James Wesley was climbing up to the top of the Main Tower, his boss's office.
"Wesley, you're early. How did the operation go? Did our partners let us down?" said a large, more than six-foot-tall man, pounding a punching bag.
"Actually, it didn't go so well, Mr. Fisk."
Wilson stopped and, removing his gloves, turned to his subordinate. "Report."
James Wesley had been the Kingpin's right-hand man since before the boss had earned the nickname "king of the criminal underworld." James earned his position because he was fanatically loyal to his boss and because he was the most responsible employee in Fisk's organization. But even Wesley never tested his patience.
"Everything was going as planned, but then, at the final stage of the operation, some guy in tights showed up."
"Daredevil?"
"No, he called himself Spider-Man."
"Hm. What about the goods?"
"Partially destroyed. But he informed the cops, so the operation can be considered a failure."
"Can they trace our organization?"
"No, everyone worked for Thompson, including Shocker."
"So Mr. Lincoln is the one in trouble. But Schultz knew who you were acting on behalf of."
"Believe me, Mr. Fisk, this empty-headed mercenary fears you more than his boss, so…"
"I'm safe. Good. Contact Tombstone's people, we need to discuss next steps. And also find everything you can on this Spider-Man."
******************************
[Peter's POV]
"Mister Parker? Mister Parker!?"
"Huh?"
"I understand that English is the language you speak, but that is no reason to sleep in my classes. This is your first and last warning, Mister Parker."
"I'm sorry, Ms. Ditman."
Man, I was hoping an hour of sleep would be enough. But I passed out. Next time I'll have to plan my time more carefully. Maybe from eleven until four in the morning?
"Hey, Pete, what, you weren't sleeping all night?"
"No, Miles, it's just that whenever I hear Ms. Ditman's voice, I black out."
"Okay, Mister Grumpy, so what kept you up all night?"
"Nightmares."
"Terminators?"
"No, a herd of unicorns."
"Really scary."
We joked around as we reached Gwen's locker.
"Wow, Pete, you look tired."
"Mister Parker was kept awake all night by unicorns!"
"Creepy! Anyway, spend less time in your basement, Pete, and get more sleep."
"It's a lab…"
"What did I say? By the way, have you heard the news?"
"Go ahead, Miss Stacy."
"You seriously haven't heard? Everyone's been chattering about it all morning."
"I was kind of busy, drooling on my desk."
"I'm not really interested in rumors."
"Never mind. So, from Europe, after a year of studying, the son of Norman Osborn, yes, that same Osborn, is returning here."
"Harry?"
"You know him?"
"We talked as kids."
Well, well. The wheel of canon has begun to attract various "spider" characters. Basically, it's time to stop being surprised. Yesterday was Spider-Man's first patrol, which means the fun has begun. Just a question.
Unlike many alternate versions, I haven't spoken to Harry for many years. Will he even remember me? And the question is much better: do I need this? Harry's a pretty normal guy, but he has one major flaw. His dad. Norman, the fucking Green Goblin, Osborn.
The crux of the matter is that if Peter Parker interacted with Harry Osborn, then after a certain amount of time he'd meet Norman Osborn. Osborn saw "potential" in Peter and even treated him like the son he never had.
Which only made Harry angry, disappointed, and even harbored a grudge against Parker, who had nothing to do with Osborn's inclinations.
You could write a whole paper on the relationship between this father and son. In psychiatry.
It's decided. I'll go with the flow. If he ignores me, I'll respond in kind. After all, so much time has passed. Well, and if not? Sure, we can talk, but I'll ignore any invitations just in case.
"It's cool to have a millionaire's son as a friend."
"Like I said, we talked when we were kids. That doesn't mean we're still friends."
"Wow, easy, Pete, I'm just kidding."
"Sorry for being so abrupt, Miles. I really didn't get much sleep."
****************************
The day at school passed rather normally. It's still strange that when we meet, Flash tries to give me a high five instead of a slap. And generally treats me like a member of the football team. It's even a bit odd.
"Aunt May, Uncle Ben, I'm home!" Oh, right, they're both at work. I take off my shoes and head to the kitchen. There's a sticker on the refrigerator door: "Hey, Champion, May and I will be late. Shifts. Dinner's in the fridge. Have a nice evening. Uncle Ben."
Yes, they both work hard. Money is always needed. So, I thought, maybe I should take up Parker's canon side job and get a job with the mustachioed curmudgeon Jonah Jameson? After all, it would be quite useful.
Firstly, in the comics, and elsewhere, thanks to his work as a freelance photographer, Peter often learned about all sorts of incidents in advance and managed to help many innocent people. Secondly, Jonah treated Parker like a son, or perhaps he simply saw himself in the boy in his youth and gave Pete useful work.
As for his negative attitude toward me as Spider-Man, well, that's probably just personal issues, maybe jealousy, or something else entirely. I'm not aware of his wife's fate in this reality. Anyway, it wouldn't hurt to try. I'll be heading to the Bugle soon. For now, let's work on some technical upgrades.
To the lab! Descending into my spider-like lair, I plopped down in a chair and started thinking. If I'm going to take up photography, I need a camera. An old Kodak will do for now, but not for long. Then there's a belt to attach it to, spare cartridges, and well….the camera itself. I might even sell that spider-powered flashlight, we'll see. But then again, that requires dollars.
We'll see what the Bugle ad says. As I thought, no one's even heard of Spider-Man yet. Of course, it's only my first day in the field. But it wouldn't hurt to be proactive. I'll have a photo shoot during patrol today. In the meantime, let's take care of the rest of the issues. Having dug up a few old diodes and lenses, I start making a red light bulb at home.
Yeah, it's not Stark's lab or Parker Industries, but it's a pretty cozy little nerd's craft. A very homey work atmosphere at the end. That's worth something. For me, that's what Spider-Man has always been.
In the basement, crafting quite decent technical devices out of shit and sticks, very much in the spirit of Wall-Climber. Okay, let's see what happens. I turn on the flashlight. Hmm, the light is a bit dim; I'll need a more powerful diode. Yeah, and again it all comes down to money.
I've certainly considered the possibility of becoming a complete "outlaw" and, for example, occasionally cleaning out criminals' vaults before dealing with the cops. But... it just doesn't feel right. Let's save that option for the very, very worst case scenario.
Let's check out the web shooters. One of the main problems with the canon Parker is his absent-mindedness and, far from always, a serious approach to the affairs of his superhero side. Sure, flying around the city and looking for adventures works in the long run, for a while. And, as the saying goes, if you put on a colorful suit, sooner or later, problems will come to you.
That's just the way the world works. But this approach isn't the most sensible. Of course, I don't want to turn into the same "Superior One," and in the end, it turned out that Otto outdid himself. Pete's approach always had a certain alluring ease. So here's what I'll do: I'll continue working as usual, but I'll start taking certain steps to improve my position.
Okay, the throwers are fine. The mechanism hasn't deteriorated at all, which means the loads are acceptable and there won't be any need for repairs in the future. Since I'm broke, this is good news. There's very little of the junk left over from Richard Parker, at least the useful stuff. But I've got enough for a couple of my ideas.
Before I get to work with the soldering iron and welding, let's take a little rest. And what better way to relax than with a change of pace? I jump out of the lab and, with a masterful somersault, leap into the open window of my room on the second floor. Ten points, Mr. Parker. I gather ten or twenty sheets of paper, scissors, pens, and markers. I jump out the window with all this stuff, and I'm back in the "Spider Lair."
I didn't have a "Friendly Neighborhood" note handy yesterday, so I need to rectify that. We draw the signature spider and sign it "Spidey," excellent. Now for about thirty more just like it.
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