The punch landed with millimetric precision on the first thief's jaw. A dry crack was lost among the noise of cars and the reggaeton spilling from an open window in a nearby apartment. The guy dropped like a sack of potatoes, without time to let out even a scream."One down."
Landing silently from a four-story ledge still impressed me. Not because of the fall—But because of how natural it felt already.
My body knew exactly how to land, how to distribute weight, how to adapt to any surface. As if my bones and muscles had done this all my life. As if it were instinct.
The second guy—the one with the bike lock—spotted me just as I launched myself at him."What the—!?" was all he managed to say before I disarmed him with a kick to the chest that sent him flying into a dumpster.
I landed on him before he could get up. Grabbed his jacket collar and lifted him just enough to meet his eyes."How much you got on you?"
"You're a freak!"
"Wrong choice of words." I yanked off his backpack and opened it. A switchblade, a stolen phone, and… bingo: a wad of bills wrapped in a rubber band.
"Thanks for your contribution to the suit economy," I muttered, shoving it into my own bag. "And for not making me break more of your bones. Good night."
I knocked him out with a quick tap to the temple. I'd read that a well-placed hit there could shut someone down without lasting damage. The theory held—for now.
12:27 AM – Rooftops of Queens
I sat on the edge of a fast-food billboard and watched the streets below pulse like glowing veins. The city never slept—but tonight, it was mine.
I wasn't using webs yet. No web-shooters, no skin-tight suit. Just reflexes, jumps, and a strength I was still learning to measure.
But that didn't stop me.
So far, I'd intervened in three minor muggings and stopped a dealer from making a sale outside a corner store.The rewards?Four hundred seventy-three dollars, a Swiss army knife (a nice one, too), and a growing mental list of what I needed: durable fabrics, grip gloves, night-vision goggles, tools for building the web-shooters...
But beyond that, what I felt was presence. An identity forming. I wasn't Peter Parker stumbling through Midtown's hallways anymore. Not the original Peter who dreamed of Gwen noticing him and of not disappointing Aunt May.
I was something else.
A blend. A fusion. A weapon sharpening itself in the dark.
1:03 AM – Alley behind a closed bar
The group was bigger this time. Four guys, all armed, all jumpy. One was keeping watch while the others pried open the back of a van. Inside, electronics gleamed: consoles, laptops, tablets. Clean heist. Easy resale.
I crouched on a rooftop above, heartbeat calm, mind calculating.If I jump from here, I can take out the guy with the bat first. Then the skinny one with the knife. The other two have guns… I'll need speed.
I took a breath.
I leapt.
I hit the first one like lightning, spun mid-air, and with a hip twist slammed the second into the van's side. Two shots rang out—but I was already gone. I rolled, grabbed a trash can lid, and threw it like a shield.
It hit just in time for the bullets to bounce off and give me an opening.
I pounced, landed on the last one, and drove my heel into his gut. Then silence. Four unconscious bodies.
A neighborhood alarm started to wail. I vanished up a fire escape before anyone could look out the window.
2:22 AM – Rooftop of a five-story building
Sweat slid down my forehead, but not from exhaustion. My body wanted more. More action. More control. More precision.
I stayed there for a while, watching the city lights. Dirty fog hung over Queens like a thick blanket. From up here, everything looked asleep, harmless. But I'd already learned the real dangers didn't make noise. Didn't stand out.
I jumped to the next rooftop. Then another. Each landing smoother than the last. Every move more natural. The city wasn't a maze anymore—it was a proving ground. A vertical playground. A hunting zone.
I slid down a fire escape and entered through the laundry room window. No one used that room at this hour. From there, it was easy to slip through the back hallway and reach the apartment door without a sound.
I closed it gently behind me. Everything was in shadows. Uncle Ben and Aunt May were asleep, probably wiped out after their double shifts. I could hear her breathing from the hall.
I slipped into my room and dropped onto the swivel chair.
Only then did I let out a breath.
It had been a good night.
I opened my backpack and started unpacking the haul with surgical order. Five wads of cash in mixed denominations. A total of $917. Five phones I could sell for parts. Two knives, one practically new. A gold chain with initials—I'd try to return that... if I could find the owner.
I made notes on a ripped page from an old notebook:"Patrol 1A. Three minor incidents, one major robbery stopped. No injuries. No detection. Loot recovered: 917 USD + assorted items. Next step: initial investment."
I stashed the money in a metal box hidden under a loose floorboard. I'd add a lock tomorrow. For now, I needed to focus on what came next.
I turned to my desk and pulled out a new notebook. Mine. Not the original Peter's. A black one I'd started from scratch. On the first page, I wrote:
Project: Suit A1 – Resource level: Low.
At first, I'd thought about something simple. Stretch fabric. Something that didn't stand out too much and allowed easy movement. But the more I thought about it, the clearer the problem became: any regular fabric would tear every other day, and I didn't have the patience to keep fixing something doomed to break.
I closed my eyes and recalled the formula I'd nearly memorized by now. The synthetic web I'd created in secret was designed to dissipate tension, endure load, and distribute pressure. Its elasticity and strength surpassed any commercial polymer I could afford.
What if I didn't just shoot webs? What if I used them to reinforce the suit itself?
I straightened up, grabbed a fresh sheet, and began sketching ideas: interweaving synthetic fibers coated with a microscopic layer of the base compound. If I could find an absorbent texture—maybe second-hand cotton—I could apply the formula like a protective varnish, allowing the fabric to retain elasticity without becoming brittle. Even a thin layer could reduce abrasion or fire damage.
What if I added graphene?
I paused. That was pushing it, given my current resources. But I jotted it down anyway, as a side note:Graphene + web formula = flexible armor (future).
Next, I sketched a basic shooter. Pressure tube, trigger valve, side trigger on the wrist. The hardest part would be building the capsule. It couldn't dry or react prematurely. An idea popped into my head: an old hot glue gun. I could modify the mechanism and use it as a base.
Tons of ideas came flooding in. But one stuck out above the rest:A 3D Printer.
I wrote that down too. A real one, open-source design. If I could load it with the web formula as a special filament, I could create tools, suit reinforcements, even precision web-shooter parts. But that would come later. Much later.
I closed the notebook.
Step one was the suit. A suit that wouldn't give me away. One I could hide under regular clothes. One that could survive at least a night of patrol. And hopefully wouldn't rip if I slammed into a wall. The rest would come in time.
I glanced at the clock. 3:42 AM.
School tomorrow. Destiny was beginning to unfold.
But for now, I had thread, fabric, synthetic formula… and a needle.
And that was more than enough to begin.
Monday – Midtown High, 7:58 AM
Midtown's hallways smelled like cheap disinfectant, teenage nerves, and instant coffee. Peter walked through a sea of dragging backpacks, half-whispered conversations, and slamming lockers. Everything felt familiar… and not.
There came Ned, in his Star Wars tee and that goofy grin that made him look like an excited puppy. Peter gave him a light pat on the shoulder, as if nothing had changed between them.
"Hey, Ned," he said casually, hiding how strange it felt to see someone who had meant so much to the original Peter—yet now looked at him without knowing he wasn't quite the same kid.
"Hey, dude! How you feeling? You looked like death on Friday."
"Yeah, must've been something I ate," Peter repeated the same excuse he'd told his aunt and uncle.
Ned laughed. Everything seemed to fit. And then he saw him.Harry Osborn.
Tall, confident, hair perfectly styled, wearing a jacket that probably cost more than Peter's entire wardrobe. He leaned against the lockers like the hallway belonged to him. Smiling with the ease of someone born knowing the world spun in his favor.
And Peter… remembered him. The original Peter knew him. They'd shared classes, talked, even hung out at his place high up in Oscorp Tower when they were younger. But for him, this was the first time he truly saw Harry. As someone new. As a key piece for what was to come.
Harry looked up, spotted Peter, and his smile widened.
"Pete! Been forever, man. You good?"
"Yeah, yeah." Peter masked the weird jolt in his chest. "Been a little… off the grid."
Harry fist-bumped him like nothing had changed. Like there wasn't a whole world of differences hiding beneath the skin of the boy in front of him.
"Well, we've got bio together today, right? Bet you're paired with Gwen again. She hasn't shut up about you since Friday," he said, half-teasing, half-curious.
Ned raised an eyebrow.
"Seriously?"
Peter shrugged, trying to play it cool, though a part of him was already wondering how Harry Osborn would fit into his new world. Oscorp. Tech. Investments. Resources.
The suit. The web-shooters. The long-term plan.
With Harry, they could go from DIY sewing to cutting-edge engineering.
But for now, he just smiled.
"Let's get to class."
8:01 AM – Midtown High, Science Room
The fluorescent hum of the ceiling mixed with the sleepy murmurs of students entering in pairs or small groups, dragging backpacks and yawns. I was already in my usual spot: second row, near the window, notebook open, pen twirling between my fingers.
Gwen entered as always, hair in a high ponytail, a white scarf giving her that "cold but brilliant" vibe. Her bag hung from one shoulder, and she had coffee in hand—which was a bad sign.
"Rough night?" I asked as she dropped into the seat beside me.
"Last-minute nightmare," she mumbled, setting the coffee down and spreading her stuff. "Bio essay. Mr. Phillips wants it in today. Did you finish it?"
I nodded with a half-smile.
"Last night. I did it while... couldn't sleep."
Almost said "while rooftop-hopping," but caught myself just in time.
Gwen gave me a teasing look.
"You? Awake? That's new. You used to fall asleep even while we were on the phone."
"Blame the caffeine," I lied with a tilted grin.
"Coffee? You?" she raised an eyebrow. "Now that's new. Peter Parker drinking coffee willingly?"
"What can I say? I'm growing up. Might get into jazz next."
She laughed softly, and for a second, time froze. It was a real laugh—the kind people keep without realizing it.
"Something's definitely up with you," she said, pointing at me with her pencil. "But I don't know if it's good or bad yet."
"Why does it have to be bad?"
"Didn't say it was. Just… you're different. More... I don't know. Confident. Like you woke up one day as someone else."
I glanced sideways at her. If only she knew how close she was.
"Maybe I just got tired of being stepped on," I replied, still doodling distracted lines in the notebook margins.
"That sounds dangerous coming from you."
I was about to answer when the teacher walked in. The usual scramble followed: backpacks hit the floor, half-hidden phones disappeared, papers flew. Gwen rolled her eyes and stretched her neck.
"The good thing about sitting near the board is at least we don't have to hear Flash whispering bad jokes from the back."
"Even better—I don't have to pretend they're funny."
She smiled, and as the teacher began handing out worksheets, she shot me a quick look. Not judgmental. More like analysis. As if she were trying to figure out what was wrong with a painting she'd seen her whole life—only now realizing the colors weren't quite where she remembered.
And she was right.
I wasn't the same.
But I wasn't lost, either. I was just sharpening my vision. And maybe, with time, I could show her that new perspective too.
10:47 AM – Midtown High HallwaysThe bell rang with that metallic tone that sounded like it had been ripped straight out of a 1950s factory. Hundreds of feet began to move in unison like an army shifting formation.I walked out of the classroom alongside Gwen. We made our way through the sea of students, and even though the noise was constant—laughter, shouting, slamming lockers—my mind kept processing everything in slow motion. Every sound, every face, every conversation registered effortlessly."So… are you coming to the rehearsal on Saturday?" Gwen asked, holding her folder with both hands.It took me half a second to react."The rehearsal?""Mary Jane's band rehearsal. Remember? You said you'd help with the amp.""Oh! Right. Yeah, sorry, I've just been a little… in my own world lately.""'In your world'? You're always in your world," she said, giving me a light shove on the shoulder as she laughed.I forced a smile. This was new—I checked the original Peter's memories again, and sure enough, there were flashes of Gwen playing in a band. Strange. I thought that was exclusive to Spider-Gwen from Earth-65. I should go over the original Peter's memories again."This time it's a louder world," I said, already wondering what details might be slipping through the cracks.
Just then, Ned appeared from a side hallway, stumbling with his backpack hanging wide open."Peter! There you are! Dude, did you see the new Star Wars trailer? There's a theory that the new villain is a clone of Mace Windu!"Gwen rolled her eyes with an amused smile."I'll leave you two with your conspiracy theories. I'm heading to my locker. Don't destroy the galaxy without me.""I'll try my best," I told her, watching as she disappeared into the crowd.
Ned looked at me, lowering his voice like we were about to uncover a secret."Hey… did you do something to piss off Flash?"I raised an eyebrow."What? No.""It's just—he looked at you weird during class. Like he couldn't decide whether to punch you for fun or for a reason.""Maybe he noticed I'm not afraid of him anymore."Ned blinked, surprised."Since when?""Since I realized it's easier to control a bull if you know where it's charging."I wasn't exactly sure what that meant, but it sounded cool in my head—and Ned looked impressed.
12:30 PM – CafeteriaThe food was still as forgettable as ever: plastic trays, uneven portions, and mashed potatoes that looked and felt like warm cement. I sat with Ned and two other classmates, while Gwen and Mary Jane chatted with Betty a few tables away."Are you signing up for the science fair this semester?" Ned asked, half-chewing his food."I'm considering it," I said, staring absently at my mashed potatoes. "But I want to do something different. Something they can't just Google.""That sounds like a 'secret project.' What are you gonna build—an AI powered by pancakes?"I smiled."No. Something more… organic."Though the idea wasn't entirely absurd. Creating an AI…I drifted off into thought as Ned kept talking. Not a traditional AI. Something more specialized. An autonomous interface designed to assist me in the field, organize combat data, log anomalies in my powers, maybe even run defensive protocols in gadgets.Something like what Tony Stark had, but scaled-down. Something I could build with limited resources. From scratch. I could start with voice algorithms, then integrate pattern-recognition modules, and if I figured out how to link it with sensors in the suit…I filed it away mentally. Side project: Arachne. A working name—but fitting.
The idea was already taking shape in my mind: a homemade 3D printer, modified to process my web formula into microstructures. I could use it to prototype parts, create coatings, improve gadgets… maybe even reinforce basic fabric. Of course, I'd need funding, materials, and a workspace where I could build without raising suspicions.And, naturally, I'd have to stay under SHIELD's radar—if they were anything like I remembered them.