DISCLAIMER: This piece of writing uses characters copyrighted by Marvel, without permission. This material is used for the purposes of non-profit entertainment, and is not intended to interfere with Marvel's right to use said characters for their own commercial goals.

Now that's out of the way… This is the first piece of fanfic I have ever written. Please let me know what you think of it! I have further chapters written/in the pipe-line if interested.

Cheers,

Apteryx

Chapter 1: Alter

'What's happened? My spider powers…gone!' Spider-Man thought as he looked up in disbelief. But trying to sound confident as he got up from the ground and preparing to go on as if nothing had happened, he said only, "What was that Chuckles? Your flashlight needs new batteries!" The costumed villain ignored him. As usual for villains, this one had to brag.

"Not so strong now, are we Spider-Man? I hit you with my Alter-ray - my finest invention. It alters your reality with someone else's reality in an alternate universe. Only, that random person lives in a world where there are no such things as super-powers! Your powers are lost to you forever! Farewell Spider-Man. Now you are out of action I have no further interest in you. Who needs to kill Spider-Man when Spider-Man no longer exists? Haaaaaa…" The villain took off without waiting for a reply and disappeared.

Spider-Man sagged on the roof-top in shock. It was late morning, and already the day had ended in disaster. At least the villain had been so busy boasting he hadn't bothered trying to unmask him - he wouldn't have been able to stop him. He felt so… strange, weak. He had to get home - but not as Spider-Man, not when he couldn't… He'd thought about, or even attempted, giving up being Spider-Man numerous times, but only once had it been because he had, as it turned out, temporarily lost his powers. But to have it all end, suddenly without warning like that. It looked like it might be permanent this time too - how the hell did an 'alter-ray' work anyhow? Could the effects be reversed? First things first… find a line of washing… get down from the roof… and a long walk home.


Erica flung her bag over her shoulder and grabbed the car keys as she rushed down the stairs. Damn. She was going to be late meeting Liz for breakfast if she didn't get a hurry on, and she hated being late. Usually she planned things so that she had at least five minutes to spare, but that morning she'd slept in when her alarm didn't go off. The trouble with sleeping in is that it usually made her feel disoriented and out of time for the rest of the day.

Slightly out of breath, she pushed open the garage door giving an extra effort at the spot where it tended to stick, wondering vaguely how she had got so unfit. Sedentary lifestyle lately, she mused. That was one reason she hadn't replaced the old clunger of the garage door with an automatic one; that, and her salary. It was enough that at least she owned it, and had off-street parking into the bargain. If she walked down the hill to work instead of taking her car everyday she'd be fit again in no time.

She turned to the car and was about to get in when, without warning, she was struck by a massive headache. It was more than a headache; her head felt as if it were exploding, about to scatter in all directions. She felt sick, hot, flushed and everything seemed distorted. Falling heavily onto the concrete floor, her keys flew out from her hand, incapacitated by the excruciating pain. She closed her eyes, and realised she was going to faint. 'How ridiculous,' she thought as she blacked out, 'fainting while lying down…'

Coming to, Erica's first impression was of dampness. She was lying on something soft and damp. That's funny. Then she heard unfamiliar bird song, and the sound of running water, a little torrent. Wha..? As she lifted up her head to look and started to pick herself up, her head exploded in pain again. This time though, it was not so much pain, as a sudden, urgent and compulsive sensation. Without thought, she jumped up and sideways, landing on her feet three metres away from where she had been lying.

She turned and gaped in astonishment. Overwhelming detailed impressions assaulted her: she was surrounded by blossoming trees; nearby was a narrow concrete path and a small boisterous stream overhung by the trees; sunlight dappling through the leaves and patterning the path and the water; a young man dressed in dark baggy jeans and a hoodie with the hood pulled up obscuring his face was standing on the ground; she felt very weird, almost floaty; and she had just jumped three metres from a crouching position without any effort.

In the few seconds it took for her to take all this in, the man recovered himself and made a snatch for Erica's handbag, which was still lying in the leaf mold where she had lain. With the part of her mind that was still with it, Erica realised that the thief was making off with her bag.

"Hey!" she shouted, and ran after him as he took off down the path. Within seconds, she had caught up with him, "That's my bag!" she shouted at him.

The young man stopped and faced Erica with his fists out ready to punch. Erica had focused so much on getting her handbag back, that she took no notice of this in the heat of the moment. Instead, hoping to distract him, she kicked at his leg, putting all the force of her confusion and anger that she could behind the kick. The man screamed and went flying backwards along the path. Erica swooped down, picked up her bag where the thief had dropped it, and clutching it to her chest, took a couple of hesitant steps towards him, ready to run away. He was lying in foetal position, clutching his leg with his hands and still screaming. He whimpered and the whites of his eyes showed as Erica approached. She looked down at him, at his leg in confusion. Had she really hurt him that badly? Then she really saw his leg; it was bent at a strange angle halfway down the shin. A sickening lurch went through her stomach, and she felt she was going to throw up. Did she do that? Surely it was the way he fell…

Erica took a breath, and then panicking, broke into a run down the path. 'Help' she wanted to scream, but she didn't. She ran. She wanted to get away from the scene. As she ran, following the curve of the path, she started wondering where she was. Had she suffered some sort of memory loss when she blacked out? The path could have been anywhere; perhaps one of the walkways near her home. Maybe she had wondered off, aimlessly.

Still running, Erica saw another person along the path.

"Hey!" she called out.

The man pretended he hadn't heard, and quickly took a side path before Erica reached him. As she neared where he had turned off, she saw a middle-aged couple coming her way from further down the path. They were unconcerned, obviously thought she was a jogger. Erica thought 'That man… I can't just leave that man back there like that but I don't want to go back - see him, his leg again,' and slowed down.

"There's a hurt man back there" she said to the couple, pointing back the way she had come. They looked a little alarmed at that.

"Oh my! There's an emergency call box by the Ravine." The woman said with a strong accent, looking concerned. "We'll give the authorities a call. What did you say was wrong with the man?"

"Uh, broken leg, I think."

The woman patted Erica's arm. "That's a distressing thing for a visitor to deal with. You go on now - we'll take care of it."

"Thanks" nodded Erica, and ran on.

Visitor? They must be visitors to Wellington. She thought she knew where she was now; in Central Park, just down the hill from were she lived. The trees were starting to thin out a bit, and the path get steeper. She passed a few more people now, strolling along. None of them gave her a second glance. Over the sound of bird song, traffic noise was now audible. Erica reached the top of a rise, slowed down and gasped in shock.

Spread out before her was a totally unexpected view; rising above a small still lake and surrounding trees, was a wall of tall buildings. Erica was dazed, confused. She walked to a nearby bench that was set out to make the most of the lake views, and sat down feeling shaky. Where the heck was she? In some huge park was certain. She knew she wasn't anywhere close to home. How long had she had amnesia? She also couldn't think of anywhere… and yet, there was a nagging familiarity. Could she have seen a photo of this view, this place somewhere?

The birds sang unconcerned at the turbulent thoughts of the pedestrian below them. Erica walked along a major path. Walking helped her think, to try and make sense of things. She was beginning to suspect where she might possibly be; the buildings, the scene around her, trees in blossom, unfamiliar signage, the accented voices of people talking as she passed them. She didn't feel ready to put her assumptions to the test however. She also had other concerns.

Erica tried mentally ticking off the points to see if she could make anything of it. She had passed out and woken in a strange place. She had somehow known to jump away from a danger to herself. She had jumped! She had broken a man's leg with her kick. She had run and walked without getting puffed or tired. 'What does that add up to?' thought Erica, 'I don't really know… it's impossible… Somehow I have got fit - no, more than fit - faster and stronger than is normal.'

She was in a more populated part of the park now, with more changes of areas. She was now passing through a stunning spring garden, all reds and yellows. It had been autumn…had six unaccounted for months passed? The sun came out from behind cloud, and set off the vibrancy of the flowers. Erica noticed an abandoned newspaper folded neatly on one of the rustic benches. Quickly, she made for the bench and the paper; she felt apprehensive as she picked the paper up, and it trembled slightly in her hands. She plopped onto the bench rather abruptly when she read the paper's masthead: The New York Times.

New York! Her suspicions fell into place. Erica put the paper back down. What was she doing in New York City? She was in the wrong Central Park! This couldn't be real! What was she going to do, how was she going to get back home?

Then something else she'd seen in the paper came to her conscious; the date. It was yesterday's date - six months hadn't passed. Working out the approximate time difference on her fingers, she realised that in actual fact, no time at all had passed between blacking out in the garage and coming to in New York. Instantaneous travel, like she'd been teleported or something.

But that was impossible.

She sat in thought. It came to her that she was lucky that she did still have her handbag. She opened it to check the contents - did she have any money with her? No, just a few NZ dollars. At least she had her credit card that she could use; she would have to budget, plan carefully She would need to find somewhere to stay for tonight at least, she also needed information, directions, and a map. Erica looked around. There was an elderly gentleman in a grey jacket and cloth cap, sitting reading on the next bench. He looked approachable - she went up to him.

"Excuse me," she asked, "Could you tell me where I might find a visitor's information centre?"

He looked up at her, "What's that? Information? Well, if you go along that path up there, there's Belvedere Castle. That's got some Central Park information. But there's a big center for New York on Columbus Circle. Just follow this main path to the south-west gate. I'm sure you'll find it."

"Thank-you."

"You're welcome," said the man, and went back to his book without a second glance.

It was mid afternoon. Erica had found the Information Center no problems. She had gone round taking all manner of pamphlets and brochures off the racks, then asked one of the staff where she could find a reasonably priced hotel. The woman had smiled as she handed over a plastic tote bag for the brochures, and suggested a hotel close by. When Erica heard the name of it, the Hotel Wellington, she almost felt that it was a sign.

It was a 1930's gem, all Art Deco accents and an old-fashioned, comfortable air to it. She was glad to be able to get a room and go up to it at once. The concierge didn't turn an eye to the fact she had no luggage with her; she supposed that guests' luggage got lost all the time, something like that anyway.

The room was small. It had a beamed plaster ceiling, and was decorated in muted, warm colours. The double bed took up most of the space; a bed-side cabinet and a little desk and chair took up some more. Erica took her jacket and her shoes off and lay on the bed, her mind whirling. To her surprise, she found she was crying. After a while, once the gush of tears was over, she felt much better, perhaps she'd feel better still after a shower. Going into the ensuite, Erica started running the water while she automatically undressed, wrapped in her own thoughts. She held her arm out to test the temperature of the water before stepping into the shower, but stopped suddenly before her hand touched the water.

What was this? Her arm muscles, unexpectedly, were really ripped! Although she had become unfit recently, she still had had some muscle definition especially in the arms and her broad shoulders from the years she had spent as a sailor, but this! She looked down at the rest of her body - the change was even more spectacular. Well, all those muscles explained why she had become so strong, but how did she get them? Was it a.. a side-effect of how she was somehow transported to New York?

Erica hopped under the water and had a quick shower, still shocked and bewildered by all the changes. Emotionally she had been overwhelmed with all that had happened to her, now in her hotel room she was in a place unobserved by anyone, where she could relax and feel safe for a while at least. She didn't have to be battered by unfamiliar sights and sounds, constantly on the alert. Erica found herself slowly accepting the fact that something weird had occurred, and that she was in New York City. She determined to make the best of it. An early dinner at the hotel's restaurant - she'd missed lunch - and then an early night.

Tomorrow morning…tomorrow she would contact the Consulate.