Jaws of Death

Chapter 9

Peter Parker shut the manhole with the lid and smelled himself.

Damn, I smell like Canadian Moose piss!

He had cut himself on the wrist while climbing out. There was a deep gash that spurted out blood. That was going to stay with him for a long time. I envy Wolverine! While Peter didn't possess the instant healing ability of the mutant, he certainly healed better than a normal man. Or he used to. Until he lost his powers.

Peter looked around to gain his bearings. All he could see was a deserted roadway that led straight to a lake. Beside it, he could see the roadway branching off to join a highway. "Grand Central Parkway" was the name on the signboard. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, trying to understand where he was. And then, it rang a bell.

Meadow Lake.

The good news was that he knew where he was and in which direction to proceed. The bad news was his home was a good 2.5 miles away. Without his web-shooters and Spiderman costume, there was no way he was going to make it home early. The only option he had was to run as fast as he could. If he couldn't hold it long, he would have to walk as fast as possible.

Hang in there, Aunt May!

As Peter started to run, he could see the Clock Tower of Queens College, in the horizon. Somewhere in there, Dr. Curtis Connors was probably still working in his lab. Peter remembered the promise Dr. Connors had made to him. He knew he would have to visit him to get to know more about how and why he lost his powers.

Life is like a clichéd horror movie that relies too much on jump-scares. At least my life is. The plot keeps proceeding but we get life screaming "Boo!" in our faces at the most inappropriate times.

Up until two months ago, he had been web-slinging his way around Queens, Hell's Kitchen and Brooklyn, beating up robbers and fighting weird men in weirder costumes. (Hypocritical me!) He was being portrayed and hailed as the saviour of New York City, despite the feeble attempts of J. Jonah Jameson to tarnish his fame through The Daily Bugle. It was right at that moment that life decided to scream 'boo' in his face!

He lost the Spider-Sense that he possessed which meant could no longer sense danger. To put it simply, someone could be aiming to smash his testicles with their boot from behind and he wouldn't see it coming. A day or two later, he lost a considerable amount of strength and agility. This meant that, from then on, he couldn't climb to the roof and do a superhero landing without spraining his knees. So, disguised in his Spiderman costume, he had consulted with Dr. Connors and the latter had asked him at least two months of time to understand what was happening and find a cure, if there was one. Until then, the only thing he could do was climb walls and at best, move faster than he would normally. But they were not of much use against the vile crime-lords of New York City.

I would just be like Cedric Diggory facing a myriad of Lord Voldemorts and their army of Meth-eaters.

Hence he had resorted to the only way of crime-fighting he could afford to do. Photojournalism. Thanks to his good metabolism and creepy-crawly locomotion, he was able to snivel into the dirtiest areas of New York City without anyone noticing and click photos of literally anything. That's what he did. A big sex-trafficking racket had sprung about in New York during this time and he decided instantly to dive right into it.

Men of New York! They want to get their hands on everything. And if they succeeded, they wanted more. Peter Parker thought bitterly, as he kept running. Well, I guess it's true for every Human being that ever lived.

His heart was hammering in his ribs, like a fluttering little bird that wanted to be freed from its cage. He was starting to feel the fatigue but he kept running, pausing only occasionally to make sure he was avoiding the crowded streets where he could be spotted.

This was New York and some streets were still packed, even at this hour. And a bad feeling in his gut told him that they were probably telecasting his photo with the news of his escape from prison. If he was spotted, it would cause unnecessary trouble. And trouble always found him first. Like it had earlier today.

The sex trafficking racket got him busy day and night, resulting in some of his best photography work, in his own opinion. Well, it was better than what his rival Eddie Brock had to offer anyway. Once he had enough evidence, he rushed to the police and got the man behind it arrested, the infamous Kingpin. But that hadn't been enough to convict the big man. The court needed more evidence. And he had agreed to submit more in the upcoming fortnight. But before he could finish the job, life shouted 'boo' in his face again and got him arrested.

Maybe this time, it wasn't life. It was that fat ass bloke in Queensboro. He still remembered his words from earlier today.

By morning, there won't be even a piece of human flesh that remains as a proof of your family's existence!

It kindled his anger. Peter Parker ran faster than he ran before. His limbs complained from the effort, but he kept going, breathing out like a walrus in heat. Men and women turned to see why a kid, wet with water and smelling like he just got flushed out of someone's toilet, would want to run this badly at this hour of the night. Hang in there, Aunt May! Please, hang in there!

He knew what he had to do. He had to save Aunt May from whatever danger she was in, wear his Spiderman costume (and his web-shooters!), visit Connors and manage to scavenge for the rest of the evidence needed to incriminate Wilson Fisk. While the world keeps searching for Peter Parker, Spiderman would finish the job for his photographer friend. But the job was more complicated in reality than in his head.

Peter Parker was slowing down, his legs cramping up. But he refused to stop running. Just half a mile to go.

Yet something in his gut made him feel like he already was late. Too late.

I have a bad feeling about this!