Who:Archie The Doctor and Aaron Spider-Man What: A bank robbery turned dastardly stunt Where: Bank of America in Seattle When: Friday, early afternoon Warnings: Undead dog violence, comic-worthy banter, and guns
Archie knew people weren’t that different from woodland creatures. They had schedules, routines and expectations. When something like an unexplained storm disturbed them, the silly critters were known for panicking with a healthy dose of complaining, but it was short lived. The second the world seemed to shift back into place, they would warily come out from hiding and return to their hum-drum lives. What disturbed him was their refusal to acknowledge mortality. That not too far in the future, they’d just be skeletons in ornate boxes. All Archie ever wanted to do was change that. Gain the immortality back that his parents took away from him.
Things were a little different now. His parents cut off funding and The Brotherhood couldn’t keep up with him. Both manageable problems, but now his attitude was changing since the high of his little zombie bird apocalypse. Archie needed money and craved attention, so this was how he’d achieve it. A little public demonstration and subsequent donation. After hiring some dumb thugs with the visible proof of reanimation and the promise of 40% earnings, Archie used their connections to “borrow” two white vans to transport his new attraction. He was dressed in a dark green, ancient, pinstriped suit that looked dusty and caked with funeral dirt with a beaked doctor’s mask to hide his face.
Following him were the four massive thugs holding back two chained dogs each. The dogs were aggressive and unnatural looking with bright green eyes and missing patches of skin over exposed bone and rib-cages. They were remarkably strong with mouths full of sharp, hungry teeth that snapped at anything that moved. People began to scream well before Archie even made it into the bank and tried to run, but the thugs were fast in making sure no one was leaving the building. Once locked inside, Archie fired an automatic rifle into the air and then gave a loud but very polite,
“Attention, please! The sooner you hand over all the money I want, the sooner I won’t release my dogs on you.” Archie’s voice rose with delight. This super villain gig was not half bad. Spider-Man was absolutely amazed by the homecoming party he had received on his return to Seattle. There was the “crazy weatherman” - who he maintained wasn’t crazy - and the “crazy Fawkes guy” - who he was certain was crazy - that showed up on Mask radar, and the fact that he had managed to save none other than Maddie-Kate Robinson from certain doom. Oh, yeah, Seattle liked him, even if the other masks still thought of him as a kid. He supposed he couldn’t blame them, since he was, for all intents and purposes, a “kid.” But he was a kid with so much love to give. Well, love, and several pounds of super-sticky criminal-stopping webbing.
It was happy coincide that he was swinging over the bank just as two white vans pulled up outside it. Far from being one to judge, Spider-Man still hesitated at the sight of two large vans pulling up outside a bank. Who needed two large vans to deposit their paycheck? He landed deftly on the roof as the vans stopped, crouching low with gaze intently trained on the two vans. The second their doors opened to reveal the carnival of horror inside of it, he was very, very glad that he had taken a breather.
Without waiting to watch the parade of freaks, he scampered across the roof, making a beeline for a skylight centered over the main entrance of the bank. Pressing one hand to the glass, he looked down, frowning. No smashing - he’d rain broken glass and lawsuits all over the innocents in the bank. He’d have to improvise. Glancing about the rooftop, he spied a heavy cement block several feet away. Quickly, he attached four strong web leads to the corners of the skylight, and a fifth in the center for good measure. Once certain that they were attached, he wrapped the opposite ends around the block until it was good and tight. With a deep breath, completely unsure of whether or not this would work, he dug deep and threw the block as hard as he could. It arced over the edge of the roof and dropped. The panel snapped from its frame, tiny shards of glass shaved from the edges fluttering into the bank. Spider-Man dodged the flying glass panel, leaning over the edge of the building to watch it drop. He cringed, feeling quite bad as he heard the glass shatter. But this was for the greater good.
Anchoring his toes to the roof, he leaned his head and shoulders into the skylight, peering about. His first instinct would have been to take out the thugs, but their very special weapons reminded him of why he couldn’t. If just one of those guys were knocked out, two hellhounds would be given a free pass to run around the bank full of innocent civilians. That’s just what they needed. No, Spider-Man needed a way to immobilize the thugs and keep the dogs from hurting anyone. His gaze immediately fell on their hands, and a smile spread across his face. Bingo.
He took just a second to pull his digital camera out from under his shirt, anchoring it to the corner of the skylight out of sight. After putting it on automatic, he released his toes and dove through the open skylight, dropping in just in time to reply to the green-suited menace.
“Don’t you know about the leash laws in this city?” he shouted, keeping his voice amicable and nonchalant as he threw out a line of webbing to the nearest wall to catch himself. Yep, he was just jumping into a locked bank with one gun-toting crazy and four big thugs controlling eight big - dead? - dogs. Dead dogs? They definitely weren’t alive, and as he swung towards the wall, he shot out two webs with his free hand to wrap one thug’s hands to his chains, steel-strong webs keeping him from being able to release the hounds easily. “All hellhounds must be kept on leashes, both on the sidewalk and inside banks.” There was no way that there were two people in this city that could make evil zombie killing machines. It was too neat a coincidence.
Landing on the wall, he stuck himself to it a moment, turning to look at the gun-toting crazy. “Did they even get their rabies shots?”
The beaked doctor tilted his head curiously at Spiderman. “I don’t remember. Why don’t you pet one and find out.” He fired warning shots in the direction of the brightly colored vigilante, but obviously without the intention of hitting anything but wall. “Listen, I’m thrilled to see you. Truly. But, I’ve got a reaaaaallllllly busy day and I’d just like to make a withdraw.” The hellhounds started barking madly as they snapped their jaws towards cowering civilians. It took little time for people to start crying, cowering and throwing their possessions towards the doctor in hopes he would just get the hell out of there. It was pathetic. The doctor made a snarling noise, kicking purses and cellphones as they slid towards him. He could feel something inside him snap like a firecracker. These people were inferior. They weren’t capable of doing half the things he or Spiderman could. He didn’t really give a shit about money. He just wanted to show off his talents. His achievements that they could never hope to even come close to.
The doctor stopped walking towards the bank teller and turned to look at Spiderman. “Accttuuuaaallllly.” His smile could be seen just below the end of his mask. “Do you want to see what these puppies can do? If you liked the birds, you’re going to love them.” A witty retort was on the tip of his tongue, but Spider-Man was immediately distracted by the barrage of bullets coming his way. It had taken some time for him to stop squealing like a girl whenever someone turned a gun on him, and even now he still flinched and jumped. But there were scared people here, terrified innocents that couldn’t see him squirm. So he scuttled upwards, trying to avoid the spray before realizing that the bullets were clearly aimed around him. That bastard.
“ATMs are perfect for the busy villain on the go,” he quipped, looking down at the people as they began hurling their possessions at the masked man. His reaction was almost as worrying as the giant dogs. Taking money was one thing - lots of people wanted that. But the wanton desire to hurt innocents? It put him back outside that grocery store where his Uncle George had been killed, staring at the wounded being loaded onto gurneys by efficient EMTs. Internally, Spider-Man had made his choice: he’d catch this guy if he could, but his first priority was keeping everyone inside that bank safe.
Just as he was about to target another dog-holding thug, Spider-Man heard the doctor’s voice, glancing his way with bated breath. Oh, no. Oh, no no no this was not good. He kept the fear out of his voice, sounding as glib as ever, though sweat began to bead on the nape of his neck. “I always have to see a pedigree before I play with strange dogs,” he said, leaping off the wall he’d been clinging to. He shot a webline to the ceiling, catching a horizontal support beam and using that line to swing overhead. Swinging clear to the opposite wall, he glanced off it, sending himself in a wide circle around the bank. “And I’ve gotta be honest with you, I don’t trust your skills as an obedience trainer.” With his free hand, he shot a smattering of web at one of the other thugs, gobbing his hands together around the chains he held. The other two were on the move, shifting and dragging their dogs around to keep Spider-Man from getting a clear shot.
He dropped to the floor after his ride ended, several yards away from the doctor himself. He could smell the dogs now, nostrils flaring from beneath his mask. “So why don’t you take your pretty puppies back to school, and I’ll play with them once they’ve gotten good report cards?” Holding both hands out, he shot a line of webbing at the masked doctor, aiming for his ankles. The doctor watched Spiderman move with honest appreciation. Out of all the masks he had heard of, this kid seemed to have the most obvious power short of shooting lasers out of his hands. Plus, he was a lot more entertaining than the Bat and the bright red suit made him much easier to shoot at. “They know a lot of tricks.” He said sweetly, waving the gun around in a way that seemed to indicate he had forgotten it was full of deadly bullets. “Beg, sit, kill. The basics.”
The end of his sentence was punctuated with webbing snapping around his legs and sending him to the ground with another flourish of bullets through the ceiling. He made a sound like the air was knocked out of him and then struggled to sit up to pick curiously at the spiderweb. “Isn’t this stuff supposed to come out of your butt?” A clinically childish moment where he tried to make sense of a man-spider’s anatomy. Could he shoot webbing out of any open gland? Why did he have those in his wrists?
“Spiderman, I’d be more than happy to let you be my assistant in an experiment. You like science, right?” The doctor let go of the webbing and casually pointed the gun at the pest. “First I’ll have to kill you to get a proper autopsy. Don’t worry though, I’m in the business of bringing annoying animals back to life.” As the masked doctor fell hard, Spider-Man couldn’t help the small, victorious half-smile that formed under his mask. There was something strangely satisfying about watching bad guys fall on their butts. The Germans would have told him it was schadenfreude. He would just say that it was funny to watch douchebags crack their tailbones.
The comment about the anatomy of his webbing earned a sigh. Though Spider-Man’s eyeroll wasn’t visible, the way his head lilted to the side broadcasted the expression well enough. “It was actually believed that ancient spider species expelled webbing from the tips of their feet. Butt-webbing was too mainstream for me, doc.” He twisted his hand in the web-line that connected him to the doctor’s feet, prepared to pull his opponent closer. However, the gun pointed in his direction gave him pause. He really didn’t like guns.
“Tempting offer,” he said nonchalantly, suddenly very thankful that no one could see the fear on his face. “But undead chic really isn’t my style. I’ll stick with the red and blues.” He paused, gaze still intent on the barrel of the gun, unsure of when - or if - it would go off. “But you I can see looking great in black and blue. Let’s play dress-up.” He dropped to the floor, yanking on the webbing to pull the doctor close as he simultaneously kicked at the barrel of the gun, hoping to knock its aim away from any civilians. The doctor wasn’t used to physical fighting and his severe lack of muscle seemed to convey that he had the strength of an office IT guy. Luckily, Spider-Man did all the beating up for him. The strength of his webbing pull sent the doctor flying into the mask feet first, hitting him in the stomach. Archie took the opportunity to scramble to his feet. “You know the problem with your suit? I can’t see all the blood my dogs are going to tear out of you.” His voice was dark and even though Spider-Man didn’t know Archie personally, he would be able to tell this sort of psychotic edge was new and initially unnatural. Of course it was only a matter of time. Archie had a superiority complex and a fascination for raising the dead. No good ever came out of that combo.
His shoes clicked loudly against the smooth, stone floor as he hurried away from the mask. “Let’s get the show started, shall we?” Screams erupted from the crowd. “God, I’ve always wanted to say this.” The doctor turned to look at his thugs. “Release the hounds.”
“But, boss.” One thug voiced the concern of the rest. The dogs were getting increasingly more blood thirsty and the doctor gave the impression that they wouldn’t need to let the dogs off their leash before the attack. This wasn’t part of the deal.
“Oh for the love of-” The doctor sighed and fired a line of bullets through each one of his thugs, sending them to the floor as the dogs began to frenzy. The thugs who survived the gunfire did not last long as the hellhound jaws went straight to rip out their throats and then gnaw off hands grasping their chains. In just moments, the dogs were free and racing towards the nearest civilians. He should have seen that kick coming. With a heavy grunt, Spider-Man folded forward, holding his stomach as he resisted the urge to vomit. That hurt. A lot. He let go of his opponent, just watching as he kicked out of his webby anklets and stood. Breathing heavily, he tried to push the pain back as he slowly stood, hands still cradling his stomach. The doctor’s words were dark, worrisome. This guy wasn’t kidding. Spider-Man gulped, straightening his spine and holding his shoulders back as the masked man scuttled away.
With a sharp breath, he shook his head, the screams around him feeling like a second punch. “How about we catch the late-night showing instead, sugar lump?” he asked, voice glib as ever. But his suggestion went unheeded. The command to “release the hounds” had already been given, and Spidey prepared to leap into action. Thankfully, the thugs didn’t seem on board, holding back. Thank God for small miracles. Just as he was about to commend the thugs on their ability to just say no to mass murder, the doctor interrupted.
The sudden spray of bullets that ripped through the four thugs came as a complete surprise, and even Spider-Man couldn’t help jumping in shock. A part of him was thankful that he’d webbed four of the dogs to their handlers, but his thanks was short-lived. The dogs easily tore through the corpses that held them fast, blood and human bits spackling the bank’s nice floors. Once again, Spider-Man found himself fighting the urge to vomit.
But disgust would have to wait. As the wall of eight angry dogs charged for the innocents, Spider-Man leapt into action. Running towards the creatures, he shot out gobs of sticky webbing helter-skelter. He couldn’t take on all of them at once, but if he was able to at least handicap them all, he’d make his job easier and protect the civilians. First things first, he had to take care of those jaws. The fact that their teeth were dripping blood was a bit intimidating, but he aimed sticky blobs right for their mouths, hoping to gag at least one upside-down Lassie. Thankfully, two well-aimed shots hit their marks, temporarily stalemating two dogs. The web-slinger turned, spying one dog coming dangerously close to sinking its teeth into a young woman in a beige suit. “Run!” he shouted, shooting a line at the beast and tugging hard. It spun around, focus on Spider-Man, and charged his way. Gulping, he leapt into the air, missing the charge by mere centimeters. As he landed, though, a second dog rammed him from the side, fierce teeth bared and biting into his forearm. The armor protecting his arms came in handy, keeping the dog from drawing blood. With a gasp, Spider-Man threw a punch between the dog’s eyes, then a kick at its chest, before webbing its face and sticking it to the ground.
Wheezing, he turned around, hands clenched into fists. One down. Seven to go. And the smell wasn’t getting any better. Really, the dogs were a majestic sight. Their damp fur bristling with fresh blood. Their eyes filled with the sort of carnivorous lust for more flesh that made them the powerful animals they were. The doctor was beside himself with his own hard work finally coming into fruition. “Nothing like testing subjects out on the field.” He said with magical wistfulness in his voice like he was presenting a child’s program on a cartoon channel. While Spider-Man scrambled to keep civilians safe, the doctor just watched. His own curiosity and pride in his work kept him from doing anything logical like running the hell out of there with as much money as he could.
But, the dogs were fast. Faster than he remembered them being back when they were alive. Being brought back to life likely made them more ravenous than usual and perhaps even unpredictable. The doctor had never seen anything like this. Fresh bodies that he personally mowed down. Bits of flesh scattered on the floor like garbage. It was clear he had gone too far and the chance to take it back was gone.
The only choice was to keep moving forward. Rushing for two dogs that were speeding towards a group of civilians, Spider-Man shot a webline at each of their hind legs, grabbing tightly and yanking. They were big and heavy, and their strength was almost too much for him to handle. But he was running on pure adrenaline now. If he didn’t act, if he didn’t succeed, innocent people would be killed. There was no safety net for him to fall back on now. He had to do this on his own.
The two dogs scrambled, claws screeching on the floor as he pulled them back. Digging his heels in, he held the weblines in one hand as he used his other to snare a third dog. The two with webby mouths were still charging after innocents, but the gobs of spiderweb in their mouths kept them from being able to hurt anyone just yet. Focused on the three he had, Spider-Man pulled them back again before running forward, ramming an elbow down into one’s neck. The other two quickly surrounded him, one sinking its teeth into his lower leg and the other snapping for his neck. Suppressing the urge to scream, he released their weblines and webbed up their mouths one after the other before finally ensnaring the third. After anchoring the three webheaded doggies to the floor, he stumbled backwards, blood dribbling from open holes on his left leg. Four down, four to go.
“You should have tested them in the lab first,” he called out, trying to keep the pain out of his voice. “These guys aren’t nearly field-ready yet. Look how badly they’re behaving.”
“Oh, shucks. I left the golden retrievers at home. Have you ever seen zombie puppies before? Less cute, more nightmare fuel.” The doctor grinned. “You’re doing a good job, though. Go team Spidey.” Despite how much he loved his pets, he couldn’t help feeling impressed by Spider-Man. Not just for his obviously intriguing power, but his determination. These dogs could tear open his insides like paper and he’d still be trying to save some old, pathetic granny. Foolish, but impressive nevertheless.
As much as the doctor wanted to stay and see Spider-Man get ripped apart limb by limb, he accidentally caught the eye of one of the dogs. No one had spent more time making sure these dogs were ready for a fight, but Archie never looked them in the eyes. A chilling thought erupted in the back of his head. They knew, didn’t they? The doctor murdered and tortured these dogs for his own gain and if he wasn’t careful they could-
“Welp, my work here is done.” The doctor would not allow fear to ruin his day. This was an accomplishment and now it was time for him to go home and start planning bigger in case Spider-Man managed to survive. He turned on his heels and darted out the front door; pushing people aside as he went. Other civilians took this as a cue to run as well since the only threat left were the dogs Spider-Man was trying to stop. The sarcastic call for “Team Spidey” earned a harsh laugh as Spider-Man flung himself towards another dog, narrowly avoiding another nasty bite as he countered with a punch that knocked the creature’s head to the side. “I’ll get you T-Shirts,” he called out, bringing his elbows down harshly on the dog’s head. “If you promise to give up the evil-ing, I’ll let you run my fanclub.” It vaguely occurred to him that he shouldn’t be talking so glibly while lives were at risk, though the thought was suppressed immediately. If he didn’t chat idly as if they were two old friends meeting over coffee, he’d be forced to realize that he could seriously die here. The jibber-jabber was a good defense against that.
When dog number five hit the dust and was promptly webbed up, Spidey snared another, this time one with a mouth full of web. As he struggled with the dog, the doctor tossed out a short exit line and dashed, leading a crowd of terrified people behind him. As Spider-Man wrestled with the dog and eventually bore him to the ground, he held a hand up, raising his voice. “No pushing!” he called. “Don’t let the other two dogs out!” Eyes wide behind his mask, he webbed dog number six and ran after seven and eight as they made a break for the exit.
Spider-Man webbed number seven, looking on in horror as eight nearly reached the door. Just as he was about to snare it, a large security guard wielding a “please wait here” sign darted in from the side, swatting the dog and sending it stumbling to the side. He whacked it again and again until it fell still while Spidey beat and webbed his. Wheezing, Spider-Man looked over at the guard, smiling behind his mask. “Thanks, man!” he called, waving.
The guard glared at the dog before glancing to the masked man, smiling thinly and setting the sign down. “No problem.” They both looked about the bank, taking in the scene. Those that remained had slowed in their panic, now turning to look at the masked man in their midst. The four thugs still lay dead on the floor, and the eight demon dogs were all scattered about as well. But it was over, for now. They were safe.
Spidey raised his voice, looking around. “If anyone is hurt, please wait for the ambulance. Nobody walks home on a broken leg, we don’t need any more heroes here.” With a cheerful chuckle that disguised his immense relief that no one had been terribly mauled or killed, he looked down at one of the zombie dogs. Momentarily, he hesitated. Should he take it for Zaldana, or leave it? After a few moments of deliberation, he decided to take it. This guy wasn’t done, that was for sure. Birds was the beginning, and now bank-robbing dogs. What was next? He didn’t know, but if they studied one of his creations, maybe they could get an idea. He webbed the dog up carefully, breathing through his mouth to avoid the stench. Once the creature was bundled up, he slung it over his back, a stripe of webbing serving as a strap across his chest. His left leg was aching, blood still leaking onto his suit, and he mentally cursed. Now he had to worry about dead dog rabies and sew up the holes. There went his Friday night.
“Well,” he said to the crowd, chuckling bashfully as phones and iPods rose to take pictures of him. “Thanks for being a great crowd.”
As he shot a webline to the celing and prepared to crawl up it, someone held up a hand, waving it about furiously. “Hey! Who are you?” The question was met with group approval, everyone nodding and whispering amongst themselves.
Spider-Man paused, looking at all their faces slowly. “Me?” he asked, voice cheerful. “Why, your friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.” More phones followed him as he began to crawl up his line. He paused momentarily, looking at the devices from his line. “Hello, Internet!” he called out with a chuckle before continuing his ascent to the ceiling, crawling out the skylight. He took his camera with him, turning it off and tucking it under his shirt. There had to be some good pictures there. He’d need to get them to the Times soon if he wanted them printed quickly. But first, he needed to dial a friend. Or several friends, really.
Wheezing, and starting to shiver from the cold, he switched on his communicator and pulled out his phone, accessing the forum. He’d been in Seattle for three days and already he was up to his ears in stuff. He just hoped he could handle it.