"Where is the fire, speedy?" asked staff reporter Lois Lane, as Jimmy tried racing past her. The sound of Lois's voice seemed to penetrate Jimmy's determined mind, as he came to a standstill, and feel to the ground as he lost momentum. Lois did her best to stifle a laugh. She also noticed he had a package in his hand.

"I'm looking," huffed Jimmy, trying to gain both breath and composure, "for Peter. A courier delivered this envelope, for him, at the front desk. It has no address or anything on it."

Lois's curiosity, an important aspect for an inquisitive journalist such as herself, was getting the best of her. "Parker receiving mysterious mailings. How exciting! I think he is in the dark room developing pictures. Let's go find out."

Lois joined Jimmy, and the two made a rapid pace towards the darkroom.

The two arrived, and Lois banged upon the door as rapidly and loudly as possible. Within seconds Peter came scrambling out of the room. He looked all frazzled and bewildered.

"What's going on? Where's the fire?" asked Peter, his eyes darting back and forth, searching for trouble.

Lois, with almost inhuman like speed, ripped the package from Jimmy's grasp and flung it against Peter's chest.

"Secret package for you, sport," said Lois with a smile.

Peter examined the package. The only thing on the manila folder's outside was Peter's name. His spider-sense was not tingling, so it seemed to present no danger. Curious, he walked towards a desk to grab a letter opener. He couldn't help but notice Lois and Jimmy briskly following.

Lois watched as Peter opened the envelope. Inside it appeared to be just a photograph. She watched as Peter scrutinized the photo, then as he dropped the manila folder. Then he fell into the seat, spilling the Mountain Dew that had been sitting upon the desk. She saw as his face grew white as a ghost, and his hands began to shake. Lois had never seen Peter like this before - ever.

Lois took the picture from Peter's hands. The photograph contained four people, standing in several feet of snow, in front of a large metal wall. There were two women and two men. Judging by the haircuts and clothing designs, Lois guessed the picture was at least mid eighties, if not earlier. She noticed that a sign behind the group was in Russian.

"Peter, what is wrong buddy?" asked Jimmy, looking at the photograph, not comprehending what was so special.

Peter barely croaked out the words, "The two people . . . on the left . . . the man and the woman . . . those are my parents."

Lois was a little confused herself now. She knew that Peter's parents were deceased, having died in a car crash quite a number of years ago, and Peter had been raised by his aunt and uncle.

"Your parents were in Russia?" asked Jimmy, noticing the sign behind the people as well.

Peter just looked dumbfounded. "Not that . . . I . . . was aware of."

"Well, Peter," said Lois, "it looks like we have ourselves a mystery on our hands. Let's check it out . . . "

Peter barely noticed Lois. He was lost in his own thoughts. Other than a few family photos and some stories from Aunt May, Peter knew so little about his parents. The car crash, which had taken their lives, had happened when he was young - too young to remember enough about them. Other than a hazing memory of mom's arms and dad's eyes, he had close to no personal connection to them. This picture rekindled long dead fires within him, making him realize he knew so little about the people, which had given him life. Maybe it was time, he thought, to find out a little more about them.

"I wonder who these other two people are?" asked Jimmy aloud.

"Good question," said Peter, regaining his composure. "Let's go and see if we can find out."

Peter knocked on the wall outside Harvey's cubicle.

"What?" asked Harvey, in his typically crude style. He might have been the most knowledgeable person in the building, but he certainly wasn't the most charming. Peter had always wondered had Harvey was so good at draining everybody of their personal secrets when he had such a ‘charming' personality.

Lois grabbed the picture, and handed it to Harvey. She knew that Harvey had a soft spot for her - because he wanted to get in her pants - and would be more likely to help her.

"Do me a favor, Harvey. See if you can match up the people in the picture to anything interesting . . . "

"Who are they?" asked Harvey, pulling his magnifying glass from the desk, and examining the photograph.

"We . . . are not sure," said Peter chiming in.

"Well," said Harvey, placing the photo down, as he began to type on his computer, "I can tell you right now who one of the women is . . . "

"Who?" asked all three in tandem.

Harvey pointed to the screen. On it was a Daily Planet obituary, written by Wippleman, for Melissa Queen. Peter looked at the picture and noticed that the woman on the far left was indeed a younger Queen.

"The wealthy socialite?" asked Lois.

"Indeed," said Harvey. "Melissa Queen, the perpetually single, always beautiful and elegant CEO of Queen Enterprises. That old broad knew how to throw a lavish party . . . "

"Didn't she die in that plane crash that Stark plane crash that killed all those corporate types?" asked Peter, curious.*

*(see Batman #2)

"Sure did," said Harvey. "A shame, if you ask me. The New York social scene has never been the same.

Lois read through the obituary. "Ever hear of Ms. Queen spending any time in Russia?"

"Russia," scoffed Harvey. "I would think not. Uhhh, how cold and gruesome and uncivilized that would be? But then, who knows, it is possible. Melissa was quite a private person, and very little is known about her life before she took over as head of Queen Enterprises in 1993. I can remember a friend of mine, Chancy Marlin, trying to write an unofficial biography of her a few years back. He gave up when he couldn't account for her whereabouts in much of the eighties. Said he thought she might have been a spy or secret agent or something. Real hush-hush and all that."

Peter didn't know if he liked what he was hearing. This picture was beginning to complicate his life in ways he hadn't expected. Here were his parents, posing in what appears to be Russia, with a woman who led some sort of secret life.

Peter absorbed all the information, trying to decide on a course of action.

"Does Ms. Queen have any living relatives here in the city?" asked Peter.

Harvey began typing.

Moments later. "She sure does. Her niece, Cassandra Queen, attends Gotham University. She lives there in the dorms on campus. She is the daughter of Mr. Oliver Queen, millionaire philanthropist, former super hero, and recluse."

Peter grabbed the photo, and raced away from the group and to the elevator, on his way to Gotham University.

Peter waited until Cassandra separated from her classmates and began to walk down one of the paved paths between buildings. Judging by her direction, Peter figured she was headed back to her dorm room.

"Ms. Cassandra Queen?" asked Peter as he approached.

Cassandra turned to look at him. Her eyes checked him out from head to head, like she was making a catalogue of features and possibilities.

"That is the name my mom and dad gave me," said Cassandra. "Who might you be . . . and how can I help you?"

"My name is Peter Parker, and I would like to talk to you about your aunt."

Cassandra crinkled her nose, seemingly in confusion. The mention of her aunt seemed to catch her off guard.

"My Aunt Melissa?" asked Cassandra. "She's dead, you know. Killed in all that big crash that wiped out all those big corporate types. What do you want to know?"

Peter decided to take a chance. He pulled the picture from inside his coat and handed it to Cassandra. She looked over the photo, and a perplexed look spread across her face.

"Interesting," mumbled Cassandra, still scanning the picture. "What does this have to do with you?"

Peter thought for a moment before replying. "The two people on the left are my parents. Do you know anything about them . . . or this picture?"

Now, it was Cassandra's chance to take a moment to think. Finally, after several long minutes, she spoke again. "Maybe you had better come with me . . . "

"My aunt was a secret agent for the United States Government."

"What?" said Peter, stunned by this information.

"I didn't know it myself until after her death. When she was killed, I inherited all of her belongings. I went to check out her Manhattan condo, and stowed away, in a safe, in her bedroom, was a box of papers, which shocked me beyond belief. In the box were a personal journal, photographs, and other details about my aunt's secret life.

"It seems in the late seventies she was recruited out of college to join a covert government agency known as Strategic Hazardous Intervention & Espionage Law Division, SHIELD for short. This was back when their were still under US control, before they terminated that relationship and started working under the United Nations . . . "

Peter tried to absorb the information, but more questions just kept floating to the top of his brain. What was Melissa Queen's relationship with his parents? What were the three of them doing in what appears to be Russia? As far as Peter had ever been told, his parents were nothing more than government bureaucrats, pencil pushers doing routine nine-to-five desk jobs. Now with the startling revelations that just keep unfolding, he was beginning to suspect there was a great deal more he didn't know.

"Do you still have that box of stuff?" asked Peter, hopingly.

"Yes, it is still in the condo. To be honest, with my hectic schedule, I have done little to mess with the condo. Everything is paid for, and nobody is using it. The place has become little more than a large storage facility. We can go check the stuff out if you would like, you have suckered me in . . . but then again, investigating this kind of stuff is kinda in my blood*"

*That tends to happen when your father if Oliver Queen, former Green Arrow and adventurer, and your mother is Colleen Wing Queen, private investigator and head of Birds of Prey Investigations.

Peter stood up, excited, "Let's go!"

They made their way into what looked like the master bedroom, and Cassandra pulled a painting from the wall. Peter looked at it - and was shocked to discover it was a Van Gogh. It looked authentic, and Peter was more than a little jealous. It must be nice, he thought, to be so unconcerned with money that you could leave all this lavish stuff lying around, untouched and unnoticed. Peter wondered if he took it to Christie's Auction House, sold it, and paid off all his bills, if anybody would notice.

Cassandra fidgeted with a safe that lay in the wall, behind the picture, and soon it opened, and she pulled a large box and a number of files from it. She took them, and spread them out upon the white sheet covering the king-sized bed, and Peter joined her. As Cassandra pulled out items from the box, Peter glanced over them. There were picture - lots of them. Melissa had gotten around during her time with SHIELD, apparently, because there were photos of her in deserts, in tropical rain forests, and in every other climate imaginable. There were pictures of her with kangaroos in Australia, and standing in front of to the Taj Mahal.

Peter scrutinized the photographs, and discovered there were more Russian photos containing his parents. One was clearly in front of a sign that read "Science Complex #2".

Then, suddenly, a large crash sounded out from the direction of the living room. Peter's spider-sense also starting frantically buzzing in his head. He turned to look at Cassandra as her head snapped up with a start, looking out towards the noise, then at Peter.

"Cleaning lady?" Peter whispered. Cassandra shook her head as she pressed her index finger to her lips to silence him, then began to creep towards the door.

Everything that happened next flashed by in a whirl of sights and sounds. Several figures rushed through the door and into the room. They were dressed head-to-toe in black, their faces covered by masks and goggles. Peter and Cassandra didn't need much time to see the shiny guns they held in their hands were not there for their benefit. Quickly both leaped into action. Peter went for the one nearest to him, barely avoided a blast from the gun. As he swept the legs out from under his assailant, he noticed that the gun had not fired bullets or energy blasts, but rather a handful of small needles.

Peter glanced over at Cassandra, to see if she was holding her own. He watched as she kicked one of their assailants in the stomach, then whirled around, and in one fluid motion, pulled the gun from his hand, flung it across the room, and punched the man hard into his chest, sending him falling to the floor.

Then Peter felt a stinging pain in his leg. He looked down to see a handful of small needles in his leg. He turned and saw that despite her best effort, Cassandra also had been shot, and was falling to the ground. Peter felt woozy, and fell to his knees. It didn't take a genius to figure that the needles were laced with some kind of poison. He just hoped that it wasn't anything lethal.

As darkness consumed Peter's world, his last thoughts were of his parents, and what curiosity had done to the cat.