"The Amazing Spider-Man! I like it! I really like it!" Max Shiffman exclaimed as he read the playbill that had been handed him by the man in a red and blue costume hand-standing on his windowsill. "You can go all the way on this, kid!"
Peter smiled under the mask. He liked the sound of the long term plans. He only wondered if he would actually be able to maintain his secret identity and be if he would be able to do all of the performances. "Sounds good, Max. When's my first show?"
"Are you available a week from Saturday?" Max asked, looking at a special calender on his desk.
Spider-Man thought for a minute. Aunt May or Uncle Ben hadn't mentioned anything, and he never had a date. "Sure," he replied.
"Then, Saturday night it is. The debut of Spider-Man!"
Over the next few months, Spider-Man became popular. He appeared on many television shows, showing off his incredible powers. He appeared on daytime talk-shows, late night talk-shows, newsmagazines, kid's specials, advertisements, and even guest-starred in a few cameo roles on popular sit-coms!
As the popularity grew, the money also grew. Spidey had a special arrangement with Max that allowed him to be paid in cash. However, one night, after a show, Max came over to Spidey with a check and a pen in his hand.
"I'm sorry, kid," he said with a sigh. "But I can't pay you in cash anymore. You're too famous not to pay taxes! You'll have to tell me your real name."
Spider-Man waved his hand. "Can't do, Max. Just make the checks out to Spider-Man!"
Spidey started a bank account at one of the New York branches. It grew larger as his fame grew.
One night after dinner, Peter walked up to his bedroom.
"Another early night, Peter?" Ben asked.
"Yeah. I have a big chemistry test tomorrow, Uncle Ben. I want to make sure I'm up for it!" Peter lied.
"Well, good night!"
Up in his room, Peter made sure that he wouldn't be caught. He tapped his belt buckle. The nano-machines spread across him. Spider-Man now stood in the bedroom. As Spidey ran out the window, he felt a strange tingling, buzzing sensation. "That's funny. Never felt anything like it!"
Spidey swings away, unaware of the man watching him leave from behind a tree. Jack Napier watched Spider-Man leave the Parker house.
What the heck? he thought. It's Spider-Man! The dude from TV! What in heck is he doin' here? I been casin' this place since the old geezer bought that computer, but I never seen Spider-Man here before!
It had been a great show. The crowd had loved it. The media loved it. Everyone loved it. Spider-Man left the stage, and entered the backstage area. It was choas behind him. He could barely shut the door, with all of the reporters and agents shouting out questions and offers. Whew! Spidey thought, holding the door shut. Do all the big stars go through this?
"Boy, am I glad to see you!" Spider-Man heard a voice coming nearer to him.
"Huh?" he asked, confused.
"You're a second story man like me, right?" the man asked. "You can help me ditch this cop!"
"I have no idea what you're talking about!"
Meanwhile, a large, bulky cop came running up behind them. "Stop him! Stop Napier!" he yelled down the hall.
Spidey stood still as Napier walked to the elevator. "Later, Bullock!" Napier shouted as the doors closed.
"Hey!" Spidey said, looking at the cop. "I know you! You're a sargeant at the Gotham precinct! What are you doing here?" Meanwhile, the elevator had gone down.
"YOU IDIOT!" Bullock shouted, getting into Spider-Man's face. "Why didn't you stop him! I finally caught him in the act, rifling through the dressing rooms!"
"Hey! That's not my problem!" Spidey retorted. "You do your job, and I'll do mine, which is looking out for number one, ME!"
Bullock took his hand off and through it to the ground angrily. "I outta run you in!" he shouted as Spidey walked away.
"On what charges? I didn't do anything!"
"Exactly!"
Spider-Man walked away, saying nothing. Bullock grumbled as he bent down to pick up his hat.
As Peter swung home, he saw red lights in front of his house. He panicked. What had happened? He had to find out. He landed behind a tree and turned his costume off.
Peter walked up to his house, still in shock. Aunt May, her heart has never been strong. Maybe something happened to her! he thought.
He tried to walk up to the house, but was stopped by an officer with the name Dibny on his name tag. "Hold it, son!" he said. "Where do you think you're going?"
An older woman walked up behind him. "It's okay, officer. That's Peter Parker, the murdered man's nephew."
Peter's eyes were beginning to fill with tears. "Murdered?! Mrs. Watson, what happened here?"
"From what I could gather from May, a madman broke in. He waved a gun around, claiming he was looking for Spider-Man!"
"Spider-Man?! How! Why?" Peter asked.
Officer Dibny put his hand on Peter's shoulder. "That's all we know, except that there was a scuffle and your uncle was shot. The burglar escaped, but we have him cornered at the old Acme warehouse, down on the docks."
"No," Peter said. "NO!!!!" he shouted, running away.
"Peter, come back!" Anna Watson yelled.
"Where are you going?" Dibny asked.
Peter didn't answer. He ran out of sight, and activated his costume. He knew the Acme warehouse. An army could be held off in that place. But Peter knew that Spider-Man would get in!
Spider-Man arrived and saw the police. They were trapped, unable to do anything. Spidey found a skylight, and crashed through. He landed on the catwalk on which the burglar was standing. "You're not going anywhere killer!" Spidey shouted.
The burglar was startled. Then he realized who it was. "Oh, man. Glad to see you! You can get me out of here easily!"
"Get you out of here? What're you talking about?"
The burglar pulled off his mask. "Hey, it's me! Jack Napier! I went to that house because I figured you were casin' it, same as me."
"No," Spidey whispered, realizing who the burglar was. "NO!" he shouted. "You're the one I didn't stop!"
Spider-Man started punching the burglar. He could feel and hear bones breaking in the guy's face and elsewhere. Spidey didn't care. The catwalk began to swing, and some of the supports snapped loose. The burglar shouted as Spidey dropped him.
"What's that smell?" Spidey asked, looking down. Then, he saw a vat full of white acid. By now, the burglar had regained his footing and was charging Spidey.
Spider-Man sidestepped, and tried to grab the Napier's midsection. Instead, Napier landed hard on the catwalk, causing even more of the supports to crumble. Now, the catwalk began to lean. Napier stood up again and leapt at Spidey. However, the catwalk shifted down, and Napier jumped over Spider-Man. Spidey spun around quickly and quickly webbed Napier before he hit the acid. Napier hung only a few feet about the vat.
Just then, cops had burst in, guns drawn. "FREEZE!" one of them shouted. However, one nervous cop accidentally fired his gun. The bullet struck the webbing and Napier fell into the acid.
"Napier!" Spidey shouted.
The police ran over to the vat. While they were pre-occupied with that, Spidey quietly left the same way he had come.
But, as he left the warehouse, a sense of deja vu came over him. He felt as though this had happened before, but how? He had only been Spider-Man for a few months. Besides, all he had used his powers for was fame. However, this deja vu wasn't exactly the same. Instead, he saw the thief being knocked out and arrested, not falling into acid. Also, his costume had been different. Instead of being made of nano-machines, it was cloth.
Spider-Man ignored the feeling and headed back home.
About an hour later, the police were finally able to bring in the equipment necessary to lift Napier out of the acid. The sight almost made them sick.
His clothes were mostly shredded or burnt. His whole body had turned deathly white. His mouth was twisted in an evil type of smile. But there was one thing about Jack Napier that scared police the most.
He was still breathing.
When Peter had climbed through and closed the window, he quickly turned his costume off. He then unclipped the buckle from his belt and through it down onto the floor, in disgust.
"I will NEVER be Spider-Man again!" Peter exclaimed. "Because I had to be an ignorant, self-centered brat, Uncle Ben is dead! I could have stopped Napier!"
Peter fell on his bed, crying. He stayed like that for several minutes, and then sat straight up.
"Oh, no!" he said. "I haven't been down to see Aunt May!"
Peter quickly gathered himself and walked downstairs. It had been a long night already, and it was only about to get longer.
Later that night, the police had taken Napier to a special holding cell. He lay on a table, still alive, barely. A special crew had gone in to clean him off. Currently, doctors were looking him over, trying to figure out why he was still alive.
There were four doctors in the room, all male. All four wore masks over their faces, and gloves. They were not to take any chances. One of the doctors was looking closely at Napier's pale white face. He was touching, trying to discern any information about the muscular arrangement underneath the skin.
"It seems as if the muscles have not been affected," he said. "But why is he smiling?"
"Is it permanent?" one of the other doctors asked.
"Negative," the first one replied. "The muscles look like they are able to change back to a straight face."
He continued to examine the face. He picked up a special device and began to scrape the face. None of the white came off. "It appears that his skin pigment has been permanently altered."
"Not just that," a third doctor said, pointing to Napier's hair. "Look."
"Odd," the first doctor said. "His hair pigments have changed to green. I had not noticed that until now."
"That's not the only thing you missed."
"Who said that?"
"Look down here, dummy!"
All four doctors looked down at Napier. He had regained consciousness.
"Oh, crap," the fourth doctor said as Napier sat up.
"How did you survive?" the first doctor asked.
"I dunno. But you losers have done nothing but make me mad," Napier said, standing up. "I've been doing a lot of thinking while I was in that little coma. I've decided that reality sucks. Life is not full of enough laughter." Napier reached for the first doctor, and grabbed his throat. The doctor's face turned red. The other doctors tried to stop Napier, but he kept his grip firm. Once the doctor had died, Napier dropped the body and began to laugh. "That was funny! And that was only the beginning!"
"Why did you do that? How can it be funny?" the second doctor demanded.
"Because, I am the JOKER!"
Within minutes, all four doctors had been killed, as well as a few police officers who had rushed in, trying to subdue the Joker. Meanwhile, Joker had made his escape.
The funeral was held a week later. The morning after, Peter Parker woke up late. He knew he wouldn't have to go to school, which was good. He didn't feel like going to school. Besides, it was time for final exams, and he was exempt from all of them. He felt sick. It was his fault that Uncle Ben had died.
How could he ever make it up? Bills and rent had to be paid. Peter even overheard a conversation with the landlord a few days ago. Could Aunt May keep it up?
Suddenly, a solution popped into Peter's head.
Three weeks before . . .
Everyone at the bank was astonished. Jaws were dropped, and bankers were dropping money. Tellers stopped in mid-sentence as they turned their attention away from the people in front of them. Everyone in the bank stared up at the person hanging upside down from the ceiling.
Spidey waved. "Don't be alarmed folks! It's just your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man dropping by to open an account!"
One teller, a young blonde lady, was in awe. "Oh-open an account," she stammered.
Spider-Man flipped from the ceiling, and landed on the teller's desk in one fluid motion. "That's right, sweety. The superstar that I am has a lot of money, and no where to put it."
"Yes . . . I'm sure . . . But . . . er . . . do you have any form of ID? Driver's license? Social security number?"
Spidey grabbed one leg of the stool the teller was sitting on and lifted it up - with her on it - with apparent ease. "Hey, cutey, do you know anyone else who can do this?" He shot a webline at the ceiling. "Or this?" He then grabbed the teller, jumped onto the ceiling and began carrying her across the ceiling upside down. "Or especially this?"
Just as Spidey jumped down off of the ceiling, the bank president walked out of his office. "What's going on out here?" he asked. Then, he saw Spider-Man holding one of his tellers. "Miss Smith! What is the meaning of this!"
Miss Smith blushed. "It's Spider-Man, sir! He wants to open an account!"
The bank president's expression changed. He grabbed Spider-Man's hand, like a comic fanboy who had just been asked by Stan Lee to help him write a comic book. "Spider-Man? The TV star? This is an honor! We will serve you any way we can!"
"Now you're talking!"
A few minutes later, Spider-Man was standing at a desk, filling out application forms. The bank president had already stated that he could fill out only the ones he wanted to.
"Of course," he said, "all the identification we need from you in the future is a demonstration of your powers."
"Not a problem," Spidey replied. "I'll be depositing ten-thousand dollars today."
The present . . .
"I'll just empty my bank account! We can use that money for bills and rent!" Peter exclaimed.
A few minutes later, Spider-Man had returned to the bank and was holding its president up as he hung from the ceiling again.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CLOSED MY ACCOUNT?! I NEED THAT MONEY!" Spidey screamed at the president.
"But you came in a week ago, and emptied the account. Took all of the money in cash!"
Spidey let the man fall to the ground. "Didn't you ask for a demonstration of powers?"
"Yes! The powers were exact! Just like the other times you've been here!"
"Idiot!" Spidey shouted as he walked out of the building.
Who could have duplicated my powers? he thought as he returned home.
Peter sat on his bed when he returned home. "I can't go back into show-biz. Max just up and moved to the west coast. Didn't even tell me good-bye. Sleezeball!"
Peter lay back on the bed, thinking. There was a knock on the door. Aunt May stuck her head in. "Peter?"
"Yeah?"
Aunt May walked over to Peter's bed. "There's a story in today's paper about your uncle's death, if you want to read it."
"Okay. Just leave it on the nightstand, please."
"Peter, are you okay?"
Peter sighed. "I wish I could have prevented Uncle Ben's death."
"Dear, there was nothing you could have done. No one could have done anything." May left the room.
I could have, Peter thought to himself. I could have stopped the burglar at the studio. But I didn't, and now Uncle Ben is dead.
Peter leaned over and picked up the paper. He skimmed the article, which managed to make front page news of the Daily Planet, and then looked at the sidebar. One item caught his attention.
"Attention! Photographs wanted! The Daily Planet will pay top dollar for exclusive photos of The Joker! Details on page three."
Peter thought that that would be an excellent way to get money. However, his mood turned sour as he read the article on page three. It told of how the Joker's incident at the police station, and the absence that had followed. Now, he had resurfaced and had begun killing again. Peter felt queasy all over again.
"Oh, no!" he said. "The Joker is the burglar that killed Uncle Ben!"
Next issue: Spider-Man faces off against the man who killed his uncle! Only now, the man is insane! Can Spidey survive? Plus, Peter gets a job! Read about it in Spider-Man #3!