It was supposed to be easy.

One last gig, something to get him the money he needed to cover his mother’s hospital bills. That’s the only reason William Baker agreed to this job. Otherwise, he would have stuck with his straight job of mopping up floors. But for an ex-con, money was scarce and his mother’s insurance wouldn’t cover her medical costs. Something about a pre-existing condition. Willie didn’t really know what that meant, but he knew he had to do something.

He accepted this job and was referred to his partner, a big bruiser named Alex O’Hrn. Willie didn’t much like the guy, but he had little choice. And to avoid bringing more shame on his mother’s name than he already had, he had gone under the alias of Flint Marko.

One last job, just break into a Brand Corporation research facility, trash the place and set back their research, then get out. But Marko found something else, a room labeled EXPERIMENTAL. He accidentally turned on some sort of machine and found himself blasted with rays inside a room filled with sand.

Marko didn’t know what the rays were, didn’t know what was being tested. What he did know? That this was the worst pain he ever felt in his life as the sand seemed to burrow into his body, chewing through skin and muscle and bone until Marko felt like there was absolutely nothing left of him.

He couldn’t tell where he ended and the sand began. Whenever he tried to move, it felt like his arm was fifty feet long and weighed a ton. He struggled some more, thinking that this must be a side-effect of that weird light show. Those strange beams that hit him. Maybe he was paralyzed. Or maybe he was just dizzy.

But still, he tried to move. He saw his hand slowly rise up from the sand and Marko smiled to himself. He closed his fist and sand poured down the sides of his hand. But then the smile faded to a look of abject horror as more and more sand fell, his hand seeming to disappear as it did.

“What the hell is happenin’ to me?”

Marko brought his other arm up and it collapsed as well, changing to sand. He felt his entire body do the same thing and once more, he was back where he started. But if he had dissolved away, why didn’t he feel any pain? More than that, how could he still be thinking about any of this? Was he having one of those out of body experiences or was this what really happened when you died, just feeling the surface around you?

“No, gotta get back up,” he told himself. “Ma’s countin’ on you, you stupid prick. You gotta take care of her. ‘Cause if you don’t, she’ll be dead. C’mon Marko, get up!” Marko lifted himself into a sitting position and brought his hands up, running them over his face.

…his hands.

He looked down at them, surprised to see they were completely in tact without a single scar or even a bruise. Nothing was missing, they were exactly as he remembered. Flint then realized he was sitting on a metal floor. He looked around and saw that the sand he had been lying in was now all gone. It was just him and that strange, three-armed device now inactive and hanging above him.

Marko felt strange when he stood. He felt…incredible. Any aches or pains he had before were now completely gone. He climbed out of the room and walked out of the research lab. As he stepped into the hall to track down O’Hrn, he heard voices.

“DON’T MOVE, ASSHOLE!”

Marko looked to his side and saw two security guards with their guns trained on him. One of them got overzealous and began firing. Marko raised his hands to protect himself and he was surprised when he felt the bullets strike him.

He had been shot before. Once in the arm. And one thing he couldn’t forget was how it hurt like a bitch. But this time, he felt no pain. Just like something passing harmlessly through his body. Marko looked down at the bullet wound and saw sand pouring out of it that quickly retracted and the wound closed completely without a single drop of blood.

He smiled as he threw out his arm and it extended as a wave of sand that knocked both the security guards back down the corridor. When Marko’s arm returned to normal, he shook it and looked at it in surprise.

“Ain’t this an’ interestin’ turn…”

SANDSTORM

Part II

By Dino Pollard

Lieber Towers

Peter Parker finished drying himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He had just finished that cold shower he felt was necessary to relieve the…tension from his encounter with the Black Cat.

Lizard professors, deformed goblins, electric frat boys, metal-armed scientists, Crocodile Dundee rejects and now slinky cat burglars, he thought to himself. Why is it all these freaks start popping up once I become Spider-Man? Have these nutcases just been hanging low, waiting for a reason to jump out at me?

He stepped out of the community bathroom shared by the male residents of his floor and had someone bump into him in the narrow hallway. Peter looked at the source and saw Gwen, her eyes extremely red.

“Hey, you alright?” asked Peter.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” said Gwen. “Sorry, I was looking in my purse for my keys and wasn’t looking.”

“Don’t worry, not the first time someone bumped into me because they didn’t pay attention to me,” he said with an awkward smile but inside mentally scolded himself. Yeah that’s the ticket, go for the pity party. Smooth one, Parker.

Gwen offered a polite smile. “Don’t say that.”

Wooo! Go pity party!

“So…what’s up?” asked Peter. “Your eyes look…well…”

“It’s nothing, just…” Gwen looked down. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No come on, do you wanna talk about it or anything?” asked Peter.

“It’s…look, you and Harry seem to have gotten pretty close, right?”

“Harry? I mean…I don’t know, I guess.”

“So has he…said anything?”

“…Harry says a lot of things.”

“I know that, I mean about me,” said Gwen. “Has he talked to you about our relationship at all?”

Peter shook his head. What are you doing? Harry’s one of the only friends you’ve got on campus. You are not going to be so stupid as to try and go after his girlfriend, are you?

“Forget it, it’s nothing, I’m probably just overreacting.” Gwen moved past Peter and he debated whether or not to stop her, weighing the different choices pretty much within the space of a few seconds.

“Hey Gwen…”

She stopped and looked back at him. “Yeah?”

“Let me…let me get changed, and then we can talk, okay?”

She smiled a little and nodded as she went to the room labeled RESIDENT ADVISOR. “Just come in, the door will be open.”

“Okay great, just give me less than a minute,” he said. “Really, less than a minute! You can even time me if you want!”

Peter practically sprinted to his room, completely oblivious to the sock hanging from the knob. He opened the door and turned on the lights, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

“JESUS, PARKER!”

Peter shielded his eyes from the sight of his naked roommate and the girl who jumped off him and covered her body with a pillow.

“Don’t you remember the rules?” asked Flash as he stood and pulled a bed sheet around his waist. “If the sock’s on the door, go somewhere else!”

“I was in the shower,” said Peter.

“Yeah well next time, bring clothes with you to the shower,” said Flash. “Goddammit!”

“Relax, just let me get some clothes and then I’ll leave,” said Peter. He smiled as a thought occurred to him and glanced at the girl. “Nice to see you again, Katie.”

“Katie?” asked the co-ed, glaring at Flash. “Who the hell is Katie?”

“No one! He’s just…look, he’s a total flake, baby. He doesn’t know what he’s saying!” said Flash.

Peter tried to hide his smile as he quickly dressed.

“Listen Carrie, I haven’t had anyone else in here except you, I swear!”

The girl pulled her hand back and Peter heard the sound of a hand slapping against a face. When he looked back, he saw the girl pulling her own clothes on and storming out of the dorm, her voice trailing behind her as she said, “my name is Christy!”

“Wow, tough break,” said Peter. “Maybe you should stay away from girls who have similar-sounding names.”

Flash turned and started glaring at his roommate and Peter just offered a little wave. “Well, I gotta be going now!”

He ran out the room and closed the door behind him, knowing Flash would at least need to put some pants on before he gave chase to Peter. By the time Peter had gotten inside Gwen’s room, he could hear Flash shouting “WHERE THE HELL’S PARKER?!” down the halls.

“Roommate trouble?” asked Gwen.

“Just some…miscommunication issues,” said Peter.

“Pete, I went to bat for you last time, but if you start another fight with Flash, there’s gonna be problems.”

“I know, don’t worry, it was harmless. Besides, I think women everywhere should thank me for ruining his string of one-nighters,” said Peter.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” said Gwen.

“So what’s up with you and Harry?”

Gwen sat on her bed and pulled her legs up. She wouldn’t look at Peter though, just kept her gaze on her knees. “It’s weird. Sometimes, Harry’s the sweetest, most attentive guy in the world. And then others, it’s like he doesn’t care about anything except his father’s approval.” This time, she looked up at Peter. “Has he ever told you about his father?”

“Not much,” said Peter. Nor did he want to say what he really knew of Norman Osborn. “Just that he runs some sort of company, right?”

Gwen nodded. “Yeah, it’s called Oscorp. Creative name, I know. Anyway, whenever Norman comes calling, Harry drops everything and comes running. And usually, I’m one of those things that gets dropped.” She sighed. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just being crazy. Both Harry and I have something in common, our mothers aren’t around anymore. But my dad’s pretty good about giving me my space and not being too demanding. So I don’t really know what Harry’s situation is like.”

“Me either,” said Peter.

“But I just want to feel like I’m important in his life, you know?” asked Gwen. “I don’t want to feel like I rate a distant third to the frat or to the Great Norman Osborn.”

Okay Parker, now you have two options here. Either you can steer her away from Harry and make your move. Or you can chicken out and do the right thing.

…wait…why are you phrasing it like that? Do the right thing? Oh yeah, that’s helpful. And what’s right about not screwing up your friend’s relationshi—aww crap.

“I…I don’t think you have to worry about that,” said Peter. “Harry’s just going through a stressful time right now. I mean he’s got this new job at the Bugle and from what I heard, his father’s been having trouble ever since Spider-Man left that show. I think more than anything else, Harry just needs people who care about him to try and support him.”

Gwen smiled at him. “Thanks Pete.”

“Hey, what’re friends for?” asked Peter. “Look, I’m gonna get going, I think I’m gonna go to the library, do some late-night cramming, okay?”

Spider-Man launched himself into the air and flipped about before firing a web line and swinging over the city of New York. As he did, he still wasn’t sure if he should be proud of himself for what he told Gwen or mad at himself for missing his opportunity.

“You know the answer to that, Spidey,” he said. “Doesn’t matter how you feel about Gwen, Harry’s still a friend. And even on the very, very, very remote chance she’s interested in you, you’d never forgive yourself if the only reason you got her was because you broke off her relationship with Harry.”

He swung down, closer to street level and landed on a lamp post. As he squatted there, observing the night lights of the city through the opaque lenses of his mask, he heard sirens in the distance.

“Good, maybe kicking some heads in will help clear my head.”

Spider-Man sprung from his post and swung in the direction of the sirens. As he passed overhead, he saw police cars racing towards their destination—a bank robbery in progress. He swung and attached himself to the building across the street and watched as the police set up a barricade around the entrance.

“What are you doing here?”

Spider-Man looked down to see Detective Jean DeWolff glaring at him.

“Well with all the commotion, I was hoping someone saw Justin Timberlake,” he said. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“This is a police matter, we don’t need any vigilante interference,” said DeWolff.

“Look, you won’t even know I’m here, I’ll only jump in if things get hairy,” said Spider-Man.

DeWolff kept a questioning glance on him. “Fine. But if you cause any trouble, so help me I’ll shoot you in the balls.”

“…duly noted,” said Spider-Man, cringing slightly.

DeWolff was handed a bullhorn and she raised it to her mouth. “This is Detective Jean DeWolff of the NYPD! We have the building surrounded! You can either come quietly or discover what exactly they mean by ‘excessive force.’”

A man stepped towards the shattered windows of the bank entrance, dressed in khakis and a green and black striped shirt. He had a smile on his face, though. “I got a better idea—howzabout you cops find out why I’m called the Sandman?”

“I’d like to guess,” said Spider-Man, raising his hand. “Is it because of your hair’s uncanny resemblance to a beach?”

The Sandman laughed and raised his arms. They transformed into columns of sand that made short work of the police barricade. Spider-Man leapt into the fray, snagging what officers he could out of harm’s way with his webbing.

“…I guessed wrong,” said Spider-Man. He crossed the street in a single jump, landing on the building behind the Sandman and fired his webbing at the criminal. The Sandman just turned, his smile still present as his entire body transformed into sand and began to seep out through the gaps in the webbing.

“…okay, so that’s not good…” muttered Spider-Man.

“You got nothin’ on me, Spider-Man!” shouted the Sandman. He raised his arm and it transformed into a giant mallet made of sand. He brought it around in a large arc and it connected with Spider-Man’s chest and knocked him flying through the air.

Spider-Man shot two web lines and snagged buildings with both of them. As they stretched out, they flung him back towards the Sandman and Spider-Man dove right into him, feet first.

The Sandman burst apart as Spider-Man flew through him. The sand particles rose and formed five different, albeit slightly smaller Sandmen. They pounced on Spider-Man, holding themselves together as they slammed their fists against him. But whenever Spider-Man threw a punch, the sand collapsed and then they reformed almost instantly in another area.

“You shoulda stayed away, you little bug!” said the Sandmen all in unison. “This ain’t your fight!”

“Yeah, I’m thinking I might have to agree with you on that,” said Spider-Man. He fired out a web line and pulled himself free from the dog pile. “But then again, I’ve got this nasty habit of getting involved in other people’s business. Seriously, I’m like a one-man sewing circle.”

“TAKE HIM DOWN!” shouted DeWolff. The officers opened fire on the Sandman.

“NO DON’T!” shouted Spider-Man, but they didn’t listen. The Sandman just stood and laughed as the bullets passed harmlessly through his body. His body transformed completely into sand and blew apart, traveling in a massive circle, creating a consolidated sandstorm within the general area, the particles cutting the officers and keeping them from seeing or barely even standing.

“Damn, not good, so not good,” said Spider-Man. He looked around for something. He knew he needed a way to take this guy down and he had only one shot. Spider-Man kept free of the sandstorm and moved over to a fire hydrant. He cupped his hands over his mouth.

“HEY SANDY, MUST BE PRETTY EASY TO TAKE ON A BUNCH OF POWERLESS COPS, HUH?”

The sandstorm paused as the particles came back together in a massive pile which the Sandman slowly rose from. “What’d you say?”

“I said you’re nothing but a chicken, going after the guys with no powers,” said Spider-Man. “C’mon, why don’t you prove how much of a man you really are and fight someone who can kick your ass?”

The Sandman laughed and pointed. “You? You think you can beat me?”

Spider-Man shrugged. “I’m still standing, aren’t I? You’re the one who moved onto those guys. Must mean you’re chicken.”

“Ain’t nobody calls me chicken!” said the Sandman. “Alright kid, I’ll kill you first!”

He started to move towards his target and Spider-Man tore the hydrant free, directing the water into the Sandman. His movements became more and more sluggish as the water weighed him down, transforming him into mud. Soon, the Sandman found he could barely move and he collapsed. Spider-Man directed more of the water, washing him away into a storm drain.

“Did you kill him?” asked DeWolff.

“I hope not,” said Spider-Man. “But seemed like the only way to stop him.”

One Week Later

“…and so Lord, we commit to this Earth your humble servant, Elizabeth Baker. May you welcome her to paradise and grant her the rewards she has earned in life. In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, amen.”

As the priest finished speaking, the coffin slowly lowered into the ground and earth was tossed on top of it. The mourners slowly left, walking to their car. A few of them spoke of fond memories but some spoke of the absence of one man.

“…can you believe that son of hers? Doesn’t even show up to his own mother’s funeral.”

“What do you expect? Willie was always trouble. Could never do a damned thing right.”

Once the mourners left, one man emerged from another grave site, slowly walking over, dressed in a large coat. He placed his hand on the tombstone and beneath his hand was a rose.

“I’m sorry, Ma. I tried. I really did. But because of that stupid bug, I couldn’t help you.”

He shook his head and raised his hand off, leaving traces of wet sand there.

“I promise you, Ma—once I pull myself together again, Spider-Man’s gonna pay.”