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Peter eased the door open with a stack of files in his arms. A middle-aged man in a white lab coat was packing up. "Dr. Connors, are you leaving today?"
His gray hair and drawn-out face made him look tired, but what stood out most was that his lab coat's right sleeve was empty—he only had one arm.
"Oh, Peter. Yes. The collaboration is officially over. I have to leave."
Peter placed the files delicately on the desk. "I am sorry. If I had done a better job, we could have completed the project earlier…"
"You've been fantastic," Dr. Connors remarked warmly. "You are still in high school, but you are smarter and more diligent than most graduate students I have met. If you prefer, I can write you a recommendation letter."
"Many thanks… I just haven't decided on a college yet, and I still have a little time before I apply."
He paused. "So, where will you go next? The serum is almost done. With a good lab, you could finish it."
Connors examined his office. "The facilities at Stark Tower will be unrivaled. That's why I accepted this invitation in the first place: the hardware here is unrivaled." He kept packing with one hand. "But it's fine. As you stated, we have reached the endgame. Just one more push, and I'll be fine."
"And then it won't just be me who gets an arm back," he continued, his voice rising with excitement. "During the war, many people lost their limbs. The stipends barely cover their costs, and prosthetics are costly. If a regenerative serum works, they may be able to regain their health."
Peter felt the thrill beneath his calm demeanor. Connors was the person who most impressed him during his internship. Peter hadn't started in this lab; he was running errands for another team when the military recruited Connors for the Stark medical program. When Peter first met him, he was astounded: despite his missing arm, the man's research never faltered. A genius in bionics and serology.
Peter shook it. Many physically fit people never reach this. He asked to be transferred to Connors' group. After all, he'd been bitten by a spider and mutated; he wanted to know what had caused his transformation.
Peter, a bright and hardworking—if slightly bookish—nerd, quickly became a favorite. Connors taught him a ton of biology. His mind had been racing since the bite; two sharp minds working together made the work go quickly.
But, just as they were about to finish, Stark's partnership with the military failed, and the researchers were ordered to leave the Tower.
Most contractors didn't mind because they'd get paid and take an early vacation. Connors was different. He wasn't here to coast; he came to create a limb-regeneration serum for himself and other veterans.
He was disappointed, of course, but seeing Peter's reluctance, he said, "It's fine. When you are in college, I might be teaching at an East Coast university. Come to my lab—we'll keep going."
"I promise!" Peter grinned.
Stark attempted to teach Peter about armor and artificial intelligence, but it did not click. Peter wasn't an industrial purist like Tony; he preferred the unknown—nature's secrets or cosmic wonders. He had learned about the mysteries of spiders, lizards, and other cold-blooded creatures from Connors' teachings. It fascinated him. Perhaps he'd become a biologist or an entomologist. And if he could, like Connors, invent something that saves lives, all the better.
Even as Spider-Man by night, Peter was a good student with a plan: get into a great college, choose a field he loved, earn a few doctorates, and then teach or start his research center.
Perhaps it was the mutation, but he felt a special connection to cold-blooded life, which fueled his ambitions. The pain of parting became less acute with a clear target in sight. He left Stark Tower and returned to do Spider-Man work.
He'd learned a lot from his fight with Bullseye. The web-slinging between skyscrapers appeared quick, but it was only slightly faster than a car. Worse, it was flashy. Half of New York knew Spider-Man was on the move from the moment he launched; the seasoned criminals had fled by the time he arrived.
Everyone praised his use of the vast sewer system. The sewers in New York were filthy, with slimy walls and floors that were dark and wet, and ordinary people could not move freely. Peter, however, was capable. He could cling to any surface, sprint without slipping, and those straight, wide tunnels were like a custom racetrack—no traffic, no pedestrians. At full throttle, he was faster than a street racer. And it was discrete: move underground, emerge through the nearest manhole—no one could trace his path.
It worked perfectly against experienced crews. One bank robbery team had several lookouts; if his silhouette appeared on the skyline, they disappeared. Later, he used the sewer approach to surprise them, bursting from a manhole near the curb and shattering the engine of their getaway car with a single punch. Following that, arresting them was simple.
So Peter became interested in the sewer design. Built early, rebuilt frequently—no map showed the entire system. He decided to run it himself, tracing his paths. School was light, and his stamina was high; he could scout half a district in a day.
That day, he was back underground, marking a paper map as he traveled. He was so preoccupied with his notes that he almost missed the raised brick that made his spider sense tingle. He paused and noticed something else: the algae had been removed.
Furthermore, he discovered a dusting of white powder at the wall-floor seam—acidic, judging by the smell. Moss cleaner.
Who does the mopping down here? Even he wouldn't be here unless he was fighting crime.
He followed the signs and arrived at an old, disused maintenance bay. It smelled faintly of fuel—someone had set fires here. Peering through the iron gate, his sharp eyes detected signs of life.
He didn't try too hard. Smashing the door would alert whoever lived there, and he did not have any lockpicks with him. He marked a dot on his map and planned to return with tools in a few days.
Whoever they were, living in a sewer was unusual. He would assist decent people forced to hide. If they were criminals, Spider-Man would act accordingly.
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📝 FOOTNOTE (New & Thematic)
The NYC Department of Environmental Protection has issued a new advisory: "Unauthorized sewer cleaning is strictly prohibited. Moreover, if you find a perfectly scrubbed 10-foot tunnel section with a sticky residue and faint web patterns, do not investigate. Just report it to the nearest stranger in spandex."