Spider-Bot

Chapter one: Building a Hero

"Quick! Get him to the OR!" Shouted the nurse clad in her white garb. On the stretcher lay a young man in a tattered outfit, red, black, and blue in color. Most of the red came from the man's own blood. "We've got a middle aged male suffering from blunt force trauma to the head and chest and multiple gunshot wounds! We need to get him to an operating room!"

The hospital was in a panic, they all knew who it was, but no one wanted to admit it. It wasn't possible that their idol, one who they'd praised so could be so weak at this moment. They all knew it was Spiderman, but no one wanted to say it was. They finally managed to pull him into an open operating table.

"Bullets had penetrated his skull, gone through the back and into the Medulla Oblongata. There was major blunt force trauma to the chest, breaking multiple bones and causing significant damage to the heart, and lungs, and to the head, causing him to lose consciousness. There wasn't much the doctors could do," explained the nurse, his grin expression so dark and soaked with pain that if it were to drip down onto his white coat, it would stain it. Aunt May looked at him with shock, and Mary Jane reciprocated with fear. No one could do anything. They felt so helpless.

They were both just attempting to get over the fact that their Peter was Spiderman. They were filled with guilt. Maybe if one of them had stopped him from absorbing himself in these grandiose illusions of a hero, he would've still been here.

Maybe. Maybe, but not truly. What happened happened, and no one was going to change it.

Cut to a computer room. Giant machines and bulky hardware lining the walls. In the center stands a man slaving over what will be his claim to fame. His scientific breakthrough. Something that will finally out him in the center. When he hears the news.

Everyone tells him everything, he has ears on every wall in New York, and eyes on every ceiling.

"Doctor Cospatio, Spiderman's dead. We believe that he was killed in his sleep though we aren't sure," said the lab assistant as he stood behind the short man.

Cospatio turned around instantly, scanning the attendant for any signs of deceit. When he realized that this wasn't a ruse, he cried. The tears fell onto the metallic skin of his invention. Its face of glass black, and the skin a metallic steel. If it could sense emotion, it would've cried too.

Cospatio loved Spiderman, but he cried not for someone he had barely met in person, but for New York. The city left without its guardian. Nobody would help the innocent.

Then, he remembered, and he realized, and he plotted, and he planned, and he came up with his idea.

"Go! Off with you! The Doctor must work!" He shouted. His gray moustache shaking with every movement of his lips and his wrinkled hands beginning to work again. He was going to be famous.

He was going to build his city a hero, and that would be his magnum opus.

He would rebuild his dear Spiderman.