#spider-mark

“Oi!” Spider-Man exclaimed, his voice a nervous, high-pitch. “Nope!”

In the nick of time, without missing a beat and with superhuman ease, he performed an in-air flip and clung to the ceiling, arms extended to either side of his body as though to maintain balance. He didn’t need to be so theatrical but he had been caught off guard. Ignoring a reaction as visceral as this one had become harder and harder to contain; more often than not, sheer instinct kicked in and he just went with it.

Spider-Man stared in disbelief at four of the ugliest Komodo dragons he had ever laid eyes on and they glared back at him, thin tongues slithering in and out of their snouts. He could hear them hissing—or snarling, he couldn’t tell—and gulped, shocked at how late he had come to notice them. A tingling sensation notified him of potential danger but he hadn’t imagined it would be a quartet of monitor lizards casually dragging themselves on such a small apartment.

He’d set up his phone and laptop to monitor emergency channels, in hopes that it would direct him to where he could make a difference. Robberies, fires, break-ins, super villains being up to no good was what he had in mind but apparently the universe had other plans for him. And so, in a matter of minutes, a routine night of surveillance turned into a bizarre chase across the city. He had been swinging non-stop for the past hour and half, chasing the elusive Black Cat across town, mumbling to himself that he probably shouldn’t have made such a dynamic entrance in Inner Demons territory.

You gotta time your quips, man, he scolded himself when everyone hauled ass in different directions and he lost sight, albeit briefly, of the Cat. The master thief had connections with just about everyone in the crooked lane that was Enn City. Following the guy meant getting in a heap of trouble but that was already part of the job so what the hell, right? He just hadn’t considered Komodo dragons to be part of the equation.

The chase led him to the shady part of town, where the properties looked ancient and in need of a new coat of paint, and into the lost (apartment-sized) world of Komodo Land. The Black Cat had been quick to find and subsequently hide in this narrow, five-story monstrosity that oozed with not-so-chill vibes and shamelessly overpriced and claustrophobically small apartments. It reeked of neglect, nicotine, and chemicals, as though it had been repurposed for some clandestine drug operation.

Spider-Man wondered if it had been a deliberate ploy to distract him. After all he had checked the lobby and the first floor and found no sign of the master thief. What he’d found instead, much to his disgust, was the stench of the dragons’ dinner, excrement, and urine.

Just my luck, he thought, crawling across the ceiling and scanning the rest of the apartment: the door had been left ajar and there was nothing but a bucket and a mop by a corner. The pungent smell stung his nostrils even through his mask and he resisted the urge to gag by clearing his throat. One of the Komodo dragons stared, as though it could see right through him. Big bioluminescent green eyes stared back and narrowed until becoming thin slits of contempt and disgust. Behind the mask, Spider-Man cringed.

Who knew something could smell so bad?

“Good Lord,” he whispered, gently shaking his head. “You guys should think about cleaning after yourselves.”

As he shifted his weight and positioned himself to face the door, crawling slowly toward it, he saw it. A shadowy figure in the hallway outside the apartment. The figure moved itself with grace and purpose and just enough that Spider-Man caught a glimpse of his face in the dim-light of the hallway. Aware of the now incessant hissing—or snarling, Spidey still couldn’t tell—of the lizards, the figure turned toward the half-opened door then dashed into the hall.

Pushing himself off the ceiling and clinging to the door, not trusting his new Komodo besties to not take a chunk out of him, he peered into the narrow hallway and saw the Black Cat running toward the elevator. Spider-Man gracefully leapt off the door and slammed it shut behind him because there was no way in hell he was going to leave those beasts out of there.

Who waits for an elevator while they’re being chased?

Spider-Man groaned and shook his head.

The chase was on—again.

ALRIGHT, folks, let’s do this one last time.

His real name is Mark Lee.

He was bitten by a radioactive spider—or at least, he thinks it was radioactive—and for the last year and half he’s been Spider-Man. By chance, fate, or design, he’d been bitten. Just like his idol: Peter Parker, the original Spider-Man. Mark would love to call himself the One and Only Spider-Man but knows it would be a lie and disrespectful to Parker. So, in a town as big and as shady as Enn City, Mark did what he could and took up the mantle, making it his mission to live up to his idol’s example and use his powers for the greater good.

The encounter made him superhuman, granting him spider-like abilities. He can leap great distances, cling to almost any surface, and sense when something is about to threaten him, allowing him to avoid and react to danger with ease in the blink of an eye. The bite not only made him quicker on his feet but it granted him superhuman strength, stamina, reflexes, as well as enhancing other skills, such as his balance and dexterity, that he’d honed over the years as an athlete. Physical education was certainly less of a hassle after that.

The suit—black and green—represents his passion and ambition and paid homage to the original Web-Slinger by keeping the same spider symbol upon his chest and back; the web-shooters, designed by Joshua Hong and Moon Taeil, make it easier for him to move across the city and enable him to snare criminals; and the mask offers anonymity, protection, and comfort, a way to fight crime and keep his life as boring as it always has been.

Being a hero was no easy feat. Mark is aware of this. He does his very best to kick ass and take names. Life has meaning, even if it includes being pounded into the ground and fighting guys in colorful suits that possess, whether innate or manufactured, unique abilities that rival his own. New threats crawl out of the woodwork but he’s ready for all of them. Because he’s Spider-Man and it’s his duty to kick ass and keep people safe.

But sometimes, no matter how cool it might feel, being Spider-Man can be exhausting.

THE Black Cat was fast.

Not Quicksilver fast, but definitely-athlete-fast. Like, come to think of it, track-star fast. He moved with such complete control of his body that for a second Mark felt jealous of his flexibility. He dashed and shouldered a door open at the end of the corridor, promptly disappearing through it. Just then, as if on cue, the elevator binged itself open. It was empty. Obviously. The Cat had no plans on waiting for it and had been a last second attempt to lose his pursuer.

Mark sprinted after him and launched himself forward with a leap that had him cling to the ceiling then bounced on a wall and thrust himself toward the exit the Cat had improvised for himself. He noticed that the master thief’s choice of exit was the emergency staircase. Instead of descending, the Cat ascended not by foot but via grappling gun. Seconds before he was propelled upward, they came face-to-face.

The Web-Slinger, albeit reluctantly, admitted the elusive and perpetually frustrating thief was quite the looker—even if a good part of his face was still concealed by the domino mask-like goggles he was wearing. The lenses were pristine and made his eyes visible: one was dark, the other bright blue. His complexion was pale, his hair a mess of red and white. When he smirked he came across as both charming and devious, a strange mix that only added to his allure.

You seriously gotta focus, the Web-Slinger scolded himself. There’s no time for man-crushes.

In the blink of an eye, the Black Cat was whisked away and the sound of the line echoed in the empty staircase.

Seriously?

“Son of a—hey—that’s cheating!” Mark exclaimed as he leapt on the stair’s railing then aimed his web-shooter at the Cat’s feet. “Gotcha!”

Only he didn’t. The webs flew past the Cat’s head and attached themselves to the railing three stories up. Spider-Man groaned, shook his head, and released the weblines. He cracked his neck and knuckles, inhaled through his nose then exhaled through his mouth. With all the strength he could muster and crouching as low as he could, while still balancing himself on the railing, he sprung upward like a bullet. He flew, matching the Cat’s altitude, and caught him mid-air before he could disengage the line on his belt. The impact was harder and a bit more painful than expected; it was bound to be either way. Mark shrugged it off with a faint grunt. The Black Cat? Not so much.

Shooting his webs to a railing, the Web-Slinger managed to hold them suspended before completely falling. The Black Cat groaned from the whiplash but was still conscious and strong enough to smack Mark across the face, using him and the web to ascend as though he were back at climbing the rope in PE. Mark groaned despondently, his upper-lip stinging, then saw the master thief run through a door that led to the roof.

You gotta be shitting me.

He spun another web, triggering the web-shooters to pull him up, and dashed through the door as soon as he touched ground. The Black Cat, who had a decent head start, was running toward the edge of the building’s roof. He leapt on the edge and looked down, as though to prepare himself to jump. Yet, before he could he even think about doing that, two strong web-lines dragged him back. The master thief landed squarely and pathetically on his back. When he blinked and groaned, pain shooting through all of his back and some of his buttocks, he saw a pair of green eyes squinting right at him.

“Hey,” said the Black Cat, trying to conceal a smirk. “How’s it going, Webs?”

Mark tilted his head, arms crossed. “It seems like we’re in a rush, aren’t we, Puss in Boots?”

The Cat scoffed and cackled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Though he could make another run for it, he remained on the ground. “I thought you’d be taller,” Black Cat exclaimed, sounding disappointed. “Like way taller.”

“And I thought you’d be—uh—less of—dammit.”

Mark groaned and rubbed the back of his neck when his quarry stared at him with a smug half-smile. The master thief shrugged, chuckled, then his hands moved to either side of his head faster than Mark could register it. With acrobatic ease and proficiency, the Cat performed a perfect kip up and was instantly on his feet. If he was winded and exhausted from the chase, he didn’t show it.

“Cat caught your tongue?”

“Funny,” mumbled Spider-Man. “Real funny.”

“Not as funny as this.” The Cat titled his head to the side. He was still smirking as he sang, “Oh Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream—make it the harshest pummeling I’ve ever seen.”

“What are you—?”

And there it was. A second too late but still there. His entire body buzzed, goosebumps spreading everywhere, and his head felt heavy as a wave of nausea hit him like a punch on his gut. Everything momentarily slowed down but before he could react to the danger, before he could even register it, he was swept aside with such force that felt like a van had smacked him squarely across the side. The pressure and velocity of it overwhelmed him. He flew, high and far away from the building’s roof . . . until he wasn’t. 

He didn’t know where or how he landed. He just knew, as everything turned dark, that everything hurt and there was definitely a good amount of sand in his pants.