Peter’s life was now split down the middle.
By day, he was a well-paid genius scientist working at the Baxter Building.
By night, he was Spider-Man, swinging through the skies of Queens and Manhattan.
Aunt May and Uncle Ben had voiced their concerns about his late hours, but once he pulled out the excuse of “helping out in the lab saves lives,” the two elders had no choice but to give in.
In reality, Peter spent just one hour a day in the Fantastic Four’s dedicated lab, using the rest of his time to patrol the city.
Being a hero while pursuing scientific research—life couldn’t be more perfect.
“Peter, your Aunt May and Uncle Ben really don’t mind?” Johnny asked, leading Peter into a spacious, private laboratory.
“Barely passed,” Peter shrugged.
“They’re still mad I kept secrets, but seeing that I have a real, respectable job at the Baxter Building made them turn a blind eye.” Johnny patted his shoulder.
“Try to come clean with them when you can, man.
Anyway, welcome to your new turf.” Peter looked around the room.
Massive displays, top-of-the-line computers, fully equipped workstations—it was a scientist’s absolute paradise.
“Too cool,” Peter murmured.
Setting down his backpack, his eyes fell on a complex Geiger counter sitting in a corner.
“Johnny, give me a hand?
I want to test a new theory.” “Test what?” “Your fire abilities.” Peter picked up a tool, expertly disassembling the Geiger counter and wiring a microscopic nickel thread into its internal circuit.
“Light it up.” “It’s called ‘Flame On’!” Johnny grumbled, but in an instant, searing, roaring flames enveloped his entire body.
Peter stared at the spiking numbers on the modified counter, a grin forming at the corner of his mouth.
“Perfect.” Johnny doused his flames and leaned in close.
“Well?
What did you find?” “Your power comes from another dimension,” Peter pointed to the modified nickel thread.
“Your body acts like a reverse sponge, or rather, a one-way valve.
You’re not consuming oxygen from the air to burn; you’re radiating a phosphorus-like energy from inside yourself outward.
When that energy hits our universe’s atmosphere, it triggers a violent oxidation reaction that manifests as fire.” Johnny stared at him, dumbfounded.
“Holy crap…
Peter, you’re insane!
Reed spent ages studying me and couldn’t figure that out, and you saw right through it in five minutes!
Quick, send that theory to Reed!” Peter nodded and sent off the report.
He knew the core theory came from his memories of his past life, but to actually verify and articulate it perfectly required the terrifyingly brilliant mind of Peter Parker’s body.
At dinner, Reed, Susan, and the Thing, Ben Grimm, listened to the theory as well.
Reed praised him on the surface, but Peter’s sharp senses caught the subtle hint of guardedness hidden in his tone.
It was somewhat helpless—geniuses were always prone to feeling competitive with their own kind.
As time went on, the name Spider-Man blew up across New York.
Stopping a few muggings every day and posing for the cameras turned Spider-Man into a full-blown urban legend.
At school, the students’ obsessive fandom over Spider-Man gave Peter a constant headache.
Yet he knew deep down that small-time street crime couldn’t satisfy him forever.
He needed bigger targets.
Lately, he had been keeping a close eye on the trial of the Grass Stain Gang.
With rock-solid evidence, their imprisonment was only a matter of time.
To prepare himself for larger threats, Peter trained vigorously in swordsmanship and hand-to-hand combat under Colleen Wing.
Thanks to his photographic memory, he could memorize complex kendo forms in seconds, progressing at a speed that secretly stunned even Colleen.
However, what left the deepest impression on him was an “accident” during his patrol the previous week.
That night, while swinging around Wall Street, Peter heard the crisp sound of breaking glass.
Following the noise, he spotted a sleek, graceful figure in a black bodysuit and mask expertly scaling the exterior wall of a skyscraper.
Black Cat.
Felicia.
Peter swung over, landing nimbly on the roof right in front of her.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he rolled with her across the rooftop before pinning her underneath him.
“Should we pick a better spot for our date?” Peter grinned beneath his mask.
“Spider?” Felicia blinked in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” “Just passing by.” Peter glanced at her bulging belt pouch.
“Restocking your inventory?” “None of your business.” “I’m a hero, you’re a thief.
How is it not my business?” “Sorry, Spider, I don’t have time to flirt.” Felicia suddenly drove her knee straight up into Peter’s groin.
“Gah—!” Peter gasped in agony, curling into a ball on the spot.
Felicia seized the moment to break free, sprinting toward the edge of the roof to jump.
“Going somewhere?” Wincing through the intense pain, Peter raised his hand and shot a web line, snagging her ankle and yanking her back onto the roof.
Felicia hit the roof, whipped out a sleek knife, and sliced through the webbing.
She let out a coy laugh.
“This webbing looks expensive.” “As long as you can afford to pay for it,” Peter said, pulling himself up as they created distance once more.
Felicia lunged first, her blade cutting a silver arc through the air.
Peter casually side-stepped the strike, captured her wrist, twisted it behind her back, and wrapped his other arm around her waist.
“Felicia, you could easily do something far more meaningful with your life,” Peter whispered in her ear.
“How is what I do not meaningful?” “Stealing isn’t what good people do.” “Your definition of good and bad is far too narrow, Spider.
I only steal from people who deserve it.” “Like that small jewelry store?” “That was a Mafia money-laundering front.” “What about that broker on Wall Street whose office you broke into?” “He’s a crooked scammer.
You think he’s clean?” “So you’re a modern-day Robin Hood?” “No.
I said I steal from the rich; I never said I share it with the poor.” Felicia violently broke his hold and kicked him back.
Running to the ledge, she turned and blew him a kiss.
“See you around, Spider.” As she vanished into the night, Peter rubbed his still-throbbing groin.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a flash drive, and let out a smirk.
During their close-quarters grapple, he had deftly swiped the drive from her pouch.
“Even,” he muttered, crushing the flash drive in his fist before casually tossing it into a sewer grate.
*** Back at school, Peter found nothing more boring than history class.
Bored out of his mind, he flipped through his textbook until his eyes landed on an old World War II photograph.
In the photo, Captain America sat alongside a group of soldiers on crates of bombs labeled “Property of Hitler.” However, Peter’s full attention was fixed on the man standing next to Cap, wearing a patch with the Canadian flag pinned to his jacket.
Full beard, biting a cigar, wild feral eyes.
Peter looked down at the caption below the photo.
*James Howlett.* Peter’s pupils contracted.
James Howlett—the true name of Wolverine, Logan.
Mutants actually existed in this world!
Countless thoughts raced through his mind.
If mutants existed, had Professor Charles Xavier opened his school yet?
Was Magneto active publicly?
No.
Mutants were still hiding in the shadows for now, not even considered urban legends.
If the world knew mutants existed, Spider-Man would have been categorized as one long ago.
“Peter Parker!” the history teacher’s voice snapped him back to reality.
Peter raised his head.
“Yes, sir?” “Are you listening?
Tell me, who led Hitler’s scientific research division?” “Red Skull,” Peter answered instantly.
“He also renamed the division Hydra.” “Correct.
But ‘Red Skull’ was just his alias.
What was his real name?” Peter paused for a moment, then asked back, “Wasn’t ‘Red Skull’ his real name?” “That was just a moniker.
He obviously had a real name given by his parents.” “But he chose ‘Red Skull’ for himself,” Peter leaned back in his chair, his tone calm yet carrying a touch of defiance.
“His parents might have hoped he’d grow up to be an angel, but he chose to be a Jew-hating Nazi instead.
Since he picked that path, his actions dictate that he deserves to be called only by the name he chose.
His name was, and forever will be, Red Skull.” The classroom fell dead silent.
The teacher let out a soft sigh.
“A very…
unique perspective.
Let’s continue.” Peter turned his head, his gaze colliding directly with Felicia Hardy’s.