The members of the Super Detective Agency gathered around a phone, recording a chaotic, laughing "thank you" video for Spider-Man. After uploading the clip to the gratitude forum, they hung around chatting for a few minutes before finally packing up and heading home. Peter Parker, however, didn't walk out the front doors. He slipped away down a quiet hallway, ghosting directly into the empty Midtown High chemistry lab.
If J. Jonah Jameson knew about this, Peter thought, digging through the storage cabinets for reagent bottles, he'd have a stroke from pure joy. 'Spider-Man's First Official Felony: Stealing School Supplies!' But technically, Peter Parker is stealing them. Spider-Man is entirely innocent.
There were no security cameras in the lab. Moving with practiced, rapid precision, Peter synthesized three full batches of his upgraded, pearly-white web-fluid in under twenty minutes. He capped the pressurized cartridges, stuffed them into his jacket pockets, and carefully cracked the lab door open, scanning the hallway to make sure the coast was clear.
He didn't see Carl King.
The massive linebacker had stayed late after football practice. He was walking down the far end of the corridor when he spotted "puny Parker" slipping out of a darkened classroom. Carl frowned, his curiosity piqued. What was Parker doing sneaking around school this late?
Is he building something? Something I can break? Carl thought. Maybe I can get some payback.
As soon as Peter was gone, Carl pushed his way into the chemistry lab. He snooped around the desks but found absolutely nothing out of place. He inhaled deeply, catching the sharp, acrid scent of volatile chemicals lingering in the air near one of the sinks.
"What was he doing in here?" Carl muttered.
He walked over and picked up the metal filter grate from the drain. A clump of strange, sticky white residue was caught in the mesh. Was this what Parker was cooking?
Carl pinched the white substance, trying to tear a piece off to take with him. It didn't budge. He pulled harder, his thick fingers slipping off the incredibly stubborn material. Frustrated, he cursed, tossed the grate back into the sink, and stormed out of the lab.
He didn't know that Peter's web-fluid was chemically designed to dissolve. By the time Carl returned to school the next morning, the evidence would be completely gone.
Miles away, Peter was already out of his civilian clothes and perched on a rooftop in his suit, his mask pulled up to his nose as he spoke into his cell phone.
"Hey, Uncle Ben. Yeah, I'm going to be home late tonight. Just tell Aunt May your severely worried nephew went out to see some fireworks." Peter grinned into the wind. "What fireworks? Just make sure you guys are watching the Daily Bugle news broadcast tonight!"
Peter pulled his mask down. The lenses snapped into place. An unprecedented surge of electric adrenaline rushed through his veins as he threw himself off the ledge, free-falling into the Manhattan dusk.
He needed a battlefield. To make sure nobody got hurt, he needed to completely shut down a major intersection. Captain Stacy didn't have the unilateral authority to instantly cordon off a massive chunk of the city without a bureaucratic nightmare. But the Avengers did.
Peter swung straight to Avengers Tower, touched down lightly on the landing pad, and strolled toward the glass double doors.
"Hold it right there, son. Step any further and you're triggering the automated defense grid."
Steve Rogers stepped out of the shadows. He was wearing a tight short-sleeved shirt, holding a steaming mug of coffee.
Peter held his hands up. "I've got this... danger sense, Captain. If I was about to step on a landmine, my brain would start screaming."
"That is not a valid excuse to play roulette with Tony's security system," Steve said flatly. "What brings you here, kid?"
"I figured out a way to fish the Shocker out of hiding. But I have two problems. First, I need to lock down a few city blocks. I don't know anyone with that kind of juice, so I figured the Avengers could help."
Steve took a sip of his coffee. "That's easy enough. What's the second problem? Just tell us where he is, and the team will handle the takedown."
"That is the second problem, Captain," Peter said, shaking his head. "The Avengers can't be there."
Steve frowned.
"Last time, Herman ran away because he couldn't break me," Peter explained. "I'm going to call him out. I'm going to offer him a completely fair, one-on-one fight. His ego won't let him refuse. But if he thinks the Avengers are waiting in the wings to jump him, he'll just stay in his hole."
Steve crossed his massive arms. "So your grand tactical plan is for us to stand back, cross our fingers, and hope you can beat him before his unstable battery pack levels a city block?"
"I'm not pitching this because I feel guilty and want to make amends, Captain." Peter reached up and pulled his mask off, looking Steve dead in the eye. "I'm pitching this because... I know I can beat him."
Steve stared at the teenager's resolute, unblinking eyes. For a long moment, the only sound was the wind whipping across the helipad. Finally, Steve let out a heavy sigh. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek Stark-tech phone.
"You win, kid. I know a guy who can clear a street."
Peter's enhanced dynamic vision caught a glimpse of the caller ID flashing across the screen: Nick Fury. Peter smiled, pulled his mask back down, and gave the Captain a two-finger salute. "Thank you, sir."
"Wait," Steve called out, putting the phone to his ear. "Where exactly do you want to shut down?"
"Times Square!" Peter yelled, already leaping backward off the edge of the tower.
Steve watched him plummet, shaking his head. He spoke into the phone. "Nick. It's Steve. I need you to lock down Times Square tonight. No, I'm not crazy..."
Times Square was the ultimate stage. It was the only arena prestigious enough to bait Herman Schultz's massive inferiority complex.
Peter landed on a high billboard overlooking the neon-drenched square. He pulled his dad's vintage Canon camera from his backpack, webbing it securely to a steel light fixture. He checked the angles and set the automatic timer. If he was going to risk his life fighting a walking bomb, he was at least going to get some high-res photos to sell to Jameson.
Man, if only someone had handed me a guidebook on 'How to Get Rich as a Time-Traveling Teenager', Peter thought, adjusting the lens focus. I wish I had woken up in Harry Osborn's body. Now I'm stuck taking selfies to pay for web-fluid. Whatever. I just need to survive until the 2014 World Cup and convince Uncle Ben to bet his entire pension on Germany beating Brazil 7-1. That's literally the only sports trivia I remember from my past life.
He secured the camera. "Alright, it's almost 6:00 PM. The Bugle goes live right now. Next stop, the media building! Time to properly introduce myself to my number one fan."
Inside the Daily Bugle broadcasting studio, J. Jonah Jameson was viciously red-lining a draft for tomorrow's front page. Another day, another editorial tearing apart the masked menaces destroying his city. He took a sip of hot water, cleared his throat, and prepared to go on air.
The heavy studio door banged open. Robbie Robertson rushed in, looking stressed.
"Jonah, we've got a massive situation."
"What could possibly be more important than my broadcast, Robbie—"
"Spider-Man sent us something!"
Jameson froze. The pen snapped in his grip. His face flushed a deep, violent crimson. "Fantastic! That wall-crawling freak finally slipped up! As long as J. Jonah Jameson is breathing, I will never let that masked psychopath suppress the freedom of the press!"
"He's not suppressing the press, Jonah," Robbie sighed, cutting off the incoming rant. "He sent us an exclusive video. He wants us to broadcast it right now."
Jameson's jaw dropped.
A few minutes later, the "On Air" light flashed red.
"Welcome to the Daily Bugle Evening News," Jameson ground out, looking like he had just swallowed a live lemon. "Before we cover the actual news... we have received a special, unverified broadcast."
If Spider-Man hadn't explicitly mentioned in the accompanying email that the Shocker was a walking explosive hazard, Jameson would have deleted the file immediately. But he couldn't ignore a bomb threat.
The screen cut to a shaky, vertical cell phone video. Spider-Man's masked face filled the frame.
"Hey, Shocker. It's me, Spider-Man. Remember?"
Deep in Kingpin's hidden safehouse, Herman Schultz was sitting on a cot when the TV broadcast caught his eye.
"I still remember the day I beat you into the pavement," Spider-Man's voice echoed from the television. "You had to frantically threaten a bunch of innocent commuters just to buy yourself enough time to run away. What's wrong? You've been hiding in a sewer ever since?"
"Beat me?!" Herman roared, leaping to his feet. He hurled a heavy wrench at the wall. "I almost killed you, you little insect!"
He paced furiously. He wanted to ignore it. He wasn't going to let the bug bait him out.
"I know you might be scared," Spider-Man continued, his tone mockingly sympathetic. "You're worried you can't actually beat me. You're worried your homemade gauntlets aren't as powerful as you advertised. Or maybe you're just terrified of the Avengers? If that's the issue, don't worry. I've got it covered."
Spider-Man leaned closer to the camera.
"Tonight. 8:00 PM. Times Square. Just you and me. No Avengers. No police. But every single media outlet in New York City is going to be watching. I'm going to show the entire world that your weapons are an absolute joke. See you there."
The video cut to black.
An absolute joke?
Herman was practically vibrating with rage. He marched over to his equipment locker and threw the doors open, staring at the yellow and silver armor.
He hesitated. Was this a trap?
...every single media outlet in New York City...
Herman gripped the edge of the locker. If the bug wasn't lying... if it was really a one-on-one fight in the middle of Times Square... there was no better stage. The entire world would remember that the Shocker destroyed Spider-Man on live television.
Herman reached in and grabbed his gauntlets.