Ultimate Tangled Web | By : superbang Category: zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] > Spiderman Views: 15581 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0 |
Disclaimer: I do not own Spiderman, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story. |
Warning:
This story is for adults only! The story has strong sexual and violent content as well as offensive language. If this is something that you feel uncomfortable with or if not old enough according to the law, the author would suggest that you read no further.
Disclaimer:
All of the characters in this story are the property of Marvel Comics. The author makes no claim of ownership on these characters. It is a parody. Written for entertainment and not profit. If you wish to make money off of Marvel, buy stock. I did.
Feedback is always welcome at superbangjason@yahoo.com
For more quality fanfic go to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/NaughtyMarvelFiction/
Ultimate Tangled Web
Chapter 8
Groggily, Felicia Hardy opened her eyes. It was dark. She could hear something drip. The musty odor of mildew and soot filled her nostrils. She was slumped over in a sitting position. Her skin was cold. She could feel the air around most of her body. The slightest twitch revealed that she was bound to a chair by the wrists, ankles and chest. It was too dark.
It felt like and eternity before she heard something besides the steady drip of… whatever that was. She heard foots steps, light and graceful. She heard a doorknob turn and scant light filtered in.
"Y-you’re awake." A familiar voice trembled, "g-good."
Felicia lifted her head, "Spider?"
Yeah, it was him. He had a homemade Spider-Man costume on, one that looked like a clumsy teenager had sown it together (which she should not find surprising). It was stitched together from what looked like different sets of sweatshirts and sweatpants. There was no mask. Felicia really wished there were.
The left side of his face was horribly disfigured. Her last conscious memory was of that horribly disfigured face. Her stomach sank. It wasn’t a dream.
"What happened to you, Spider?" Felicia’s voice was choked with concern.
"W-web shooters." He mumbled, "they didn’t know I made the web-shooters. They thought the body produced it so they messed with the genetic code. Dummies. I built it. I-I’m really smart you know." He looked at her, the crazed look in his clear eye a stark contrast to the milky one, "Where are my manners? Can I get you anything? Water, food, bedpan?"
Apparently he’d abducted her? Had whatever disfigured him caused him to snap? There were too many unknowns. One of which was "Why am I naked?"
"I wasn’t," he blurted, the right side of his face blushed with embarrassment. "I didn’t know which powers where in you and which were in your costume. So I had to remove it. Sorry." He tried to smile. The effect was horrifying. "I-its kind of your own fault for not wearing underwear."
Felicia couldn’t believe what she heard. He’d abducted her, stripped her, and tied her up for… for what?
"Spider," Felicia tried to take the tremble out of her voice, "It looks like life has been rough on you lately. Let me help."
He laughed. It was the same laugh she remembered but with that unstable little tremor in his voice. "Oh, life’s been rough. A-and you are going to help me. It’s going to be better than it was before in a little while. For everybody."
He walked behind her chair and placed his hands on her shoulders. Felicia tried not to squirm away, except one hand was soft and smooth while the other was rough and hot. He pushed forward, and to her surprise the chair rolled through the door.
"I-I’m really smart you know. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before."
Felicia tried to keep her head together. She glanced about. As he pushed her down the hall more light reflected from around corners, so she took careful notice of her surroundings. This had to be some kind of warehouse or office complex. The long hall he pushed her down had many offshoots, fine for business but terrible for living in. On her left was a glass wall. She could see her faint reflection. No bruises, he’d remover her costume, mask and wig. She was tied to a common office chair. If the need was desperate enough she could probably break free, but she would need a minute to do so.
Felicia swallowed be for she spoke. "Spider, I trust you sweetie. I know you’re not a bad person." She closed her eyes and prayed. "Do you really want to do this?"
"Don’t be scared. You don’t have to be scared. I won’t hurt you." He pushed her to a stop in front of a door. "H-here, let me show you what’s going on."
He opened the heavy metal fire door and the screams started.
* * * * *
"It’s huge…" Mary Jane gasped with her eyes shut tight. "It’s too big and it feels like its ripping me apart!"
"Okay," a calm voice said, "let’s take a little break. Relax."
Mary Jane’s face softened. She seemed to relax, to sink into the leather couch. Her breathing steadied and if one didn’t know better they would say she’d fallen asleep.
The man in the chair got a silk handkerchief out of his business suit and wiped the sweat from his brow. He put his yellow legal pad down, and gave his writing hand a rest. He cracked his knuckles to relieve the pressure in his fingers.
His name is Dr. Barton Hamilton. He is a world renown hypnotherapist. Normally his patients deal with repressed memories or trauma. But lately, his entire practice has been built around one man, Norman Osborn.
He has thirty-six patients from Midtown High School, a place attacked by Norman Osborn’s monstrous alter ego. He was paid by the state to help the children deal with the trauma. One of these students, Ms. Mary Jane Watson, was abducted by Osborn and tossed off the Queensboro Bridge. Any of this would be enough to traumatize most people her age. She should be scared, but under hypnosis she revealed a strange attraction to Osborn. And she was not the only one.
Mrs. Brooke, his own secretary, once was Norman Osborn’s personal assistant. She nearly died in crossfire between the Goblin and "Black Ops helicopters" (paranoia?). While treating her for that incident he discovered the secretive sexual urge. He had to hire her, to keep her close for observation.
Mary Jane, who’s life seemed to revolve around the Goblin and Spider-Man (another student at Midtown?) she had the exact same symptoms.
Night sweats. Dreams of monsters. Rape Fantasies. A penchant towards promiscuity and a masochistic need to be dominated. Tamed almost…
Osborn was clearly a sociopath, but his victims were from various backgrounds, different psychological types. How could he have such control over them?
Was it psychological? Perhaps the transformation alters his pheromones? How could they still desire him after he was clearly dead?
And why was the fantasy always excused via fear? Mrs. Brooke sleeps with the Goblin in her mind to keep her job. Mary Jane does it to stop him from killing her boyfriend. How could complex sexual and unconscious fantasies have such a hold over rational people.
He’d studied Osborn, from public appearances to the collapse of his business empire. It was an excellent study in self-destruction.
Somehow, he got the notion that the answers where in the real world. He would have to do some research on his own time. Perhaps it was time to investigate some of that land Osborn had quietly bought up in New Jersey?
"Alright Mary Jane, let’s get back to the session, okay?" She shook her head negative vigorously. Dr. Hamilton ignored her. He picked up his pad and pencil, "Take me back inside the dream. The monster is behind you…"
* * * * *
"Spider-Man hates New Jersey". I should spray paint that on every sign from here to the Parkway. There are no tall buildings, which means I have to work double time to pull myself toward the burned out OsCorp lab.
I probably hate New Jersey because every time I’m here, I’m chasing some maniac. Don’t take it personal Jersey. Were else would the Sopranos be filmed?
I climbed through the smashed in skylight and dropped to the floor. The place was still a mess. OsCorp dissolved and Dr. Octopus tore it up pretty bad. Not much had changed.
Except for that gas powered electrical generator. That was new.
But at least it made tracking down the bad guy pretty easy. I followed the wires in the direction of the old laboratory. This can’t be good. I crawled up on the wall and hoped to take my unknown adversary by surprise. (Give me a break. It’s a nervous tick. Some people chew nails, I climb walls.)
I found the lab. The light the came out of it was blinding. There was a sound like animals screaming, but animals didn’t use curse words.
Spider-Sense wasn’t going off. There was no danger. Three creatures cursed, hollered and scratched at the walls of their Plexiglas cages. You can’t call them creatures. Creatures didn’t have arms and legs and faces, and reach out to you and plead for help.
"What the fuck?" (Yeah, sometimes I curse too.)
"Peter." My head snapped around. Felicia Hardy sat in a chair. She was naked. "It is Peter, isn’t it?"
"What’s going on can."
She huffed, visibly huffed. I could tell by the way her chest jiggled. "Peter I know this sounds crazy but you should really take your costume off."
"What the fuck?" (Sometimes I repeat myself too.)
TBC…
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