Spider-Man's Ordeal

Eddie Brock shoved through the crowd, knocking aside a heavyset woman holding up her phone. He tripped, though, and nearly fell against a trash can.

He caught the rim with one hand and stumbled two steps forward, his eyes never leaving the red-and-blue figure slowly crawling up the wall.

Six arms, a red-and-blue suit, white lenses, a spider-shaped logo. It was Spider-Man.

Or rather, Spider-Man with six arms.

His hands shook with excitement as he raised his camera and zoomed in as far as it would go.

Click! Click! Click!

After snapping three shots in a row, Eddie, who had never photographed Spider-Man before, wanted more. He pulled out his phone and took two close-ups, worried his camera might run out of film.

"Whether that's the real Spider-Man or not," he muttered, so quietly he might have been talking to his own shadow.

"I finally got photos I can use. Mr. Jameson said a compromising photo of Spider-Man would earn me a thousand dollars."

What could a thousand dollars do? Pay a month's rent. Get that battered secondhand Ford repaired.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was that he could pull out the photos right in front of that Parker kid and show him what a real professional looked like.

Eddie grinned. There was pride in that smile, and anticipation, and the humble hope of someone who had spent too long struggling in the dark and had finally glimpsed a sliver of light.

"Spider-Man, look over here!"

This Spider-Man was climbing so slowly that Eddie had plenty of time to raise his camera again. The flash burst white through the morning mist.

The six-armed figure on the wall tilted his head and spotted a familiar face in the crowd below, but he did not stop climbing.

*This is bad.