[ One Month Ago… ]

“Spider-Man?”

The man in the white lab coat was seated in a swivel chair and slumped forward against his desk, his head resting on his folded arms, which were in turn floating upon a tide of textbooks. At the sound of the voice at his shoulder he opened a single bleary eye and grunted. The youth in the black motorcycle leathers standing beside him grinned.

“You’re Peter Parker, right?” he said. “The hot redhead in reception told me to ask for the Spider-Man…”

The fellow in the lab coat grunted again. “Actually,” he murmured, “I am Peter Parker, but I’m only the assistant to the guy they call the Spider-Man. You want Doctor Smythe.”

“Oh. Okay. So where can I find him?”

“Aruba.”

The other man’s grin fell. “Say what?”

“Aruba. The Wyndham Hotel to be precise.” Peter Parker smiled wryly. “He’s on vacation – which is why reception gave you my name instead. And, just for the record, that hot redhead…? She’s my girlfriend.”

The man in the black leathers pursed his lips. He glanced down at the desk. He glanced sideways at a water cooler. He glanced to the other side at a coffee percolator. He glanced down again, at the large, black case he was cradling in his arms. Then, finally, he cocked his head and glanced back at Peter Parker, who was now leaning back in his chair, waiting patiently.

“You know,” the young man said, “there’s getting off on the wrong foot and then there’s getting off on the wrong foot…”

He grinned again, and Peter couldn’t help but respond in kind; then, when the man deposited the heavy case on the desk and held out a hand, Peter shook it.

“Guess you’ll be the guy I need to speak to after all, Mister Assistant Spider-Man. My name’s Ash – Ash Kennedy – and I’ve got your bug-suit.”

Peter Parker’s brow furrowed. “Bug-suit? Look, I’m sorry, I don’t know if you had an appointment with Alistair, but… well, he’s not too good at updating his calendar. And I’ve been working sixteen-hour shifts just recently with a bunch of new specimens from Madagascar, so I’m pretty out of it myself…”

“Yeah,” said Ash, “I could tell. What with me just catching you sleeping on your face and all.”

“I wasn’t sleeping. I was reading.”

“Uh-huh. Well, reading that close, I’m thinking maybe it’s time to visit your local optometrist…”

Peter snorted. Ash Kennedy was as cheeky as a sackful of monkeys, but it was an infectious good humour. Mixed-race – Caucasian and Jamaican, to judge by the warm, caramel skin and hint of a languid accent – and a little goofy, he possessed a twinkle of mischief in chestnut eyes that were almost as dark as his hair, cropped into tight cornrows. Tall and slender in an awkward way, he seemed to buzz with a charge of nervous energy. He was surely no older than eighteen. Peter was sure that he hadn’t buzzed when he had been eighteen, although in truth that wasn’t so long ago, it just seemed like it.

Grimacing, Peter shuffled along the desk and poured himself a mug of coffee. When he offered Ash a cup, the younger man grinned.

“Trust me, I’m hyper enough.”

“I can imagine.” Peter sipped at his coffee and scowled. Cold. But, still, coffee was coffee. “Okay,” he muttered, “from the top. Bug-suit?”

“Special delivery for the Entomology and Arachnology Department at the Empire State Zoological Institute, courtesy of OsCorp. I’m their official courier. Although, in an official sense, I don’t officially know that there’s a bug-suit in here.” Ash tapped at the black case. “See, there’s this girl in tech and she and I got talking, over drinks, and she maybe-possibly-sort-of-might-have let slip what was inside…”

“Unofficially.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Hot redhead?”

“Blonde, actually.”

“Right.” Peter pursed his lips. “Bug-suit. Okay. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to take a look…”

Peter opened the case and removed the contents. He cleared his desk with a sweep of his arm then carefully spread the item out. He stared at it. Then he and Ash exchanged glances. And then both of them stared some more.

“Ech,” said Peter.

“Ech?”

“Ech, as in – that’s pretty hideous.”

The delivery from OsCorp, a Manhattan-based scientific subsidiary of the international conglomerate Stark Enterprises, was a one-piece bodysuit complete with facemask. The torso and legs were predominantly black, with a scarlet trim that ran across the shoulders and dipped into an arrow-point down the length of the sternum, towards the abdomen. The gloves, boots, belt and mask were also red. The mask was featureless save for a pair of large, reflective lenses in the region of the eyes, fashioned in the shape of inverted teardrops. These lenses were delicately faceted so that whichever angle one looked from they refracted with light, which was actually rather eerie. Peter scratched his head.

“It does look like a bug,” he admitted. “Although that, presumably, is the point.”

“To warn off predators on expeditions,” said Ash.

Peter turned his head slowly and raised an eyebrow. “This hot blonde,” he murmured. “Exactly how much did she tell you…?”

Ash looked guilty. “Well, uh… nothing much really… not, you know - ”

“Officially?”

“Exactly.”

“How about we stick with unofficially, then? That okay by you?”

Ash hopped from one foot to the other like a naughty schoolboy. “She said it was all derived from natural study. The configuration of certain colours and patterns will deter some creatures – anything from tigers or alligators to snakes or spiders – from attacking. That’s why you get all those weird colorations on toads and beetles and all the rest of it in National Geographic documentaries, right? Because they’re protecting themselves.”

“Right. Anything else?”

“She, uh… she said that the suit is made from some special material. Cutting edge.”

“Uh-huh.” Peter nodded thoughtfully. “Well, I’m guessing we’re talking a weave of nylon and carbon microfibres, polymer compounds and neoprene, treated with chemical resistants.”

“If you say so. By the time she got to the heavy-duty technical exposition I was on my fifth Mai Tai. Or maybe sixth. Or even ninth. Or - ”

“The composition is likely consistent with that of wetsuits, the kind of flame-retardant uniforms worn by fire-fighters, even certain layers of an astronaut’s spacesuit. The key to microfibre weave is its versatility; it renders the suit immensely durable yet simultaneously lightweight, it’s waterproof, it allows the body to breathe freely even in extreme temperatures whilst maintaining effective protection against insects and snakebites…”

Ash was impressed. “You can tell all that just from looking at it?”

Peter grinned. “Actually, Doctor Smythe’s spoken about a project like this for the best part of two years. I just didn’t realise he’d gone ahead and commissioned something, especially from OsCorp. It must have cost a fortune. Still, it’ll be worth it if it means it’ll enhance our safety on some of the expeditions we’ve got coming up. Where do I sign for this?”

Ash held out a clipboard and Peter scribbled on the delivery note that was attached. Ash took one final glance at the black and scarlet suit, pulled a face, then turned to leave… only to pause, and look back over his shoulder. Peter raised an eyebrow.

“So… do you keep spiders here?” Ash asked, tentatively. “Those new specimens you mentioned – from Madagascar? They’re spiders, right?”

“Absolutely. We’re the Spider-Men, remember? Doctor Alistair Smythe is the foremost authority on arachnids in the United States, ESZI’s shining star, and I’m his all-singing, all-dancing protégée.”

“Uh-huh.” Ash looked around uneasily. “So… where’d you keep them?”

“There’s a number of different labs throughout the research block. The new specimens are in a room just down the corridor. You want to see?”

Ash’s eyes widened. “What? No.”

“No?”

“Hell no.”

“You’re scared of spiders?”

“Every right-minded man and woman should be.”

“But you want to see them all the same.”

Ash scowled. “I just said no.”

“But you meant yes. It’s a common phobic reaction. Subconsciously, people want to face down their fears, even if they don’t understand why. Believe me, working in this environment I see it all the time.”

Ash seemed unconvinced. “Well… I don’t know. Do I have to wear the suit?”

“Don’t worry. The suit’s for an open environment – all the specimens here are contained.” Peter cocked his head. “Come on, man. If you’re already terrified, what harm could it do?”

“You sure they’re contained?”

“Trust me. I’m a responsible kinda guy.”

Ash sighed. Checked his watch. Then sighed again. “You know,” he muttered, “I can’t help thinking I’m going to regret this…”

[ Now… ]

“You’re going to regret interfering in my plans, you… you…” The Jack O’Lantern faltered. “What kind of freak are you, anyway?”

The hooded fiend’s nemesis, who had just identified himself as Spider-Man and who was still dangling upside-down from the ceiling, snorted. “You’re kidding, right? Well that’s pot, kettle and black if ever there was. Me a freak? Outrageous! I mean, have you looked in the magic mirror lately? Snow White you’re not, trust me.”

“Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with?”

“Absolutely. You’d be the wicked witch of the west. Or is it east? No, west. No, definitely east. Or west? No, no, east. Or maybe - ”

The Jack O’Lantern snarled, his ghastly eyes flaring in the shadow of his cowl – and then, with a flick of his right boot, he gunned his glider in his enemy’s direction. The machine’s design was as bizarre as the rest of the man’s ensemble, but no less sophisticated for that; seemingly devised to resemble a bat in flight with outstretched wings, it was curiously asymmetrical with one of those wings more elevated and more crooked than the other, yet it remained unconditionally aerodynamic. Propelled by a singular jet at the rear, it was also lightweight enough to be steered at the slightest touch of either of its rider’s boots without sacrificing durability. In short, this was an extraordinary craft that gifted The Jack O’Lantern with such maneuverability – even in a confined space such as the back room of a bar – that it allowed him to hunt down his prey with devastating efficiency. One minute, eleven men.

But those victims had been ordinary fellows, and this spectacular Spider-Man was anything but.

The Jack O’Lantern was fast but Spider-Man was faster. As the former lunged so the latter abruptly snapped his entire body sideways, twisting at the hips and lashing out a red boot into the bargain, kicking his enemy square in the gut. Jack grunted but didn’t lose balance. He simply shifted his weight onto his right foot and then his left, spinning his glider upon a split-second, pinpoint three-hundred-and-sixty-degree axis then shooting forward again, hands outstretched. Spider-Man ducked beneath his foe’s grasp, rolling in midair, then slammed a fist into Jack’s copper faceplate. The echo of impact rang loud, and Jack roared, making a snatch for the other man’s ankle – and missing. He whirled, angling the glider, and tried again. Again his adversary skipped aside with a maddening effortlessness, leaving him grasping at thin air. His countenance was locked in that gruesome smile but an obvious fury burned bright in the carved slits of his eyes.

“I don’t need to catch you to kill you!” he snarled, extending a hand in Spider-Man’s direction. He then expelled a scatter-volley of blue bolts from tiny apertures in his gloved fingertips, and the shadows were suddenly seared with electrical discharge. This localised lightning storm illuminated the room with an eerie glow and it seemed impossible that Spider-Man could dodge each and every flare… but he did. His speed was incredible, his agility inconceivable, but it was his preternatural awareness – his ability to detect and react to the perils of his situation with such a rapidity of instinct that it bordered on precognition – that was truly uncanny.

The Jack O’Lantern gasped as his intended victim executed a backwards somersault, rebounded off one wall and then another, twisted and spun and twirled, flung out an arm… and then released a lash of web-thread from the juncture of his palm and wrist with a sound not unlike the crack of a whip! The web snapped home, attaching to the tiled ceiling overhead, and in the blink of an eye Spider-Man catapulted himself upwards on the elasticized strand. Jack looked on in sheer disbelief as his foe then scuttled clear of danger, adhering to the tiles by hands and feet.

“Fascinating,” he breathed. “A human spider indeed! Speed, dexterity, situational perception, and of course the webbing… a display indicative of a proportionate replication of a true arachnid’s abilities! I know a certain lady who would be very interested in your abilities, my mysterious friend.”

The Jack O’Lantern heard a low moan and rotated upon his glider. Wilson Fisk had been forgotten in the brief melee, suspended in his web cocoon, but now he felt those unholy eyes come to rest upon him once more. He cowered as he saw a single deadly fingertip stab towards him…

…but then there was a flash of red and black, and Spider-Man – crossing the room in a single leap – crashed into his enemy from behind. “Get that pot a-boilin’, ma!” the wall-crawler whooped. “I done caught me a critter – and, ooh, he’s just as cute as buttons!”

Jack roared and arched his back, flipping his adversary over his shoulder and through the air. Spider-Man twisted in mid-flight and landed on the heels of his feet against the far wall with exquisite grace, then simply balanced there, impossibly, with his hands on his hips. “Does this mean our first date isn’t going well?” he asked. “Because, you know, this kind of rejection can scar a chap for the rest of his life. Do you want that on your little pumpkin conscience? Do you?”

“Prattling insect…”

Spider-Man sighed. “Yeah. Catchy little idiom. I get the feeling I’m going to be hearing it an awful lot…”

The Jack O’Lantern’s mouth curled into a sneer. “Or maybe it’ll be the last thing you ever hear.”

The cloaked killer snatched something from his belt then, and tossed it against the wall where his enemy was crouched. Spider-Man glanced down.

“A pumpkin? A little copper pumpkin, just for little me? Oh, you shouldn’t have! I didn’t get you any - ”

And then, the miniature pumpkin grenade exploded.

[ One Month Ago… ]

“Do you realise that there are over thirty-eight thousand species of spider in the world? And that new species are being discovered all the time, in the United States as well as Australia, Africa and South America, at a rate that suggests we’ll have catalogued another ten thousand species in the next ten years?”

Ash raised an eyebrow as Peter led him along the corridor. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“And, of those thirty-eight thousand, only two hundred or so are particularly dangerous.”

“Poisonous?”

“No, all spiders are venomous in some way. They’re carnivores, after all – easily the most successful predators on the planet, and that includes humans, which is some competition. Spiders trap and kill, and they prefer their prey warm and kicking.”

“Charming.”

“It’s just that most spider venom isn’t fatal to anything man-sized,” Peter continued, completely oblivious to Ash’s discomfort. “Either that or their fangs aren’t powerful enough to penetrate our skin. And the majority, whilst aggressive by nature, are also highly intelligent and instinctive. They won’t even attempt to stalk prey more that much larger than they are, and will steer clear of familiar enemies. The scarlet and black design of the suit is actually semi-based on the colouring of a specific kind of wasp that hunts arachnids.”

“But some spiders haven’t got the smarts not to pick fights they can’t win?”

Peter smiled. “It’s not a question of intelligence. Most of the two hundred I mentioned, like the Brazilian wanderer or the Australian redback, are highly venomous – often fatally so for humans if antitoxins aren’t administered swiftly – but will only react when threatened. Some arachnids, however, are intensely ill-natured and actively hostile.”

They reached the end of the corridor. Ash looked on, wide-eyed, as Peter keyed in a pass-code that operated the door to the specimen lab. The room beyond was dark and warm, and Ash fancied he could hear a faint skittering.

“Are there… hostile ones in here?”

“A few. In fact, one of those new specimens from Madagascar I mentioned? Especially fascinating. It seems to be most closely related to the goliath tarantula in evolutionary terms, although that species is a native of South America rather than Africa. And this fella is a lot more confrontational, more aggressive even than the Sydney funnel-web - ”

Peter glanced back over his shoulder, suddenly aware that Ash was backing away. “Second thoughts?”

Ash grimaced. “Actually, I decided to stick with my first thoughts – to stay the hell away from big spiders with names like professional wrestlers.”

“Oh, come on. It’s safe. Trust me. Step into my parlour…”

“Aren’t you going to turn the lights on?”

“They like it dark and humid.”

“Yeah? Well, I’m more of a cold winter’s day kinda guy. In fact, I think I’m just gonna go and – ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod!”

“What? What are you - ”

“Spider!”

Peter rolled his eyes. “Well… yeah. What were you expecting, penguins? It’s okay, they’re all kept in - ”

“Behind you!” Ash croaked. He was rooted to the spot, jaw slack, eyes wide, his body all a-quiver. Peter sighed in exasperation, then turned back towards the darkened doorway, bewildered. There were three long desks in the specimen lab, supporting a number of glass cases of varying sizes. Usually there was such a lack of activity in these cases that many appeared to be empty, when in fact the spiders contained within were simply quiet and still in the shadows of their webs. In this instance, however, all the specimens were actually very lively indeed – bizarrely so. They were scuttling in a frenzy, their speed depending on size and mobility, whilst some were even leaping bodily at the walls of their glass prisons as if desperate to escape. Peter blinked.

“Uh… okay,” he said, slowly. “Listen, Ash, maybe we’ll take a raincheck, yeah? I don’t know what’s going on here, but - ”

“Behind. You.” Ash hissed again. “Look. Up.”

Peter pursed his lips, suddenly pale. He glanced up, as bidden – and froze when saw the black outline of a spider the size of a dinner plate dangling in the gloom just inches from his face. He had assumed that Ash had been struck with terror at the sight of the arachnids in the cases; evidently he had been mistaken. Carefully, he turned his head to gaze along the length of the closest desk, his eyes searching out the third container along. This was where the new specimen he had just been describing to Ash – the aggressive Madagascan tarantula – should have been. Should. Instead the lid of the now-empty case was askew, the glass cracked in one corner and a portion of rubber lining hanging loose, as if pried away. Or bitten through.

Peter’s heart rose into his throat. He looked back at the arachnid in front of him. Yeah. Yeah, that was the culprit. The escapee. The scientist in him was immediately fascinated by the notion that a spider of this particular size and build was suspended from a thread of web in this fashion – it should really have been impossible, and suggested not only that the silk was incredibly sturdy but also that the specimen’s own strength was prodigious. Then he reminded himself that he was in the presence of a creature that was all the more dangerous because the level of toxicity in its venom had thus far not been studied to any significant degree. There was only an experimental antidote available, developed by Alistair before his vacation.

“What do we do?” Ash whispered.

Peter licked his lips, his mouth dry. The spider just hung there, its eyes glittering in the dark. Intelligent. Calculating. Hungry. And, thousands of miles from its natural home, really not very happy at all.

“Peter? Peter? I said, what - ”

“Just… back up. No sudden moves or noises.”

Ash took a deep breath, then prepared to do as he was told – and at that exact moment the spider flinched, arching its body and wriggling its long, black legs. Ash screamed and stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet. He saw the arachnid leap – leap! – through the doorway. He heard Peter cry out. Then he was falling, arms flailing, and his head cracked hard against the floor, causing the world to swim momentarily out of focus.

Peter yelled again, somewhere beyond his field of vision. Then Ash felt a sudden weight land upon his chest from nowhere, and when he looked up…

…he found himself staring into the hideous black eyes of a spider larger than his own head.

Understandably, Ash Kennedy screamed.

And then, the spider bit him.

[ Now… ]

The sun was beginning to rise out beyond the haze of the eastern Manhattan skyline, slowly peeling back the indigo sky. The man in the scarlet and black costume perched on the edge of the roof stared out across Greenwich Village in silence, the dawn catching in the multi-faceted lenses of his mask like twin fires. It had been a long night. Possibly the longest night he’d ever known. And, when all was said and done he had absolutely nothing to show for it.

“Feeling sorry for yourself?”

Spider-Man didn’t turn his head at the sound of the voice behind him. “Why shouldn’t I? I failed, didn’t I? First time out and I got my ass handed to me. In a sesame bun with relish. And fries. And a shake.”

“What a lovely image.”

“You think? Maybe I’ll drop this whole superhero shtick and go into advertising.”

“Then who would there be to stand up against the nutjobs with pumpkins on their heads?”

Spider-Man sighed. Now he turned. There was a familiar figure leaning in the doorway of a stairwell a few feet away, carrying two steaming cups of coffee.

“That nutjob killed eleven people.”

“Before you got there. You saved the one that was left.”

“Yeah, well, considering the blast took off half his face and that he’s now laid up in a hospital emergency room, I’m not sure he’ll be thanking me…”

“Whereas you, with your enhanced strength and endurance and accelerated healing, won’t have a scratch by tomorrow. And the suit wasn’t even singed. So, all in all, I’d consider that a success.”

“Even though the bad guy got away?”

“Okay, so it was a tie. Next time you’ll pound him. Pumpkin pie.”

“Next time?”

“Yeah. Next time.”

The man with the coffee came and sat on the edge of the roof. He handed a cup to Spider-Man, who took it and then removed his mask. Peter Parker and Ash Kennedy exchanged rueful smiles.

“This was always going to be tough,” Peter murmured. “It’s only been a month, remember. And it’s going to take a lot longer to get used to all these changes. But it’ll be worth it in the end.”

“You promise?”

“No.”

“Oh.” Ash grimaced. “So, does ESZI’s resident all-star assistant arachnologist have any other words of wisdom he’d like to share?”

Peter stared out as the lightening skyline. “Just one,” he said, quietly. “With great power must come great responsibility.”

“Is that a quote?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it was something my late Uncle Ben used to tell me back when I was a kid. I’ll tell you the story one day. I was never really sure exactly what it meant, maybe because I had nothing to apply it to. But I do now.”

Peter Parker smiled then, and raised his cup in a toast. “To my friend,” he said. “To fate, and to all its terrible tricks and wonderful gifts. To the future. To responsibility. To Ash Kennedy… the sensational Spider-Man!”

Sitting there in his scarlet and black costume, Ash breathed deeply and gazed out upon Manhattan. Somewhere out there was a lunatic in a copper pumpkin mask, flying about on a bat-shaped glider, nursing his wounds and plotting his revenge. And where there was one, more would surely follow, each one stranger and deadlier than the last.

Ash didn’t know what his destiny held, but one thing was for sure.

It was certainly going to be unlike anything that had gone before…

What happened to Ash Kennedy in the month between being bitten and his inaugural battle against The Jack O’Lantern? The story unfolds next issue – alongside a dramatic confrontation between the all-new Spider-Man and another familiar but re-imagined adversary! Don’t miss it!

Know dear reader, that – oh no, wait. That’s something else entirely, isn’t it?

So. Welcome to a brand new Ultimate Spider-Man # 1. Let’s get the fist-wringing invective out of the way first, shall we?

“What the hell? A new Spider-Man? What’s the point of that? Who does this writer think he is? Why write fanfic if you’re just going to change stuff? Why I oughta…”

Et cetera. Okay, here’s the deal. Ultimate Spider-Man already exists; it’s been published by Marvel for the past eight years, written by Brian Michael Bendis, and it’s the tale of Peter Parker as re-imagined for a modern audience. Look around and you’ll find plenty of fanfics based on the same premise. Some of them stick to the basics, some take risks. Each to his or her own. But to me, the beauty of fanfic and of the Ultimate line in particular is exactly that – taking risks, re-imagining, doing something different that doesn’t simply tread the same path as what’s already available.

Making a reader go, “Hey, what the hell?”.

What’s the point of writing fanfic if you’re just going to change stuff? Well, you could just as easily ask what’s the point of writing fanfic if you aren’t?

My intention with this series is to take the familiar Spider-Man legend and shake it up, just to see where things fall. There are going to be twists and turns and then some more twists. Sometimes there’ll be somersaults. Backwards ones. But I’ll be upfront with you from the start: in this series, Ash Kennedy is Spider-Man. My apologies if you feel your time has been wasted reading this first issue, but if you take a few steps to your right (to the Heroes Branch, to be exact) you’ll find a classic (and well-written) Peter-Parker-as-Spider-Man series that would love your attention. If you have a taste for something a little different then welcome, and thanks for your readership.

Of course, all that said, that doesn’t mean this series is going to be unrecognisable – actually, you may find just the opposite is true. I wear my old coot badge with pride. I’ve been reading comics for thirty years. I’ve read just about every Spider-Man story ever published, either in the US originals or UK reprints. He’s my favourite character. I love Spider-Man and I love the Spider-Man universe. And I’ve already written two dozen issues of the classic version at another site (shameless plug: link below!). All this means that I’m going to be drawing on a wealth of continuity nostalgia to literally stuff this Ultimate series with familiar glints and glimmers – it just may not be what you’re expecting.

So, by way of a teaser, a little name-dropping:

The Chameleon. Mysterio. The Black Cat. The Vulture. Cardiac. The Spider-Slayers. The Sinister Syndicate. Silver Sable. The Ringmaster and his Circus of Crime. Doctor Octopus. The mystery of Red Rose and The Jack O’Lantern.

Oh… and, of course, Gwen Stacy.

See? Nothing to worry about. I bet you’re feeling more comfortable already…

…right?

If you’d like to give feedback on this series, positive or critical, please don’t hesitate to drop a line to ameriades@hotmail.com

For those interested, a list of my fanfiction can be found at http://meriadesfiction.livejournal.com

Thanks for reading!

- Meriades Rai