Evan (911Bug911)
Spider-Man #24
This issue is from Peter Parker's perspective.
----
God, it's freezing outside. I'm not sure how much longer I can wear my tights in weather like this. My nipples could probably cut through glass right now. Hopefully there are statistics on the internet to convince me that there's less crime during winter months. At this point, that’s all the incentive I'd need to spend more time indoors. But I can't just quit over something as trivial as the temperature. If worse comes to worst, I'll just ask MJ to knit a spider-scarf for me. Warm, yet fashionable.
I'm currently perched on a roof listening to the police scanner app that I recently downloaded. I'm not sure why I never thought of doing that until now. It’s definitely more effective than sitting around and waiting for police cars to speed by, that's for sure. I bought a pair of Bluetooth earbuds, too. I made that investment because I kept ripping out my old pair's auxiliary cord while on the go. But the best part of that purchase is that I no longer have to lodge my phone in my—.
The scanner interrupts my thoughts to tell me that an officer is en route to respond to a disturbance. The perp is a man dressed as a clown. I can't ignore this. It's my chance to become the hero that Gotham deserves. And it's a chance to get off of this freezing roof, too.
I leap from ledge to ledge until I'm near the area mentioned on the scanner. Underfoot is a man caked in makeup. His getup is ridiculously flashy, to the extent that it's painful to look at. As I descend the wall, he catches sight of me. Unfazed by my abilities, he smirks. Probably because he saw me on the news and felt like wasting my time. “I'm Clown-9!” he declares.
“Say again?”
“I’m Clown-9, because when I wear this outfit, I'm on cloud nine!”
“So it's a sex thing, then?”
I drop down and get closer. He stares at me with unblinking eyes. “Stop clowning around, Spider-Man!”
“You didn't.”
“I did.”
God damn it, his humor is too advanced for me. How am I even supposed to respond to that?
Before I can properly retort, my cellphone starts ringing. I fiddle around until I can pry it out of my costume. Clown-9 awkwardly watches this play out.
“The cops are going to be here any second, 'Clown-9!’” I yell over my ringtone.
“You're not going to beat me up?” he asks, as if he's disappointed.
“Are you a masochist? No, of course I'm not going to beat you up. I guess the joke's on you, Clown-9.” I say and then immediately cringe at myself.
He remains silent, so I run off and start scaling the building I came from earlier. I glance at the caller ID displayed on my phone and notice that it says “Daily Bugle.” Excited by what that must mean, I press the button to answer the call. It has to be about those pictures I submitted.
“Hello,” I say while in the middle of climbing. The good thing about stick 'em powers is that dropping my phone is pretty much out of the question.
“Hi, I'm Ben Urich from the Daily Bugle. I just saw your entry to our contest and I'd like to discuss something about it with you in person,” says a man on the other end.
I quickly glance below me to see some of New York's finest putting cuffs on a clown. I hope he was just loitering and he's not the new Gacy.
“Oh, uh, okay. When's a good time to meet?” I say while directing my attention back to the call and climbing.
“You tell me when you're available,” he says.
“Anytime this week should work. I don't have to worry about school since I go to Midtown. They cancelled it after the incident,” I say with an elongated sigh, assuming he heard the news. He does work for the Daily Bugle, after all.
“Would you be able to drop by my home office later today? I'll cover the taxi fare.”
“Don't worry about the taxi, just give me the address and a time,” I say, excited to receive the payment for the pictures.
“Sure thing. I'll text them to you.”
Spider-Man #24
This issue is from Peter Parker's perspective.
----
God, it's freezing outside. I'm not sure how much longer I can wear my tights in weather like this. My nipples could probably cut through glass right now. Hopefully there are statistics on the internet to convince me that there's less crime during winter months. At this point, that’s all the incentive I'd need to spend more time indoors. But I can't just quit over something as trivial as the temperature. If worse comes to worst, I'll just ask MJ to knit a spider-scarf for me. Warm, yet fashionable.
I'm currently perched on a roof listening to the police scanner app that I recently downloaded. I'm not sure why I never thought of doing that until now. It’s definitely more effective than sitting around and waiting for police cars to speed by, that's for sure. I bought a pair of Bluetooth earbuds, too. I made that investment because I kept ripping out my old pair's auxiliary cord while on the go. But the best part of that purchase is that I no longer have to lodge my phone in my—.
The scanner interrupts my thoughts to tell me that an officer is en route to respond to a disturbance. The perp is a man dressed as a clown. I can't ignore this. It's my chance to become the hero that Gotham deserves. And it's a chance to get off of this freezing roof, too.
I leap from ledge to ledge until I'm near the area mentioned on the scanner. Underfoot is a man caked in makeup. His getup is ridiculously flashy, to the extent that it's painful to look at. As I descend the wall, he catches sight of me. Unfazed by my abilities, he smirks. Probably because he saw me on the news and felt like wasting my time. “I'm Clown-9!” he declares.
“Say again?”
“I’m Clown-9, because when I wear this outfit, I'm on cloud nine!”
“So it's a sex thing, then?”
I drop down and get closer. He stares at me with unblinking eyes. “Stop clowning around, Spider-Man!”
“You didn't.”
“I did.”
God damn it, his humor is too advanced for me. How am I even supposed to respond to that?
Before I can properly retort, my cellphone starts ringing. I fiddle around until I can pry it out of my costume. Clown-9 awkwardly watches this play out.
“The cops are going to be here any second, 'Clown-9!’” I yell over my ringtone.
“You're not going to beat me up?” he asks, as if he's disappointed.
“Are you a masochist? No, of course I'm not going to beat you up. I guess the joke's on you, Clown-9.” I say and then immediately cringe at myself.
He remains silent, so I run off and start scaling the building I came from earlier. I glance at the caller ID displayed on my phone and notice that it says “Daily Bugle.” Excited by what that must mean, I press the button to answer the call. It has to be about those pictures I submitted.
“Hello,” I say while in the middle of climbing. The good thing about stick 'em powers is that dropping my phone is pretty much out of the question.
“Hi, I'm Ben Urich from the Daily Bugle. I just saw your entry to our contest and I'd like to discuss something about it with you in person,” says a man on the other end.
I quickly glance below me to see some of New York's finest putting cuffs on a clown. I hope he was just loitering and he's not the new Gacy.
“Oh, uh, okay. When's a good time to meet?” I say while directing my attention back to the call and climbing.
“You tell me when you're available,” he says.
“Anytime this week should work. I don't have to worry about school since I go to Midtown. They cancelled it after the incident,” I say with an elongated sigh, assuming he heard the news. He does work for the Daily Bugle, after all.
“Would you be able to drop by my home office later today? I'll cover the taxi fare.”
“Don't worry about the taxi, just give me the address and a time,” I say, excited to receive the payment for the pictures.
“Sure thing. I'll text them to you.”