Jimmy Olsen scrambled quickly through the Daily Planet City Room. It was obvious he was searching for a specific individual, as he dodged in and out of cubicles, barely avoiding knocking several staffers down as he raced around the room.
"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."
Lois, Jimmy, and Peter made their way to Harvey Wippleman's cubicle. Harvey was the paper's finest researcher, specializing in people. If you needed to know who somebody was, and what they had spent their life doing, then Harvey was the man. He knew more dirty secrets about more people than probably the entire population of New York.
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.
"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 spent the better part of the morning trying to track down Cassandra Queen. She had not been in her dorm room, and he always seemed to find her classes ten minutes after they had expired. Finally, almost reaching the point of exasperation, he caught a glimpse of her as she left her Asian History class. Peter watched her for a moment, before approaching her. She was good looking, not in a super model kind of fashion, but rather in a ‘Sandra Bullock' style, simple kind of way. Her hair was long and red, and tied in intricate weaves around the back of her head. Peter watched the way she walked, the way she carried herself. His experiences as Spider-Man had taught him the signs of a fighter - the walk, the way they held their hands and shoulders. This girl was a scrapper - he could feel it.
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 . . . "
The two walked to the library, and made their way up several floors to the highest level. Together, they walked to an isolated table, far secluded from the other patrons of the building.
"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!"
Peter and Cassandra made their way through the Manhattan condo. Peter followed Cassandra intently as she maneuvered her way through dusty boxes and sheet-covered furniture. Peter watched her graceful, cat-like movements, noting that she definitely had received some martial arts training. It almost saturated the air around her - she had a very serious and straight-forward demeanor, and she carried herself like she was ready to pounce at any moment, like a big cat on the prowl.
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.
Chapter Two
When Peter woke up, he noticed that he was shackled to a wall. The shackles were metal, and so was the wall. He looked to his left and saw Cassandra coming to.
The room was small and quiet, except for the hum of machinery. Peter looked around and took note. In front of them was a control panel. Above that was a window. On the either side of the room, there was a door. Peter also noticed the cameras above each door, and the control panel.
"What happened?" Cassandra asked.
"Looks like we got caught. Any idea what they hit us with?"
"Probably a weak toxin of some sort. Just something to knock us out."
"And there's no way of breaking out of here," Peter said. "Cameras see everything we do, and I don't doubt the fact that there are microphones around here. But where is here?"
It was Cassandra's turn to examine the room. "SHIELD," she muttered. "We're on the helicarrier."
"SHIELD? How could they know about this?"
"They have their ways."
"And how are you so sure?"
"My dad was in charge of SHIELD for a while. I've been around here a few times."
"Any ideas on how to get out? Is there something you carry on you at all times for cases like this."
Cassandra smiled. "Even if there was, we've been searched. And no, I don't know the place well enough to know of anyway out."
"Too bad."
"We appear to have time. Might as well get to know a bit about each other. So, what happened to your parents?"
"They died in a car crash when I was young, or at least that's what I was told. I never really knew them. I have some vague memories of them, but no real emotional connection. At least not until . . . "
"The photo," Cassandra finished.
"Their death was probably not too long after that photo was taken," Peter said.
"If they did die . . . "
"Are you saying they're alive?"
"Maybe not now, but I wouldn't be surprised if they lived longer than you were told."
The man standing outside the room had heard enough. He walked in.
Peter tensed. Cassandra groaned as she saw who it was. The man was a tall black man, with a white crew cut and goatee.
"I'm G.W. Bridge. As you might have figured out by now, you are aboard the S.H.I.E.L.D. Helicarrier." He looked at Peter. "You are Peter Parker, correct?"
"Yes," Peter replied. "Why did you capture us?"
"Wait a moment," Bridge answered. He turned around and pressed a button on the control panel. "There," he said, "the sound is off. We can talk freely."
"How can we be sure you can be trusted?" Cassandra asked.
"You can't. But I'm asking you to. I personally had nothing to do with your capture," Bridge explained. "But ever since the 'incident' last fall, SHIELD has had an entirely new agenda. I'm not sure I like it."
"So, that's why you're here?" Peter asked.
"Well, not entirely. I was involved with the Parker case, and I am interested in seeing it through."
"Involved?" Peter wondered. "In what way?"
Bridge was silent for a moment. "It was up to me to make sure that the Parkers remained what they were."
"And what were they?" Peter growled.
"As far as SHIELD and the American government is concerned, the Parkers were traitors . . . Russian double agents."
"Bull," Peter replied.
"That's what I think, too."
Peter was shocked. "So . . . "
"Look, I have a job to do. I don't have to like it, but it's my job," Bridge interrupted.
"Are you going to help us or not?" Cassandra demanded.
"Just give me a minute," Bridge said. "I'll go out. I need you to stay still for about a minute. I'm going to create a video loop. Then, I'll let you go."
"Hey, Lois, have you heard from Peter?" Jimmy Olsen asked as he walked by Lois' desk.
Lois shook her head. "Not since he got that picture."
"Strange. He should have been back by now."
"Maybe he got sidetracked."
"Wanna check it out?"
Lois gave Jimmy a dumb look. "Jimmy, you know I do. But I have a deadline for this latest column. As much as I want to go out and find Peter, I'm sure he can take care of himself. He's a big boy."
Peter was relieved when the pressure at his wrists and ankles were released. He stepped down, and then put a hand out to help Cassandra out. Bridge entered the room.
"I can't do much, but I can direct you to a room where you might be able to find some information." He handed Cassandra a map of the air ducts.
"What will happen if they find out we're on the loose?" Peter asked.
"You let me worry about that," Bridge said.
It was a tight squeeze, but Cassandra and Peter were both able to crawl through the ducts.
"I never thought I'd ever be doing this. Crawling through the air ducts on a high tech helicarrier that most of the world isn't even aware exists," Peter said.
"Hopefully, you won't have to get used to it."
Don't bet on it, Peter thought with a smile. Aloud, he added, "So, how far away are we?"
"According to this map, we have two more turns."
It took ten minutes of crawling before the two finally reached their destination. Looking through the vent, they could see that it was a large computer room.
"What about security?" Peter asked.
"I don't know. Bridge probably disabled it."
"I still don't fully trust him. He could be setting us up."
"True. Any ideas?"
Peter thought for a moment. Had he been by himself, and could change into Spider-Man, he would have been able to sneak into the room and get the information already. But he could not risk his secret identity. Even if he could trust Cassandra, there was still the chance that SHIELD would find out, and Peter did not want that to happen.
"We need to know everything we can about this room," Peter said. "For all we know, cameras are on, and infrared rays are covering the entrance." Yet, my spider-sense isn't tingling, but I have to make sure anyway, at least to keep appearances up.
"I think I might have a solution for that," Cassandra said, pulling something out of her pocket. "Here." She handed Peter a small canister.
"Breath freshener?"
"Yeah, spray it, and it'll show the infrared beams."
"I'm surprised they didn't search us."
"Just use it."
Peter lay down, and positioned his hand over the vent. He carefully pressed on the top, spraying a mist. There were no beams visible.
"I guess that takes care of that," Peter said. "Nothing. What about cameras?"
"You should be able to see from here."
Peter put his head against the vent, and looked around. Now, my spider-sense should be going off if there are any cameras that are working . . . but it's not. Then, he saw one. "Cassandra, is there any way to know if the cameras are working?"
"Do you see a red light under the lens?"
"No."
"Good. That means the camera is off."
"So, I guess it's safe. Which one of us goes down?"
"You know anything about computers?"
Peter chuckled. "That's an understatement."
"Normally, I think only one of us should go down. But, in this case, it might help if we both go down," Cassandra suggested.
"Okay, I'll go down first." And if the cameras suddenly come on, I'll know.
Peter grabbed the vent and pulled up. It was secured a bit tighter than he expected, and he hoped that Cassandra hadn't noticed the extra effort. He held on to either side and put his feet down the opening. He slowly lowered himself down, until he couldn't lower himself any farther. He then dropped down to the floor. He looked around.
"All clear!" he exclaimed.
Cassandra lowered herself, a bit quicker than Peter had while Peter walked to the computer. It was a large mainframe, with a screen that took up most of the wall.
"Amazing," Peter said. "It's the kind of computer you see in cartoons and sci-fi shows."
"This one is real, and it has some of the information that you need."
"How do you turn it on?"
"Press the red button."
"I don't believe it," Peter whispered. "It's so obvious." He pressed the button and the screen lit up. It asked for a user name and password. Peter looked at his companion.
"I don't know it."
"What about that map that Bridge gave us?"
Cassandra looked at the paper in her hand. "Of course, it's right here. It's probably not his, but it should work." She leaned over and typed it in.
Suddenly, the screen changed. It gave a variety of options. Peter chose the search option. He typed 'Parker, Richard and Mary'. And then, the information came.
It took a few minutes, but Peter was able to read most of the information available on his parents.
"I don't believe this," he said. "There is no way my parents were Russian spies!"
"That's what the files say."
"Files can be wrong. Someone wanted the truth about my parents to be concealed."
Just then, another thought entered Cassandra's head. "Uh, Peter, I just thought about something. They rotate the cameras that they look at."
"Huh?"
"Meaning that the cameras in this room are only on for a little while until they switch to cameras in another room. Then, eventually they will come back here."
"And the cameras will be coming on anytime soon," Peter concluded.
"Yeah, we should get out of here."
"Should we split up?"
"Yes. Bridge's camera trick might not fool them for too long. Plus, accessing information from various sources will be harder for them to track down."
"Agreed," Peter said, logging out of the system.
"But I'm worried about you," Cassandra said.
"Don't worry, I can take care of myself. I have a few tricks up my sleeve."
"Okay. But don't think I'm comfortable. Then again, I don't like the idea of us being here in the first place."
Peter was already climbing up into the vent. "Come on!" After he helped Cassandra up, he said, "Go on, I'll take care of the vent cover."
After Cassandra started crawling away, Peter activated his Spider-Man outfit, and used his webbing to pull the vent cover up. After securing it in place, he looked down, and saw the red light on the camera.
In the main security room . . .
"That's odd," one agent said.
The other agent turned his head. "What's that, Marshall?"
"I've been watching the new prisoners."
"You mean the Queen girl and that Parker kid?"
"Yeah. And there's something strange about the video feed."
The agent rolled his chair behind Marshall's. Agent Marshall kept the camera in the room on for a couple of minutes. "It seems like it's a video loop," he said.
"We should call Bridge." He rolled back to his station and pressed a button. "Bristow to Bridge," he said.
"Bridge here," the voice came over the intercom.
"Sir, there's something you should probably see here."
"I'll be right there."
After Bridge had reached the security room and seen the tape, he said, "Ignore it."
"Sir?" Marshall asked.
"I was just in there. They're still there."
"But there is no record of you being in there for quite a while, sir."
"That's because I turned the cameras off."
"Why, sir?"
"That's classified. In fact, there is no need to continue monitoring that room."
"Yes, sir," Marshall acknowledged.
"Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then I shall be off."
After Bridge left, Agent Bristow picked up the phone.
"What are you doing?" Marshall asked.
"I'm alerting someone to this situation."
"But Bridge said - "
"Bridge is hiding something," Bristow interrupted. "He probably let those two escape and start a video loop himself."
"Still, we report to Bridge . . . "
Bristow pulled his gun out of its holster.
"Bristow, what are you doing?"
Bristow pulled the trigger. Marshall gasped, and then fell over. The last thing he saw was the hole where his heart used to be. Bristow's eyes flashed red for a second.
After some searching, Spider-Man found another computer room. Fortunately, the cameras were not on. He jumped down and webbed up the camera lens. He figured that would give him some more time.
He stood in front of the computer and entered the user name and password. Quickly, he found the files he wanted. Using his computer knowledge, he was able to access a highly classified file about his parents. It contained the picture of his parents in Russia that he had already seen. Most of the text was blacked out. But Spidey saw some interesting key words in the file. The most interesting phrase was 'doomsday weapon.'
Suddenly, he heard a click. Oh, no! The cameras are on!
Spidey bolted back up into the air vent, just as the alarm sounded.
On the other side of the helicarrier, Cassandra was working on a computer, but with a slightly different plan that she had not discussed with Peter. Accessing the internet, she was able to upload a virus into the main SHIELD computer system. It would not harm the system until a series of passwords and codes were inputted into the system. It was a series of information that only a few people in the world knew. It was to be used in case something ever happened to SHIELD. Ever since her father's rather abrupt 'retirement' from SHIELD, Cassandra had a strange feeling that all was not as it seemed behind the scenes at SHIELD.
Then, she heard the alarm. Oh, no. Peter must have activated the alarm!
Spider-Man continued crawling through the air ducts. He looked down and saw a small office through the vent. Bridge was sitting at the desk. Spidey deactivated his suit.
"Psst. Bridge!" he whispered.
Bridge looked up. "It's safe. Come on down."
Peter came through the vent.
"Where's Cassandra?"
"We split up. That way we both wouldn't get caught."
"Good move. Did you find anything?"
"Yeah. With what little I could find, I stumbled upon something rather interesting. What is the 'doomsday weapon'?"
"Classified."
"Don't play with me now."
"Sorry, it's a habit." Bridge was about to continue when the intercom beeped. "Excuse me," he said.
"Sir, this is Agent Bristow. The prisoners have escaped, and we have already found some cameras that were covered up."
"I'll be right on it."
"Also, sir, someone seems to be accessing the SHIELD database from various locations in the helicarrier, with a user name and password I've never seen before."
"I'll get on that then," Bridge replied. "That's probably the prisoners. Bridge out." After he flipped off the intercom, he exclaimed, "Damn it! That user name was supposed to be a secret. It wasn't supposed to be detected."
"Your agents aren't what they seem."
Bridge and Peter turned around and saw Cassandra crawling out of the vent.
"What are you doing here?" Peter asked.
"It's too dangerous here," Cassandra replied.
"What did you mean that my agents aren't what they seem?" Bridge wondered.
"There's been a weird vibe from SHIELD ever since my dad left. I'm not even sure his retirement was willing."
"That's what I've been thinking. But . . . wait a second," Bridge muttered. He walked over to his computer and brought up the security footage. He looked at the main security room. "Oh my god," he said, seeing Agent Marshall's body lying on the control panel. He scanned back to see what caused the agent's death. Then he saw Agent Bristow shooting his partner.
"Cassandra, you're right," he said. "One my agents just shot his partner. Come to think of it, he was in the room when they noticed the video loop, and he's the one who found out about you two hacking into the computer."
"So, what do we do?" Peter asked.
"Quick, return to the room you where you were first being held. I'll come and get you out. Just don't take anything I say seriously or personally."
Fifteen minutes later, G.W. Bridge walked into the brig, followed by two well armed agents. He activated a control that released Cassandra and Peter.
"You're free to go," Bridge said. "And we are sorry for any inconvenience this might have caused. But, if we ever see you again, you will regret it. And you," he added, looking at Peter, "forget about your parents. They died in a car crash, just like you believed for your entire life."
Bridge turned and walked out. Peter and Cassandra began to follow him, but the two agents blocked their way.
"Hey, he said we were free," Peter said.
"You are," one agent said, as both fired their tasers.
Peter and Cassandra woke up in Melissa Queen's apartment, just where they were when SHIELD had taken them.
"Well, that was useless," Peter said, standing up.
"Not completely. Besides, you did find something about your parents," Cassandra replied, brushing herself off. "Are you going to continue looking?"
"Now right now," Peter replied. "And definitely not by sneaking around the SHIELD helicarrier. I only have a few months of school left. I'd like to live to see my graduation."
"And then?"
"And then I'll find out what the 'doomsday weapon' was that probably got my parents killed."
Peter returned to the Daily Planet rather late. Jimmy and Lois were still working.
"Did you find anything out?" Jimmy asked.
Peter nodded. "But nothing I can tell you without risking your lives."
"What?!" Lois exclaimed, stopping her typing.
"SHIELD is involved somehow," Peter said.
"Come here," Lois ordered.
Peter came over and looked at Lois's monitor. She opened a file folder. Inside were many files related to SHIELD.
"Amazing," Peter said. "You've been investigating SHIELD?"
"There's something strange about a so called peacekeeping organization that has so many secrets."
"Okay, then let me ask you something. Ever heard of the 'doomsday weapon'?"
"I don't believe so."
"If you ever run across it, let me know."
"I will."
"It's a shame you didn't get a story out of it," Jimmy said.
"Oh, I will. There will be a story."
Next: In Spider-Man #26, more mysteries surface!