The First Encounter with Spider-Man

It was around nine in the evening. As they left the dim, run-down streets of the slums, the scene before them changed abruptly.

Traffic streamed through a crowded intersection, and neon lights made the whole street bright as day. Several snack shops near the corner were brightly lit and packed with customers. The smell of hot dogs, burgers, and grilled meat hung in the air.

Fashionably dressed young people took photos on the street. Couples crossed hand in hand, while a few street performers played guitars by the roadside and sang the season's biggest hits.

Russell picked a small restaurant that looked reasonably clean and led Laura and Felicity inside. It was small but busy, with nearly every seat taken. He chose a table by the street.

From there, he had a clear view through the window of the enormous screen in Times Square. On it, a middle-aged man in a suit with a small mustache was speaking passionately over blurry footage of Spider-Man swinging between buildings.

"...Let me say it again: I demand that Spider-Man take off his mask! A dangerous masked individual is no friendly neighborhood hero to New York City!

"As long as he keeps that mask on, we can't rule out the possibility that he's the one pulling the strings behind all these criminals terrorizing New York City."

The man's voice boomed across the square through loudspeakers. Passersby stopped to watch, and a few scattered boos rose from the crowd.

"I strongly urge everyone not to put blind faith in Spider-Man or get too close to him. That wretched little bug could bring disaster down on you at any moment!"

Russell looked at the familiar face on the screen and shook his head.

J. Jonah Jameson—the Daily Bugle's editor-in-chief and Spider-Man's lifelong nemesis.

No matter when or where, he never missed a chance to smear the masked vigilante. His nonstop ranting was every bit as irritating as Deadpool's foul mouth.

Most people didn't understand why Jameson hated Spider-Man so much, but Russell knew the story.

Years ago, a masked robber had killed Jameson's wife.

Ever since, Jameson had seen everyone in a mask as a potential criminal. His harsh treatment of Spider-Man came less from hatred than from a twisted desire to "protect" him:

He was afraid the young man would go astray, afraid the face beneath the mask would belong to another criminal.

But that kind of "protection" was hard to appreciate.

"Boss, you've got Spider-Man posters all over the place. Looks like you're a fan," Russell said casually. "Why does that guy from the Daily Bugle keep bad-mouthing him?"

As he spoke, he twirled pasta around his fork.

Felicity sat beside him, carefully cutting a steak. Across from them, Laura ate quietly, already halfway through her burger.

The owner was an Italian man in his fifties, with tomato sauce and flour on his apron. At the question, he broke into a grin and answered in heavily accented English:

"Ah, don't get me started on that guy! Newspaper people will say anything for money. As if I don't know whether Spider-Man's a good man!"

Wiping down a table, he pointed to a slightly yellowed poster on the wall. "If it weren't for him, my whole family would've died in a fire.

"It was a huge blaze. The fire trucks couldn't even get in. Spider-Man carried us out through the window, one by one. My little girl still keeps his poster above her bed!"

With that, he hurried off to greet some new customers.

Russell smiled and went back to his pasta.

Felicity set down her knife and fork, propped her chin in her hands, and gazed with shining eyes at the screen outside, which was still showing news about Spider-Man.

"Wow... has Spider-Man really saved that many people? That sounds amazing..."

Russell glanced at her. "What, are you a fan?"

"I..." Her cheeks reddened slightly at being found out. "I just think he's cool. So many people misunderstand him, but he keeps doing good anyway. And he never hurts criminals. He just ties them up and hands them over to the police..."

"That's because he doesn't kill," Russell said calmly. "Not everyone can manage that."

Laura kept eating her burger without joining in.

But through the window, her gaze settled on Spider-Man on the screen.

That red-and-blue figure did look... pretty cool.

But she knew she would never be someone like him.

All she did was kill.

"Look! It's him."

A stir suddenly swept through the restaurant. Several young people pointed excitedly out the window.

A red-and-blue figure swung past between the skyscrapers.

He fired a web that stuck squarely to the big screen in Times Square—right over Jameson's endlessly moving mouth. From somewhere overhead, he seemed to call out,

"Shut up, old man!" Then the web snapped taut, sending him soaring into a graceful flip.

Cheers and whistles erupted along the street.

Just as Iron Man Tony Stark was the face of Stark Industries, Spider-Man Peter Parker was a living symbol of New York City.

He swung between the skyscrapers, rising and falling as his webs drew taut. Under the lights, his shadow raced across the ground, and pedestrians and restaurant patrons alike called out to their friendly neighborhood hero.

"Hey, Spider-Man! Had dinner yet? Want to come down for a bite?" A hot dog vendor waved a hot dog at him.

"Spider-Man! Someone stole my wallet yesterday! Could you keep an eye out for it while you're catching crooks?" a young woman shouted with her hands cupped around her mouth.

"Spider-Man! I love you!" cried several girls who looked like high school students.

From the warmth of the greetings and the Spider-Man posters, T-shirts, and merchandise everywhere, it was easy to see how beloved New York's "friendly neighborhood hero" was in the city.

A few people with a sense of humor watched Spider-Man sail overhead and began reenacting a famous comic-book exchange:

"Is it a bird?"

"Is it a plane?"

"No, it's neither—" they chorused, laughing. "It's New York City's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man! Hahaha!"

Spider-Man heard the laughter below and deliberately slowed down, raising a hand to wave at the crowd.

"Hey, good evening, everyone! The streets look pretty peaceful tonight. Guess you don't need your 'city trash collector' to step in?"

His voice was light and lively, full of youthful energy and mischief.

When he spotted someone who needed help, Spider-Man even dipped down to lend a hand.

He picked up a shopping bag an elderly woman had dropped, used a web to bring a cat safely down from a utility pole, and even rescued a pigeon stuck between the stonework of a church gargoyle.

He did it all with easy confidence, without the slightest trace of superhero airs.

This time, as Spider-Man swung past the restaurant window to high-five a child reaching up from the sidewalk—

Russell was sitting right beside it.

Spider-Man's hand flashed past the window, stirring a faint breeze.

It lasted only an instant.

Spider-Man didn't even notice who was sitting by the window.

He swung on and vanished between the buildings, leaving behind a trail of laughter and rolling cheers.

"It really was Spider-Man!" Felicity sprang to her feet and clasped her hands before her chest, her eyes sparkling.

"He looked even cooler than he does in the comics! Oh my gosh, I was so close to him!"

Her face flushed with excitement as she turned to Russell. "Lord Russell, did you see? He flew right past us!"

Russell smiled but said nothing.

He watched the direction Spider-Man had gone and thought, I hope you can keep swinging around this city every day, Spider-Man.

Because you never know what this universe might throw at you next.

Meanwhile...

Above New York City.

Spider-Man—or rather, Peter Parker—was making his usual rounds, patrolling from Queens to Manhattan North Street, then Midtown and Downtown.

New York seemed unusually quiet tonight. Aside from a few minor disputes and a traffic accident caused by someone running a red light, there had been no major incidents.

For once, he had a slow night.

He bought two hot dogs from a stand in Midtown, with extra pickles and onions, then headed for what he thought was the best spot around: beside the gargoyle at the top of St. John's Cathedral.

He crouched beside the gargoyle, lifted the lower half of his mask, and took a huge bite of hot dog.

"Mmm... tonight's hot dogs are really good!" he mumbled to himself.

"Perfect texture, rich sauce, pickles with just the right crunch... And best of all, I might actually get to finish a whole hot dog without anyone interrupting me! It's a miracle!"

He sighed contentedly, leaned against the gargoyle's cold stone wing, and looked up at the stars.

Stars were rarely visible in New York's night sky, but tonight it was surprisingly clear. A few bright ones twinkled through gaps in the clouds.

What's MJ been up to lately? Is Aunt May's knee any better? Did Harry argue with his dad again? he wondered between bites, his mind drifting through everyday concerns. And I've got a chemistry test tomorrow. Need to remember to study...

He finished the last bite, wiped his mouth, pulled his mask back into place, and leaped from the gargoyle.

He turned a full three hundred and sixty degrees in the air and landed neatly on the sidewalk.

Passing a trash can, he tossed in the paper bag he was carrying.

It traced a perfect arc through the air and dropped straight into the opening.

"Oh yeah! First try." Spider-Man pumped a fist in silent celebration. "I am one impressive spider!"

He glanced around to make sure no one had noticed his little "feat," then fired a web and swung toward the next neighborhood.

The night was still young, and New York still needed its friendly neighborhood hero.

After filling up, Russell took the two girls for a stroll through the streets.

When they passed a phone shop, he went in and bought two phones: one for himself and the other... as a spare. Felicity leaned over for a curious look but asked nothing.

By the time they returned to the rented apartment, it was eleven at night.

Russell settled the girls in. Laura slept on the living room sofa, and Felicity took the small bed in the back room. Then he sat alone in the dim living room and turned on one of the new phones.

The screen's blue glow lit his face as his finger swept rapidly across it.