Spider-man 2099UG #3

**pow**

**whack**

**thud**

"One little, two little, three little Specialists..."

**pop**

**crack**

**bam**

"Four little, five little, six little Specialists..."

**smack**

**crash**

**wham**

"Seven little, eight little, nine little Specialists..."

**thwip**

Spider-Man stands next to the Stark-Fujikawa warrior webbed to a wall inside the Alchemax offices, admiring his new handiwork with the new wall-hanging. "Ten little Specialist children."

The Specialist looks straight into the eyes of his enemy, his dishonorable nemesis and spits into them. "This one will see your blood flow with that of your employurk--!"

The brow on Spider-Man has discernibly furrowed in anger, even noticeably under the saliva running down his mask. He grabbed the samurai by the throat. "This one will shut his shocking mouth." With that, Spider-Man slaps the Specialist with his free hand. "This one will not defy me when he is so clearly beaten." Another slap, and a small drop of blood flies from the Specialist's mouth. "This one will make use of his highly vaunted code of honor when he has lost." Another slap, a trickle of blood from the man's mouth, and now a scratch along his cheek from the talon on Spider-Man's hand. "This one will not spit--"

"Spider-Man, that's enough!" Conchata O'Hara has stayed at her post in the Alchemax office, despite the battle coming right to her, ignoring the klaxon of the alarms telling her and everyone else they should have left the building over forty minutes ago because of the building energy in the damaged Virtual Unreality gate. She was not in danger from these Specialists, not with Public Eye SIEGE units in the vicinity, and especially not now with her hero and son Spider-Man to protect her.

"Why? Look at this monster!" The Specialist webbed up on the wall is now slumped forward, barely conscious, blood running down onto his ornamental battle costume. "For all his nobility, he is as inhuman as my fa--, uh, Tyler Stone."

"Spider-Man does not kill needlessly, and there is no reason to start now. There is plenty of other things for you to do, like evacuate the rest of this building."

"You're right." Spider-Man lets go of the Specialist and turns toward the windows. Still the Specialists come, not finding the police resistance that was initially present not long ago. The Public Eye and SHIELD agents that were not murdered by the Stark/Fuji samurais have helped lead Alchemax personnel away from the building. "When Morbius attacked me, I started to lose myself and forget why I was fighting. I just can't believe what is happening here." He looks at his mother, wanting some answer.

"You're the hero. Don't look at me. Do what you have to and we'll worry about figuring it out later. I'm going to leave now. And," with a glance at the soldiers running through the offices, "I'll get Mr. O'Hara out, too. Now go." And with a slight shooing motion, Spider-Man leaves with at least some direction.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fifteen minutes. He's pretty sure every one smart enough to leave has. There is one more thing Spider-Man can do to prevent things from getting any worse. Even though the VU equipment is damaged, it's going to make one heck of an explosion and its going to create a lot of damage for quite a radius from Alchemax.

A few years ago, Tyler Stone organized a thinktank of some techs from inside Alchemax and out to create better security. Good old Ty was making plenty of enemies, at least he had the foresight to realize that some of them may strike back.

Among some of these brainstorms was a radical shield generating system that was actually meant to encompass the entire Alchemax headquarters with a rotational multiphasic energy field meant to keep out anyone or anything unwanted. In fact, the idea was to even give each employee a special wristband which would be attuned to the energy signature, allowing the wearer passage through the shield while in use. They figured with this they could even partition certain areas with certain shield frequencies, thus only allowing certain employees with the proper wristbands authorized entry.

But like most good ideas, this one was never completely followed through because of money. The power needed to establish the shield was incredible, and when cuts in the budget were needed the security shield was the first to fall by the wayside.

Luckily for Spider-Man, those techs were efficient with what little time and money they had. The shield generators are in place and fully functional. They still need to be tested fully, and a full VU wave blast should be quite a test, for you see, Miguel O'Hara has been a successful scientist because of how he can look at situations and problems from unusual angles. He is not worried about what he can keep out, it's what he can keep in which will prove the shield's worth.

All Spider-Man has to do is get to the Security and Protection Lab and let loose the juice, and get his butt out of there.

Piece of cake, right?

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nice idea, bad timing.

On his way to the S & D lab, Spider-Man is waylaid by a dozen Specialists. Hiding in doorways, disengaging all the light systems on the floor, including the emergency illuminators, not even the wall-crawler's accelerated vision was fast enough to pick up on the stealth and speed of the Specialists. It takes all of them to wrestle him to the ground. Weakened, not even Spider-Man can find the strength to move them all. Two samurai pick up the hero to his feet. The rest stand around, brandishing their sword, looking for a reason to skewer this object of their hate. One of them stands in front of Spider-Man, and motions with an outstretched hand to drop Spider-Man to his knees. The two holding him buckle his knees, and Spider- Man is helpless but to comply.

"Look, you don't know what you're doing! I've got to get into that room! All our lives depend upon--"

"Close your waste-filled orifice, defiler!" The one standing before him must be the little cadre's leader, although how they can tell each other apart is beyond Miguel O'Hara's comprehension. They all look so much alike!

"Enough talk. This one says take him now!" yells one from the circle of warriors around them. A few shouts of "Here!" and "Aye!" escape before the leader holds up his hand. The hallway becomes immediately quiet as the leader glares around his group, admonishing with but a look at those who dared speak at this moment.

"Spider-Man," the leader's voice echoes through the hallway, much like Thanatos was heard through the Virtual Unreality portal not long ago, "do you understand the gravity of your actions?"

"I understand that gravity is proportional to mass and inversely proportional to distance; maybe if you all went home and left me alone this situation wouldn't seem so bad. May I save New York and all its inhabitants now?"

"Silence!" Like lightning, the leader whipped out his sword and swung it within an inch of Spider-Man's face. No, on second thought, as a small rivulet of blood runs into Spider-Man's mouth, Miguel realizes that this one's weapon is quite sharp indeed. His mask, having been slit just under his nose, now begins to sag, but not quite exposing enough for anyone to determine that the Alchemax CEO is his own corporate savior. Biding what little time he has left, Spider-Man stays silent. "Your insolence only serves to further exemplify your guilt. Some months ago, you faced the one in honorable combat. Only through unsavory tactics did you escape his capture. Only through craven cowardice did you lash out and strike a mortal blow. Your murder justifies your own death. Perhaps then this one and his Order may find peace once more."

"Order? You mean you're all related? ALL of you? Is that why you look so much alike? Or are you just a giant gang of thugs who have no identity beyond `this one' so you--"

"You deserve no explanation!" the speakers eyes narrow into thin slits, his skin becoming flushed with the increased flow of blood from his anger. "It is because of you that this one and his Order have come to reassess the balance in these times. Only through your death may the scales return to equilibrium. This blight upon the one and the Order can only be washed away with the blood of the sinner."

"No wait, I have this great detergent at home. It gets out the toughest stains--"

Another slice, another trace cut across Spider-Man's cheek, and the mask droops off his face lower.

"Enough. This one will bear no more. It is our way that one must face his maker before death." The leader reaches to remove the mask from Spider-Man.

What is it about the secret identity that Miguel O'Hara clings to so? His brother Gabriel knows who he is. The Net Prophet learned who he was when he saved them both from Thanatos, who has also demonstrated knowledge of his dual identity. Even Lyla, a mildly sophisticated holoagent, easily knew Miguel was under the mask of Spider-Man by monitoring his heartbeat and voice. Anyone who could operate such sensor equipment could easily discern Spider-Man's identity if they knew where to crossreference the physiotypes. Didn't he just reveal his identity to two dangerous men who would kill him? Nevertheless, the whole world does not know who Spider-Man is, and Miguel O'Hara means to keep it that way, despite the unmasking by two powerful and unpredictable characters already today. No, Spider-Man must remain a mystery, so when the Specialist reaches for the mask, Miguel O'Hara, CEO of Alchemax, son of Conchata, brother of Gabriel, snaps. "NO!"

With an unimagineable amount of strength, Spider-Man throws off his two captors into the speaker of the Order, throwing all three of them into the far wall. One's skull makes a stomach-turning crunch-squish, leaving a stain that would make the cleaning robots curse out loud, if they were given speech processors. And if there were a wall to clean by tonight.

The rest of the Specialists, well trained in the art of combat, pay little heed to the enraged arachnoid, unsheathing their weapons and charging at him at full speed. Almost, instinctively, Spider-Man tenses both arms and dumps much of his organic webbing onto the nine remaining Specialists, immobilizing them in their tracks.

The strain of the "full throttle" web spray was not insignificant. Having never tried such a maneuver in the past, the pressure of the streams actually burst the skin around his wrists where he was used to shooting single, gossamer-thin strands of webbing for swinging or latching onto objects. The breaks would most likely heal, especially given Spider-Man's extraordinary constitution, but the initial pain was blinding. The excess webbing actually seemed to congeal over the wound, preventing much blood loss.

"Now look what you've made me do. I have a good mind to kick all your shocking heads in for this." Spider-Man walks slowly over to the leader of this group, still not moving after his little flight and abrupt stop at the wall.

Behind him, the remaining Specialist were busily hacking away at the webbing as best they could. They were making progress.

"But, that will have to wait. I only have about ten minutes before this whole place goes sky high, and there won't be any of us left to worry about your shocking honor. I suggest you get your sorry bald heads out of here before that happens." Spider-Man walks off toward the S & D lab, looking and sounding much more confident than he himself felt.

Behind him, Specialists were breaking free.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I sure hope everybody's out of here, because there's nothing more I can do." Spider-Man stands in front of the shield console (what would have been the shield console had there been enough money in the budget to support the shield and its technicians).

Push this button, flip this lever, turn this dial. The experimental shield generator is now powering up. In about three minutes, the energy shield will encompass the building, letting nothing in nor out. All that's remaining is to get his own UMF butt out of the building.

Opening the door, Spider-Man suddenly flashes back to an early day in his career as the harbinger of Thor. After being chased by Public Eye flyboys and falling all the way downtown, Spider-Man somehow woke up to find himself confronted by the sludge of the undercity, these specimens calling themselves Watchdogs. He stole their vehicle to get some help for his injuries. Later he was cornered by them and the flyboys, only to be "saved" by perhaps his most dangerous, most sadistic enemy.

All those Specialists hacking their way through that webbing they were stuck in were about to pounce upon Spider-Man, but a blur whips by, bringing with it the smells of blood as the warriors fall in their tracks, grasping their necks. Blood flows freely from everyone of them through their fingers. The Specialists look up at their executioner, and then look at Spider- Man. Their eyes accused him, demanding he look and understand just what he has done, although he has done nothing. One by one, the Specialists slump over, onto each other. Miguel recalls his days in elementary school when they showed videos of Earth's greatest wars and he remembers scenes of mass murders: they simply piled the bodies on top of each other, because there just wasn't anywhere else to put them. Carcass upon human carcass, all made dead for the pursuit of principle, principle they probably didn't even share nor care about anymore. Did these samurai die for their principles, or were they just recruited in one man's vendetta?

The time for thought was over. There were two minutes to live or meet his maker. He looked from the bodies to the man, the monster, responsible. The Vulture just smiled.

"You--!" Miguel O'Hara is a well-educated man, but there is no word he can think of which really captures just what the Vulture is. With a furious scream, Spider-Man leaps at the Vulture. The winged adversary could not have anticipated the speed of that leap. Perhaps he was expecting some hero-villain repartee, explaining each's motives, goals and ambitions, some brow beating, some veiled threats and blatant promises, and then they do the dance. Not this time.

The two roll across the hallway, Spider-Man pinning the Vulture to the ground. The stench of the Vulture, who no doubt fed quite well on plump, juicy Uptowners, was nauseating, and Spider-Man reeled back enough to allow the Vulture to turn him over. Claws ready to dig in, the Vulture bares his teeth in the anticipation of his greatest foe's blood squirting into his mouth. Spider-Man jams his knee into the Vulture's chest, allowing him room to get his foot underneath the Vulture, his toe talons scratching the Vulture's abdomen. Was the Vulture smiling wider because of the pain? Spider-Man kicks him off, slamming him into a wall. Immediately, the Vulture takes flight in the hallway, his wings really unable to propel him properly.

The Vulture flies at Spider-Man, arm rearing bad to take one good slash. Spider-Man jumps up at the precise moment to deliver a raking uppercut that would have taken off anyone else's head in it sheer force. With talons bared, four deep scratches run up the left side of the Vulture's face, his ear no longer fully attached to his head. The Vulture rolls off to the side crashing into the wall, cracking it and splattering blood all over.

"You--!" The Vulture has never been injured so badly. He knows he needs medical attention quickly. Spider-Man is walking toward him, having forgotten just how little time he has left. With a scream as primal as any jungle beast near death, the Vulture jumps up, taking flight once more, catching Spider-Man off guard this time, flying him at full speed through the hallway and through the outer wall! Spider-Man is knocked unconscious by the impact and the fact that he has been fighting pretty constantly for almost an hour.

Continuing his flight, in the open air now with his victim, the Vulture feels an oddness in the air around him. He doesn't know it, but the rotational multiphasic shield generator is encompassing the building. It is not up to full energy, but it seems to make the air thicker to the Vulture, and there is an odd tingling. Figuring it to be fatigue and drowsiness due to blood loss, the Vulture presses through. But by the time the Vulture reaches the outer perimeter of the shield, it feels as if it is burning his skin and it wants to trap him in the air itself. The element in which he felt most free now conspires to ensnare him. This self-proclaimed master of the skies will not have any of this. Mustering all the speed he can, the Vulture presses his and Spider-Man's body through. In sheer agony, the Vulture makes it past the shield, and falls limp in the air. There is no where for the combatants to go but down.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Where is he?" Conchata O'Hara stands outside the Alchemax tower. watching as SHIELD, Public Eye, Specialists, and Alchemax employees alike run out of the building. Too exhausted to fight anymore, everyone stands huddled together, watching the building, looking to see what will happen in the next few minutes as the VU generator reaches critical energy and explodes.

After people stop pouring out, there is a rumbling, shaking the ground, some people falling over because they are too weak to stand after this morning's battle. Within minutes, Conchata O'Hara feels a small warmth radiating from the air in front of her. She walks closer and reaches up her hand, and pulls it back instinctively when she feel the heat. Over to the East everyone's attention is drawn to two figures falling from the sky.

"O, no. O please, Almighty, no." Conchata looks up, and even though she can't make out the figures, she just knows that one of them is her son.

Her tears well up, but even they are paused when she hears a muffled. "Poof!"

A brief flash of light from somewhere up in the tower, and all mouths fall slack. How often can anyone stand in front of an explosion on the order of a thermonuclear weapon and just watch without fear of death? Suddenly building debris is sent flying in all directions, the top ten stories are sent rocketing upward, but nothing flies further than the shield perimeter. The debris smacks the shield, partly disintegrating, some of it just falling to the ground in impotent destructiveness. The top of the tower crashes against the apex of the shield, and then falls back down, destroying the infrastructure of the tower. Alchemax buckles, and suddenly falls over toward Conchata. Even protected, people always flinch from incoming objects. Conchata watches without passion, without fear, whether she knows the shield will hold up or not, she doesn't seem to care. The building topples, crumbling against the shield and falling to the ground.

Thanks to Alchemax's original foresight from the Security and Protection thinktank, the shield held because its generators were placed strategically around the Alchemax tower deep underground.

Conchata stares blankly at the heap of metal and mortar or whatever synthetic materials they make buildings out of these days. Her son, the amazing Spider-Man, saved us all, and he may very well be dead. With this thought, Conchata O'Hara drops to her knees and cries.

No one notices, because they are still stunned. They have been witness to the fall of Alchemax.