Spider-Man U-61016

The Amazing Spider-Man

Amazing Fantasy 4/6

Chapter Four: With Great Power...

One Week Later

The buzzing hum of the Forest Hills Mall filled the air—neon signs, the smell of fried food from the food court, and the constant shuffle of weekend crowds. The mall had been undergoing renovations to make it more attractive to customers, and it was working. People of all ages were gathering—shopping, chatting, going to the cinema.

It wasn't exactly the most exciting place in Queens, but with the upgrades, it was enough to entertain a group of teenagers with nothing better to do.

Near the fountain by the arcade, Liz Allan, Harry Osborn, Flash Thompson, and Mary Jane Watson loitered with milkshakes in hand, collectively bored out of their minds.

"I still can't believe Parker bailed on us," Flash grumbled, flexing his biceps as if to compensate for the absence of their nerdy friend. "What kinda guy gets a job on a Saturday night?"

"Someone who needs the money, Flash," Liz shot back, sipping her strawberry milkshake. "His aunt and uncle aren't exactly living in a mansion."

Harry nodded absently, eyes distant. "Yeah… he said something about helping with bills. My dad offered to use his connections to get him a job, but Peter refused."

Mary Jane twirled her straw, her emerald eyes thoughtful. "He's been weird lately. No glasses. All… mysterious." She didn't mention the way his new build filled out his shirts or how his awkwardness had been dialed down by at least fifty percent. She wasn't about to let them see how curious she actually was.

Flash shrugged.

"Whatever. His loss. At least we've got entertainment tonight."

They tossed their empty cups and made their way to the mall's atrium, where a flashing poster caught their attention.

LIVE! Queens Amateur Wrestling Championship!

CRUSHER HOGAN VS. The New Sensation—SPIDER-MAN!

Liz raised a brow, reading aloud.

"Spider-Man? That's… creative."

She hugged herself against the chill. The cold air slipping through the mall was a sharp reminder that autumn was creeping in.

"They probably made that up last minute," Harry remarked, straightening his jacket. "I don't even remember the last time Crusher Hogan fought anyone."

"Didn't know you were a wrestling fan, Osborn," Flash said, raising an eyebrow in surprise.

"I'm not. My mom was—but she kept it secret from my dad. Said it wasn't… proper."

Harry smiled faintly at the memory.

Mary Jane smirked. "Let's check it out. Maybe it'll be more fun than wandering the food court."

The group made their way to the temporary ring set up in the mall's center, surrounded by a small but eager crowd. A rough-looking wrestling announcer—decked in a flashy gold jacket and matching golden glasses—shouted into the mic.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Are you ready for the main event?!"

A roar erupted from the crowd.

"Introducing first… standing at six-foot-five, weighing in at 340 pounds of pure muscle… the reigning champion, the titan of Queens… the legendary—Crusher Hogan!"

The crowd exploded in cheers as Crusher Hogan stomped toward the ring—shoulders broad as a freight truck, muscles rippling under his sleeveless tank top, his thick jaw squared like a slab of concrete. His bald head gleamed under the spotlights as he raised both fists and bellowed to the crowd.

"And his opponent… the mysterious newcomer lighting up the amateur scene… we found him crawling under the mat last week and took him in as our own, a freak of nature scientists can't explain… the agile, the astonishing, the spectacular—Spider-Man!"

A murmur rippled through the crowd as Spider-Man entered. He was smaller than Crusher by at least half, but there was a spring in his step that spoke of confidence.

Spider-Man's "costume" was… thrown together, to put it mildly. A black winter face mask covered his head, holes cut out for his eyes, with tinted lenses giving him an insect-like look. His upper body was wrapped in a faded red hoodie, hastily spray-painted with a black spider emblem. Blue track pants and worn sneakers completed the outfit.

Mary Jane tilted her head. "That's… surprisingly not awful."

"Yeah, right," Flash snorted. "Guy looks like he's about to get flattened. Twenty bucks says Spider-Guy doesn't last five minutes."

"Don't be like that, Flash. Give him a chance," Liz Allan said, trying to stay positive.

Crusher Hogan wasted no time. The bell rang—and he lunged. He grabbed Spider-Man by the leg and slammed him to the mat—once, twice, three times—like a ragdoll.

The crowd winced collectively.

"Okay," Liz muttered. "Maybe I spoke too soon."

But Spider-Man wasn't fazed. Springing to his feet, he flipped over Hogan's head with impossible agility, landing squarely behind him.

The crowd gasped.

Before Hogan could react, Spider-Man darted forward, grabbing the massive wrestler by the waist—then, with seemingly little effort, lifted him overhead. The crowd exploded into cheers and disbelief.

"Holy crap!" Flash shouted, eyes wide. "This guy's awesome! I'm starting a Spider-Man fan club!"

Liz rolled her eyes, but even she couldn't hide her grin. "You're such a kid."

Mary Jane remained quiet, emerald eyes narrowing, her gaze fixed on Spider-Man's fluid movements. There was something oddly familiar about the way he moved—the timing, the posture. She didn't say it aloud, but… it tugged at a thread of suspicion.

In the ring, Spider-Man slammed Hogan to the mat with thunderous force. But before the pin could count, Hogan roared back to his feet and charged.

Spider-Man—like a bullfighter—sidestepped the attack with ease.

The crowd surged closer to the edge of the arena, buzzing with energy. This was something people would remember for ages.

Hogan finally tackled Spider-Man into the ropes, clearly aiming to throw him out of the ring. But Spider-Man began to counter—pushing back, foot by foot, despite the wrestler being nearly three times his size. The audience could hardly believe what they were seeing.

With one final burst of strength, Spider-Man shoved Hogan backward. Hogan's legs gave out.

Spider-Man dropped into a pin.

One… Two… Three!

The bell rang.

The announcer's voice boomed through the atrium.

"And the winner—Spider-Man!"

The crowd erupted. Flash pumped his fist.

"That guy's a beast!"

"Something tells me there's more to him," Mary Jane murmured, her eyes still locked on the ring. She'd seen something—but for now, she was the only one who knew it.

---

Backstage—meaning the mall bathroom-turned-changing room—Peter peeled off his mask, his face flushed with adrenaline, short brown hair damp with sweat. Across from him, Crusher Hogan chuckled, rubbing his back.

"You coulda gone easy on me, kid," Hogan joked, wincing as he stretched. "What's your training routine? Your dad in the military or somethin'?"

Peter grinned sheepishly.

"Uh… I did go easy on you, though. And my secret is... genetics?" he said while packing his mask and spider hoodie into his backpack. He pulled on another hoodie—one that wouldn't raise suspicion.

Hogan laughed.

"Heh. You one of those mutants politicians keep blabberin' about? Not that I care—got plenty of mutant buddies."

Peter shook his head.

"No, I'm… not. But if I explained it, you wouldn't believe me."

"Fair enough." Hogan clapped him on the shoulder. "Go grab your payout, kid. You earned it."

Peter nodded, heart still racing, and made his way to the organizer's office.

Inside, the "boss" sat hunched over a cluttered desk, counting greasy stacks of bills. He was short and round, with a stained shirt riding high over his belly.

"Well, well—if it ain't the Spider-Kid," the boss greeted, his voice slick with false charm. "Great show out there! You helped the mall get even more packed than usual, and that meant more money for us. We're even thinkin' of rebranding you—'The Amazing Spider-Man.' How's that sound?"

"Cool," Peter replied flatly, folding his arms. "I'll take my payment now."

The boss tossed a wad of cash onto the desk—only half of what they'd agreed on.

Peter frowned.

"This isn't right. We agreed on double."

The boss sneered, leaning back in his chair.

"Relax, kid. You're obviously a minor—I don't even think you know how to drive. Could get me in trouble just for lettin' you in the ring. Be grateful I'm giving you anything."

Peter's fists clenched, anger burning beneath his skin—but he turned away, biting back the urge to lash out.

As he exited, a tall blonde man brushed past him on his way in.

Moments later, a gunshot echoed from down the hall.

Peter flinched.

He could do something—prove the fat man wrong. Prove he wasn't just a kid.

But he didn't look back.

---

Outside the library near the mall, Peter pulled his hoodie tight. Dressed in his usual jeans and jacket, he didn't raise any eyebrows—just another kid headed to the library.

His Uncle Ben leaned against the rusted sedan, a patient smile beneath his worn ball cap.

Ben noticed his nephew's scowl immediately.

"Rough day?" he asked, patting Peter on the back.

Peter shrugged. "Did some… work for a rich guy. Promised me a good paycheck. Paid me half."

Ben's expression softened as they walked toward the car. "Listen, Pete… I know it's frustrating. But you have to understand something—your mind, that's a gift from the big man upstairs. A real gift. You don't need to waste it doing homework for kids who can't be bothered—or chasing the easy dollar."

He paused, growing quiet for a moment as they got into the car—Ben in the driver's seat, Peter in the passenger's.

"What I'm trying to say is…" Ben began, glancing over at him, "You've got power. A great one, kiddo. And with great power… comes great responsibility."

The words sank into Peter's chest—heavy and lingering.

He didn't know what to say. But Ben didn't seem to be waiting for a response.

He just started the car. And they drove home in silence.

---

Later that night, back in his cramped room, with the hum of Queens outside his window, Ben's words lingered in Peter's mind.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

They had struck a nerve—in a good way.

They made Peter think of ways to better use his powers. To do good, instead of just earning extra cash on the side.

So, Peter started to sketch. His pencil scraped across the pages of his sketchbook like his life depended on it.

First came the idea of a new suit. Sleek. Red and blue. Practical. Iconic.

A spider emblem stretching boldly across the chest—something instantly recognizable and friendly.

Then another idea struck, sparked by a spider balancing on its web near his window:

Web-shooters.

Compact, mechanical devices mounted at the wrist—designed to mimic a spider's silk. With them, he could travel across New York.

Fast. Free. Fearless.

He wasn't stopping.

Mary Jane's window was still dark when he glanced across—but his mind buzzed with possibility.

It was time to become something more.

Something greater.

To Be Continued…