A Rider Kick in Marvel

Peter took some pictures of himself as Spider-Man using Uncle Ben’s old camera. With a folder of photo samples in hand, he walked into the bustling lobby of the Daily Bugle, taking in the organized chaos around him. The building buzzed with activity: reporters and staff scurrying about, phones ringing off the hook, and the clatter of keyboards creating a steady background noise.

The walls were adorned with framed front pages of the newspaper, each headline more sensational than the last. The air smelled of ink and coffee, a potent mix that spoke of long hours and relentless deadlines.

As he made his way to the reception desk, Peter couldn't help but notice the myriad of conversations happening around him. Reporters exchanged leads on potential stories, photographers rushed to develop their latest shots, and editors barked orders to keep everything running smoothly.

A large digital clock on the wall counted down the minutes to the next deadline, a constant reminder of the urgency that permeated the place. Peter felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness as he approached the receptionist, a woman who seemed to be juggling a dozen tasks at once.

“Hi, I’m Peter Parker,” he introduced himself, trying to sound confident. “I’m here about the freelance photographer job.”

The receptionist gave him a quick once-over before nodding and handing him a visitor’s badge. “Head up to the newsroom on the third floor. Mr. Jameson will see you.”

With a deep breath, Peter made his way to the elevators, feeling a sense of determination. This was his chance to help Aunt May and maybe, just maybe, find a way to balance his responsibilities as Spider-Man with the need to support his family.

Peter stepped off the elevator onto the third floor of the Daily Bugle, immediately struck by the frenetic energy of the newsroom. Desks were crammed with reporters typing furiously on their keyboards, phones rang incessantly, and the air was thick with the smell of ink and coffee. The walls were plastered with news clippings and photos, each telling a story of the city's latest headlines.

As he navigated through the sea of bustling journalists, Peter's attention was drawn to a familiar and booming voice echoing across the room. J. Jonah Jameson, the formidable editor-in-chief, stood at the center of the chaos, his face red with intensity as he barked orders at his staff.

"I want that story on my desk in ten minutes! And where are those pictures from the rally? Get me something I can use, people! We're running a newspaper here, not a social club!"

Jameson was in the middle of an animated conversation with Betty Brant, his sharp-witted secretary, and Robbie Robertson, the calm and collected city editor. Peter hovered near the edge of the group, trying to catch Jameson’s eye.

J. Jonah Jameson slammed his hand on the desk. "Where are all the photos of those Spiders and Kamen Rider? This paper isn't going to sell itself! I need action shots, and I need them now!"

“Mr. Jameson, we haven't had any new photographers apply recently. Maybe we should run another ad?" said Betty nervously.

"Run another ad? We need results, not more wasted ink! Those masked menaces are out there making headlines, and we've got nothing to show for it!"

"Jonah, we're doing our best. The right photographer will come along. Just give it some time," said Robbie Robertson, trying to stay calm.

"Time is money, Robbie! And this paper is hemorrhaging both without those pictures! If we don't get some decent shots soon, heads are gonna roll!"

Peter entered nervously with a folder of photo samples. "Mr. Jameson, hi, um, I heard you were looking for Spider-Man photos."

“Who let a kid in here?”

“I’m Peter Parker, sir. I saw in the ad you were looking for a photographer. I took these earlier today.” Peter handed over the photos he had taken.

Jameson snatched the folder and quickly flipped through the photos. "Hmph. Not bad, kid. You've got an eye for this. How much do you want?"

Peter hesitated, then reluctantly said, "Well, I was hoping—"

But Jameson cut him off. "Standard freelance rate. You'll get $50 a photo if they're good enough to print. Take it or leave it."

Peter grumbled, "That's... fine."

J. Jonah Jameson smirked. "Good. Now, listen up. Tomorrow's headline is 'Spider-Man: Threat or Menace?' I want you to get out there and bring me photos that make him look like public enemy number one. Got it?"

"But Mr. Jameson, Spider-Man saves people. He's not—"

Jameson raised his voice. "Parker, I don't pay you to argue. I pay you to get me pictures! Now get out there and bring me what I need!"

Peter sighed, defeated. "Yes, sir."

As he left the office, Peter took a deep breath. "Well, it's not ideal, but at least I've got a job now. Fifty bucks a photo isn't much, but it'll help with the bills. Aunt May won't have to worry so much."

In the heart of the bustling city, cloaked in the veil of night, a band of masked robbers swiftly executed their heist inside the dimly lit bank. Their leader's voice cut through the tense air, urging efficiency and haste.

"Move it! We're on a tight schedule here. Bags into the truck, now!"

"We're almost set, boss. Just a few more bags," replied a masked figure, sweat glistening under the dim lights.

Outside, a discreetly positioned camera captured the unfolding drama, nestled atop a lamppost by webs. Suddenly, a red and blue figure swung into view, disrupting the criminals' meticulous plans.

"Sorry to drop in unannounced, fellas, but it seems your 'business venture' just caught a web-shaped snag!" Spider-Man quipped, his voice laced with amusement.

A moment later, a second figure in a sleek white and black suit landed gracefully beside him. "Hope you don't mind, but we're here to ensure your early retirement plan fails spectacularly."

"It's those blasted spiders! Take 'em down!" the leader bellowed, frustration evident in his voice.

Weapons drawn, the robbers opened fire, but Spider-Man and Spider-Gwen were a blur of agility and precision, dodging bullets effortlessly.

"Come on, guys! Your aim's worse than my grandma’s cooking! And trust me, that's saying something!" Spider-Man taunted, his movements a dance of evasion.

"Yeah, time to find a new hobby. This one clearly isn't panning out!" Spider-Gwen quipped, her swift kicks disarming another robber mid-swing.

Within moments, the would-be thieves found themselves webbed up and immobilized, their guns useless and their plans thwarted.

"Well, that wraps things up nicely. Great job, Spider-Woman," Spider-Man remarked, brushing off his hands as he surveyed their handiwork.

“Always a pleasure, Spidey,” Gwen replied with a grin.

Sirens wailed in the distance, signaling the arrival of law enforcement. "Time to make ourselves scarce," Spider-Man suggested, swiftly retrieving the camera from its perch.

Back in his civilian clothes, Peter Parker scrolled through the photos on the camera's display, nodding with satisfaction. "These turned out better than I expected. J.J. might even crack a smile when he sees these. Thanks for the assist, Gwen."

"No problem, Peter. It's always a blast fighting crime with you. And hey," Gwen paused, her tone softening, "if you ever need help with anything else—whether it's bills or anything else—just give me a shout. You don't have to do it all alone."

Peter smiled gratefully. "I appreciate that, Gwen. Thanks for always having my back."

With a final nod, the two friends parted ways, knowing that no matter the challenges ahead, they could count on each other to lighten the load.

…

Deep within the heart of the bustling city, obscured from prying eyes by layers of concrete and steel, a clandestine facility hummed with activity. Hammerhead, Flint Marko, and Aleksei Sytsevich stepped out of a sleek black SUV, their demeanor a mix of anticipation and wariness as they strode through the dimly lit corridor.

"Keep your cool, boys. This guy's the real deal," Hammerhead urged, his voice edged with authority.

Flint Marko glanced around skeptically. "You sure about this, Hammerhead? Seems too good to be true."

"Trust me, Flint. Otto's a genius. He'll give us the edge we've been lacking," Hammerhead reassured, his confidence unwavering.

Aleksei, his Russian accent thick with skepticism, added, "I hope so. Sick of being beaten by those spider freaks."

Approaching a formidable steel door, it slid open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing a high-tech marvel within. At its heart stood Dr. Octavius, a towering figure adjusting mechanical arms with a confident smile.

"Ah, gentlemen, welcome. I've been expecting you," Dr. Octavius greeted warmly, his gaze sharp and calculating.

"Dr. Octavius, pleasure to meet you. These are my associates, Flint and Aleksei," Hammerhead introduced, gesturing towards his companions.

Flint Marko nodded cautiously. "Nice setup you got here, Doc."

"Yeah, impressive," Aleksei added, his eyes scanning the advanced equipment with curiosity.

Dr. Octavius smiled graciously. "Thank you. Please, call me Otto. I believe our collaboration can be mutually beneficial. You seek power, and I have the means to provide it."

Flint cut to the chase. "What's the catch, Otto? What do you get out of this?"

"No catch, Flint," Otto replied earnestly. "I am driven by scientific curiosity and a desire to push the boundaries of human potential. My research requires funding and real-world testing. In return, I offer enhancements that will elevate your abilities to unprecedented levels."

Hammerhead grinned, sensing the opportunity. "You hear that, boys. Otto's enhancements are gonna make us unstoppable."

Otto nodded confidently. "Indeed. Follow me, and I'll demonstrate the enhancements I've been developing. With these, you will not only achieve your goals but also contribute to scientific progress. It's a win-win scenario."

With their hopes soaring, the trio followed Dr. Octavius deeper into the facility. Unbeknownst to them, two figures were observed from a hidden vantage point.

"Are those the individuals you found?" Norman Osborn inquired, his voice tinged with calculation.

"Yes, just a couple of expendables perfect for your experiments," Janice Lincoln affirmed, her eyes fixed on the unfolding scene.

"They seem… reckless. Not exactly the loyal types," Norman observed with a hint of skepticism. "Are you certain they can be trusted?"

"I have plans for them, Norman. You leave them to me. You just worry about completing what we agreed on." Janice replied confidently.

"Very well," Norman conceded, his gaze piercing. "They will be ready in a couple of days.."

Janice nodded firmly. "Good."