Chapter Text
The hum of advanced machinery filled the pristine air of the Baxter Building’s main lab, a symphony of precision that Peter Parker had yet to grow tired of. He adjusted his lab coat—one that was just slightly too large for his lean frame—and gazed around the room, soaking in the sight of his distinguished colleagues. To his left stood Hank McCoy, better known to the world as Beast, furred and formidable yet endlessly gentle. Across the room, Tony Stark leaned casually against a sleek table, flipping through a holographic interface with a practiced ease. And at the helm, guiding the room like a conductor before an orchestra, was Reed Richards himself, the world’s preeminent scientist and the leader of the Fantastic Four.
He allowed himself a moment of silent amazement.
How did I get here? It wasn’t so long ago that he was balancing high school chemistry projects with late-night patrols as Spider-Man, trying to keep Aunt May from noticing the bruises he couldn’t explain. Now, at 22, he was a grad student at Empire State University, working under none other than Reed Richards—a man Peter had idolized since his first science fair. Reed not only knew his secret identity but trusted him enough to work alongside the likes of Tony Stark and Hank McCoy two other men he looked up to.
Not that I'd ever tell Tony that, his ego's almost as big as his bank account already.
The stylus in his hand spun faster as his thoughts picked up pace. He wasn’t just a grad student anymore. He was an Avenger. An actual Avenger. The kind of hero who fought alongside legends like Captain America, Thor, and Iron Man. There were times—like now, standing in the Baxter Building’s advanced lab—that the reality of it all felt almost surreal.
Being part of the Avengers wasn’t just about the battles. It came with responsibilities, expectations, and a level of camaraderie Peter had never experienced before. For years, Spider-Man had been a loner, the scrappy neighborhood hero who worked in the shadows. Now he was part of a team that trusted him, respected him, even looked to him for input in their strategies.
And then there was the Fantastic Four.
Peter glanced toward Reed, who was observing holographic genome display. Working with the Fantastic Four was like being invited into a second family. Sue treated him like a kid brother, always ready with a kind word or a gentle nudge when he pushed himself too hard. Johnny... well, Johnny was Johnny. They’d developed a rivalry-turned-bromance that Peter couldn’t help but cherish, even if it sometimes involved pranking each other to the brink of war. And Ben? Ben had this way of grounding Peter with his gruff wisdom and unshakable loyalty.
But perhaps the most unexpected bond had been with the X-Men.
Peter thought back to the many missions where he’d teamed up with mutants like Bobby Drake, Wolverine, and Jean Grey. Their struggles hit close to home, mirroring his own experiences with being feared and misunderstood. Hank McCoy, the ever-brilliant Beast, had become a close confidant, someone who understood what it meant to walk the line between intellect and action.
It wasn’t just about science or heroics anymore—it was about connections. For the first time in his life, Peter didn’t feel like he had to carry the weight of the world on his own.
Still, it wasn’t all smooth sailing. The balancing act of his double life hadn’t disappeared; it had simply shifted. Late nights working in Reed’s lab bled into early-morning lectures at ESU, which overlapped with Avengers briefings and city-saving patrols as Spider-Man. But here, at least, he didn’t have to hide. Reed, Sue, Johnny, and Ben knew who he was. So did the Avengers and many of the X-Men. It was a relief—one Peter hadn’t fully appreciated until now—not having to come up with excuses or weave tangled webs of lies.
“Parker,” Tony Stark’s voice snapped him back to reality, “you zoning out, or are you just mesmerized by my undeniable charm?”
Peter blinked and laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. “Sorry, Mr. Stark. I was just… thinking.”
“Don’t let him intimidate you,” Hank said, his baritone voice warm and reassuring. “Tony’s charm is highly overrated. Focus on the science.”
Peter smirked at the friendly jab and turned his attention back to the task at hand, though his thoughts lingered. He was surrounded by people who didn’t just tolerate him but valued his contributions. For so long, he’d carried the weight of his secret identity like a boulder on his back, constantly navigating the tightrope of keeping his two lives separate. Now, for the first time, he felt like he could breathe.
Here, with these people, he didn’t have to hide. Reed Richards knew he was Spider-Man, and while Peter had initially been terrified of revealing the truth, it turned out to be one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Reed had welcomed him with open arms, treating him as an equal, a peer, despitetheclear chasm in achievements both in and out of costume. And that sense of acceptance was priceless.
Peter glanced at Reed, who was currently calibrating a holographic projection of some molecular structure Peter couldn’t identify at a glance. Working with Reed Richards, Peter thought, shaking his head in disbelief. This is my life now.
“Peter,” Reed said, not looking up from his work, “are you keeping up? I know Tony’s commentary can be… distracting.”
“Hey,” Tony interjected, raising his hands in mock offense.
Peter grinned. “Yeah, I’m good. Just trying to wrap my head around the fact that I’m in the same room as you guys and not, you know, delivering pizzas.”
Tony laughed. “Kid, if you’re still selling pizzas after saving the world as Spider-Man, then I think we’re all doing something wrong.”
“Focus, everyone,” Reed said, his tone patient but firm. “We’ve got work to do, and Hank’s findings won’t analyze themselves.”
Peter nodded, forcing his mind back to the present as he focused on the task at hand
The large, ultra-high-resolution monitor in the Baxter Building lab displayed a rotating 3D model of the newly discovered genome. It glowed with vibrant hues of blue, red, and gold, its complex structure spinning slowly against a sleek black background. Unlike a standard DNA helix, this genome was a tri-helical structure, with three twisting strands instead of two. Each strand seemed to pulse faintly with energy, as though it were alive, giving the impression that the model was more than just a static representation.
Highlighted segments blinked in alternating colors, indicating the mutations Hank McCoy had flagged for their discussion. One of these segments, near the core of the structure, was marked with a glowing red outline. It represented the artificial mutation that Hank had discovered—a modification unlike anything found in natural mutant DNA. The anomaly seemed to bridge non-mutant and mutant genetic codes, as though forcibly stitching two incompatible systems together.
Hank manipulated the display, zooming in on the red segment. The closer view revealed an intricate sequence of nucleotide-like structures. Each was studded with molecular markers that didn’t occur in nature—synthetic additions, glowing faint gold, arranged in a precise but unnatural order.
“I’ll cut straight to the point gentlemen,” Hank began, his deep voice carrying both authority and curiosity. “This,” he said, gesturing toward the glowing helix, “is unlike anything I’ve encountered before. And that’s saying something, given the rather expansive range of anomalies I’ve studied in my career.”
Hank allowed himself a small frown. “This sample—taken from a young man Charles discovered through cerebro during routine genetic testing—shows markers of the X-gene.
“Now here’s the twist,” Hank stated, zooming in on the helix to highlight a particular section. “This individual, based on their genetic lineage, should not possess an active X-gene. In fact, they lack the ancestral markers typically associated with mutantkind.”
Peter frowned, his analytical mind racing. “Wait, so you’re saying they’re not a mutant, but… their X-gene somehow activated anyway? How is that even possible?”
“Exactly the question I’ve been grappling with,” Hank said.
The 3D holographic display of the genome rotated slowly in the center of the Baxter Building lab, casting a pale glow on the faces of Reed Richards, Hank McCoy, Tony Stark, and Peter Parker. The room was quiet save for the hum of machinery, each scientist captivated by the image before them.
“This structure is extraordinary,” Hank said, gesturing to the tri-helical twist as it turned. His voice was a mix of excitement and caution. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in naturally occurring genomes, mutant or otherwise. The presence of three strands alone suggests an entirely different evolutionary path.”
Reed nodded, manipulating the display with a touchpad. The image zoomed in on a section marked in faint gold, where the triple strands appeared to fold into an intricate knot. “It’s almost elegant,” he said, his tone reflective. “The triple helix implies not just complexity but a level of redundancy. If one strand destabilizes, the others compensate, maintaining functionality. That’s... fascinating.”
“Fascinating,” Tony cut in, leaning back with his usual sarcasm, “is one word for it. I’d go with suspicious. This thing’s too perfect. Nature doesn’t just whip up a tri-helix out of nowhere. There’s a leap here that feels... unnatural.”
Peter tilted his head, eyes narrowing at the spinning image. “Tony's right. But it’s not just the structure, right? Look here.” He pointed to a glowing blue segment highlighted on the screen. “These sequences... they’re familiar. I swear I’ve seen this kind of gene expression before. Something about it screams ‘mutant,’ but it’s not quite right. It’s like... it’s trying too hard.”
Hank raised an eyebrow at Peter. “Trying too hard? Care to elaborate?”
Peter shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, it’s like someone took a mutant genome, copied it, and then... I don’t know, glued on some human bits for fun. It doesn’t feel cohesive, like it’s missing something.”
Reed stroked his chin, his brow furrowing. “You might be onto something. Look here.” He tapped a control, isolating a glowing red section. “This particular strand mimics known X-gene markers almost perfectly, but the alignment is... off. It’s as though this genome is approximating mutant DNA rather than actually being mutant DNA.”
“Approximating?” Tony echoed. “That’s a polite way of saying it’s doing a lousy job. This thing’s like a Frankenstein genome—mutant, non-mutant, and whatever this gold segment is supposed to be.” He pointed at the glowing anomaly, its light pulsing faintly. “It’s like patchwork.”
Hank frowned, his expression growing thoughtful. “But how could such a genome form naturally? Mutation is inherently chaotic, yes, but this feels... deliberate.” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but maybe we’re looking at a new evolutionary offshoot. Something between humans and mutants.”
“Great,” Tony muttered. “A third category. Just what we needed to complicate the world further.”
Reed turned to Hank. “Are there any signs this is a mutation triggered by external factors? Radiation, chemical exposure, anything that might explain how this genome deviates so sharply from the norm?”
Hank shook his head, adjusting his glasses as he brought up another layer of data on the display. “None that I can see. The genetic sequences appear stable, albeit unnervingly adaptable. If there was an environmental catalyst, it’s left no obvious markers.”
Peter crossed his arms, biting his lip in thought. “Could it be the next step for mutants? Like, evolution doing its thing? Mutants are already different from humans—maybe this is just another leap forward.”
“That’s one possibility,” Hank said cautiously, though he didn’t sound convinced.
Reed, still scrutinizing the display, seemed equally skeptical. “If this is evolution at work, it’s happening at an unprecedented pace. Such a drastic change would typically require generations, not a single individual.”
Tony snorted. “You’re assuming this thing wasn’t just some cosmic joke. We’ve dealt with enough anomalies—alien tech, celestial interference, reality warping—that a naturally occurring explanation might not even be on the table.”
Peter raised a hand. “Counterpoint—if this is natural, what does it mean for the whole mutant-versus-human debate? Like, does this make mutants even more ‘other’ to the public? Or does it blur the line between the two groups?”
The room fell silent at Peter’s question, each of them considering the implications.
Reed broke the silence first. “It’s a question worth investigating. If this genome is an evolutionary bridge—or even an entirely new category—it could redefine how we understand human and mutant biology. But until we know more, we have to be cautious about jumping to conclusions.”
Hank nodded. “Agreed. Publicizing this discovery prematurely could ignite panic. Anti-mutant sentiment is already at dangerous levels. Imagine what would happen if people thought mutants were... evolving beyond humanity.”
Tony smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, nothing like a little mass hysteria to brighten up the week. Let’s keep this under wraps for now.”
Peter watched the genome spin in silence, a knot forming in his stomach. For all their theories, something about the image unsettled him. It wasn’t just the structure or the anomalies—it was the feeling that this discovery was just the beginning of something much bigger.
“Whatever this thing is,” Peter murmured, “it’s not going to stay a secret forever.”
“No,” Reed agreed quietly. “But for now, it has to.”
As the display continued to glow, none of them noticed the faint, almost imperceptible flicker of gold that pulsed through the genome. A flicker that seemed almost... intentional.
Reed Richards cleared his throat, drawing everyone’s attention back to the holographic genome. His expression was grave, the weight of their discovery etched into his features. "We all agree this genome presents something unprecedented. Its implications—scientific, societal, even ethical—are immense. But until we have a clearer understanding of its origin, function, and potential impact, this stays within these walls."
Hank McCoy exhaled slowly, nodding as he adjusted his glasses. "I cannot stress how much I appreciate your discretion on this matter. The mutant community is already under immense scrutiny. If word of something like this were to get out prematurely, it could set relations back by decades." He paused, his voice quieter. "Or worse, it could spark another wave of violence."
Peter Parker leaned against the console, arms crossed as he spoke with uncharacteristic seriousness. "It’s not just mutants who would take the heat. If someone finds out about this and spins the story, the Avengers, the Fantastic Four, anyone who’s stood with mutants—they could all get dragged down too."
Tony Stark shrugged, though his tone betrayed his concern. "Not exactly my first rodeo when it comes to public outrage, but yeah, he’s got a point. People fear what they don’t understand, and this genome? It’s a whole lot of ‘don’t understand.’"
Reed glanced at Tony, then at Peter and Hank. "Which is why we need to take this step by step. Hank, you’ll have our full support in furthering this research. But until we can present comprehensive findings—solid science that can’t be weaponized or misinterpreted—we share this with no one. Not the Avengers, not SHIELD, not even the other X-Men except Charles."
Hank hesitated, his large hands gripping the edge of the table. "I agree. But... it feels almost wrong to keep this from the others. They could be affected by whatever fallout this may bring. Perhaps if—"
Tony interrupted, raising a hand. "They'd also have a big target on his back if this leaked. Look, I’m all for teamwork and kumbaya, but we’re talking about a potential PR nuke here. The fewer people in the know, the better."
Peter chimed in, offering Hank a reassuring smile. "And it’s not like we’re keeping it secret forever. This is just hitting pause while we figure out what we’re dealing with. Once we have answers, we’ll share them—on our terms, not someone else’s."
Hank nodded reluctantly. "You’re right. This isn’t just about science; it’s about the safety of everyone involved. Mutants, humans... all of us."
Reed placed a steadying hand on Hank’s shoulder. "We’ve faced challenges like this before, Hank. And we’ve always stood with mutants when it counted. That won’t change now."
Tony smirked, giving Hank a mock salute. "What he said. You’ve got my vote. And if anyone comes knocking, I’ll just throw up a Stark-branded smokescreen. People eat that up."
Peter gave a thumbs-up. "And you’ve got me too. I mean, technically, I don’t have a vote here, but I’ll web someone’s mouth shut if it helps."
Hank couldn’t help but chuckle at Peter’s earnestness. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he looked at the three men around him. "Thank you. All of you. This discovery... it’s exhilarating, yes, but it’s also terrifying. Knowing you’re all behind this makes the burden feel a little less daunting."
Reed straightened, his authoritative tone signaling the end of the discussion. "Good. Then it’s settled. We keep this discovery under wraps. Hank, you’ll continue analyzing the data, and we’ll assist where needed. But until we’re ready to reveal this, it doesn’t leave this room."
As the others nodded in agreement, the rotating genome on the screen dimmed, its faint glow fading as Reed powered down the display. The lab fell into silence, the enormity of their decision hanging in the air.
Hank broke the silence, his voice firm yet tinged with gratitude. "I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of this. And when the time comes, I know I’ll have allies I can trust."
Reed gave him a small smile. "Always."
---
As the lab slowly cleared, the chatter of scientific discussion gave way to a more subdued atmosphere. Tony Stark was the first to leave, tossing a casual wave over his shoulder and muttering something about a board meeting that would inevitably bore him to death. Hank McCoy lingered for a moment longer, exchanging a few final thoughts with Reed Richards before departing with his usual polite gravitas.
That left Peter standing near the console, logging the observations from the discussion. It was then that Peter felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked over it to see Dr. Reed Richards smiling warmly at him.
“Peter, before you go, could I have a word?”
Peter hesitated, unsure if he was about to get a gentle reprimand or an impromptu brainstorming session. Either way, he turned back with a sheepish grin. “Sure, Doc. What’s up?”
Reed smiled faintly as he approached, hands clasped behind his back in his characteristically calm demeanor. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how are you finding your work here at the Baxter Building? Is it everything you’d hoped for?”
Peter blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity of the question. “Honestly? It’s amazing,” he said, his voice tinged with genuine excitement. “I mean, working here, with you guys—it’s like a dream come true. I’m learning so much, and I finally feel like I’m in a place where I can just… be myself, you know?”
Reed nodded, his expression thoughtful. “That’s good to hear. It’s important to feel comfortable in your work environment, especially in a field as demanding as ours. But I couldn’t help noticing that you seem a bit… worn out lately. Are you getting enough rest?”
Peter hesitated, his grin faltering. “Uh… rest? What’s that?”
Reed raised an eyebrow, and Peter quickly backpedaled, laughing nervously. “Okay, yeah, I’ve been burning the candle at both ends a little. Between this, my thesis, and, you know… other stuff... it’s a lot to juggle.”
“Juggle less,” a new voice interjected, and Peter turned to see Sue Richards leaning casually against the doorway, her arms crossed and a knowing smile on her face.
“Sue! Uh, hi, kinda scared me there.” Peter admitted, feeling slightly caught off guard.
“See, normally you're almost impossibletosneak up on,” she noted, stepping into the room. “Reed’s right, Peter. You look like you’re running on fumes.”
“I’m fine,” Peter insisted, though even he didn’t sound convinced. “Really. It’s just a busy week.”
“Uh-huh,” Sue said, her tone skeptical. She walked over to him and tilted her head, studying him with a look of concern. “When’s the last time you did something for yourself? And no, web-swinging across the city doesn’t count.”
Peter opened his mouth to respond but quickly realized he didn’t have a good answer. “Well, there was this one time I… no, wait, that was for a science expo. Uh… okay, you’ve got me. It’s been a while.”
Sue laughed lightly. “That’s what I thought. Peter, you’re a brilliant young man with a good heart, but you can’t pour from an empty cup. If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’re going to burn out.”
“I know, I know,” Peter said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s just… there’s always so much to do, you know? It’s hard to take a step back when it feels like the world is always on fire.”
Sue placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Trust me, I get it. But you need to find balance. And maybe—just maybe—you should think about spending some of that free time with someone special.”
Peter blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait, are you suggesting…?”
“A date,” Sue said simply, her smile widening.
Peter laughed, a touch of nervousness creeping into his tone. “Yeah, because my track record with relationships is so inspiring. Let’s see, there’s the one who couldn't deal with Spider-Man and moved to the other side of the country to be a model, the one who got caught in the crossfire of my double life, and the thief—actually, let’s not talk about that one.”
Sue chuckled but didn’t back down. “Peter, everyone has their baggage. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t put yourself out there. Look at Reed and me. We’ve faced more obstacles than I can count, but we make it work because we make time for each other.”
Reed, who had been listening quietly, chimed in with a small smile. “She’s right, Peter. Building a life outside of work—whether it’s relationships, friendships, or hobbies—is just as important as your career. Don’t underestimate the value of stepping away from the lab every now and then.”
Peter looked between them, their words sinking in more deeply than he cared to admit. “You guys make it sound so easy,” he said with a weak smile. “But I don’t exactly have the best luck when it comes to that stuff.”
Sue shook her head. “It’s not about luck, Peter. It’s about effort and patience. And honestly? You’ve got a lot going for you. Smart, kind, brave—you’re the total package. You just need to let people see that.”
Peter felt his cheeks flush slightly. “Well, when you put it that way, I almost believe you.”
Sue laughed, giving his shoulder a light squeeze. “Good. Now go home, get some rest, and maybe think about taking a break from saving the world for a night. You deserve it.”
Reed nodded in agreement. “And if you ever need advice—or even just a listening ear—you know where to find us.”
Peter smiled, genuinely touched by their kindness. “Thanks, guys. I mean it. You’re the best.”
“Don’t mention it,” Sue said with a wink. “Now get out of here before we start assigning you extra work.”
Peter laughed, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “Alright, alright, I’m going. See you tomorrow!”
---
The elevator doors slid shut, leaving Peter alone with his thoughts as he descended to the lobby. The gentle hum of the machinery was soothing, a rare moment of quiet in his otherwise chaotic life.
“Take a break,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head with a small smile. “Sure, why not? Maybe I’ll just pencil in ‘normal life’ between fighting supervillains and finishing my thesis.”
Still, as much as he joked, he couldn’t deny that the idea had merit. Sue was right—he was running himself ragged. And maybe, just maybe, he was overdue for a change of pace.
Stepping out into the crisp evening air, Peter zipped up his jacket and began the familiar walk home. The city was alive with its usual energy—cars honking, people chatting, the distant rhythm of a street performer’s drums.
As he weaved through the crowd, he found himself reflecting on the past few years. His life had always been a balancing act, but lately, it felt like the stakes were higher than ever. Being Spider-Man was more than just a responsibility; it was a calling. But even heroes needed a break.
“Married to the job,” he muttered under his breath, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Story of my life.”
The cool evening air brushed against Peter Parker’s face as he strolled down the sidewalk, the sounds of New York City filling the space around him. The steady hum of car engines and the chatter of passersby created a familiar rhythm, one that always felt oddly comforting after the sterile silence of the lab.
He adjusted the strap of his backpack and sighed. The day had been productive, sure, but it had also left him bone-tired. Sue’s advice to rest echoed in his mind, and for once, he considered actually following it.
That thought was cut short when his Spider-Sense flared.
The sharp, tingling buzz shot down the back of his skull, stopping him mid-step. His eyes darted around, scanning the street for the source of the danger. At first, everything seemed normal—just a bustling city block full of people going about their lives. But then he saw it: a large figure standing atop a parked truck, its tail coiled and ready to strike.
“Scorpion,” Peter muttered under his breath.
Mac Gargan looked more menacing than ever. His green exosuit gleamed under the streetlights, and the segmented tail attached to his back swayed ominously, its stinger dripping with a viscous, unknown substance. But it wasn’t just his appearance that set Peter on edge—it was the way Scorpion moved. There was a newfound confidence in his stance, a dangerous energy radiating from him.
Before Peter could process further, Scorpion leapt from the truck, landing in the middle of the street with a resounding thud. Civilians screamed and scattered as he swung his tail in a wide arc, smashing through a row of parked cars like they were made of tin.
“Run!” Scorpion bellowed, his voice distorted by the helmet of his suit. “Run while you can, little ants! The Scorpion’s here to play!”
Peter ducked into an alley and yanked his mask from his backpack. “So much for a quiet night,” he muttered, quickly pulling on the rest of his suit. Moments later, Spider-Man vaulted onto a nearby rooftop, taking in the chaos below.
“Hey, Mac!” he called, his voice carrying over the din. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to play in traffic?”
Scorpion turned sharply, his glowing yellow eyes locking onto Spider-Man. “You,” he growled. “Figures you’d show up to ruin my fun.”
Peter shot a web at a nearby lamppost and swung down, landing a few feet away from his foe. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for party crashers. But seriously, Mac, this is a new low, even for you. Smashing cars? Scaring civilians? What’s next, jaywalking?”
Scorpion snarled and lashed out with his tail, forcing Spider-Man to flip backward to avoid the strike. The stinger embedded itself in the pavement, leaving a crater where Peter had stood.
“Yikes,” Peter said, crouching on the side of a building. “Did someone upgrade your stinger, or have you been hitting the gym?”
“You have no idea,” Scorpion sneered. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged at Spider-Man, his movements almost too fast to track.
Peter barely had time to react, ducking under a swipe of Scorpion’s claws and firing a web at his opponent’s face. Scorpion tore through the webbing with ease and retaliated with a tail strike, narrowly missing Peter’s head.
“Okay, definitely been hitting the gym,” Peter muttered, his mind racing as he dodged another attack. It didn’t take long for him to notice that something was off. Scorpion wasn’t just faster—he was stronger, too. Each swing of his tail carried enough force to shatter concrete, and his reflexes were sharper than Peter had ever seen.
The two clashed in a blur of movement, Scorpion’s brute strength pitted against Spider-Man’s agility. Peter used every trick in his arsenal, webbing Scorpion’s limbs to slow him down and baiting him into overextending his attacks. But no matter how many times Peter thought he had the upper hand, Scorpion would recover with alarming speed.
“You’re not getting tired, are you, Bug-Boy?” Scorpion taunted, his tail crashing into the side of a parked van and flipping it onto its side.
“Not at all,” Peter shot back, firing a web to swing out of harm’s way. “But you might want to check your cardio. You’re looking a little winded.”
In truth, Peter was the one struggling. His muscles burned from constant movement, and his mind was working overtime to keep up with Scorpion’s relentless assault. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something had fundamentally changed about Mac Gargan.
“What happened to you, Mac?” Peter asked, dodging another strike. “Did someone slip you some Popeye's spinach or something?”
Scorpion grinned, a manic gleam in his eyes. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
With a roar, Scorpion launched himself at Peter, tackling him mid-swing and slamming him into the side of a building. The impact knocked the wind out of Peter, and he barely managed to fire a web to soften his fall as he tumbled to the ground.
He landed hard, rolling to his feet just in time to see Scorpion advancing on him, his tail poised to strike.
“Come on, Spidey,” Scorpion said, his voice dripping with malice. “You’re supposed to be better than this. Don’t tell me you’re losing your edge.”
Peter’s Spider-Sense screamed, and he leapt backward as Scorpion’s tail struck the ground where he’d been standing. The pavement cracked beneath the force of the blow, sending debris flying in all directions.
“Alright, time to change tactics,” Peter muttered, firing a web at a nearby streetlight and swinging around Scorpion in a wide arc. He had to keep Mac off balance, distract him long enough to figure out what was going on.
But Scorpion was faster than expected, turning on a dime and swiping at Peter mid-swing. The claws grazed his side, tearing through his suit and drawing blood.
Peter winced, landing on a nearby rooftop to catch his breath. “Okay, that’s new,” he said, pressing a hand to his side. “And also, ow.”
Before he could recover, Scorpion leapt onto the roof, his tail whipping toward Peter with unrelenting force. Peter ducked and rolled, firing webs at Scorpion’s legs to trip him up.
The tactic worked—briefly. Scorpion stumbled, giving Peter just enough time to deliver a well-placed kick to his chest. The impact sent Scorpion sprawling, but he recovered almost instantly, his tail lashing out in a wide arc.
Peter flipped over the strike, firing a web to pull himself onto a higher ledge. “Seriously, Mac, what’s your secret? CrossFit? Protein shakes? Evil science experiments?”
Scorpion didn’t answer, instead lunging at Peter with a roar.
The fight raged on, each clash more intense than the last. Peter’s movements grew slower as exhaustion began to take its toll, while Scorpion seemed fueled by an almost inhuman energy.
The fight with Scorpion was quickly spiraling out of control. Peter's breathing was labored, and his muscles screamed in protest with every movement. Scorpion’s strength was unprecedented, his tail lashing out with a speed and precision that left Peter scrambling to stay ahead. The ground around them was littered with debris—shattered concrete, twisted metal, and overturned cars—testament to the havoc wreaked during their clash.
“You’re slowing down, Spider!” Scorpion snarled, his mechanical tail smashing into the side of a delivery truck, crumpling it like paper. “What’s the matter? Finally realizing you’re outmatched?”
Peter barely dodged another strike, the stinger missing his shoulder by inches. “Not outmatched,” he quipped, breathless, “just… reevaluating my life choices. Remind me to send my therapist a fruit basket.”
The truth was, Peter was running on fumes. His attempts to outmaneuver Scorpion had become increasingly desperate, his web-shooters nearly depleted from trying to subdue his foe. Despite all his efforts, Scorpion was relentless, his newfound strength and speed overwhelming even Spider-Man’s formidable agility.
Peter flipped onto a nearby lamppost, clutching it tightly as he tried to catch his breath. His Spider-Sense flared again, warning him of the incoming attack, and he leapt away just as Scorpion’s tail came crashing down, splitting the metal post in two.
“This is bad,” Peter muttered to himself, landing on a rooftop a few yards away. He fumbled with his communicator, debating whether to call the Avengers. He hated asking for help—it wasn’t exactly great for his ego—but this wasn’t a fight he could win on his own.
Before he could press the button, a sudden blur of red and blue streaked across the battlefield, moving so fast it was almost imperceptible.
“What the—” Peter started, his words trailing off as he watched the blur slam into Scorpion with incredible force, sending the hulking villain flying into a pile of rubble.
The figure came to a stop, and for a moment, Peter could only stare in disbelief. Standing there, backlit by the glow of the streetlights, was a woman—a stunningly powerful presence in a sleek, iconic outfit.
Her costume was a striking combination of deep red, gold, and blue. The crimson top bore a bold, golden starburst across her chest, with blue panels accentuating her shoulders and torso. Gold stripes ran down the length of her arms and legs, glinting under the dim city lights. Her cape, short and angular, fluttered slightly as she moved.
Her blonde hair shimmered, falling just past her shoulders in loose waves, and her piercing blue eyes radiated confidence and intensity. She exuded a sense of strength that was palpable, her every movement precise and deliberate.
“Whoa,” Peter muttered under his breath, still perched on the edge of the rooftop.
The woman turned her head slightly, acknowledging Peter with a small, amused smile before refocusing her attention on Scorpion. “You’ve caused enough trouble for one night,” she said, her voice carrying a calm authority.
Scorpion, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet, glared at her. “Who the hell are you supposed to be?” he spat, his tail twitching menacingly.
She tilted her head, unfazed by his hostility. “Captain Marvel,” she said simply. “And you’re done.”
Scorpion roared, charging at her with all the speed and fury he could muster. His tail lashed out, aiming for her midsection, but she didn’t even flinch. In a blur of motion, she sidestepped the attack, grabbing the tail with one hand and slamming Scorpion into the ground with enough force to crack the pavement.
Peter’s jaw dropped. “Okay, that’s impressive,” he muttered. "And kinda hot."
Scorpion roared again, his frustration evident as he struggled to free himself from her grip. But Captain Marvel didn’t give him a chance. With a sharp twist, she disarmed him completely, tearing the mechanical tail from his suit and tossing it aside like a broken toy.
“You’ve been upgraded,” she observed, her tone clinical. “But not enough.”
She delivered a single, devastating punch to Scorpion’s chest, sending him sprawling onto his back. He didn’t get up.
---
As the dust settled from the chaos of the battle, Spider-Man found himself standing awkwardly on a crumbled street corner, trying to process the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded. Scorpion was sprawled unconscious in the debris, taken out in record time by the newcomer who now stood a few feet away.
Captain Marvel.
She was wiping dust off her red-and-blue suit with a nonchalance that seemed almost unfair given how intense the fight had been. Her golden hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her confident stance suggested she could probably handle three more Scorpions without breaking a sweat.
Peter swung down from his perch, landing a few feet away from the scene. “Well, that’s one way to make an entrance,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant despite the awe in his voice.
“Nice work, Bug-Boy,” she said, glancing at him with a teasing smile.
Spider-Man froze for a beat, his mouth opening and closing as if trying to find a comeback in a database that had suddenly gone offline. Focus, Parker. You’ve bantered with gods. You’ve faced alien invasions. You’ve got this.
“Uh, it’s Spider-Man,” he finally managed, pointing to himself. “Friendly neighborhood. Does whatever a spider can. Bug-Boy’s... not really the brand I’m going for.”
Captain Marvel chuckled, the sound light and disarming. “Noted. So, Spider-Man, do you make a habit of biting off more than you can chew, or was tonight just a special occasion?”
“Oh, you know me,” he said, recovering some of his trademark sarcasm. “When a giant guy in a tail suit starts tearing up the city, I just can’t resist. It’s like... my version of karaoke night. But, uh, thanks for the assist. I was totally handling it, though. You know, before you swooped in and... effortlessly punched him into next week.”
Her grin widened. “Totally. You were doing great. The part where you got launched into the air? Very stylish.”
Spider-Man scratched the back of his head, glad his mask hid the flush creeping up his neck. “Yeah, I call that the ‘Spider-Sling.’ Patent pending, don't forget the hyphen.”
Captain Marvel crossed her arms, tilting her head as she sized him up. “You’re funnier than I expected. Most guys in tights tend to take themselves way too seriously.”
“Aw, shucks,” Peter quipped, placing a hand over his heart. “Did Captain Marvel just compliment me? I think I’m gonna need to frame this moment.”
“Don’t push your luck, Webhead,” she replied, her tone teasing but warm.
There was a pause, during which Spider-Man realized he was staring a little too long at her. He quickly shifted gears, gesturing toward the unconscious Scorpion. “So, uh... you do this kind of thing often? You know, swoop in, save the day, leave everyone else wondering how you make it look so easy?”
“Only when I’m available,” she said, glancing at Scorpion as if he were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. “Most of the time, I’m dealing with, let’s say, other kinds of problems.”
“Bigger than a guy with a robotic tail trying to turn the city into his personal playground?” Spider-Man asked, feigning shock. “Wow, I feel so small right now.”
She laughed again, the sound catching him off guard. There was something about her—a mix of strength and approachability—that made her unlike anyone he’d met before.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” she said, nodding toward the wreckage. “You kept him from hurting anyone until I showed up. That’s not nothing.”
“High praise,” he replied, giving her a mock bow. “You’re really good at this whole ‘charming superhero’ thing, you know that? Like, it’s kind of unfair. You punch harder, you fly, and you’re charismatic. Leave some superpowers for the rest of us.”
“Sorry,” she said with a shrug that was anything but apologetic. “Guess I’m just an overachiever.”
Before Spider-Man could come up with another quip, the distant whine of approaching engines filled the air. He turned his head, spotting the unmistakable black SUVs and helicopters of SHIELD closing in.
“Well,” Captain Marvel said, straightening up. “Looks like backup’s here.”
“Yeah,” Peter said, feeling oddly reluctant to see the moment end. “Uh, thanks again. For, you know, saving me from getting turned into a human pinball.”
She smiled at him, a glimmer of mischief in her blue eyes. “Anytime, Bug-Boy.”
“It’s Spider-Man,” he called after her as she started walking toward the arriving SHIELD agents.
She flicked ger hair and glanced back over her shoulder, her grin making his heart do a weird little flip. “I know.”
Peter watched her go, barely noticing the SHIELD operatives swarming the scene. As Captain Marvel strode toward the SHIELD operatives, Spider-Man stayed frozen in place for a moment, staring after her. His mind was spinning, and it wasn’t because of Scorpion’s sucker punches.
Okay, pull it together, Parker, he thought, shaking his head as if that would somehow jolt his brain back into functionality. She’s just another superhero. A ridiculously powerful, witty, and—ugh—annoyingly attractive superhero. Not a big deal. Totally normal day for you.
He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, watching her chat with Nick Fury like they were old friends. Her easy confidence, that charming grin—she made it all seem effortless, while he was over here trying not to trip over his own webs.
“This is your fault, Sue,” Peter muttered under his breath, imagining her voice in his head: ‘You should go on a date, Peter. There’s someone out there for you.’
And Reed. Oh, Reed wasn’t off the hook either. His calm, rational advice about not overworking himself, about finding balance in life, had planted the idea in Peter’s head. And now here he was, standing in the rubble of a city street, internally spiraling because some cosmic-powered hero had decided to dropkick her way into his already complicated life.
“I didn’t need this, Richards,” Peter grumbled to himself, shaking his head. “I’ve got enough on my plate without my brain going, ‘Hey, you know what would be fun? Crushing on someone completely out of your league.’”
He glanced back toward Captain Marvel one last time as she strode over towards him, walking side by side with the Director.
“Yeah, thanks for that, brain,” Peter muttered. “Real helpful. Great timing.”
Fury’s one-eyed gaze swept over the scene, lingering on the unconscious Scorpion before landing on Peter and Captain Marvel. “He's not getting up any time soon,” he said, his tone brisk.
“Captain Marvel did most of the heavy lifting,” Peter admitted, gesturing to her.
Fury nodded, his expression unreadable. “That’s why she’s back.”
“Back?” Peter asked, glancing between them.
Captain Marvel shrugged. “I’ve been off-world for a while. Figured it was time to check in on home base.”
Peter blinked. “Off-world? Like… other planets?”
She nodded.
“Wow,” Peter said, momentarily at a loss for words. “That’s… so cool. I mean, I’ve done some interdimensional stuff, but space? That’s next level.”
Captain Marvel’s smile softened. “You’d do fine out there,” she said.
Peter felt his face heat up under his mask. “Thanks,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.
Fury cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “We’ll take it from here,” he said, motioning for the agents to secure Scorpion. “Captain, good work. Spider-Man, stop blushing.”
Peter scowled at him, while Captain Marvel giggled, stepping back as the agents moved in. Peter watched her, still slightly starstruck.
As she turned to leave, she glanced over her shoulder at him. “See you around, Spider-Man,” she said, her tone light but promising.
Peter stood there for a moment, watching her disappear into the night. “Yep,” he said to himself, “definitely hot.”
He shot a web to a nearby building and swung off, his thoughts still racing. Focus on the important stuff, Parker, he told himself. Like why Scorpion suddenly turned into the Hulk’s angrier cousin. Not on how annoyingly perfect Captain Marvel is. Nope. Not gonna happen.
But even as he tried to shove those thoughts aside, he couldn’t quite stop hearing Sue’s voice, playful and teasing: ‘There’s someone out there for you, Peter.’
“Yeah, sure,” he muttered, leaping to another rooftop. “Right after I figure out how to stop villains from injecting themselves with turbo serum. No big deal.”
---
Peter Parker swung through the night, the familiar rhythm of his web-slinging soothing his overactive mind. The cool air rushed past him, carrying with it the hum of a city that never truly slept. The streets below buzzed with life, but his thoughts were miles away, caught between the chaos of the evening’s events.
“Okay,” he muttered to himself as he released one web line and fired another. “Let’s start with the obvious: Scorpion. How in the name of Stan Lee did he get that strong? He’s always been a pain, but tonight he was next-level.”
Peter’s mind replayed the fight in vivid detail. Scorpion’s speed had been uncanny, his blows landing harder than ever before. Peter had barely been able to stay one step ahead, and even then, it had felt like he was dancing on the edge of disaster.
“Enhanced strength, faster reflexes, and that tail—seriously, who needs a tail that sharp?” He swung wide over a rooftop, his brow furrowed. “Did he juice up on some experimental serum? Get another tech upgrade? Or—and this is the part I hate—is someone out there messing with genes now?”
The idea made his stomach churn. Genetic manipulation wasn’t unheard of, but it rarely led to anything good. If someone had found a way to artificially enhance people like Scorpion, that could spell big trouble. For mutants, for heroes, for everyone.
“And speaking of things that make no sense,” Peter said, his voice trailing off as his thoughts shifted to a certain blonde superhero. He released his web, flipping gracefully before firing another line. “Captain Marvel.”
He couldn’t help but replay the moment she’d swooped in, a streak of red and blue cutting through the chaos. Scorpion, who had been giving Peter the fight of his life, had gone down in seconds. One punch. One freaking punch.
“That wasn’t just power—that was style,” Peter muttered, a faint grin tugging at his lips. He could still picture her, standing confidently amidst the wreckage, her golden hair catching the glow of the streetlights. Her suit, bold and vibrant, was unlike anything he’d seen up close before. “And those eyes—okay, Parker, focus.”
His grip tightened on the web as he swung higher, trying to shake off the warmth creeping up his neck. Sure, she’d saved his spandexed butt, and sure, she was drop-dead gorgeous, but she was also, well, Captain Marvel. Off-world agent. Cosmic powerhouse. Probably had no time for a guy who still had rent problems.
“Still, she was... something else,” Peter admitted, his voice quieter now. “Strong, confident, funny.” He replayed their brief banter, her effortless charm, and how she’d managed to fluster him in record time. “Yup. Totally whipped. Great job, Parker.”
He sighed, swinging low over a quieter street as his thoughts circled back to Scorpion. As much as he wanted to let his mind linger on Captain Marvel, the mystery of Scorpion’s transformation gnawed at him. If he was stronger, faster, and more dangerous now, who was behind it? And why?
“Someone doesn’t just hand out that kind of upgrade for free,” he reasoned. “There’s always a catch. A bigger plan. And if Scorpion was just the start...” Peter didn’t finish the thought, the implications too heavy to put into words.
He reached a tall building, perching on the edge to take a breather. The city stretched out before him, glittering and alive, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something darker was brewing beneath the surface.
The room was a void of shadow, illuminated only by the dim, flickering glow of monitors lining the walls. Each screen displayed a different fragment of the recent chaos in the city: Spider-Man battling Scorpion, the arrival of Captain Marvel, and the aftermath as S.H.I.E.L.D. agents secured the scene. The footage was silent, but the destruction captured on the screens spoke volumes.
At the center of the room stood a figure cloaked in darkness, their face obscured by the interplay of light and shadow. Their posture was commanding, radiating an aura of calculated menace. Across from them stood an assistant, their stance rigid as they clutched a sleek tablet.
The silence lingered until the figure broke it with a low, measured voice. “Report.”
The assistant hesitated for a moment before speaking. “The Scorpion experiment was... partially successful,” they began carefully. “His enhancements performed as anticipated—strength, speed, durability—but his inability to maintain control undermined the mission.”
The shadowed figure stepped closer to the screens, the faint light catching the edge of their angular jaw. Their voice remained calm, but there was an undercurrent of frustration. “And Spider-Man?”
The assistant tapped their tablet, pulling up a looped video of Spider-Man dodging Scorpion’s attacks with his signature agility. “Predictably troublesome,” the assistant admitted. “He’s resourceful, adaptable. He managed to hold his own longer than expected, even against Scorpion’s augmented capabilities.”
The figure’s gaze remained fixed on the screen, watching Spider-Man’s movements with clinical precision. “A pest,” they murmured. “But a persistent one. And then... her.”
The assistant nodded, swiping to a still image of Captain Marvel standing over Scorpion’s defeated form. Her costume gleamed even in the grainy footage, a symbol of undeniable power.
“Captain Marvel’s arrival was unanticipated,” the assistant said. “Her interference turned the tide of the battle almost instantly. Scorpion was rendered incapacitated within seconds.”
The shadowed figure’s hand clenched into a fist, their knuckles catching the faint glow of the monitors. “I was under the impression she was off-world,” they said, their tone dangerously calm.
“She was,” the assistant confirmed. “Her return was unannounced, likely orchestrated by Fury. He must have suspected something, though how much he knows remains unclear.”
A heavy silence settled over the room as the figure stared at the image of Captain Marvel. When they spoke again, their voice was colder, sharper. “Her presence complicates matters. Fury’s involvement complicates matters. But our work is far from finished.”
The assistant inclined their head, waiting for the inevitable order.
“Scorpion was a prototype,” the shadowed figure continued. “A test of the artificial mutation’s effectiveness. And it worked.” They gestured to the monitors. “His abilities exceeded expectations. The fact that he lost to Spider-Man and Captain Marvel is irrelevant. The mutation functions. We can refine it.”
The assistant shifted uncomfortably. “There were… side effects,” they said cautiously. “The aggression spike was higher than anticipated. It made him unstable, uncontrollable.”
The figure turned sharply, their silhouette cutting through the darkness. “And?”
The assistant faltered but pressed on. “That instability could pose a risk in future subjects. If the mutation amplifies aggression in all cases—”
“It won’t,” the figure interrupted. Their tone left no room for argument. “We’ll adapt. We’ll control it. Scorpion’s volatility was a symptom of his own inadequacies, not a failure of the mutation itself.”
The assistant nodded, though doubt lingered in their eyes.
The shadowed figure turned back to the monitors, watching as Captain Marvel disappeared from the scene, leaving Spider-Man to marvel at her power. “The real challenge,” they said, more to themselves than to their assistant, “is perception. The world already fears mutants. Our goal is to ensure that fear becomes irreversible.”
The assistant tilted their head. “The Avengers and Fantastic Four will defend them,” they said. “Their public support could counteract our efforts.”
“Then we’ll use that support against them,” the figure said smoothly. “Position them as enablers of the mutant threat. Frame their allegiance as a danger to humanity. The public’s trust is a fragile thing. With the right pressure, it will shatter.”
The assistant swiped through more data, pulling up news reports and social media chatter. “Anti-mutant sentiment is already rising,” they noted. “The Scorpion incident has sown doubt. People are questioning whether enhanced individuals, mutants or otherwise, can truly be trusted.”
“Good,” the shadowed figure said, a faint smile playing across their lips. “That doubt is the seed. Our job is to cultivate it.”
The assistant hesitated before speaking again. “If we proceed with the next phase, it will require a broader deployment of the mutation. Larger-scale testing.”
The figure nodded. “We’ll choose our subjects carefully. Target individuals who can amplify the chaos. Criminals, mercenaries, anyone who can spread destruction and sow mistrust. Each incident will strengthen our narrative.”
“And the long-term goal?” the assistant asked.
The figure’s smile widened, though it remained hidden in the shadows. “Control,” they said simply. “The artificial mutation isn’t just a weapon. It’s a tool for dominance. Imagine an army of enhanced individuals, all loyal to us. Humanity will have no choice but to turn to us for protection. And when they do…”
The assistant’s eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning. “Global domination,” they whispered.
The figure stepped closer, their imposing presence filling the room. “Not just domination,” they said. “Order. The kind of order this chaotic world so desperately needs.”
The assistant straightened, their expression hardening into one of resolve. “What are your orders?”
“Prepare the next phase,” the figure said. “Secure new test subjects. Refine the mutation. And ensure that no one—Fury, Captain Marvel, or anyone else—interferes again.”
The assistant bowed slightly. “Understood.”
As they turned to leave, the shadowed figure called after them. “And one more thing,” they said, their voice low and menacing.
The assistant paused, glancing back.
“Remember,” the figure said, their tone sharp as a blade. “This isn’t just a mission. It’s a revolution. A new world is coming, and it begins with us.”
The assistant nodded. “I understand. Hail—”
“Not yet,” the figure interrupted, a sinister smile spreading across their lips. “Not until the world is ready. Until then, we remain in the shadows.”
The assistant left without another word, the door sliding shut behind them.
Alone in the room, the shadowed figure turned back to the monitors. Their gaze lingered on the image of Captain Marvel, her defiance etched into every line of her posture.
“Your strength won’t save you,” they murmured. “Not from what’s coming.”
They reached out, pressing a button that brought the Hydra insignia onto every screen, its symbol glowing ominously in the dark.
The room seemed to vibrate with the weight of their final words, a chilling declaration that echoed through the emptiness.
“Heil Hydra.”