Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse: The Junior Novel

by Steve Behling

  The urge to do something, to help Spider-Man—to stand and fight—came over Miles. But along with it came the fear. The fear of putting himself in mortal danger. Of what his mom—and his dad—would think. Fear.

  “Spider-Man, you came all this way,” Fisk said. “Watch the test. It’s a hell of a freakin’ light show. You’re gonna love this.”

  “No! No!” Spider-Man yelled, his voice sounding desperate. “Don’t do this! Stop! You don’t know what it can do! You’ll kill us all!”

  From his perch, Miles watched helplessly as the machinery below came to life, roaring like some kind of raging behemoth. He swore that he heard Spider-Man shout “No!” again, but he couldn’t be sure—Miles could barely hear anything over the sound of the machine.

  Everything was vibrating, and Miles felt like he was going to be thrown off the platform. He grabbed on, trying to stay flat, praying that the weird force that caused him to stick to Wanda earlier that day was in effect now.

  Now there was some kind of crazy psychedelic light show going on below. Miles squinted, trying to see what was happening. He could make out only brief flashes, snapshots—

  —Spider-Man struggling with the Goblin.

  —Spider-Man leaping away.

  —The Goblin catching Spider-Man.

  —The light growing brighter. A beam, circling, spiraling, brilliant colors.

  —The Goblin pulling Spider-Man into the beam.

  Then a burst of color and light that nearly blinded Miles.

  CHAPTER 9

  Am I dead?

  Miles blinked a few times. The colors started to go away, and he saw the smoke-filled chamber all around him.

  No, I’m not dead. But everything hurts.

  He found himself atop a pile of rubble, and realized that in the aftermath of the explosion or pulse or whatever it was, he must have been knocked off the platform and fallen to the ground below. He wasn’t sure how he had survived, but he thought his newfound abilities must have had something to do with it.

  Standing up, Miles saw the Green Goblin. Rather, what was left of him. The monster had been squashed beneath the remains of some heavy machinery. It wasn’t pretty.

  And then he saw Spider-Man.

  “Hey!” Miles said, racing over to the wall-crawler. “Are you okay?!”

  Miles could hear Spider-Man wheezing, and saw his body was trapped by more machinery.

  “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Spider-Man said, struggling to speak. “Just resting.”

  Miles heard a commotion from above. He looked up and saw shadows moving.

  “Find him,” came a voice. Fisk. “Now, he’s here. Somewhere.”

  And then Miles saw them. Fisk’s men.

  “Listen, we gotta team up here—we don’t have that much time,” Spider-Man started, brandishing a small thumb drive. “This override key is the only way to stop the collider. Up top, just swing-flip, crawl to the panel, pop it in. Red button, ’kay?”

  “I can’t do anything,” Miles protested. “I’m only thirteen!”

  “Thirteen?” Spider-Man said, considering it. “Aw, man. That’s young.”

  “Can you get up?” Miles asked.

  “Yeah, yeah, I always get up.” Spider-Man tried to laugh, but a deep, wet cough came out instead. “The coughing’s probably not a good sign,” he managed. “Listen,” he added quickly. “You need a mask. You need to hide your face. You don’t tell anyone who you are. No one can know. He’s got everyone in his pocket.”

  “What?” Miles said.

  This is all happening too fast.…

  “If he turns the machine on again, everything you know will disappear! Your family—everyone! Everyone. Promise me you’ll do this.”

  Miles swallowed hard. “I promise.”

  “Go!” Spider-Man shouted, his voice sounding weaker than before. “Destroy the collider. I’ll come find you.… It’s going to be okay.”

  Miles heard them coming closer, Fisk’s men. He took the thumb drive from Spider-Man, and then he scrambled over a pile of debris.

  From his vantage point, Miles saw the men arrive, Fisk right behind them. Fisk towered over Spider-Man, gloating.

  “We’re done with the tests. I want what I’ve been promised. Two days,” Fisk said, talking to someone Miles couldn’t see. Then Fisk turned to Spider-Man. “I’d say it’s nice to see you again, Spider-Man. But it isn’t.”

  “Hey, Kingpin,” Spider-Man said, struggling to breathe. “How’s business?”

  “Booming.”

  “Nice,” Spider-Man answered.

  Then the massive man reached down with a meaty hand, grabbed Spider-Man’s mask, and yanked it off.

  Miles squinted. It was a guy with blond hair. Older than Miles, for sure. Maybe in his twenties.

  “You look different than I expected,” Fisk joked.

  “You mean more handsome?” Spider-Man replied, wheezing.

  “Prowler,” Fisk replied. “Do the honors.”

  Miles saw the purple-clad figure of the Prowler emerge from darkness below, raising his claws and moving toward Spider-Man.

  “Don’t you want to know what I saw in there?” Spider-Man said, his voice frantic.

  “Wait!” Fisk ordered, raising his hand. The Prowler stopped in his tracks.

  “This might open a black hole under Brooklyn,” Spider-Man said. “You own Brooklyn—why would you do that?”

  “It’s not always about the money, Spider-Man,” Fisk said with a frown.

  “I know what you’re trying to do,” Spider-Man said. “It won’t work. They’re gone.”

  Fisk glared at Spider-Man and reached out with his hands. Miles could only watch as the giant man ended the life of the city’s webbed protector.

  Then Miles screamed.

  Fisk’s eyes shot upward, and Miles knew that he had been noticed.

  “Kill that kid” was all Miles heard as he saw the Prowler leap his way.

  CHAPTER 10

  Miles felt as if his whole body was on autopilot. He was running, legs pumping, through the dark tunnel that had led him to Spider-Man in the first place.

  He came to the fence, hopped it in one leap, didn’t even have to think about it.

  Heavy footsteps followed right behind, catching up, closer, closer.

  The Prowler.

  Miles hit the ground and started to run.

  The Prowler was nearly on top of him.

  Miles could practically feel the Prowler’s claws on his back.

  The weird feeling at the base of his skull returned, and Miles turned to see that a subway train was barreling down the tunnel, heading right for him. He jumped into the air, hands and feet hitting the ceiling, and the train thundered beneath him.

  He clung tightly to the top of the tunnel as stale air rushed all around him.

  The train passed, and Miles saw the Prowler waiting for him. Now he was walking—as if like he knew that his prey wasn’t going anywhere. Miles yanked his hands to disengage from the ceiling.

  They were stuck.

  Not again! No, no, no, not now!

  The Prowler only feet away.

  Miles yanking his hands.

  Nothing.

  Miles pulling harder than he had before.

  A ripping sound.

  The skin on his hands tearing.

  Miles hitting the ground.

  The boy ran. He heard the sound of another train coming and sprinted for the platform, maybe twenty feet away. The train was rolling into the station. Miles had one chance at this. He ran, the Prowler right behind him. Then Miles jumped.

  He hit the platform, and the train pulled in. The Prowler was on the other side of the train. Miles had bought himself a few seconds.

  He leaped up the stairs to the street above.

  Miles had made it.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Why aren’t you at school?”

  Miles had tried to be so quiet as he climbed up the wall and jumped into his bedroom through the window. But h
e should have known that his dad would hear. The moment Miles saw his dad, he ran up to him and hugged him tight.

  Jefferson didn’t seem to know how to react at first. Then he embraced his son, hugging him close. “Whoa, whoa,” he said, trying to soothe Miles. “It’s okay.”

  “Miles? ¿Qué te pasa?” his mom said, entering Miles’s bedroom. She was surprised to see her son at home, too. “Is it the earthquake?”

  Earthquake? Miles thought. Whatever happened in that subway tunnel tonight must have been felt all over New York City!

  “Can I sleep here tonight?” Miles pleaded.

  “Miles, it’s a weeknight,” Jefferson began. “You made a commitment to that school—”

  “Jeff, he’s upset.”

  A moment of silence as Miles’s dad looked at his mom.

  “Of course you can stay,” Jefferson said, leaving the room.

  “Dad?”

  “Yeah?” Jefferson said, looking at his son.

  “Do you really hate Spider-Man?” Miles asked. He had to know.

  Jefferson looked at Miles, confused. “Yeah? I mean, with a vigilante there’s no due—”

  Then Rio shoved Jefferson out of the room. “Jeff, mi amor,” she said.

  “What?” Jefferson said defensively. “He asked me. Baby, you know how I feel about Spider-Man, c’mon.…”

  As Jefferson walked down the hall, Miles settled back on his bed. Rio stroked his forehead. “Tu sabes que el te quiere mucho.… You know that, right?” she said tenderly. “He just wants you to have more options than he did.”

  Then Rio kissed Miles on the forehead, turned out the lights, and closed the door.

  Miles felt like he was in a daze. Everything that happened the night before seemed like some twisted, horrible dream. Only it wasn’t a dream. He had the USB drive in his pocket to remind him of that.

  He stood quietly in his home. Miles saw his dad sitting on the couch, watching TV. The reports were now coming in about last night’s events.

  The events that Miles had witnessed firsthand.

  “This is breaking news,” came the voice of a reporter on the TV. “We are hearing reports that a man wearing the mask of Spider-Man was found dead in front of the Daily Bugle from an apparent neck injury. We can now confirm that the man’s name is Peter Parker, a twenty-seven-year-old grad student.

  “He was many things,” the reporter continued. “Hero, guardian… But today, New York’s scrappy champion is gone. While it may seem impossible, multiple sources confirm Peter Parker was indeed Spider-Man, leaving a permanent void in our beleaguered city.”

  Miles’s eyes were glued to the TV as the scene cut away to interviews with various city goers. “I saw him by the bus once,” one person said. “He was always saving everybody. He was still a regular guy. A good guy. Spider-Man is dead.”

  The reporter flashed back on-screen. “A longtime resident of Queens, Parker is survived by his wife, Mary Jane, and his aunt, May Parker.”

  “I’m going to miss him.”

  Miles turned around to see the shopkeeper right behind him. He was standing in a costume shop, not quite sure what he was doing there. In front of him were several Spider-Man costumes of varying sizes.

  “Yeah,” Miles replied.

  “We were friends, you know,” the shopkeeper said wistfully.

  “Can I return it if it doesn’t fit?” Miles asked, gesturing to the costume in his hands.

  “It always fits,” the store owner replied. “Eventually.”

  CHAPTER 12

  I wonder when eventually will get here. This thing doesn’t fit right at all!

  Miles had put on the baggy costume, which bunched in all the wrong places. He wondered what he was doing. He had his own amazing set of spider-powers, and now he was dressed in the suit of the dead hero.

  He was standing in a cathedral in New York City, among a sea of people also dressed like Spider-Man. Some of them were wearing full costumes, like him. Others wore homemade costumes or T-shirts and caps. All emblazoned with the familiar red-and-blue colors, the webbing, the distinctive spider eyes.

  It was Peter Parker’s funeral.

  Miles watched as a tall woman with red hair stood at the front of the cathedral, speaking into a microphone.

  “My husband, Peter Parker, was an ordinary person. He always said it could have been anyone behind the mask, he was just the kid who happened to get bit. He didn’t really know what to do or how to do it. He wasn’t sure he even deserved to do it. He didn’t ask for his powers, but he chose to be Spider-Man.”

  The woman dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “The things that Peter was fighting for didn’t die with him. And the things he was fighting against didn’t, either. If you take one thing from his example, I hope it’s this: You are powerful, and we are counting on you.”

  The woman turned away from the dais as an older, gray-haired woman comforted her. Then Miles felt that buzzing sensation at the base of his neck once again, the hairs on his arm standing on end. He whipped his head around. He glanced outside and thought he saw something on a rooftop, something fast and fleeting.

  Was that the Prowler?

  Miles left the funeral, pushing his way through the thick crowd. He no longer felt the buzzing sensation, but it unnerved him nonetheless. He wasn’t sure what to make of it, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that the Prowler had been there.

  Did he follow me? Miles wondered. Does he… does he know who I am?

  He rounded a corner and removed something from his jacket. It was the Spider-Man comic book he had looked at in his dorm room, the one with the wall-crawler’s origin story. Miles didn’t know why he had taken the comic with him.

  Opening it up, Miles flipped through its pages and saw panels where Spider-Man tested his newfound powers by jumping from a building.

  Swallowing hard, Miles rolled up the comic, stuck it back in his jacket, and ran.

  It’s time to test out these new powers of mine.

  Miles wasn’t sure what building he ran into. He just knew that he had gone inside, opened the stairway door, and run up.

  Up, up, up.

  All the way up to the top floor. He didn’t even feel winded. His breathing was totally normal.

  Opening the door, he exited onto the rooftop. Walking to the edge, determined, Miles looked down. He was high up. High enough that he could look down and see rooftops of other buildings.

  His eyes caught one rooftop, and Miles thought, I can make that.

  Cracking his neck, Miles waited there for a moment. He took a breath, then another. Then another. Then he ran toward the edge.

  And tripped on his untied shoelace.

  And dropped the thumb drive—the override key—that Spider-Man had entrusted him with.

  Miles landed on the key and heard a loud CRACK.

  When Miles looked down, he saw that the key lay in pieces.

  CHAPTER 13

  It was cold outside.

  Cold and snowing.

  And Miles stood there, watching the snow fall, standing in the grounds outside the cathedral, standing at the grave of a man he barely knew.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Parker,” Miles said. He held the Spider-Man mask in one hand, still wearing the costume from earlier that day. The funeral was long over, and the cathedral had emptied. Miles had hung around, waiting for everyone to leave.

  “That thing you gave me, that key…” Miles held the USB drive in his hand. “I think I really messed it up. I want to do what you asked. I really do, but… I’m sorry, I can’t do this without you.”

  “Hey! Kid!”

  Miles quickly pulled the mask over his head and whirled around. He saw someone standing in the dark, moving his way. Not knowing what to do, Miles threw up his arms. There was a flash of electricity or who-knows-what from Miles’s hands, and it struck the figure in front of him.

  What the—?!

  Then suddenly, something stringy and sticky flew from the figure in front of him, coverin
g Miles’s hands.

  “No!” Miles yelled. “No way. Who are you?”

  Moving forward, Miles approached the person who had been lurking but was now slumped in the shadows. He felt a flash of something at the base of his skull. Then he moved closer. Closer. Miles looked at their face. The hair was brown, but there was no mistaking the face.

  It was Peter Parker.

  CHAPTER 14

  Miles stared at the man who looked like Peter Parker. Miles had somehow managed to bring him back to his uncle Aaron’s apartment. With his uncle out of the city for a few days, it would be a perfect place to lay low and figure out exactly what was going on.

  Finally, the man started to come to.

  “You’re like me,” the man said.

  “We’ll see about that,” Miles said, trying to sound tough.

  The man glanced at his restraints and smirked. “Well, this is cute.” He took a breath and flexed, as if to break free.

  Miles gasped, took a step back, and was surprised that the ropes actually held. He had spent the last fifteen minutes tying the man to a chair, using anything he could find. Ropes, computer cables, extension cords, string—literally, whatever he could find that could be used to bind someone.

  “Okay,” the man said. “Now it’s less cute.”

  “Why do you look like Peter Parker?” Miles asked.

  “Because I am Peter Parker.”

  “Then why aren’t you dead?” Miles said, trying to wrap his head around the situation. “Why is your hair different? Why are you older? Why—”

  “You don’t look so hot, either, kid,” Peter said. “Most Super Heroes don’t wear their own merch.” He nodded at Miles’s store-bought costume.

  “Are you a ghost?” Miles asked, dead serious.

  Please don’t be a ghost.

  “No,” Peter replied.

  “Are you a zombie?”

  Please don’t be a zombie.

  “Stop it.”

  “Am I a zombie?”