The hallways of Midtown High School were permanently scented with cheap floor wax, expired lunch sandwiches, and the excess hormones of hundreds of teenagers.
For Peter Parker, today’s walk down the corridor felt like a march to the executioner’s block.
“Hey, did you see the Daily Bugle?”
A crowd had gathered in front of the bulletin board, rustling the paper with its sensational headline as it passed from hand to hand.
Peter’s toes twitched as if to turn away, but his feet betrayed him, shuffling closer.
In his head, he mentally rehearsed three distinct expressions—each blending surprise with subtle admiration—hoping to hear even a single word of praise for the masked hero.
“That creep in the red-and-blue pajamas?” A boy wearing a varsity jacket sneered, flicking his finger against the photo in the paper.
“Looks like a freak who wears his underwear on his head.
These days, any weirdo thinks he can call himself a vigilante.”
The faint smile forming at the corner of Peter’s mouth froze completely solid.
“The paper says he shoots white gunk,” a girl nearby said, wrinkling her nose in disgust as if her juice box had suddenly turned sour.
“It’s so gross, like some kind of giant mutant cockroach.
Is he laying eggs in the sewers or something?”
“God knows.
Maybe it’s his snot.”
“Eww—stop talking, I’m gonna puke.”
A burst of laughter echoed around them.
The laughter splashed over Peter like a bucket of ice water, dousing the tiny flame of his heroism until not even a wisp of smoke remained.
Ducking his head, he pulled himself deep into his oversized plaid shirt and hurried through the crowd like a startled quail.
“That’s the cost of fame, Mr.
Parker.”
Leon leaned against a metal locker, spinning a ballpoint pen in his hand.
Watching his older brother’s thoroughly constipated expression, the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a barely noticeable smirk.
“Either teach your ‘idol’ to ignore it, or get him to hire a PR team.” Leon gave Peter’s outfit a once-over.
“Or…
suggest he pick a color scheme that looks less like a bug.
Red and blue?
Way too retro.”
Peter shot him a mournful glare.
Just as he opened his mouth to defend his idol’s fashion sense, a crisp voice cut his train of thought short.
“Peter?”
Hearing his name from her lips sent a sudden jolt straight up his spine.
His neck popped audibly as he snapped his head around.
Gwen Stacy stood there holding a stack of heavy hardcover textbooks.
Her blonde hair was tied back, with a few loose strands framing her face—the quintessential model of a top-tier student goddess, yet her smile was warm and inviting.
“Hi…
Hi, Gwen!” Peter’s voice cracked, sounding like a rooster being choked.
He frantically shoved his backpack behind his back as if it contained contraband.
“What a coincidence!
I mean, of course it is, considering we go to the same school, and the Earth is round…”
Leon rubbed the bridge of his nose in agony.
*This* was the New York vigilante swinging between skyscrapers?
Right now, his IQ seemed to have been swallowed whole by that mutant spider.
“About our biology project,” Gwen said, ignoring his incoherent babble.
She tilted her head slightly, her gaze attentive.
“I heard you know a lot about arthropods?
I’m stuck on my microscope slide report.
Maybe you could give me a few tips?”
Peter’s brain instantly flatlined.
Girl of his dreams.
Biology homework.
Spiders.
The three concepts collided inside his head into a warm mush, leaving behind only a massive exclamation mark.
“Spiders?
Oh, right, spiders!” Peter’s face flushed red as a ripe tomato, his words tumbling out at high speed.
“They’re actually really fascinating!
I mean, besides having a few extra legs…
No, I mean their biological structure is incredible!
If you want, I can…
I could show you my…
notes!”
Gwen blinked, then broke into a radiant smile.
“That’s awesome.
Meet in the library after school?”
“No problem!
Absolutely no problem!”
Even after Gwen vanished around the corner, Peter remained frozen in that dopey-grinning stance like a weathered statue.
“Snap out of it,” Leon tapped the side of Peter’s head with his pen.
“Your soul hasn’t caught up to your body.”
Peter snapped back to reality, his eyes practically twinkling with pink hearts.
“She asked me to the library.
Leon, is this a date?
This is totally a date, right?”
“It’s academic charity work,” Leon ruthlessly popped his bubble.
“And based on your performance just now, you lost fifty points.”
“Only fifty?” Peter raised his eyebrows optimistically, grabbing his bag.
“Then I still have fifty left.
That’s a passing grade!”
Watching Peter float away on cloud nine, Leon sighed.
Even heroes had a weakness for pretty girls—mutant hero or not.
“What are you looking at?”
A soft scent blew past as Emily leaned in next to Leon, following his gaze into the chaotic hallway crowd.
“Just watching a human regress back to its ancestral form.” Leon pulled his gaze back and pocketed his pen.
Emily rolled her eyes, clearly used to Leon’s conversation-killing style.
She leaned against the locker and drifted her gaze over to Flash Thompson, who was showing off his new sneakers a short distance away.
“Seriously, Leon, you’re actually pretty good-looking.
Why are you always so…
dull?” Emily complained.
“Look at Flash and his crew.
They’re so popular.
Couldn’t you try to fit in a little?”
“Fitting in usually means dragging down the average IQ,” Leon replied impassively.
“Your mouth is hopeless…” Emily threw up her hands in exasperation, but then her face softened into a dreamy expression.
“Sigh, guys these days are so immature.
I wish I could meet someone like…
you know, a superhero?”
Cupping her face in her hands, her eyes sparkled with romantic longing.
“Just like in the movies—dropping down from the sky whenever I’m in danger.
Ideally handsome, and super rich.
I mean, hero gear is expensive!
A rich superhero definitely offers way more of a sense of security.”
Leon glanced at her.
In his mind, he pictured an arms dealer who was probably building an iron can on a beach in Malibu, contrasted against his own brother, who was so broke he had to make his suit out of old sweatpants.
“A rich superhero?” Leon raised an eyebrow.
“Guys like that usually have terrible personalities and massive egos.”
“Still way better than boring high school boys!” Emily countered.
“As long as he saves me, who cares about a bad attitude?
Oh, by the way, I heard Stark Industries has something big coming up…
Man, wouldn’t it be cool if Tony Stark were a superhero?”
Leon couldn’t help but let out a short chuckle.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing.” Leon slung his bag over one shoulder.
“Hope your dream comes true.”
“Hey!
Leon Parker!”
Ignoring her protests behind him, Leon blended into the crowd.
A rich superhero?
Maybe in the future.
But for now, the guy protecting this neighborhood was just a dirt-broke “bug,” along with…
He lightly touched the watch face hidden beneath his sleeve, feeling the cool metallic contact against his fingertips.
…and an alien wholesaler.
…
Night fell, and the neon signs in Queens began to hum and buzz, washing the streets in a hazy, dim amber.
The night here lacked the glitz of Manhattan.
Filthy back alleys overflowed with garbage, and the air reeked of fermenting trash.
“Hand over the money!
Don’t make me bleed you!”
Outside a local convenience store, three hoodlums in leather jackets surrounded a trembling clerk.
Flick-blades glinted in their hands.
They were low-level grunts from the Kingsley Gang, a notorious local crew.
“I…
I only have this much…” The clerk pulled a few crumpled dollar bills from his pocket with shaking hands.
“Cut the crap!
What about the register?” The gang leader seized the clerk by his collar.
*Thwip!*
A white line of webbing shot out from the shadows, pinning the thug’s knife-wielding wrist with dead accuracy.
“Who’s there?!”
“Hey, fellas.”
A casual, breezy voice chimed in from above.
The group looked up to see a figure in a somewhat crudely tailored red-and-blue suit perching atop a street lamp.
“It’s nine o’clock at night.
You guys should be in night school learning how to be productive members of society, not robbing convenience stores for loose change,” Peter—or rather, Spider-Man—said, tilting his head.
“Though honestly, looking at your outfits, you really do need to steal some cash to fix your fashion sense.”
“It’s that bug!”
“Get him!”
The three thugs abandoned the clerk and lunged forward, brandishing their knives.
Peter sighed and leaped off the streetlight.
“I’m a spider, not a bug.
How many times do I have to correct you guys?
Your bio teacher would cry.”
Flipping gracefully midair, he dodged a thrusting blade and fired a web-shot behind him, pinning one thug to the wall.
With a swift low sweep, he tripped the second.
The movement was fluid.
Though still a bit unpolished, it showcased raw, superhuman reaction speed.
“Damned freak!” The leader whipped a sleek black handgun from his jacket.
Peter’s Spider-Sense screamed instantly, sending a violent chill across his scalp.
“Whoa, cheating isn’t cool!” Peter dove into a side-roll, trying to open up distance.
Just as the trigger was about to be pulled—
The world seemed to skip a frame.
There was no gunshot.
Only a blue-and-black blur, like lightning tearing through the night, shot across the entire street in a fraction of a second.
*Whoosh—*
A gale-force gust erupted, churning up newspaper clippings and dust from the pavement and slamming right into Peter’s face.
“Cough, cough!
What the hell?” Peter waved away the dust, dropping into a wary defensive stance.
When the dust settled, the scene before him left him stunned.
The armed gang leader was still holding his shooting posture, but his gun was gone.
Not only that, the two goons who had been behind him were now shoved headfirst into a dumpster ten meters away, their legs dangling upside down like carrots stuck in mud.
“Where’s my gun?!” The leader stared in terror at his empty hands.
“Looking for this?”
A synthesized, slightly sharp voice called down from above.
Peter snapped his head up.
Perched on the very top of the street lamp sat a bizarre creature.
The creature had blue and black skin with a sleek, aerodynamic body reminiscent of a top-of-the-line F1 race car.
A black armored helmet covered its head, with a sharp visor hiding its face, revealing only a pair of glowing blue eyes.
Behind it, a long, striped tail flicked lazily.
Most striking were its feet—two rapidly spinning spheres.
Even standing still, those wheels seemed packed with kinetic energy ready to rip through the air at any instant.
It was speed made manifest.
The Omnitrix alien hero—XLR8.
“What on earth is that?” Peter’s eyes widened.
His Spider-Sense wasn’t triggering, which meant no immediate hostility, but he’d never seen anything like this.
“An alien?
A mutant?
Or some kind of…
super-fast lizard?”
XLR8 spun the handgun—now completely dismantled into a pile of loose components—around his fingers like a cheap toy.
“Lizard?”
A metallic chuckle echoed from behind XLR8’s visor.
“Your taxonomy is just as terrible as your taste in clothes, Little Spider.”
Before the words finished, the blue figure vanished again.
This time, Peter saw it—or rather, felt it.
A current of air, so blindingly fast that the human retina couldn’t even register it.
*Thump!
Thump!
Thump!*
Three heavy impacts overlapped almost simultaneously.
Before the leader could react, he was launched into the air as if hit by an invisible truck, landing with pinpoint accuracy inside the dumpster alongside his two cronies.
All three bad guys were squished neatly together in the tight space, knocked cold instantly.
Silence descended back over the street.
Only the blue-and-black figure stood atop the streetlight again, now holding a can of soda from who-knows-where, its tab popped open and fizzing softly.
Too fast.
Cold sweat broke out across Peter’s back.
The reaction speed he was so proud of was a frame-by-frame slideshow compared to this guy.
If this creature wanted to hurt him, Peter might have been torn into spare parts already.
“Who…
Who are you?” Peter tensed his muscles, his web-shooters primed.
XLR8 didn’t answer right away.
He took a slow, leisurely sip of his soda, his glowing blue eyes peering playfully down through his visor at the red-and-blue figure below.
In the next split second, the figure flickered.
Peter’s vision blurred, and suddenly the blue alien was right in front of him, mere centimeters from his mask.
A gust of wind whipped Peter’s spandex suit back and forth.
XLR8 lowered his voice, adopting a lazy yet dangerous tone as his tail lightly tapped Peter on the shoulder:
“Hey there, Little Spider.”
“Have you ever been kicked at the speed of light?”