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Spider-Man 2114	By : Ksennin Category: Marvel Verse Comics > Spiderman Views: 11743 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I own neither the characters of the Spider-Man franchise or the Spicy City series. I make no money from publishing this work.

Chapter List
- 1-Spider-Man 2114
- 2-Chapter 2
- 3-Chapter 3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 8
- 9
“What’s that smell?” Virus demanded.
“What do you think it is?” Peter replied.
“What I’m hoping it isn’t.”
“Pipes break, where do you think it goes? This is the bottom of the city.”
“Yeah, but doesn’t the city have to fix it?”
“Yeah. Before people notice a pile. We’re here.”
There were rare spots where the old city was left standing without being cleared for the foundations or their latticework support systems. Callahan’s was a historical landmark, the childhood home of an author who had written about depressed middle-aged people in the 1960s, so the internet had refused to let it be torn down. Still, the city had let it be rented to one of the few people who lived down here with enough money to live elsewhere. On the condition that it be covered floor to ceiling in plastic sheeting to preserve the original ambiance.
The red-tinged, black-tinged plastic gave the place a Halloween flavor, a haunted house lighting scheme not at all offset by the bright yellow tourist cards that gave information on the classical fireplace, original writing desk, and dining room set. They floated, ignored, in-between bunk-bed gurneys of the comatose. Swaddled in thick rubber sheets, oxygen mask strapped to their mouths, IV system built into their bedframes. An elaborate contraption held their heads in place, dripped water into their eyes.
“Clones,” Peter explained. “Genetically modified for rapid growth—all except the brains. Those are still in a fetal stage, good for basic bodily functions and not much else. Legally, these are about as human as toenail clippings. Hence the eyedrops. They don’t have enough consciousness to blink.”
“Melissa,” Virus said, eying one. It was her, or at least, her face. Catheter running out from her, IV running in, there was something missing that had been there in even the most prosaic photos Virus had seen of the real girl. Like the difference between a drawing done in black and white and a paint-by-numbers picture.
“Can I help you?” Callahan was the polar opposite of the Butcher. There was no indication that he wasn’t simply a handsome 31-year-old man at his physical peak. The fact that he was this way, year after year, operation after operation, was his advertisement of choice. “I see you’ve noticed our newest stock. Care to buy one wholesale? Like living dolls, they are. For a modest fee, we can upgrade them enough to sit upright. I’m told our clients find them very relaxing.”
His eyes were green today.
“Just scoping out the competition,” Peter said. He gave a jerk of his head toward Virus: “I’m her manager. We want to know how much we can get for her sequence.”
Callahan looked her over. Virus preened. “Ethnically hard to pin down. That’ll hurt her in some markets, but the light skin is very attractive. Nicely exotic. You know what the process will entail, madame?”
“I told her,” Peter said. “She’ll be on hand for you to take fresh samples, tissue, blood, and bone marrow. As long as she stays, she gets paid. What we’re really concerned about are the accommodations.”
The upstairs hadn’t been renovated—more plastic, more bodies—but above the attic they’d put in a ladder, a hatch, leading up to a third story that perched over the rest of the house like a spider about to bite down on the fly. It was supported on metal stalks that had surrounded the house like prison bars. Inside, the space was vast and expansive, an apartment block.
“We have all the latest comforts,” Callahan said. “Television, wi-fi, individual bathrooms, private bedding—my talent is far happier here than they’d be working as a wage slave for some mega.”
“I’m sure,” Peter said, then stopped as a door opened ahead of them, letting out a gale of steam and the Melissa girl, stepping out in a bathrobe and slippers, looking at them with interest in her eyes. “Oh, hi,” Peter said, then “Virus?”
She took hold of Callahan’s head and slammed it into the wall. He dropped. “Nicely exotic!”
“I know,” Peter said. “I was objecting to that too. But, like, mentally, so I didn’t give it away. But just so you know, I didn’t think that was cool.”
Virus ignored him. “Melissa? We’re here to rescue you.”
Melissa was wide-eyed at Callahan’s unconsciousness. “Rescue me? From what?”
***
Her room was well-sized, cozy, just starting to be colonized by posters and knick-knacks. Once they’d explained who they were and how they weren’t going to hurt her, she put on a record to steady herself. Opened a can of Coke.
“Mr. Flaxen, he never felt comfortable, I don’t think. It’s hard for me to understand, because I do feel comfortable. That’s the point of me. I’m… relaxing.”
Virus never scheduled any time in her day for bullshit. “We got it. You’re his sex slave and you ran.”
“No, no, that’s not it at all.” Melissa sipped her drink. She sat down, then thought better of it, standing again and sitting back down on the bed, lying against the headboard like she was on a therapist’s couch. “He liked… dressing me and putting my make-up on and doing my hair. Changing me this way and that, making me look that way and this way… then he sent me off on these… errands, I guess. Scenarios… dates… I don’t know. I’d go to school for a week, or to summer camp. Once, he hired some girls to have a sleepover with me. And then he made me tell him about it. Everything, every detail, over and over again. Once he had me do it for him in bed—while he was in bed, I mean—you know, like a bedtime story?”
“I don’t understand,” Virus said, though Peter was rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“I didn’t either, at first. When I realized it, I had to leave… you see, Mr. Flaxen wasn’t born a man. Not entirely a man. His sex organs—well, they were a little in between, and his parents chose for him to be a man. And he wasn’t ever entirely… right with that. And that’s why he made me.”
“You’re his clone,” Peter said. “Can’t you see it, Virus? The neck, the chin? He had his sequence optimized, no doubt, went over it with a fine-toothed comb, but millions of dollars later, it’s still him.”
“Her.”
“Her,” Peter corrected himself. “And he had you… live the life he thought he could’ve led.”
“I can sympathize with him having an unhappy childhood,” Melissa said. “But that doesn’t mean I want to be his happy one. He was never going to let me go. Not until he died, and I don’t want to wait that long.”
“But when you do… I assume you’re in the will?” Virus asked.
Melissa laughed humorlessly. “He wants me to take over the company when he’s gone. Lead his perfect life for him. All the power and all the beauty too. And then what? I clone myself again so I can vicariously enjoy having a life? No. No way. I’m not going back.”
Virus glanced over at Peter. “I don’t know about you, but I was hired to solve a kidnapping, not commit one.”
Peter held his hands up. “I’m liable to agree—but then, I already got my payment, and it’s non-refundable.”
“Shush.” Virus’s phone beeped. “Second,” she said before answering it. “Nisa?”
“Virus, hey, you’re never going to believe this, but I went over all the data and I think Melissa is some feminized clone of Flaxen!”
“Yeah, we got that already.”
There was a long silence on the other end. “Well, thanks for telling me before I spent four hours going over this computer shit!”
“Love you too,” Virus said before she hung up. “Wife,” she explained.
“Well, we can’t take her back,” Peter said. “And we can’t leave her here.”
“Why not?” Melissa demanded shrilly.
“Shut up,” Virus told her. “Why not, Peter?”
“We found her. The next person Flaxen hires probably will too. And I’m guessing not every PI in the city shares our moral rectitude.”
“I have an idea,” Virus said.
***
They picked up donuts on the way back to thank Nisa for her hard, wasted work. She ate four of them.
“Elegant in its simplicity, I think,” Peter said. “We took one of the clone bodies, used some leftover tech from the Cybersex Arcade to zap her into consciousness, gave that back to Flaxen.”
Nisa held up her finger to stop him as she washed her donuts down with a tall glass of milk. “But if the first Melissa couldn’t stand living that way, why would a second?”
“That’s the tricky part,” Peter admitted. “Tell her, Vi.”
“We used my brain,” Virus said. “Copied it into one of Melissa’s bodies. The other me’s pretty used to that sort of thing; the fetish stuff. And in a couple years, he’ll keel over and she’ll get all his stuff. Win-win.”
“But…” Nisa started. “You—the other you—she won’t be able to be with me. Her wife.”
Virus looked around. “That’s what I’ll be doing. Why would she care?”
“Because she’s you. And you, apparently, are just fine with cutting me out of your life.”
“Not cut out. Taken away. I’m just fine with things being taken away from me because I was a fucking hooker and you get used to it. If you can’t hang on to it, let it go, it’ll only slow you down. Right, Peter?”
“Uhhh…” Peter said.
“So while I need you, while I can’t live without you, I could get killed and you wouldn’t even care!”
“Not the same thing!” Virus protested. “She knows I’ll take care of you, so why should she worry?”
“Because I am supposed to be your other half, no matter how many bodies you have!” Nisa grabbed the donuts. “You know what? I’m going to be by myself for a while. You should be able to handle that.”
It wasn’t too intimidating, her five feet and six inches storming off, but the door slamming behind her was plenty loud.
“What?” Virus asked of Peter. “It wasn’t even me, it was the… copy. I didn’t do anything!”
“I might not be the best person to go to for relationship advice,” Peter demurred.
“Why shouldn’t I go to you?” Virus asked. “You have to be good at relationships, you had a threesome.”
- 8
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Spider-Man 2114