He was late to class; very late. The rain had messed up his plans. His father's adhesive formula still had a few problems Peter had not figured out how to solve, one of those problems and the one responsible for his current predicament was that it dissolved when exposed to water. The morning news didn't announce any possibility of rain so Peter thought it would be a good idea to test out his new invention. A few weeks had passed since Peter got his powers and he'd spent those weeks measuring his physical abilities and trying to figure out what other things he could do that he'd not figured out yet. The most important thing was that he was now aware that the tingling in the back of his head worked like a sixth sense allowing him to perceive danger without needing to see it. Spider-sense he called it, yeah, he was not one for creative names.

The shopping trip with Harry had been a blessing in disguise. The Osborn heir bought a whole wardrobe worth of clothes for him and what had started as a begrudging acceptance from Peter developed into interest when he realized he would need new clothes to hide his muscles. So now Peter Parker had upgraded his style, at least according to Ned and Harry and he didn't even need to use glasses anymore, not when the spider powers gave him peak physical condition.

So, for the last three weeks, he had been running up and down buildings, leaping ever greater distances, punching through walls of concrete and steel and working on a costume he could use when going outside to use his powers. He didn't want anyone seeing his face while he was hanging upside down from a building. There was one thing he noted, however, that the spider bite had not gifted him. Webbing. Spiders were famous for their webs and how they used them to capture prey and move around. Yet he was unable to produce webs despite gaining many other spidery features. Initially, Peter felt thankful that there was no sticky stuff leaking from his body but then he started to wonder if he could create webbing of his own. Running up walls was great and all but what if he wanted to go from building to building? He couldn't just jump everywhere, even with his stamina that would not be sustainable. It was then that Peter remembered the industrial adhesive his father had been developing before his plane crash. The adhesive was designed to help in skyscraper construction but maybe with some adaptations, he could make it more flexible and portable. He bought several books on spiders, studied the composites of their webbing and their shape using biology to inspire his design. After about a week he was able to produce something that looked like spider webs, but it was still too frail to be usable. Next, he improved the hardiness of the material using his father's notes. Then he used his own brain to find a way to carry webbing around with him. It still wasn't perfect, but Peter had found a way to pack, the webbing inside canisters about the size of his hand that he then attached to a bracelet. It was still huge and uncomfortable to wear but it would do for a first test. He just needed to wait for a day without ray and he could test it, dissolving in water was one of the little problems with the material that he was still yet to resolve. Hiding his red ski mask complete with sunglass lenses inside his bag Peter said goodbye to Uncle Ben and Aunt May intent on swinging to school. It all went smoothly at first. He fell or hit a wall here and there but as he had found out many days ago when he slipped and tumbled from a twenty-story high building it didn't hurt that much when he fell which was convenient seeing that his powers entailed doing acrobatics across buildings. It did, however, start to rain after about 20 minutes and as expected the webbing dissolved as soon as it left the cannister. Great.

This is why Peter Parker was now standing in the doorway that led to the biology classroom being stared at by all his classmates and teacher while completely drenched.

"Mr. Williams. I'm so sorry. My Aunt's car broke down and there were no cabs and I had to run to school and…and…and."

Harry let out a snort, but Mr Williams silenced him with a murderous stare.

"Very well Peter. Don't let this happen again. Your attention in class has been lacking this year and now this. If you're not careful your grades will start to slip. You can't afford to slack off just because you're a bit smarter than normal. Mr. Thompson, I don't know what you find so funny, but we will speak after class."

Flash almost fell out of his chair. He looked at Peter like it was somehow all his fault.

Peter sat down beside Ned near the window. This was not how he imagined his day going but still, he had been able to swing for a few minutes. That was a success. Oftentimes he wondered why he was so interested in developing his webbing designing a suit and studying his powers. Peter had no intentions of becoming a superhero or anything. New York had Daredevil and Jewel and sometimes even Doctor Strange to keep it safe. Peter wasn't about to rescue his life by going around and beating up criminals every night. He wouldn't allow anyone to rob or murder someone while he was watching but he also wouldn't go out of his way to look for fights. He did however think it would be cool to master these powers and be able to swing from building to building in Manhattan. He'd already planned to sneak out one night to climb the Empire State. It was the first thing he thought about once he came to terms with his new abilities.

"Hey Pete," he heard Ned whisper. Ned was pointing at his phone under the table, "Check out what I sent to the group. You're going to freak out."

Peter glanced in Mr. Williams's way and pulled out his phone. What he saw next made his heart stop for a second. It was a blurry photo of someone, himself probably, climbing a building without any equipment.

Don't freak out. Don't freak out. I need to assure Ned that I have no idea who this is. He and Harry have already been suspicious of the way I've been acting lately without me letting anything about the spider powers slip.

"What is this? Where did you find this? It looks like Photoshop, and bad one at it. Look they even made sure to take the picture during the night to disguise their half-assed editing skills."

"Come on Pete! It's not photoshop! Photos of this guy have been showing up left and right on social media. He's the real deal—a new superpowered human in New York. Doesn't it feel like they're popping up everywhere these days? I mean there have been superheroes and supervillains before but now it feels like every time I turn on the news Moon Knight took down a new villain in LA or Daredevil fought someone in Hell's Kitchen."

"It's photoshop Ned. And, even if he has superpowers maybe he wants to be left alone. Hell, if he wanted to be seen he wouldn't be crawling around during nighttime!" Peter exclaimed putting both hands up in protest.

"Mr. Parker! You are interrupting the class. Wasn't being late enough for you? If you keep going down this path, I will have to call your aunt and uncle to have a little talk with them. Now settle down."

Great. Just, great Pete. Screaming at Ned. The definition of discrete. Maybe I should be a spy.

"Peter…" Ned started looking his way with humid eyes, "I'm sorry."

"What? Ned, I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have snapped like that. You know what, you're right it is weird that all these superhumans keep showing up everywhere. Keep me posted on this wall-crawling guy, I want to know more about him." This way he could make sure that his social media presence was being kept at the lowest amount possible while also not arousing Ned's suspicions.

"Okay, Pete. Will do," before Ned could finish talking a crumpled paper hit his back.

Harry was looking at them but when they peered his way the Osborn scion was suddenly very interested in chatting up Gwen, without much success.

"Open it, Ned. It's from Harry so it can't be anything good I guess."

"Okay…" Ned hesitated but eventually opened the little piece of paper revealing the message, "GROW A PAIR NED. AND SHUT THE FUCK UP PETER! YOU'RE MESSING UP OPERATION G!" scribbled on it with the worst calligraphy of all time which could only belong to Harry. The ancient Egyptians should be proud that someone was keeping their language alive, even if it was by accident.

"Messing up operation G. What a load of crap. That guy is full of himself," Peter muttered.

"I can't deny that. But look," Ned pointed in Harry's direction. "Man's got game."

Gwen was now actively talking to him and laughing! Laughing! Harry Osborn had never said anything funny in his fifteen years of existence!

"Ooooo I'm Harry Osborn, lost child of the long-lost dynasty of Osborn assholes and I have come to humbly beg for your hand Princess Gwen," Peter whispered in his best Harry voice.

Ned let out a giggle, "Peter stop! The teacher is going to hear us!"

"Mr. Leeds! Mr. Parker! You will be joining Mr. Thompson when class ends. I have had enough of your behaviour! It is insulting to me and the rest of the students!"

The last thing Peter saw before he drowned in shame was Harry looking his way laughing quietly.

Harry, Ned, and Peter were walking out of school. His talk with Mr. Williams could be summed up int two points, he was going to call Aunt May and Uncle Ben and he would have after-school detention with Ned and Flash for a week. Good thing he'd gotten spider powers because otherwise, he might have ended up just like Mr. Williams, scrawny, nerdy, and utterly ordinary, teaching kids who barely listened to him and driving a run-down old Toyota.

"Today was awful!" he sighed looking up at the sky in defeat, "Parker luck sucks."

"Why was it awful?" Harry asked with a mocking fake quizzical look. He was wearing his signature black trench coat and the way it swayed in the wind in perfect sync with his perfect curly hair framing his perfect face was irking irritating Peter. He knew it was stupid but after what had happened earlier, he couldn't help but be mad at even the stupidest things.

"Oh Harry, I don't know! Maybe because Mr Williams gave me after-school detention for the next week and or maybe because he's going to call my aunt and uncle to tell them I've been slacking off when really, I'm his best student!"

"You're not his best student," Harry stated matter-of-factly following with a smirk. Was he trying to get on his nerves?

"Oh, really then who is Osborn? You?" he spat. Harry had been acting increasingly arrogant the last few days and Peter wasn't like Ned, he would not just sit there and put up with his attitude with a smile. Harry was Peter's best friend but even friends needed to be told things how they were every once in a while.

"No. Gwen and Ned are," the Osborn scion stopped dead in his tracks staring Peter down as if they were about to fight. Maybe they should. Peter would win that fight for sure.

"What are you talking about!? I have better grades than Ned and Gwen. Just because you are dating Gwen or something that doesn't suddenly make her better than me at biology, it doesn't make her better than me in any subject for that matter."

"Sure, you have better grades than them. But by how much Peter?"

"Well…not that much, but I don't see how that has any relevance to what we are talking ab—"

"It is relevant. Ned and Gwen are almost at your level, and they don't behave like you've been behaving for the past three or so weeks, Peter."

"What!? I've been acting completely normal!"

"Peter. Please listen to what Harry is saying. We're just trying to help you."

"You're trying to help me? Wait…we? As in both of you? Did you guys' plan this out? Did you decide to give me some moral lesson after school? What are you? My parents?" who gave them the right to talk to him like that? They weren't any better than him. In fact, he was better than them, Peter could run up walls and punch through concrete. Ned and Harry were just…normal.

"Yes," started Harry, "Me and Ned agreed that it was past time we did something. You've been acting weird lately Peter. Being late to class, barely studying, always slacking off when you actually do make it to class and being downright arrogant to teachers and everyone else. You never want to hang out with us after school and you never answer any of our messages. We…we're worried Peter."

"What!?" he exploded. They were standing near the front gate and a small crowd of students was gathering around them, he saw Flash, Liz and Gwen through the corner of his eye. "Is this what this is about? I never hang out with you anymore. Are you joking? Do you want me to sign a contract that states I have to hang out with you guys twice a week or something? I have other, better things to do. Or maybe you think that only you, Mr I'm the heir to an international corporation, have any kind of interesting things to do and that everyone around you should beg to spend time in your magnificent presence. Arrogant? You dare accuse me of being arrogant? You are the epitome of arrogancy Harry Osborn!"

"Peter…I," Harry looked around and then back at him, "maybe we should go somewhere quieter."

"Why? So, we don't besmirch your scintillating reputation? Or maybe you're scared that your little girlfriend will think badly of you and your friends when she sees us fighting."

"Peter," Ned tried to say.

"I'm leaving," and with that, he turned around and started to walk away.

"Go then! Run away, Peter! It doesn't make anything I said any less true!" he heard Harry scream.

It was finished. Finally. He sat unsteadily on a three-legged stool in front of the table. Peter was tired, but at least it was complete. Atop the large wooden table was a large collection of scientific notes and blueprints detailing the necessary ingredients and produce to make his father's super adhesive component. A thing and long strand of webbing was being held in place by two metal pincers and it was dripping water. It was completely soaked and yet the webbing had not dissolved. Peter had done it. He'd finished his dad's project. He looked at the pile of dusty boxes forgotten in a corner of the basement.

Maybe now—no. I'm not ready yet. I can't face them yet.

Well, that had soured his mood, just when he'd stopped thinking about his fight with Harry. Maybe Peter had been too rash and rude, but Harry was being an asshole. Mr Williams was probably telling Uncle Ben and Aunt May had turned into the second coming of Satan by now and soon he'd have to face them.

I could just skip dinner. My webbing is ready, and I need to test it. Yeah, that's a good idea, at least it will keep them off my back for today.

Peter loaded what should be an hour's worth of webbing into two small canisters that looked like miniature gas bottles. They were still a bit too big and heavy, but he could work on that later, for now, two, one for each wrist, would suffice. He attached the canisters to the bracelets he'd designed, and they made a satisfying click sound. The bracelets also needed some fine-tuning to prevent him from using too much or too little webbing, and he still planned to add several web shooting modes.

Peter opened a large metal locker to reveal a black leather zip-up jacket that only reached his waist with patterned red sleeves and a messy spider logo painted on the back with red spray, below the jacket was a pair of red and black camo pants and jet-black combat boots. No time better than the present to find out if his wall-crawling powers would still work when wearing thick boots. Inside the locker was an even smaller metal box protected by code. The metal box protected the spandex top and mask Peter had made. It should help him keep his identity concealed when swinging around. The top was simple black spandex decorated with red webbing and a smaller more minimalistic spider logo than the one on the back of his zip-up. The mask was the thing Peter was most proud of. It had similar webbing patterns to the spandex top and two big white lenses that would allow him to see well at night and protect his eyes from the sun if he ever wanted to go out during the day. He put it on pulling the hood of the jacket up, tucking the top into the camo pants and tucking the pants into the boots. Using that damned Harry Osborn's words Peter could say he was looking drippy.

He carefully opened the trapdoor and scanned the lawn. It was a chilly early December night.

Note to self, work on adding heating to the suit.

He could hear Uncle Ben and Aunt May discussing something in the kitchen, undoubtedly Peter's recent behaviour in school, and it sounded pretty heated. The voices got closer, and Ben's shadow appeared on the door that led to the lawn.

Thwip. He used the webs to propel himself onto the roof. If everything worked correctly it should dissolve in around an hour.

"We should try to understand his side May," Ben tried to reason.

"He's been skipping classes, Ben! Often! I agree that we should at least listen to what he has to say but he has to be punished, otherwise, he will never understand that this kind of behaviour needs to change. He's always been such a sweet and well-behaved kid, I don't know what changed."

"May he's fifteen. When you were fifteen, we ran away from home and lived in a San Francisco basement for months."

"It was a different time Ben, and just because we made mistakes Peter doesn't have to. It is our duty to make sure the boy turns out better than us," she pulled that pinkish wool sweater she always wore closer.

Ben sighed, "I know May. What I'm trying to say is…Peter hasn't had the easiest life. His parents died when he was so young, the kids at school always make fun of him because of how good he is, they always pick on the kind-hearted. But he tries May, I know he does, he's always there when we need him, no matter how bad he's feeling that day. All I'm saying is that maybe he just needs a break from it all, mayb—."

Thwip. Peter felt the cold winter air caress his cheeks. There was a real risk he would start crying if he stayed any longer. Ben and May were both right, sometimes Peter felt he was too hard on them. But that would change, even if he couldn't quite face them now with his current mood he'd make sure to apologize to them and try to spend more time with them in the coming weeks. Maybe he should apologize to Harry too. He'd need to swallow his pride first but maybe he could manage it. He'd locked the basement door, hopefully, May and Ben would think he'd fallen asleep while working.

Thwip. He made sure to avoid the streetlights. There were enough social media posts of him as it was. At least this time he was wearing a mask but being spotted near his house was the last thing he wanted. Queens wasn't exactly famous for its tall buildings which limited the viability of his webs, but Peter's spider jumps and wall-crawling ability, yes he could, in fact, run up walls while wearing combat boots somehow, was more than enough to carry him to Queensboro Bridge. He perched atop one of the towers safely out of the light and concealed by his mostly black costume. The noise of traffic below him sounded like a distant buzz when compared to the whooshing wind. He wasn't cold anymore after all that running and jumping. Peter was starting to wonder how he managed to never trip when running up buildings or perching atop lampposts or using thin railings as launch points, it was like he had an instinct that allowed him to know if any given acrobatics was possible. He felt his body sway slightly because of the strong winds but his powers kept him from falling. He looked down and his stomach turned.

This is high. I've never been this high ever before. I feel like I'm going to puke.

He pulled his mask up just enough to let out the contents of his afternoon meal. If he wanted to use these powers to get around and have some fun he'd need to work on his fear of heights. Concentrating on not looking down Peter opted instead to look ahead. Manhattan stood tall and imposing, the concrete jungle, its crown jewel the Empire State Building reigning above all others.

That's an idea. Not a very good one, but still, it's an idea.

Thwip. He shot towards the next tower and used it as a launch point. Everything was moving so fast and yet so slow, the wind, the lights the noise. Without so much as a sound, he stuck to a building on the other side of the bridge. He slowly walked up to the edge of the building looking over at the see of skyscrapers laid out in front of him.

Now or never Pete. Now or never.

He took one small step and the next moment all Peter could feel was the concrete getting closer and closer, the cold winter air whooshing around him, he was free-falling. Thwip. The web stuck to an apartment building and he felt the full force of his body being pulled up from the free fall.

"WHOOOOOAAAAAHHHHH!" the people below looked up and pointed at him letting out surprised exclamations.

Peter was not in control of the swinging. Not at all. He did a 360 spin around his web without wanting and then when he released it he flew upwards, and, not being able to control his movement he spun again and was now with his back facing the pavement.

"I'm going to DIEEEEEEEEEEEE!" Thwip. He managed to pull himself up at the last moment and release the web early enough to give himself enough moment to rapidly zip through the air while also being in control.

Okay. Okay. Keep calm I just need to time my releases.

Thwip. Thwip. He carefully chose where to shoot his webs and released them at the right moment. Well, that was all good, but he felt himself lose momentum, being careful and methodical was all good but now he was going to slowly to maintain his movement. He had to swing from higher places and let himself free fall for more time. Swinging was all about converting vertical speed into horizontal speed, he couldn't build speed horizontally he had to do it vertically.

Peter landed on the rooftop of the…he looked down, the Museum of Modern Art it looked like. He sat down on the ledge his legs dangling over the street. He had two choices. Slow and controlled swinging which would make it safer but would also mean he'd need to constantly stop to throw himself off rooftops or to gain speed or faster more uncontrolled swinging like what he'd done earlier after he jumped off the bridge. He let out a breath. Go time.

Peter closed his eyes, and everything faded away. Thwip. He accelerated swinging his legs wildly.

Too fast. TOO FAST!

Peter let go of the web just when he was about to lose momentum. He felt the urge to puke once again. He'd made his decision, time to face it. He zipped through the air barely able to see anything. He barrel rolled, unwillingly, towards the ground. It was getting closer, closer, closer. Thwip. He was moving horizontally again; Peter moved his body slightly to the right and the webbing carried to the left. He let go of it earlier and stuck to the side of a building running across its surface. He jumped and grabbed onto the railing of the fire escape using it to flip himself over onto the roof, then Peter shot two webs pulling his body towards a chimney that he used as a launch point.

Bad idea. Bad idea. Awful idea Pete!

He had lost control. Propelled by intense momentum, he hurtled through the air, arms flailing and screams escaping him. When the world finally ceased its chaotic spin, he shot a web and spun around it until he collided with something. Peter clung to the building he had struck, panting heavily. There was some kind of light blinding him, so strong it felt like the sun.

Peter opened his eyes and found himself staring at a Coca-Cola ad. Times Square he was in freaking Times Square. In his costume. Sticking to a wall. In the location with the most cameras in the USA. Again, sticking to not just a wall but the most famous billboard in the whole world. Yeah, the cat was out of the box now. Ned would never shut up about this tomorrow.

The advertisement in question was the special Christmas Coca-Cola ad. The most stunning woman Peter had ever laid his eyes upon was spinning around in a Santa Claus costume while holding a bottle of coke. Fiery red hair, green eyes and those freckles. Well, dreaming was free.

"Hey there, Red," he whispered, "As you can see, I'm in big trouble." He pointed down at the people recording and pointing at him. He groaned, "I'm lonely. Can you fix that? AHHH! I keep cracking jokes and making a fool of myself whenever I feel nervous dammit."

Peter gracefully descended, executing a flawless leap as he shot a web, the silk strand seamlessly connecting with the urban landscape below. Whoever the Coca-Cola lady was she couldn't be much older than him. He went about swinging ever more gracefully and faster as he let his mind wander. Then he thought about swinging again and almost got himself killed.

Thwip. He stuck to the side of the Empire State Building.

Point for Peter Parker! Well, I made it here. He looked upwards. No backing out now.

He shot out two webs like he did when using a launch point and hurled himself upwards running as fast as superhumanly possible. Midway through the climb, Peter started crossing his arms before shooting webs which would hopefully make it more stylish. He only stopped at the very top. He was crouched on the Empire State's Antenna. How insane was that? Very. He'd not stopped a moment to think about how insane it was that he had powers and was swinging around New York. The whole world was insane. But somehow, there at the very top of the Big Apple Peter felt at peace. More at peace than ever before.

As Peter Parker leaped from the top of the Empire State Building, a surge of excitement coursed through him. To his surprise, the web-swinging felt more intuitive than ever before. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and suddenly, he understood the physics and dynamics of swinging through the city like never before.

With newfound confidence, Peter performed acrobatic flips and spins mid-air, weaving through the skyscrapers of Manhattan. The wind rushed past him as he effortlessly swung from building to building, the city skyline transforming into a playground of possibilities.

"WHUUUUUUUUOOOOOOOUUUU"

As he approached the Queensboro Bridge, Peter decided to push the limits of his newfound skills. He executed daring backflips and sudden direction changes, leaving a trail of awe-inspired onlookers below. The city lights reflected off his suit as he soared through the night, embracing the freedom that came with mastering his web-slinging abilities.

Reveling in the adrenaline rush, Peter swung gracefully under the bridge's arches, showcasing a level of control and finesse that he had never experienced before. His journey through the city had transformed from a mere means of transportation to a thrilling dance in the sky.

As he reached the other side of the bridge, Peter couldn't help but smile beneath his mask. He hurled under the bridge and removed his mask. Peter was panting and sore and tired, but he'd never felt so alive in his entire life.

He felt the back of his head tingle ever so slightly, but it was enough to make him quickly put his mask on again and turn around squinting. It was pitch dark below the bridge.

"Anyone there?" He asked trying his best to mask the uncertainty in his voice. His spider powers wouldn't save him from a bullet to the chest shot by some random mugger.

"Kid," a voice echoed in the dark "You hea fur the match?"

"Match?" he tried to make his voice sound deeper. Peter realized how stupid it was to sound confused in that situation, whatever this so-called match was, no one did anything under a bridge at two in the morning unless it was illegal. "Yes of course I am!"

"Come on in then. Remember we'll be watching you at all times."

Two pinkish lights whirred on revealing the man who'd just spoken standing before a doorway cut into the bridge's metal foundations. He was wearing a full black outfit complete with a jack-o'-lantern patch on the shoulder.

"Well, wut you waiting fur kid?"

Okay, this was starting to get weird. Anyone with common sense would have turned back and never looked back. Peter didn't need common sense though, he had superpowers.

He stopped just before the door side by side with the strange jack-o'-lantern patch guy. That patch had to mean something, but Peter couldn't figure out what exactly.

"This match…does it pay well?"

"Wut? Didn't yo dumb ass say you was hea for the match? How do you not know how much it pays?"

He shrugged, okay the mask did wonders for his confidence, "Must have slipped my mind, just like it slipped yours that it's Christmas now not Halloween."

"Wut are you talking about? Just go in kid or get lost." He moved his hand behind his back near his belt.

That was not good at all. If movies had taught him anything it was that shady thugs under bridges were usually armed and willing to use those guns.

"Okay man, I'm going. I'm going. Just relax," he slammed the door shut before the jack-o'-lantern thug could say anything.

The sound of buzzing lights filled the hallway, he heard a zapping sound further ahead. Water droplets fell from the concrete ceiling forming occasional puddles. The passage was only wide enough for one maybe two people side by side and it was entirely made out of concrete. Harry wouldn't have fit standing straight. Graffiti decorated the walls wherever it could fit between a set of pink lights.

"Yes, this is exactly what I asked for, shady hallway of doom," he started walking, "Sometimes I see a movie and I go like, no that's not possible no one would hang out in a place like that, not even bad guys, and then something like this happens. I wonder if Mister Pumpkin back there pays taxes on this. I mean New York rents are high and this is prime real estate, the view is great…if you're into rusty pipes and questionable graffiti."

As Peter Parker cautiously approached the end of the dimly lit hallway beneath the Queensboro Bridge, he couldn't help but notice the atmosphere changing. The faint hum of conversation and the occasional thud of a distant punch reached his heightened senses. The narrow corridor opened up to reveal a clandestine world tucked away from the city's prying eyes.

The air was thick with a mix of tension and anticipation, and the harsh glow of flickering fluorescent lights revealed a gritty underground fighting ring. Stacks of makeshift bleachers surrounded a dirt-covered arena, and a motley crew of spectators, their faces partially obscured by shadows, leaned in eagerly, their eyes fixated on the unfolding bouts.

Well, well, well. If it isn't the secret lair of the 'Fight Club' rejects. I guess I missed the memo for the underground shindig.

Peter's sharp eyes darted across the scene, taking in the eclectic mix of fighters from various walks of life. A burly, tattooed bouncer stood by a makeshift entrance, exchanging nods with those who passed. The graffiti-sprayed walls seemed to absorb the sweat and grime of countless battles, and the atmosphere resonated with a raw, primal energy.

Spotlights created pockets of intense illumination, casting dramatic shadows as fighters sparred within the ring. The air echoed with the rhythmic sounds of fists meeting flesh and the occasional roar from the spectators. Peter's analytical mind quickly assessed the situation – an underground fighting ring, operating beneath the guise of secrecy.

The realization hit him: his first night testing his newfound powers had led him to an unexpected arena of danger and deception.

"You have a ticket?" asked the bodyguard.

Peter was suddenly very aware of just how utterly massive the other man was. There was no ticket booth to be found which meant that he was supposed to have a ticket with him already. Huh, he was in big trouble.

"No," the bodyguard uncrossed his arms, he was wearing some kind of weird metallic gloves. "I'm here to fight. Did you miss the costume? Maybe it's because all those RGB lights are blinding you," he pointed at the gloves, the things could pass for disco balls with all those fluorescent lights.

The bodyguard raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down.

What did I just say!? What did I just say!? I literally mocked this mountain of a man! I can't be trusted to keep my mouth shut when I'm nervous. I'm here for the fights!? That was the worst thing I could have said.

Then again, he did have superpowers, he doubted anyone could hurt him. Unless they shot him. God, they were going to shoot him, weren't they?

Wipe my search history, Ned! I beg you!

"You sure you aren't in over your head kid? You look—what—twelve maybe? I don't wanna have to save you from them?" he gave Peter a warm smile and pointed behind his back at a group of costumed fighters. The smallest among them had to be at least twice his size.

"Don't worry Walmart Hulk. I got this; I mean how much trouble can a bunch of jacked-up guys in their pajamas be?"

"You're in pajamas too."

"Mine is cooler though."

"Can't argue with that. Well, if you're really here for the fights register with the lady over there."

"What's your name?"

"Luke Cage. What's yours?"

"Huh…Huh…Huh…"

"I'm just messing with you, kid."

Maybe he shouldn't have judged the bodyguard guy so early, he seemed nice. Yeah, how hypocritical of him, assuming the tattoed roided up menacing bouncer of an underground fighting arena was a bad guy.

"I want to register for the fights."

The woman on the other side of the counter gave him a sidelong look and sighed releasing cigarette smoke from her mouth, "Why is it always freaks in masks these days? It's been a while since anyone normal registered here. Now we even got kids! Kids! The world has gone tits up!"

Well, ma'am, in a city that never sleeps, the fashion statement is a bit more... dramatic. Masks are like the must-have accessory, and the kids are just trying to keep up with the latest trends. It's not chaos; it's a style revolution," he finished with a toothy smile that was lost under his mask.

She gaped at him, "What are you prattling about brat? Just give your name. Fuck, I can't be bothered with this job anymore."

"Huh…real name?"

"Yes, and your social security number. No, you idiot! Your ring name! Does this look like the kind of place where people use real names?"

There was a sudden loud noise followed by clapping and pained gurgling. Some man had removed another's jaw clean off.

"No? I mean—hu-hum—of course not ma'am…my name is…Spider-Man." That was the first thing that came to mind. It seemed appropriate enough given the spider-themed powers and costume.

"Spider-Man, huh? More like Spider-Boy. Did you lose your permission slip to be out past curfew?"

"I mean Spider-Man sounds too manly for a guy still figuring out how to do his own laundry, but I've been calling you ma'am all this time when really I'd rather call you other names," this mask confidence would get him killed someday.

"Just get out of my sight."

"With pleasure."

Peter did the only logical thing and joined the other fighters waiting his turn. Why was he even doing this, he should be sleeping by now, but he was oddly excited to test out his powers in real combat. Aunt May and Uncle Ben were going to kill him. If some other fighter didn't do it first after what he'd seen happen earlier anything was possible. He did his best to ignore the, oh so cliché, murderous stares that the other fighters were shooting his way. Everyone seemingly had their own little theme going, some were dressed like animals, others simply as prisoners or firefighters. Another thing he noticed was that anyone that looked like a security guard, including Luke was wearing that same strange pumpkin patch on their shoulder.

"Now, for the fifth fight of the evening, we have a fan favourite one of the frontrunners to challenge Flying Tiger for the championship title the THUNDERCLAP CRUSHER!" The crowd roared wildly.

This is starting to get ridiculous. Really? The Thunderclap Crusher? Lame. Can't even take criminals seriously these days.

A hulking black man took to the stage. He was wearing a vibrant and imposing ensemble featuring a sleeveless metallic vest adorned with lightning bolt motifs, paired with sleek, form-fitting black leggings. The pièce de résistance was a luchador-style mask with an electrifying design, complete with glowing eyes and gauntlets that emitted zapping sounds.

"And the second fighter is a newcomer. Spider-Man!"

The roar of the crowd was much smaller this time. Wow; even the announcer sounded unimpressed. Suddenly Thunderclap Crusher sounded more menacing than stupid. His heart was racing. Was he really going to do this? The Spider-Powers were making him insane. He slowly climbed the steps that led to the ring feeling the stares of the other fighters shadowing him. The smell of blood and sweat hit his nostrils like a truckmaking him halt a step midway, the world was spinning. He'd never been this nervous before. He was going to puke…again. He was acutely aware of every smell and sound around him, blood, metallic pangs, water dripping from the ceiling. When he reached the last step, the world was suddenly engulfed by light. Spinning, spinning, spinning. The crowd shouting telling them to kill one another, the floodlights shining above him like a sun, burning.

He came back to reality abruptly. Peter was panting frenetically while Thunderclap readied himself for the fight on the other side of the ring. A steel cage enveloped them crushing any hopes of escape.

"I'm going to crush you little boy," sassed Thunderclap in a heavy French accent.

"French? Wait? Is this an audition for 'Les Misérables'? My French is kind of rusty guys. and by rusty, I mean non-existent," the French luchador rushed forward hands raised trying to grab his neck. Peter felt the tingling in the back of his head and jumped upwards to dodge.

Thunderclap had too much momentum to stop suddenly so he threw back one fist hoping to catch Peter when he descended. Which he did. Peter let out all the air in his lungs and flew forward colliding with the steel bars. The crowd let out a roar of pure ecstasy.

Okay. That hurt…only a bit though. I should be dead really, spine broken in two, but all I feel is a slight tingle like I stubbed my toe. This is awesome.

Peter stood up and shrugged his shoulders "Ah, Thunderclap, you've got a real flair for the dramatic – Les Misérables meets WWE. Although I have to say, crashing into steel bars wasn't exactly on my to-do list today. But hey, if we're going for authenticity, you nailed it. Next time, maybe we can add some pyrotechnics and a dramatic monologue. I'll even brush up on my French for the occasion. Encore, mon ami!"

He blitzed the fighter and delivered an uppercut straight to his jaw. Holding back obviously, he couldn't hit a man with enough force to shatter concrete. Thunderclap's eyes turned white, and he staggered away trying to hold himself up with the help of the steel cage that surrounded the arena.

"Oh so no clapping and applauding Spider-Man? Come on people! It's almost like I'm a costumed freak who's beating up another costumed freak! Go on then, applaud!" There were only a few snickers at first but eventually, a few audience members clapped and shortly after there was a standing ovation. Peter felt tingling in the back of his head which meant the French dude had recovered from his little vacation to heaven. He evaded the attempted grapple with a somersault.

How did I even do that? Spider powers I love you!

"Come on Thunderdude didn't your mother teach you it's rude to interrupt people?" he crashed down on the other fighter with a kick to the head.

"I'm going to crush you!" Thunderclap swung wildly trying to hit him.

Peter dodged every attack swiftly, the tingling in the back of his head helped him stay clear of Thunderclap's but he could have dodged them even without it. The other fighter's movements were just slow. Peter knew he had heightened reflexes but testing them in real time was not something he had the opportunity to do until now.

"You said that already! Do you know that these days," bang a punch to the cheek, "an average human has the same attention span as a goldfish?" He slid between the wrestler's legs and pulled them causing Thunderclap to hit the canvas face-first. "Maybe that's why you keep forgetting what you say."

"Ahhhhhh! Just shut up!"

Peter webbed Thunderclap's eyes which caused the crowd to go crazy and quickly jumped on the ceiling of the metal cage.

"Ladies and gentlemen! It seems Spider-Man has been holding out on us! He uses webs to blind the French Menace and sticks to the ceiling just like a spider. You heard me right! We have a superhuman! Maybe he will be the one to challenge the Flying Tiger after all these years!"

"Ah! What did you do to me!? Get this off me! AHHH! Help me!"

Peter landed beside him, "Calm down. It's just a super adhesive chemical component or in language that you can understand, it won't kill you." He tried to shoot more web fluid to envelop Thunderclap in a cocoon, but the bracelet made a strange hollow clicking noise. "What the—" KERSPLOOSH. The webs shooters expelled all the contents at once filling the cage with webs. "Just when everything was going so well you decide to explode!? Back to the drawing board, it is. Can't believe I'm going to have to ask Aunt May and Uncle Ben for more money."

"What are you talking about? Just get this thing off me!"

"Okay, okay drama queen. Guess I'll just have to do this the old way." Peter punched him hard enough to knock Thunderclap out sending the audience into hysterics.

Ohhh I'm so happy, finally accomplished my lifelong dream of impressing a crowd of criminals.

The commentator's annoying voice declared his victory along with promises of more to come. The man in question then came up on stage and asked Peter to follow him.

As they entered a room adjacent to the ring the man took a second to adjust his white suit and check out if that ridiculous ducktail hairstyle was still presentable, which, in fact, it never had been. "So where did you get those powers kid?"

"Huh…Government secret."

"Huh uh sure. Listen I can respect that you want to keep it a secret. Not everyone is very fond of superhumans."

"Yeah, sure. Where are we going?" The hallway looked like something out of an 80's Hollywood studio.

"To my office of course. You want your reward, right? You put on a spectacle out there, I hope to see you here again, and I'm sure my boss does too."

The guy's office was the pinnacle of 80's Hollywood arrogance. Peter decided not to sit down, the décor gave him the creeps.

"There you go kid," he threw two full stacks of ten-dollar bills on the table, "One thousand dollars as per the announcement. If you want to keep going be here tomorrow same time as today." He waved him away and directed his attention to a stack of papers neatly arranged on the table.

Peter was too stunned to speak. One thousand dollars? That was more money than every single Christmas put together. He awkwardly put the stacks of money in his pockets.

"I will be here tomorrow. You can count on it."

"Good. Love the costume by the way. See you tomorrow Spider-Man."

Peter didn't care that his web shooters were broken, and he had to hop from building to building. He didn't care that a bunch of people had spotted him in Times Square. He was happier than he'd ever been. One thousand dollars. Just because he'd beaten the heck out of some muscled dude. And everyone was applauding him. HIM. Peter Parker, nerd extraordinaire, actually being seen and appreciated for once. Just how lucky was it that he happened to stumble into that fighting ring? That was the kind of thing that only happened in movies or books.

Is reality…real? Am I living in a simulation? Am I living in a book?

With that terrifying thought pushed to the back of his mind Peter carefully put his costume away in the locker and sneaked up the stairs, Uncle Ben and Aunt May would demand to know where he'd been tomorrow, so he'd have to craft some excuse but for now, he needed to get to his room without waking them up. Aunt May had left a plate with chicken and rice on the table that he devoured. There was still the matter of his teacher calling, he'd deal with it tomorrow too. After eating dinner Peter quietly made his way to his room and only released his breath when he heard the door click shut.

"You have a lot to explain Peter," that was Uncle Ben speaking, and sitting in the shadows like an assassin.

I'm screwed.