Chapter 1:
The Start
The Incredible Spider-man
This is the story of how I became one of the greatest superheroes. My name is Jackson Walker. (And no, my creator doesn't want to get sued, so bear with me.)
My mother, Stephanie, stood in the doorway, her hand poised against the wooden frame. Her dark, black-to-dark-blue bobbed hair hung in sharp, layered angles around her face, cheekbone-length with choppy ends tapering down her neck. A single long strand swooped dramatically
across her right eye, highlighting the serene, slightly melancholic calm in her dark green gaze. Her breath hitched in a heavy sigh, shifting the pastel lavender cardigan draped open over her beige scoop-neck top. The delicate red beaded necklace resting against her collarbone caught the morning light, swaying gently as she crossed her arms.
"Ahem," she added, her tone sharpening.
"Alright, alright, Mom, I'm going!" I groaned, sitting up with a violent yawn that practically cracked my jaw.
As Stephanie walked away, her footsteps fading down the hall, I kicked off the sheets. At seventeen, I was built like a lean runner—wiry muscle packed onto a tall frame, a mess of dark, curtain-bangs sweeping outward toward my temples and framing my forehead.
Time to hustle.
I reached toward my nightstand, snapped my web-shooters onto my wrists with two satisfying clacks, and fired two quick lines across the room. THWIP! THWIP! The webbing snared my discarded jeans and hoodie, tearing them off the chair and slapping them directly into my waiting hands. I pulled them on in a frantic scramble, slid down the banister, scooped up a slice of burnt toast from the kitchen counter, and planted a quick kiss on Mom's cheek.
"See ya, Mom!"
"Jackson, chew your—!"
I slammed the front door shut before she could finish, sprinting down the sidewalk just in time to see the red tail lights of the city bus disappearing down the block. Diesel exhaust belched into the morning air.
"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, skidding to a halt.
If I didn't have powers, I'd be screwed. But lucky for me... I do.
I darted into a narrow, shadows-draped alleyway, ducking behind a row of overflowing dumpsters. In seconds, I stripped off my street clothes, revealing the stark suit underneath. The design was all mine: a bold mix of classic red and pitch black, edged with bright white and light gray accents.
Across my chest, a stylized, angular white motif outlined my torso and shoulders, framing a central red core embossed with tight web patterns. Black panels hugged my arms and legs, broken up by geometric white shoulder pads and sharp red cutouts slicing down to my boots.
I pulled the red cowl over my head. The narrow white lenses clicked into place, framed by thick black borders that narrowed my vision down to pure focus.
I bolted down the alleyway, planting my boots onto the brick wall and running straight up the side of a four-story building. Momentum carried me over the ledge. I shot a thick line of webbing toward a corner flagpole and launched myself into the blue sky.
"Good morning, New York!" I yelled into the wind, tucking into a double backflip before extending my arms. The translucent blue web-wings tucked beneath my armpits caught the updraft, letting me glide smoothly over the morning traffic.
Below me, pedestrians pointed, pulled out their phones, and waved.
"Hey, Spidey!" someone yelled.
"Do a flip!" another shouted.
I snapped a quick selfie mid-air, chuckling to myself. Wow, I’m actually going to be on time for school for once.
BZZZZ.
The sudden vibration against my hip made me check my phone. A real-time police scanner app flickered with a bright red banner: VEHICLE HIJACKING IN PROGRESS – 5TH AND MAIN.
I let out a heavy sigh, shoving the phone into my backpack, which was webbed tightly across my back. "Duty calls."
I shifted my weight, dropping like a stone toward the gridlock below. I fired a web-zip to accelerate, but mid-flight, a violent prickle washed over the back of my neck—my Spider-Sense flaring like an alarm bell.
POP! POP! POP!
Muzzle flashes erupted from the sunroof of a speeding stolen sedan below. Bullets whizzed past my ear with lethal twangs.
I live with my mom. Yeah, kinda a different setup than the whole "living with your aunt and uncle" thing, right? I get it, but in a universe of infinite possibilities, this one makes sense.
Sunlight sliced through the blinds of my bedroom, catching the dust motes dancing over posters of the Fantastic Four and scatterings of half-soldered tech circuitry cluttering my desk. I was out cold, snoring softly into a tangled heap of blankets, completely oblivious to the ticking clock.
THUMP.
"Jackson Walker! Get up, boy, or you’ll be late to school!"My mother, Stephanie, stood in the doorway, her hand poised against the wooden frame. Her dark, black-to-dark-blue bobbed hair hung in sharp, layered angles around her face, cheekbone-length with choppy ends tapering down her neck. A single long strand swooped dramatically
across her right eye, highlighting the serene, slightly melancholic calm in her dark green gaze. Her breath hitched in a heavy sigh, shifting the pastel lavender cardigan draped open over her beige scoop-neck top. The delicate red beaded necklace resting against her collarbone caught the morning light, swaying gently as she crossed her arms.
"Ahem," she added, her tone sharpening.
"Alright, alright, Mom, I'm going!" I groaned, sitting up with a violent yawn that practically cracked my jaw.
As Stephanie walked away, her footsteps fading down the hall, I kicked off the sheets. At seventeen, I was built like a lean runner—wiry muscle packed onto a tall frame, a mess of dark, curtain-bangs sweeping outward toward my temples and framing my forehead.
Time to hustle.
I reached toward my nightstand, snapped my web-shooters onto my wrists with two satisfying clacks, and fired two quick lines across the room. THWIP! THWIP! The webbing snared my discarded jeans and hoodie, tearing them off the chair and slapping them directly into my waiting hands. I pulled them on in a frantic scramble, slid down the banister, scooped up a slice of burnt toast from the kitchen counter, and planted a quick kiss on Mom's cheek.
"See ya, Mom!"
"Jackson, chew your—!"
I slammed the front door shut before she could finish, sprinting down the sidewalk just in time to see the red tail lights of the city bus disappearing down the block. Diesel exhaust belched into the morning air.
"Dammit," I muttered under my breath, skidding to a halt.
If I didn't have powers, I'd be screwed. But lucky for me... I do.
I darted into a narrow, shadows-draped alleyway, ducking behind a row of overflowing dumpsters. In seconds, I stripped off my street clothes, revealing the stark suit underneath. The design was all mine: a bold mix of classic red and pitch black, edged with bright white and light gray accents.
Across my chest, a stylized, angular white motif outlined my torso and shoulders, framing a central red core embossed with tight web patterns. Black panels hugged my arms and legs, broken up by geometric white shoulder pads and sharp red cutouts slicing down to my boots.
I pulled the red cowl over my head. The narrow white lenses clicked into place, framed by thick black borders that narrowed my vision down to pure focus.
I bolted down the alleyway, planting my boots onto the brick wall and running straight up the side of a four-story building. Momentum carried me over the ledge. I shot a thick line of webbing toward a corner flagpole and launched myself into the blue sky.
"Good morning, New York!" I yelled into the wind, tucking into a double backflip before extending my arms. The translucent blue web-wings tucked beneath my armpits caught the updraft, letting me glide smoothly over the morning traffic.
Below me, pedestrians pointed, pulled out their phones, and waved.
"Hey, Spidey!" someone yelled.
"Do a flip!" another shouted.
I snapped a quick selfie mid-air, chuckling to myself. Wow, I’m actually going to be on time for school for once.
BZZZZ.
The sudden vibration against my hip made me check my phone. A real-time police scanner app flickered with a bright red banner: VEHICLE HIJACKING IN PROGRESS – 5TH AND MAIN.
I let out a heavy sigh, shoving the phone into my backpack, which was webbed tightly across my back. "Duty calls."
I shifted my weight, dropping like a stone toward the gridlock below. I fired a web-zip to accelerate, but mid-flight, a violent prickle washed over the back of my neck—my Spider-Sense flaring like an alarm bell.
POP! POP! POP!
Muzzle flashes erupted from the sunroof of a speeding stolen sedan below. Bullets whizzed past my ear with lethal twangs.
"Whoa! Easy, guys!" I flipped backward through the air, dodging the lead stream. My eyes widened beneath my lenses as I saw the stolen car swerving wildly directly toward a yellow city school bus. "Oh, no you don't."
I collapsed my web-wings, folded into a nose-dive, and slammed a web-line directly onto the roof of the hijacked car. THWIP! I pulled myself down violently, landing on the roof with a heavy metal CRUNCH that made the chassis shudder.
I leaned down, upside down, and knocked politely on the driver's window. Tap, tap, tap.
The burly thug behind the wheel rolled the window down, squinted, and gasped. "Aye! It’s the damn bug again!"
I pressed a gloved hand to my chest in exaggerated agony. "Bug? Ouch. I’m actual Spider-Man, thank you very much!"
Inside, the passenger thug grabbed the steering wheel. "Shoot him!"
The driver lunged out the window with a heavy, brass-knuckled fist aimed straight for my jaw. I didn't even blink. I caught his wrist mid-air—his punch stopped instantly, like he'd hit a solid steel wall.
"This is your stop," I said casually.
I yanked him clear out of the window, spun him through the air, and shot a web-line directly to his belt, anchoring him to a street lamp as we roared past. He hit the pole with a soft oof and hung there like a suit on a dry-cleaner's rack. I gave him a little kid-like wave. "Have a nice day!"
Right. Time to finish this. I've got places to be, people to save.
The guy in the back pulled a snub-nosed revolver from his jacket. Before he could raise the barrel, a glob of web blasted from my wrist, slamming his hand—and the gun—flat against the side window. PLUG!
The passenger thug in the front seat was struggling frantically, reaching for the emergency brake. "I hate you, you stupid mother—"
THWIP! A thick patch of webbing sealed his mouth shut mid-sentence.
"Hey, hey, listen! There are kids present," I scolded.
I slammed my boot onto the brake pedal. The tires shrieked, burning rubber as the sedan skidded to an absolute halt inches from the curb. The force tossed the passenger thug forward, slamming his forehead against the dashboard with a dull CLACK. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, groaning through his webbed mouth.
I shifted the car into the park, popped the driver's door open, and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk.
"Hey, someone call the cops for these gentlemen!" I shouted over the roof of the car.
A crowd of commuters immediately erupted into cheers, whipping out their phones to record and snap pictures.
"Thank you, Spider-Man!" a woman called out.
"You're the best!" a guy shouted.
I offered a crisp, two-finger salute. "Just doing my civic duty!"
With a hard tug on a fresh web-line, I launched myself back into the skyline, glancing down at my phone's lock screen as I swung.
"Man," I mumbled under my breath, watching the glass towers of Manhattan sweep past. "I wish there were better villains to fight. The Fantastic Four and the X-Men are out there dealing with cosmic threats, and I'm playing valet for carjackers."
I dropped sharply into a dark alley adjacent to the campus, ducking behind a dumpster to pull off my mask and slip back into my civilian clothes. I shoved the suit deep into my backpack, smoothed down my hair, and stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk of Midtown High.
I took a deep, theatrical breath of school-yard exhaust and grass clippings, grabbing the straps of my backpack as I walked through the front gates.
"Midtown High... what a place," I said out loud.
"Do you always have to talk to yourself, Mr. Walker?" a smooth, teasing voice chimed in from behind me.
I turned around to see Melody standing there, her arms crossed over her chest and an amused smirk playing on her lips. She was stunning—bright emerald eyes framed by a cascade of long, dark, curly hair that bounced with every step, light freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, and a smile that could stop traffic.
I let out a dramatic scoff. "Why, of course I do! It's my inner dialogue. It keeps me sane. Plus, it looks cool."
Melody waved her hand at me dismissively, stepping up beside me as we walked through the double glass doors of the school. "Nothing about you will ever—and I mean ever—scream 'cool', Walker."
I slapped a hand over my chest, stumbling backward a step in mock agony. "Ouch! Right in the heart! You’re supposed to be my best friend!"
Melody chucked, shaking her head as she took the lead down the crowded hallway. "We are friends. But you and Harry make it really difficult to defend your reputation sometimes."
I caught up to her, shrugging with a self-deprecating smile. "Speaking of Harry... where is he?"
Melody’s smile widened, though her tone held a hint of pity. "Well, knowing his father, Norman Osborn, I'm guessing he's either getting another two-hour lecture on 'corporate excellence' or he's stuck staying home again."
I sighed softly. "Man, that guy needs to learn to trust people a little more."
Before Melody could reply, a harsh, echoing laughter erupted from the far end of the hallway, drowning out the ambient noise of lockers slamming and teenagers chatting.
"Come on, Harry! We all know your dad's loaded. Just hand over the damn dough!"
At the end of the hall, Flash Thompson—built like a brick wall in his varsity letterman jacket—had Harry Osborn pinned against a locker by his collar. Harry, skinny, short-haired, and clutching his thick-rimmed glasses with one trembling hand, was desperately trying to dig into his pockets.
Melody stopped dead in her tracks, glancing sharply over at me. She tilted her head toward the scene, her green eyes silently issuing a command.
I leaned down, upside down, and knocked politely on the driver's window. Tap, tap, tap.
The burly thug behind the wheel rolled the window down, squinted, and gasped. "Aye! It’s the damn bug again!"
I pressed a gloved hand to my chest in exaggerated agony. "Bug? Ouch. I’m actual Spider-Man, thank you very much!"
Inside, the passenger thug grabbed the steering wheel. "Shoot him!"
The driver lunged out the window with a heavy, brass-knuckled fist aimed straight for my jaw. I didn't even blink. I caught his wrist mid-air—his punch stopped instantly, like he'd hit a solid steel wall.
"This is your stop," I said casually.
I yanked him clear out of the window, spun him through the air, and shot a web-line directly to his belt, anchoring him to a street lamp as we roared past. He hit the pole with a soft oof and hung there like a suit on a dry-cleaner's rack. I gave him a little kid-like wave. "Have a nice day!"
Right. Time to finish this. I've got places to be, people to save.
I kicked through the open window, squirmed into the front seat, and slid behind the wheel, violently shoving the passenger aside. The two guys in the back seat scrambled forward, wide-eyed.
The guy in the back pulled a snub-nosed revolver from his jacket. Before he could raise the barrel, a glob of web blasted from my wrist, slamming his hand—and the gun—flat against the side window. PLUG!
"Hey!" the second guy yelled, lunging over the front seats to grab my throat.
The passenger thug in the front seat was struggling frantically, reaching for the emergency brake. "I hate you, you stupid mother—"
THWIP! A thick patch of webbing sealed his mouth shut mid-sentence.
"Hey, hey, listen! There are kids present," I scolded.
I slammed my boot onto the brake pedal. The tires shrieked, burning rubber as the sedan skidded to an absolute halt inches from the curb. The force tossed the passenger thug forward, slamming his forehead against the dashboard with a dull CLACK. He dropped like a sack of potatoes, groaning through his webbed mouth.
I shifted the car into the park, popped the driver's door open, and stepped out onto the bustling sidewalk.
"Hey, someone call the cops for these gentlemen!" I shouted over the roof of the car.
A crowd of commuters immediately erupted into cheers, whipping out their phones to record and snap pictures.
"Thank you, Spider-Man!" a woman called out.
"You're the best!" a guy shouted.
I offered a crisp, two-finger salute. "Just doing my civic duty!"
With a hard tug on a fresh web-line, I launched myself back into the skyline, glancing down at my phone's lock screen as I swung.
"Man," I mumbled under my breath, watching the glass towers of Manhattan sweep past. "I wish there were better villains to fight. The Fantastic Four and the X-Men are out there dealing with cosmic threats, and I'm playing valet for carjackers."
I swung past the gleaming metallic facade of the Baxter Building, looking up at it with a mixture of awe and envy. Then, I turned my gaze toward the brick structure appearing in the distance.
I dropped sharply into a dark alley adjacent to the campus, ducking behind a dumpster to pull off my mask and slip back into my civilian clothes. I shoved the suit deep into my backpack, smoothed down my hair, and stepped out onto the sunlit sidewalk of Midtown High.
I took a deep, theatrical breath of school-yard exhaust and grass clippings, grabbing the straps of my backpack as I walked through the front gates.
"Midtown High... what a place," I said out loud.
"Do you always have to talk to yourself, Mr. Walker?" a smooth, teasing voice chimed in from behind me.
I turned around to see Melody standing there, her arms crossed over her chest and an amused smirk playing on her lips. She was stunning—bright emerald eyes framed by a cascade of long, dark, curly hair that bounced with every step, light freckles dusted across the bridge of her nose, and a smile that could stop traffic.
I let out a dramatic scoff. "Why, of course I do! It's my inner dialogue. It keeps me sane. Plus, it looks cool."
Melody waved her hand at me dismissively, stepping up beside me as we walked through the double glass doors of the school. "Nothing about you will ever—and I mean ever—scream 'cool', Walker."
I slapped a hand over my chest, stumbling backward a step in mock agony. "Ouch! Right in the heart! You’re supposed to be my best friend!"
Melody chucked, shaking her head as she took the lead down the crowded hallway. "We are friends. But you and Harry make it really difficult to defend your reputation sometimes."
I caught up to her, shrugging with a self-deprecating smile. "Speaking of Harry... where is he?"
Melody’s smile widened, though her tone held a hint of pity. "Well, knowing his father, Norman Osborn, I'm guessing he's either getting another two-hour lecture on 'corporate excellence' or he's stuck staying home again."
I sighed softly. "Man, that guy needs to learn to trust people a little more."
Before Melody could reply, a harsh, echoing laughter erupted from the far end of the hallway, drowning out the ambient noise of lockers slamming and teenagers chatting.
"Come on, Harry! We all know your dad's loaded. Just hand over the damn dough!"
At the end of the hall, Flash Thompson—built like a brick wall in his varsity letterman jacket—had Harry Osborn pinned against a locker by his collar. Harry, skinny, short-haired, and clutching his thick-rimmed glasses with one trembling hand, was desperately trying to dig into his pockets.
Melody stopped dead in her tracks, glancing sharply over at me. She tilted her head toward the scene, her green eyes silently issuing a command.
I let out a long, exhausted breath. Here we go.
I walked up to the commotion, keeping my hands casually shoved into my hoodie pockets. "Hey, big guy. Maybe try letting go of the nerd?"
Harry looked up, his pale face breaking into a relieved smile. "Hey, Walker..."
Flash slowly turned his head, his heavy jaw clenching as he glared down at me. "Why should I? He was just about to hand over some lunch money."
I glanced back at Melody. She gave me a slight shrug, as if to say, You started it.
A small crowd of students was already forming, leaning in to watch the drama unfold. I cleared my throat loudly, rolling my shoulders.
"Flash, let me speak in a language you can actually understand," I said, dropping my voice into a low, dim-witted grunt. "Me Flash. Me stupid. Me should put nerd down and go play football... and just like my grades, me suck at it."
A wave of giggles and muffled snickers rippled through the surrounding crowd.
Flash’s face turned bright red. His grip on Harry loosened in pure shock, allowing Harry to slip free and duck frantically behind Melody for cover.
Flash cracked his knuckles, the bones popping like small firecrackers as he took a heavy step toward me. "You think you're funny, huh, Walker?"
In a flash, his huge hand shot out, grabbing me tightly by the collar of my hoodie and lifting me slightly off my heels.
I forced a tight, nervous smile, raising my hands in surrender. "Well, you're pretty funny-looking, so I'd say I'm doing alright! You kinda remind me of Dumb and Dumber... except, you know, just the second part."
Melody and Harry winced in unison, letting out a low, collective "Oooooof" alongside the watching crowd.
My head snapped back, but thanks to the super-soldier-level durability currently hiding beneath my skin, it felt like getting hit with a rolled-up magazine. Still, I had to play the part. I let my knees give out, dropping to the floor and curling up slightly, pretending to clutch my face in agony.
Flash adjusted his jacket, glaring down at me as his jock buddies chuckled behind him. "Next time, Walker, try picking on someone your own size. If you can find anyone."
He barked out a laugh, turning on his heel and walking away as the crowd slowly dispersed, murmuring.
Harry stepped forward, slapping a hand against his forehead in disbelief. "Seriously? Still doing these dumb jokes while getting punched in the face? I will never understand you, Jackson."
Melody took my hand, pulling me up to my feet as I stretched my back out. "Well, it's fine. Isn't your birthday coming up soon anyway?"
I nodded, dusting off my jeans with a smirk. "Yeah, you're right. Come on, let's get to class before we get detention."
(To Be Continued...)
Harry looked up, his pale face breaking into a relieved smile. "Hey, Walker..."
Flash slowly turned his head, his heavy jaw clenching as he glared down at me. "Why should I? He was just about to hand over some lunch money."
I glanced back at Melody. She gave me a slight shrug, as if to say, You started it.
A small crowd of students was already forming, leaning in to watch the drama unfold. I cleared my throat loudly, rolling my shoulders.
"Flash, let me speak in a language you can actually understand," I said, dropping my voice into a low, dim-witted grunt. "Me Flash. Me stupid. Me should put nerd down and go play football... and just like my grades, me suck at it."
A wave of giggles and muffled snickers rippled through the surrounding crowd.
Flash’s face turned bright red. His grip on Harry loosened in pure shock, allowing Harry to slip free and duck frantically behind Melody for cover.
Flash cracked his knuckles, the bones popping like small firecrackers as he took a heavy step toward me. "You think you're funny, huh, Walker?"
In a flash, his huge hand shot out, grabbing me tightly by the collar of my hoodie and lifting me slightly off my heels.
I forced a tight, nervous smile, raising my hands in surrender. "Well, you're pretty funny-looking, so I'd say I'm doing alright! You kinda remind me of Dumb and Dumber... except, you know, just the second part."
THWACK.
Melody and Harry winced in unison, letting out a low, collective "Oooooof" alongside the watching crowd.
My head snapped back, but thanks to the super-soldier-level durability currently hiding beneath my skin, it felt like getting hit with a rolled-up magazine. Still, I had to play the part. I let my knees give out, dropping to the floor and curling up slightly, pretending to clutch my face in agony.
Flash adjusted his jacket, glaring down at me as his jock buddies chuckled behind him. "Next time, Walker, try picking on someone your own size. If you can find anyone."
He barked out a laugh, turning on his heel and walking away as the crowd slowly dispersed, murmuring.
Melody immediately dropped to her knees beside me, her hands hovering nervously over my face. "Are you okay?" She gently brushed a strand of hair away from my eye, her knuckles grazing my skin. "Let me see."
Harry stepped forward, slapping a hand against his forehead in disbelief. "Seriously? Still doing these dumb jokes while getting punched in the face? I will never understand you, Jackson."
Melody took my hand, pulling me up to my feet as I stretched my back out. "Well, it's fine. Isn't your birthday coming up soon anyway?"
I nodded, dusting off my jeans with a smirk. "Yeah, you're right. Come on, let's get to class before we get detention."
(To Be Continued...)
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