In case you missed it...
(or in case the writer took a ridiculously long time to write this issue)
-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 and Liz Osborn. (issues 39, 40, 42) But the one man connected to all of them is Alexander Lukin (issues 40, 43)…who’s just purchased Oscorp and Kingsley Limited! (issue 46)
-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 gotten someone else to don the Rose Goblin costume! (issue 42) But that couldn’t stop Lukin from taking Oscorp from her. Liz didn’t take that too kindly. (issue 46)
-Eugene Patillo-Slodnik, the formerly fabulous Frog-man, has reappeared wearing the stolen costume of Spidey’s ally, the Prowler (Annual 2007, issue 41). Eugene is eager to help Peter however, and has given both Spidey and Betty Brant information regarding the World (issues 41, 42)
-Randy Robertson has returned to Peter’s life…and his spare room (Annual 2007). Randy revealed that he’s known for a little while that Peter is Spider-Man. But, he admires Peter, enough so to take care of Mayday while he plays hero (issues 45, 47)
-Angela Yin told Peter point-blank that she wants to be Spidey’s new photographer. (Annual 2007) She even went so far as to interject herself into Spidey’s fight with the Lizard and then again with the Hobgoblin and the Foolkiller (issues 44-46) which had devastating consequences for the young photographer…she was shot (issue 46). But Peter was able to keep her alive with the help of the Night Nurses (last issue)
-Peter and Betty Brant have been enjoying each other’s company, but their first date was interrupted, and in turn gave Peter a bad case of food poisoning (issues 44, 45). Betty nursed Peter thru it, even going so far as to look after Mayday as Peter was off with Angela Yin. After the events of last issue, it seems Betty and Peter might be taking their relationship to another level.
-A new Foolkiller has started a strange pattern of murders and assaults in order to crush Spider-Man. The victims include J. Jonah Jameson (issue 38) and Curt Connors (Annual 2007), the latter of whom went to jail for the Foolkiller’s crime. The Foolkiller then used a placebo formula on the incarcerated Connors—freeing the Lizard! (issues 43-45) He has even manipulated the Chameleon into helping with some unknown mission (issue 42) When Spidey finally confronted him, the Foolkiller’s identity disturbingly reminded Spidey of his old friend, Russ Anderson…(issue 46)
-J. Jonah Jameson has taken the Foolkiller matter into his own hands, hiring the Heroes For Hire to investigate, which they have (Max2000 issues 21, 24, 27). On top of that, the Foolkiller has tangled with the Punisher, Daredevil and Doc Samson. Makes you wonder what that means for our favorite wall-crawler…
(or in case the writer took a ridiculously long time to write this issue)
-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 and Liz Osborn. (issues 39, 40, 42) But the one man connected to all of them is Alexander Lukin (issues 40, 43)…who’s just purchased Oscorp and Kingsley Limited! (issue 46)
-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 gotten someone else to don the Rose Goblin costume! (issue 42) But that couldn’t stop Lukin from taking Oscorp from her. Liz didn’t take that too kindly. (issue 46)
-Eugene Patillo-Slodnik, the formerly fabulous Frog-man, has reappeared wearing the stolen costume of Spidey’s ally, the Prowler (Annual 2007, issue 41). Eugene is eager to help Peter however, and has given both Spidey and Betty Brant information regarding the World (issues 41, 42)
-Randy Robertson has returned to Peter’s life…and his spare room (Annual 2007). Randy revealed that he’s known for a little while that Peter is Spider-Man. But, he admires Peter, enough so to take care of Mayday while he plays hero (issues 45, 47)
-Angela Yin told Peter point-blank that she wants to be Spidey’s new photographer. (Annual 2007) She even went so far as to interject herself into Spidey’s fight with the Lizard and then again with the Hobgoblin and the Foolkiller (issues 44-46) which had devastating consequences for the young photographer…she was shot (issue 46). But Peter was able to keep her alive with the help of the Night Nurses (last issue)
-Peter and Betty Brant have been enjoying each other’s company, but their first date was interrupted, and in turn gave Peter a bad case of food poisoning (issues 44, 45). Betty nursed Peter thru it, even going so far as to look after Mayday as Peter was off with Angela Yin. After the events of last issue, it seems Betty and Peter might be taking their relationship to another level.
-A new Foolkiller has started a strange pattern of murders and assaults in order to crush Spider-Man. The victims include J. Jonah Jameson (issue 38) and Curt Connors (Annual 2007), the latter of whom went to jail for the Foolkiller’s crime. The Foolkiller then used a placebo formula on the incarcerated Connors—freeing the Lizard! (issues 43-45) He has even manipulated the Chameleon into helping with some unknown mission (issue 42) When Spidey finally confronted him, the Foolkiller’s identity disturbingly reminded Spidey of his old friend, Russ Anderson…(issue 46)
-J. Jonah Jameson has taken the Foolkiller matter into his own hands, hiring the Heroes For Hire to investigate, which they have (Max2000 issues 21, 24, 27). On top of that, the Foolkiller has tangled with the Punisher, Daredevil and Doc Samson. Makes you wonder what that means for our favorite wall-crawler…
Back to GatefoldIssue #48 by Bryan Locke
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"I, FOOLKILLER"
Part Four - Mad About You
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This is issue takes place simultaneously with Max 2000 issue 31. So if you want the whole story, you can check it out… but you don’t have to, just for this to make sense. I’m not cruel like that.
“So she hasn’t called you.”
“No.”
“How long has it been?”
“A week.”
“And you’re not going to call her.”
“She’s a very busy woman, Randy.”
“How noble of you to say so.” Randy took his feet off the coffee table and sat up. He grabbed the empty bowl that sat on the table (it had previously held cheerios in milk) and walked to the kitchen. “Peter Parker: Spider-Chicken!”
“Hey! It’s not like that!” Peter called to him. He heard more cheerios being poured into the bowl. He was half-conscious of May, playing around his wrists, curious of the web-shooters that Peter still wore there. “I mean, I never really knew anything about dating, even before I was a single dad and a superhero--”
“My chicken-sense is tingling!”
“Aw, come on--”
“Tingle!” Randy came from the kitchen, and handed the bowl to Mayday. She ignored it, still transfixed on the shiny gadgets around her father’s wrists. Randy gave up, and put the bowl back on the coffee table. He looked at Peter. “You married a super-model. And what’s the name of that babe you ‘partnered’ up with for a little while--the Black Kitty? Oh, man, I remember my freshman year of college, she was all new and sexy…and totally against the law. Like all the best things in life.”
Peter laughed. Randy had met Felicia out of costume, but Peter kept that to himself. His roommate may have recently been let in on Peter’s identity, but that’s as far as Randy Robertson needed to go.
“It’s different with Cat though…” Peter said, “I guess it’s always just so…casual.”
Randy scoffed, and rolled his eyes. “You are sooooo not qualified to whine to me right now.”
At that point, Mayday pounced. She pressed her tiny hands against the lever lining Peter’s palm to the web-shooters. Instantly, a web-jet rocketed from Peter’s wrist, flying halfway across the living room, knocking over a potted plant, spilling soil and foliage along the carpet.
“Ah!” Peter jerked his wrist away from Mayday. “That’s what I get for sleeping with these things on!” He gently rubbed May’s unkempt curls. “These are not toys, young lady.”
Randy chuckled. “They’re gonna be hers one day. Might as well let her take ‘em out for a spin.”
Peter pointed at him, but kept his eyes on Mayday. “Uncle Randy is not helping. If you want that car when you turn sixteen, don’t ever take his side against me.”
“Who’re you kidding?” Randy said sarcastically, standing yet again. He walked over to the upturned potted plant. “What will she ever need a car for?” He set the plant right-side-up.
Peter threw up his hands. “Hey, all kidding aside, Rand, between you and Betty and Glory, I could learn a lesson on parenting.” Peter’s tone was half-joking, but inside, he hurt for the truth he felt.
Since Angela Yin had been gunned down, Peter had found it tough to leave behind those he cared about. Not just Mayday, but Aunt May and even Randy. It was even a big part of the reason he hadn’t called Betty. He kept thinking about Angela, and how she thought tagging along with Spider-Man was an easy meal ticket. Peter had stayed at home, thinking about all of them. It was the only thing he could do. There were times in the past week, like last night, when he even felt the impulse to go web-slinging. Peter knew there were so many threads he’d yet to take care of: the Ghost, Ronin, the World, the Lizard, and of course…the Foolkiller.
Peter had put on the costume, web-shooters and everything…and he couldn’t do it. His chest felt heavy, and his breath couldn’t come quickly enough. So Peter leaned back to simply relax, only to be awakened in the morning by his daughter’s crying. It wasn’t the only time that happened this week. The anxiety Peter had been feeling in the weeks before was returning. Whether Peter liked it or not, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything for the past seven days but work on his parenting skills.
Randy shrugged. “Babysitting is a far cry from parenting. I’ll leave it to you. All she does half the day is sleep. I’m telling you, these are the easy years.”
Peter again jerked away to keep Mayday from the web-shooters. “Tell that to her! She’s immune to my spider-sense.”
Randy laughed. “You think you can actually predict what trouble your kid’s gonna get into? No parent in the world can do that!”
Then came a sharp knocking at Peter’s apartment door. Randy and Peter both shot each other a suspicious look.
Peter said in a low voice, “Did you drop off the rent?”
“Yeah.” Randy whispered, “But I admit…I lied on my taxes. I can’t claim my tips, man. That’s un-American.”
Peter slapped his forehead. “Great. The taxman’s knocking on my door…” He took a deep breath, grasped May tight to his hip (almost like a football) and walked gently to take a gander through the peep hole.
Randy jumped off the couch and whispered, “Web-shooters!” He made the ‘spidey-fingers’.
“Oh yeah…” Peter remembered, then fluidly whipped them off, tossing them to Randy, all while deftly balancing Mayday against him. Almost as soon as Randy disappeared into Peter’s room with the web-shooters, Mayday started bawling. Peter sighed, before he gazed through the peep hole. And his eyes widened. He took a step back from the door, as though looking through the wood. His daughter’s wailing was a second thought. “I don’t believe it…” He opened the door.
“Peter. Did I come at a bad time?”
Arthur Stacy was still wearing the same long, brown overcoat that he had worn almost every time Peter (or Spider-Man, rather) had encountered him. Solemn, sullen eyes were brightened by a wide smile. No matter how many times Peter saw him, Arthur always reminded Peter of his hero: Captain George Stacy. Arthur curiously eyed the wailing child in Peter’s arms.
Peter was speechless for a second, looking from Arthur to Mayday to Arthur to Mayday and then finally back to Arthur again before saying, “Arthur! No, it’s never a bad time. It’s been forever. Really. Um, Mayday’s just feeling noisy right now.” Peter kissed her shaggy curls. “She’ll wear herself out in a couple minutes, trust me.”
Arthur leaned to shake Mayday’s hand with his index finger. “Hello there, young lady.” Mayday suddenly quieted, if only curious of a new face. “I’ve heard of you. Thank God there’s still someone in the world as beautiful as your mother.” May grabbed his finger, and examined it.
Randy suddenly reappeared from Peter’s bedroom, waving a small stuffed toy modeled after Benjamin Grimm. He stopped when he saw Arthur. “Mister Stacy!”
Arthur laughed. “Randall Rupert Robertson!” He put his hands on his hips. “It has been a long time, but you look exactly the same. Are you staying out of trouble? Be honest with me!”
Randy looked at his feet. “Yes, Mister Stacy.”
“Good.” Arthur seemed to believe Randy. “I haven’t talked to your father in a while. But I suppose I’ll see him tonight.” Then, Arthur turned back to Peter. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about, son. Do you have a couple minutes?”
Peter gulped. He had a sinking suspicion what this was all about. Paul Stacy, Arthur’s son, was connected to the Foolkiller somehow--or at least Peter had a strange feeling he was.* But the face that Peter had seen under the Foolkiller mask was definitely not Paul’s.**
Betty and the indomitable J. Jonah Jameson were working on the Foolkiller case, and had told Spider-Man, quite bluntly, to not get involved**. As much as Peter hated to admit it, the sheer disdain Betty displayed for Spidey was also a big part of the reason Peter had such a quiet week. But of course, Arthur Stacy would eventually get involved if his son was up to no good. There was no way Peter would turn down Arthur Stacy if the man needed help. Peter felt a chill as he thought of how deep Paul may have fallen, in order to involve his father like this.
(* back in M2K’s ASM 43 and **-last issue - Bryan)
“Sure, Arthur. I’ve always got some time.” Peter said, and he pushed Randy out of the doorway, so Arthur could walk in.
“Here…” Randy took May from Peter. “I got this.”
“Thanks, Rand.” Peter chuckled, and he walked with Arthur into the living room. “What can I do for you, Arthur? You want some coffee? Randy makes like three pots a day…”
“No, no, thank you though. I can’t stay long, Peter.” Arthur said. “I…” and he looked over his shoulder to make sure Randy was out of earshot. “I need you to deliver a message to Spider-Man for me. You cannot fathom how important this is.”
Peter felt that sinking feeling get a whole lot deeper. Angela Yin had played the same card…and look where she was now.
“Two days ago,” Arthur said, “I got a phone call...from Betty Brant.”
“Betty?” Peter said her name half-consciously. It seemed like no one was going to let him take his mind off her.
Arthur nodded. “You two’ve worked together at the Daily Bugle over the years, right?”
“Uh, oh, yeah.” Peter said quickly. “We’re…uh, old friends. We go way back.”
Arthur rubbed his chin, looking at the floor, like he wasn’t focused on Peter at all. “Well, anyway, she told me…she told me…” He took a deep breath, and shuddered.
Peter put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur? Are you okay?”
Again, Arthur looked like he had forgotten Peter’s presence, even in the middle of in Peter’s apartment, with Peter grasping his shoulder. Peter squeezed a little tighter.
Arthur jolted, with another breath. He waved off Peter’s hand, languidly. “I’m--I’m sorry, Peter. I just…” Another breath, and he wiped at his forehead quickly. Peter could see the sweat glistening there. “I just don’t know what to do about that boy anymore…”
“You mean…Paul?” Peter furled his brow, observing Arthur intently.
Arthur nodded again, this time a bit more hurriedly. “Betty Brant--she told me these things, Peter, and I just…I just couldn’t believe they were true. But,” and now Arthur started rubbing his chest a bit, like his collar was bothering him, “I know it’s all true.” His face hardened. “It didn’t take me long to check what Betty had said. I know people. I’ve got connections. But there’s just one more source I have check…” And Arthur turned to Peter.
Peter could see how the color had washed from Arthur’s face. This man who had once been so full of life, so full of vigor and morality, up to the point that Peter could only hope to match it…Arthur Stacy was almost sapped of it all.
“I need Spider-Man.” Arthur said. “I need him to help me…help my son.” His right hand rubbed his chest more forcefully.
Peter peered at him. “Arthur, maybe you should take a seat. You look like you haven’t slept in a couple days. Are you alright?”
Arthur took another deep breath. “Yes, thank you but, could I…have a glass of water?”
“Yeah!” Peter almost bounded to the kitchen. “Sure!” He remembered that Arthur Stacy didn’t like ice, as he fumbled with a mug from the cupboard, dashing to the fridge for some water. “So what, um, what’s happening with Paul? I don’t really know where Spidey is, ever, but I could definitely try to--”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
The mug was only half-full of water, when he dashed back into the living room. Arthur’s face was contorted, rigid, full of pain. He pounded at his chest with his right hand, a dull beat. His left arm was frozen in an awkward spasm.
“Arthur!”
Arthur Stacy fell to his knees. Then fell face-first on the carpet. Peter dropped the mug, and didn’t notice it shatter at his feet.
Peter already was knelt at his side. “Arthur!”
“Pete?” Randy emerged from the bedroom. Mayday was tight against his hip. “Is everything--holy crap! Mister Stacy!”
Peter looked at him, frantic. “Call 9-1-1! Now!”
Randy, with the hand not holding Mayday, whipped out his cell phone. His eyes were wide, seeing Arthur, trembling on the carpet. He dashed for the front door. “Peter! Doctor Mulroony, two apartments down! I’m gonna go get him!” Then, as he was leaving the apartment, Randy started to speak into the phone, “Yes! I’ve got an emergency in Hamilton Heights, I’m at…” and his voice faded for Mayday had started screaming. The yelling no doubt had terrified her…
Peter tried to focus on Arthur’s life. “Come on, talk to me, Arthur. Say something, anything!” Peter wanted to wrench at the man, pull him to his feet, but Peter was afraid to touch him at all, and risk making everything worse.
But Arthur finally showed some sort of energy, and he tugged at Peter’s sleeve. With a grasp, he turned himself over on his back. He moaned like it was the last of his strength. “Peter…Spider-Man…you…”
Peter leaned in. “Stay with me, Arthur. We’re getting help! Just stay--”
Arthur seized Peter’s collar with a tight, white fist. He pulled Peter close, and forced his words out like a growl. “No! My son! Spider-Man…Peter…must save my son…” There was something in Arthur’s hand that Peter hadn’t seen before. Quivering, Arthur shoved the small, thick paper into Peter’s palm. Arthur’s eyes bulged from his colorless face. “Please…save him…save him from himself!”
Peter could barely take his eyes off Arthur to recognize what had been put in his hand. A Stacy Foundation Benefit invitation?
Arthur let go. His head fell back against the carpet. One more deep breath, he closed his eyes, and lay still.
Peter screamed, “Arthur!” one last time, and started CPR.
Darkness fell quickly in the city. Deep in the ridges of his brain that still registered logical thought, the Lizard knew that this was the time to act. Vibration and heat had calmed, as much as they could, through the walls and waters of the New York sewer, particularly in this part of the Alley, underneath Mutant Town*. His eyes had no trouble in the darkness, and he was dimly aware of symbols and words scrawled all over the walls, scratched--etched.
(*-which is where we last saw the Lizard, of course, set before Uncanny X-Men #1 - Bryan)
The Lizard didn’t know where these things had come from, or why they were so interesting to him. He even traced over them with his claws…the letters…
“Esss…teee…aayyy…seee…wwyyyy…” it was more of a growl than a thought.
But something did click along those reptilian grooves under his elongated skull. All of the pain, rage and hunger that was inside of him--everything that appealed to this animal, would be fulfilled tonight. All he needed was the scent, and he knew where to go to find it.
Among the trash collected around his den, one newspaper was stretched out. The Lizard scanned the headline, not understanding whatsoever--
‘Stacy Foundation Awarded Triune Grant in 3 Yr Deal’
--and suddenly he knew where he was going, where he could find the scent of his prey. This was a specific animal in this urban jungle, and the Lizard was going to find him. He licked at the air, not because he could yet smell the thing, but to at least judge the air pressure and find the way out of the sewer. With purpose, invigorated, the Lizard trotted into a run to the northeast.
“Hold up there!” Randy snatched Mayday off the white/black checkered floor. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t escape that easily.”
May had been curious at the giant, flapping doors that would occasionally burst open with another stretcher, and another patient. At the entrance of the ICU in Empire State General Hospital, those doors were opening and shutting quite frequently. Randy was right to pick up May, as she narrowly avoided being trampled by another stretcher.
With a whine, May wiggled out of Randy’s grip. She sat down at her father’s feet, in the massive lobby just outside the ICU. The place was crowded, every narrow seat full, none watching the televisions blaring news overhead. Peter, with his elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, looked at his daughter, and smiled wide. Mayday let out a giggle.
For the first time in the last hour, Randy saw a little bit of enthusiasm rush into his roommate. Peter scooped Mayday up into his hands, and nuzzled her. Mayday was a lot more receptive than she had been with Randy seconds before.
Randy slapped Peter on the back lightly as he sat down next to him. “How you holdin’ up, man?”
Peter sighed, but he kissed May on the cheek. “Oh pretty good, despite that fact that people I know keep getting sent to intensive care*. The nurses on duty remembered my name as soon as I came in with the emergency crews.”
(*-let’s count: Jonah, Randy, Eugene and Angela have all been there in M2K canon - Bryan)
“How’s Mister Stacy?” Randy asked, lowly. “Have they told you anything else yet?”
Peter shook his head. “Same thing for hours now: he’s in stable condition but…it was a pretty bad heart attack…” He huffed and looked at his daughter again.
Randy slumped. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Not your fault, Randy.” Peter sighed. “He was so stressed by this whole situation. And I know he gave me this invitation for a reason. I bet Jonah and Betty are gonna confront Paul at this benefit dinner.”
Randy whispered, “You think he wanted the web-slinger there?”
Peter shrugged. “Randy, I really don’t know if I’m up for it. Who knows if I won’t just make this whole situation worse--”
“Whatever, man!” Randy leaned up. “I’m tired of everyone coming down hard on you. It’s like I’m the only one who appreciates what you’re trying to do. After everything you’ve been through? Hell, after everything we’ve been through…you’re still fighting the good fight. All any of us can ever do is try our best. You’re trying to do the best for everyone…not just Mayday. Why can’t everyone else see that?”
Peter scoffed. “Oh, right. The good fight is turning me into, like, the worst dad of all time…”
Randy said, “Hey, it’s not like you were asking for the job when you got it. And yeah, some would say you’re crazy for still doing what you do. But I’d say they’re crazy for thinking you could ever do anything else. You don’t have to justify it to anyone. Well, not me.”
He leaned in close to Peter, after checking over his shoulder. Nobody in the crowded waiting room was watching them. He said, “To be honest, I envy you, Pete. You know who your friends are, and you know who your enemies are. Even if those same people don’t truly know who you are. You just had a nice week off, so now its time to get back to putting your friends and your enemies back where you want them. Because you’re in a unique position where you can make that happen.”
Peter shuddered. His head felt heavy. “Randy…at this point, I expect all my friends to wind up in this place.” He glanced down at Mayday, but Randy’s words were in his head: All we can do is try our best… His mind lingered a bit more until finally, Peter brightened. “That’s it!”
“That’s what?” Randy perked up. “That’s the last diaper?”
“I do know who my friends are, Randy.” Peter scooped his daughter into the air and kissed her cheek. “And I should never be afraid to ask for their help.”
A Couple Hours Later…
Spider-Man had been perched atop the adjacent roof from the ESU Science Center for ten minutes before she showed up. Peter hadn’t been back to the massive complex since the murder of Gilbert Wiles, one of Peter’s microbiology professors, along with Curt Connors. But that wasn’t because he was unnerved by the place; his classes had simply been moved to a different part of the campus. But he was still unnerved when he thought about why she would’ve wanted to meet him here, of all places.
There was the softest sound of heels touching rooftop (no chance his spider-sense could warn him of her, after all) and Spider-Man sprung on one heel to turn. Peter smiled underneath his mask.
She was beautiful. Every time Peter saw her, he was struck. Natasha Romanov simply stood there and already Peter was hooked in the Black Widow’s web. Red locks reminded him of Mary-Jane, but Natasha had these eyes that certainly didn’t. Her voice felt like a smooth Tchaikovsky composition: “Spider-Man. I’ve got something for you.”
A small satchel sat at her hip, and Natasha revealed a thin tablet from within. She tapped it a few times, it brightened, and she handed it to Spider-Man.
“What’s this?” Spidey asked.
“Read it, web-head.” the Black Widow’s tone was more than serious. “I’ve been following your lead on the Foolkiller since you mentioned it to me after that incident with…Daredevil.* And I don’t like what I’ve found. I don’t think you will either…”
(*- back in Black Widow issue 23, universally loved and rightfully so - Bryan, universally loving)
Spidey gulped, and read what the spy had brought him.
Another hour later…
Strong winds carried Spider-Man through another flip, another -thwip!-, and another swing. He was almost to the renovated ESU campus, recognizing it as the architecture starkly shifted to a modern, energy-efficient design. The campus was always bright; the glass structures glimmered from within like luminescent stalagmites. Not many places to change into a tuxedo, but Peter was able to duck between two enormous SUVs in the crowded parking lot, trusting his spider-sense to warn him of any on-lookers.
Peter shuffled up the sidewalk, and through the entrance of the Buscema Center, flashing the invitation Arthur had dropped into his palm. Along the way Peter shook the hands of many elegantly dressed men and women, all standing in a line, all looking very happy he had stepped foot inside. Along their collars or cufflinks, Peter could see the insignia of the Stacy Foundation.
The narrow hall then expanded into the wide, simple master ballroom of the Center, which was just one part of the larger construct above and below, in the state of the art Empire State University campus. However, this Center didn’t have much of an educational purpose. The Buscema Center was meticulously designed to be eye-catching, and instantly appealing. ESU made quite a bit of money with this place, renting the space to different conventions and expos that passed through Manhattan. Set as it was in the center of the campus, bright and beautiful, it was little wonder that the place was packed almost every night of the week, with some sort of event or another. Of course, there had to be some part of the campus to entertain the people who weren’t brain-boxes or students. The ballroom was decently crowded with those sort of people tonight. Mostly the guests included hulking men in ill-fitting tuxedoes, who Peter assumed were the hard-working fire fighters being honored by the Stacy Foundation. They all looked like they’d rather be somewhere else. Peter didn’t blame them.
At least there looked to be some good food on the long tables lined strategically throughout the room. A bit farther from them, there was a circle of a dozen or so tables, each with seating for eight, and a podium in the middle of the setting. But nobody was sitting just yet. A jazz band was playing in another corner of the room, though no one was dancing. The festivities had just started.
Mmm the slightest tingle from my spider-sense…Peter instinctively looked to the ceiling. I wonder what…oh. Peter spied, over more than a few faces, the tall Lieutenant Marcus Stone, field leader of Code: Blue, and someone Spider-Man had run into a couple times recently. Stone had probably not forgotten what happened between Spidey and the Chameleon on Liberty Island*. And there’s was no way he’d forgotten the night the Lizard escaped the Midtown precinct…* Probably good to know Stone’s around. The guy’s got an honest heart and mind, and unfortunately, both want to bust my wall-crawling chops!
(*- issues 39 & 45 - Bryan)
Then Peter had to stop. He had spied Betty Brant, across the floor, next to Jonah and Robbie.
Betty had already spied him. And Peter could not believe what she was wearing.
“Peter!” That was not Betty. Ben Urich suddenly appeared beside him. A plate of something was in his hand. “Rangoon?” Ben offered.
Peter, remembering the last time he had eaten what Ben had offered, shook his head. “Thanks though, Ben.”
“Hey, I heard about Arthur Stacy just as I got here. Man, I can’t believe that. Was it really in your living room?”
Peter shot him a look. Ben shrugged. “Eh, sorry.”
Peter sighed. Then, he gazed in the short distance, “Do you see the gown Betty’s wearing?”
Ben pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked in that direction. “Mmm. Yes. That dress looks absolutely gorgeous. She told me who made it…oh, it was some famous label--”
“Kaufman Franco.”
“Oh yes, that’s right! It’s beautiful. I love how they can make dresses flow down to the bottom like that--”
“Bias cut.”
“Right right, that’s what they call it. And that color is wonderful. It’s some shade of black; Betty called it something else--”
“Onyx.”
“Oh yeah, it still looks black, you know? But those are real diamonds along the neckline--”
“Eighty diamonds…a hundred carats.”
“Exactly! Man, something like that, its gotta cost a small fortune--”
“One-hundred-seventy-thousand dollars. Only five were ever made.”
“Ha! Yeah, probably something like that! Err…wait, how do you know that, Parker?”
Peter shrugged.
“No, really, do you put on evening gowns as a hobby or--oh, here comes Betty right now.” Ben cleared his throat. “Oh hey, Betty, we were just admiring your diamonds. Rangoon?” He held up the tray to Betty as she drew nearer. Peter took a deep breath, and straightened his posture.
Betty shook her head. “I thought those were wontons. And keep them away from my dress. This was a gift from the king of Wakanda.” She turned to Peter. “But not for me.”
Peter chuckled, despite himself. Ben’s laugh was muffled by grub.
“Monica Rambeau let me borrow this for the dinner.” Betty looked along herself. “I didn’t really tell her I was going to confront a serial killer, but she was all like, ‘I have the perfect dress for you!’ and it wasn’t like I was going to turn this down once I saw it and…”
“Oh.” Ben said. “That must be where Peter knows it from then!” He munched on the last…wonton. “Is that right, Peter?” Ben slapped him a bit in the shoulder. “Peter?”
Peter knew staring at his feet was futile, and finally looked up at Ben. He coughed, “Um, what?”
Betty was already peering at him. “He said you’ve seen this dress before? Really?”
Peter winced. “Well…maybe. Yes. No, maybe.” Betty did not look impressed.
Ben said, “Oh, come on, Peter.” He looked at Betty, and took another bite. “Eighty diamonds. A hundred karats. Kaufman Franco. One-seventy-kay.” He swallowed. “Peter knew it all! I joked with him and said you’d think he--”
“Married a model or something.” Betty interrupted.
Peter turned white. Ben stopped before biting into that next bit of food.
Betty put her hands on her hips, and softly said, “Did…Mary-Jane model this dress?”
“Well look at that I need more rangoons I mean wontons I mean I’m just going to go over here…” Ben Urich was gone, with the tray he rode in on.
“She did, didn’t she?” Betty stood like she was still waiting for an answer.
“Well, MJ modeled a lot of dresses--”
“I knew it, I knew it.”
“--and it’s not like I remember all of them--”
“But you remember this one. There were only five ever made.”
“--and Betty, you look great. Really--”
“I cannot believe this.”
“--hey, its just a coincidence. Of all the gowns in all the superhero closets in all the world--”
“Three.”
“--what?”
Betty rubbed her forehead. “You don’t understand. Monica gave me a choice of three dresses. And I picked this one.” When she put her hands down, her eyes had welled with tears, possibly only held back by thin eye liner. “This is so embarrassing…”
Peter’s shoulders sunk. “Betty--”
“And did you lose your phone?” She suddenly snapped at him.
Peter stammered, “Er, no--”
“Then why haven’t you called me, Parker?” Betty huffed, and crossed her arms. “At least once? Common courtesy?”
The words of Randy Robertson came back to haunt Peter. His stomach was wrenching right now. He didn’t want to say anything else, lest he again make the whole situation worse. But he said, “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
“Yeah, you could’ve helped me pick a dress. Told me not to wear the one that reminds you of your wife.” Betty sniffed and swallowed. The tears seemed to be under control. “God, I haven’t worn anything this expensive since my wedding and look what happens…”
She abruptly pulled away. Peter looked past her shoulder, and saw Robbie Robertson there with Ben Urich. Robbie called, “Betty? Sorry to interrupt. We’re ready, or Jonah is finally ready.”
Ben chuckled, “Yeah, all he needed was a glass of wine and now he’s good to go.”
Robbie clutched Peter’s shoulder. “I heard about Arthur. Damn shame. Was Randy there?” Peter nodded. Robbie frowned. “Well, did he help, or did he just stand there gawking?”
Peter seemed a little jolted by the question, but said, “No, no, not at all. In fact, I don’t even know half my neighbors, but Randy knew that my neighbor two doors down was a doctor.”
Robbie didn’t seem convinced. “Well…I hope your not letting Randy take advantage of your kindness. With May, you’ve got enough to worry about.”
“Yeah!” Ben said, “Like people having heart attacks in your living room! Man, that’s nuts.”
Robbie, Peter and Betty all shot him the same look. Ben shrugged. “Arthur’s a fighter. Come on.” Robbie nudged Ben and pulled him back over toward Jonah.
Betty was ready to leave Peter to join Robbie and Ben. “Don’t run off, Parker. Who knows how Paul’s going to react when Jonah confronts him--”
“Betty,” Peter reached, and clutched her wrist. He leaned in to whisper, “Does Jonah even know what he’s doing? I know he never takes vigilantes seriously, but he’s not even thinking about letting in the police--”
“Use your head, Peter.” Betty took Peter’s hand off hers, but gently. “The police are working with the Foolkiller…or at least ignoring him. Do you realize how much money Paul Stacy and these--” she waved her arms around her “--these money-making stunts are responsible for pouring into New York City social services? We don’t even know if we can trust Lieutenant Stone over there. But everybody will know the truth in the morning when the papers hit the stands.”
“Parker!”
Peter immediately recognized the voice. He was hoping for another good few minutes without hearing it. But the people standing around Betty and him had parted, to make room for Paul Stacy. Betty was suddenly clutching Peter’s hand again.
Paul’s blonde hair was slick, and stuck to his face a little bit. His goatee was bushy, ruffled. His eyes were red. His tie was loose. He smiled, and took another sip from his half-empty wine flute. “You really showed up here? After what you’ve done to my father? You think I wouldn’t have found out?!”
Peter didn’t want to shout over the space between them, but Paul was drawing nearer. Everybody was staring at the two of them anyway.
This was it. Peter’s eyes flashed toward Jonah and Robbie. He saw that they were peering, wondering how the situation would unfold. Peter gulped, and wondered too.
“I didn’t do anything to your father, Paul.” Peter said sternly. “He came to my home today, to give me a warning.” He paused before continuing. Jonah and Robbie still did not look ready to jump in. Peter said, “He wanted to give me a warning about you.”
Paul’s sauntering slowed. He eyed Peter carefully, aware he was putting on a show. Peter took a deep breath, and remembered, oddly again, the words of Randy Robertson. Under his breath, “You’re a hero for a reason…”
Betty caught it. “What did you say?”
“Say again?” Paul spat. “A warning? Ha! You’re not going to pull that one, Parker.” Paul sipped and smacked his lips. “My father is proud of me! Everyone knows that. And why shouldn’t he be? I’ve done more with this whole thing in a few months than he and Aunt Helen have done in years.”
“That’s not all you’ve been doing!” J. Jonah Jameson barked. All eyes shifted to him.
Paul suddenly frowned. His lips curled downward sharply. “Jameson.” He said the word like it was a bad taste in his mouth. “And to think this party was supposed to be invitation only.”
“We were invited.” Jonah walked toward Betty and Peter. Robbie and Ben kept close to him. “One call to your aunt, Helen Stacy--I’ve stayed in touch with George’s wife--and it was easy to get in here. Especially after Arthur told her everything about you.”
Paul pulled at his collar. “What kind of lies did you tell her, you hack?”
Jonah snarled. “Assault! Extortion! Murder!” He held up his fingers. “Eight people. Dead. Killed by you.”
The entire ballroom gasped. Betty grasped Peter’s arm and pulled him closer. Lieutenant Marcus Stone had suddenly moved closer as well. Jonah stood firm. Paul swayed as he watched the people stare and murmur about him. He shook his head furiously.
“Murder?” Paul looked shocked. “What? No! I’ve…I would never kill anyone!”
Now, Jonah took a step forward. “You…or the Foolkiller. Or maybe both. I’ve got the connections and I got the evidence, and it’s going front page tomorrow morning, kid.”
Paul’s face flushed with crimson, his eyes bulged. “How…dare you?!” Paul screamed. “You have no right to come in here and accuse me! None of you! I’m only doing the job my dad gave me. I’m the one that secured the grants and the funding that’s going to expand the Foundation worldwide!” Fury poured freely. “What kind of lies have you been telling my father?! None of you know me! Get out! All of you! Liars! You don’t know me and you’ll never know what I’ve done! You won’t--”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
Peter embraced Betty against him tightly, her face in his chest, to shield her. Glass suddenly sprayed inward from one of the many high clerestory windows that lined the western wall of the ballroom. Sparkling shards rained down on the scrambling guests. Screams welcomed a human body, clad all in black, as he tucked and rolled, until coming to a stand.
Black boots laced tightly up to his knees, meeting thick pants that looked like some kind of mesh. Kevlar covered his chest, and the mesh ran down his arms and up his neck. He wore a ski mask with some kind of goggles, shielding his eyes. In his gloved hands, swiftly, there was a gleaming, giant pistol. He fired at the vaulted ceiling twice, cracking thunder and gunpowder. The screams ceased.
“People!” he shouted. “On your knees! All of you!” He fired again at the ceiling. “Don’t make me say it again!”
Most people did as they were told. But there were those men who remained standing. Lieutenant Marcus Stone, and a grip of the tuxedoed fire-fighters had grouped together, defensively. Peter gently motioned to Betty, Jonah, Robbie and Ben to get down on their knees. None of them did so. Peter grimaced.
Lieutenant Stone was grim. “Who the hell are you? What do you think you’re--”
“Shut up!” the man yelled. “I’m the Foolkiller, and if you’re stupid enough to talk to me while I have this pistol aimed at your face, then maybe I should show you why that’s my name.” He motioned to the fire-fighters behind Stone. “You barbeque pigs keep back! Get down on your knees, and maybe you’ll live to save another kitten from a tall tree!”
Paul Stacy threw his wine flute to the floor, shattering it. “What’s the meaning of this?!”
The Foolkiller turned to him. “Paul…foolish Paul Stacy. You are the meaning of this. Your death, in front of all these people, is the reason I’m here. Maybe they’ll take something from it.”
Paul then grew pale. His eyes blinked with panic. “Wha…what? That--that’s not the deal! That’s not what we agreed!”
Peter’s spider-sense was a wailing migraine. Betty was still grasping him tight, like a security blanket. Robbie and Ben stood transfixed on Paul and the Foolkiller.
But Jonah…Jonah was fuming. “I knew it!” He pointed at both Paul and the Foolkiller. He even took a few paces toward them. “And now everyone knows it! You freaks!”
Paul shouted, “No! No! It’s not like that! You don’t understand!”
The Foolkiller turned the gun toward Jonah and barked, “You slimy little rat! Jameson! I knew I should’ve killed you a long time ago. I’ll have a special place in Heaven after I rid the world of a scum like you!”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
“Jonah!” Betty reached out, as if she could pull Jonah from the aim.
Another crash! But the pitch of shattering glass was overtaken by the roar of a monster. Jagged rain again splintered and crashed, from another high window. A hulking, green mass, with merely tatters of fabric covering a scaly hide, landed gracefully. The monster stood, stretched…then the Lizard flared his tongue and howled.
Betty let go of Peter, to press her hands hard against her ears. Robbie, Ben, and just about everybody else in the ballroom did the exact same thing. Some of the well-pampered guests even took the opportunity to run like hell, tripping over their dresses and heels and wingtips, holding onto each other, pushing each other, toward the only exit.
The Foolkiller stood frozen, glaring at the monster standing tall on shattered glass. Paul Stacy was helpless between them.
Peter acted. There was no time to lose. He’d just watched this entire situation grow worse, and then disastrous all in the span of two minutes. But…wasn’t that always how it happened? His mind flashed to the guests, and their safety.
Lieutenant Marcus Stone only stood maybe twenty yards from him. Panic and monsters were all around but Peter ran, grasped Stone by the shoulders. Stone still had his stare on the Foolkiller and the Lizard.
“Stone!” Peter said frantically, “You gotta get outside! You gotta help these people!”
Stone barely glanced at him. “Sir! Just get outside, if you like breathing. These super-punks are in for a dose of scientific whoop-ass. Confiscated from the Wingless Wizard himself.”
From inside the jacket of his tuxedo, Stone pulled out a tangle of a gun. Wires, tubes and metal all twisted and converged into a barrel and, at the opposite end, a handle. Indeed, on that handle, the word ‘whoop-ass’ was scrawled by sharpie marker.
He actually looked at Peter then. He said, “Parker. The photographer. The web-head’s groupie.” He frowned, suddenly registering Peter’s suggestion, and then lowered his pistol. “I’m calling for back-up and crowd control. I’m coming back, and Spider-Man better not be here or I’m bustin’ his ass too.”
Stone shot off toward the crowded exit. Peter looked back at the showdown.
“Sssstaayyyysssseeee….” the Lizard bellowed, and took a step toward Paul Stacy.
“No!” Paul stepped backward. “You don’t understand!”
The Lizard paused. The nostrils at the end of the scaled, long snout inhaled. Sharp teeth parted and a long tongue flickered. Talons upturned, the Lizard spun on arched heels toward the Foolkiller. The monster stepped, slowly, snarling.
The Foolkiller gritted his teeth and pointed his gun. “You always were less than a man, Connors. Now I’ve at least lowered you to your natural level. It’s your precious evolution, only in reverse! You are devolution personified! But fools are fools--no matter the species!” He fired three times.
The Lizard howled, and again the people who hadn’t yet cleared the ballroom, screamed and held their hands to their ears. Fire burned in the Lizard’s belly, and the pain showed. But the beast did not bleed.
“Betty!” Finally, Peter grasped Betty’s hand again. “That’s not gonna stop the Lizard. The Foolkiller’s only making him angry. You’ve got to get outta here.”
Betty pulled Peter close, but she didn’t make a move to the door. “That madman killed Leo.* If he gets eaten by the Lizard, I want to watch. Even if he doesn’t, there’s no way the bastard is walking out of this room on his own. We can’t let him get away.”
(*- Max 2000 issue 27 - Bryan)
“Brant’s right.” Jonah had a twisted look on his face, like the confrontation he watched was nothing more than a brutal, nature documentary. “This ends tonight. No matter what.”
Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had the Foolkiller really affected these two people that much? What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t about to leave their side to go put on his mask…
“Peter.” Robbie Robertson grabbed his shoulder. “Son, we’re the only ones here with families to get back to. Let’s get outside.” He nodded at Betty. “I trust they’ll know when to start running.”
Peter saw that look in Robbie’s eyes--the one that was becoming all too familiar. It was an unnatural look for Robbie…to lie. Robbie knew what Peter knew: Spider-Man was the only one who could turn this situation for the better…
The Foolkiller fired twice more at the Lizard’s scaly hide. That’s when the Lizard pounced.
“Gah!” the Foolkiller screamed, falling flat against his spine. The Lizard pinned him, keeping his wrists at his temples with razor sharp talons.
Peter got ready. The Foolkiller was a homicidal psychopath, but Peter still wasn’t about to let the Lizard kill him…even if that meant using his web-shooters in front of everyone here tonight.
The Lizard leaned back…widened his jaws…Peter raised his arms…
The monster’s jaws snapped shut. Wire, like a rocket noose, tied tightly around it. Crouching in the shattered hole of a window, the Black Widow pulled the wire taut. The Lizard let loose a muffled howl, whipped its snout in desperation to get free. The Black Widow allowed herself to fly forward, flipping, and controlled her fall with the wire leash slacked a little.
The Foolkiller furiously scrambled backward on his palms and heels. The Black Widow landed on the Lizard, straddling him at his thick neck. The Lizard lashed to and fro, but the wire did not loosen. The Black Widow wrapped the wire at specific angles around her own fists, wrists, and elbows, still clinging to the monster by her knees. The wire had even become wrapped at the Lizard’s forearms, pinning them in awkward angles against his chest. The Black Widow looked like she was simply in a tangled mess with the Lizard, but in fact, the more the Lizard struggled, the tighter the wire became…and more and more control shifted to her.
“Where does he think he’s going?!” Jonah snarled, and suddenly darted away. Paul Stacy was running for a side emergency exit.
“Jonah!” Betty went in one direction.
“Betty--” Peter went in the other.
She looked back at him, but only for that split second. It was not a goodbye.
Peter went with Robbie Robertson. Betty chased her boss.
Jonah leapt, and tackled Paul Stacy. “No!” Paul yelped. “I’m not--ungh!--I’m not the one you want! You don’t understand what you’re dealing with!”
Robbie shoved Peter through the crowds, toward a perpendicular hallway, one that led away from the exits. Robbie looked over his shoulder, and then let Peter go with a little push.
“Bathroom’s right down there.” Robbie whispered and pointed. “Change into your costume, and then put your clothes in the trash bin. I’ll come back for them. I’ll say we went back to your apartment, with Randy and May.”
Peter, for a second, didn’t know what to say. But he couldn’t waste time. “Robbie…thank you. For everything, over the years.”
Robbie shrugged, and turned back down the hallway. Before he went, he looked back at Peter. “I knew you were Spider-Man the first time I ever saw you. But, over the years, I convinced myself that you couldn’t…” and he paused before saying, “possibly be that stupid.” He shook his head. “Good luck. Kiss May good night for me.” Robbie bounded for the exit, among dozens of others.
The wire snapped in two. Natasha knew it eventually would, but she cursed that it couldn’t have held out ten seconds longer. The Lizard had been faltering, possibly losing oxygen. Ten seconds…maybe she could have bested the brute. But, of course, one second is all it takes to change your luck. She fell backward. The Lizard stretched his spine with roaring freedom. Natasha rolled down the monster’s rugged back, careful of the fin, and landed on her feet--
--where the Lizard’s hundred-pound tail smacked her across the face.
The Black Widow careened shoulder over shoulder until the smooth floor finally ceased her tumble. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her tongue was swelling. Lucky for her it was more blind luck than anything and the Lizard hadn’t put too much force into it. Natasha didn’t have to see where the Lizard was to know that she had to move immediately. Nothing more than a simple roll to her left.
The Lizard’s yellow teeth snapped through the space the Black Widow had just abandoned. Natasha forced a hard boot heel right in the beast’s jaw even as her head spun. The Lizard jerked back, widened his maw, ready to snap down again but--
“Whoa!” Spider-Man, on a web-line from the chandelier, swung both knees into the Lizard’s rugged torso. The Lizard tumbled to the side, away from the Black Widow. “Appetizers are at the other end of the room, sir! Try the rangoons!”
Natasha rubbed her temples as her eyesight adjusted. “Where’ve you been!”
“Been in the can.” Spidey crouched next to her. “Thanks for covering.”
“No problem.” Natasha stood up, then hunched. “Now what do we do?”
“Code: BLUE is on their way with a containment unit--probably less than five minutes out.” Spidey replied. “We just keep the Lizard from eating anyone…particularly the old guy with the flattop and the Hitler moustache.”
Natasha looked back at the Lizard. The beast was already up and resuming its stalk toward the Foolkiller. Apparently Natasha had not made enough of an impression to keep him from his real prey. Then again, who knew what was going on in that reptile brain? The Foolkiller was back up on his feet, and backing away into a run, almost on the other side of the ballroom.
“Ssstaaysseee…”
Jonah was still wrangling with Paul Stacy. Betty was frantically pulling her boss’s sleeve, but Jonah was locked with his hands in a stranglehold around Paul’s neck and arm.
“Ack! Stop! Hcck! You’re making a mistake! He made me do it! He--gaak!--made me do it!” Paul was trying to speak, but the words were barely more than a wheeze from his croaking throat.
“Tell it to the judge!” Jonah barked. His face was pink. His eyes were red.
“Jonah!” Betty, with both arms, jerked at Jonah’s elbow. “You’ve got to let him go before--”
The Lizard arched his long neck in her direction. His nostrils flared.
“Clock on the wall don’t say snack time!” Spidey yelled, and he took off on another webline.
Betty had dropped Jonah’s arm. She backed away slowly, heels clicking. Jonah was dimly aware she had let him go. He saw the shadow drape over him.
The Lizard’s snout was right there, over his shoulder. A long, rugged tongue flicked, smacked him in the forehead.
“Gah!” Jonah scrambled backward, halfway running, halfway falling. Betty caught him.
The Lizard averted his maw toward Paul Stacy, who was frozen with fear beneath him.
“No! Paul!” Spidey yelled. He was swinging in so close. He almost had Paul--
SPIDER-SENSE~!
--when the Lizard spun, lithely, whipping his tail into the air, and catching Spider-Man right in the chest. His lungs were knocked loose of air. His body flipped backward. He saw the face of the Black Widow quickly catching up to him. And then they both hit the floor hard. Just before the collision, Spider-Man yelled, “No! Paul!”
Paul Stacy was already screaming.
The Lizard bit his face off. Cleanly, smoothly. One bite.
“Oh my god!” Betty screamed.
Jonah snarled. The cigar fell out of his mouth, and he said, “I don’t believe it…”
Spider-Man saw, even as the Black Widow writhed to get out from under his weight, even as the Lizard stepped back and spat out what had been Paul Stacy’s face. Spider-Man saw what was left of Paul Stacy. Spider-Man saw--
“The Chameleon!”
“What?” Natasha looked up, and then toward the Lizard. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Betty had grasped Jonah’s shoulder and was pulling him back to the corner where Ben Urich had retreated. Jonah muttered, “I knew it. These freaks.”
The Chameleon brought his hand to his face, and felt the blank white mask there. He yelled, “See?! I told you! He made me do this! He made me wear this face! He forced me!”
Spider-Man sprang to his feet. “Okay…this party is over.” He glared across the ballroom, at the Foolkiller. So did the Lizard.
The Foolkiller was simply standing there, frozen in place. He still held his gun.
Spider-Man called to him. “What do you want, Paul? What do you want?!”
The Foolkiller met his eyes. “You.” He answered. “I want you. Dead. You dead, you fool. What else could I want?”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
The heavy pistol in the Foolkiller’s hand fired twice more from the hip. Spider-Man easily avoided the first. The second stung and burned as it grazed his shoulder. The Black Widow had already yanked a dinner plate from an abandoned table, and tossed it like a ceramic Frisbee.
The Foolkiller dashed out of the way, and the plate splintered on the wall behind him. The Lizard darted for him like a scaly sliver of lightning.
“Freeze!” Lieutenant Marcus Stone burst through the doors on the other side of the ballroom. In his hand was his ‘whoop-ass gun’. An entire cadre of similar-suited officers flowed through the entrance after him. Their guns were decidedly not as cool as Stone’s. “Sucker I said freeze!”
The Lizard did not freeze. Stone fired twice. What erupted from Stone’s pistol looked more like serpentine weeds than the actual, bleeding energy it was. Spewing forth, flashing green and blue alternately, it engulfed the Lizard like a gloved hand, only leaving an inky, floating trail leading back to the barrel of Stone’s pistol. The Lizard collapsed in a whimper. The monster struggled for a moment, then was paralyzed--but not unconscious. He twitched like he had been electrocuted, but yellow eyes were locked on the Foolkiller.
But the Foolkiller had already spied his next prey. Spider-Man launched two pellets of explosive ‘impact webbing’ but even then, the Foolkiller ducked under them, corralled the Chameleon around the neck.
“Don’t nobody move, or the schizo gets it!”
“Paul!” Spider-Man grasped his left arm where it had been singed, just beneath the shoulder. “Don’t--”
“Kill him!” the Chameleon screamed, “Don’t you get it?! I’ve been him! I’ve lived him! You need to kill him! It’s the only way you’ll stop--”
“All right!” Marcus Stone burst out again. Neither his odd gun nor his sharp aim wavered. “I want all you on your knees, hands on your--”
“Stand down, Lieutenant!” the Black Widow held up her Avengers badge. “This is official Avengers business! Back! Off!” The entirety of Code: Blue was silent and still. Stone only snarled, and kept his gun steady.
“No!” the Chameleon writhed against the Foolkiller, but he stayed wrangled. “You have to kill him! He’s crazy! This conspiracy goes so deep, you don’t understand--”
“I don’t know what you think you have left to lose, Paul,” Spider-Man ignored the Chameleon, “but there’s no changing where this is going.” He spoke as he walked slowly toward the Foolkiller. Code: Blue behind him, and the Black Widow to his side, did nothing. Spidey said, “If I ever did anything to bring you to this, then I am so sorry. But really, killing the Chameleon is not exactly the best way to get back at me, even at this stage--”
“Shut up!” the Foolkiller pointed his gun at him, and wrenched the Chameleon harder by the throat. The Chameleon gagged. The Foolkiller continued, “You think you’re the only one who can play with the lives of other people, Spider-Man? You think you’re the only one who can choose who lives and dies?”
Spidey shook his head. “You don’t get it at all, Paul. I’ve never thought like that, no matter what happened to your sister, your father…or to your cousin, and your uncle. I’ve known them all, and I’ve loved them all. Maybe I deserve your hate, but how many other people do? Where will the hate end?”
The Foolkiller snarled and rasped, “It ends right now.”
“Damn right.” that voice was not Spider-Man.
The Foolkiller looked over his shoulder and saw J. Jonah Jameson had his fist already cocked back. It connected with the Foolkiller’s jawbone, sending an echoing crack across the ballroom. The gun clattered to the floor. The Chameleon collapsed in a slump.
The Black Widow immediately moved in to drag the Chameleon away. Jonah crouched over the Foolkiller and pulled off the black ski mask.
Paul Stacy lay there with a bloody, fat lip. He smiled nonetheless. “Of course.” He gazed back at Spider-Man. “I should’ve known it would end this way. I go the way of my family. The Stacys must be needed in another world. This world and these fools must not be good enough.” Tears welled, and then streamed, though he laughed. “Just end me now.”
Spider-Man approached, weary that he was getting closer to two men who absolutely despised him. But Jonah seemed too captivated by Paul to pay any notice. Spider-Man said, “Paul…we aren’t going to kill you. There’s only one killer here right now--”
Paul closed his eyes and laughed louder, harder. “Do it! What are you waiting for?!”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
Spider-Man didn’t know where it was coming from. He just knew, instinctually, that he had to get Jonah--
“Down!” Spidey grabbed Jonah around the waist and pulled him to the floor with him.
Paul Stacy sat up. “Come on! What are you--”
A sickening shot--yet another crack of thunder--preceded the blood that sprayed from the back of Paul Stacy’s skull. The shot threw his body back an extra few feet, before it lay still, in an ever widening pool of blood.
“No! Paul!” Spider-Man cried, and he looked up.
“There!” the Black Widow pointed at the shattered window space high on the opposite wall of the ballroom.
Spider-Man was already in the air, swinging after him. That figure in black, almost identical to the Foolkiller on the floor, shimmied frantically down the simple rope that he had used to clamber upward. He hit the grassy soil, and Spider-Man was already in the clerestory window looming toward him.
“After him, boys!” Lieutenant Stone gave the call and Code: Blue dispersed.
“I said hold it, Lieutenant!” the Black Widow dashed in front of them. “We need an ambulance here. I’ll go after Spider-Man.”
Lieutenant Stone was never shy about getting right up in front of a woman’s face. He did so. “It’s too late for an ambulance, Widow. You know that. A man was just killed, in my precinct, right in front of my face. And at least one, maybe two Avengers did absolutely nothing to stop it. It’s not happening again. If you want to argue jurisdiction, I will be happy to talk to you about it once this is all over.”
Code: Blue again bolted past the Black Widow. Natasha frowned, and ran with them.
The Foolkiller had actually sprinted quite a distance from the Buscema Center already, through a brightly lit courtyard in the middle of campus. But it was nothing Spider-Man couldn’t reach. He bounded from the window, to the tree branch to open air, right onto the Foolkiller’s back.
Foolkiller? Another one? Spidey thought, as they tumbled together across the concrete.
“Why?!” Spider-Man shouted, and he knocked a forearm across the back of his quarry’s head.
The new Foolkiller writhed underneath Spider-Man, wildly kicking and throwing elbows. Still, Spider-Man was lithe enough to keep him pinned. Soon enough, Spidey had the Foolkiller’s wrists and ankles webbed, keeping his arm around the Foolkiller’s chin. Then, Spider-Man tore off his mask.
It was the same face, gaunt and sweat-soaked, that he’d seen the day Angela Yin was shot. The face with flashes of Russ Anderson. But this boy wasn’t nearly as wizened or stoic as the police detective Spidey knew.
“Why did you do it?” Spider-Man lifted him, and though bound at every limb, the Foolkiller fought to get free. It was to no avail. Spider-Man shook him. “Why did you kill him?! You were friends weren’t you?! Why did you do any of this?!”
The Foolkiller grunted and spat. “Justice. We all want justice, wall-crawler. We all have our own recipe of justice. You, us, and even my dad.”
Spidey shook his head. “You can’t be his son. He would’ve told me.”
The Foolkiller laughed. “Yeah, sure. Decorated officer Russell Anderson would’ve been completely honest about how he left his son, deciding himself that he was unfit to be a widowed father. Don’t talk to me about what my father would or wouldn’t have done!”
Spider-Man finally dropped him back onto the concrete of the courtyard. He said, “I know that your father wouldn’t have wanted this.”
“Nobody ever asked us what we wanted!” the Foolkiller yelled back at him. “Not me, not Paul, not any of us! Our families were killed, all in the name of some kind of cause or another, and nobody ever asked us if we needed help! So we helped each other. We met in support groups and camps. We stayed in touch through e-mails and blogs. We made each other feel better. We took our lives back! Back from you!”
“The only life you took,” Spidey said, “was Paul’s.”
The Foolkiller scoffed. “You idiot. Paul would have rather died than see everything we worked for come crashing down. He told me that himself. I felt the same way.” He closed his eyes. “And now…you have to kill me.”
Spider-Man shook his head. “I don’t kill.”
The Foolkiller opened his eyes again, and shook his head. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
Spider-Man spun on his heel, but something exploded by his feet. Some kind of gas…god, it’s so pungent…He dropped to his knees. Wearily, with his vision starting to blur and wave, Spidey saw feet approaching. With his strength quickly leaving him, Spider-Man stared at the newcomer.
“Greg Salinger…” Spider-Man heaved, and then slumped.
“He remembered me. I can’t believe he remembered me.” The tall, lean, blonde man smirked and pulled a knife from his belt. “Come along, Ben.” Clad all in black and denim, the gleam of the light off his blade was all that Ben Anderson could see of Greg Salinger. With a few swipes, Salinger had cut Ben free from the webbing. Ben was cautious to stand up, and stay close to the original Foolkiller next to him.
Salinger kept his smile. “I remember the night Spider-Man defeated me, and had me arrested.” He turned to Ben. “He webbed me up, and left me for the police, just like he was going to do to you now. And as I lay there, people passed me by, and one of them laughed at me and said, ‘Man, you must be a fool to take on Spider-Man!’.”*
(*-that’s true, web-heads. Check it out in Marvel’s ASM issue 226 - Bryan)
Ben winced. “But what do we do now?”
Salinger laughed, judging the web-slinging slump near them. “We leave him. Spiders are only dangerous when you provoke them, after all. What kind of fools do something like that?”
Ben said nothing, but sighed. Salinger rested a palm on his shoulder. “You’re tired. Come. We’re both bound to be wanted by sunrise. I’ve seen the way Paul Stacy operated things, and I was not impressed. The Foolkiller’s actions are never meant to benefit any one person or entity! Certainly not the Stacy Foundation, which funds superficial institutions like the NYPD! Ben…” and Salinger leaned in to whisper this to him, “…forget Spider-Man. I am going to teach you to aim higher.”
The Foolkillers rambled off into the busy Manhattan nightlife. Not ten seconds after they had disappeared from view around and about the many structures of the ESU campus, the Black Widow and Code: Blue arrived, and found Spider-Man, limp and prone.
His room was silent. But there was light. Flashing, colorful, but silent, from the television in the far corner of the room. It was the only light whatsoever. Arthur Stacy lay in his bed, waking from a restless sleep, just as he had done about once every hour since he had been admitted.
His eyes tried to adjust in the blare. The volume of the television was muted, so he had to squint until finally he could see what the television was broadcasting. After a few seconds, Arthur was watching the news.
Frantic, shaking camera angles showed people rushing, ambulances stopped and flashing, and the campus of Empire State University. Arthur’s hand reached for the remote that was attached to his bedside. He pressed the mute button.
“--you’re just joining us, the ESU Science Center has been evacuated after a massive explosion rocked the very foundation. This in addition to the attack across campus at the Buscema Center, by the Lizard. We’re not quite sure if the two incidents are related but as of yet we haven’t heard any evidence of that…nor have we heard of any fatalities--
“What…?
“I’m just receiving word…I’m sorry, I’ve…I’ve just received that word that there been at least one person killed…”
Arthur Stacy felt a familiar wrenching around his soul.
“…yes, I’ve just received word, unofficially of course--we can’t substantiate this claim--but we’ve heard Paul Stacy, nephew of the famous NYPD police captain, George Stacy, has been killed. Now, the Stacy Foundation has just made headlines recently with a global initiative to support the families of people killed in superhuman violence. The initiative received half a billion dollars in a--”
The television clicked off. Darkness cloaked Arthur in his bed. Quietly, he began to cry.
Arthur Stacy cried, for his children were dead.
NEXT ISSUE: Familiar faces abound, and plots start to weave together in the penultimate issue of my run, gearing up for an issue-fifty extravaganza! Alexander Lukin is making his last move to solidify power in the New York City underworld, and poor Peter Parker is bound to be caught up in it! But what other secrets await? Who is Ronin? What plans do the Aladdin Agency have with Spider-Man? What trouble has the Prowler gotten into this time? Where exactly does Venom fit into all this? Be here, true believer!
“So she hasn’t called you.”
“No.”
“How long has it been?”
“A week.”
“And you’re not going to call her.”
“She’s a very busy woman, Randy.”
“How noble of you to say so.” Randy took his feet off the coffee table and sat up. He grabbed the empty bowl that sat on the table (it had previously held cheerios in milk) and walked to the kitchen. “Peter Parker: Spider-Chicken!”
“Hey! It’s not like that!” Peter called to him. He heard more cheerios being poured into the bowl. He was half-conscious of May, playing around his wrists, curious of the web-shooters that Peter still wore there. “I mean, I never really knew anything about dating, even before I was a single dad and a superhero--”
“My chicken-sense is tingling!”
“Aw, come on--”
“Tingle!” Randy came from the kitchen, and handed the bowl to Mayday. She ignored it, still transfixed on the shiny gadgets around her father’s wrists. Randy gave up, and put the bowl back on the coffee table. He looked at Peter. “You married a super-model. And what’s the name of that babe you ‘partnered’ up with for a little while--the Black Kitty? Oh, man, I remember my freshman year of college, she was all new and sexy…and totally against the law. Like all the best things in life.”
Peter laughed. Randy had met Felicia out of costume, but Peter kept that to himself. His roommate may have recently been let in on Peter’s identity, but that’s as far as Randy Robertson needed to go.
“It’s different with Cat though…” Peter said, “I guess it’s always just so…casual.”
Randy scoffed, and rolled his eyes. “You are sooooo not qualified to whine to me right now.”
At that point, Mayday pounced. She pressed her tiny hands against the lever lining Peter’s palm to the web-shooters. Instantly, a web-jet rocketed from Peter’s wrist, flying halfway across the living room, knocking over a potted plant, spilling soil and foliage along the carpet.
“Ah!” Peter jerked his wrist away from Mayday. “That’s what I get for sleeping with these things on!” He gently rubbed May’s unkempt curls. “These are not toys, young lady.”
Randy chuckled. “They’re gonna be hers one day. Might as well let her take ‘em out for a spin.”
Peter pointed at him, but kept his eyes on Mayday. “Uncle Randy is not helping. If you want that car when you turn sixteen, don’t ever take his side against me.”
“Who’re you kidding?” Randy said sarcastically, standing yet again. He walked over to the upturned potted plant. “What will she ever need a car for?” He set the plant right-side-up.
Peter threw up his hands. “Hey, all kidding aside, Rand, between you and Betty and Glory, I could learn a lesson on parenting.” Peter’s tone was half-joking, but inside, he hurt for the truth he felt.
Since Angela Yin had been gunned down, Peter had found it tough to leave behind those he cared about. Not just Mayday, but Aunt May and even Randy. It was even a big part of the reason he hadn’t called Betty. He kept thinking about Angela, and how she thought tagging along with Spider-Man was an easy meal ticket. Peter had stayed at home, thinking about all of them. It was the only thing he could do. There were times in the past week, like last night, when he even felt the impulse to go web-slinging. Peter knew there were so many threads he’d yet to take care of: the Ghost, Ronin, the World, the Lizard, and of course…the Foolkiller.
Peter had put on the costume, web-shooters and everything…and he couldn’t do it. His chest felt heavy, and his breath couldn’t come quickly enough. So Peter leaned back to simply relax, only to be awakened in the morning by his daughter’s crying. It wasn’t the only time that happened this week. The anxiety Peter had been feeling in the weeks before was returning. Whether Peter liked it or not, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything for the past seven days but work on his parenting skills.
Randy shrugged. “Babysitting is a far cry from parenting. I’ll leave it to you. All she does half the day is sleep. I’m telling you, these are the easy years.”
Peter again jerked away to keep Mayday from the web-shooters. “Tell that to her! She’s immune to my spider-sense.”
Randy laughed. “You think you can actually predict what trouble your kid’s gonna get into? No parent in the world can do that!”
Then came a sharp knocking at Peter’s apartment door. Randy and Peter both shot each other a suspicious look.
Peter said in a low voice, “Did you drop off the rent?”
“Yeah.” Randy whispered, “But I admit…I lied on my taxes. I can’t claim my tips, man. That’s un-American.”
Peter slapped his forehead. “Great. The taxman’s knocking on my door…” He took a deep breath, grasped May tight to his hip (almost like a football) and walked gently to take a gander through the peep hole.
Randy jumped off the couch and whispered, “Web-shooters!” He made the ‘spidey-fingers’.
“Oh yeah…” Peter remembered, then fluidly whipped them off, tossing them to Randy, all while deftly balancing Mayday against him. Almost as soon as Randy disappeared into Peter’s room with the web-shooters, Mayday started bawling. Peter sighed, before he gazed through the peep hole. And his eyes widened. He took a step back from the door, as though looking through the wood. His daughter’s wailing was a second thought. “I don’t believe it…” He opened the door.
“Peter. Did I come at a bad time?”
Arthur Stacy was still wearing the same long, brown overcoat that he had worn almost every time Peter (or Spider-Man, rather) had encountered him. Solemn, sullen eyes were brightened by a wide smile. No matter how many times Peter saw him, Arthur always reminded Peter of his hero: Captain George Stacy. Arthur curiously eyed the wailing child in Peter’s arms.
Peter was speechless for a second, looking from Arthur to Mayday to Arthur to Mayday and then finally back to Arthur again before saying, “Arthur! No, it’s never a bad time. It’s been forever. Really. Um, Mayday’s just feeling noisy right now.” Peter kissed her shaggy curls. “She’ll wear herself out in a couple minutes, trust me.”
Arthur leaned to shake Mayday’s hand with his index finger. “Hello there, young lady.” Mayday suddenly quieted, if only curious of a new face. “I’ve heard of you. Thank God there’s still someone in the world as beautiful as your mother.” May grabbed his finger, and examined it.
Randy suddenly reappeared from Peter’s bedroom, waving a small stuffed toy modeled after Benjamin Grimm. He stopped when he saw Arthur. “Mister Stacy!”
Arthur laughed. “Randall Rupert Robertson!” He put his hands on his hips. “It has been a long time, but you look exactly the same. Are you staying out of trouble? Be honest with me!”
Randy looked at his feet. “Yes, Mister Stacy.”
“Good.” Arthur seemed to believe Randy. “I haven’t talked to your father in a while. But I suppose I’ll see him tonight.” Then, Arthur turned back to Peter. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about, son. Do you have a couple minutes?”
Peter gulped. He had a sinking suspicion what this was all about. Paul Stacy, Arthur’s son, was connected to the Foolkiller somehow--or at least Peter had a strange feeling he was.* But the face that Peter had seen under the Foolkiller mask was definitely not Paul’s.**
Betty and the indomitable J. Jonah Jameson were working on the Foolkiller case, and had told Spider-Man, quite bluntly, to not get involved**. As much as Peter hated to admit it, the sheer disdain Betty displayed for Spidey was also a big part of the reason Peter had such a quiet week. But of course, Arthur Stacy would eventually get involved if his son was up to no good. There was no way Peter would turn down Arthur Stacy if the man needed help. Peter felt a chill as he thought of how deep Paul may have fallen, in order to involve his father like this.
(* back in M2K’s ASM 43 and **-last issue - Bryan)
“Sure, Arthur. I’ve always got some time.” Peter said, and he pushed Randy out of the doorway, so Arthur could walk in.
“Here…” Randy took May from Peter. “I got this.”
“Thanks, Rand.” Peter chuckled, and he walked with Arthur into the living room. “What can I do for you, Arthur? You want some coffee? Randy makes like three pots a day…”
“No, no, thank you though. I can’t stay long, Peter.” Arthur said. “I…” and he looked over his shoulder to make sure Randy was out of earshot. “I need you to deliver a message to Spider-Man for me. You cannot fathom how important this is.”
Peter felt that sinking feeling get a whole lot deeper. Angela Yin had played the same card…and look where she was now.
“Two days ago,” Arthur said, “I got a phone call...from Betty Brant.”
“Betty?” Peter said her name half-consciously. It seemed like no one was going to let him take his mind off her.
Arthur nodded. “You two’ve worked together at the Daily Bugle over the years, right?”
“Uh, oh, yeah.” Peter said quickly. “We’re…uh, old friends. We go way back.”
Arthur rubbed his chin, looking at the floor, like he wasn’t focused on Peter at all. “Well, anyway, she told me…she told me…” He took a deep breath, and shuddered.
Peter put his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur? Are you okay?”
Again, Arthur looked like he had forgotten Peter’s presence, even in the middle of in Peter’s apartment, with Peter grasping his shoulder. Peter squeezed a little tighter.
Arthur jolted, with another breath. He waved off Peter’s hand, languidly. “I’m--I’m sorry, Peter. I just…” Another breath, and he wiped at his forehead quickly. Peter could see the sweat glistening there. “I just don’t know what to do about that boy anymore…”
“You mean…Paul?” Peter furled his brow, observing Arthur intently.
Arthur nodded again, this time a bit more hurriedly. “Betty Brant--she told me these things, Peter, and I just…I just couldn’t believe they were true. But,” and now Arthur started rubbing his chest a bit, like his collar was bothering him, “I know it’s all true.” His face hardened. “It didn’t take me long to check what Betty had said. I know people. I’ve got connections. But there’s just one more source I have check…” And Arthur turned to Peter.
Peter could see how the color had washed from Arthur’s face. This man who had once been so full of life, so full of vigor and morality, up to the point that Peter could only hope to match it…Arthur Stacy was almost sapped of it all.
“I need Spider-Man.” Arthur said. “I need him to help me…help my son.” His right hand rubbed his chest more forcefully.
Peter peered at him. “Arthur, maybe you should take a seat. You look like you haven’t slept in a couple days. Are you alright?”
Arthur took another deep breath. “Yes, thank you but, could I…have a glass of water?”
“Yeah!” Peter almost bounded to the kitchen. “Sure!” He remembered that Arthur Stacy didn’t like ice, as he fumbled with a mug from the cupboard, dashing to the fridge for some water. “So what, um, what’s happening with Paul? I don’t really know where Spidey is, ever, but I could definitely try to--”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
The mug was only half-full of water, when he dashed back into the living room. Arthur’s face was contorted, rigid, full of pain. He pounded at his chest with his right hand, a dull beat. His left arm was frozen in an awkward spasm.
“Arthur!”
Arthur Stacy fell to his knees. Then fell face-first on the carpet. Peter dropped the mug, and didn’t notice it shatter at his feet.
Peter already was knelt at his side. “Arthur!”
“Pete?” Randy emerged from the bedroom. Mayday was tight against his hip. “Is everything--holy crap! Mister Stacy!”
Peter looked at him, frantic. “Call 9-1-1! Now!”
Randy, with the hand not holding Mayday, whipped out his cell phone. His eyes were wide, seeing Arthur, trembling on the carpet. He dashed for the front door. “Peter! Doctor Mulroony, two apartments down! I’m gonna go get him!” Then, as he was leaving the apartment, Randy started to speak into the phone, “Yes! I’ve got an emergency in Hamilton Heights, I’m at…” and his voice faded for Mayday had started screaming. The yelling no doubt had terrified her…
Peter tried to focus on Arthur’s life. “Come on, talk to me, Arthur. Say something, anything!” Peter wanted to wrench at the man, pull him to his feet, but Peter was afraid to touch him at all, and risk making everything worse.
But Arthur finally showed some sort of energy, and he tugged at Peter’s sleeve. With a grasp, he turned himself over on his back. He moaned like it was the last of his strength. “Peter…Spider-Man…you…”
Peter leaned in. “Stay with me, Arthur. We’re getting help! Just stay--”
Arthur seized Peter’s collar with a tight, white fist. He pulled Peter close, and forced his words out like a growl. “No! My son! Spider-Man…Peter…must save my son…” There was something in Arthur’s hand that Peter hadn’t seen before. Quivering, Arthur shoved the small, thick paper into Peter’s palm. Arthur’s eyes bulged from his colorless face. “Please…save him…save him from himself!”
Peter could barely take his eyes off Arthur to recognize what had been put in his hand. A Stacy Foundation Benefit invitation?
Arthur let go. His head fell back against the carpet. One more deep breath, he closed his eyes, and lay still.
Peter screamed, “Arthur!” one last time, and started CPR.
Darkness fell quickly in the city. Deep in the ridges of his brain that still registered logical thought, the Lizard knew that this was the time to act. Vibration and heat had calmed, as much as they could, through the walls and waters of the New York sewer, particularly in this part of the Alley, underneath Mutant Town*. His eyes had no trouble in the darkness, and he was dimly aware of symbols and words scrawled all over the walls, scratched--etched.
(*-which is where we last saw the Lizard, of course, set before Uncanny X-Men #1 - Bryan)
The Lizard didn’t know where these things had come from, or why they were so interesting to him. He even traced over them with his claws…the letters…
“Esss…teee…aayyy…seee…wwyyyy…” it was more of a growl than a thought.
But something did click along those reptilian grooves under his elongated skull. All of the pain, rage and hunger that was inside of him--everything that appealed to this animal, would be fulfilled tonight. All he needed was the scent, and he knew where to go to find it.
Among the trash collected around his den, one newspaper was stretched out. The Lizard scanned the headline, not understanding whatsoever--
‘Stacy Foundation Awarded Triune Grant in 3 Yr Deal’
--and suddenly he knew where he was going, where he could find the scent of his prey. This was a specific animal in this urban jungle, and the Lizard was going to find him. He licked at the air, not because he could yet smell the thing, but to at least judge the air pressure and find the way out of the sewer. With purpose, invigorated, the Lizard trotted into a run to the northeast.
“Hold up there!” Randy snatched Mayday off the white/black checkered floor. “Where do you think you’re going? You can’t escape that easily.”
May had been curious at the giant, flapping doors that would occasionally burst open with another stretcher, and another patient. At the entrance of the ICU in Empire State General Hospital, those doors were opening and shutting quite frequently. Randy was right to pick up May, as she narrowly avoided being trampled by another stretcher.
With a whine, May wiggled out of Randy’s grip. She sat down at her father’s feet, in the massive lobby just outside the ICU. The place was crowded, every narrow seat full, none watching the televisions blaring news overhead. Peter, with his elbows on his knees and chin in his hands, looked at his daughter, and smiled wide. Mayday let out a giggle.
For the first time in the last hour, Randy saw a little bit of enthusiasm rush into his roommate. Peter scooped Mayday up into his hands, and nuzzled her. Mayday was a lot more receptive than she had been with Randy seconds before.
Randy slapped Peter on the back lightly as he sat down next to him. “How you holdin’ up, man?”
Peter sighed, but he kissed May on the cheek. “Oh pretty good, despite that fact that people I know keep getting sent to intensive care*. The nurses on duty remembered my name as soon as I came in with the emergency crews.”
(*-let’s count: Jonah, Randy, Eugene and Angela have all been there in M2K canon - Bryan)
“How’s Mister Stacy?” Randy asked, lowly. “Have they told you anything else yet?”
Peter shook his head. “Same thing for hours now: he’s in stable condition but…it was a pretty bad heart attack…” He huffed and looked at his daughter again.
Randy slumped. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Not your fault, Randy.” Peter sighed. “He was so stressed by this whole situation. And I know he gave me this invitation for a reason. I bet Jonah and Betty are gonna confront Paul at this benefit dinner.”
Randy whispered, “You think he wanted the web-slinger there?”
Peter shrugged. “Randy, I really don’t know if I’m up for it. Who knows if I won’t just make this whole situation worse--”
“Whatever, man!” Randy leaned up. “I’m tired of everyone coming down hard on you. It’s like I’m the only one who appreciates what you’re trying to do. After everything you’ve been through? Hell, after everything we’ve been through…you’re still fighting the good fight. All any of us can ever do is try our best. You’re trying to do the best for everyone…not just Mayday. Why can’t everyone else see that?”
Peter scoffed. “Oh, right. The good fight is turning me into, like, the worst dad of all time…”
Randy said, “Hey, it’s not like you were asking for the job when you got it. And yeah, some would say you’re crazy for still doing what you do. But I’d say they’re crazy for thinking you could ever do anything else. You don’t have to justify it to anyone. Well, not me.”
He leaned in close to Peter, after checking over his shoulder. Nobody in the crowded waiting room was watching them. He said, “To be honest, I envy you, Pete. You know who your friends are, and you know who your enemies are. Even if those same people don’t truly know who you are. You just had a nice week off, so now its time to get back to putting your friends and your enemies back where you want them. Because you’re in a unique position where you can make that happen.”
Peter shuddered. His head felt heavy. “Randy…at this point, I expect all my friends to wind up in this place.” He glanced down at Mayday, but Randy’s words were in his head: All we can do is try our best… His mind lingered a bit more until finally, Peter brightened. “That’s it!”
“That’s what?” Randy perked up. “That’s the last diaper?”
“I do know who my friends are, Randy.” Peter scooped his daughter into the air and kissed her cheek. “And I should never be afraid to ask for their help.”
A Couple Hours Later…
Spider-Man had been perched atop the adjacent roof from the ESU Science Center for ten minutes before she showed up. Peter hadn’t been back to the massive complex since the murder of Gilbert Wiles, one of Peter’s microbiology professors, along with Curt Connors. But that wasn’t because he was unnerved by the place; his classes had simply been moved to a different part of the campus. But he was still unnerved when he thought about why she would’ve wanted to meet him here, of all places.
There was the softest sound of heels touching rooftop (no chance his spider-sense could warn him of her, after all) and Spider-Man sprung on one heel to turn. Peter smiled underneath his mask.
She was beautiful. Every time Peter saw her, he was struck. Natasha Romanov simply stood there and already Peter was hooked in the Black Widow’s web. Red locks reminded him of Mary-Jane, but Natasha had these eyes that certainly didn’t. Her voice felt like a smooth Tchaikovsky composition: “Spider-Man. I’ve got something for you.”
A small satchel sat at her hip, and Natasha revealed a thin tablet from within. She tapped it a few times, it brightened, and she handed it to Spider-Man.
“What’s this?” Spidey asked.
“Read it, web-head.” the Black Widow’s tone was more than serious. “I’ve been following your lead on the Foolkiller since you mentioned it to me after that incident with…Daredevil.* And I don’t like what I’ve found. I don’t think you will either…”
(*- back in Black Widow issue 23, universally loved and rightfully so - Bryan, universally loving)
Spidey gulped, and read what the spy had brought him.
Another hour later…
Strong winds carried Spider-Man through another flip, another -thwip!-, and another swing. He was almost to the renovated ESU campus, recognizing it as the architecture starkly shifted to a modern, energy-efficient design. The campus was always bright; the glass structures glimmered from within like luminescent stalagmites. Not many places to change into a tuxedo, but Peter was able to duck between two enormous SUVs in the crowded parking lot, trusting his spider-sense to warn him of any on-lookers.
Peter shuffled up the sidewalk, and through the entrance of the Buscema Center, flashing the invitation Arthur had dropped into his palm. Along the way Peter shook the hands of many elegantly dressed men and women, all standing in a line, all looking very happy he had stepped foot inside. Along their collars or cufflinks, Peter could see the insignia of the Stacy Foundation.
The narrow hall then expanded into the wide, simple master ballroom of the Center, which was just one part of the larger construct above and below, in the state of the art Empire State University campus. However, this Center didn’t have much of an educational purpose. The Buscema Center was meticulously designed to be eye-catching, and instantly appealing. ESU made quite a bit of money with this place, renting the space to different conventions and expos that passed through Manhattan. Set as it was in the center of the campus, bright and beautiful, it was little wonder that the place was packed almost every night of the week, with some sort of event or another. Of course, there had to be some part of the campus to entertain the people who weren’t brain-boxes or students. The ballroom was decently crowded with those sort of people tonight. Mostly the guests included hulking men in ill-fitting tuxedoes, who Peter assumed were the hard-working fire fighters being honored by the Stacy Foundation. They all looked like they’d rather be somewhere else. Peter didn’t blame them.
At least there looked to be some good food on the long tables lined strategically throughout the room. A bit farther from them, there was a circle of a dozen or so tables, each with seating for eight, and a podium in the middle of the setting. But nobody was sitting just yet. A jazz band was playing in another corner of the room, though no one was dancing. The festivities had just started.
Mmm the slightest tingle from my spider-sense…Peter instinctively looked to the ceiling. I wonder what…oh. Peter spied, over more than a few faces, the tall Lieutenant Marcus Stone, field leader of Code: Blue, and someone Spider-Man had run into a couple times recently. Stone had probably not forgotten what happened between Spidey and the Chameleon on Liberty Island*. And there’s was no way he’d forgotten the night the Lizard escaped the Midtown precinct…* Probably good to know Stone’s around. The guy’s got an honest heart and mind, and unfortunately, both want to bust my wall-crawling chops!
(*- issues 39 & 45 - Bryan)
Then Peter had to stop. He had spied Betty Brant, across the floor, next to Jonah and Robbie.
Betty had already spied him. And Peter could not believe what she was wearing.
“Peter!” That was not Betty. Ben Urich suddenly appeared beside him. A plate of something was in his hand. “Rangoon?” Ben offered.
Peter, remembering the last time he had eaten what Ben had offered, shook his head. “Thanks though, Ben.”
“Hey, I heard about Arthur Stacy just as I got here. Man, I can’t believe that. Was it really in your living room?”
Peter shot him a look. Ben shrugged. “Eh, sorry.”
Peter sighed. Then, he gazed in the short distance, “Do you see the gown Betty’s wearing?”
Ben pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked in that direction. “Mmm. Yes. That dress looks absolutely gorgeous. She told me who made it…oh, it was some famous label--”
“Kaufman Franco.”
“Oh yes, that’s right! It’s beautiful. I love how they can make dresses flow down to the bottom like that--”
“Bias cut.”
“Right right, that’s what they call it. And that color is wonderful. It’s some shade of black; Betty called it something else--”
“Onyx.”
“Oh yeah, it still looks black, you know? But those are real diamonds along the neckline--”
“Eighty diamonds…a hundred carats.”
“Exactly! Man, something like that, its gotta cost a small fortune--”
“One-hundred-seventy-thousand dollars. Only five were ever made.”
“Ha! Yeah, probably something like that! Err…wait, how do you know that, Parker?”
Peter shrugged.
“No, really, do you put on evening gowns as a hobby or--oh, here comes Betty right now.” Ben cleared his throat. “Oh hey, Betty, we were just admiring your diamonds. Rangoon?” He held up the tray to Betty as she drew nearer. Peter took a deep breath, and straightened his posture.
Betty shook her head. “I thought those were wontons. And keep them away from my dress. This was a gift from the king of Wakanda.” She turned to Peter. “But not for me.”
Peter chuckled, despite himself. Ben’s laugh was muffled by grub.
“Monica Rambeau let me borrow this for the dinner.” Betty looked along herself. “I didn’t really tell her I was going to confront a serial killer, but she was all like, ‘I have the perfect dress for you!’ and it wasn’t like I was going to turn this down once I saw it and…”
“Oh.” Ben said. “That must be where Peter knows it from then!” He munched on the last…wonton. “Is that right, Peter?” Ben slapped him a bit in the shoulder. “Peter?”
Peter knew staring at his feet was futile, and finally looked up at Ben. He coughed, “Um, what?”
Betty was already peering at him. “He said you’ve seen this dress before? Really?”
Peter winced. “Well…maybe. Yes. No, maybe.” Betty did not look impressed.
Ben said, “Oh, come on, Peter.” He looked at Betty, and took another bite. “Eighty diamonds. A hundred karats. Kaufman Franco. One-seventy-kay.” He swallowed. “Peter knew it all! I joked with him and said you’d think he--”
“Married a model or something.” Betty interrupted.
Peter turned white. Ben stopped before biting into that next bit of food.
Betty put her hands on her hips, and softly said, “Did…Mary-Jane model this dress?”
“Well look at that I need more rangoons I mean wontons I mean I’m just going to go over here…” Ben Urich was gone, with the tray he rode in on.
“She did, didn’t she?” Betty stood like she was still waiting for an answer.
“Well, MJ modeled a lot of dresses--”
“I knew it, I knew it.”
“--and it’s not like I remember all of them--”
“But you remember this one. There were only five ever made.”
“--and Betty, you look great. Really--”
“I cannot believe this.”
“--hey, its just a coincidence. Of all the gowns in all the superhero closets in all the world--”
“Three.”
“--what?”
Betty rubbed her forehead. “You don’t understand. Monica gave me a choice of three dresses. And I picked this one.” When she put her hands down, her eyes had welled with tears, possibly only held back by thin eye liner. “This is so embarrassing…”
Peter’s shoulders sunk. “Betty--”
“And did you lose your phone?” She suddenly snapped at him.
Peter stammered, “Er, no--”
“Then why haven’t you called me, Parker?” Betty huffed, and crossed her arms. “At least once? Common courtesy?”
The words of Randy Robertson came back to haunt Peter. His stomach was wrenching right now. He didn’t want to say anything else, lest he again make the whole situation worse. But he said, “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”
“Yeah, you could’ve helped me pick a dress. Told me not to wear the one that reminds you of your wife.” Betty sniffed and swallowed. The tears seemed to be under control. “God, I haven’t worn anything this expensive since my wedding and look what happens…”
She abruptly pulled away. Peter looked past her shoulder, and saw Robbie Robertson there with Ben Urich. Robbie called, “Betty? Sorry to interrupt. We’re ready, or Jonah is finally ready.”
Ben chuckled, “Yeah, all he needed was a glass of wine and now he’s good to go.”
Robbie clutched Peter’s shoulder. “I heard about Arthur. Damn shame. Was Randy there?” Peter nodded. Robbie frowned. “Well, did he help, or did he just stand there gawking?”
Peter seemed a little jolted by the question, but said, “No, no, not at all. In fact, I don’t even know half my neighbors, but Randy knew that my neighbor two doors down was a doctor.”
Robbie didn’t seem convinced. “Well…I hope your not letting Randy take advantage of your kindness. With May, you’ve got enough to worry about.”
“Yeah!” Ben said, “Like people having heart attacks in your living room! Man, that’s nuts.”
Robbie, Peter and Betty all shot him the same look. Ben shrugged. “Arthur’s a fighter. Come on.” Robbie nudged Ben and pulled him back over toward Jonah.
Betty was ready to leave Peter to join Robbie and Ben. “Don’t run off, Parker. Who knows how Paul’s going to react when Jonah confronts him--”
“Betty,” Peter reached, and clutched her wrist. He leaned in to whisper, “Does Jonah even know what he’s doing? I know he never takes vigilantes seriously, but he’s not even thinking about letting in the police--”
“Use your head, Peter.” Betty took Peter’s hand off hers, but gently. “The police are working with the Foolkiller…or at least ignoring him. Do you realize how much money Paul Stacy and these--” she waved her arms around her “--these money-making stunts are responsible for pouring into New York City social services? We don’t even know if we can trust Lieutenant Stone over there. But everybody will know the truth in the morning when the papers hit the stands.”
“Parker!”
Peter immediately recognized the voice. He was hoping for another good few minutes without hearing it. But the people standing around Betty and him had parted, to make room for Paul Stacy. Betty was suddenly clutching Peter’s hand again.
Paul’s blonde hair was slick, and stuck to his face a little bit. His goatee was bushy, ruffled. His eyes were red. His tie was loose. He smiled, and took another sip from his half-empty wine flute. “You really showed up here? After what you’ve done to my father? You think I wouldn’t have found out?!”
Peter didn’t want to shout over the space between them, but Paul was drawing nearer. Everybody was staring at the two of them anyway.
This was it. Peter’s eyes flashed toward Jonah and Robbie. He saw that they were peering, wondering how the situation would unfold. Peter gulped, and wondered too.
“I didn’t do anything to your father, Paul.” Peter said sternly. “He came to my home today, to give me a warning.” He paused before continuing. Jonah and Robbie still did not look ready to jump in. Peter said, “He wanted to give me a warning about you.”
Paul’s sauntering slowed. He eyed Peter carefully, aware he was putting on a show. Peter took a deep breath, and remembered, oddly again, the words of Randy Robertson. Under his breath, “You’re a hero for a reason…”
Betty caught it. “What did you say?”
“Say again?” Paul spat. “A warning? Ha! You’re not going to pull that one, Parker.” Paul sipped and smacked his lips. “My father is proud of me! Everyone knows that. And why shouldn’t he be? I’ve done more with this whole thing in a few months than he and Aunt Helen have done in years.”
“That’s not all you’ve been doing!” J. Jonah Jameson barked. All eyes shifted to him.
Paul suddenly frowned. His lips curled downward sharply. “Jameson.” He said the word like it was a bad taste in his mouth. “And to think this party was supposed to be invitation only.”
“We were invited.” Jonah walked toward Betty and Peter. Robbie and Ben kept close to him. “One call to your aunt, Helen Stacy--I’ve stayed in touch with George’s wife--and it was easy to get in here. Especially after Arthur told her everything about you.”
Paul pulled at his collar. “What kind of lies did you tell her, you hack?”
Jonah snarled. “Assault! Extortion! Murder!” He held up his fingers. “Eight people. Dead. Killed by you.”
The entire ballroom gasped. Betty grasped Peter’s arm and pulled him closer. Lieutenant Marcus Stone had suddenly moved closer as well. Jonah stood firm. Paul swayed as he watched the people stare and murmur about him. He shook his head furiously.
“Murder?” Paul looked shocked. “What? No! I’ve…I would never kill anyone!”
Now, Jonah took a step forward. “You…or the Foolkiller. Or maybe both. I’ve got the connections and I got the evidence, and it’s going front page tomorrow morning, kid.”
Paul’s face flushed with crimson, his eyes bulged. “How…dare you?!” Paul screamed. “You have no right to come in here and accuse me! None of you! I’m only doing the job my dad gave me. I’m the one that secured the grants and the funding that’s going to expand the Foundation worldwide!” Fury poured freely. “What kind of lies have you been telling my father?! None of you know me! Get out! All of you! Liars! You don’t know me and you’ll never know what I’ve done! You won’t--”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
Peter embraced Betty against him tightly, her face in his chest, to shield her. Glass suddenly sprayed inward from one of the many high clerestory windows that lined the western wall of the ballroom. Sparkling shards rained down on the scrambling guests. Screams welcomed a human body, clad all in black, as he tucked and rolled, until coming to a stand.
Black boots laced tightly up to his knees, meeting thick pants that looked like some kind of mesh. Kevlar covered his chest, and the mesh ran down his arms and up his neck. He wore a ski mask with some kind of goggles, shielding his eyes. In his gloved hands, swiftly, there was a gleaming, giant pistol. He fired at the vaulted ceiling twice, cracking thunder and gunpowder. The screams ceased.
“People!” he shouted. “On your knees! All of you!” He fired again at the ceiling. “Don’t make me say it again!”
Most people did as they were told. But there were those men who remained standing. Lieutenant Marcus Stone, and a grip of the tuxedoed fire-fighters had grouped together, defensively. Peter gently motioned to Betty, Jonah, Robbie and Ben to get down on their knees. None of them did so. Peter grimaced.
Lieutenant Stone was grim. “Who the hell are you? What do you think you’re--”
“Shut up!” the man yelled. “I’m the Foolkiller, and if you’re stupid enough to talk to me while I have this pistol aimed at your face, then maybe I should show you why that’s my name.” He motioned to the fire-fighters behind Stone. “You barbeque pigs keep back! Get down on your knees, and maybe you’ll live to save another kitten from a tall tree!”
Paul Stacy threw his wine flute to the floor, shattering it. “What’s the meaning of this?!”
The Foolkiller turned to him. “Paul…foolish Paul Stacy. You are the meaning of this. Your death, in front of all these people, is the reason I’m here. Maybe they’ll take something from it.”
Paul then grew pale. His eyes blinked with panic. “Wha…what? That--that’s not the deal! That’s not what we agreed!”
Peter’s spider-sense was a wailing migraine. Betty was still grasping him tight, like a security blanket. Robbie and Ben stood transfixed on Paul and the Foolkiller.
But Jonah…Jonah was fuming. “I knew it!” He pointed at both Paul and the Foolkiller. He even took a few paces toward them. “And now everyone knows it! You freaks!”
Paul shouted, “No! No! It’s not like that! You don’t understand!”
The Foolkiller turned the gun toward Jonah and barked, “You slimy little rat! Jameson! I knew I should’ve killed you a long time ago. I’ll have a special place in Heaven after I rid the world of a scum like you!”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
“Jonah!” Betty reached out, as if she could pull Jonah from the aim.
Another crash! But the pitch of shattering glass was overtaken by the roar of a monster. Jagged rain again splintered and crashed, from another high window. A hulking, green mass, with merely tatters of fabric covering a scaly hide, landed gracefully. The monster stood, stretched…then the Lizard flared his tongue and howled.
Betty let go of Peter, to press her hands hard against her ears. Robbie, Ben, and just about everybody else in the ballroom did the exact same thing. Some of the well-pampered guests even took the opportunity to run like hell, tripping over their dresses and heels and wingtips, holding onto each other, pushing each other, toward the only exit.
The Foolkiller stood frozen, glaring at the monster standing tall on shattered glass. Paul Stacy was helpless between them.
Peter acted. There was no time to lose. He’d just watched this entire situation grow worse, and then disastrous all in the span of two minutes. But…wasn’t that always how it happened? His mind flashed to the guests, and their safety.
Lieutenant Marcus Stone only stood maybe twenty yards from him. Panic and monsters were all around but Peter ran, grasped Stone by the shoulders. Stone still had his stare on the Foolkiller and the Lizard.
“Stone!” Peter said frantically, “You gotta get outside! You gotta help these people!”
Stone barely glanced at him. “Sir! Just get outside, if you like breathing. These super-punks are in for a dose of scientific whoop-ass. Confiscated from the Wingless Wizard himself.”
From inside the jacket of his tuxedo, Stone pulled out a tangle of a gun. Wires, tubes and metal all twisted and converged into a barrel and, at the opposite end, a handle. Indeed, on that handle, the word ‘whoop-ass’ was scrawled by sharpie marker.
He actually looked at Peter then. He said, “Parker. The photographer. The web-head’s groupie.” He frowned, suddenly registering Peter’s suggestion, and then lowered his pistol. “I’m calling for back-up and crowd control. I’m coming back, and Spider-Man better not be here or I’m bustin’ his ass too.”
Stone shot off toward the crowded exit. Peter looked back at the showdown.
“Sssstaayyyysssseeee….” the Lizard bellowed, and took a step toward Paul Stacy.
“No!” Paul stepped backward. “You don’t understand!”
The Lizard paused. The nostrils at the end of the scaled, long snout inhaled. Sharp teeth parted and a long tongue flickered. Talons upturned, the Lizard spun on arched heels toward the Foolkiller. The monster stepped, slowly, snarling.
The Foolkiller gritted his teeth and pointed his gun. “You always were less than a man, Connors. Now I’ve at least lowered you to your natural level. It’s your precious evolution, only in reverse! You are devolution personified! But fools are fools--no matter the species!” He fired three times.
The Lizard howled, and again the people who hadn’t yet cleared the ballroom, screamed and held their hands to their ears. Fire burned in the Lizard’s belly, and the pain showed. But the beast did not bleed.
“Betty!” Finally, Peter grasped Betty’s hand again. “That’s not gonna stop the Lizard. The Foolkiller’s only making him angry. You’ve got to get outta here.”
Betty pulled Peter close, but she didn’t make a move to the door. “That madman killed Leo.* If he gets eaten by the Lizard, I want to watch. Even if he doesn’t, there’s no way the bastard is walking out of this room on his own. We can’t let him get away.”
(*- Max 2000 issue 27 - Bryan)
“Brant’s right.” Jonah had a twisted look on his face, like the confrontation he watched was nothing more than a brutal, nature documentary. “This ends tonight. No matter what.”
Peter couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Had the Foolkiller really affected these two people that much? What was he supposed to do? He wasn’t about to leave their side to go put on his mask…
“Peter.” Robbie Robertson grabbed his shoulder. “Son, we’re the only ones here with families to get back to. Let’s get outside.” He nodded at Betty. “I trust they’ll know when to start running.”
Peter saw that look in Robbie’s eyes--the one that was becoming all too familiar. It was an unnatural look for Robbie…to lie. Robbie knew what Peter knew: Spider-Man was the only one who could turn this situation for the better…
The Foolkiller fired twice more at the Lizard’s scaly hide. That’s when the Lizard pounced.
“Gah!” the Foolkiller screamed, falling flat against his spine. The Lizard pinned him, keeping his wrists at his temples with razor sharp talons.
Peter got ready. The Foolkiller was a homicidal psychopath, but Peter still wasn’t about to let the Lizard kill him…even if that meant using his web-shooters in front of everyone here tonight.
The Lizard leaned back…widened his jaws…Peter raised his arms…
The monster’s jaws snapped shut. Wire, like a rocket noose, tied tightly around it. Crouching in the shattered hole of a window, the Black Widow pulled the wire taut. The Lizard let loose a muffled howl, whipped its snout in desperation to get free. The Black Widow allowed herself to fly forward, flipping, and controlled her fall with the wire leash slacked a little.
The Foolkiller furiously scrambled backward on his palms and heels. The Black Widow landed on the Lizard, straddling him at his thick neck. The Lizard lashed to and fro, but the wire did not loosen. The Black Widow wrapped the wire at specific angles around her own fists, wrists, and elbows, still clinging to the monster by her knees. The wire had even become wrapped at the Lizard’s forearms, pinning them in awkward angles against his chest. The Black Widow looked like she was simply in a tangled mess with the Lizard, but in fact, the more the Lizard struggled, the tighter the wire became…and more and more control shifted to her.
“Where does he think he’s going?!” Jonah snarled, and suddenly darted away. Paul Stacy was running for a side emergency exit.
“Jonah!” Betty went in one direction.
“Betty--” Peter went in the other.
She looked back at him, but only for that split second. It was not a goodbye.
Peter went with Robbie Robertson. Betty chased her boss.
Jonah leapt, and tackled Paul Stacy. “No!” Paul yelped. “I’m not--ungh!--I’m not the one you want! You don’t understand what you’re dealing with!”
Robbie shoved Peter through the crowds, toward a perpendicular hallway, one that led away from the exits. Robbie looked over his shoulder, and then let Peter go with a little push.
“Bathroom’s right down there.” Robbie whispered and pointed. “Change into your costume, and then put your clothes in the trash bin. I’ll come back for them. I’ll say we went back to your apartment, with Randy and May.”
Peter, for a second, didn’t know what to say. But he couldn’t waste time. “Robbie…thank you. For everything, over the years.”
Robbie shrugged, and turned back down the hallway. Before he went, he looked back at Peter. “I knew you were Spider-Man the first time I ever saw you. But, over the years, I convinced myself that you couldn’t…” and he paused before saying, “possibly be that stupid.” He shook his head. “Good luck. Kiss May good night for me.” Robbie bounded for the exit, among dozens of others.
The wire snapped in two. Natasha knew it eventually would, but she cursed that it couldn’t have held out ten seconds longer. The Lizard had been faltering, possibly losing oxygen. Ten seconds…maybe she could have bested the brute. But, of course, one second is all it takes to change your luck. She fell backward. The Lizard stretched his spine with roaring freedom. Natasha rolled down the monster’s rugged back, careful of the fin, and landed on her feet--
--where the Lizard’s hundred-pound tail smacked her across the face.
The Black Widow careened shoulder over shoulder until the smooth floor finally ceased her tumble. She tasted blood in her mouth. Her tongue was swelling. Lucky for her it was more blind luck than anything and the Lizard hadn’t put too much force into it. Natasha didn’t have to see where the Lizard was to know that she had to move immediately. Nothing more than a simple roll to her left.
The Lizard’s yellow teeth snapped through the space the Black Widow had just abandoned. Natasha forced a hard boot heel right in the beast’s jaw even as her head spun. The Lizard jerked back, widened his maw, ready to snap down again but--
“Whoa!” Spider-Man, on a web-line from the chandelier, swung both knees into the Lizard’s rugged torso. The Lizard tumbled to the side, away from the Black Widow. “Appetizers are at the other end of the room, sir! Try the rangoons!”
Natasha rubbed her temples as her eyesight adjusted. “Where’ve you been!”
“Been in the can.” Spidey crouched next to her. “Thanks for covering.”
“No problem.” Natasha stood up, then hunched. “Now what do we do?”
“Code: BLUE is on their way with a containment unit--probably less than five minutes out.” Spidey replied. “We just keep the Lizard from eating anyone…particularly the old guy with the flattop and the Hitler moustache.”
Natasha looked back at the Lizard. The beast was already up and resuming its stalk toward the Foolkiller. Apparently Natasha had not made enough of an impression to keep him from his real prey. Then again, who knew what was going on in that reptile brain? The Foolkiller was back up on his feet, and backing away into a run, almost on the other side of the ballroom.
“Ssstaaysseee…”
Jonah was still wrangling with Paul Stacy. Betty was frantically pulling her boss’s sleeve, but Jonah was locked with his hands in a stranglehold around Paul’s neck and arm.
“Ack! Stop! Hcck! You’re making a mistake! He made me do it! He--gaak!--made me do it!” Paul was trying to speak, but the words were barely more than a wheeze from his croaking throat.
“Tell it to the judge!” Jonah barked. His face was pink. His eyes were red.
“Jonah!” Betty, with both arms, jerked at Jonah’s elbow. “You’ve got to let him go before--”
The Lizard arched his long neck in her direction. His nostrils flared.
“Clock on the wall don’t say snack time!” Spidey yelled, and he took off on another webline.
Betty had dropped Jonah’s arm. She backed away slowly, heels clicking. Jonah was dimly aware she had let him go. He saw the shadow drape over him.
The Lizard’s snout was right there, over his shoulder. A long, rugged tongue flicked, smacked him in the forehead.
“Gah!” Jonah scrambled backward, halfway running, halfway falling. Betty caught him.
The Lizard averted his maw toward Paul Stacy, who was frozen with fear beneath him.
“No! Paul!” Spidey yelled. He was swinging in so close. He almost had Paul--
SPIDER-SENSE~!
--when the Lizard spun, lithely, whipping his tail into the air, and catching Spider-Man right in the chest. His lungs were knocked loose of air. His body flipped backward. He saw the face of the Black Widow quickly catching up to him. And then they both hit the floor hard. Just before the collision, Spider-Man yelled, “No! Paul!”
Paul Stacy was already screaming.
The Lizard bit his face off. Cleanly, smoothly. One bite.
“Oh my god!” Betty screamed.
Jonah snarled. The cigar fell out of his mouth, and he said, “I don’t believe it…”
Spider-Man saw, even as the Black Widow writhed to get out from under his weight, even as the Lizard stepped back and spat out what had been Paul Stacy’s face. Spider-Man saw what was left of Paul Stacy. Spider-Man saw--
“The Chameleon!”
“What?” Natasha looked up, and then toward the Lizard. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Betty had grasped Jonah’s shoulder and was pulling him back to the corner where Ben Urich had retreated. Jonah muttered, “I knew it. These freaks.”
The Chameleon brought his hand to his face, and felt the blank white mask there. He yelled, “See?! I told you! He made me do this! He made me wear this face! He forced me!”
Spider-Man sprang to his feet. “Okay…this party is over.” He glared across the ballroom, at the Foolkiller. So did the Lizard.
The Foolkiller was simply standing there, frozen in place. He still held his gun.
Spider-Man called to him. “What do you want, Paul? What do you want?!”
The Foolkiller met his eyes. “You.” He answered. “I want you. Dead. You dead, you fool. What else could I want?”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
The heavy pistol in the Foolkiller’s hand fired twice more from the hip. Spider-Man easily avoided the first. The second stung and burned as it grazed his shoulder. The Black Widow had already yanked a dinner plate from an abandoned table, and tossed it like a ceramic Frisbee.
The Foolkiller dashed out of the way, and the plate splintered on the wall behind him. The Lizard darted for him like a scaly sliver of lightning.
“Freeze!” Lieutenant Marcus Stone burst through the doors on the other side of the ballroom. In his hand was his ‘whoop-ass gun’. An entire cadre of similar-suited officers flowed through the entrance after him. Their guns were decidedly not as cool as Stone’s. “Sucker I said freeze!”
The Lizard did not freeze. Stone fired twice. What erupted from Stone’s pistol looked more like serpentine weeds than the actual, bleeding energy it was. Spewing forth, flashing green and blue alternately, it engulfed the Lizard like a gloved hand, only leaving an inky, floating trail leading back to the barrel of Stone’s pistol. The Lizard collapsed in a whimper. The monster struggled for a moment, then was paralyzed--but not unconscious. He twitched like he had been electrocuted, but yellow eyes were locked on the Foolkiller.
But the Foolkiller had already spied his next prey. Spider-Man launched two pellets of explosive ‘impact webbing’ but even then, the Foolkiller ducked under them, corralled the Chameleon around the neck.
“Don’t nobody move, or the schizo gets it!”
“Paul!” Spider-Man grasped his left arm where it had been singed, just beneath the shoulder. “Don’t--”
“Kill him!” the Chameleon screamed, “Don’t you get it?! I’ve been him! I’ve lived him! You need to kill him! It’s the only way you’ll stop--”
“All right!” Marcus Stone burst out again. Neither his odd gun nor his sharp aim wavered. “I want all you on your knees, hands on your--”
“Stand down, Lieutenant!” the Black Widow held up her Avengers badge. “This is official Avengers business! Back! Off!” The entirety of Code: Blue was silent and still. Stone only snarled, and kept his gun steady.
“No!” the Chameleon writhed against the Foolkiller, but he stayed wrangled. “You have to kill him! He’s crazy! This conspiracy goes so deep, you don’t understand--”
“I don’t know what you think you have left to lose, Paul,” Spider-Man ignored the Chameleon, “but there’s no changing where this is going.” He spoke as he walked slowly toward the Foolkiller. Code: Blue behind him, and the Black Widow to his side, did nothing. Spidey said, “If I ever did anything to bring you to this, then I am so sorry. But really, killing the Chameleon is not exactly the best way to get back at me, even at this stage--”
“Shut up!” the Foolkiller pointed his gun at him, and wrenched the Chameleon harder by the throat. The Chameleon gagged. The Foolkiller continued, “You think you’re the only one who can play with the lives of other people, Spider-Man? You think you’re the only one who can choose who lives and dies?”
Spidey shook his head. “You don’t get it at all, Paul. I’ve never thought like that, no matter what happened to your sister, your father…or to your cousin, and your uncle. I’ve known them all, and I’ve loved them all. Maybe I deserve your hate, but how many other people do? Where will the hate end?”
The Foolkiller snarled and rasped, “It ends right now.”
“Damn right.” that voice was not Spider-Man.
The Foolkiller looked over his shoulder and saw J. Jonah Jameson had his fist already cocked back. It connected with the Foolkiller’s jawbone, sending an echoing crack across the ballroom. The gun clattered to the floor. The Chameleon collapsed in a slump.
The Black Widow immediately moved in to drag the Chameleon away. Jonah crouched over the Foolkiller and pulled off the black ski mask.
Paul Stacy lay there with a bloody, fat lip. He smiled nonetheless. “Of course.” He gazed back at Spider-Man. “I should’ve known it would end this way. I go the way of my family. The Stacys must be needed in another world. This world and these fools must not be good enough.” Tears welled, and then streamed, though he laughed. “Just end me now.”
Spider-Man approached, weary that he was getting closer to two men who absolutely despised him. But Jonah seemed too captivated by Paul to pay any notice. Spider-Man said, “Paul…we aren’t going to kill you. There’s only one killer here right now--”
Paul closed his eyes and laughed louder, harder. “Do it! What are you waiting for?!”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
Spider-Man didn’t know where it was coming from. He just knew, instinctually, that he had to get Jonah--
“Down!” Spidey grabbed Jonah around the waist and pulled him to the floor with him.
Paul Stacy sat up. “Come on! What are you--”
A sickening shot--yet another crack of thunder--preceded the blood that sprayed from the back of Paul Stacy’s skull. The shot threw his body back an extra few feet, before it lay still, in an ever widening pool of blood.
“No! Paul!” Spider-Man cried, and he looked up.
“There!” the Black Widow pointed at the shattered window space high on the opposite wall of the ballroom.
Spider-Man was already in the air, swinging after him. That figure in black, almost identical to the Foolkiller on the floor, shimmied frantically down the simple rope that he had used to clamber upward. He hit the grassy soil, and Spider-Man was already in the clerestory window looming toward him.
“After him, boys!” Lieutenant Stone gave the call and Code: Blue dispersed.
“I said hold it, Lieutenant!” the Black Widow dashed in front of them. “We need an ambulance here. I’ll go after Spider-Man.”
Lieutenant Stone was never shy about getting right up in front of a woman’s face. He did so. “It’s too late for an ambulance, Widow. You know that. A man was just killed, in my precinct, right in front of my face. And at least one, maybe two Avengers did absolutely nothing to stop it. It’s not happening again. If you want to argue jurisdiction, I will be happy to talk to you about it once this is all over.”
Code: Blue again bolted past the Black Widow. Natasha frowned, and ran with them.
The Foolkiller had actually sprinted quite a distance from the Buscema Center already, through a brightly lit courtyard in the middle of campus. But it was nothing Spider-Man couldn’t reach. He bounded from the window, to the tree branch to open air, right onto the Foolkiller’s back.
Foolkiller? Another one? Spidey thought, as they tumbled together across the concrete.
“Why?!” Spider-Man shouted, and he knocked a forearm across the back of his quarry’s head.
The new Foolkiller writhed underneath Spider-Man, wildly kicking and throwing elbows. Still, Spider-Man was lithe enough to keep him pinned. Soon enough, Spidey had the Foolkiller’s wrists and ankles webbed, keeping his arm around the Foolkiller’s chin. Then, Spider-Man tore off his mask.
It was the same face, gaunt and sweat-soaked, that he’d seen the day Angela Yin was shot. The face with flashes of Russ Anderson. But this boy wasn’t nearly as wizened or stoic as the police detective Spidey knew.
“Why did you do it?” Spider-Man lifted him, and though bound at every limb, the Foolkiller fought to get free. It was to no avail. Spider-Man shook him. “Why did you kill him?! You were friends weren’t you?! Why did you do any of this?!”
The Foolkiller grunted and spat. “Justice. We all want justice, wall-crawler. We all have our own recipe of justice. You, us, and even my dad.”
Spidey shook his head. “You can’t be his son. He would’ve told me.”
The Foolkiller laughed. “Yeah, sure. Decorated officer Russell Anderson would’ve been completely honest about how he left his son, deciding himself that he was unfit to be a widowed father. Don’t talk to me about what my father would or wouldn’t have done!”
Spider-Man finally dropped him back onto the concrete of the courtyard. He said, “I know that your father wouldn’t have wanted this.”
“Nobody ever asked us what we wanted!” the Foolkiller yelled back at him. “Not me, not Paul, not any of us! Our families were killed, all in the name of some kind of cause or another, and nobody ever asked us if we needed help! So we helped each other. We met in support groups and camps. We stayed in touch through e-mails and blogs. We made each other feel better. We took our lives back! Back from you!”
“The only life you took,” Spidey said, “was Paul’s.”
The Foolkiller scoffed. “You idiot. Paul would have rather died than see everything we worked for come crashing down. He told me that himself. I felt the same way.” He closed his eyes. “And now…you have to kill me.”
Spider-Man shook his head. “I don’t kill.”
The Foolkiller opened his eyes again, and shook his head. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
SPIDER-SENSE~!
Spider-Man spun on his heel, but something exploded by his feet. Some kind of gas…god, it’s so pungent…He dropped to his knees. Wearily, with his vision starting to blur and wave, Spidey saw feet approaching. With his strength quickly leaving him, Spider-Man stared at the newcomer.
“Greg Salinger…” Spider-Man heaved, and then slumped.
“He remembered me. I can’t believe he remembered me.” The tall, lean, blonde man smirked and pulled a knife from his belt. “Come along, Ben.” Clad all in black and denim, the gleam of the light off his blade was all that Ben Anderson could see of Greg Salinger. With a few swipes, Salinger had cut Ben free from the webbing. Ben was cautious to stand up, and stay close to the original Foolkiller next to him.
Salinger kept his smile. “I remember the night Spider-Man defeated me, and had me arrested.” He turned to Ben. “He webbed me up, and left me for the police, just like he was going to do to you now. And as I lay there, people passed me by, and one of them laughed at me and said, ‘Man, you must be a fool to take on Spider-Man!’.”*
(*-that’s true, web-heads. Check it out in Marvel’s ASM issue 226 - Bryan)
Ben winced. “But what do we do now?”
Salinger laughed, judging the web-slinging slump near them. “We leave him. Spiders are only dangerous when you provoke them, after all. What kind of fools do something like that?”
Ben said nothing, but sighed. Salinger rested a palm on his shoulder. “You’re tired. Come. We’re both bound to be wanted by sunrise. I’ve seen the way Paul Stacy operated things, and I was not impressed. The Foolkiller’s actions are never meant to benefit any one person or entity! Certainly not the Stacy Foundation, which funds superficial institutions like the NYPD! Ben…” and Salinger leaned in to whisper this to him, “…forget Spider-Man. I am going to teach you to aim higher.”
The Foolkillers rambled off into the busy Manhattan nightlife. Not ten seconds after they had disappeared from view around and about the many structures of the ESU campus, the Black Widow and Code: Blue arrived, and found Spider-Man, limp and prone.
His room was silent. But there was light. Flashing, colorful, but silent, from the television in the far corner of the room. It was the only light whatsoever. Arthur Stacy lay in his bed, waking from a restless sleep, just as he had done about once every hour since he had been admitted.
His eyes tried to adjust in the blare. The volume of the television was muted, so he had to squint until finally he could see what the television was broadcasting. After a few seconds, Arthur was watching the news.
Frantic, shaking camera angles showed people rushing, ambulances stopped and flashing, and the campus of Empire State University. Arthur’s hand reached for the remote that was attached to his bedside. He pressed the mute button.
“--you’re just joining us, the ESU Science Center has been evacuated after a massive explosion rocked the very foundation. This in addition to the attack across campus at the Buscema Center, by the Lizard. We’re not quite sure if the two incidents are related but as of yet we haven’t heard any evidence of that…nor have we heard of any fatalities--
“What…?
“I’m just receiving word…I’m sorry, I’ve…I’ve just received that word that there been at least one person killed…”
Arthur Stacy felt a familiar wrenching around his soul.
“…yes, I’ve just received word, unofficially of course--we can’t substantiate this claim--but we’ve heard Paul Stacy, nephew of the famous NYPD police captain, George Stacy, has been killed. Now, the Stacy Foundation has just made headlines recently with a global initiative to support the families of people killed in superhuman violence. The initiative received half a billion dollars in a--”
The television clicked off. Darkness cloaked Arthur in his bed. Quietly, he began to cry.
Arthur Stacy cried, for his children were dead.
NEXT ISSUE: Familiar faces abound, and plots start to weave together in the penultimate issue of my run, gearing up for an issue-fifty extravaganza! Alexander Lukin is making his last move to solidify power in the New York City underworld, and poor Peter Parker is bound to be caught up in it! But what other secrets await? Who is Ronin? What plans do the Aladdin Agency have with Spider-Man? What trouble has the Prowler gotten into this time? Where exactly does Venom fit into all this? Be here, true believer!