Spiderman: Venom

Peter picked up the morning paper from the small table in front of him, shaking his head as he read:

Rise of the Vigilante

By J. Jonah Jameson

Today, New York wakes up facing a troubling dilemma, folks. And not just any ordinary issue, either.

We have a pest problem—and no, it's not giant rats in the sewers or green-headed pranksters sending pizza delivery drivers to manholes.

We're talking about superpowered criminals and their reckless opponents.

Three masked vigilantes have appeared in our city, each one a menace. Three dangerous individuals are now prowling our streets.

I feel it is my responsibility to reveal these frauds for what they are and to ensure the public understands the threat they pose—so that everyone can recognize these criminals and protect themselves.

First up, we have the fittingly named Black Cat, a sexual deviant.

Instead of sticking to a typical job or finding satisfaction in her personal life, this so-called "woman warrior" has emerged.

Her victims—men between the ages of twenty and fifty, all white—are left shaken, while she dons an outfit some might label provocative. Some of her photos are too inappropriate to print in this family-friendly newspaper.

Now, I, J. Jonah Jameson, am no misogynist. I believe every woman should have her own power, her own freedom, and the choice to make whatever life decisions she wishes.

But dressing up in a kinky, suggestive costume is not the answer. Attacking men and leaving them traumatized is not the way to promote women's rights.

Though she's dangerous, Black Cat seems mostly focused on scaring off potential criminals. It's her approach, however, that's concerning.

She may be formidable, but she's less of a threat than the other two so-called heroes.

Then we have Spider-Man. He's out there rescuing elderly ladies and stopping muggers, trying very hard to convince us that he's, as one witness described him, "The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man."

But would a true hero ensure that his criminal associates were out of custody the same day—sometimes even within hours? Absolutely not. A true hero would ensure every action was within the law. They wouldn't swing around in spandex tights. They'd join the police force and serve their city.

Instead, Spider-Man destroys crucial evidence, obstructs our dedicated officers in their duties, and still has the nerve to call himself a hero.

Now, I know what a real hero is. My son.

He risked his life in the Gulf War. He risked his life in space. He risked his life to save other astronauts when disaster struck the shuttle.

My son is a hero.

A hero doesn't parade around in tight spandex swinging through the city.

A hero doesn't cover criminals in caustic silly string, blinding them and costing our city hard-earned taxpayer dollars in medical fees.

A hero doesn't even call himself a hero.

Spider-Man is a menace, getting in the way of real work being done for our city.

Which brings us to yet another costumed menace—an even more dangerous one.

Tarantula hunts down criminals, seeking revenge. He doesn't just tie them up for the police. No, he assaults them viciously, leaving them broken and bleeding in the streets. He's even less of a hero than Spider-Man, and he's more of a criminal than those he claims to protect us from.

Tarantula is a criminal and a violent one at that.

He's dangerous and sets a horrible example for our young people.

Criminals should be locked up and treated as criminals, by the law—not by untrained civilians, and certainly not by costumed oddballs claiming to have powers.

We've all seen what just one powered individual can do. We all watched in horror as the green giant Hulk wrecked the Culver University campus. We all saw him mock the bravery of the men and women who stood up to him.

Is Hulk a member of this new group wreaking havoc—the so-called Fearsome Four? Four more superpowered individuals using their abilities for anything but good.

Now we have Sandman, the Octopus, Electro, and Rhino—all powered, all dangerous. Hardened criminals, unashamed to use their powers for their own gain.

Are we witnessing the rise of a new breed of vigilantes battling these powered thugs? Criminals robbing banks, stealing vital research, and overpowering our police?

What will the police do? The army couldn't handle Hulk, and now we have seven more here in our city. A city soon to be overrun by costumed criminals and their dark deeds.

I, for one, will take a stand against these costumed menaces and report every one of their actions to you, good people.

It is my civic duty—and my privilege—to keep the public safe and informed.

J. Jonah Jameson

(Turn to page three for an exclusive spread featuring photos of Black Cat, Spider-Man, and Tarantula.)

Peter groaned and sighed, flipping to page three to see the spread of photos.

At the top was a shot of a young woman in tight black latex. Apparently, she'd whipped and clawed a would-be rapist, leaving him scarred.

Unexpectedly, the Spider-Man photos were impressive. Action shots, pictures of him webbing and taking down a mugger—all in high definition. Peter had to admit he was impressed, until he got to the photos of Tarantula.

Those were blurry and poorly focused. Of the three, only one—where Tarantula was standing under a streetlight—was clear enough to see him properly.

Peter snorted, "Tarantula?" and checked the byline.

Photos by Eddie Brock.

Who came up with Tarantula? That's a dumb name.

But it worried Peter, too. Someone had gotten close enough to photograph his activities. Someone was tailing him. He'd have to put a stop to that.

"Hey, kid," he heard someone call, and as Peter looked up, he saw a police officer standing over him. "Yeah, Captain wants to see you."

Peter folded the paper, left it on the table, and followed the officer to Captain Stacy's office.

To Peter, George Stacy always seemed irritated about something. Today, it was the unfolded paper in front of him—and as Peter entered the office, he became part of that irritation.

"Take a seat," he directed, scratching his eyebrow.

The first time Peter had seen the hook-nosed, rough-looking cop, he hadn't believed he was Gwen's father and almost laughed. But when Gwen showed him pictures of her mother, Peter understood where Gwen got her looks.

The blonde hair and that fierce attitude—those were the traits she inherited from her dad.

"So. You and Gwen?" he asked, leaning back.

"Me and Gwen?" Peter repeated, assuming he'd been called in because of the fight.

"Don't play dumb, Peter. I know you asked Gwen to prom, and I know you spent last Sunday together. I even saw you give her a more-than-friendly kiss on the cheek. So, are you, or are you not, dating my daughter?"

Oh, great, Peter thought. Did Gwen not tell him, or was this just overprotective dad behavior?

"I, uh… yes, sir. I am," Peter replied, stumbling. "Yes, Gwen and I are dating."

Captain Stacy stood and walked around to the front of his desk, perching on its edge.

"Peter, I'm very protective of Gwen. Under normal circumstances, I'd be glad to hear this," he said, folding his arms. "But these are not normal circumstances."

He leaned back and shifted the paper aside, pulling out a report.

"I received this. Harrison Thompson filed a complaint with the department, asking for your arrest over the fight with his son. I reviewed the evidence—it's nonsense. Typical teenage drama."

He placed the report down.

"Captain Stacy, sir, I—"

But George held up a hand. "Peter, honestly, I don't care about that. What I care about is Gwen. I care about her grades, her choice of college, what it'll cost, and her internship. Her friends, while I might not agree with her choices, are still her decision."

Captain Stacy returned to his chair.

"But what does concern me is that a usually focused, quiet student was filmed fighting in an alley. I know editing software exists, but none good enough to fake the punch you threw. You hit him, and what saves you is the poor quality and the fact that there were four of them. It was clearly a setup—I know that."

Peter sat uncomfortably in his chair, enduring Captain Stacy's lecture.

"You threw that punch, and that's what worries me. I don't want Gwen pulled into some feud between you and Eugene Thompson. I won't let her lose her college placement over you. I won't allow her future to be affected by someone who might be heading down a delinquent path. Do you understand, Peter?"

Peter did understand, though he still resented George Stacy at that moment. Flash had gone too far. He and Gwen had only been on one date, yet George was already talking as if Peter could derail her whole life. It was absurd.

Captain Stacy raised an eyebrow. "Do you understand?"

Peter rose and grabbed his bag. "I understand, sir. And I understand that pulling me in here without asking Gwen first won't make her happy. And I understand that siding with Flash shows just how much his dad's money can do."

George hadn't expected Peter to defend himself so strongly, let alone throw out an accusation. Any suggestion of corruption in the department would be taken seriously and could jeopardize his job. But he held his tongue.

Shouting at a kid in his office would send the wrong message, but he still planned to keep a close eye on Peter.

He knew that rebellion against authority figures was often the start of delinquency. With Peter's attitude right now, it was no surprise he'd been suspended.

"Then if you understand, you know what you need to do. Gwen can choose her friends, but her boyfriend is another matter. I'll be talking to her about this." He gestured to the door. "Now get out."

Peter glared at Captain Stacy for a moment, slung his bag over his shoulder, and stormed out of the room. Outside, the officers suddenly looked busy, clearly having tried to listen in.

He stomped down the stairs, clenching his fists.

Damn it, he thought. Now Flash was managing to mess with his personal life.

At least he had one small advantage. Unzipping the front pocket of his bag, he turned off the tape recorder. He'd gotten some good legal advice recently.

It did give him a small reason to smile.

'Hey, Gwen.'

'Uh, hey Pete. Not at work?'

'Not today. Want to guess where I am?'

'No clue. At the warehouse, maybe? Busy making sure my future home is perfect?' She added a winky face.

'Nope, at the police station,' he added an innocent whistling emoji.

'What? What did Flash do now?'

'Oh, not Flash. Someone a bit higher up, with a nice badge and a big, shiny desk.'

There was a long pause.

'Pete, I'm sorry.'

'It was traumatic, so… how are you going to make it up to me?'

'I'll talk to him and make sure he doesn't do it again. I'm really sorry.'

Peter rolled his eyes. Either he was terrible at hinting, or she was just slow on the uptake.

'No, Gwen. How are you going to make it up to me?'

Apparently, she finally understood, as the next message was a photo.

It started at her belly button, showing the top of her black underwear before moving up. Boldly, it revealed the gentle curve of the bottom of her breasts. No bra, nothing in the way—just a hint of pale skin.

It was only the tiniest tease—not quite revealing anything, but suggestive enough.

'Next time, you get to see the rest.'

Peter nearly dropped his phone, quickly typing his response.

'I'm free Saturday night.'