The Silhouette of a Spider

Chapter 1

"Spider-Man, Spider-Man, does whatever a criminal can. That's what I say! Heroes don't wear masks, criminals do! Damn it, damn it, damn it."

J. Jonah Jameson, the publisher of the Daily Bugle, was having another one of those days where he hated Spider-Man so much it made his hair turn grey. He was inside his office, reading a newspaper that was more famous than his own simply because it always included a story about Spider-Man and what amazing things he had done again. This time Spider-Man had stopped a burglar and blablabla. Jameson banged his desk a few times as he continued reading the story, eyes piercing to the picture of Spider-Man like he was looking for a fight with the masked hero. When his cigar was burned to the last cent, he spit it out and simply lit a new one between his lips.

Then he suddenly stood up, stomped out of his office and looked over his employees with a piercing gaze, before continuing his way over to one of the desks that was much more organized than the other ones.

"Quentin Beck!" he shouted. Quentin wasn't at his desk. In fact, he was just entering the office with a load of papers and a few photos in his arms. Quentin always looked like he was in a hurry. His glasses were slightly tilted over his nose, his dark brown hair was standing up a little after a restless night, and his dull-colored flannel shirt wasn't fully tucked under his pants. When Quentin saw his boss, his face went pale and he rushed over to his desk, greeting the fuming man with a smile despite not feeling like smiling.

"I want pictures of Spider-Man", Jonah Jameson spat out loud and clear.

Quentin looked around a bit nervously. "Okay ... But I thought you hated him."

J. Jonah Jameson did hate Spider-Man. Everyone knew it. He was old fashioned and cranky. To him it was weird seeing someone in a Halloween costume saving the city and pretending to be the new Jesus. In fact, Jameson was sure Spider-Man was actually a criminal in disguise, secretly wanting to take over New York city. "I do hate him. But the other papers are in success for writing about that fool, and that's why I want a story about him, too!" Jameson raised his voice again.

Quentin chuckled as he laid his paperwork down on his desk. "I don't know if I'm best for the job. It's hard to capture him when he is swinging from rooftop to another."

Besides, Quentin specialized in writing stories, not photographing them.

Jameson slammed his hand down, causing the papers to stumble and fall all over the floor. "I don't care how hard it is! If you want to keep your job, Quentin, I suggest you start being useful", he said. Quentin just stared down at the papers on the floor, then raised his eyes back to his boss, lifting his glasses better over his nose. Now, Quentin Beck wasn't alarmed by this kind of treatment. He was used to it after that one time he made an article with a few typos, or that time when he had over thousand photos but none of them were good enough to be published. Or that one time years ago when he spilled hot coffee over his boss. Quentin was used to being not very good at his job, but this was the first time Jameson had threatened to fire him. Now that was a bit scary.

Before Quentin could go down on his knees and pick up his papers, he shared some intense gazes with his boss. "You have grown a stubble", Jameson commented.

"I have."

Jameson's eyes wandered somewhere else for a moment before returning over to Quentin. "Don't shave it off, or you'll get a baby face like his."

Jameson gestured behind Quentin before walking back over to his office. Quentin looked over to his shoulder and saw their new intern, Peter Parker, holding at least six take-out coffees in his skinny hands, trying to give the right cup to its right owner. Quentin furrowed his brows a little. Of course Peter Parker had a baby face, he was only 17.