The Marvel Knights Group presents: The Spectacular Spider-Man #4

New York City

The first-floor research laboratory at Empire State University was lit only by a single-bulb lamp. Dr. Curt Connors would have been more worried about the further degradation of his eyesight had he not been furiously scribbling out notes on the potential practical application of starfish genetics to his limb regrowth research. The brainstorming process was the most frustrating, as Connors struggled to find the correct sequence to line up the regenerative process with specific limbs that coordinated with the human body.

A sudden vibration disrupted Connors’ train of thought. Connors’ cell phone vibrated on the table. Sighing, he flipped open the cover. “Billy, what’s wrong?”

“Making sure you’re alive, Dad,” came Billy Connors’ voice over the line. “It’s almost 8 o’clock.”

Connors lowered his arm to check his watch. “Sorry, Billy,” he sighed. “Why don’t you put that lasagna from the freezer into the oven and I’ll pack up and head out right away?”

Billy sighed. “Yeah, I can do that, Dad. Just…actually leave this time, okay?”

Connors swallowed. “All right, son. I can do that.” There was no response. Connors checked the screen to find that Billy had already hung up.

His former train of thought lost, Connors stacked his notes singlehandedly in stoic reservation. His other sleeve hung empty at his side, tucked into the pocket of his white lab coat. The notes went into Connors’ shoulder bag, and the bag went over his shoulder. He twisted the switch on the lamp and made his way for the door.

What happened next would later be described as a tragic accident. There was no foul play. There was no super-villain conspiracy, as would have been the norm for Curt Connors’ life. No Spider-Man was involved. Doctor Octopus didn’t set the car to remotely drive itself so quickly, and Mysterio didn’t give the illusion of an empty street. The Hypno-Hustler didn’t make the man think he was drunk. Nevertheless, the car careened down the street at a breakneck speed with a drunk driver behind the wheel. It wasn’t the initial impact that did the most damage to Connors’ spinal column, but rather the streetlight that fell on his back a few seconds later.

That was the night that Curt Connors, amputee, lost the use of his legs.

“Mr. Parker? Hello?”

Peter Parker looked up from the paper he’d been grading for the past ten minutes. “Uh, yeah?” He blinked a few times. “C.J.? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been asking you a question, Mr. Parker,” C.J. replied, holding onto her biology test with both hands. “You sure you’re okay? You got a look like you might be sick or somethin’.”

“Just…tired. Rough night, you know how it goes,” Peter replied.

“That why you got yourself all bruised up? You look like you got mugged or something,” C.J. said, cocking an eyebrow quizzically.

“Or something,” Peter muttered, rubbing the shiner under his right eye. “It was, uh, I was cooking and the…mixing bowl, right, fell down when I tried to get it…off the fridge? Yeah, that’s what happened.”

“Mhm,” C.J. said, rolling her eyes. “So am I right?”

“Right? About…what were we talking about again?”

“About ATP.”

“What about ATP?”

“The only question about ATP on the test, Mr. Parker.”

“Right, and…what was your question about the question?” Peter asked, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry, C.J. I think you can tell I had a pretty rough night.”

“S’okay, Mr. Parker. Just wanted to know what it stood for.”

“Oh, right. Um…adenosine triphosphate. That help?”

“Well, it changes my answers to some of the earlier ones. Uh, thanks, Mr. Parker.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, trying to push back the red of embarrassment. This was the third time in two weeks that he’d been caught by a student falling asleep in class. At the end of this period, he was going to snag a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge and a second one to go back with him into the classroom. He counted down the seconds, watching as the last student turned in their test.

Bzzzzzzzz! Bzz-bzz-bzz! Bzzzzzzzz!

There was no stopping his ears from flushing red this time. Peter reached into the side drawer of his desk and pulled out his cell phone. The bell rang, affording Peter a precious few seconds to answer the call in private. “Hello?”

“Hey, Tiger,” said the voice on the other end of the line. He recognized it as belonging to his bodacious, redheaded wife, Mary Jane Watson-Parker, but the nickname came halfheartedly.

Peter grimaced. “What’s wrong, MJ?”

“It’s on the news, Peter. Something terrible happened to Curt Connors. I know how much he means to you…” she started.

“Is it…the Lizard?” Peter asked, his eyes darting around the room. No student had shown up early so far.

“No,” Mary Jane said. “It was an act of god kind of deal. Drunk driver. He’s in critical condition. Peter…I don’t know about his body, but if he’s also in such a fragile state of mind…”

“He might be unlocking the cage in his head where the Lizard sleeps,” Peter said, finishing her sentence. “I’ll head over as soon as I can get a substitute.”

“Okay,” Mary Jane said. “Sorry to bother you with this…but there’s one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“They haven’t found Billy yet to tell him about his father. Do you think it would be a good idea to swing by, if you know what I mean?”

“Took the words out of my mouth. You doing okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Well, leave the worrying to your friendly neighborhood husband, all right?”

“All right. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Finding a substitute was tricky business, especially when Peter Parker was involved. This time, though, the situation had a built-in excuse. Billy needed to be told about his father’s predicament, and Peter was the only one who felt comfortable visiting the Connors’ neighborhood.

“Better than last time, when you had to go because you thought you left the stove on,” the principal said, before ushering Peter off.

Replace ‘stove’ with ‘Electro’ and we have a much different situation… Peter thought.

Lunch hour traffic made even the sidewalks hell. Ducking into an alleyway, Peter stripped down to his suit and bagged up his work clothes. A short swing later, he was at the top of the Connors’ apartment building.

Peter walked down the stairs toward the Connors’ apartment. Billy should have been at school if he didn’t know about what had happened to Curt the night before. If something had happened to Curt, Peter wondered if someone hadn’t come around to finish off the job. After Billy had been injected with the Lizard serum during one of Curt’s transformations, a trigger-happy vigilante might have seen it fit to get rid of the Lizard family altogether. Worst-case scenario, sure, but there was a tickling at the back of his neck…

The Connors’ door burst open, but Peter had already dived down the hallway in reaction to his spider-sense. “What the—?”

A figure clad in black darted from the Connors’ apartment, but, more disturbingly, he did so with the unconscious form of Billy Connors draped over his shoulder. He darted into the now-vacant apartment, shedding his school clothes and forcing the tight mask over his face, stuffing his things into the cabinet under the sink. Then, with the proportionate speed of a spider, Peter darted up the stairwell.

The dark figure had only just reached the top of the building by the time Peter caught up to him. “Tell me, is it still kidnapping if it’s a teenager? Stop, teen-napper!”

At this, the figure turned. The suit was black and lined with silver. The arms and legs ended in red gloves and boots. Wind from the open rooftop access door cause the cape to flow behind him.

“Nightwatch?” Spider-Man asked. “I thought you were one of the good guys.”

Nightwatch said nothing, instead darting into the daylight. Spider-Man sprung forward in pursuit, pressing two fingers down into his palm. Webbing zipped out of the pressurized canister in his wrist, catching Nightwatch by the ankle. As Nightwatch fell, he twisted so that Billy landed relatively unharmed.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked. “Put the kid down and we can talk this out, hero to hero.”

Nightwatch rolled, spring to his feet. Billy remained unconscious on the ground. “I’m not the guy you knew, Spider-Man.”

“Then who are you?”

“I wear a mask for the same reason you do.”

Spider-Man pointed his web-shooters at Nightwatch, but the man was already in motion, no longer occupying the space that he had been just moments before. With a super-human strength that the previous Nightwatch had never possessed, he stripped a ventilation duct from the rooftop and flung it at Spider-Man. With his spider-sense, dodging the duct was child’s play, but making a clean hit had never been Nightwatch’s intention. He scooped Billy up in his arms and sprinted for the edge of the roof.

“Oh, come on. Play nice! It’s not my fault the guy named Nightwatch decided to play after bedtime!” Spider-Man wisecracked as he took off in pursuit.

“My problem isn’t with you, Spider-Man. Just stay out of this!” Nightwatch shouted, catapulting over the alleyway.

Spider-Man tut-tutted. “But Nighty, you’re stealing innocent teenagers! I’m the guy they call to help when bad things happen to kids. Just ask Power Pack!”

Nightwatch did not respond.

The chase was on.

And then, with a sound so sharp that it cut across the constant background noise produced by Queens, a beeper went off. “ROUND OVER,” proclaimed a computer-generated voice emanating from Nightwatch’s wrist.

Nightwatch groaned gutturally, setting Billy down on the rooftop, then darting away again. Spider-Man considered pursuing him, but the real concern at the moment was Billy’s safety. Scooping him up over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, Spider-Man swung toward the hospital with his free arm.

Billy Connors remained unaware of his father’s condition.

Mary Jane Watson-Parker was late. Uncharacteristically taking on one of her husband’s key traits, she flagged a cab. There would be no web-swinging for her to make up for lost time. The photo shoot could not go on without her, but even a photographer waiting to take pictures of the Mary Jane Watson could have his patience tried.

A cab pulled over to the side and, just as Mary Jane reached for the door, it swung open. Mary Jane’s knuckles cracked as they struck the door. Nursing her bruising fingers, she prepared to unleash hell’s fury on the cab’s passenger.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” A petite, almost mousy young woman with almond-colored hair stepped from the cab, staring through her rimless glasses at Mary Jane’s hand. “Did I break something?”

Mary Jane shook her head, her rage slowly subsiding. “I’ll be fine. It could have happened to anyone.”

“I’m sorry,” the girl repeated. She held out her left hand intentionally to shake Mary Jane’s good hand. “I’m Carlie Cooper, NYPD. If my squad car had started, this wouldn’t have been an issue… I had to get out to the Connors apartment after… Sorry, that’s me talking.”

“I’m Mary Jane,” MJ said, completing the handshake. “You said the Connors apartment? As in Curt Connors?”

“You know him?” Carlie asked, her eyes widening in surprise. “I mean, personally, not from the media, right?”

“My husband was one of his favorite students,” Mary Jane said, “but sorry, that’s just me being nosy. Best of luck, with whatever is going on over there.”

Carlie fished in her pocket for a business card, which she pressed firmly into Mary Jane’s hand. “Give me a call if your hand is more than just banged up, okay? I’d feel awful if I caused any permanent damage.”

As Carlie walked away and Mary Jane got into the cab, MJ couldn’t help but feel that this was not the last she’d seen of Ms. Cooper, but could not understand why her first impression of the girl had left her only with dread for that future meeting.

That Evening

“No, it’s kinda a really big deal that I talk to Doc Connors right now,” Peter Parker said, arguing with a particularly inattentive nurse.

Her bubblegum popped as she poured over the clipboard. “Sorry, but only people on the NYPD’s ‘okay’ list can get in. And Mr. …Porter, was it? Without proper ID, you aren’t on that list.”

“He needs to know that his son was in another accident today, a, uh, super-problem,” Peter said. “Given his ‘temperament,’ I thought maybe somebody he trusts…someone like me should tell him.”

The nurse’s bubblegum popped once and fell to the desk. “You’re telling me the Lizard is about to get told that his kid’s hurt? And that you think you won’t get killed?” She laughed. “You’ve gotta be outta your mind.”

Peter fumed. He’d swung Billy to the emergency room and then pilfered clothes from the hospital’s plainclothes stash. Unfortunately, his ID was back in the Connors’ apartment under the sink.

“Pete?”

Peter looked up. Betty Brant wove her way through the sea of doctors, nurses, and patients to the hard, plastic seat that Peter had made his brooding perch. A pen was behind her ear, but she still looked as gorgeous as ever. “Betty?”

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve been through the wringer,” Betty said, making the seat next to his her own.

Peter nodded. “Just a little worked up. Doc Connors was in a hit-and-run last night, and then Billy Connors got messed up by some super-kidnapper, but the nurse won’t let me tell him.”

“Probably because he isn’t conscious,” Betty said. “I don’t know what the nurse told you, but that’s what I’m hearing.”

Peter realized now that Betty was here less out of concern for Doc Connors and more (if not completely) out of a need to tell a story. “So, Jonah’s got you reporting now?”

“Dabbling,” Betty said, rolling her eyes. “I’m the best investigative reporter he has, but he refuses to acknowledge it on my pay stub.”

“Sounds like good ol’ Brushtop,” Peter said, allowing himself a small smile.

“Mr. Porter?” The nurse at the desk called for him, her face chalky-white.

Peter Parker did nothing to camouflage his frustration. “Yes?”

“It’s Doctor Connors,” she replied. “He just woke up.” She paused. “He asked for you by name.”

“Peter.”

“That’s what people have been calling me, Doc,” Peter said, feigning lightheartedness. “How’re you holding up?”

“The good news is, I’m still a third of the man I used to be,” Connors said somberly, waving his last remaining limb. “Bad news is, I’ll be peeing in a bag for the rest of my days, or so I hear.”

“Yeah,” Peter started, scratching the back of his head. “About the bad news…”

Connors’ eyes narrowed. “Peter?”

Peter sighed. “I was on my way to your apartment. The school wanted me to pick Billy up and bring him with me. When I got there, some kind of kidnapper was trying to take him. He’s here, getting treated for a concussion I think. He’s okay. Spider-Man showed up.”

Connors eyes grew dark. “Peter, I need you to do something for me. If…if he comes back, I need you to tell your friend Spider-Man not to hold back.”

“I’m sorry?” Peter asked.

“The Lizard has to be stopped. I can’t let him hurt my family. Billy’s all I have left.”

“Are you sure, Doc? We can help you. We can figure out how to get rid of it.”

Connors nodded. “Tell him to do whatever it takes.

Walking up to the apartment that he and MJ shared, Peter couldn’t help but notice that the door was ajar. The lock had been jimmied. Peter cautioned Mary Jane to stay back as he inched his way forward. Once he was certain that no one was inside, he flipped on the lights.

There, on the center of the dinner table, was a paper sack. In it were Peter’s clothes and identification, all intact.

The last place he had seen them was under the Connors’ kitchen sink.

The lizard crawled from the depths of the cytoplasm, chomping down on the nucleus of the cell as if it were an insect…or a spider. Whisking its way through the various organelles, the lizard founds its way to the cell wall and proceeded onward, into the next cell to repeat the process.

Soon, it would engulf the neuron upon which it rested. From there, it would expand its reach.

Within this striking landscape sat a man, nude, his knees pulled tight to his chest. His face wore a look of grim determination, but the outlook seemed almost futile. He wrestled against the chains—chains which must have been of his own creation, for what lizard holds such a concept in its mind—but his efforts to free himself did no good. Still he screamed and pushed onward. The eyeglasses were flung from his face in a howl of rage, but by then, all he could see was red.

It was only then that he realized the chains bound not one arm, but two. He was…whole? Could his serum have finally worked?

The lizard stomped forward, fat on the nourishment of human DNA, a trail of reworked genetic information emerging and reconvening into a helical shape from the lizard’s anus. “Whole now, you are,” hissed the lizard.

“But I have no control,” said Connors, struggling futilely in the lizard’s presence.

The lizards eyes leveled with Connors’ own. “Control you never had.”

Connors felt the hot, damp breath of the lizard bear down on his face. “Sssssubmit and be free, Connorssss.

“Ssssssubmit…”

“Stop banging the door, MJ…work’s not for another…ngh?” Peter looked up at the digital clock beside his bed, blinking to inform him that it was early in the six o’clock hour.

Mary Jane rolled over in bed. “You get that, honey?”

Peter threw a robe on and stumbled to the door through the dark apartment. He looked out the glass peephole and opened the door immediately. “Billy?”

The teen had a bandage around the side of his head and a panicked look in his eyes. “Mr. Parker, you have to help. I don’t know who else to go to.”

“Come inside. Tell me what’s going on,” Peter said.

Billy refused. “There’s not enough time, Mr. Parker! You have to find Spider-Man!”

“I can do that, but I need to tell him what’s going on,” Peter said, struggling to get Billy to the point.

Billy took several breaths before he looked Peter in the eye. “Mr. Parker…he’s back. He’s back!”

“The Lizard?”

Nodding, Billy continued. “And that’s not the worst part. I…I saw him, before he left… You have to tell Spider-Man that I’m scared. I don’t think my dad’s in there anymore.”