Peter Parker swung across the city from Empire State University to Queens. He didn’t even bother putting on his costume, just having an incredible desire to get to his home and find out what was going on.

He saw flashing red and blue lights on his approach to his former neighborhood. “Oh no…” Landing in an alley, he ran forward, pushing past the crowd of onlookers. Yellow police tape reading “CRIME SCENE DO NOT CROSS” surrounded the perimeter of his house. Peter broke right through this.

“Hey, wait a minute!” shouted one of the officers. He rushed after Peter, grabbing his arm. Instinctively, Peter flipped the cop onto his back, the man landing hard on the grass.

Peter charged into his house, bursting through the door. Paramedics surrounded a gurney on the floor, and on the gurney was a man resting in a black, leather bag.

“No…” he muttered. “No, no, god no…”

Peter pushed into the living room and the paramedics tried to stop him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, kid?”

“Let me go, that’s my uncle!” said Peter.

“Guys—”

The paramedics looked to a woman who wore a suit and had a badge hanging from her belt. Peter recognized her immediately.

“Let him go, this is his house,” said Jean DeWolffe.

The paramedics allowed Peter to open the bag and in there, he saw the lifeless face of Ben Parker. His glasses were absent from his face, his mouth slightly agape, his eyes wide in shock but holding no sign of the passion that ruled his uncle’s life.

“Uncle Ben…”

Peter slumped over the body, feeling the tears welling in his eyes.

A gentle hand fell on his shoulder. Peter turned his head up and saw his aunt standing behind him. Her face was one of complete despair, but also total compassion and concern for her nephew. Peter instinctively embraced her and he could feel her body beginning to rack with slight sobs.

“Peter… oh god, Peter…” she said. “Why Ben? He was such a good man, why did this have to happen to him?”

“What happened?” asked Peter.

“It was a burglar,” said May. “Came with a gun, wanted all our money. He was hysterical. Ben… Ben just tried to stay calm. He told him that we didn’t have that much money. And then… oh god… Ben made a joke. He said with a laugh, ‘you probably have more money than we do.’ And… and… and the man… he got angry… and I can’t remember what else happen, but… the next thing I knew, I heard the gunshot and I saw Ben… Ben… oh god, Ben!”

She collapsed into her nephew’s arms, crying her eyes out, and Peter kept her body steady, preventing her from falling.

“Mrs. Parker?” came DeWolff’s voice. May and Peter looked at the detective. Standing next to her was a familiar woman, May’s neighbor and best friend.

“May, I’m so sorry,” said Anna Watson. “You’ll come stay with MJ and me for as long as you need to. Peter, you can come, too.”

Peter opened his mouth to accept the offer, but he heard an officer call out DeWolff’s name. Peter watched DeWolff approach the officer out of the corner of his eye.

“Just… just give me a minute,” he said, leaving May with Anna. Peter walked towards the perimeter and looked up into the sky, seemingly deep in thought. In reality, he moved so he could be in earshot of the officer.

“We got a bite on that APB we put out on the victim’s car,” said the officer. “It’s been spotted, Detective. Heading east, towards the harbor.”

“Probably hoping to hide out in a warehouse,” said DeWolff. “Wait until this all blows over. Grab him as fast as you can, as soon as we know where he’s headed, call for back-up.”

Peter lifted up his shirt. Beneath it, he wore the red and blue costume given to him by Oscorp. He walked back to his aunt and neighbor.

“I… I think I should go back to campus,” said Peter.

“What?” asked May. “But Peter…”

“I—I’ve got a lot of work to do and I can’t afford to put off studying,” said Peter.

“Peter, your uncle was just killed,” said Anna. “Your aunt needs you right now. Your professors will understand, I promise. I’ll call them myself if you like.”

“No, I just… I really have to go,” said Peter. He could see the heartbreak his aunt experienced just from his expression and it tore him up. “I just… I need to be alone right now.”

Peter walked from the house. As soon as he was confident he was free from prying eyes, he broke into a run. He hated doing that to Aunt May, he knew he hurt her. But she wouldn’t understand. He had to find the man who killed his uncle. And if he put that off to be with his aunt, Peter knew he would lose his chance.

As he ran, he shed his clothes and leapt into the air, pulling his mask and gloves on as he soared. When his descent began, he fired a webline, swung upwards and using his momentum, propelled himself higher.

RESPONSIBILITY

Part IV: Hard Lessons

By Dino Pollard

Oscorp

Dr. Otto Octavius found himself burning the midnight oil once again.

Norman Osborn feared Peter’s association with the company and rather than risk losing his star, had ordered Octavius to prepare a failsafe. If there was one thing Norman Osborn learned in his years of business, it was always have a Plan B.

Octavius continued to analyze Peter’s DNA sample, given to him by Osborn. As he worked, Octavius couldn’t help but think that Professor Curt Conners was nothing short of a genius. The way the arachnid and human DNA combined so seamlessly was a thing of beauty.

Isolating the compounds and creating a new serum would be almost impossible, especially since Osborn didn’t want just a replacement waiting in the wings, he wanted a way to control who had Parker’s spider powers. But even if Octavius could create a new serum, it would be a permanent fixture on the subject.

No, that would not do. Octavius had to find a way to keep the powers separate from the bearer. The only way to do that would be to find some sort of external source for the powers.

A separate entity.

Octavius removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He stood and walked towards the kitchen in the lower levels of the Oscorp building. It was going to be a long night and if he planned to see it through to its end, he would need more coffee.

Peter flipped in the air, firing off a webline and cutting a swath through the skies. He could hear the sirens in the streets below and glanced down to see the squad cars in hot pursuit. Far ahead of them was Uncle Ben’s car, stolen by the man who killed him.

Spider-Man allowed himself to move into freefall, straightening his body like an arrow and dive-bombing towards the street. The harbor was just ahead. Spider-Man knew he had to get his hands on the murderer, before the police could.

Rage clouded his mind. He wanted—no, he needed—vengeance. Not only for him, but for Aunt May, now left without a husband, without a partner. And for Uncle Ben, the man who had taught Peter everything he knows about life, the man whose lessons Peter recently rejected. All for fame. All for fortune.

A webline shot from his wrist and he swung ahead of the car. He released the makeshift rope and landed on the car’s hood. The car swerved, but thanks to his powers, Spider-Man had no need to worry about being thrown from the roof.

He lunged forward, plunging his fist through the windshield. The glass splintered and sprayed across the street. The red-gloved hand gripped the man by his jacket collar and pulled him forward, hurling him a good fifty feet.

Once the killer got to his feet, he broke into a run. Spider-Man was about to follow when he heard something from behind.

“Freeze!”

He turned, his eyes catching sight of Detective DeWolff, her and her fellow officers aiming their guns at him.

“There aren’t any cameras around here, so just leave this to the professionals,” said DeWolff.

His spider sense did far more than just tingle. It blazed with such ferocity it felt like a massive migraine. He felt warnings from just about every conceivable angle. He shut off his mind, instead choosing to act on pure instinct just as the officers opened fire.

Spider-Man used his instincts to tell him where to move and when. He jumped and flipped and ducked and swerved to avoid the bullets whizzing past him. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he moved and he could see each and every bullet coming towards him as if it were moving through molasses, allowing him ample time to avoid each one.

As he dodged his attackers, he saw out of the corner of his eye that the killer continued to run off, ducking into a warehouse. Spider-Man knew enough was enough. With each move, he fired off a new webline, each one covering a gun and preventing it from being fired.

“I don’t have time for this!” he shouted over the roar of the gunfire. He extended both arms and fired his webs in tandem, creating a giant spider web that trapped the officers and prevented them from moving forward.

With that taken care of, Spider-Man leapt onto the side of the warehouse and crawled in one of the windows.

Norman Osborn prepared a martini for himself and sat by the fire. A large, HD-TV was mounted on the wall across from the fireplace and he turned it on, flipping through the channels.

A report on a local news program caught his attention.

The display by the anchorwoman’s head showed a stylized spider emblem. Just like the logo used for Amazing Fantasy. The tagline across the bottom of the screen read, “Spider-Man: Hero or Menace?”

{This is a breaking story. Police were interrupted from a high-speed pursuit of a murder suspect by none other than Spider-Man. The alleged superhero has appeared in New York recently, first sighted on the campus of Empire State University and later appearing in full-force on a reality television program called Amazing Fantasy.

{The suspect, who remains unidentified, broke into a home in Queens where he shot and killed fifty-six year old high school teacher Ben Parker. The suspect then stole Parker’s car and the police have pursued him to this location near the waterfront. It was during the chase that Spider-Man intervened and engaged in a scuffle with the polic—}

Osborn shut off the television and squeezed his glass. It shattered in his hand, the glass cutting his flesh and the alcohol stinging the fresh wounds. He didn’t let that worry him.

“Dumb kid,” he said. “Little bastard is going to ruin everything.”

Osborn moved back to the bar, picking up a small towel, using it to wrap up his hand. The blood started to soak through, staining the white fabric.

A large hand clamped down on Osborn’s shoulder. He turned to find the looming, green form of the Goblin standing behind him, garbed in the purple cloak that served as his costume.

“Van Adder,” said Osborn, maintaining his cool. “What are you doing here.”

“You have to fix me, Osborn,” he said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have ran out on us,” said Osborn. “Shouldn’t have disobeyed your orders.”

“Listen to me!” shouted Van Adder, grabbing Osborn by the throat and hefting him into the air. “You did this to me! You turned me into a monster! The headaches, they won’t stop! You have to fix me!”

“There’s… no way to… to reverse the process…” said Osborn.

“No!” he cried, hurling Osborn across the room, right back into his chair, knocking it over. “You’re lying!”

Osborn coughed, trying to get back to his feet. Before he could, the Goblin had already cleared the entire length of the room from the bar to the chair, at least fifty feet or so, in a single jump. He pulled out a razor-sharp batwing and held it by Osborn’s neck.

“You will help me,” said Van Adder. “If you don’t find a way to fix me once I come back, then I take your head as a trophy!”

The Goblin left the house as quickly as he arrived, moving like a green and purple blur. And Norman Osborn just lay on the ground for a few moments, a bloody towel wrapped around his injured hand, a sore throat and now, a back that screamed in pain.

The killer stood by the window, taking side glances out. The police were trying to pull themselves free from Spider-Man’s web, and it was just the distraction he needed. Once the moon went down, he could slip out into the harbor easily under the cover of darkness. And the cops and Spider-Man would keep each other occupy—

That’s when he noticed that he couldn’t see Spider-Man outside anymore.

He looked again but caught no sight.

Then, out of the darkness, he could hear someone say something.

“Murderer!”

The killer pulled back, swinging the gun around frantically. “Show yourself!” he shouted, keeping a veneer of strength. He fired off several shots into the darkness. “Come on, come out! You think I’m afraid of you, you freak?”

“You should be!”

A streak of blue and red charged from the darkness, Spider-Man’s fist connecting with the killer’s jaw. He felt it shatter. He tried to point the gun but Spider-Man grabbed it in one hand. With his other hand, he gripped the killer’s hand and squeezed fracturing it badly.

“Argh! You sonnuva bitch!” he shouted.

Spider-Man delivered another punch—an uppercut—that sent the killer flying across the room. He fired a webline after, springing forward and driving his foot against the killer’s forehead.

“Get up!” said Spider-Man.

The killer didn’t move.

Spider-Man grabbed him by the collar and lifted him into the air. “I said get—”

His baseball cap, the brim of which had kept his face hidden, was now off. And Spider-Man could get a clear look at the face of his uncle’s killer.

“No…” said Spider-Man.

Earlier. At the hot dog stand. Peter watched as a man robbed the owner. He had the chance to stop the guy but instead, he did absolutely nothing. Just let the thief run out the door without lifting a finger to help.

And now, Peter was staring at the face of that same man. The man whom he failed to stop. And he realized that if he had stopped this man, his Uncle Ben would still be alive.

Spider-Man set the killer down and backed away. The weight of the world descended on his shoulders and it was too much for his feet to hold. He collapsed, falling to his knees.

The killer, he watched in shock. With his good hand, he picked up the discarded gun and walked towards the masked man very carefully and deliberately. He raised the gun and pointed it at Peter’s head.

“I dunno what your problem is, man,” he said. “But nobody messes with me, you understand?”

Spider-Man looked up and shot out a glob of webbing that struck the killer’s eyes. He tried to pull it from his face, backing up frantically and stumbling. He fell through the open window.

“No!”

Spider-Man rushed to the window and looked out. The killer lay motionless on the pavement below, lying in a pool of his own blood.

Peter arrived back at the dormitory, walking up the steps to Lieber Tower. He fumbled in his pocket for his key into the building when he started to feel a slight buzz in the back of his head.

“Mr. Parker…”

Peter turned and saw a man step out from the darkness, wearing a black trench coat and a fedora hat.

“Mr. Osborn would like a word with you.”