New York City. The Big Apple.
The dazzling morning sun pierced the darkness, illuminating the steel giants of the modern metropolis. Below, the streets teemed with an endless river of humanity.
Since the Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man and that attention-seeking billionaire, Tony Stark, had joined the fight against crime, the city had changed. With the combined efforts of the Avengers and various masked vigilantes, New York's crime rate had plummeted to an all-time low. Recently, rumors had even begun to circulate that Spider-Man was finally due to officially join the Avengers.
"If you ask me, Spider-Man isn't a superhero. He's a menace! I strongly demand the Avengers conduct a thorough investigation into his background! That Wall-Crawling Pest leaves a mess of the city every time he catches someone. I seriously suspect he's a masked Mutant who could lose control and cause a disaster at any moment!"
On the giant electronic screens of Times Square, J. Jonah Jameson, Editor-in-Chief of the Daily Bugle, was in the middle of a tirade. He spewed venom at the camera, practically wishing he could spit directly onto the face of that annoying bug.
Suddenly, a red and blue figure swung past the screen. A precise glob of webbing shot from a wrist, slapping perfectly over digital J. Jonah Jameson's mouth.
"Put a sock in it, Jonah. I'm getting real tired of your voice. Why can't you treat the Little Spider with the same respect you show Captain America?"
Spider-Man mumbled the complaint as he vaulted over the silver screen, continuing his swing between the skyscrapers. The sun caught his suit, outlining him in gold, and his shadow raced across the bustling streets below, causing pedestrians to stop and stare.
"What was that?!"
"Is it a bird? A plane?"
"No, you idiots, it's our Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man!"
Spider-Man was a celebrity in New York City. Over the last three years, everyone from retirees sunbathing in their yards to toddlers with lollipops had come to know him. People waved excitedly at the sky, and Peter Parker smiled beneath his mask, letting his lively nature shine through his usual shy exterior.
"Wow! Beautiful day, isn't it? Good morning, everyone!"
Facing the enthusiastic greetings of his fans, he swung low, high-fiving people who reached out, or occasionally landing to give a quick hug.
After a quick patrol revealed no immediate criminal activity, he perched on the ledge of a high-rise. He pulled out his hidden camera and scrolled through the photos he'd snapped mid-swing.
"Perfect shots! Jonah definitely won't want these—he only pays for dirt. But Mary Jane is going to love them."
Mary Jane Watson. His girlfriend. Things were going well.
Peter grinned, webbing the camera securely to his waist, and launched himself into the air again.
Just then, a violent, tearing pain spiked through his brain!
He was sure of one thing: this wasn't his Spider-Sense.
"Ugh—ah!" He clutched his head, his swing faltering as he tried to land.
Whoosh—BANG!!
A rocket slammed squarely into him from below.
In a dim alleyway, four mercenaries circled their prey. The leader, a man with a scarred face, held an oval-shaped scanner pointed at the unconscious Spider-Man.
The signal meter was maxed out.
"That loudmouth Jonah wasn't wrong—this spandex-wearing freak really is a Mutant! We just hit the jackpot!" the subordinate holding the rocket launcher cheered.
"Idiot! Who told you to use a rocket?!" The scarred Master kicked him. "This guy is our ticket to being rich. What if you killed him?!"
After scolding his man, the leader squatted down and lifted Spider-Man's mask halfway to check for breathing. Fortunately, the hero was still alive.
"Grab him and let's move. That explosion is going to attract heat. I don't want the Tin Man or the Punisher sniffing around here."
Alkali Genetic Research Institute, outskirts of New York.
When Peter Parker opened his eyes, a flood of unfamiliar yet intimate memories surged into his mind.
In that moment, he realized the truth: he was Spider-Man, Peter Parker, but he was also a transmigrator from another world. For some reason, his memories of that past life had only just awakened.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. Through the lenses of his mask, he surveyed his surroundings: a pristine white ceiling, precise life-support monitors, and researchers clad in white coats and surgical masks.
There was a heavy collar around his neck, and his limbs were secured by heavy-duty shackles. He was being treated exactly like a lab rat.
"Look, our Little Spider is awake." A researcher in a white coat wiped a scalpel, his tone dripping with mockery. "How ironic. New York's Friendly Neighbor is actually a dirty mutie, and from the looks of it, he doesn't even know it himself."
He's a mutant? Peter's eyes widened. Impossible. His powers came from a radioactive spider, not an X-Gene.
Fortunately, the mask was still on his face, so his identity hadn't been exposed yet.
"Alright, our Little Mutant Spider is awake. Time to reveal his true face. I'm actually looking forward to this."
Peter wanted to explain that he had been bitten by a radioactive spider and had nothing to do with mutants, but before the words could leave his mouth, a chill ran up his spine.
His Spider-Sense was screaming.
The danger was coming from the small scalpel in the researcher's hand.
"Hey, Doc, it's rude to try and take a guy's mask off without permission. Also, I suggest you put down that toy. I'm a little... allergic to sharp objects. You know, spiders are afraid of pointy things."
As Peter spoke, he tentatively tested the shackles. The mutant collar on his neck didn't react.
He relaxed.
He had already said he wasn't a mutant; his powers came from the Spider Totem.
The researcher approached, adamant in his belief that Peter was a mutant. He pointed disdainfully at the collar. "Don't waste your energy. Under the restraint of the X-Gene suppression collar, you're just an ordinary human. Now, let me take that mask off."
"It's a pity. I actually quite liked you, Little Bug... but unfortunately, you're a mutant. mutants aren't people; they're just experimental specimens. And your body? It's going to make a very valuable specimen."
Peter's eyes turned cold. He had no intention of being unmasked or dissected.
"It seems you guys do this often. You must have plenty of blood on your hands... But today, you caught the wrong guy."
The moment he finished speaking, Peter flexed.
SNAP.
The shackles shattered. He reached up, grabbed the collar, and tore it from his neck as if it were made of paper.
"Impossible! How can you still use your abilities?!" The researcher froze, dumbfounded.
Peter didn't care about their shock. Once free, he executed a graceful backflip, sticking to the ceiling.
Thwip-thwip-thwip.
Three strands of webbing shot from his wrists, disarming the guards at the door. He snatched a bedsheet, wrapping it around himself like a cloak.
"I told you I'm not a mutant—but you guys experimenting on living people? That's irrefutable evidence. You're in big trouble. If Magneto knew you were dissecting mutants in here, the Golden Gate Bridge incident would look like a tea party compared to what he'd do to you."
"Magneto?!"
The name was a nightmare to them. The researcher's eyes went feral. He violently ripped a pistol from beneath his white coat.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He felt no guilt in ambushing Peter. Even if he failed, the worst he'd face was jail time. Everyone knew Spider-Man didn't kill.
Guided by his Spider-Sense, Peter easily wove through the trajectory of the bullets. He dropped from the ceiling, throwing a powerful punch to incapacitate the doctor.
BOOM!!
The researcher didn't just fall back. He was launched into the wall as if hit by a speeding truck. His chest collapsed inward, and blood sprayed across the floor.
Simultaneously, alarms began to blare throughout the laboratory.
"You... you don't kill people..." The researcher gargled through the blood, squeezing out his final words before his head lolled to the side. He stopped breathing.
"Sorry! Sorry! I pulled my punch! Who knew you were so fragile?!"
Peter stood there, stunned. He had pulled the punch.
But his control... his strength was different today.
He leaned down, gently patting the man's cheek. "Hey, buddy, don't sleep! Wake up!"
It was no use.
Judging by the caved-in chest, the man was beyond saving.
"Sorry! Sorry! I really didn't mean to!"
Spider-Man muttered, rubbing the back of his head like a schoolboy who had just broken a window. He looked genuinely remorseful about the killing.
However, the remaining researchers and security personnel in the room had no time to notice Spider-Man's awkwardness. They stared with wide eyes, their expressions frozen in disbelief.
Everything had happened too fast. It was so fast that their retinas couldn't register the images, so fast that their nerve endings hadn't even begun to tremble.
One second ago, the Doctor—the absolute master of this laboratory, a man who radiated authority with every breath—had been standing there like an unshakeable mountain.
The next second, he had become a piece of shattered abstract art embedded in the wall. Scarlet fluid dripped slowly down the spiderweb-cracked concrete, making a terrifying drip, drip sound in the dead silence of the room.
And the one who did it was Spider-Man.
The "Good Neighbor" of New York City. The friendly hero who replaced fists with witty remarks and bullets with webs.
At this moment, he was clinging to the wall like a spider, a flimsy white bedsheet comically wrapped around his waist like a toga, his bare upper body revealing the lean, defined physique of youth.
The visual impact was jarring. The contrast between his comedic appearance and the brutal scene of primitive violence he had just created formed a crazy paradox.
The cold laboratory lights illuminated the dust motes suspended in the air, casting harsh shadows on the frozen faces of the survivors. The researchers in their white coats gaped like fish out of water, their brains trying to process the data before them but receiving only a string of fatal errors.
Doubt, fear, and a hint of absurd disbelief.
Their gazes frantically switched between the "bloody mural" on the wall and the bedsheet-clad hero, their mental CPUs on the verge of burning out.
Spider-Man doesn't kill? Then what is this? A nightmare that's too realistic?
"Hey! Earth to... well, everybody in this fancy murder-lab!"
Leaping down from the wall, Peter Parker's voice broke the deathly silence. He sounded like a college student who had just woken up, his voice carrying a slight morning rasp.
He spread his hands in a very innocent "I didn't do anything" gesture. The bedsheet tied around his waist almost slipped with the movement, causing him to hastily grab it again in a panic. It looked ridiculous.
But at this moment, no one dared to laugh.
"I know summer sales and 'streaking discounts' sound tempting, but personally, I still prefer the security and fashion that fabric brings." Peter looked around, his gaze sweeping over the pale faces. "So, has anyone seen my suit? Red and blue, tight-fitting, cool big spider on the chest—should be hard to miss."
He walked barefoot across the cold floor toward the crowd. Wherever he stepped, those not bound by webs subconsciously retreated like the Red Sea parting for Moses, lowering their heads, terrified to meet the gaze of the Little Spider.
They were as docile as sheep in the presence of a wolf, fear causing beads of sweat to roll down their foreheads and hit the ground with almost audible splashes.
"Oh, I need to find my clothes quickly," Peter muttered to himself, ignoring their terror. "Your welcoming committee here is a bit too 'enthusiastic.' My Spider-Sense is screaming from left to right. It's giving me a headache."
His gaze locked onto a security guard of a similar build to himself, and his eyes lit up.
"Wow! Bro, this tactical gear is not bad! Low-key gray, practical multi-functional pockets. Although it can't compare to the natural artistry of my suit, it's definitely a fine piece." Peter walked up to him, smiling brightly. "How about we make a deal? Can I borrow it for a bit? I guarantee, on Spider-Man's good credit, I'll return it exactly as it was once I find my own clothes!"
The security guard's Adam's apple bobbed violently. His eyes darted uncontrollably toward the gradually cooling corpse on the wall. The Doctor's dead, unseeing eyes were facing exactly in their direction. The guard abruptly snapped his head back, nodding frantically at Peter, so fast it looked like his neck might snap.
"Awesome! I knew the kind Captain America wasn't an isolated case!" Peter happily patted his shoulder.
Then, with practiced ease, he removed the man's pistol, tactical dagger, and magazines, and even pulled two grenades from the thigh pocket. "I'll hold onto these dangerous toys for you. Don't worry, I'm very careful."
He quickly stripped the man of his tactical vest and uniform pants and put them on himself. Although he didn't have the bulk to fill them out completely, he instantly looked much more formidable.
Perhaps because his memories had recovered, there was a constant melody playing in his head. He shook his head, shoulders twitching to the rhythm of the non-existent music, snapped his fingers, and executed a few smooth dance steps.
"Wow! Look at those moves! I actually have this talent? It must be this new outfit inspiring me! So cool!"
Meanwhile, the security guard, stripped down to his boxer briefs, could only cover himself with both hands, trembling under the sympathetic (and relieved) gazes of his companions.
Another security guard, sensing the wind, gently placed all his weapons on the ground and raised his hands high.
"Mr. Spider-Man... I know where your suit is."
A trembling female voice with a heavy accent spoke up. The Mexican woman who had been observing Spider-Man from the crowd stepped forward. Her face was sickly pale, but her eyes held a desperate resolve.
Peter, whose mood had improved significantly now that he was clothed, hadn't expected a Good Samaritan to offer a lead so quickly. He turned to her. "Aha! Finally, a lady is willing to offer a lead on my suit—"
Before he could finish, Gabriela's legs buckled. With a heavy thud, she knelt on the ground, tears instantly overflowing.
"I know you're a kind hero! Please! Save those children!" Her voice choked, almost incoherent. "They are cloned... mutant children... right here in this laboratory! If they're not saved soon... they'll be disposed of! Please!"
"Whoa! No, no, no! Lady! Get up!"
Peter reacted as if he'd been burned, nimbly backflipping to hang upside down from the ceiling to avoid this "grand gesture."
"Let's talk this out, no need for the bowing! My uncle always said... um... with great power comes great territory... bah!" He slapped his own mouth lightly. "Damn parallel universe memory... it's great responsibility!"
He swung down and carefully helped Gabriela up, looking into her tear-filled but incredibly sincere eyes. They held only the plea of a desperate mother, devoid of malice.
"Alright, alright. Since a group of children are in danger..." Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Of course I'll help. This is... responsibility."
"I thank you on behalf of the children! Spider-Man! You really are a good person!" Gabriela cried tears of joy, vigorously wiping her eyes, the light of hope once again illuminating her face.
"Women's moods change faster than flipping a book..." Peter muttered under his breath, inexplicably thinking of Gwen. He rubbed the back of his head, tilting it. "Women? Wait... did I forget something important?"
He couldn't recall it for now, but rescuing the children took priority.
"Your name is?" He pointed at Gabriela, who had calmed down slightly.
"Gabriela Lopez. I'm a nurse. You can call me Gabriela, Mr. Spider-Man."
"Gabriela... such a familiar name."
Mutant children, Gabriela Lopez, a mutant research base—it was hard for Peter not to think of a certain Marvel movie: Logan.
"Mr. Spider-Man, your suit is in the storage room at the end of the right corridor! The children are also held nearby! I'll take you there!"
Peter nodded, his gaze once again sweeping over the silent, awe-struck people in the room.
"Alright, folks, party's over for you." He made his classic web-shooter gesture. "Now it's duo activity time."
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Strands of white silk shot out precisely, snatching researchers and security personnel off the ground one by one and hanging them upside down from the ceiling like postmodern decorative art.
"Sorry, everyone, bear with it for a bit. I'll be back as soon as possible—oh, and you, kind Mr. Loan-a-Shirt," Peter addressed the security guard shivering in his underwear. "I remember your clothes. First, use a Silk-brand custom sweater to keep warm!"
More webbing sprayed out, wrapping the man into a white cocoon, leaving only his nose for breathing and a pair of eyes filled with "no desire to live."
The piercing alarm continued to blare as Peter and Gabriela rushed out of the room and into the cold metal corridor.
Thwip! Thwip!
Peter moved quickly, simultaneously raising his hand to shoot out strands of webbing that plastered over the lens of every surveillance camera they passed.
"Gabriela, those children... and this place, what's their story?" Peter asked during a lull in the alarm.
Gabriela didn't hide anything. "This is the Alkali Genetic Research Institute! They... they clone children using mutant genes for experiments! The leading girl is named Laura Kinney, and there are X-23, X-24..."
Alkali? Laura Kinney? X-24?
Peter's steps faltered slightly, his eyes widening under the mask.
"Wow... is this really the plot of Logan?" He murmured to himself, a strange sense of destiny seizing him. "So I wasn't simply kidnapped and labeled a mutant by accident... I'm here to save a group of cloned mutant children? This is... too crazy. But also too cool!"
Whoosh—!
A sharp whistling sound came from the right passage! His Spider-Sense instantly surged through his entire body like high-voltage electricity!
"Watch out!" Peter roared!
Time seemed to stretch infinitely. He sharply turned his head to see a military grenade spinning past his mask, heading straight for Gabriela's face! In the split second the grenade was only two millimeters from her eye, Peter flicked his wrist!
Thwip!
A strand of webbing precisely stuck to the grenade. With immense stickiness and leverage, he flung it back the way it came at double the speed!
BOOM—!!!!
A deafening explosion! The right passage was instantly engulfed in fire and smoke! Screams and the sickening sound of flesh hitting walls were drowned out by the roar of the blast.
Peter didn't even turn to look at the gruesome aftermath. He pulled the shaken, almost collapsed Gabriela forward. His heart was unusually calm, as if he had just flicked away a fly.
An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. If you want to kill me, you must be prepared to be killed.
The logic was simple, direct, cruel, yet perfectly correct in this moment.
Gabriela secretly observed the young man beside her from the corner of her eye. He was tall and well-built, and even in the ill-fitting tactical gear, his handsome features were hard to conceal—especially those clear blue eyes that seemed to pierce through his mask. But his counterattack just now... it was chillingly ruthless.
Was this really the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man from the newspapers, who always joked around and tied up criminals like dumplings for the police?