I was standing Marceline's house's remains. So this was her house. Maybe that's why she was so mad at me. But I don't see a connection between me and the ashes of her house. I certainly hadn't done a thing to it. So why was she so pissed at me?
Maybe she thought I did something to her house... I legit had no idea.
Taking one last glance around, I sprinted out of the yard and into the rest of a really rich part of the city. Unfortunately, I was completely lost. I mean, how was I supposed to know where I was if I rarely visited this part of town? I scouted around for a rather not-too-densely-populated area, which was harder in this section of New York City.
After a few minutes of intense searching, I finally found a deserted and shady alley. I jogged in. Before I made my move, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked the date and time. Honestly, I should have done this as soon as I could, but I guess I forgot.
I turned my phone on and unlocked it, with "superspyder777" as my newest password. I nearly dropped my phone as the time and date came up.
It was Monday, June 17th! I had been out for almost a full week! What state I would find Uncle Ben and Aunt Mae in, I'd be scared to know. Nervously, I wondered what Marceline had done during that time. Those two thoughts made me all the more determined to find Marceline. I needed to sort things out, and fast.
I put my phone back in my pocket and scaled the wall as quickly as possible, but I still couldn't help feeling just a tiny bit thrilled at what I was now able to do.
I mean, a month ago, I would've scoffed if someone had told me that I'd be the new web-slinger. I'd have told them to go get a life.
But now... Things were different. Way different.
Silently, I pulled myself over the roof edge and onto the top of a building, where I could get a decent look. I walked around the roof, keeping an eye open for any familiar sites. Then, I heard a crunch under my sneakers.
I looked down. A corner of what appeared to be a bright pink piece of paper was sticking out from under my sneaker. Curious, I bent down and picked it up, scanning over the paper.
Stumbling back, I dropped the wretched note, but quickly righted myself. I cautiously stepped forward and snatched it before the wind carried it away. I read the note again, slowly:
Dear Pepper,
So glad you could get up to this roof. I'm honestly surprised that you could. Anyways, I knew you'd escape eventually, so I created a little insurance for myself. It's always good to have a back-up plan, you see. Well, you may not see, but that's not the point. So, my Plan B is quite simple, really.
I killed your Uncle Ben.
Yes, I know it hurts now, but you can get over it with those super-enhanced senses of yours. You can do it! Once you have done so, please do me a favor by not making me demolish the city (yet!) looking for you and come to me. Where am I? If you wondered where I am, well, I'll come meet you. Win-win, you know? So, here is the address and the time: Apartment Number 2072, Eastwood Building, Queens, New York City between five and five-fifteen at night any day this week.
~"Marcy"
Trembling, I dropped to my knees and let out an almost unearthly scream. Tears started streaming down my face, and I let them. I screamed and yelled and cried until I was too tired to do so anymore. I buried my head in my hands as I forced myself to accept the cold, bleeping ugly truth: Uncle Ben was dead.
I knew this to be a fact because Marceline, no matter how upset she was, would never, ever tell a lie. I knew her since I moved to NYC, in first grade. I had hazy memories of a hand reaching out and grabbing mine on the first day in a new school, sitting in a battered old desk.
I shivered. She was gone, lost in her madness, but her personality remained. I curled up in a fetal position, right there on the roof of some building, still clutching her note.
I closed my eyes. Blackness.
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<·<Pepper_B_Parker*Alias:_Spyder*Position:_S.H.I.E.L.D._agent>·>This was a hard chapter to write. I'm sure you all know why.
Sorry. Continue reading. Ignore me.
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Spyder and The Avengers
FanfictionYour average geeky highschooler, to be frank, doesn't give a schist about Spider-Man. Or the Avengers. Or S.H.I.E.L.D. One in particular gives less schists than most, but that doesn't stop her from developing a friendship with the Webhead and Co. th...