A chill wind blows through the streets of Gotham City, the last vestiges of the day's sunlight painting its sky a deep and stunning crimson.
Across much of the city, shopkeepers are closing up for the night.
A family huddles together on their way home from a stage play of The Mask of Zorro, nervously keeping to the well-lit main streets for fear of what may bump into them in the dark.
To the regular men and women of the city, theirs is a world of fear, of chronic anxiety constantly being managed in the face of a crime wave that never seems to end.
But while Gotham's ordinary citizens hustle and bustle like mice in the filthy gutters, the city shows another side.
A world of lights, of glitz, of unfathomable wealth corruptly changing from one set of grubby hands to another, wholly insulated from and ignorant to the desperate masses below and their hardships.
"Okay, that's the last time I watch a film noir marathon before bed... head in the game, Parker; with luck, the right shots here should be more than enough to cover my bills for the month."
Peter Parker, freelance photographer for the Daily Bugle, lightly tugged at the collar of his suit as he ducked around a waiter and his wine tray, before snapping a few pictures of the gathered millionaires and local corporate titans around him.
"It's crazy how many people are rich enough to get invited to a thing like this," he muttered, the lens of his camera sliding from shipping magnate Maximilian Zeus to the serial entrepreneur Roland Daggett.
A small orchestra had been set up at one end of the massive penthouse suite, providing the charity gala with muted but peaceful mood music.
As Peter cast his gaze around the room in search of a particularly suitable target, he heard a female voice calling out to him. "Hey, hunk with the camera! Why don't you come on over here and shoot the man of the hour?"
Turning in the direction he'd been called from, Peter's eyes widened at the sight of a gorgeous redhead in a little black party dress beckoning him over… with District Attorney Harvey Dent at her side.
The man of the hour and the party's host, at the same time? Now that's what I call a jackpot, Parker!
"Absolutely," Peter replied as he stepped up with his camera. "I've gotta say, it's an honor to meet you, Mr. Dent, Ms. Vreeland!"
The redhead grinned at Peter as she looked him up and down, before striking a glamorous pose. "For once the pleasure's mine," she purred. "My friends call me Ronnie; now be a dear and take me from whatever angle looks best, won't you?"
Peter genuinely wondered for a moment if the rich socialite was hitting on him, before shaking it off and returning his focus to the job, getting a few pictures with Veronica and Harvey smiling together as friends. As Peter backed up a few steps while tinkering with his zoom to get the best shot in frame, however, he bumped into someone behind him. "I'm so sorry about that--!"
"That's alright," came the reply, "I may have had a few too many cocktails myself. ...say, as long as you're taking pictures of our D.A., why not get one with me in it?"
As Peter turned to look over his shoulder at the man he'd bumped into, he barely caught a glimpse of Veronica and Harvey practically lighting up in his peripheral vision.
"Bruce! I was wondering when you'd come around!"
"A man this busy's always running all over the place."
Standing there, in an immaculate tuxedo, was Gotham City's favorite son.
The multimillionaire industrialist and philanthropist smiled at Peter, offering a handshake. "I'm Bruce Wayne," he said despite knowing full well that everyone who was anyone in Gotham knew his name and face intimately. "It's nice to meet you, Mr…?"
"P-Peter," the journalist replied as he took Bruce's handshake. "Peter Parker, with the Daily Bugle."
"Parker, you say? You wouldn't happen by any chance to be the same fellow who takes those pictures of Spider-Man, would you?"
"You mean that no-good attention-whoring vigilante Spider-Man," Dent scowled, before turning his attention to Peter. "It's masked clowns like him and the Bat who drag this city's good name through the mud, and I might appreciate if kids like you weren't so quick to give him the notoriety he so clearly revels in…!"
"Harvey," Veronica chided with a playful slap on the arm. "You shouldn't scare the poor boy when he's taking our pictures."
Peter carefully kept to himself the thought that Gotham's 'good name' was far more a victim of its raging petty crime, assorted lunatics, and dizzying levels of corrupt bureaucracy than anything Spider-Man did, and instead just shrugged. "I'm not any more a fan of that smug wall-crawling jerk than the next guy -- but shooting him helps to keep food on the table, so..."
Dent softened a bit on hearing that, while Veronica appeared to faintly marvel at the idea of someone needing to work to be able to eat.
"You know," Bruce began, "the Planet over in Metropolis would probably love to have a man like you on their staff. From what I've heard, they'd probably take a lot better care of you than that hothead running the Bugle..."
Peter glanced at Bruce for the unexpected remark while getting himself into position to shoot the trio all together. Why would some rich guy like Bruce Wayne take any kind of interest in some half-broke camera jockey...? "I appreciate the thought, Mr. Wayne, but I've got family in Gotham that I need to stick around and take care of."
Before Bruce could comment on that, Veronica climbed up onto a table and rang a small bell to get everyone's attention. "I'd like to take a moment to thank you all for taking part in this fundraiser to re-elect our dear District Attorney, Handsome Harvey Dent!"
Polite applause swept through the room as she indicated the man in question with a wave, before she then gave an impish smile. "Buuuut since I've got Gotham assembled in my ballroom tonight," she added with a wink at Peter, "I thought I'd take the chance to break some good news! Ladies and gents, it's official -- your girl Ronnie's engaged!"
What had been polite applause seconds earlier quickly gave way to shocked whispers and murmurs.
"Let me introduce to you the luckiest guy in Gotham tonight, my groom-to-be... the billionaire industrialist and inventor... Tony Stark!"
Just as Veronica waved to the main door, it bombastically flew open to reveal a man in a million-dollar suit with stylish sunglasses, a mullet, and a thin mustache swaggering into the room.
"So she actually found a way to marry up in the world," Dent noted with an amused huff.
If I can get back to the Bugle and break this, Peter mused with a grin, even JJJ'll practically give me a blank check!
If he hadn't been so focused on taking pictures of the couple, Peter might have noticed Bruce Wayne's deepening scowl.
For his part, Tony seemed to recognize the cool reception the fundraiser's wealthy guests were giving him, and shrugged it off with a smile as he started to speak. "I would introduce myself... but you already heard that gorgeous woman in the little dress, and I realize none of you showed up to hear me talk, so I'm gonna keep this brief. First off, I want to congratulate our Italian stallion over there," he said while indicating Harvey Dent, "on what with our humble contributions will probably be a successful re-election to the office District Attorney."
"We're all law-abiding citizens here," he continued to muted chuckles and huffs from a third or so of the room, "and I'm reliably informed by my fiancee that a headstrong guy like Dent is just what your city needs."
The last quip got a more positive reaction from a larger part of the room, as Tony leaned into their preconceived image of an oblivious outsider.
"And finally, because I know someone's going to complain about my taking away the city's favorite media darling, Stark Industries is going to repay that debt with an investment into Gotham City of four hundred million dollars in the form of a manufacturing plant that will directly bring thousands of high-paying jobs, along with wider supplemental economic activity through its supporting logistics, to be constructed on the old site of the World of the Future fair."
If Bruce Wayne had been holding a glass in his hands, he would have cut himself breaking it.
"Gotham City deserves to have a bright and booming future it can look forward to again," Tony concluded. "I'm just laying a foundation to help the rest of you build it."
As the guests broke out into hushed whispers amidst a loud applause that was half-real and half-forced, Peter caught sight of a visibly peeved Bruce approaching Veronica once she was back on the floor.
"Ronnie," Bruce hissed, "I know you can do better than some sleazy, self-centered arms dealer…! I have to object--!"
"Brucey, is that a hint of jealousy I detect from you?! ...no? What a pity," Veronica sighed. "Look, I appreciate your looking out for me, I really do, but little Ronnie's a big girl who can make her own decisions. I don't need you to save me from the Big Bad Billionaire..."
Sounds like personal drama, Peter realized. The tabloids might go for that stuff, but I at least refuse to sink that low. Better make myself scarce and get to the Bugle with--
Before he could even finish the thought, time in his perception slowed to a crawl as an electric chill raced up his spine and through his brain.
My Spider-Sense?! But what could--?!
The glass sliding doors to the balcony, with their spectacular view of the city, promptly exploded inward with a spray of debris as a mysterious figure crashed into the ballroom.
"How rude of you to deny me an invitation to this little get-together," a loud male voice called out with a sneer, before the figure it belonged to began to stand up. Clad in an emerald armored bodysuit with an animalistic mask covering the figure's face, the man buffeted the entire room with a gust of wind with a single flap of the swings attached to his arms. "As recompense, I'll have to ask that you all make an additional donation of your belongings to… The Vulture!"
While Peter used the chaos to duck out of the room without being spotted, Bruce grit his teeth as he observed the unexpected visitor. That armor he's wearing would have probably absorbed most of the impact from his crash landing, the ends of the plumage on his wings look like they double as some kind of blade, and if his claws are equivalent to his armor, they can probably damage concrete at the very least...
Truth be told, Bruce did happen to have a belt full of gadgets that could have allowed him to isolate the threat and neutralize him safely.
But he didn't have it on him. So instead, Bruce took the only option he had to mitigate the chances of anyone around him being injured or worse. "What do you want? Our money? Jewels?"
The latter would've been particularly convenient, since they'd eventually have to be fenced somewhere and that would open an opportunity to determine just what kind of coward or lunatic was hiding under that mask...
The Vulture's bird mask prevented anyone from seeing what kind of expression was on his face, but Bruce could still detect the undercurrent of relief buried under the confidence he was trying to project. "All of the above," the Vulture exclaimed as he produced a thick and heavy-duty sack, before approaching Bruce as a first victim of his robbery. "Your money! Your valuables! And the assembled donations for Harvey Dent! Bequeath them all to me, and nobody gets hurt!"
"Do food donations count?" a new voice said from the balcony.
Vulture turned in confusion to face his challenger, and immediately took a red-webbed boot to the mouth.
"'Cause I've got all the kicks you can eat!"
"It's Spider-Man!" someone exclaimed.
Furious at the mere sight of him, Dent marched towards Spider-Man in an uproar. "You insufferable vigilante! If you're not out of my city in two seconds, I'll—mph!"
"Take a breather, Dent," the webhead taunted with a wagging finger as Dent clawed at the webbing on his mouth. "The Bugle's already endorsing you!"
While that byplay had been going on, Vulture was starting to recover from Spidey's surprise attack. "You rotten bug...!" Vulture snarled. "Think you can challenge your betters?! THINK AGAIN!"
With a swipe of his arm, the Vulture hurled a trio of razor-sharp feathers at Spider-Man, who grabbed a metal tray with his web and used it to deflect them into the floor.
With those reflexes, he could have just dodged them easily, Bruce noted as he tried to usher the crowd from the room. But he grabbed the impromptu shield out of awareness for the civilians behind him...
In the half-second Vulture hesitated looking at his foiled flechette feathers, Spider-Man had leapt to a wall and then bounded across the ceiling to tackle Vulture back towards the balcony. "I've seen better pitching at Little League!"
The webhead was busy enough trying to wrestle his opponent away from the remaining crowd that he almost missed the blaring of his Spider-Sense, and yelped when Vulture got a clawed hand on his face. "My sincerest apologies! Maybe you'll be more impressed with my catching!"
Rolling onto the balcony, Vulture slammed Spidey's head into the concrete floor beneath him once, twice, and then a third time, with each punctuated by a grunt of pain as the hardened stone began to crack.
"Now begone with you!"
Letting go of his prey, Vulture swung a wing at the balcony floor they were both on and severed it clean from the building, intent on letting the web-slinger fall to his doom with the rubble.
Blood in my eyes… seeing double… Spider-Sense… screaming at me…!
With a groan of effort, Spider-Man shot out a webline onto the skyscraper he was falling down, and promptly swung into it with a muffled curse when it went taught.
As he twisted and spun in the wind like a ragdoll, he shot out another web to catch the debris that had fallen with him before it could potentially land on anyone at ground level.
"Wasn't expecting Bird Brain to hit that hard," he muttered, sticking to the wall with one hand and both feet while he shook off the headache, looking through the window he was standing on and seeing that this floor, at least, was devoid of people.
As the webhead's vision continued to clear, he pulled up his debris and smashed it through the window next to him to make sure it couldn't harm anyone, before kneeling on the side of the building in a track runner's pose as he faced the top.
"Alright Spidey… let's do this one last time!"
And then he sprinted straight up the side of the building.
Back in the ballroom, Bruce had managed to evacuate almost everyone by the time Vulture was ready to turn his attention back to his attempted heist.
Everyone, that is, except for Stark, who'd kept himself out of the way sipping cocktails while spectating Vulture's fight with Spider-Man, and Veronica who'd been trying in vain to get him to budge.
Too late, as Vulture stormed back in from the balcony. "...so be it," the avian villain spat as he reached for Veronica, "I'm not against taking a hostage--"
And then a cocktail splashed across his mask, causing the Vulture to freeze in indignation.
"Don't be a fool," Tony scoffed. "I know Ronnie's hot, but in case that glitz and glam's blinded you – I'm the real prize you're interested in here."
"You miserable, preening peacock…! Fine, I don't care!"
Bruce watched in shock, fists clenched as Stark made himself a hostage just to inflate his ego… and when he recalled that Stark had spoken up to stop Vulture from taking Veronica, he just shook his head and dismissed that as a happy coincidence.
With that, Vulture grabbed Tony around the waist and flew off into the night with him as Bruce watched impotently… before making his way to a phone and placing a call. "Alfred, I'm coming home early..."
While Vulture flew through the air, using one arm to steer and maintain stability while he kept tight hold of his hostage with the other, Tony was calm. In his element. Practically flourishing.
"So that engine on your back sounds a lot like a micro-vernier I patented in third grade," Tony casually said by way of conversation, impressed by the relative quiet with which they cut through the air, even at speeds comparable to a car on the street. "I'm having a hard time believing it can purr like that and still generate enough thrust to push us both through the atmosphere like this without burning us both, especially considering how dense your armor probably is… I've gotta know, one engineer to another: what's your secret?"
"Hah! As if I'd tell a prey animal like you," Vulture sneered.
Tony looked back over his shoulder, and smirked. "So in other words, you're not even a second-rate scientist piggybacking off of my work – you're just some idiot using another man's technology. That's more boring than I expected."
"Don't get uppity with me, hosta—gkh!"
Tony slammed an elbow into Vulture's throat, causing the villain to release him and drop Tony to certain death on the streets below…
...just in time for Spider-Man to swing underneath the convulsing Vulture and snatch the billionaire inventor out of the sky. "What kind of crackpot are you?! You could have died just now!"
Rather than answer the question as Spider-Man swung towards a nearby roof to set him down on, Tony pulled out a small roll of hundred dollar bills from his inner suit pocket. "Here's a tip for following my plan," he said as he pressed it into Spidey's hand. "Now if I were a betting man, I'd say Vulture's using some kind of antigravity. You should be able to web up the output jets on his back-mounted verniers – or just yank them off -- and only kill his directional control without necessarily knocking him out of the air. Without thrust, he'll be fumbling around like an astronaut."
Staring first at the wad of cash in his hand, and then at Tony, an incensed Spider-Man practically threw it back to Tony. "Thanks for the heads-up, but I don't save people for money."
As the webhead leapt back into the sky in pursuit of the Vulture, Tony clicked his tongue. "That's a real shame, kid. You're not too bad at it."
As Vulture reeled through the Gotham night sky and drifted up to a church steeple in hopes of getting his bearing, he muttered one curse after another. First the damn webhead interrupts me when I'm robbing, then Stark butts his nose in while I'm trying to salvage the night, and now they're both working together to just. Keep. Screwing with me!
"That's enough, Vulture! You're coming home to roost!"
Vulture turned to look at the oncoming Spider-Man, and screamed as he hurled an entire wing's worth of flechette feathers at him. "JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU PEST!"
Except this time, the web-slinger didn't have to worry about innocent bystanders as possible collateral damage, and casually yanked himself below their flight path with a web-line to the church. "Sure thing, Turkey! Just as soon as you're in prison!"
But although the attack had been a complete whiff, it had achieved something else.
It had stalled and distracted Spider-Man for the crucial few seconds Vulture needed to rocket up into the sky.
However, Vulture had miscalculated. In flying straight up, he had kept himself between a pair of skyscraper business offices on either side of the church. A fact which Spider-Man quickly made use of when he tied a pair of web-lines to each building and jumped from the church, using them as a slingshot to catch up with his opponent in seconds.
Vulture happened to glance down, and with a shout of fear at the webbed wonder racing up to meet him, tried swiping with his claws – only for Spider-Man to twist and dodge around the blow in mid-air, grabbing onto Vulture's shoulder with one hand, and then vaulting overhead onto the latter's back.
"N-NO! GET, GET OFF ME!"
"YOUR GOOSE IS COOKED!"
Without hesitation, Peter grabbed onto the Vulture's flight pack and peeled it open in a spray of sparks, before gumming up its internals with over a quart of fire-retardant webbing… just before his entire body shook with agony.
My Spider-Sense, it's… going nuclear!
Acting purely on instinct, Spider-Man pushed off from the Vulture and leapt away… at the same instant that a sniper round grazed the front of his chest. Had he reacted even a split-second later, it would have gone through his heart.
Free-falling through the air, Spider-Man caught himself with a web-line and swung in the direction his new assailant had fired from, only for nothing to catch his attention amidst the Gotham cityscape.
"C'mon Spider-Sense, just give me a hint…!"
The danger had evidently passed, the sniper seeming to have run off now that Vulture had managed to make an escape in his crippled condition. There were no clear clues to be had, and Spider-Man had now found himself with multiple injuries he needed to recover from.
With a shake of his head, Spider-Man resigned himself to indignantly collecting his street clothes from the fundraiser gala and then limping on to the Bugle in hopes of collecting his paycheck.
"Deadline was an hour ago, Parker! You expect me to pay for these shots of Vreeland and Stark when every two-bit gossip rag in this city is already having a field day with them?! YOU'RE FIRED!"
And this is what I get for sticking around to stop Vulture from picking all those fat cats clean, Peter lamented to himself. "Mr. Jameson, I'm sure there must be something you can use them for--"
"Hardly more than toilet paper, Parker! By the time tomorrow's paper hits print, our competitors will have wrung this story dry of any analysis worthy of our reputation! I'll give you twenty dollars a pop, and not a penny more!"
Well, Peter thought as his tyrant of a newspaper editor stopped ranting just long enough to breathe, at least he's paying for them after all.
"More importantly, where on Earth were you when that showboating narcissist Spider-Man came in and ruined the fundraiser?! Gotham needs a man like Dent to bring law and order back, and--"
Peter reached into his shirt pocket and produced a photograph of his masked alter ego tackling the Vulture away from the crowd. "I was right there getting pictures, same as usual. It was this new character who tried to rob the fundraiser, some nut calling himself the Vulture. Spider-Man came in afterwards and stopped him from taking anything."
J. Jonah Jameson took the photo in hand almost the same instant it hit his desk, holding it up to the ceiling light and puffing on his cigar in thought. As Peter produced another several photos of the fight at the fundraiser, including a few of the Vulture's dramatic entrance, the old man lit up with a grin. "SPIDER-MAN HELPS VULTURE ESCAPE CAPTURE!" he boomed with a laugh. "Now that's a headline! I knew I kept you around for something, Parker; now go talk to Robbie about your pay so you can GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!"
Practically shooed out through the door before he could offer so much as a breath of protest, Peter winced as it slammed behind him. At least I can count on Spider-Man to save my job...
While the moon rose into the night sky, Peter let out a sigh as he finally jogged up the sidewalk to a cozy little house near the edge of the Gotham suburbs. The lights were on, as expected… but unusually for the hour, the door wasn't locked.
Just like the night when Uncle Ben – no, I'm sure it has to be some kind of fluke or coincidence…!
"Aunt May," he called out as he stepped in, "is everything alright?"
For a long, heart-stopping second, nothing answered Peter's question. Not his last remaining parental figure, and not even his Spider-Sense.
And then the kindly old woman stepped into view from the parlor, almost knocking Peter to the floor with relief. "I left the door unbolted again, didn't I Peter? I'm so sorry dear – why, Peter! I can't believe you were out at night without a jacket again, you'll catch a cold!"
Before Peter could start to downplay the issue and claim that his rented suit had kept him warm enough, an old man about May's age wearing a heavy full-length coat stepped up behind her. "You should really listen a little more to your aunt, son. She's just as worried for you as you are for her."
"You're, um—" Peter stumbled over his response to the unexpected sight of GCPD Commissioner James Gordon in his home... particularly since he'd watched the old man try to sic the cops on him during a store robbery they'd both chanced onto just a week or so prior.
"Mr. Gordon came to visit a while ago," May explained. "I must have forgotten to lock the door again after I let him in. You know, Peter, he's got a lovely daughter about your age..."
Gordon stepped up to Peter with a handshake he… couldn't really refuse. "I know we haven't really had a chance to talk in a few months or so," Gordon said.
Since that night, Peter silently agreed. There was a moment's temptation to apply just a touch more grip than necessary, a petty little urge to vent some of the aggravation Peter had suffered at Gordon's hands as Spider-Man… but he buried it. Peter was above such petulant displays, especially with Aunt May there in the room. "I guess we haven't, Commissioner."
"I'm sure it doesn't mean much to you coming from me," Gordon continued, "but for what it's worth, I'm proud of you. It's not often in this town that I see a young man step up and take responsibility for his family after something like what you've been through… I wish Gotham had another few hundred kids like you, Peter."
Peter stared at the old man, unable to hide his surprise. In his entire life, only two other men had ever given him that kind of glowing recognition; one was laid to rest in a community cemetery, and the other he hadn't seen since he was a child. "Um… thank you. It's nice to hear that."
And then Peter remembered about the goliath of a donut-muncher taking potshots with a glock at his masked alter ego, and his regard for the Commissioner dipped back towards where it had been at the start of the conversation.
"Mr. Gordon," May asked with a smile, "will you be staying for dinner?"
"As much as I'd like to, I'm afraid I need to get back to the precinct about some business that went down earlier in the night… oh, Peter, could I talk to you outside for a minute or two while my car's warming up?"
Oh, great! Bad enough that I almost died chasing Vulture and then got blamed for his escape, now I have to deal with this guy too?! "...can I ask what it's about?"
Gordon laughed as he made for the door. "You're not in any kind of trouble that I'm aware of, if that's what you're worried about."
As the old man buttoned up his coat and then passed one from the doorside rack to Peter, May gave her nephew a quick hug and kiss on the cheek. "Be a dear and keep him a moment's company, won't you Peter? I'll have your favorite supper on the stove by the time you two are done."
Now well and truly out of options, Peter accepted the coat he'd been given and put it on, before following Gordon out to his car. "So, is there something I can help you with, Commissioner?"
Gordon didn't answer immediately, first taking out his key and turning it in the ignition. His beat-up old wagon spit and sputtered for a second or two, before roaring to life a moment later. "It's hard to bring this up out of nowhere, son, and I thought for a long time about whether I even should… but given that you take pictures of Spider-Man for a living, I decided that you need to know."
In the time it took Gordon to turn his attention from his car back to Peter, he almost looked like he'd aged another five years. "That man is… Spider-Man is wanted for police questioning in relation to your uncle's murder, Peter."
"...excuse me?"
Taking Peter's shock in stride, the older man continued, "You might not be aware of it, but before he took up vigilantism, Spider-Man spent a few nights as a pro wrestler down at the garden. One particular night, the venue was robbed by a masked gunman whom Spider-Man let run right past him… a while later that same night, after the home invasion that took your uncle's life, Spider-Man was also spotted leaving the warehouse the killer had holed up in. We don't know what might have happened inside or what the two might have said to each other… but there are a lot of questions I'm not happy with leaving unanswered."
Before Peter could even begin to process his indignation at having the worst night of his life thrown back in his face as if he hadn't been there for it, Gordon cut through the simmering rage with a hand on his shoulder. "Even if Spider-Man's religiously taken to helping the city since that night, we still don't know much about him and it's possible that he could be incredibly dangerous. Just… be careful around him, is all I'm asking. I think you know it would break May's heart if something happened to you."
Just five minutes earlier, Peter had been exhausted from his fight with the Vulture, near-death experience, and subsequent stress at the Bugle, and ready for nothing so much as a hot meal and a night's sleep.
Now, pumped full of adrenaline and rage he couldn't act on without causing problems for his aunt, Peter almost craved another few rounds with the emerald avian so he could get it out of his system. "I know exactly what that webbed jerk's capable of," he spat through grit teeth. "You don't have to worry about me getting into trouble on that account."
Gordon nodded in sympathy, giving Peter another fatherly pat on the shoulder before getting into his car. "I'm glad to hear that, Peter. I won't tell you how to run your life, as long as you don't try to play the hero; you've got a bright future ahead of you. Just let us professionals deal with Spider-Man."
With that, Gordon drove off back into the city, leaving Peter to stand there on the sidewalk with his blood boiling. "Man, if I could just get one good chance to really cut loose!"
Keenly aware of the fact that his spider-strength could destroy anything around him, the furious photographer just punched his palm with a snarl… before a cold wind blew through the street, taking Peter's rage with it. "No… no, get your head screwed back on straight," he admonished himself. "Assaulting an old man's too low for you… and everything he said was right, anyway."
The full moon came out from behind heavy cloud cover, casting the empty suburban street in a chilling, desolate light.
"Uncle Ben is dead because of Spider-Man," Peter admitted in shame as he turned to go back inside. "Because I was too self-centered and irresponsible to do the right thing when it would have counted."