Alright, here’s the deal: I’m just starting to get my life back together after three months of being miserable, with my wife Mary Jane having left to live in L.A. for a while. In the meantime, I’ve been teaching science at Midtown High, helping my former tormentor and current good friend Flash Thompson battle alcoholism and, when I have a free moment, save the world from super powered freaks and non-super powered bank robbers.

Speaking of super powered freaks, I’m currently stuck between a rock and a hard place. The Hobgoblin’s back in town, and because I was bone headed enough to think I wouldn’t get caught off-guard on the Empire State Building of all places, he got the upper hand and managed to get my mask, leaving me stuck hanging here in the shadows. Well, they don’t call me the Amazing Spider-Man for nothing, so I’ll just have to figure out how to beat this joker without revealing my face to him…

HOBGOBLIN RISING

Part II

By Tobias Christopher

Drew Michaels was playing with the new disposable camera he’d found. He had taken a few *artsy* shots so far, mostly of girls in short skirts and low cut blouses, but he had plenty of film left. As he walked down the streets of New York after dark, he kept trying to find excuses not to go home. He was certain his step-father was asleep now, passed out from a long day of drinking, but that wouldn’t solve the underlying problem of his home life.

That’s when he looked up and saw an orange and yellow streak rush across the sky, headed towards the Empire State Building. It looked like someone on a rocket-powered glider…

“I have got to get a shot of that,” said Drew to himself, but he knew he would need to be closer to the action to get a good shot with the crappy little disposable camera. He headed toward a nearby building, heading up to the roof to get a clear picture.

“Come on out and play, little spider,” the Hobgoblin laughed as he held Spider-Man’s mask out, teasing the hero with it as the now nearly exposed Peter Parker hung in the shadows, his face covered by the darkness. Rhett Carson, the current holder of the Hobgoblin mantle, felt more confident than he ever had, thanks to Norman Osborn giving him enhanced powers to take on Spider-Man.

“Hang on,” Spider-Man said as he shot a gob of webbing into the Hobgoblin’s face. “I have to put my face on.”

Clutching Spider-Man’s mask tightly, the Hobgoblin pulled at the webbing stuck to his face. By the time he pulled it off, he looked around, seeing Spider-Man was no longer hanging from the spot he was in before. A sudden kick to the back sent the Hobgoblin flying forward as he tried to regain his footing as he stood on the glider.

“Very clever, spider, but I still have your—” before he could finish his sentence, Spider-Man came swinging around from the front, sending the ghoulish creature flying backward. As he tried to regain his footing once again, he saw Spider-Man’s face covered in a web like mask, with two eyeholes and two nostril holes, allowing him to breathe.

Landing on the side of a building, the tiny fibers in his hands and feet allowing him to stick to the side, Spider-Man shot another line of webbing towards the Hobgoblin, who ducked and laughed as the webbing went right past him.

“You missed!” gloated the Hobgoblin as Spider-Man smirked under his webbing.

“Wasn’t aiming for you,” replied Spider-Man as he yanked, pulling a piece of loose brick off the ledge of a nearby building. The brick hit the Hobgoblin in the back of the head, knocking him forward as another line of webbing shot out of Spider-Man’s other wrist. Swinging forward just as the Hobgoblin did, Spider-Man gave him a good kick in the face, sending him falling backwards towards the roof of a nearby building.

Letting go of the line, Spider-Man did a somersault through the air, tackling the Hobgoblin as the two fell, crashing onto the roof, the same one that Drew was currently standing on, taking pictures of the action. Hiding before the two could spot him, Drew continued to take shots of the action, wondering where Spider-Man’s mask was. In the confusion, the Hobgoblin had dropped it during the fall as the two began rolling around.

After a few seconds, the Hobgoblin lifted Spider-Man with his legs and flung him toward the edge of the roof. Stopping just short of going over the edge, Spider-Man stood up just as the Hobgoblin pulled out a pumpkin shaped explosive and tossed it.

Just one bomb? Spider-Man thought as his spider-sense warned of a greater danger. As the bomb flew closer, it exploded early, sending a dozen boomerang shaped razor blades hurling through the air in the bomb’s place. Using his spider-sense, the hero jumped through the barrage, not realizing they were boomeranging back at him. Caught off guard, he got sliced in several places on his arms and body as they circled back around.

The Hobgoblin let out a harsh laugh as he tossed several pumpkin smoke bombs, making it impossible to see. As Spider-Man found himself being cut again and again by the blades, he suddenly found the Hobgoblin’s fist in his face, sending him flying backwards.

“Give up, Spider-Man?” asked the Hobgoblin as he grabbed Spider-Man by the throat and tossed him a good ten feet.

“Forget it, Kingsley,” replied Spider-Man as he landed gracefully before he stood up, seeing the boomerang razors coming back. He shot several globs of webbing, pinning them to the wall while the Hobgoblin used the distraction to kick him in the midsection.

“Sorry, wrong Goblin!” said the newest man to wear the mask as Spidey went to punch him but found his arm blocked as the Hobgoblin sent him flying back with another punch to the chest.

“I must be the only hero whose villains share their identities,” quipped Spider-Man as he shot a line of webbing toward the Hobgoblin’s legs. Giving a good yank once the webbing hit it’s mark, sending the Hobgoblin crashing to the ground. “Alright, then, it’s got to be Arnold Donovan.”

He jumped up and prepared to bodyslam the Hobgoblin, but the villain moved out of the way, leaving Spider-Man to land hard and making a hole in the ground under him. “Wrong, hero!”

“Macendale?”

“Guess again, wallcrawler!” the Hobgoblin said as he rushed toward Spider-Man, who jumped over the man, kicking his newest arch nemesis in the back, sending the Hobgoblin flying into an antenna. As he hit it, he heard the voice in his earpiece telling him to report back.

“Alright, this is a long shot, but is it Rumpelstiltskin?” asked Spider-Man as his spider-sense warned him to duck, just as the Goblin’s glider flew past. The Hobgoblin jumped onto his ride and laughed. “I give up, who’s the face under the mask?”

“Sorry, Spidey, but if you won’t show me yours, I won’t show you mine!” the Hobgoblin laughed as he tossed several more pumpkin smoke bombs down. As he flew away, he laughed, holding Spider-Man’s mask in his hand after having picked it back up. “I’ll just keep this as a souvenir of our first encounter! Until next time, arachnid!”

“You’re not getting away that easy,” said Spider-Man as he heard a ticking once the smoke cleared. It was a larger, pumpkin shaped bomb that would cause the whole roof to collapse if it went off. There was no decision to make, he had to take care of the bomb. Grabbing it while shooting two lines of webbing to separate corners of the roof, he created a slingshot and flung the bomb high into the air, where it exploded in a show of flames.

Looking around, the Hobgoblin was nowhere to be found. Sighing to himself, he fired another line of webbing and swung off the roof. He was in too much pain to make it back to his apartment, but luckily there was a closer place to go to.

As Spider-Man swung away, Drew came out of hiding, seeing the ash of the exploded pumpkin bomb raining down on the city. “Holy crap, that bomb could have gone off right here…I could have been killed. Awesome!”

Swinging through the city, Spider-Man swung past the billboard for the Daily Bugle.

“Yeesh,” said Spider-Man, seeing Jonah’s large face plastered on it. “The only thing that billboard’s good for is keeping Godzilla at bay.”

The Daily Bugle

Several framed pictures of past headlines lined the walls of the office, all of them in one way or another featuring Spider-Man. Even though the man with the flat top haircut and lit cigar in his mouth hated the hero with the burning rage of a thousand suns, Spider-Man sold papers. And when he sold papers, J. Jonah Jameson was a very happy man.

Too bad no one could ever tell the difference.

“Where’s my story for tomorrow’s page one!?” shouted the head of the Daily Bugle he sat behind his desk. “Where’s my headline? Surely Spider-Man’s done something newsworthy in the last twenty-four hours! Robbing banks, kicking old ladies in the shins, eating babies…anything! Where the hell’s Parker when I need a good front page picture?”

“Jonah, Peter hasn’t worked for us in quite some time,” said Robbie Robertson, the editor in chief. “He’s actually got a real career now, remember?”

“Well, no wonder all the shots we’ve been getting of that wall crawling menace lately have been subpar,” replied Jameson, taking the cigar out of his mouth. “Put the word out: we need a good freelancer who can take pictures with his hands instead of his rear. One who can get good shots of Spider-Man, but whose gullible enough to work cheap like Parker was… Uh, don’t put that last part in there. Surely Spider-Man will pose for someone else in this town. Maybe Parker had something on him—”

Jameson smiled as he put the cigar back in his mouth. “There’s our headline: Spider-Man in debt to the mob; Young photographer blackmails him for decent pictures. I love it! Now we just need a picture to go along with it.”

Jameson looked up at Robbie. “Are you still here? Find me my new freelance!”

Flash Thompson was sitting on the couch of his small, one bedroom bachelor pad, flipping through the channels when he stopped on one of the channels showing a ‘Girls Gone Wild’ commercial.

“Even with those black bars, I can tell those are fake,” said Flash to himself as he watched the censored commercial just as a knock was heard on his door. He got up and opened the door, looking out into the empty hallway. Stepping out, his foot touched a bottle of wine, nearly knocking it over. Picking it up, he grew angered. “This isn’t funny!”

It was the third time in three weeks that someone had done this to him, leaving a bottle of booze outside of his door, then running off. Slamming the door shut, Flash walked toward the sink, preparing to dump the bottle down the drain.

Staring at it, briefly, he had to tell himself that even a tiny sip would mean losing all the progress he’d made. “Get it together, Thompson,” said Flash as he stood over the sink, pouring the red liquid down the drain. “You don’t need this stuff.”

Running the water, rinsing whatever was left away, Flash ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t know who was playing games with him, but if he ever found out he’d beat the living hell out of them.

The Residence of May Parker

The window to Peter Parker’s old bedroom opened as Spider-Man made his way through. The hero pulled the mask made of webbing off, leaving little chunks in his mussed brown hair. He couldn’t believe he’d been sloppy enough to lose his mask like that. Maybe he was getting soft from fighting normal bank robbers. It’d been weeks since he fought an actual threat and, after that, he definitely needed to get back on his game before he faced this new Goblin again.

As he climbed through the window, he felt the sting of the cuts on his chest and arms. Sometimes he forgot what real pain felt like with his nearly indestructible body and enhanced healing factor. The cuts would go away soon, but not soon enough to get rid of the sting.

As Peter got all the way through the window, he realized his room was no longer the way it used to look when he’d come home from a long night of crime fighting in high school. The room was now a guest room, Peter’s stuff having been moved out long ago.

It was then that the bedroom light turned on and Peter saw his Aunt May standing in the doorway. She was a frail old woman in a pink bathrobe and holding a baseball bat, investigating when she’d heard a noise that suddenly awoke her from dreaming about her beloved husband Ben.

“Peter Parker,” said May in a stern voice as she looked at him in his costume. “Take off those boots before you walk on my clean floors. Heaven knows what you’ve been walking on.”

Having changed into a pair of light blue pajama pants, Peter sat at the kitchen table as May applied iodine to the wounds on his body so they would heal faster. May had known about Peter’s dual life for quite some time, she’d just never accepted it until recently. She still loved her nephew, but she wished he’d choose a safer line of work.

“You don’t have to do this—owowow!” whined Peter as May smiled while she cleaned out his wounds. “Is it supposed to burn like this?”

“Stop being a baby, I don’t want this getting infected,” replied May as she finished. “You may be Spider-Man, but you’re still the nephew I patched up when he was little. Only I don’t remember you getting scrapes like this on your tricycle.”

“I wasn’t the world’s most coordinated eight-year-old, was I? I’m sorry I snuck in,” said Peter as he pulled a blue t-shirt down over his chest once she was finished. “I just—it’s one of those nights that I can’t go home to the apartment.”

“I understand,” replied May as she got up and brought a tray of tea over to the table for them. “Have you…heard from Mary Jane?”

“No,” answered Peter as he stood up and helped her carry the tray over. “We both thought time apart would help us clear our heads about this situation, but some days are harder than others. Is that what it’s like for you? I mean—I didn’t mean—” Way to go, dunce. Peter Parker: Master Conversationalist, that’s me.

May smiled as she put her hand on Peter’s. She knew exactly what the younger man was trying to say.

“I miss your Uncle Ben every day and the hurt never really goes away,” she told him. “But I know he’d want me to remain strong because he loves me. Just like Mary Jane loves you and, one day, she’ll realize that you two belong together.”

“Is it all right if I sleep here tonight?” asked Peter hopefully as he took a sip of the tea. Lately he dreaded going back to the apartment, especially this late. Seeing the empty bed where Mary Jane used to wait up for him, where they’d just lay there and talk, sometimes all the way to sunrise, was too much for him.

“Yes, you know you’re always welcome here,” replied May. “Of course, if you wanted to do a few chores when you get up in the morning…”

Crap, Peter thought. There’s always a catch.

Drew took off his shoes before walking in the front door, not wanting to make a sound. He lived in a small rental home with his step-father and younger step-brother in a bad part of the city. The man currently taking care of him was out of work and living off of unemployment checks, meaning there wasn’t much income coming in, which required Drew to do what he could to bring extra cash in.

Walking past his father who’d passed out of the couch with a bottle of scotch in his hand, he made his way upstairs to the bedroom he shared with his younger sixteen-year-old brother A.J. Alan Michaels Jr. had been diagnosed with cancer at age twelve and had been going to chemo whenever his uninsured family could come up with the money. Seeing his brother laying silently in the bed, Drew started getting ready to go to bed himself.

“Dad was ticked that you didn’t come home,” said A.J. who was laying on his side. At sixteen, he was already taller than Drew with shoulder length brown hair which, since it had managed to grow back, he wanted as much of it as possible. “It was family fun night. You know, where dad tells me every thing’s going to be okay and this is all our witch of a mother’s fault—”

“My mom, not yours,” corrected Drew as he walked into the bathroom to change for bed. He pulled his shirt over his head, being reminded of the things he was doing for his little brother’s benefit as he looked at the bruises on his body. “I’m pretty sure your mom wouldn’t have abandoned you if she’d had the choice.”

As Drew walked out to his bed in just his boxers, A.J. looked at his big brother’s bruised and battered body. “I didn’t ask you to take another pounding for me. I’m stronger, now, I can—”

“As long as I can come up with the money for your chemo, you’re not strong enough for anything more than playing with your band,” replied Drew as he laid down and closed his eyes. “Speaking of which…I managed to scrape up enough cash for your next session.”

“Drew, you’re going to end up in the hospital if you don’t slow down—” A.J. started to say before Drew cut him off.

“Don’t worry about it,” replied Drew as he tried to sleep. “Just focus on getting well, because once your band makes it big, I’m totally sponging off of you.”

He thought about those shots of Spider-Man on his camera and the rush of taking the pictures. Too bad he didn’t have the cash for a better camera or a way to make money off of that sort of thing. He’d kill for a better way to make money than what he was currently doing with his nights.

Norman Osborn looked at Spider-Man’s mask, holding it in his hands while sitting on the couch of his penthouse. The Hobgoblin, having removed his mask to reveal his true face, that of Rhett Carson, gloated as he spoke to his new employer.

“I would have had him if you hadn’t have called me off,” said Rhett as Norman handed him back the mask. Osborn wanted his new employee to have a keepsake of his first real fight. “I could have brought him back here and—”

“I would have let him go the second you brought him through those doors,” replied Norman as he stood up and headed toward the mini-bar for a drink. He pulled out a bottle of expensive champagne, which was meant for his visitor, before pulling out a small bottle of brandy. “I called you off because I didn’t want Spider-Man defeated. I want him to survive to fight another day. I want him to believe that he can overcome any obstacle, no matter how large.”

“But…why?” asked Rhett. He just wanted this to end as quickly as possible. “I thought you wanted me to beat him for you.”

Pouring the liquid into the container, Norman started shaking it to mix the beverage. “You see, Mr. Carson, the best way to destroy your enemy is to give them a false sense of security. Make them feel like they’re unbeatable. After all, when you’re on top of the world…the fall is all that much more painful. Care for a drink?”

“No, no thank you,” replied Rhett as he shoved the hero’s mask back into his cape. “I don’t—”

“Do you know why I had you rescued from your fate at the hands of Roderick Kingsley?” asked Norman as he poured himself a glass of the finished drink. “It’s because I see great things for you, Rhett. With your…questionable actions over the years, I saw great potential.”

“How did you—?”

“I make it my business to know,” replied Norman as he took a drink. “I did some digging and your history interested me greatly. That’s how I knew you’d be one of my key players in the endgame against Spider-Man.”

“Wait,” said Rhett, his voice now filled with nervousness. If Norman knew about his past, then… “You know about—”

“Once again, I make it my business to know,” replied Norman, a serious look crossing his face. “And I’ve gathered enough evidence to exonerate you from your crime, which I won’t do provided you swear your complete and undying loyalty to me here and now.”

“Mr. Osborn, you can’t—”

“Oh, I won’t,” said Norman to the young man, seeing the fear in his face, “as long as I have your loyalty. But should you ever double-cross me in any way or make me believe that you’re untrustworthy, I can, and will, clear your name. Then the real culprit will pay for his crime.”

“That’s it?” asked Rhett, now wishing he’d taken that drink. What had he gotten himself into?

“That’s it,” said Norman. “In exchange, your secret will be safe. The world will continue to think that you committed that horrific act.”

“… Okay,” finally agreed Rhett, looking down at the ground in shame. No matter what happened, he had to carry the burden of the accident alone. “You have my loyalty.”

“Good boy,” said Norman as he finished his drink. “You can go home now. I’ll be in contact, so you can expect your next assignment soon.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Rhett in a sullen tone as he headed for the window, putting his Goblin mask back on as he went. “Goodnight, Mr. Osborn.”

Once Rhett had left, Norman set the glass back on the bar and headed to the table, sitting down at it, gloating silently. He knew he chose his player correctly by sending Carson against Spider-Man. He just needed to make sure his new employee stayed in line.

“Was I right, or was I right?” asked Roderick Kingsley as he stepped from out of the shadows, having been listening in to the conversation. He headed to the bar and grabbed a bottle of the finest champagne. “The kid’s dumber than a box of rocks. He has no idea that the only reason he’s alive is because I made a hefty profit from selling him to you.”

“Yes,” said Norman as he stared out the window while Kingsley toasted to their victory and took a drink. Norman paused briefly as he waited for Kingsley to finish his glass of champagne before he continued on, “But in the long run he’s well worth the money you obviously haven’t realized is fake. As well as testing my new and improved Goblin treatment, Rhett will serve as the perfect distraction against Spider-Man while I… Well, there’s no sense in telling my plan to you, is there?”

Norman walked past Roderick Kingsley’s body as it lay on the floor, poisoned by the glass of champagne he’d drunk. Foam poured from the old man’s mouth, his life slipping away as Norman made a phone call to his clean up crew. Once he hung up, he walked back over to Kingsley, smiling.

“Being dumber than a box of rocks obviously runs in the Hobgoblin family,” said Norman as he stood up and walked back to his desk to do some paperwork. “One strength enhanced Hobgoblin in this world is more than enough. Mr. Carson will continue to believe you’re still alive and gunning for him, so at least you’ll still be around in spirit.”

Waking up the next morning, Peter immediately got to work around the house, doing his chores for Aunt May before he had to get ready for school. He changed the burnt out light bulbs, fixed a few appliances and did various other things May herself wasn’t capable of.

After kissing May goodbye and promising to come back to visit soon, Peter grabbed the spare mask he kept hidden with another costume in the crawlspace in the closet of his old bedroom before taking off. He had to get home to get a change of clothes and a shower before school.

I can’t believe it, after all these years and I’m still rushing to make it to school on time, Spider-Man thought to himself. Ironically this was the fate I thought Flash was going to have back in high school.

Spider-Man crawled through the window of his apartment, pulling off his mask in the process. He was in the bedroom he once shared with Mary Jane before they decided to separate. While his side of their bed was a complete mess, hers was still perfectly conditioned. As he pulled off his costume, getting ready to grab a shower, he looked at the picture of himself and Mary Jane on their wedding day, which was sitting on the nightstand.

“Wherever you are, MJ, I hope you find what you’re looking for,” said Peter as he walked into the bathroom.

At that moment, far away from New York

The black-clad assassin made her way across the smoky rooftop, looking for her target. That’s when she heard the noises from the alley below. A young man was being mugged, held up against a wall, being threatened by a knife.

The young man was the one she was sent to find, having been trailing him for quite some time. She had to act quickly to save him. Standing in the shadows after scaling down the side of the building, she called out to them.

“A bunch of strong men picking on a young boy, why not pick on a more…mature person?” asked the woman as the three men smirked at each other as she stepped out of the shadows. The woman, dressed in black boots, a tight black leather outfit, her face and hair hidden underneath a black helmet, motioned them forward.

They approached her, knives drawn as the woman kicked the first man in the mid-section, sending him backwards, doubled over in pain.

The second man swung his fist as the woman ducked, causing the man to strike the third mugger, knocking him out cold. The woman stood back up and did a round house kick, knocking the man out. After making sure the muggers were all unconscious, the woman approached the young man.

“Jeffy,” the woman, code named Thel, said as she approached him. “I’ve been searching for you for a while. It’s time you joined the other special children I’ve been sent to find.”

“How did you find me?” asked the young man as the woman pointed the ground, where a long trail of red lines led directly to the boy’s current position.

“CUT!” shouted the man sitting in the casting director’s chair. A bell rang as the cameras stopped rolling. The man had been chosen to find the perfect leading lady and now he knew who he wanted to bring to the film’s director. “That was perfect! I think we’ve found our mother figure. Mary Jane-Watson, welcome to—”

Mary Jane smiled as she removed the helmet and let her flowing red hair down while the casting director stood up. One man’s vision of an American classic was about to be realized.

“The Family Circus!”

To Be Continued