Disclaimer: I do not own any of the featured Marvel Characters or the book by Adam-Troy Castro. I understand that this is pretty much a knockoff of the book, but I loved it so much that I wanted to write it. I tried to put my own little twists and make it a version of my own. I do not own anything, and this fanfic is not even based on, but pretty much IS the book. I am not claiming it as my own or as my own idea. I apologize, as I recieved a review calling it 'plagarism'. I would never intentionally do such a thing, and I write for my own enjoyment and I enjoyed the book. I am sorry for the mix-up, I did not even realize that it may have been plagarism. I am just a person who likes to write about Spider-Man. I've loved the novel and I wanted to write it out sorta-kinda in my own way, figuring fanfiction would be the place to do it.
The Daily Bugle building stood not necessarily tall in the concrete canyons of New York City, but it was most certainly stood out. The flickering neon letters running down its rooftop spelt BUGLE, though the "L" was going in and out of lumination, so at times the sign seemed to read "BUG-E".
Bug-e. That was ironic to many, of course, due to the masked man that stalked the front pages of the notorious newspaper. And through all the slander and all the false reports bestowed upon him, the same masked man sat now on a rooftop which gave him a perfect view of Mr. J. Jonah Jameson's office. Jameson was the publisher, editor-in-chief, and Spidey-hater of the Daily Bugle. Recognizable by his mustache, dark flattop haircut and the cigar that always seemed to hang loosely from the left side of his mouth, Jameson always put his paper first. And his malign towards Spider-Man both ruined his paper and made it stronger; it just depended who read the articles featuring the red-and-blue tight wearing vigilante and what they chose to believe. More than half the city chose to believe that Jameson had the bug-man all figured out, making life for the hero more difficult than it ever needed to be.
And as Spider-Man watched Jameson puff on a fresh cigar, yelling at Billy Walters--another freelance photographer--for something that Walters probably had no control over. Spider-Man shook his head. That was JJ, all right. The hot-headed boss, didn't care what went wrong as long as he could point a finger at somebody.
The building was as relentless as the paper itself--multiple attacks had been made on the offices. Ah, the building itself was like a home away from home. The Goodman Building on 39th Street and Second Avenue--now called the Daily Bugle Building, is an office complex forty-six stories tall, and is capped by the Daily Bugle logo in neon-red 30-foot letters on its roof.
Spider-Man wondered why Jameson kept up with it. It wasn't a secret that the Bugle was one of the least respected newspapers in the city. And he also wondered why he himself worked there as his alias Peter Parker. Peter was famous for his quality shots of Spider-Man, and the freelance photographer never gave up his secrets.
But as he faced the building today with the latest copy of the Daily Bugle in his hand, he couldn't help but give a weak sigh. The headline read: "Spider-Man Assists In Bank Heist" and underneath the front-page picture showing the events that took place read, in small, small print: "Photo By Peter Parker". He hadn't done a thing except to try and stop the robbers, of course. But the paper was so one-sided that if he made one flawless mistake, such as 'allowing' one of the culprits to escape with some of the stolen money, then everything was thrown right back in his face. In the article, Jameson insists that Spider-Man and the escaped thief had made a deal beforehand that he would run off, they would meet back later and split the goods. Sad thing is, many probably believe this crap.
Spider-Man looked at the photo that showed Spider-Man beating the tar out of two of the three men while the other one slipped out the front door. The caption explained Jameson's point of view. "I feel like I am totally screwing myself." Spider-Man said to himself, looking at the photograph he had taken that had been used to completely ruin his reputation. He threw the paper off the roof and continued sulking. He had been sulking a lot lately, because the Bugle had been picking on him a lot more than usual. Jameson must have been on one of his I-Am-Finally-Going-To-Show-The-World-Exactly-How-Spider-Man-Is modes.He got those a lot, just like Spider-Man got his famous caffeine highs from drinking too much coffee (Troy Saberstein, of the counterterrorism and intelligence agency SAFE, actually had told Spider-Man once that his file even said he was a caffeine fiend extraordinaire. SAFE's Director Colonel Sean Morgan had read the file and, almost instantly afterwards, refused Spider-Man's requests for coffee every time he visited the Helicarrier base).
Spider-Man had been meaning to check up on SAFE's latest actions, now that he thought of it. He always liked to see what the agency was up to in case he could assist, even though the agency saw him as an 'untrusted vigilante', as Colonel Morgan had once said to his face. That was all okay by him--Spider-Man was not used to receiving respect. Although the Bugle had helped this cause, Spider-Man noticed that his own actions could bring some blame about. He damaged public property on almost a weekly basis, considering all the bad guys he had to fight. He often intervened in situations where the NYPD clearly had it handed, and the officers often resented him for that. And also for the countless deaths that Spider-Man had been unable to prevent, and even the ones that happened while he was on the scene. Spider-Man could go either way, as far as the public eye could see. That's why only half of the city hates me, he thought. That half needed glasses.
Many times Spider-Man wanted to confront Jameson. He wished he could right now: he imagined himself crashing through his office window, Jameson spewing with rage. He saw himself pick Jameson up by his shirt's front collar and raise him into the air. He saw himself shout harsh, angry words telling him to just cut the crap. He also saw him punch the publisher in the jaw. But the vision quickly faded, and with it Spider-Man's will to go in there and give Jameson a piece of his mind. He just couldn't do things like that. Then what the Bugle had been saying about him all these years would be right.
Spider-Man had had just about enough of sitting in his own misery and stood, deciding that a little tour of midtown wouldn't hurt--and it could keep him busy, since he was bored stiff at the moment. There had been no sightings of supervillains, robberies, even muggings for more than a week. What was a superhero supposed to do, then, besides show off his powers to the public (and, frankly, hearing a couple of people saying 'ooh' and 'aah' as he soared above their heads did make him feel better).
But Spider-Man had learned to appreciate slow days like these, because when the time came for all hell to brake loose, all he would wish is for a day just like today--when nothing was happening, there was no one in danger, and no one trying to kill him. And this was New York City--it never stayed too quiet for too long. The crime-free city seemed to be lurking with the evil plot of some self-proclaimed criminal mastermind, who had yet to unveil his scheme to take over. Spider-Man wasn't looking forward to when the bad guys decided to show up, but he didn't want to be stuck inside watching reruns of Seinfeld either.
Maybe he'd check up on Fury in the SAFE. Helicarrier. Yeah, that'd give him something to do. He'd just head on over to that special pay phone he always used, on the corner of Broadway, and dial up Sean Morgan to catch a ride to the Helicarrier. He wasn't looking foward to seeing the reactions of the agents on board, but again, he was Spider-Man, not Captain America. Respect was almost like a foreign language to him, as he'd been called various things by various people, and words of respect not being one them.
Yeah. He just might head over to the Helicarrier. She what was going on in his city. He headed down towards Broadway, swinging the route he normally took while on patrol. He moved so fast that only the unblinking pedestrians could see the fading red-and-blue blur pass by, some shaking their head as if they were delusional, others squinting to see exactly what the heck that thing was.
Spider-Man saw the phone booth as he came closer, and he saw that it was occupied. Oh, super, he thought. He hated standing on the sidewalks for too long. Even being used to all the attention, he felt so uncomfortable waiting around. The last time he spent more than three minutes on the sidewalk was while waiting in line to buy a hot dog. Hey, he was hungry. Even super heroes gotta eat.
He landed behind the booth and ignored the stares from those around him, though he felt them as if they pounded into his skin. He walked over to the glass door and knocked on it. The man, his back turned to the hero waiting outside, waved the back of his hand as a motion to leave him alone. After the second knock the man spun around, saw Spider-Man standing there, and allowed his mouth to drop open. He opened up the glass door, at a loss for words.
"Hey pal, can I use the phone for a sec? It's pretty important."
"Uh...honey?" the man said into the phone. "I gotta go. Spider-Man needs to use the phone."
"And, while your at it, can ya spare some change? Sorry, I left my wallet in my other costume." Spider-Man asked. The man hung up the phone, dug deep into his pockets, and dropped a few coins into Spider-Man's open hand. "Thanks, pal. Tell your 'honey' I said sorry for cutting into your conversation."
"D-don't worry about that, S-Spider-Man." he said, exiting the booth and allowing Spider-Man to make whatever call he had to make from a public pay phone. Spider-Man closed the door, deposited the money, dialed the number, and waited for someone on the other line to answer.
On the third ring a young woman's voice said: "SAFE Helicarrier."
"Yeah, I was wondering if I could get a lift to the midnight meeting that Morgan's holding tonight?"
"Who's calling, sir?" the woman asked.
"Oh, sorry. Spider-Man."
"One moment, Mr. Man." She said. Spider-Man laughed. Even in the field that they worked in, nowadays even superhumans were exposed to the melodies of Hold music. He had never been put on Hold before, and enjoyed the tune until it was abruptly cut short by a man's harsh voice.
"Colonel, how's my bestest friend in the whole wide world?"
"Spider-Man. Of course. What do you want?"
"I was wondering if I could get a lift to the Helicarrier." he replied. He couldn't pinpoint the Colonel's reaction, being the cause of the silence. Sean Morgan cleared his throat and said: "You couldn't just go to the Times Square office and request transport like everyone else?"
"I didn't feel like it."
"Fine. I'll send an aircar to meet you at the Brooklyn Bridge an hour earlier."
"See ya there, Cuddles. Save me a seat next to you, okay?" he joked.
Colonel Morgan, who never really appreciated the Webslinger's humor, just hung up. Spider-Man just put the phone back into the receiver, exited the booth, and was greeted by a mob of bystanders. Had they been watching the entire time?
"What? A guy can't use a pay phone anymore? Jeez!" Spider-Man said as he spun a webline and was ricochetted into the mass of skyscrapers that created his zig-zag path down to the Brooklyn Bridge, where he would hitch a ride on one of SAFE's fancy-fants flying aircars. He was looking forward to the Helicarrier for one reason, and one reason only: They would most definitely have coffee.