Hound55
Cyberlad
Retired
Half Pint
mickilennial
Ezekiel
Master Bruce
PrinceAlexus
Pilatus
Chronic
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Just the Facts, with your humble host, J. Jonah Jameson. Now, you know me. I'm not the type to hold a grudge."
"Ummmm...."
"Quiet, Betty. People have been asking me, why can't I just 'let it go?' It's been six months since Spider-Man 'saved the city,' everyone says. Without him and his amazing, sensational, spectacular spider-powers, Doctor Octopus and the Sinister Six would have turned Manhattan into a scrap heap! We should have thrown him a parade, given him a bright shiny medal, maybe even the key to the city! And yes, I'll admit, Spider-Man was in fact the one who defeated Otto Octavius and his brute squad.
"But what everyone seems to neglect while showering the web-head with praise for stopping the Sinister Six, is that the whole reason the Sinister Six even existed was because of him! We now know that at least two of the members of Otto's gang, Flint "Sandman" Marko and Alex "Rhino" O'Hirn, were given their special abilities specifically to fight Spider-Man. And the only reason they were in a position to get those super-powers was because Lonnie "Tombstone" Lincoln has been trying to expand his criminal empire. And the only reason Tombstone is trying to expand his criminal empire is because the old head of the Maggia, Silvio Manfredi, is behind bars. And the only reason Silvio Manfred is behind bars is because SPIDER-MAN PUT HIM THERE!"
"....actually, Mister Jameson, Captain DeWolff of the NYPD was the officer who--"
"Now I'm not saying Manfredi should have gone free-- the Maggia syndicate are the worst of the worst. But if you're going to topple the biggest crime boss in New York, you ought to have a plan for what happens after! Now look where we are! Manfredi's replacement is a thug by the name of Sonny "Hammerhead" Caputo, a cold-blooded killer, and he and Tombstone have started a gang war. The Sinister Six might be behind bars, but there are still plenty of costumed freaks that the wall-crawler hasn't dealt with-- ever notice how that Green Goblin lunatic always seems to get away? Or how the Black Cat always just happens to slip out of Spidey's webs before the police can bring her in? For all the talk about him 'saving the city,' I sure as hell don't feel any safer, do you?"
"......kind of?"
"Let's take some callers! Francis from Long Island, you're on the air!"
"Hi, Mister Jameson? You're right on the money, as always. If Spider-Man really cared about saving the city, he'd put on a badge or sign on with S.H.I.E.L.D."
"Ex-actly! You think a S.H.I.E.L.D. team wouldn't be able to take down Octavius's weirdos or Tombstone and Hammerhead's goons faster and cleaner than one guy who's probably working out of his mom's basement? More importantly, a S.H.I.E.L.D. team has superiors that they answer to if they screw up! How many times have we seen the web-head make a bad situation worse? And how many times has he ever actually had to answer for it? If he won't answer to Uncle Sam, I'll make sure he answers to me! Next caller! Miles from Brooklyn, you're on the air!"
"Hi, Mister Jameson, I think you've got it all wrong. There are a lot of us who can't rely on the government or the cops to be there for us, and when there's trouble, Spider-Man's always been--"
"Kid, I'm sure it looks like he's there to help you out, but he's only ever been in it to help himself. Trust me, I've been covering him longer than anyone else, and that 'friendly neighborhood Spider-Man' act is just that: an act. He's clearly well-equipped and trained and funded, which means he's got a lot of money backing him. So why isn't any of that money going towards helping out those neighborhoods he's 'saving?' Because he wants everyone in the city to congratulate him for being such a great guy. Even those high-and-mighty glory hounds in the Justice League are less obnoxious and phony when it comes to grandstanding and showboating and playing it up for the cheap seats. Next caller! Webster from Queens, you're on the air!"
"Hi, Jonah? I think you're right about Spidey, he's a total creep! Like just now, I caught him peeping in on someone's window!"
"See?! This is the sort of degeneracy those freaks in tights get away with if they don't--"
"Yeah, I saw him hanging upside-down outside an office building, waving at some dork who was running a radio show!"
"That's just--.....hey, wait a--"
"Whoever it is, it seems to be some high-strung blowhard who still thinks a flat-top and a little Hitler moustache is a good look! And it looks like he's about to have a conniption!"
"Why, you--......you no-good--....you come on MY SHOW--"
"Just popped by to let you know that you've got a piece of spinach stuck between your teeth. Anyway, I'm off to foil some crimes and save some people, and then I might grandstand and showboat about it for a bit like the giant fraud that I am. Have a good one, JJ!"
".....YOU GOOD-FOR-NOTHING DELINQUENT, I'LL HAVE YOU DRAWN AND QUARTERED IN TIMES SQUARE, YOU HEAR ME?!?!?! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD MOUNTED ON MY WALL! I'LL BRING YOU DOWN IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO, SPIDER-MAN!!!!!!!!"
Ahhh, sometimes I just can't help myself.
Back when I first started, Jonah's muckraking and fear-mongering used to really get to me. Sometimes it still does, if I'm honest-- no matter how hard I try, no matter how many people I save, there are always going to be guys like him who'll go out of their way to get everything twisted. If there's one constant in the world, it's that people are willing to believe just about anything about just about anyone, just as long as it's bad.
Thankfully, most people in the city are starting to come around, and an increasingly large chunk of Jameson's audience are tuning in just for the comedy of him blowing his stack. I feel like it's my duty as a public servant to occasionally poke the proverbial bear, just to keep old Jolly Jonah lively for their sake.
Having had my fun, I push off from the side of the Flatiron Building, and feel the all-too-familiar rush of air and lump in my throat, as I drop down towards the pavement, hear the reliable THWIP of my web-shooter as I throw out a line, and then feel the guts-heaving G-force of my fall becoming a swing.
"WHOOOOO-HOOOO-HOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!" I let out a cry of exhilaration as just before I start to lose the momentum in my swing, I let go of the web-line and launch myself into the evening sky. I tuck back my feet and grab my ankles behind my back into a sort of reverse-cannonball pose as I arc through the air, holding the pose as long as I can until I need to throw out another line and swing again. On my next upward arc, I do a jackknife, and on the next one I curl in start to spin, seeing how many rotations I can get before I have to throw out another line-- just eight this time, three short of my record. I've been swinging around this city and hopping across rooftops for five years, and it never gets old. When you've got muscles like industrial springs, and instant rope-swings and zip-lines whenever you want, the whole world is like one big trampoline park. Even in life-or-death situations, it's hard to not show off a little bit.
....so maybe Jonah's kind of right about me showboating. Kind of.
*BZZZT-BZZZZT*
INCOMING CALL FROM:
MAY PARKER
The augmented-reality HUD inside the smart-lenses of my mask is a pretty little piece of guerilla engineering that I'm rather proud of. I know Iron Man has a better one, and I've heard Batman has something crazy in his cowl, but I don't have Tony Stark bucks to throw around, so for something I knocked together in Aunt May's basement, I think it's got quite a nice suite of features. If I need it, it's got up-to-date GPS navigation around the city, and can connect to my tracking bugs and remote-control camera drones so I know when bad guys are on the move. It can access NYPD, FBI, and even S.H.I.E.L.D. databases through backdoors that took no small amount of work to put in place, as well as my own private database for info of all of the crazy stuff I've come across. It can take pictures, zoom up to 16x magnification without any loss of picture clarity (awesome if I want to get some shots for the Bugle and don't have my actual camera handy), switch between various night vision modes, and filter out flashes of bright light in case, say, Electro gets too close for comfort. Or the SWAT team flash-bangs me while I'm saving a hostage. Again.
And best of all, it pairs with my smart-phone (after bouncing calls through an impenetrable maze of relays so people don't ask why Spider-Man's gear is connected to Peter Parker's phone, of course). I waggle my left eyebrow up and down twice to answer the call.
"Hi, Aunt May!" I say cheerfully, swinging higher above the streets so I can hear her above the traffic. "How was your day?"
"Oh, it was fine, Peter," Aunt May says, always trying to downplay how hard she works. Even over the phone, I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. "There were a few troublemakers at lunch today, and Mister Li had his hands full for a few hours getting them taken care of, so I was more or less in charge of the center for most of the afternoon. Walter and Susan did what they could, of course, but...."
"Aunt May, we've got to find more help for you out there," I tell her. "You're supposed to be enjoying your retirement, not working yourself to the bone!"
"I happen to like working, Peter," she says, defiantly. "And now that I've got all this free time on my hands, I can't just sit idly by when there are people in need."
"I know," I admit, "and you're amazing for it. Just....while you're taking care of everyone, make sure you're still taking care of yourself, is all."
Ever since retiring from her career as a nurse, Aunt May has spent her days helping out at FEAST (Food, Emergency Aid, Shelter, and Training), a community center for the less fortunate put together by a philanthropist named Martin Li. Martin's a good man, and I'd like to think if I had his kind of money I'd be paying it forward to the city like he does, but ultimately, there's only so much they can do. It's been a hard year for New York, and all of the various bits of craziness have left a lot of people out of work, out of a home, and running out of options. Aunt May's got more than enough heart and willpower to go around, but at her age, even the best of intentions can end up with stress and strain that she just doesn't need.
"It's nothing a hot bath and a good book before bed won't fix," she brushes it off. "Anyway, that's not why I called. I called because I want to make sure you've got everything ready for tonight."
"Of course!" I say, vaulting off of an air conditioning unit and springing into a no-hands cartwheel in the empty air, enjoying the hangtime. "I called the restaurant this morning to confirm the reservation. I'm on my way to pick up my best shirt and pants from the dry cleaners right now. I booked the carriage ride to surprise her as soon as she's off of work. It's all good to go."
"....and you're sure you've got the--"
"Oh no!" I exclaim. "I-I-I must have left it back at the dorm! Ohhhh, man!!!!"
"Peter, you've got to--"
"Kidding, kidding!" I say with a laugh. "I've got it on me, right here in my pocket."
I pat myself down really quick to make sure I actually do have it on me, and sigh with relief.
"All right, well, it sounds like you've got it all together," she says. "You have a wonderful night. And Peter?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm really proud of you."
"I....thanks, Aunt May. Love you!"
She hangs up, and underneath my mask, I've got the biggest, dumbest smile I've ever had in my life. Buzzing Jameson and swinging around town is fun and all, but tonight's going to be something special. I can put up with supervillains, with media smears, even with Flash Thompson moping around the dorm, because it's all been leading up for tonight. Nothing in the world can--
*BZZZZT--BZZZZT!*
CALL FROM
CAPTAIN JEAN DeWOLFF, NYPD
....of course.
"Thank you for calling Spider-Man's Hoodlum and Supervillain Gift-Wrapping and Delivery Service, this is Spidey speaking, how may I help you?" I answer. Please let this be something easy. Maybe that guy with the big wheel, he was fun.
"A laugh riot as always," she says in a tone so dry it would make the Sahara feel like the Pacific. If there are two things Jean DeWolff shares in common with her late mentor, George Stacy, it's a tireless devotion to justice, and a steadfast refusal to play along with any of my schtick. "An alarm just tripped at the Guggenheim. Three security guards incapacitated-- no serious injuries reported, but they didn't see what hit them. The museum's currently displaying the Guennol Lioness, an ancient Mesopotamian sculpture estimated at over $57 million. At least, it was displaying the Lioness...."
"Until it went missing, right," I say, barely able to contain my annoyance. "Someone's lifting a priceless cat statue in the middle of the day? I think we both have a pretty good idea who's gutsy enough to pull that trick off. I'm on my way now."
"Make sure that sculpture doesn't get a scratch on it," DeWolff warns. "It's worth more than my entire precinct makes in a decade."
"You got it," I say, my great mood turning sour. Just what I need on the biggest night of my life.
It's okay, you can still have a perfect night.
Just investigate the crime scene, chase down the master criminal, recover the priceless artifact, and do it in less than two hours so you don't miss your reservation.
No pressure, right?
