a sound.
The hail of bullets that followed was much louder.
“Geez!” the Prowler immediately dived left, though he saw Ronin flip to the right.
The soldiers were out of the elevator—five of them, Ronin had been wrong—their booted heels slapped the tile floor in unison. Red laser sights waved in the darkness before more flashes of bullets. The soldiers’ uniforms matched the darkness, and the Prowler was thankful for his lenses. He wondered for a moment if Ronin had the same advantage.
Eugene reached for his utility belt. The gas pellets were in the third pouch on the left…got them! His clawed hands hurled three tiny silver balls in the direction of the soldiers. There was a hiss and a bang, and the soldiers were covered in smoke.
Ronin had retreated back a few steps, dodging bullets, but when he saw the smoke, his feet moved in a different direction. The billy club hung at his thigh, but he reached instead for the katana at his back. The sword was out, gleaming in what little moonlight shined through the windows.
Ronin jumped into the middle of the soldiers.
The blade in his hands darted through the air like a metallic bird, and the soldiers didn’t have time to bring up or aim their weapons. The sword sliced and pierced through their armor.
The Prowler could only stand and watch it all happen. The ninja seemed to have no trouble with the soldiers at all: kicks against forearms would make sure rifles shot only at the tile, laser sights darted all over like some light show, well-placed punches disoriented them enough for the sword to disarm them.
Finally, they were all on the ground, groaning and whimpering.
“Good job,” The Prowler said uncontrollably.
Ronin’s breathing was fierce. “We need to get out of here.”
The Prowler shrugged. “Looks like we can take our time.”
Ronin shook his head. “The elevator is moving again.”
The Prowler slumped, and realized again that Ronin was right. The ninja wasn’t done though. Standing over the soldiers, Ronin raised his sword again.
“What are you doing?” the Prowler asked.
Ronin ran his sword through the soldier’s chest, directly into his heart.
“Jesus!” the Prowler gasped. “Don’t kill them!”
But Ronin didn’t listen. He approached the other four soldiers, and quickly, silently, efficiently, forced the blade into each of their chests.
“No!” the Prowler was running toward Ronin, not able to stop himself. He wrapped clawed gloves around Ronin’s throat and pushed him against the wall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Eugene screamed at him.
Ronin’s knee was quickly in the Prowler’s gut. Eugene stumbled backward, surprised that the armor guarding his abdomen hadn’t absorbed more of the blow. Ronin cracked a punch across his jaw. The Prowler hit the ground next to one of the dead soldiers.
“Idiot,” Ronin said. “They’re not human.”
Ronin reached toward the helmeted soldier lying next to the Prowler. Lifting the helmet, the Prowler saw a cold, emotionless, clay face underneath. In the next instant, the sculpted clay figure crumbled to dust, leaving on its armor behind.
“Holy crap,” the Prowler whispered.
“Do you understand the people you’re dealing with now?” Ronin pulled the Prowler from the floor, without his asking him to do so.
Ronin was close to the Prowler’s face when he said, “This is not something for an amateur. You’re only going to get yourself hurt. Is that what you want?”
The Prowler’s stance stiffened. Indignant, he said, “No, I know what I’ve got to do. I’m sorry. But you’re not going to stop me.”
Ronin stepped back. “Then God help you.”
In a few quick steps, Ronin was up on the ledge of the open window and jumping. The Prowler sighed, looked at the dust around him, and realized the elevator was still moving.
“Oops.” The Prowler headed for the open window himself, priming the grapping gun on his wrist. He felt his belt again for the disc that he had taken of Mys-tech’s dealings with Kronas Corporation…
“Gone!” Eugene stamped his foot. “That ninja sonovabitch!”
But the Prowler couldn’t waste any time. He jumped out of the window just as the elevators doors opened.
Saturday
“How old did you say this thing was?” Peter gazed at himself in the mirror.
“Oh, do I have to put a number on it?” Aunt May was leaning in the doorway, also taking in Peter’s visage. “Let’s say it’s at least twice your age.”
Peter flexed his waist, then bent down to touch his toes. The tuxedo didn’t give one hint that it would rip. He buttoned one button toward the middle of the jacket, then adjusted his cuffs. “Well, you’ve kept it in good shape.”
Aunt May didn’t respond. Peter looked wearily over his shoulder. She kept staring at him, and Peter could see the tears welling in her eyes. “You know, Peter,” May started, but she seemed to have a difficult time finishing, “I think it’s great that, well, you’re going to dinner, especially since Mary-Jane—” She tried but that’s all that got out before her lips started trembling too much.
Peter walked over to her and embraced her tightly. “Thank you, Aunt May.” He kissed her forehead. “You always know how to take care of me.”
May wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “It’s what I do best. Now you better hurry. If you get there on time, then that’ll be a surprise Betty Brant wasn’t expecting!”
Peter squinted. “Waitaminnit. I never told you I was meeting Betty Brant…”
May smiled wide and walked back out to the living room, where the smaller May was playing on the carpet. “When you were out at the park with May today, I had a nice long talk with Randy Robertson.”
Peter frowned as he followed her. “You’ve been talking to Randy?”
May laughed. “Oh, yes. Such a lovely young boy, I’ve always thought…”
Peter shook his head, but then leaned down to kiss Aunt May on the cheek. “He must have good genes. Just like me!” He squatted down, and looked his daughter in the eye. Little May scuttled across the carpet into his arms. Peter picked her up and kissed her a half-dozen times all over her face, making the girl squeal with laughter. After he was done laughing too, he rubbed his nose against his daughter’s and said, “You get to bed at a decent hour, young lady! Don’t keep Aunt May up waiting all night like I used to!”
May shrugged. “That’s okay, honey. Anna’s coming over later and it’s our mission to spoil her so much, she’ll have no choice but to pass out from the exhaustion.”
Peter laughed on his way to the door. “I can’t thank you enough, Aunt May.”
May smiled as she watched him go. “Just get the suit back to me—without any lipstick on the collar!”
“No promises!” Peter shut the door after him.
It had been nearly a week since the Foolkiller had made his fateful promise to Curt Connors. And the doctor was sure that it wouldn’t be long now…
He was starting to smell things with the tip of his tongue…
His clothes bothered him incessantly, and when he was naked in his cell, he realized the cold didn’t bother him at all…
He could see perfectly in the dark…
He could have sworn that the stump of a left arm was slowly, ever so slowly, getting larger, longer…
Worst of all, he was getting the sensation that he had another limb on his body, one that would have protruded just at the end of his tailbone…
“Alright, Connors!” a voice shocked him from a forced slumber. “Time to go!”
“What?” Connors yelled. “Go? Go where?”
Two uniformed police officers stood at his cell door. A third man, just in between them, was dressed in a suit and wore a white lab coat over it. He flicked at a syringe in his hand. Connors knew it was just a sedative, in case he was to resist the transfer, but after the Foolkiller just waltzed in and out of his cell nights before, he didn’t trust any of them. He hadn’t even asked for help to ward off the transformation, because he knew he wouldn’t have gotten any.
“Transfer.” One of the officers answered him, “You were told about this the day you were locked up. Come on. And for Christ’s sake, put your damn clothes on.”
Connors suddenly started shaking. He had been told about this, but with everything that had gone on, he had forgotten.
“No.” Connors said quickly. “You can’t. You know what’s going on with me, don’t you? You can’t take me anywhere. The safest place for me is behind these bars, right now! It’s going to happen any minute! Any undue stress could—”
The officers looked at each other, and then at the doctor between them. They nodded at that doctor. One of the officers pulled out a key and opened the cell door quickly. “Come on, doc,” he said, “Let’s not make this any more painful than it has to be…”
“No!” Connors repeated, and he backed himself into a corner of his cell, curling his naked body into a ball. He flailed his limbs at the officers, but they grabbed him and held him tight.
“Don’t!” Connors yelled, “Don’t touch me! You’ll all regret it! You don’t understand what’s happening to me! He wants you to do this! He wants this to happen!”
“Jesus.” One of the officers said, “Paranoid whacko. Maybe those talk shows were right about him after all…”
“Hold him steady.” A new voice said, and it must have belonged to the doctor.
“No!” Connors was able to say once more before he felt a puncture at the base of his spine. It didn’t hurt much at all, but he still howled in pain…
…and Connors knew there was nothing more he could do.
With an arm that he didn’t have seconds before, one policeman was flung to the far end of the cell, his head cracking against the bars with a sickening sound. The other policeman felt clawed fingers gauge into his eyeballs, before another claw whipped him by the neck to smash his face into cold brick.
The doctor was scurrying on the cold floor, trying to get out of the cell, but he was blocked by the prone body of a policeman. When he looked back at Connors, what he saw wasn’t Curt Connors at all.
It was a huge, hulking creature. Scales gleamed in the dull light, and a long, colorful fin ran down its spine. Bulging eyes glowed yellow. A long snout smiled to reveal pointed teeth dripping with saliva…or was that venom? The doctor didn’t have long to think about it before a thick tail cracked across his jaw sending his world into darkness.
The Lizard was back.
NEXT ISSUE: Spider-Man vs. the Lizard! Nuff said!
Alexander Lukin—all instinct—grabbed the small pistol from under his pillow and sat up, flailing from side to side as his eyes adjusted to the night. But, after hearing the noise again, Lukin knew it was only his ringing phone.
Lukin breathed deeply and let the phone ring a few more times before he picked it up. After a swill from the glass of water as his bedside, he said into the phone, “Hello?”
“Sir. I’m sorry for waking you.” It was a young voice, speaking clear, crisp Russian. It was no doubt one of his many promising lieutenants that he had brought from Moscow with him, as employees of the new Kronas Corporation.
Lukin rubbed at his sinuses. “As long as it’s important.”
“Very much, sir. The Burden Of Atlas has been compromised.”
“No…” Lukin had been afraid of this. “How? For the second time?” *
(*- the first time was back in issue 39, when Spidey defeated the Chameleon – Bryan)
“The ship was destroyed, sir. We have evidence it was the Hobgoblin. As you know the Hobgoblin apparently murdered his alleged brother, Daniel Kingsley early yesterday, * just as we were closing the deal to absorb Kingsley, Limited.”
(*- issue 41- Bryan)
Lukin groaned, “So the Hobgoblin is defending his turf. He was supposed to be dead. Naturally, I wasn’t expecting his hostility. What about the weapon?”
“Unknown, sir. We haven’t heard anything from the client…so we assume everything went as planned. There are witnesses who say that Spider-Man was involved with the explosion, along with a few other individuals…journalists and such.”
“Journalists? Do they know anything?”
“We have no reason to believe so, sir. But, they work for the tabloid, the Daily Bugle. So, they’re under surveillance.”
Lukin relaxed a little. “Good work, boy. I can sleep well tonight. If the Hobgoblin wants a fight, we’ll bring him a fight. But he’s an unpredictable one, and will need to be handled carefully. If we hear anything from the client, immediately call me.”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good night.” Lukin hung up the phone. As he closed his eyes he mumbled, “Spider-Man…” It sounded like a name he was going to be saying more and more these days…
“Wake up!”
Curt Connors had not been sleeping very well anyway. When he sprang from the thin mattress, rattling the loose metal frame, his face was clearly drenched in his own sweat.
“Sweet dreams, Doctor?”
It was dark in the cell, and Connors couldn’t see well at all. A dim light poured in through the bars, but the way the light flickered, it wasn’t much help. But Connors could see well enough to know he wasn’t alone in this cold, concrete cage.
“Who’s there?” Connors called, very loud, hoping the guards would hear him. “How did you get in here?”
“Can monsters dream, Doctor?”
Connors was suddenly aware of how cold it was in the cell. With only a blue jumpsuit to cover him, Connors pulled the tattered sheet around him, to disguise his shivering. “They let you in, didn’t they? The police. What do you want? I’m innocent in—”
“Stop!” the figure commanded him. His voice was so loud, Connors knew the guards had abandoned him. This voice didn’t give Connors time enough to react to that thought. “If there’s one thing you aren’t, it’s innocent!”
Connors froze. Not in terror…but because he knew this man was right.
His visitor leaned closer in the darkness. Connors could see the black sweatpants tucked into high boots. He wore a long coat, like something a butcher would wear. His gloves were leather, and the one hand Connors could see held a very suspicious object. The needle and syringe were the most horrifying things that Connors could have seen.
Connors pressed himself as far back as he could against the cold cement wall. “You. Foolkiller. You killed Gilbert…I saw your face. And they didn’t believe me.” Connors’s eyes suddenly bulged even wider. “You know them, don’t you? You’re friends with the police…or you’re a cop!”
The Foolkiller laughed. “The police today are useless. All the good men have died…”
Connors eyed the needle again. “If you want to kill me…just kill me.”
“I’ll admit something to you, Doctor.” The Foolkiller placed his elbow in his knee, and his masked chin in his gloved palm. “I don’t know if I’ve done you a favor by not killing you…or if I’ve left you to a fate worse than death.”
Connors felt his throat constrict. “What have you done?”
“There was only one prototype of your formula left, Doctor. The formula you produced with the late Professor Wiles?” The Foolkiller brandished the syringe.
“Oh god…”
“You were using your Lizard formula, weren’t you, Doctor? I examined the specimen myself and yes, it does indeed look like the formula you published in your report on your very DNA, back in the days after you outed yourself as the Lizard.”
“Please tell me you didn’t…”
“Have faith, Doctor!” The Foolkiller laughed again, “If you truly aren’t a fool, then I fully believe you can kick this from your system. Be strong, God willing, you’ll pull through.”
“Are you crazy?” Connors spat at him, sweat beads leaking now down his forehead, “You can’t just sleep off this serum!”
“Is that because deep down inside, you know you love being a monster?”
“Oh, Jesus, shut up!”
“Saturday,” the Foolkiller said. “You have until Saturday. If you haven’t changed by then, you aren’t a fool. If you have…well, we both know what happens then.”
Connors fell back to the bed, shivering. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the salty sweat slip through the cracks to burn his retinas. It felt good, because soon enough, he wouldn’t be sweating at all.
“Good luck, Doctor.” The Foolkiller stood up, and now a key had replaced the syringe in his hand. The key slid into the cell door and the Foolkiller let himself out. “Consider yourself guilty until proven innocent.” He was cackling all the way down the hall.
Curt Connors didn’t close his eyes for the rest of the night. All he heard was the laughter.
Peter opened his eyes. There was light, but he couldn’t make out much more.
“Randy! He’s waking up!”
“Huh?” Peter sat up quickly, but he was aware that his spider-sense wasn’t ringing.
Finally, his eyes focused and he saw Betty Brant. And he was in his apartment. Randy emerged from the bedroom around the corner. May was in his hands, safe and sound. Peter saw he was laying on his futon with a blanket over his legs.
Wait…Betty…Betty was alive?
“Betty!” Peter leapt across the futon and grasped Betty Brant into a tight embrace. It made Smoke, the cat, leap from Betty’s lap. “Oh god! I thought you were dead!”
Betty didn’t offer any resistance to the embrace, but she said, “Well…I could say the same thing about you! I showed up last night, and Randy told me you’d gone out with Spider-Man. We both passed out with May, and then this morning, we found you sacked out on the couch. Peter…you weren’t sleeping. You were unconscious.”
Peter’s head was spinning. Randy was still standing silently in the hall, with May clinging to his chest, sucking on her thumb, going in and out of sleep. Betty didn’t let Peter go far when he released the embrace. She stared right in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Peter remembered. He was falling. He had seen another Rose Goblin. He…did he have another panic attack? * No…it was something else, but he couldn’t think about it right now. How did he get back to his apartment?
(*- issue 38 – panicking Bryan)
Peter looked down at his clothes. He wasn’t wearing his Spider-Man costume. Where was his costume? Where were his web-shooters? Almost frantically, Peter glanced at his locked suitcase, still where he had left it since he arrived back from Russia. *
(*- issue 41- jet-lagged Bryan)
There was something on top of the suitcase, something that Betty and Randy had apparently not noticed. There were only a few pieces, but Peter recognized them immediately: rose petals, sprinkled over his briefcase.
The Rose Goblin, Peter thought, she must have brought me back here. And changed my clothes? Good god, Liz…how psychotic are you? Who is this new Rose Goblin?
But he also remembered the Prowler…Eugene Patillo, formerly the fabulous Frog-man. And then the mysterious ninja, Ronin, who had gotten the best of both the Ghost and Spider-Man the night before.
Yes, his head was absolutely swimming. Peter began to furiously rub at his temples.
“Pete?” Randy called, concerned from the hall.
Betty grasped Peter’s shoulder. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No,” Peter answered after a while. “I’m okay. There was an explosion.”
“Yeah, I know.” Betty said, still close to him, “Urich called me and told me all about it. And it’s all over the news. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been there. Would you believe it took me an hour to get a cab out there? By the time I arrived, the fire department was already putting out the fire on the ship.”
“Huh?” Peter was confused. He had seen Betty…on the ship. She was there, with the Ghost, and Ronin. Peter had told her to leave as quickly as she could. “No, you were on the ship, right? Spider-Man told me—”
“Then Spider-Man lied to you.” Betty said quickly. “I wasn’t there. Urich said something about that too. I wasn’t there. I’m okay.”
Peter squinted. Why would Betty lie to him? “Okay.” Peter said quietly, “Right.”
Mayday had spotted her father. She reached toward him ecstatically. Peter’s face filled with color at the sight of her. He reached back. Randy obliged.
Peter squeezed May, hearing her laugh into his ear. “You sound so happy! You like Randy, don’t you, Mayday?”
Randy nervously rubbed his head, “Aw, she’s so well-behaved, all I gotta do is feed her and clean her butt.” Betty and Peter laughed out loud at that. Mayday’s smile grew wider.
Peter turned from his daughter, to the other girl sitting barefoot on the futon with him. Betty was dressed in a loose Derek Jeter jersey, and dark denim flares. Her eyes told Peter she was examining every inch of him, making sure he really was okay.
“Betty,” he chuckled, “I’m fine. Last night was just a bit hectic. I guess I got hit by a piece of shrapnel or something while I waited for Spidey. He must’ve brought me back here. But everything’s fine thanks to you two.”
Regardless of whether Betty felt it was necessary to hide where she was last night, Peter felt happy having her next to him. He couldn’t help it: his eyes began to move along her body, from her smooth ankles, up to her creamy neck. When his eyes finally met hers, Peter realized she’d been watching him admire her. A sly smile spread against her cheeks. A cautious look at each other’s lips—and all they could do was laugh.
“Hey.” Randy piped up, “Don’t let me interrupt anything.”
Peter and Betty only laughed louder and harder. Mayday joined them. It was strange: Peter saw his daughter and two of his best friends…and felt happy. It had been a harrowing night, but here were two people he’d let get close, and they’d made him and his daughter happy.
With everything that had been happening with the Ghost, Eugene, the Foolkiller, the World, and the Rose Goblin…Peter needed more time like this. He needed to pay more attention to his daughter, that was for sure. He needed to recharge the batteries. Then I can figure all this craziness out…just as long as nothing unexpected happens…
Peter suddenly felt a pain in his neck, and when he went to rub it, a haze of vertigo overtook him. But he steadied himself. Maybe that’s why I’m thinking so lucidly, I’ve probably got some sort of concussion…
Betty shook his shoulder again. Peter grasped her hand. “Thanks.” Peter looked her right in the eyes. “Are we still on for the Stacy Foundation dinner Saturday night?”
Betty snickered, “If you promise not to go out and get yourself killed before then!”
Peter raised two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“Uh-huh.” Betty’s smile retreated into a smirk. “You remember what I told you when you were eighteen and you finally asked me out on a date for the first time?”
Peter blushed; he did remember. He wearily looked up at Randy. Randy smiled and said, “Oh yeah. I wanna hear this.”
Betty’s fingers were suddenly entwined tightly with Peter’s own. The room suddenly felt much smaller, and much hotter. Peter took a deep breath when he looked back at Betty’s grin. Her lips absolutely shined.
“I said, ‘Parker…you’re too much of a thrillseeker for a girl like me’.”
“Bwahahahaha!” Randy clutched his stomach. “Yeah, no kidding, right? You got some kind of adrenaline fetish or something, Pete my bro!”
Peter finally let go of Mayday and let her ramble about the carpet in front of him. Then, he raised his hands and shook his head at his friends. “Alright. This is not turning into an intervention. I’m starving. What do you guys want for brunch?”
“Pizza!” Randy said, “A big one. Because we deserve nothing less.” Betty joined his laughter.
The laughter didn’t fade from Peter Parker’s apartment for the rest of the day.
The Prowler chuckled as he hit the ‘Enter’ key. “Bingo was his name-o.”
The d-drive slid open quickly, silently. The Prowler picked up the disc swiftly with a razor-sharp finger and tucked into a pocket on his utility belt. One more down. This was getting easier and easier every night. Standing from the desk, shutting down the computer, the Prowler was sure to leave everything the way he had found it.
He made no sound whatsoever as he moved to leave the same way he’d--
“What are you so happy about?”
“Gah!” the Prowler spun around, almost tripping over his own cape. His night vision lenses saw him perfectly.
Ronin stepped closer to him in the dark office.
“Who are you?” the Prowler tried to keep his voice down. “Why are you following me? I’m telling you, man, you better back off or—”
“Or what?” Ronin scoffed. “You’ll run away again? What are you trying to prove with these break-ins, Eugene? That you can be a superhero?”
“It was never about that!” The Prowler was quick to answer, but then he realized what he gave away. His posture became more defensive. “How do you know my name?”
Ronin shook his head. “I’ve been watching you. Just like I’ve been watching Peter Parker. You need to answer my question.”
“Why should I?”
“Because in about thirty seconds, six heavily armed guards are coming through that elevator.” Ronin thumbed over his shoulder. “If you answer me nicely, I might help you.”
The Prowler stiffened. “You’re bluffing. I studied the security system. I got through it fine. The encryption system on the computer was a piece of cake—”
Ronin waved his arms about the vast office. “This is Mys-Tech! You think their security is just technological? Don’t you do any research? There was a complex series of runes protecting this room, and you upset their balance the first step you took in here!”
The Prowler’s shoulders slumped. It had been rather simplistic to break into this place. But Eugene had just assumed he was getting better at this mask-and-cape game. He’d avoided security at Wilson Fisk’s own buildings! Doesn’t that mean he was pretty good at this? Maybe, maybe not.
“Now,” Ronin’s tone was growing impatient, “why are you doing this? You led Spider-Man and me to New York Harbor and we saw how that ended up…”
“The World.” He said it simply. “That’s what I’m looking for. Stane, Silvermane, Fujikawa, they all have some sort of shady deal with a phantom company—”
“Kronas,” Ronin finished.
“Yeah.” The Prowler looked nervously at the elevator. “I can’t find any record of this company anywhere prior to a few weeks ago, when they suddenly bought up dozens of small firms and banks. There’s only one name I can find to link this all together—”
“Lukin,” Ronin finished again.
The Prowler sighed. “Damn. You’re good.”
Ronin shook his head again. “No…I do my research.” He looked over his shoulder at the elevator. Then, back to the Prowler. “You ready for this?”
The Prowler crouched, ready for action. “Honestly? No.”
The elevator behind them opened smoothly without so much as a sound.
The hail of bullets that followed was much louder.
“Geez!” the Prowler immediately dived left, though he saw Ronin flip to the right.
The soldiers were out of the elevator—five of them, Ronin had been wrong—their booted heels slapped the tile floor in unison. Red laser sights waved in the darkness before more flashes of bullets. The soldiers’ uniforms matched the darkness, and the Prowler was thankful for his lenses. He wondered for a moment if Ronin had the same advantage.
Eugene reached for his utility belt. The gas pellets were in the third pouch on the left…got them! His clawed hands hurled three tiny silver balls in the direction of the soldiers. There was a hiss and a bang, and the soldiers were covered in smoke.
Ronin had retreated back a few steps, dodging bullets, but when he saw the smoke, his feet moved in a different direction. The billy club hung at his thigh, but he reached instead for the katana at his back. The sword was out, gleaming in what little moonlight shined through the windows.
Ronin jumped into the middle of the soldiers.
The blade in his hands darted through the air like a metallic bird, and the soldiers didn’t have time to bring up or aim their weapons. The sword sliced and pierced through their armor.
The Prowler could only stand and watch it all happen. The ninja seemed to have no trouble with the soldiers at all: kicks against forearms would make sure rifles shot only at the tile, laser sights darted all over like some light show, well-placed punches disoriented them enough for the sword to disarm them.
Finally, they were all on the ground, groaning and whimpering.
“Good job,” The Prowler said uncontrollably.
Ronin’s breathing was fierce. “We need to get out of here.”
The Prowler shrugged. “Looks like we can take our time.”
Ronin shook his head. “The elevator is moving again.”
The Prowler slumped, and realized again that Ronin was right. The ninja wasn’t done though. Standing over the soldiers, Ronin raised his sword again.
“What are you doing?” the Prowler asked.
Ronin ran his sword through the soldier’s chest, directly into his heart.
“Jesus!” the Prowler gasped. “Don’t kill them!”
But Ronin didn’t listen. He approached the other four soldiers, and quickly, silently, efficiently, forced the blade into each of their chests.
“No!” the Prowler was running toward Ronin, not able to stop himself. He wrapped clawed gloves around Ronin’s throat and pushed him against the wall.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Eugene screamed at him.
Ronin’s knee was quickly in the Prowler’s gut. Eugene stumbled backward, surprised that the armor guarding his abdomen hadn’t absorbed more of the blow. Ronin cracked a punch across his jaw. The Prowler hit the ground next to one of the dead soldiers.
“Idiot,” Ronin said. “They’re not human.”
Ronin reached toward the helmeted soldier lying next to the Prowler. Lifting the helmet, the Prowler saw a cold, emotionless, clay face underneath. In the next instant, the sculpted clay figure crumbled to dust, leaving on its armor behind.
“Holy crap,” the Prowler whispered.
“Do you understand the people you’re dealing with now?” Ronin pulled the Prowler from the floor, without his asking him to do so.
Ronin was close to the Prowler’s face when he said, “This is not something for an amateur. You’re only going to get yourself hurt. Is that what you want?”
The Prowler’s stance stiffened. Indignant, he said, “No, I know what I’ve got to do. I’m sorry. But you’re not going to stop me.”
Ronin stepped back. “Then God help you.”
In a few quick steps, Ronin was up on the ledge of the open window and jumping. The Prowler sighed, looked at the dust around him, and realized the elevator was still moving.
“Oops.” The Prowler headed for the open window himself, priming the grapping gun on his wrist. He felt his belt again for the disc that he had taken of Mys-tech’s dealings with Kronas Corporation…
“Gone!” Eugene stamped his foot. “That ninja sonovabitch!”
But the Prowler couldn’t waste any time. He jumped out of the window just as the elevators doors opened.
Saturday
“How old did you say this thing was?” Peter gazed at himself in the mirror.
“Oh, do I have to put a number on it?” Aunt May was leaning in the doorway, also taking in Peter’s visage. “Let’s say it’s at least twice your age.”
Peter flexed his waist, then bent down to touch his toes. The tuxedo didn’t give one hint that it would rip. He buttoned one button toward the middle of the jacket, then adjusted his cuffs. “Well, you’ve kept it in good shape.”
Aunt May didn’t respond. Peter looked wearily over his shoulder. She kept staring at him, and Peter could see the tears welling in her eyes. “You know, Peter,” May started, but she seemed to have a difficult time finishing, “I think it’s great that, well, you’re going to dinner, especially since Mary-Jane—” She tried but that’s all that got out before her lips started trembling too much.
Peter walked over to her and embraced her tightly. “Thank you, Aunt May.” He kissed her forehead. “You always know how to take care of me.”
May wiped her eyes and looked up at him. “It’s what I do best. Now you better hurry. If you get there on time, then that’ll be a surprise Betty Brant wasn’t expecting!”
Peter squinted. “Waitaminnit. I never told you I was meeting Betty Brant…”
May smiled wide and walked back out to the living room, where the smaller May was playing on the carpet. “When you were out at the park with May today, I had a nice long talk with Randy Robertson.”
Peter frowned as he followed her. “You’ve been talking to Randy?”
May laughed. “Oh, yes. Such a lovely young boy, I’ve always thought…”
Peter shook his head, but then leaned down to kiss Aunt May on the cheek. “He must have good genes. Just like me!” He squatted down, and looked his daughter in the eye. Little May scuttled across the carpet into his arms. Peter picked her up and kissed her a half-dozen times all over her face, making the girl squeal with laughter. After he was done laughing too, he rubbed his nose against his daughter’s and said, “You get to bed at a decent hour, young lady! Don’t keep Aunt May up waiting all night like I used to!”
May shrugged. “That’s okay, honey. Anna’s coming over later and it’s our mission to spoil her so much, she’ll have no choice but to pass out from the exhaustion.”
Peter laughed on his way to the door. “I can’t thank you enough, Aunt May.”
May smiled as she watched him go. “Just get the suit back to me—without any lipstick on the collar!”
“No promises!” Peter shut the door after him.
It had been nearly a week since the Foolkiller had made his fateful promise to Curt Connors. And the doctor was sure that it wouldn’t be long now…
He was starting to smell things with the tip of his tongue…
His clothes bothered him incessantly, and when he was naked in his cell, he realized the cold didn’t bother him at all…
He could see perfectly in the dark…
He could have sworn that the stump of a left arm was slowly, ever so slowly, getting larger, longer…
Worst of all, he was getting the sensation that he had another limb on his body, one that would have protruded just at the end of his tailbone…
“Alright, Connors!” a voice shocked him from a forced slumber. “Time to go!”
“What?” Connors yelled. “Go? Go where?”
Two uniformed police officers stood at his cell door. A third man, just in between them, was dressed in a suit and wore a white lab coat over it. He flicked at a syringe in his hand. Connors knew it was just a sedative, in case he was to resist the transfer, but after the Foolkiller just waltzed in and out of his cell nights before, he didn’t trust any of them. He hadn’t even asked for help to ward off the transformation, because he knew he wouldn’t have gotten any.
“Transfer.” One of the officers answered him, “You were told about this the day you were locked up. Come on. And for Christ’s sake, put your damn clothes on.”
Connors suddenly started shaking. He had been told about this, but with everything that had gone on, he had forgotten.
“No.” Connors said quickly. “You can’t. You know what’s going on with me, don’t you? You can’t take me anywhere. The safest place for me is behind these bars, right now! It’s going to happen any minute! Any undue stress could—”
The officers looked at each other, and then at the doctor between them. They nodded at that doctor. One of the officers pulled out a key and opened the cell door quickly. “Come on, doc,” he said, “Let’s not make this any more painful than it has to be…”
“No!” Connors repeated, and he backed himself into a corner of his cell, curling his naked body into a ball. He flailed his limbs at the officers, but they grabbed him and held him tight.
“Don’t!” Connors yelled, “Don’t touch me! You’ll all regret it! You don’t understand what’s happening to me! He wants you to do this! He wants this to happen!”
“Jesus.” One of the officers said, “Paranoid whacko. Maybe those talk shows were right about him after all…”
“Hold him steady.” A new voice said, and it must have belonged to the doctor.
“No!” Connors was able to say once more before he felt a puncture at the base of his spine. It didn’t hurt much at all, but he still howled in pain…
…and Connors knew there was nothing more he could do.
With an arm that he didn’t have seconds before, one policeman was flung to the far end of the cell, his head cracking against the bars with a sickening sound. The other policeman felt clawed fingers gauge into his eyeballs, before another claw whipped him by the neck to smash his face into cold brick.
The doctor was scurrying on the cold floor, trying to get out of the cell, but he was blocked by the prone body of a policeman. When he looked back at Connors, what he saw wasn’t Curt Connors at all.
It was a huge, hulking creature. Scales gleamed in the dull light, and a long, colorful fin ran down its spine. Bulging eyes glowed yellow. A long snout smiled to reveal pointed teeth dripping with saliva…or was that venom? The doctor didn’t have long to think about it before a thick tail cracked across his jaw sending his world into darkness.
The Lizard was back.
NEXT ISSUE: Spider-Man vs. the Lizard! Nuff said!