Evan (911Bug911)
Spider-Man #8
This issue is from Peter Parker’s perspective.
----
"What the hell? I can lift a car? An entire car? Four thousand pounds?!"
I quickly realize that I'm the only person around to hear the rhetorical questions I'm shouting and shut up. I'm glad there's no one here, though. As much as I'd like someone to witness me accomplishing this feat, I don't want a headline as lame as "Masked Menace Terrorizes Automobiles" to ruin me. Thankfully, only thugs would frequent abandoned warehouses. Maybe horny teenagers, too. I checked for both and there really is no one here but me, though I may or may not fit into one of those categories.
Realizing that I'm still holding it above my head, I gently put down the car. I think I could pick up a truck if I had the opportunity, because I actually forgot I was lifting up a car for a second there. I'm sure a time will come.
It's sad that my car-lifting—and the rest of what I did today—was only brought on by a near-decapitation. I have to learn my strength before another "Chameleon incident" happens. I could've killed that guy, had I hit any harder. I think I'll be pulling punches for the rest of my life, assuming I find myself in any more situations like that one. Maybe I'll be lucky and won't have to hit anyone else.
Glancing at my phone, I realize I've been playing around with my powers for a few hours longer than I had planned to. I don't know what my excuse for being late to dinner will be, but I'm pretty sure "I fell asleep at the library" has been worn thin enough. I'm not even sure if excuses are necessary since Ben or May never call me to check in, but I always like to apologize for not getting home on time. Besides, it's a good idea to think of something in advance in case they put me on the spot one of these days. I can't just tell them that I pull on skin-tight spandex and run around New York like an idiot.
I duck into an open storage container of some kind and rip off my mask and gloves. I shove them into my pocket and pull street clothes that I brought with me over the rest of the suit. I'm not worried about leaving this place as Peter Parker. My spider sense will warn me if I'm about to get caught. Even if I can't avoid detection, I can run fast enough to be unidentifiable. I'm fairly average looking and hoodies like this one are good at obscuring facial features. Besides, changing here is beneficial. Waiting until I'm at my house is risky in more ways than one. Not to mention I want to grab a drink on the way there. I'm pretty thirsty after all that.
Leaving the area, I head toward a small convenience store near my home. If they don't have any drinks at a CONVENIENCE store, the world is screwed. After a bit more walking, I make it there. Lo and behold, they have plenty of beverages. Not caring what it dispenses, I push a few quarters into a machine and press a random button. Something that I don't recognize falls out. Assuming that the label can be trusted, it's a canned coffee. I've never even heard of the brand, but I'll refrain from complaining since I willingly let my poor luck decide what I'd be having.
Just as I go to open my drink, my head starts to buzz. Crap, it's my spider sense again! I glance toward the back of the store, where I see a red-haired man pop out from behind a shelf of cheesy snacks. With a firearm aimed at the cashier, he hastily walks to the front and slaps a burlap sack on the counter, all while demanding money. Somehow he hasn't noticed me yet, which means it would be prime time to get outta here.
I throw open the door and make a run for it. Now's really not the time to find out how well I can dodge bullets in an enclosed space. If I died, Aunt May would be PO'd.
Spider-Man #8
This issue is from Peter Parker’s perspective.
----
"What the hell? I can lift a car? An entire car? Four thousand pounds?!"
I quickly realize that I'm the only person around to hear the rhetorical questions I'm shouting and shut up. I'm glad there's no one here, though. As much as I'd like someone to witness me accomplishing this feat, I don't want a headline as lame as "Masked Menace Terrorizes Automobiles" to ruin me. Thankfully, only thugs would frequent abandoned warehouses. Maybe horny teenagers, too. I checked for both and there really is no one here but me, though I may or may not fit into one of those categories.
Realizing that I'm still holding it above my head, I gently put down the car. I think I could pick up a truck if I had the opportunity, because I actually forgot I was lifting up a car for a second there. I'm sure a time will come.
It's sad that my car-lifting—and the rest of what I did today—was only brought on by a near-decapitation. I have to learn my strength before another "Chameleon incident" happens. I could've killed that guy, had I hit any harder. I think I'll be pulling punches for the rest of my life, assuming I find myself in any more situations like that one. Maybe I'll be lucky and won't have to hit anyone else.
Glancing at my phone, I realize I've been playing around with my powers for a few hours longer than I had planned to. I don't know what my excuse for being late to dinner will be, but I'm pretty sure "I fell asleep at the library" has been worn thin enough. I'm not even sure if excuses are necessary since Ben or May never call me to check in, but I always like to apologize for not getting home on time. Besides, it's a good idea to think of something in advance in case they put me on the spot one of these days. I can't just tell them that I pull on skin-tight spandex and run around New York like an idiot.
I duck into an open storage container of some kind and rip off my mask and gloves. I shove them into my pocket and pull street clothes that I brought with me over the rest of the suit. I'm not worried about leaving this place as Peter Parker. My spider sense will warn me if I'm about to get caught. Even if I can't avoid detection, I can run fast enough to be unidentifiable. I'm fairly average looking and hoodies like this one are good at obscuring facial features. Besides, changing here is beneficial. Waiting until I'm at my house is risky in more ways than one. Not to mention I want to grab a drink on the way there. I'm pretty thirsty after all that.
Leaving the area, I head toward a small convenience store near my home. If they don't have any drinks at a CONVENIENCE store, the world is screwed. After a bit more walking, I make it there. Lo and behold, they have plenty of beverages. Not caring what it dispenses, I push a few quarters into a machine and press a random button. Something that I don't recognize falls out. Assuming that the label can be trusted, it's a canned coffee. I've never even heard of the brand, but I'll refrain from complaining since I willingly let my poor luck decide what I'd be having.
Just as I go to open my drink, my head starts to buzz. Crap, it's my spider sense again! I glance toward the back of the store, where I see a red-haired man pop out from behind a shelf of cheesy snacks. With a firearm aimed at the cashier, he hastily walks to the front and slaps a burlap sack on the counter, all while demanding money. Somehow he hasn't noticed me yet, which means it would be prime time to get outta here.
I throw open the door and make a run for it. Now's really not the time to find out how well I can dodge bullets in an enclosed space. If I died, Aunt May would be PO'd.