Spider-Man: Old Man Spider (A Marvel Multiverse Story)

Chapter 1

Chapter 1: A Tangled Web We Weave

The night Ezekiel Sims clawed his way into existence, New York City was drowning in the kind of storm that made Noah look like an optimist. St. Mary's Hospital stood like a besieged fortress, its windows rattling with each thunderclap as if God himself was demanding a front-row seat to this particular shit-show.

Dr. Evelyn Hart, her white coat spattered with substances best left unidentified, sprinted down the hallway, narrowly avoiding a collision with a gurney carrying what appeared to be the unfortunate lovechild of a baseball bat and someone's face.

"Christ on a cracker," she muttered, skidding into the delivery room. "What is this, the night of the living forceps?"

Inside, Sarah Sims lay spread-eagle, her face a shade of red usually reserved for fire engines and communist propaganda. Her husband, Michael, stood by her side, looking about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

"How's it hanging, folks?" Dr. Hart quipped, snapping on a pair of gloves with all the gravitas of a man walking to the electric chair.

Sarah's response was a guttural roar that would have sent lesser medical professionals running for the hills. Michael, for his part, looked like he was seriously reconsidering his life choices.

"Alright, sunshine," Dr. Hart said, positioning herself at ground zero. "Let's evict this little parasite, shall we?"

As if on cue, the lights flickered ominously. Outside, a bolt of lightning struck the hospital's lightning rod, sending a surge through the building's electrical system. For a brief moment, the delivery room was bathed in an otherworldly glow, like the set of a low-budget sci-fi film.

"Oh, for fuck's sake," Dr. Hart groaned as the room plunged into darkness. "Someone find the damn backup generator before we end up delivering this kid by braille!"

In the chaos that followed, nobody noticed the faint, silvery threads that seemed to dance across the newborn's skin for a split second before disappearing. It would be years before anyone realized the significance of that moment.

* * *

Ezekiel's early years were a symphony of chaos, conducted by a toddler with a penchant for destruction that would make Godzilla nod in approval. By the time he could walk, he had developed an uncanny ability to find the most dangerous object in any room and make a beeline for it.

"Michael!" Sarah's voice cut through the apartment one fateful afternoon, carrying the kind of panic usually reserved for phrases like "incoming missile" or "surprise prostate exam."

Michael Sims burst into the living room, half-expecting to find his son attempting to juggle chainsaws. The reality wasn't much better. Two-year-old Ezekiel sat in the middle of the floor, happily gnawing on what appeared to be a rat poison packet.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" Michael yelped, diving for his son. "Where did he even find that? I thought we Ezekiel-proofed this place!"

Sarah, looking like she'd aged ten years in ten seconds, shook her head. "I swear, it's like he's got a death wish. Or he's trying to give us heart attacks before he hits kindergarten."

As Michael pried the poison packet from his son's surprisingly strong grip, Ezekiel looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes and said, clear as day, "Yummy!"

"Oh, that's just great," Michael groaned. "Our son thinks rat poison is a delicacy. Should we be concerned that he's not, you know, dead?"

Sarah was already on the phone with Poison Control, her voice carrying the weary resignation of someone who'd been down this road before. "Yes, hello. It's the Sims family again. Yes, the one with the kid who thinks 'toxic' is a food group."