Oscorp

The media division of Norman Osborn’s corporation was bustling with activity. Inside the control room, technicians sat in front of a series of monitors. By Osborn’s side was a man with short, brown hair and glasses. He wore a lab coat over a dress shirt and slacks.

“Will these cameras of yours work, Otto?” asked Osborn.

“Of course,” said the man in the lab coat. “Trust me, Mr. Osborn—you’ve hired the most brilliant mind in the field of robotics.”

“For what you’re charging my company, I should hope so,” said Osborn. He looked down at his watch and sighed. “Where the hell is our star?”

“He’s still in the green room, sir,” said one of the producers.

“Ugh,” muttered Osborn. He walked over to the door and banged on it a few times.

“I’m not coming out,” came the voice from the other side.

“Come on, everyone’s waiting for you,” said Osborn.

“I don’t care, I’m not coming out.”

“This isn’t very heroic of you,” said Osborn.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Come on,” said Osborn. “It’s time for you to make your debut.”

There was a sigh from behind the door. The next sound Osborn heard was it unlocking. Peter Parker stepped out of the room, dressed in a blue and red skintight costume, complete with a full facemask and opaque lenses. The red areas of the costume had webs on them and a small black spider on his chest. On his back was a giant red spider.

“Red and blue?” asked Peter. “What kind of spiders are red and blue?”

“A bright and colorful costume will look great on the show,” said Osborn. “In the darkness of the city, you bring brightness.”

“That’s incredibly corny,” said Peter.

“Welcome to television,” said Osborn. He looked at Otto. “What do you think of our Spider-Man?”

Otto looked Peter up and down. “I thought he would be taller.”

“Won’t matter with the magic of television,” said Osborn. He turned to Peter. “How does it fit?”

“It’s actually a little tight,” said Peter, shifting uncomfortably.

“It’s supposed to be,” said Osborn. “Allows for greater movement when you’re out there.”

“Yeah, I get that, but does it have to ride up in the crotch like this?” asked Peter.

Osborn sighed. He motioned to Otto. “This is Dr. Otto Octavius. He designed the Spider-Cams that will follow you around.”

“Spider-Cams?” asked Peter.

“Yes,” said Octavius. He held a small, round mechanical device in his hands. There was a lens in the center of it. “This is one of the Spider-Cams. It utilizes anti-gravity technology and it can track you via a GPS signal in your costume.”

“In other words, you needn’t worry about endangering any camera crews,” said Osborn. “Are you ready for your big premiere?”

“I guess,” said Peter.

“Good, be back here by six tonight,” said Osborn.

“Sounds good,” said Peter. “Can I take this thing off now?”

Osborn nodded and Peter left the room. Once he was gone, Osborn turned to Octavius. “Well?” he asked.

“He doesn’t seem very heroic to me,” said Octavius.

“He will,” said Osborn. “Trust me, Otto. The public will eat this up.”

“I can’t say I care,” said Octavius.

“I think you’ll change your tune once you see him in action tonight,” said Osborn. He looked down at his watch. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to check on something.”

BIG-TIME SUPERHERO

Part V: Amazing Fantasy

By Dino Pollard

Deep beneath Oscorp was a secure lab where Dr. Mendel Stromm was allowed to work in secret. Ever since Osborn had given him a strand of Peter Parker’s hair, Stromm was hard at work harvesting the DNA contained within. It was fascinating, to say the least. Stromm was amazed at the results of his tests on the DNA and the one thought that kept recurring to him throughout the entire process was that Curt Connors was a genius ahead of his time.

The doors opened with a hiss and Stromm could see Norman Osborn enter the room. Osborn walked to the gurney in the center of the room and viewed the test subject who was strapped down and apparently unconscious. The man had IVs connected to his body that led to a tank filled with a green liquid. Osborn then looked to Stromm. “Is this him?”

“Yes, Nels Van Adder,” said Stromm, standing from the computer. “Pardoned criminal, record mostly consists of theft.”

“Good,” said Osborn. “Have you perfected the formula?”

“As best I could,” said Stromm. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to completely replicate the DNA, not working on such a short time frame. But I have come up with some… interesting results.”

“Shall we get started then?” asked Osborn.

Stromm nodded. He went back to the computer and entered several keystrokes. Osborn leaned against the wall and watched as the tanks emptied of the green liquid, saw it flow through the tubes and inter Van Adder’s body. Within a few moments, the man’s body went into violent convulsions. His mass began to grown and his skin began to take on a green hue. Osborn heard what could only be described as growls coming from the man’s throat.

Van Adder’s hair seemed to recede into his scalp and his ears grew larger with pointed tips. He gritted his teeth, which now appeared to be fang-like. There were protrusions on his skull, that seemed to be horns. He opened his eyes and they were a bright yellow. Van Adder was awake now and he pulled himself free from the leather straps, the IVs popping from his muscled physique. He stood from the gurney and looked at Osborn with a rage in his eyes.

“Remarkable…” said Osborn, looking upon his creation.

Van Adder looked down at his clawlike fingers, then at Osborn and he said with a growl, “what have you done to me?”

“I gave you what you signed on for, Mr. Van Adder—power and freedom,” said Osborn.

“You turned me into a monster!” said Van Adder.

“No, I unleashed your full potential,” said Osborn. “But if you really want to go back to the way you were, I have the means and will provide you with them. All I require in return is for you to perform some simple tasks for me.”

“What tasks?” asked Van Adder.

“Let’s talk,” said Osborn.

Naveen Sharan’s face rang out with pain as it was slammed against the counter. A thick, dark-skinned hand gripped his head tightly and held it down against the hard plastic surface. A much slimmer man with short brown hair and a pinstripe suit leaned against the counter and looked down at Naveen. He took a drag from his cigarette, then bent over and blew the smoke into Naveen’s face. The store owner coughed.

“We had a deal, Mr. Sharan,” he said. “You pay my associates and me insurance money, and in turn we ensure that nothing happens to your business. But lately, you’ve been late with your payments.”

“Business has been slow,” said Naveen.

The man who called himself Fancy Dan raised an eyebrow. “Slow? Really?” He looked to the large man who had Naveen’s head pinned to the counter. “Ox, do you think he’s telling the truth?” Ox shook his head. Fancy Dan looked at Naveen. “Ox doesn’t believe you. Maybe we should ask Montana. Montana?”

The third member of the trio that called themselves the Enforcers came down one of the aisles. In his hand was a bottle of Southern Comfort which he took a generous swig from. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a brown leather jacket with a cowboy hat on his head. Hanging from his belt was a bullwhip.

“You rang?” asked Montana, with a hint of a southern accent.

“Mr. Sharan says he doesn’t have the money because business has been slow,” said Fancy Dan. “Ox doesn’t believe him. What do you think?”

“Might be,” said Montana.

“Hmm, a draw,” said Fancy Dan. “I guess it all comes down to me, huh?”

“P-please, I’ll have the money by next week, I swear!” said Naveen.

“Next week?” asked Fancy Dan. “Montana, correct me if I’m wrong, but last week didn’t Mr. Sharan say he’d pay us next week?”

“Yup,” said Montana.

“Ox, wouldn’t that mean he promised us the money today?”

“Sounds about right,” said Ox.

“I guess that makes you unreliable, Mr. Sharan,” said Fancy Dan.

“I swear, next week!”

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” said Fancy Dan. “You see, we’ve fulfilled our end of the bargain. And yet, you continue to welch out on us. And if we let you slide again, how do you think that makes us look to our other customers? Well, I’ll tell you—it makes other customers think we’re giving you special treatment. And we can’t have that, now can we? It’s bad for business.”

“Want me to crack open his skull, boss?” asked Ox.

“No!” said Naveen.

“Tempting…” said Fancy Dan, ignoring Naveen’s pleas. A bright, red light suddenly flooded the small liquor store, blinding the occupants.

“Mind if I get a vote in this?”

The Enforcers allowed their eyes adjust to the light and once they did, they saw a young man hanging upside down from what looked like a rope of some sort, right outside the windows. He was dressed in red and blue spandex, including a mask which covered his entire head. The red light came from the middle of his waist, where his belt would be if he wore one. The light projected an image into the room, one which was in the shape of the man’s face.

“Who the hell is this joker?” asked Montana.

“I have no idea, but he’s pissing me off,” said Fancy Dan. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a handgun that he fired at the man. The bullets shattered the glass, but the costumed hero managed to avoid them by flipping in the air and landing on his feet. He stood up straight and wagged his finger.

“Careful, you might hurt someone with that thing,” he said.

“Yeah, that’s the idea,” said Fancy Dan. He looked to his teammates. “Forget the Indian, I want this prick’s head!”

“I’m sure there’s some sexual innuendo in that statement I can take advantage of, but it’s just too easy,” he said.

“The hell is this guy?” asked Ox, repeating Montana’s earlier question.

“I’ll tell you who, big guy. I’m the amazingly, sensationally spectacular Spider-Man!”

“Oh shut up,” said Fancy Dan, opening fire once again.

Thanks to his sixth sense, Spider-Man knew where each bullet was going to hit, and made sure he wasn’t in that spot. It had become like an instinct, dodging the instant he felt that familiar buzz in his head. It seemed to warn him of danger and he was beginning to refer to it as a spider sense.

Ox charged through the broken window and grasped Spider-Man’s ankle. He swung the hero as if he were a doll, slamming him against the pavement. Spider-Man’s head was ringing from the pain. Ox held him up and Fancy Dan and Montana stepped up beside their teammate.

“You picked the wrong fight, kid,” said Fancy Dan. “What the hell are you wearing, anyway? You think putting on a costume makes you a superhero? You watch too many movies.”

“Nah, it’s not the costume,” said Spider-Man. “It’s because I can do this!” He flicked his wrist and pressed his two middle fingers into his palm. A blast of webbing shot out from his wrist and struck Ox into his eyes. The large Enforcer dropped Spider-Man in his confusion and pulled at the webbing.

Spider-Man leapt into the air and drove both his feet against Ox’s head. He bounced, flipped and landed behind Ox, kicking him in the back. Montana pulled his whip free and swung. The whip sliced through the air and Spider-Man dodged it. He shot a webline from each wrist, catching Montana by his feet and pulled hard, swinging the Enforcer back into the liquor store. Montana fell against a shelf, breaking most of the bottles stacked there.

“Not bad,” said Fancy Dan. He dropped his cigarette and reached into his jacket, pulling out his second gun. Fancy Dan opened fire with both weapons, but Spider-Man was able to dodge the bullets. He leapt past the line of fire and threw both his fists against Fancy Dan’s head.

“Good work, Spider-Man.” It was the voice of Norman Osborn, communicating with Spider-Man through the earpiece beneath his mask. “Now web them up, we’ve already notified the police.”

Spider-Man did as Osborn suggested, tying the three Enforcers together with his webbing. Naveen stepped out of the store and looked at Spider-Man.

“No need for thanks,” said Spider-Man.

“Thank you?” asked Naveen. “I should sue you!”

Spider-Man cocked his head. “Umm… what?”

“Look what you did to my store!” said Naveen, motioning to the shattered window and broken bottles. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Gee, how about ‘thanks for saving my life’?” asked Spider-Man. He leapt into the air and shot out a webline to swing from. “Can we not air that last part?”

“We’ll take care of it during editing,” said Osborn. “The important thing is that you’ve gotten your first taste of life as a superhero. Now it’s time to see what else you can find.”

Empire State University

Spider-Man crawled down the side of Lieber Tower, moving towards a specific window on the tenth floor. He was careful as he peered through the glass and saw that the room was dark. Flash must have been out for the night, probably partying. Spider-Man opened the window and climbed inside. He stretched his arm as much as possible, testing his range of movement. His entire body ached from his battle with the Enforcers.

“Spider strength, spider speed, spider reflexes, spider sense, spider webbing…” muttered Peter. “Couldn’t I also have a spider lack-of-feeling-pain?”

Peter pulled off his mask and went into his closet. He opened one of the drawers and put his mask underneath the clothes inside. That’s when he heard a knock at the door.

“Peter? You in there?”

Peter grabbed his bathrobe and pulled it on over his costume. He tied it tightly and opened the door just a crack. Harry Osborn stood on the other side.

“Hey, what’s up bud?” he asked.

“Nothing,” said Peter. “How about you?”

“Just a little bored, thought you might wanna go cruising,” said Harry. “You game?”

“Oh crap… I’d love to Harry, but I’m really not feeling too good,” said Peter. “I was… I just got back from the gym and I’m really sore.”

“Oh, okay,” said Harry. “Well, next time.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Peter. He closed the door and sighed. “Great,” he muttered. “I’m secretly working for Norman Osborn as a superhero and his son is coming onto me. To top it all off, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck. I wonder what else could go wrong?”

Oscorp

“When do you want to send him out?” asked Stromm.

“We’ll give it a few more weeks, ensure the formula is taking,” said Osborn. “Every hero needs a villain, Dr. Stromm. And there’s no better villain for Spider-Man than the Green Goblin.”

NEXT: Responsibility