Marvel: Viral

by abcd12344321

During a fatal accident involving a runaway vehicle containing viral cargo, Peter Parker meets his end. Only to wake up in the morgue hours later with hardly any memory of his life, and a few new, abilities. The question everyone is asking is, is this really Peter, or is it the virus that consumed his body and mind, 'Apex?

3. Chapter 3

Marvel: Viral

Chapter 3: Testing Limitations

…

The SHIELD training facility hummed with activity, a sprawling underground complex designed to test the capabilities of superhumans and enhanced beings. Every piece of equipment was state-of-the-art, built to withstand incredible forces, or so its creators liked to believe.

Peter Parker stood at the center of the training arena, his hoodie pulled up, hands in his pockets, as he surveyed the setup before him. Around him, agents and Avengers observed warily from behind reinforced glass, their voices low with murmurs of both curiosity and unease. Among them, Logan crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with an incredulous expression.

"This is gonna be fantastic," Logan muttered, shaking his head. "Or it's gonna be a disaster."

Peter stepped forward, approaching a massive set of weights. They were stacked onto a custom bar designed for beings like the Hulk, each plate glowing faintly from the stabilizing tech embedded in them. A digital display on the side read 200 tons, the numbers blinking in bold red.

Peter tilted his head, the crimson glow in his eyes faint but noticeable. "This is for testing Hulk-level strength, right?" he asked, his voice casual.

"That's right," Tony Stark said over the intercom, his tone laced with both curiosity and caution. "Normally, we'd save that for Bruce, but since you're here…"

Peter smirked faintly and reached for the bar. "Alright. Let's see how this goes."

With a deliberate motion, he bent his knees, grasped the reinforced bar, and straightened his back. The weights barely resisted as Peter lifted them off the ground, his movements smooth and effortless. A low murmur ran through the observers as Peter adjusted his grip, hoisting the immense load as if it weighed nothing at all.

"200 tons, huh?" Peter muttered, tilting his head. "Feels light."

Before anyone could react, Peter jerked the bar upward with a powerful motion. The weights surged into the air, the momentum so great that they smashed into the reinforced ceiling with a deafening CLANG!. The steel-and-concrete ceiling groaned under the impact, cracks spiderwebbing out as the weights lodged firmly in place.

The room fell silent.

Logan blinked, his arms still crossed as he muttered, "Fantastic. Told ya."

Behind the glass, Tony threw up his hands. "Are you kidding me?! That ceiling cost more than a Quinjet!"

Bruce Banner, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. "It's reinforced to withstand Hulk-level impacts. How did he…?"

Peter looked up at the weights embedded in the ceiling, his expression unreadable. Then, with a casual shrug, he turned back to the group. "Oops," he said flatly. "Guess I overdid it."

Logan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "That ain't 'oops,' bub. That's you throwin' Hulk's workout into orbit."

Fury's voice crackled over the intercom, sharp and unimpressed. "You think this is funny, Parker? Those weights weren't supposed to leave the ground."

Peter raised an eyebrow, his crimson-tinged eyes glinting faintly as he looked toward the observation room. "You're the ones testing my capabilities," he replied, his tone calm but edged with sarcasm. "Maybe upgrade your ceiling next time."

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath. "This guy's gonna bankrupt me."

Logan pushed off the wall, stepping toward the observation window. "Forget the money. What I wanna know is how he's doin' this without even breakin' a sweat. Hulk struggles with that weight sometimes."

"Because he's not just lifting with strength," Bruce said thoughtfully, his analytical mind working overtime. "His density must be factoring in, giving him leverage no one else has. If his body is made of those hyper-dense tendrils…"

"Means he's playin' in a whole different league," Logan finished grimly.

Peter dusted his hands off, looking back at the lodged weights with a faint smirk. "So, what's next?" he asked, his voice carrying just enough nonchalance to make Fury grit his teeth.

"I swear to God, Parker," Fury growled, "if you so much as touch another piece of equipment without permission-."

Before Fury could finish, a loud creak echoed through the room as the weights finally dislodged, crashing back to the floor with enough force to shake the ground. Peter glanced at the pile, then back at the observation room.

"See?" he said innocently, spreading his hands. "Fixed it."

Logan let out a bark of laughter, while Tony threw up his hands. "I'm gonna need another drink."

The SHIELD training facility buzzed with cautious anticipation as technicians and agents scrambled to prepare the next test. The cratered ceiling from Peter's earlier weightlifting "oops" had been hastily patched with reinforced plating, though the occasional fleck of debris still trickled down.

Nick Fury, perched in the observation room, rubbed his temples in frustration. "Alright, geniuses, what's next on this circus act of a day?"

Bruce Banner, flipping through a series of test protocols on a tablet, looked up. "We'll test his agility. Specifically, his jumping capabilities. It's a standard measure for Hulk and other high-mobility superhumans."

Fury side-eyed him. "Considering what happened with the last 'standard test,' you sure we're ready for this?"

Bruce shrugged. "It's either this or let him throw cars. Your call."

Tony Stark leaned into the mic. "Hey, Parker! You ready to stop destroying ceilings and show us how high you can jump?"

Peter stood in the center of the arena, hands casually tucked into his hoodie pockets. He looked up at the observation window, his crimson-tinged eyes faintly glowing as he smirked. "How high do you want?"

"As high as you can manage," Bruce called over. "We've calibrated the sensors to measure maximum height and force. Just pick a target and-."

Peter interrupted, rolling his shoulders. "Got it. Just jump. Easy enough."

Logan chuckled from his spot by the wall. "This oughta be good."

Peter crouched slightly, his legs coiling with a tense energy that sent ripples through the tendrils under his hoodie. The room seemed to hold its collective breath as he launched himself upward with explosive force.

The result was immediate, and catastrophic.

Peter shot into the air like a rocket, his trajectory carrying him straight toward the patched section of the ceiling. In the blink of an eye, his head smashed through the reinforced plating with a deafening CRUNCH, sending debris raining down around him. The sound reverberated through the facility, followed by an awkward silence as everyone stared at the gaping hole now framing Peter's legs, which dangled comically from the ceiling.

"Holy hell," Logan muttered, tipping his hat back as he took in the scene.

Fury's face was a mask of barely-contained rage. "Stark," he said through gritted teeth. "Why didn't you warn him about the ceiling?"

Tony threw up his hands defensively. "I assumed he'd, you know, aim for an open space! Who just jumps straight up without looking?!"

Peter's voice echoed from the ceiling, muffled but unmistakably dry. "Hey, I think I found your next budget problem."

Logan doubled over laughing, his claws faintly extending as he clapped his hands. "This kid's killin' me! He's like a freakin' Looney Tune!"

Bruce, despite himself, let out a low chuckle. "Well, at least we know he can hit 80 feet in a single jump."

T'Challa, watching stoically, glanced at Reed Richards, who was taking notes with an unshaken demeanor. "And his landing force?"

Reed's elongated fingers danced across his tablet. "Significant enough to crack reinforced concrete. If that force were directed at an enemy… well, let's just say the results wouldn't be survivable."

Meanwhile, Peter wriggled free from the wreckage of the ceiling, flipping back down into the arena with an easy grace that belied the destruction he'd caused. Dusting himself off, he looked up at the new hole he'd made and winced slightly. "So… that's 80 feet, huh?"

"Eighty feet up," Tony corrected, pointing at the ceiling with an exaggerated motion. "Not down. Big difference."

Peter shrugged, his expression amused. "You didn't specify."

Fury's voice crackled through the intercom, sharp and deadly. "Stark, Banner, Richards—fix that hole. And Parker, if you so much as crack the floor during your next test, I'm putting you in a containment cell until the world ends. Clear?"

Peter grinned, offering a mock salute. "Crystal."

The SHIELD training facility had its share of extreme testing environments, but the vertical as "The Abyss", was something else entirely. Designed to simulate the stresses of extreme impacts and subterranean conditions, it was built to withstand even a nuclear blast. The shaft plunged over 250 feet into the earth, the first 200 feet reinforced with advanced alloys and shock-absorbent materials. The final 50 feet, marked in red, was the "danger zone," where even the most durable subjects risked critical failure.

Peter stood at the edge of the shaft, peering down into the dark void. His hoodie swayed slightly in the air currents swirling up from the depths. Around him, the observation team watched from their secure station, their faces a mix of anticipation and nervousness.

"This thing's designed to withstand a nuke, right?" Peter asked, tilting his head toward Tony.

Tony Stark's voice came through the intercom. "Correct. It's the one part of this facility you probably won't wreck. Emphasis on probably."

Bruce Banner adjusted his glasses, glancing at the monitor. "We've reinforced the base to absorb the kinetic energy from impacts, but the red zone-."

"Is where the fun happens," Peter interrupted, his faint smirk barely visible under the dim lights. "Got it."

Logan leaned against a nearby console, his arms crossed. "Let's see if you can leave this one in one piece, bub."

Without another word, Peter crouched at the edge, tendrils faintly rippling beneath his hoodie as he prepared. Then, with an effortless motion, he leapt forward, diving headfirst into the shaft.

The cameras tracked him as he plummeted, his form cutting through the air like a missile. The whistling sound of his descent grew louder, followed by the faint hum of the facility's sensors struggling to keep up with his velocity.

"Holy-." Tony began, but the words were drowned out by the reverberating BOOM that followed.

Peter collided with the bottom of the shaft, a shockwave rippling outward from the point of impact. The ground quaked slightly, but the reinforced structure held firm. Dust and debris shook loose from the walls, and the lights flickered momentarily before stabilizing.

"Status report!" Fury barked over the intercom.

"All systems stable," an agent confirmed. "No structural damage detected."

"Impressive," T'Challa remarked, his gaze fixed on the monitors. "Few beings could generate that level of force without compromising the environment."

Before anyone could respond, the monitors showed movement at the bottom of the shaft. Peter, seemingly unfazed, straightened and stretched his neck. Then, without warning, he lunged upward, his body moving like a coiled spring released.

"What's he-." Bruce began, but then they saw it.

Peter's tendrils shot from his arms and legs, embedding into the walls of the shaft. With a powerful pull, he launched himself upward, his body clearing nearly 20 feet with every lunge. Each time he connected with the walls, his tendrils anchored him momentarily before propelling him higher.

"He's scaling the shaft," Reed Richards observed, his voice tinged with fascination. "Using his tendrils as kinetic launchers. Remarkable."

The cameras struggled to keep up as Peter gained momentum, the rhythm of his movements almost hypnotic. Every impact sent a faint vibration through the shaft, but the structure held, its designers' work finally proving its worth.

By the time Peter cleared the 200-foot mark, the observation room was silent, every eye glued to the screen. He didn't slow as he reached the top, vaulting over the edge with a final burst of energy. His feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and he straightened, brushing dust from his hoodie.

"Well," Peter said casually, looking back at the shaft. "That was fun."

Logan's jaw tightened as he muttered under his breath, "Fun? This guy's nuts."

Fury, his expression a mixture of frustration and grudging respect, pointed at Peter through the observation glass. "You're not supposed to climb back up, Parker. The point was to measure your descent."

Peter shrugged, a faint grin tugging at his lips. "Guess you should've made that clear before I jumped."

Tony exhaled heavily, shaking his head. "I'm going to get more coffee."

…

Peter's shapeshifting tests pushed the boundaries of the SHIELD training facility as technicians, Avengers, and even some of the Fantastic Four watched in stunned silence from the observation deck.

The room was fortified, built to contain catastrophic events, but it had never seen anything like this. The air crackled with tension as Peter stood in the center of the arena, his body rippling with potential energy. With every transformation, he seemed to explore not just the limits of his form but also the versatility of his viral capabilities.

From Peter's shoulders, tendrils sprouted like coiled serpents, sleek and organic, forming scythe-like blades that gleamed with jagged edges. The tendrils moved fluidly, slicing through reinforced steel dummies like they were paper. Each scythe was connected to his arms, seamlessly shifting angles and striking with surgical precision.

Natasha Romanoff, standing next to Fury, muttered, "That's… unsettling. And I've seen unsettling."

Peter's arms rippled, the tendrils weaving and tightening into chainsaw-like structures. The organic saws roared to life, spinning so fast that they emitted a high-pitched whine. He demonstrated the capability by cleaving through a simulated tank hull, sparks flying as the chainsaws reduced the dense alloy to rubble.

"Is it just me," Tony said, sipping his coffee, "or is he one bad day away from starring in Evil Dead: The Apocalypse?"

Next, Peter's right arm elongated into a sleek combat knife-like blade. The edges glinted under the fluorescent lights as he twirled it effortlessly, showing an eerie level of finesse. At one point, he spun the blade around his hand like a baton, the tendrils holding it together fluid and alive. It was more than a weapon, it was an extension of his skill.

Bruce Banner leaned forward. "That's not just strength; that's precision. He's controlling every micro-movement."

Peter's arms then ballooned into massive hammer-fist-like appendages, their bulk pulsing with tendrils as they grew. With a single swing, he obliterated a reinforced concrete barrier, the shockwave rattling the facility.

Logan winced, muttering, "Remind me to never arm wrestle this guy."

One of Peter's most destructive transformations was a towering blade arm that extended from his elbow to the floor, jagged and gleaming. He brought it down in a single, terrifying motion, cleaving an Abrams tank in two. The sound of metal screeching as the tank split sent chills through the observers.

"Yeah," Fury said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We're billing him for that."

Peter's arm dissolved into a whip-like tendril that moved like liquid but hit like steel. With a single lash, it sliced through a three-foot-thick titanium pillar, the impact echoing through the arena. The whip coiled and flexed, almost serpentine in its movements, before retracting into his body.

Finally, Peter grew massive spikes along his arms, each acting independently. The spikes extended, retracted, and shifted angles as if alive. When he slammed his arm into the ground, the spikes spread like a web of jagged roots, shredding everything within a 15-foot radius.

The observation room was dead silent for a moment as Peter completed his demonstrations, the tendrils retracting into his body with an almost liquid motion. He stood in the center of the wrecked arena, seemingly unfazed, his hoodie still intact despite the carnage around him.

"Well," Tony said finally, breaking the silence. "Good luck to whoever's dumb enough to pick a fight with him."

"Dumb doesn't cover it," Logan growled. "That kid's a freakin' arsenal on legs."

Fury turned to Reed Richards, his expression grim. "Can you tell me what the hell we're looking at?"

Reed adjusted his glasses, his tone measured. "We're looking at a living organism that has effectively weaponized its own biology. He doesn't just shapeshift; he adapts. Every transformation is a response to a specific need, which means…"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Which means what?"

"Which means he's not just capable of destruction," Reed said. "He's learning. Every time he transforms, he's refining his abilities."

Natasha crossed her arms, her gaze fixed on Peter. "So, what do we do with him?"

Fury exhaled slowly. "We keep testing. And we pray he stays on our side."Bottom of Form

Thor narrowed his eyes as his attention was drawn to Peter standing at the center of the training area, lifting weights that would make the Hulk sweat. Something moved on Peter's shoulder—a shadow that wasn't quite a shadow. He blinked, realizing it was… a bird?

Except it wasn't.

The "bird" shifted, its black and red tendrils rippling as though alive, mimicking feathers. Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened as the creature detached itself from Peter's shoulder with an unsettlingly fluid motion. It hovered in the air briefly, tendrils flapping like wings, before landing on the ground in front of the group.

"That… is no bird," Thor muttered, taking a cautious step forward.

The bird—if it could even be called that—tilted its head and looked up at them. Its crimson-tinged tendrils bristled slightly as it stared at them, unblinking. Then, in an almost comical motion, it raised one of its tendril-like wings and gave a casual wave.

"This is new?" the bird said in Peter's voice, sounding genuinely curious.

The room froze. Natasha's sharp eyes darted between the bird and Peter, who stood there looking almost embarrassed. "What the hell…?" she started, trailing off as the bird turned its gaze to Peter, as if waiting for him to explain.

Peter scratched the back of his head, giving the group a sheepish grin. "Yeah, so… uh, that's me. Sort of." He gestured vaguely at the bird. "An extension of me, I guess? I was messing around with my tendrils earlier and, well…" He shrugged. "Here we are."

Thor's expression darkened as he stepped closer to the bird. "That… thing was on your shoulder," he said slowly, his voice filled with suspicion. "Why was it sitting there?"

The bird puffed out its tendrils as though offended by the question. "I was sitting there because I am Peter," it said in Peter's voice, though its tone was tinged with amusement. "Or at least part of him. Honestly, this is all new for me too."

Bruce Banner stepped forward, his scientific curiosity piqued. "So, you created an autonomous extension of yourself?" he asked, crouching slightly to get a better look at the bird. "A piece of your biomass that's operating independently?"

"Basically, yeah," Peter said, nodding. "It's like… I don't know, a drone? Except it's not. It's me. But not all of me. You get what I mean, right?"

The bird hopped toward Bruce, its tendrils fluttering. "It's actually really weird," it said, its voice light but still eerily familiar. "I can see and hear everything through this little guy. Or, uh, me? Honestly, I'm still figuring out how this works."

Natasha crossed her arms, her face neutral but her eyes sharp. "And what happens if this… 'little guy' decides to go rogue?"

The bird tilted its head at her, a tendril flicking as though mimicking a shrug. "Relax," it said with a chirp-like chuckle. "I'm not about to start a coup. I just wanted to see if I could do it. Spoiler alert: I can."

Thor pointed at the bird, his expression as grim as ever. "It does not belong perched on anyone's shoulder again."

The bird let out a sound that was halfway between a chirp and a laugh. "Noted," it said, hopping back toward Peter. It stretched out one tendril-like wing toward him, and Peter reached down, grabbing it like a handshake. The bird dissolved into a slithering mass of tendrils that retracted seamlessly into his body.

Peter straightened, brushing off his hoodie like nothing had happened. "So," he said, glancing at the stunned group. "What's next on the test list?"

…

The wind howled around the rooftop of the skyscraper, whipping against the trio seated on the edge. Peter, or whatever he was now, sat cross-legged, gazing out over the sprawling lights of New York City. Gwen Stacy sat to his left, her legs dangling over the edge, and Rachel Summers stood a few steps behind, arms crossed, her fiery red hair illuminated by the glow of the city.

It was calm, eerily calm, given everything that had transpired. Peter was uncharacteristically still, his eyes focused on the horizon, as though the city's lights held the answer to a question he couldn't quite put into words.

"Y'know," Peter began, his voice quiet, carrying an uncharacteristic heaviness. "I don't even know if I'm me anymore."

Rachel, who had been silently observing him, frowned and stepped closer. "What do you mean?"

Peter leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees. "I mean… am I Peter Parker? Or am I just the virus wearing his face? Borrowing his voice?" He gestured vaguely at himself, as though trying to make sense of his own body. "I feel like… like I have just enough of Peter in here to speak the language, crack a joke, or recognize a face. But the rest…" He paused, his fingers tightening into fists. "The rest is a fragmented mess of… memories. His. Mine. Hellion's. Sinister's. It's like a broken jigsaw puzzle, and half the pieces are missing."

Gwen looked at him, her face a mix of concern and confusion. "Peter… you're still you. I mean, look at you—you're sitting here with us. That has to mean something, right?"

He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. "Does it? Or am I just going through the motions? You saw what I did to Hellion." He glanced at Rachel now, his crimson-tinged eyes locking onto hers. "You've seen me. The things I can do. The things I've done."

Rachel took a step closer, her voice steady but kind. "I've seen what you've done, Peter. But I've also seen why. You could've done a lot worse. Hell, if you were just the virus, I don't think you'd care at all. But you do. That says something."

Peter's gaze drifted back to the cityscape. "Does it? Or is that just another piece of Peter's personality bleeding through? A leftover instinct from a life I don't fully remember?" He sighed, leaning back slightly, the tendrils beneath his hoodie rippling faintly as if mirroring his inner turmoil. "The truth is… I don't know where Peter ends and I begin. Or if there's even a difference."

Gwen leaned her head against his shoulder, her voice softer now. "You're still you to me, Peter. I don't care what you're made of or what you've been through. You're here. That's what matters."

Rachel finally sat down on his other side, her arms resting on her knees as she glanced at him. "You said you're struggling with memories. How much of Peter's life do you actually remember?"

Peter exhaled slowly, staring at his hands. "Bits and pieces. Enough to know I had a life. Enough to know I had an Aunt May who'd scold me for being late. Enough to know I screwed up a lot, but I tried to make up for it. But then… it just cuts off. Like a blank space where there should be more. And then there's Hellion's memories. Flashes of Krakoa, resentment, anger, fear. Sinister's, too, plans, schemes, twisted experiments." He shook his head. "It's all jumbled up, and I can't tell what's mine anymore."

Rachel's expression softened, "You don't have to figure it all out right now, Peter. You're not alone in this. You've got people who care about you."

"Do I?" Peter asked, his voice almost a whisper. He gestured toward Gwen. "You, maybe." He glanced at Rachel. "You're here because Fury asked you to keep an eye on me, right? To make sure the monster doesn't go rogue?"

Rachel straightened, her gaze softened slightly. "I volunteered," she said in a way that indicated she was dead serious. "Not because of Fury. Because I wanted to. You're not a monster, Peter. And I'm here to remind you of that, whether you like it or not."

Peter blinked, surprised by the conviction in her voice. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Instead, he looked away, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"You're stubborn," he muttered.

Rachel smirked. "Takes one to know one."

Gwen chuckled softly, nudging him with her shoulder. "See? You've got us. And you're not getting rid of us that easily."

For a moment, the weight in Peter's expression seemed to lift. He leaned back, resting his hands behind him as he gazed up at the stars. "Thanks," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the wind. "I guess… maybe I needed to hear that."

The three of them sat in silence for a while, the city lights stretching out before them. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Peter allowed himself to feel… almost of Form

…

In the opulent penthouse of Wilson Fisk, the Kingpin, the darkness was more apparent. The massive room, adorned with expensive art and pristine furnishings, now seemed oppressive as Fisk sat behind his mahogany desk, his cigar burning down to ash between his fingers. A series of glowing monitors illuminated his face, each playing a different video or displaying files and reports on the entity that had once been Peter Parker.

His expression was unreadable, his broad shoulders hunched slightly as he leaned forward. The room was deathly silent except for the faint hum of the screens and the occasional crackle of his cigar. One screen displayed Peter's devastating leap into the nuclear-proof SHIELD shaft, his monstrous tendrils launching him back upward in terrifying displays of strength and control. Another screen looped the footage of his violent transformation during the Hellion encounter, his jagged maw of teeth and the terrifying malleability of his form.

Fisk's eyes narrowed as another file opened, courtesy of one of his operatives embedded within the government. The label at the top read, B.O.W.M.D. Bio. Organic. Weapon. Of Mass. Destruction.

The cigar fell from his hand, forgotten, as Fisk scrolled through the details. The file outlined Peter's regenerative capabilities, his strength that rivaled or exceeded even the Hulk's, and his shapeshifting abilities—right down to the unsettling detail that he could mimic organic lifeforms. The data suggested that Peter could theoretically turn into anyone, infiltrate anywhere, and eliminate any target without detection. The report even theorized his body could produce "viral extensions" of himself, independent masses capable of acting autonomously.

Fisk reached for his glass of whiskey, his hand shaking slightly as he took a long, deliberate sip. He hated this feeling, this gnawing unease. He was the Kingpin, damn it. He didn't scare easily. But this… this wasn't fear. It was something deeper. Something primal.

A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts. He straightened, his usual imposing demeanor returning as he barked, "Enter."

One of his top lieutenants stepped in, his face pale and his usual confidence nowhere to be found. "Boss," the man said hesitantly, holding a folder. "We've, uh… collected more intel on the Parker situation."

Fisk gestured for him to approach, and the man set the folder on the desk, his hands trembling slightly. Fisk opened it, scanning the contents. Inside were detailed surveillance reports, photographs, and intercepted communications. The deeper he read, the tighter his jaw clenched.

"He swam across the Atlantic in a matter of minutes," the lieutenant stammered, breaking the silence. "SHIELD didn't even know he was on Krakoa until he was already there. And those scans…" He hesitated, his voice faltering. "Boss, they said he's not even technically alive. That virus, or whatever it is, rewrote him down to the subatomic level. He's more like a… like a living machine than a person."

Fisk's hand tightened around the glass, the faint sound of cracking glass audible as he processed the information. "And his memories?" he asked, his voice low and measured.

The lieutenant shifted uncomfortably. "Fragmented. He doesn't remember everything, but he remembers enough. And…" He trailed off, swallowing hard. "They said he gets stronger. The more organic material he absorbs, the more biomass he gains, and the more powerful he becomes. It's exponential. There's no cap."

Fisk leaned back in his chair, his massive frame casting a shadow over the desk. For a moment, he said nothing, his mind racing. Finally, he spoke, his voice cold and deliberate. "This is no longer just a matter of opportunity or threat. This… thing is a force of nature."

The lieutenant nodded nervously. "What's the play, boss? Do we… try to take him out?"

Fisk snorted, a bitter laugh escaping him. "Take him out? With what? Do you think bullets will stop him? Do you think explosives will even slow him down?" He shook his head, his expression grim. "No. If the government and SHIELD are labeling him a B.O.W.M.D., then they're right. He's not something we can fight. Not yet."

He stood, towering over the desk as he gazed out over the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows. "We need to be smarter about this," he said, his tone contemplative. "Information is power. We keep collecting data. We monitor his movements. And we ensure that if the day comes when he chooses to turn his attention to us…" He turned to face his lieutenant, his eyes cold and calculating. "We're prepared."

The lieutenant nodded, though his unease was clear. "And if he does come after us?"

Fisk's expression darkened, his voice dropping to a near growl. "Then we pray he still has enough of Peter Parker left in him to hold back."

The room fell silent again as Fisk returned to his desk, the glowing monitors casting an eerie light across his face. For the first time in years, the Kingpin felt truly outmatched. And that thought alone was enough to keep him awake long into the night.

…

The shadowed room was filled with the faint smell of cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Around a long, polished oak table, some of New York's most infamous criminals, rivals, and associates of Wilson Fisk, convened for a meeting that none of them wanted to attend—but felt they had to.

Hammerhead adjusted his steel-plated forehead as he leaned forward, his cigar clutched between his teeth. "So let me get this straight," he said, his gruff voice tinged with irritation. "This thing—whatever it is—used to be Spider-Man? The same guy who's been wrecking our operations for years?"

Across the table, Silvermane, his frail form supported by a sleek exoskeleton, drummed his metallic fingers on the table. "Spider-Man or not, this… entity is beyond any of us. I've seen the reports. Some countries, some governments, are panicking, offering insane contracts to retrieve a sample of whatever it is. They're calling it the ultimate biological weapon."

Tombstone, seated next to Silvermane, chuckled darkly, his pale, granite-like skin glinting under the dim lights. "A biological weapon, huh? What I've heard… makes me think it's more like a walking apocalypse. You think I'm volunteering to go after that thing? Hell no."

Hammerhead slammed his fist on the table, the wood groaning under his enhanced strength. "We don't even know if the thing can be killed. For all we know, it's immortal."

At the head of the table, Black Cat, Felicia Hardy, leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed as she watched the men bicker. Her expression was unreadable, though her tension was clear in the way her fingers tapped against her forearm. "Immortal or not," she said finally, her voice cutting through the noise, "what's freaking everyone out isn't just what it is. It's who's scrambling to get their hands on it."

The room fell silent as her words sank in.

"Name a government, and they're in on it," Felicia continued, her voice colder now. "Russia, China, the U.S., hell, even Latveria. Every one of them wants a piece of him. They're throwing money at mercenaries, scientists, and anyone crazy enough to try and capture it, or worse, study it. Do you know what that means?"

"It means," said a smooth voice from the shadows, "that they're desperate."

All heads turned as Justin Hammer stepped into the light, his tailored suit immaculate and his expression smug. "Desperate governments mean big money," he said, adjusting his cufflinks. "And desperate governments make mistakes. If they're trying to hire anyone to retrieve a sample of this thing, they're not thinking it through. And that," he added, his smirk widening, "is where opportunities lie."

Hammerhead scowled. "Opportunities? Are you insane? You want to go after that thing? Did you see what it did to the SHIELD facility? What it did to those mutants? It cleaved a tank in half like it was nothing!"

"Relax," Hammer said, waving him off. "I'm not suggesting we go after it directly. That would be suicide. But if the governments of the world are willing to pay billions for even a shred of its DNA, then we'd be fools not to keep an ear to the ground. We find out who's making the moves, who's got the deepest pockets, and we make sure we're in the right place when things inevitably go wrong."

Felicia's gaze narrowed. "You're playing with fire, Hammer. This isn't just some new tech to sell to the highest bidder. It's… it's alive. And it's not Spider-Man anymore. Whatever that virus is, it's thinking, adapting, and evolving. You're delusional if you think you can contain it."

Hammer's smirk faltered for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Which is why we don't handle it ourselves," he said smoothly. "We let the governments and their hired guns do the dirty work. We just… facilitate the right people."

"Yeah, until it tears through them and comes for us," Tombstone muttered, his gravelly voice dripping with disdain.

A low chuckle echoed from the corner of the room. All heads turned to see a man stepping out of the shadows, his tailored black suit and red-tinted glasses marking him as none other than The Rose, Fisk's enigmatic son. He leaned casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets.

"You're all scared," he said, his voice calm and measured. "And you should be. But let's be clear about one thing: this isn't about if that thing comes after us. It's about when." His gaze swept the room, lingering on each of them. "So the question isn't whether we can profit off it. It's whether we'll survive long enough to enjoy it."

The room fell silent again, the weight of his words pressing down on everyone present. For the first time in their lives, the most dangerous criminals in New York found themselves united not by ambition or greed, but by fear of a single entity.

Before anyone could respond, a knock sounded at the door. One of Fisk's messengers, a wiry man in a cheap suit, stepped in, his face pale and sweat beading on his forehead.

"Bosses, uh… you're going to want to see this," he stammered, clutching a remote in one hand. Without waiting for permission, he pointed it at the massive flat-screen TV on the far wall and turned it on.

The screen flickered to life, showing a breaking news report. The headline scrawled across the bottom in bold red letters: "VIRAL ENTITY ENGAGES MULTIPLE HULK CLONES—DESTRUCTION IN INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT."

The camera footage was shaky, clearly taken by a news drone struggling to stay out of the chaos below. The scene was nothing short of apocalyptic. Smoke and fire consumed the skyline as massive green figures, each identical to the Hulk in size and ferocity, rampaged across the industrial district. But the focus of the carnage was on a single, smaller figure in the midst of it all.

It was Peter, or rather, the viral entity that wore his face.

The footage zoomed in as Peter stood in the middle of the wreckage, his crimson-tinged eyes glowing as seven hulks surrounded him, their fists clenched and muscles bulging. Peter's form was shifting, his tendrils writhing like living things. From his back erupted massive, wriggling centipede-like appendages, their black and red exoskeletons gleaming in the firelight.

"What the hell is that?" Hammerhead muttered, his cigar falling from his lips.

Before anyone could answer, the footage showed Peter moving. The centipedes burrowed into the ground with terrifying speed, the asphalt rippling and cracking as they tunneled beneath it. Then, with a deafening roar, an enormous wave of jagged spikes erupted from the earth, towering as high as skyscrapers. One of the Hulk clones was caught off guard, impaled clean through by the spikes. It let out a guttural roar before Peter's centipedes dragged it down, splitting the clone in half in a grotesque display of raw strength.

The room fell silent as they watched, transfixed. The camera cut to another angle, showing Peter being blindsided by a massive punch to the side of his head. The impact sent him careening into a pile of shipping containers, the metal collapsing around him like a tin can. One of the Hulks picked up a nearby forklift and hurled it on top of the pile for good measure, creating an avalanche of twisted steel.

"Maybe that's enough to put it down," Tombstone muttered, though his voice lacked conviction.

But then, the pile of rubble shifted, and a voice echoed through the chaos, dripping with dark amusement.

"Leaving so sooooonnn?!"

The forklift was hurled from the wreckage with alarming force, spinning like a missile toward one of the Hulk clones. The clone caught it with ease, but before it could react further, Peter shot forward like a bullet. His body tore through the forklift, crumpling it in half before slamming into the Hulk's chest. A sickening crunch filled the air as Peter blasted clean through the Hulk's torso, leaving a gaping hole where its chest and head used to be.

The camera followed Peter as he landed gracefully, his form shifting again. His arms grew into massive, muscle-bound battering rams, tendrils spiraling around them like living armor. Another Hulk charged at him, roaring, but Peter grabbed it mid-swing. With a horrifying display of strength, he ripped the clone apart down the middle, its green blood spraying across the battlefield.

The screen flickered back to the news anchor, her face pale and voice trembling. "Authorities are urging civilians to stay indoors. Efforts to contain the entity have so far been unsuccessful. We've received confirmation that SHIELD and the Avengers are en route-."

The screen went black as the messenger turned off the TV. The room remained silent for a long moment, the criminals staring at one another with wide eyes.

"That's…" Hammerhead started, but he couldn't find the words.

"It's not human," Silvermane said finally, his voice filled with a mix of awe and terror. "That thing isn't just a weapon. It's extinction in the flesh."

Fisk stood, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the table. "We do not speak of this outside this room," he said, his voice cold and commanding. "Whatever this thing is, it's beyond any of us. If the governments want it, let them destroy themselves trying to get it."

"And what if it comes for us?" Felicia asked, her tone sharp.

Fisk's eyes narrowed. "Pray it doesn't."

The room fell silent again, the weight of their collective fear pressing down on them as the echoes of the viral entity's laughter lingered in their minds.

The industrial district was eerily silent when SHIELD, the Avengers, and the Fantastic Four arrived. The echoes of destruction still lingered: the faint crackling of fires, the hiss of broken gas lines, and the groaning of collapsed structures. But the fighting? That was long over.

Peter—or Apex, as they had begun to call him—stood in the center of the battlefield. His form was unsettlingly calm, his hoodie and jeans eerily intact despite the carnage surrounding him. The ground beneath him was littered with what could only be described as remnants of the six Hulk clones. Or rather, what little was left of them.

Not a single clone was intact.

Massive gouges in the earth and buildings told the story of the fight. The clones had clearly been torn apart—limb by limb, torso by torso, but no trace of the material remained. Every piece of them was gone, consumed or obliterated, leaving only faint scorch marks and splatters of green blood that were quickly being absorbed by the ground.

As the heroes and agents approached cautiously, Peter raised his hand, holding something up for them to see. His crimson-tinged eyes glinted with an almost curious light as he gestured with his free hand for them to stop.

"I wouldn't come too close," he said, his tone disturbingly casual. "They were... tainted."

"What the hell does that mean?" Fury barked, stepping forward despite Peter's warning. Behind him, Thor gripped Mjolnir tightly, and Captain America had his shield raised, just in case.

Peter tossed the object in his hand onto the ground in front of them. It landed with a faint clink, rolling slightly before stopping. Everyone leaned in, squinting to make it out in the dim light.

It was a faintly glowing diamond. No, not just any diamond. A red, ominous diamond.

"Sinister," Reed Richards murmured, his usually calm voice trembling slightly. "That's one of his markers."

Peter nodded slowly, crossing his arms. "Yeah, I figured as much. Found one on each of their foreheads. Kind of hard to miss once you've been... up close and personal."

Natasha Romanoff crouched cautiously to inspect the diamond but stopped short of touching it. "So what are you saying? Sinister had a hand in this?"

Peter tilted his head slightly, his tendrils rippling faintly beneath his hoodie. "Oh, he didn't just have a hand in it. These clones were his handiwork. But they weren't... normal. They felt wrong. Disjointed."

"What do you mean by 'felt'?" Captain Marvel asked, her fists glowing faintly with energy.

"I mean," Peter said slowly, his voice taking on a more ominous tone, "I absorbed them. Every molecule, every memory, every shred of DNA, and I know what they were. They weren't just clones of Banner. They were... experiments. Ticking time bombs."

The group exchanged uneasy glances as Peter stepped closer, his movements deliberate but non-threatening. He gestured to the diamond on the ground.

"That thing," he said, pointing, "is part of why they were unstable. It wasn't just a marker. It was a failsafe. Something Sinister built into them to... I don't know, control them? Trigger them? Destroy them?"

Fury's eye narrowed as he processed the information. "And you're sure they're gone? No pieces left behind?"

Peter crossed his arms, his crimson-tinged eyes locking onto Fury with an unsettling calm. "Yep," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "And you should be grateful I did."

Fury's jaw tightened, his one good eye narrowing. "Why's that?"

Peter gestured to the smoldering remains of the battlefield around them. "Because those things weren't just clones—they were living bombs. Their bodies were hardwired to go thermonuclear. And when I say thermonuclear, I mean they were about thirty seconds away from turning this entire district into a crater."

The weight of his words hit the group like a punch. Thor exchanged a tense glance with Captain Marvel, while Natasha's hand instinctively moved to her weapon. Even Reed Richards, normally the voice of calm reasoning, paled slightly as his mind raced through the implications.

"You're saying they were rigged to explode?" Captain America asked, his voice steady but tense.

"Not explode," Peter corrected, tilting his head. "Detonate. Big difference. We're talking a blast radius that would've reached halfway across the city, maybe more."

Fury clenched his fists, his mind already imagining the potential fallout. "And you're certain they're neutralized?"

Peter's lips twitched into a faint smirk, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, they're neutralized. Like I said, I broke them down, every molecule, every unstable trigger, gone. No messy clean-up for you guys."

Natasha glanced at the diamond on the ground, her eyebrows raising in alarm. Peter's crimson-tinged eyes flicked toward Natasha, his expression calm yet unsettling. "You're wondering how I managed to handle them?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Alright, let's break it down for you."

The group stood in tense silence as Peter began to list off his actions, his voice disturbingly casual.

"First one," he started, holding up a finger. "Came at me swinging like a wrecking ball. So I sent one of my tendrils underground, turned it into a skyscraper-sized spike, and impaled him right through the chest. Quick and efficient."

He added another finger. "Second one tried to flank me while I was busy with the first. Big mistake. I used a centipede-like appendage to grab him by the leg and slam him into the ground. Over and over. Then I tore him in half. Lengthwise."

A third finger went up. "The third Hulk thought he'd get the jump on me by smashing me into a shipping container. Cute, really. I bit down on his arm and shook him around like a chew toy until he let go. Then I threw him into the same container, just for fun. And yes," he added with a smirk, "that's why there's green blood on the rubble over there."

The group exchanged uneasy glances as Peter continued, a fourth finger raised. "Now, the fourth one? He had some brains, relatively speaking. Tried to team up with the fifth to overwhelm me. So, I sent a swarm of spiked tendrils through the ground to trip them up. When the spikes burst out, one of them got skewered so hard he didn't even get the chance to scream."

Fifth finger. "As for the fifth, I figured, why not mix it up? I turned my arm into a massive blade, kind of like a scythe, and cleaved him in half. He went down clean, no fuss."

Finally, Peter raised his sixth and last finger, his tone growing darker. "And then there was the last one. He tried to run. So I launched myself at him like a missile, tore straight through his chest, and, well…" He gestured vaguely to the faint traces of green blood still on the pavement. "You can guess the rest."

The silence was deafening as Peter finished recounting the carnage. His tendrils rippled faintly beneath his hoodie as he looked at the group, his expression unreadable. "Long story short," he concluded, his voice unnervingly nonchalant, "I used my tendrils and ate them. Problem solved."

Captain Marvel crossed her arms, her gaze hardening. "You... ate them?"

Peter shrugged. "Absorbed them, really. Molecule by molecule. Don't get hung up on the details."

Fury stared at him, his expression caught between disbelief and frustration. "And you don't see how that might be... I don't know, unsettling?"

Peter smirked faintly, his crimson eyes glinting. "Unsettling would've been letting them explode and take half the city with them. You're welcome, by the way."

Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir, his gaze piercing. "And what did you gain from this... absorption?"

Peter's smirk didn't falter as his crimson-tinged eyes turned toward Thor, but his answer carried a chilling weight that made everyone present stiffen.

"Why not?" he said, his tone disturbingly casual, as if discussing the weather. "My tendrils were getting restless after so much exertion. They needed... sustenance. And honestly?" He shrugged, his tendrils rippling faintly beneath his hoodie like living things. "I guess I was just doing what my viral nature was always meant to do, in a controlled fashion."

He paused, tilting his head slightly, his gaze sweeping the group. "Better them than anyone with a personality, right? Unlike Sinister's clones. Those things were mindless, disposable... tools. I figured no one would miss them."

The silence that followed was suffocating. Natasha's lips parted slightly, her usually unreadable expression slipping into something closer to disturbed disbelief. Captain Marvel's fists glowed faintly, though she didn't move, as if her body was preparing to react on instinct. Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened further, his knuckles whitening.

"It's like talking to a..." Reed Richards started, then stopped himself, his face had a rather disturbed look on it. as he reconsidered his words. "You're describing this as if it's natural. As if this is... normal."

Peter's eyes narrowed faintly, though not in offense, more in curiosity. "Isn't it? I mean, for me, anyway. It's not like I have much of a choice in the matter." He gestured vaguely at himself, his tone almost conversational. "I'm not human anymore, am I? Not completely. I'm something else. And if that means eating things like those clones to keep from losing control, then... isn't that the better option?"

"Losing control?" Fury interjected sharply, his tone demanding. "What the hell does that mean?"

Peter tilted his head slightly, his expression almost awkward as he rubbed the back of his neck. His tendrils shifted faintly beneath his hoodie, an unnerving reminder of the viral entity he had become. "Huh," he said, his tone casual but carrying a weight that made everyone tense. "Would you rather the virus that makes me up... loses my personality and goes on a feeding binge? I mean, it probably won't happen, but..." He trailed off, shrugging lightly. "I'd rather play it safe. Wouldn't you?"

The group collectively froze, their eyes fixed on Peter as his words sunk in. Captain Marvel took a slow step back, her glowing fists dimming slightly, though her expression remained composed. Thor tightened his grip on Mjolnir, his stance subtly shifting into a defensive posture. Natasha exchanged a wary glance with Fury, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Fury exhaled sharply, his one good eye narrowing as he studied Peter. "Play it safe," he echoed, his voice low. "You make it sound so... reasonable."

Peter's crimson-tinged eyes flicked between them, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Because it is," he replied simply. "Look, I'm not saying it's pretty, or ideal, or whatever. But it's what I've got. And I'm working with it."

The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the faint crackle of nearby fires in the ruined industrial district. Finally, Fury raised a hand, gesturing for his team to back away slowly. "Let's step back," he muttered under his breath, his voice tense. "Give him some space."

The heroes and agents retreated cautiously, their movements deliberate as they regrouped a safe distance away. Peter didn't move, his gaze following them with an almost curious intensity.

Once they were out of earshot, the murmurs started.

"Jesus Christ!", Natasha whispered, her voice quiet but sharp. "Talking to him is... beyond creepy!"

"Creepy?!" Captain Marvel snapped, her tone hushed but incredulous. "It's like talking to a sentient virus with a personality. He's not just aware of what he is, he's okay with it. That's... not normal."

Thor grunted, his gaze still fixed on Peter from afar. "He speaks as though he is balancing on the edge of madness. One misstep, and he falls."

"Or drags us all down with him," Natasha muttered.

Fury rubbed his temples, his jaw tight as he processed everything they had just heard. "This isn't just a power problem," he said grimly. "This is an existential one. We're not dealing with a man who's learning to adapt to powers. We're dealing with a thing learning to wear the skin of a man."

Reed Richards, who had been silent until now, spoke up, his voice steady but strained. "He's aware of his limits. That's a good sign. But the fact that he's even contemplating losing control-."

"Means it's possible," Natasha finished, her tone grim.

"And if it happens," Fury added, his voice dark, "we're looking at a walking extinction event."

They all turned to look at Peter, who had remained where they left him, seemingly unfazed by their retreat. He was idly examining his hand, tendrils rippling across his skin as if he were testing their movements. He glanced up briefly, his crimson eyes meeting theirs, and offered a faint, unsettling smile.

"I think he knows we're talking about him," Natasha said quietly.

"Of course he does," Fury muttered. "And I don't think he cares."

The group fell silent, each grappling with the weight of what they were facing. For all the power and control they had seen Peter display, the underlying question remained, How long could he hold onto the pieces of Peter Parker that were still there, and what would happen if he didn't?Bottom of Form

…

Logan was sitting at a weathered wooden table on Krakoa, a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft sounds of the island's natural paradise surrounded him, but the tranquility was shattered as Gabriella, Gabby, stepped onto the porch, her face pale and her expression haunted. Laura and Daken followed close behind, their usual guarded demeanors replaced with unease.

Gabby held a data pad in her trembling hands, her knuckles white as she set it down on the table in front of Logan. "You need to see this," she said, her voice low and shaky.

Logan raised an eyebrow, taking another swig of his drink before grabbing the pad. He squinted at the screen, his expression quickly shifting from confusion to disbelief as he scrolled through the report. The images, grainy footage of carnage from the industrial district, were enough to make even him wince. The final written details, however, made him stop cold.

"Devoured?" Logan muttered, his voice sharp and incredulous. He set the glass down with more force than intended, his gaze snapping to Gabby. "What the hell do they mean, 'devoured'?"

Gabby bit her lip, her hands fidgeting as she avoided his eyes. "He... Peter. Or whatever he's become," she began, her voice trembling. "He didn't just... fight them. He absorbed them. Every molecule. Like they were... fuel."

Logan nearly choked on his drink as he tried to process the words. "You're tellin' me Parker, the kid I knew, ate six Hulk clones? What kind of sick-!" He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he set the glass aside. His claws twitched involuntarily, the familiar itch of unease crawling up his spine.

Laura stepped forward, her expression grim. "It's not just that," she said, her voice steady but heavy. "He took them apart. Impaled them, tore them limb from limb. And then he... absorbed everything. Every bit of material, every trace of them. Like they never existed."

Logan stared at her, his eyes narrowing. "Why the hell would he do somethin' like that?"

Gabby's voice broke through the silence, quieter now but laced with a dark weight. "Because he…"

Gabby hesitated, her hands trembling as she fumbled for the right words. Her usually bright demeanor was gone, replaced by a haunted expression that made Logan's stomach twist.

"Because he..." she started, her voice barely above a whisper. She looked down, clutching the data pad tightly as if it could shield her from the weight of what she was about to say. "He found them... tasty."

Logan's eyebrows shot up, his drink forgotten as he leaned forward. "What?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Gabby flinched, but she pushed forward, her words tumbling out in a stammering rush. "Not him, exactly. I mean, not... not Peter. It's those... those things inside him. The tendrils, the virus, whatever it is. He said... he said they worked up an appetite."

The porch went silent. Even the ambient sounds of Krakoa's wildlife seemed to fade, leaving only the weight of her words hanging in the air.

Logan's claws instinctively extended with a soft snikt, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table. "He said that?" he growled, his tone sharp enough to cut steel.

Gabby nodded slowly, her wide eyes shimmering with unease. "Yeah," she whispered. "Apparently, after fighting those clones... it was like they needed to refuel. And he just... let it happen. Like it was normal for him now."

Daken, leaning casually against the porch railing, let out a low whistle, his smirk failing to mask his unease. "Well, that's... unsettling. The kid's not just eatin' people now; he's got an appetite for Hulks. That's a new one."

"Shut it, Daken," Laura snapped, her voice sharp. Her arms were crossed tightly, her eyes darting between Gabby and Logan. "This isn't a joke."

"No, it's not," Logan said, his voice dangerously low. His claws retracted as he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling slowly to rein in his temper. "You're sayin' Parker didn't just lose control, he chose to do this? Fed those damn tendrils on purpose?"

Gabby nodded again, her voice trembling. "He said... he didn't want to risk losing control. That if he didn't, the virus might act on its own. And..." She paused, swallowing hard. "He said it's better them than anyone else."

Logan leaned back in his chair, the weight of her words sinking in. "Damn it, Parker," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "You're playin' with fire, kid."

Laura's jaw tightened, her voice low. "It's not just fire. It's a bomb waiting to go off."

Gabby hugged her arms, her small frame shaking slightly. "I don't know if he's still Peter anymore," she admitted quietly. "Or if there's just enough left of him to... pretend. And if he isn't, then what's keeping that... that thing from deciding we're next?"

Logan didn't have an answer. He just stared out at the horizon, the quiet of Krakoa suddenly feeling suffocating. For the first time in a long while, Wolverine didn't know if they were dealing with an ally, or the most dangerous enemy they'd ever face.

Gabby's hands clenched tightly around the edges of the data pad, her knuckles white as she took a shaky breath. Her voice trembled, but there was a determined edge to it as she spoke.

"You... you don't get it," she said, her wide eyes darting between Logan, Laura, and Daken. "It wasn't just that he killed them. It's how he did it. It was... disturbing."

Logan leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. "Gabby, what're you talkin' about? What did he do?"

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to meet his eyes. "The first one? He didn't even hesitate. He sent these massive tendrils underground, huge, like skyscrapers, and they erupted out of the ground, impaling the Hulk right through the chest. The clone was still moving for a few seconds before Peter just... twisted it. Like he was crushing a soda can."

Logan's jaw tightened, his claws twitching instinctively.

Gabby continued, her voice breaking slightly. "The second one tried to charge him while he was busy with the first. Peter used these... these centipede-like tendrils that came out of his back. They grabbed the clone's leg, yanked it off the ground, and slammed it into the pavement. Over and over. I, I counted. Seven times. Then he ripped it in half, straight down the middle."

Laura's eyes darkened, and her fists clenched at her sides. "Jesus," she muttered under her breath.

Gabby looked down at the pad as if trying to anchor herself. "The third one tried to smash him into a shipping container. But Peter... he bit it. He bit the Hulk's arm, shaking it like a dog with a chew toy. The clone was screaming, but it didn't stop him. He tore the arm off and threw it into the container. Then he threw the rest of the Hulk in after it. The container... it collapsed from the impact."

Daken let out a low whistle, though his usual smugness was absent. "Well, that's... creative."

Gabby shot him a sharp glare before turning back to Logan. "The fourth one? It tried to team up with another to take him down. Peter sent these spiked tendrils underground again, but this time they shot up like waves. One of the spikes was so huge it impaled the clone from the ground up, through its head. It didn't even get the chance to fight back."

"The fifth?" she continued, her voice dropping to a whisper. "He made his arm into this... this giant scythe. He sliced the Hulk in half like it was nothing. No resistance, no fight, just... one clean cut."

Logan leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. "And the last one?" he asked, his voice low.

Gabby's hands tightened around the data pad, her voice trembling. "The last one... it tried to run. Peter launched himself at it like a missile. He went straight through its chest, leaving this... this massive hole. Then he turned around, grabbed its head, and crushed it like it was... like it was made of clay. There was nothing left. Nothing."

The porch went silent, the weight of her words settling over the group like a storm cloud. Even Daken seemed unsettled, his smirk gone as he stared at Gabby.

Logan exhaled sharply, his claws extending briefly before retracting as he gripped the edge of the table. "Kid didn't just take them out," he muttered. "He tore 'em apart like it was sport."

Gabby nodded slowly, her voice faint. "And then... he ate them. Molecule by molecule. He said it was to keep from losing control, but... I don't know. The way he talked about it, the way he... did it. It was like it didn't bother him at all. Like it was just... normal."

Laura's jaw tightened, her voice cold. "It's not normal."

"No," Logan agreed, his gaze dark and heavy. "It's not."

…

Jean Grey and Scott Summers sat in a dimly lit meeting room on Krakoa, the air between them heavy with tension. A thick dossier lay open on the table, its contents detailing the horrifying events surrounding Peter Parker, or rather, the viral entity he had become. The grainy footage and detailed reports painted a picture that was difficult to comprehend, let alone accept.

Scott leaned back in his chair, his visor tilted downward as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "This... can't be real," he muttered, his voice tinged with disbelief. "Six Hulk clones? And he... ate them?"

Jean didn't respond. Her green eyes were glued to the page in front of her, her face pale as she read the descriptions of Peter's actions. The gruesome details seemed to leap off the page: the impalements, the tearing apart of bodies, the horrifying efficiency with which Peter had dismantled and consumed the clones. Her telepathic senses brushed against the lingering echoes of the events, and it made her stomach churn.

"I don't understand," Scott continued, his tone growing more urgent. "How does someone go from Spider-Man, a hero, to... this? How do you even process something like this?"

Jean finally looked up, her hands trembling as she closed the file. "You don't," she said quietly, her voice unsteady. "You don't process it. You just... try to keep from thinking about it."

Scott turned toward her, his eyes narrowing in concern. "Jean, are you okay?"

She shook her head, her red hair falling over her shoulders. "No," she admitted, her voice breaking. "I'm not okay, Scott. None of this is okay."

Scott hesitated, his own unease evident. "What's bothering you the most?" he asked gently. "The violence? The-."

"Everything," Jean interrupted, her voice rising. "All of it! The violence, the... the eating, the fact that he doesn't even seem to think it's wrong!" She stood abruptly, pacing the room as she ran a hand through her hair. "And the worst part is... I can feel it."

Scott stiffened. "Feel what?"

"The virus," Jean said, her voice barely above a whisper. "It's not just Peter anymore. Whatever that thing is... it's alive. It's sentient. It's... thinking. And it doesn't have the same morality we do."

Scott stood slowly, concern etched on his face. "Jean, you don't have to-."

"I do," she said sharply, cutting him off. "I brushed against his mind, Scott. Just for a moment. And it's not just Peter in there. It's... it's a colony. A hive. Millions, maybe billions, of voices, all working together, all feeding. And Peter... he's barely holding it together. I don't know how much of him is even left."

Scott stepped closer, his hands resting gently on her shoulders. "Jean, listen to me. We'll figure this out. We always do. But you need to-."

"I can't," she said, pulling away from his grasp. Her hand flew to her mouth as a wave of nausea rolled over her. "I can't..."

Without another word, Jean turned and bolted from the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall. Scott watched her go, his jaw tightening as a sense of helplessness washed over him. Moments later, he heard the sound of retching from the corridor, and his stomach sank.

Left alone in the room, Scott turned back to the open dossier. The grotesque images of the Hulk clones' remains and the chilling descriptions of Peter's actions stared back at him. He closed the file with a shaky hand, his head bowing as he muttered, "What the hell are we supposed to do about this?"

Thanos sat on his throne, the vast expanse of space stretching out before him. The Mad Titan's eyes burned with curiosity and intrigue as he listened to the whispers carried by his most trusted informants. He leaned back, his fingers steepled as he mulled over the news.

"A being once known as Peter Parker," one of his heralds said, bowing deeply, "has... transformed. They call him Apex now. The reports from Earth suggest he is no longer a man, but a creature, one capable of feats that rival the most powerful beings in existence."

Thanos's expression remained neutral, but his golden eyes flickered with interest. "A creature, you say?" His deep voice resonated like a low thunderclap. "Tell me, what makes this... Apex so unique?"

The herald hesitated, glancing nervously at the shadows. "He is not merely enhanced. It seems he has become something... other…? A virus given sentience. A living organism with the ability to assimilate, adapt, and evolve. Some say it has consumed Peter Parker entirely."

Thanos raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Intriguing. And what of its connection to Death?"

Before the herald could respond, the air in the throne room grew heavy, and the shadows deepened. A familiar chill coursed through Thanos as the presence of Mistress Death materialized before him. The spectral figure stood silently, her skeletal visage concealed beneath her dark cloak. Thanos immediately stood, his expression reverent.

"Mistress," he murmured, bowing his head.

For a moment, Death said nothing, her hollow gaze fixed on Thanos. Then, her voice, cold and otherworldly, echoed through the chamber. "There has been... a disturbance."

Thanos straightened, his eyebrow raising in slight surprise.

"A disturbance?"

Death nodded slowly. "The soul of Peter Parker is no longer within my domain. His mortal body perished, yet his essence did not pass into the afterlife."

Thanos's expression darkened, his fists clenching. "Explain."

Mistress Death tilted her head, her hollow sockets seeming to bore into his very being. "His soul has not moved on because it has been... consumed. Assimilated. It has become one with the virus."

Thanos stiffened, his usual calm demeanor cracking. "The virus has claimed his soul?"

"Yes," Death intoned, her voice carrying a weight that sent a shiver down the spines of those present. "It is no longer a mere parasite. It is Peter Parker. His memories, his essence... all of it is now part of the virus. They are one and the same."

For the first time in an eternity, Thanos seemed... uneasy. He paced slowly, his heavy footfalls echoing in the chamber. "A being with no true soul, yet endowed with all the knowledge and will of a mortal... and the ability to evolve without limit." He stopped, his golden eyes narrowing. "This is no mere creature. This Apex... is a force of nature."

Death's gaze remained fixed on him, her presence both calming and unnerving. "Be wary, Thanos," she said softly, her voice cutting through the silence. "This being does not belong to the realms of life or death. It is something... beyond."

Thanos's lips curled into a faint smirk, though it did little to hide the unease flickering in his eyes. "Beyond, you say? Then it seems this Apex has drawn my attention for a reason. I must see this being for myself."

Mistress Death gave no response, her form slowly dissipating into the ether. Thanos stood in silence for a long moment, his mind racing as he considered what he had learned.

"A force beyond life and death," he mused, his voice low. "Fascinating... and dangerous."

He turned to his herald. "Prepare my ship. I wish to know more about this Apex, and whether it is a threat to my designs... or an opportunity."

As the herald scurried to obey, Thanos's smirk returned, this time darker and more calculating. "Let us see what this viral entity is capable of. And whether it can be... reasoned with."

In the heart of Latveria, within the towering spires of Castle Doom, Victor von Doom sat in his grand study. The room was lined with ancient tomes, glowing artifacts, and advanced machinery humming softly with hidden power. Doom's emerald cloak swept behind him as he paced, a holographic display hovering before him. Footage of the viral entity—Apex—played on an endless loop, capturing every monstrous transformation and act of devastation.

His steel mask betrayed no emotion, but the fingers of his gauntlet flexed rhythmically, a rare display of agitation. He turned sharply to a servitor drone hovering nearby, its sensors flickering nervously.

"Bring me the latest reports on this... Apex," Doom commanded, his voice carrying the authority of a monarch and the cold precision of a scientist.

The drone beeped and projected a series of data streams into the air: reports from SHIELD, rumors from criminal networks, and blurry satellite images of Apex's encounters. Doom's eyes scanned the information, taking in every detail.

"A sentient virus," Doom muttered to himself, his voice low and contemplative. "A creature capable of consuming not only the flesh but the very essence of its victims, incorporating their abilities into its own." He paused, his gaze narrowing as the footage showed Apex impaling a Hulk clone with skyscraper-sized tendrils. "And it evolves."

Doom's voice grew sharper. "This is no mere aberration. This is a manifestation of chaos itself, a threat to the natural order of power."

He moved to a nearby console, his armored fingers flying across the controls. More data appeared, this time diagrams and schematics of viral structures, coupled with quantum-level scans intercepted from Reed Richards' files. Doom studied the subatomic composition of the virus, his analytical mind racing.

"This virus is no ordinary pathogen," he mused. "It exists on a level beyond comprehension, defying the limitations of biology and physics. Such a being could challenge even the most advanced defenses... and perhaps even Doom."

For a moment, his fingers paused, and the room fell silent except for the faint hum of machinery. Doom's voice softened, his tone almost reverent. "But power of this magnitude... cannot be ignored. It must be understood. And controlled."

He straightened, his cloak sweeping behind him as he turned toward a massive window overlooking his domain. The darkened skies of Latveria mirrored his turbulent thoughts.

"Peter Parker... or whatever remains of him," Doom said, his voice laced with disdain. "You may be a force of chaos, but chaos is no match for the will of Doom. You will be brought to heel, or you will be eliminated."

He pressed a button on his gauntlet, summoning a holographic projection of several Latverian scientists and generals. They appeared before him, their postures stiff with apprehension.

"Prepare the containment chambers," Doom ordered. "Increase their capacity to withstand subatomic-level disruption. And ready my personal armory. If this Apex dares to approach Latveria, it will find no quarter here."

The holograms nodded and disappeared, leaving Doom alone once more. He turned back to the display of Apex, watching as the creature tore through its enemies with terrifying efficiency.

"Let the world fear you, Apex," Doom murmured, his voice a low growl. "For in the end, even you will bow before Doom."

Deep within a hidden Hydra base carved into the side of a desolate mountain, Johann Schmidt, the infamous Red Skull, stood before a massive screen displaying footage of Apex. The dimly lit chamber was filled with Hydra scientists and operatives, all working feverishly to analyze every second of the terrifying viral entity's actions.

Red Skull's scarred, crimson face twisted into a mixture of disgust and intrigue as he watched Apex dismantle the Hulk clones with grotesque precision. He leaned forward slightly, his leather-gloved hands resting on the edge of a cold steel table.

"Fascinating," he muttered, his voice carrying a chilling resonance. "A creature that defies biology, physics, and even mortality itself. This... Apex is no mere anomaly. It is the next step in evolution."

One of the scientists hesitantly stepped forward, clutching a tablet. "Herr Skull, the reports confirm the entity was once Peter Parker, the Spider-Man."

Red Skull's cold blue eyes narrowed. "Once Peter Parker?" he repeated, his voice dripping with contempt. "No. Parker is irrelevant. What stands before us now is something far greater, a being untethered by the limitations of man."

He turned back to the screen, watching as Apex transformed its arm into a massive blade, cleaving through an Abrams tank like it was paper. The image froze, and Red Skull gestured toward it with an impatient wave of his hand.

"This," he said, addressing the room, "is what Hydra has strived to create for decades. A weapon that cannot be stopped. A force that cannot be killed. And it emerged not from our laboratories, but from chaos. An insult to everything we have worked for."

Another scientist spoke up, her voice trembling. "Herr Skull, some factions within the U.S. and Russia are already mobilizing to capture a sample of the entity's biomass. They believe it could be the key to creating the ultimate super-soldier."

Red Skull's lips curled into a sinister grin. "Of course they do," he said, his tone mocking. "The fools see only a tool for their petty wars. But this Apex is no mere weapon. It is a harbinger. A herald of a new age where the strong devour the weak."

One of the Hydra operatives standing nearby shifted nervously. "But, Herr Skull," he said cautiously, "if Apex is as dangerous as the reports suggest, how do we... control it?"

Red Skull's grin faded, replaced by a steely glare. "Control it?" he repeated, his voice icy. "No, you fool. You do not control a force of nature. You align yourself with it—or you are consumed by it."

He began pacing, his hands clasped behind his back. "But to align with it, we must first understand it. Every weakness, every limitation, every instinct. We will find a way to communicate with this Apex... to reason with it."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. Red Skull stopped and turned back to the screen, his gaze fixed on the monstrous figure of Apex.

"And if reasoning fails," he added, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper, "then we will do what Hydra has always done: adapt, endure, and overcome."

He extended a gloved hand, pointing at one of the lead scientists. "Begin assembling a team. I want every available resource directed toward understanding this entity. Its origins, its biology, its... potential. And ensure that our efforts remain hidden. The world must not know that Hydra has taken an interest in Apex."

The scientist nodded quickly. "At once, Herr Skull."

Red Skull returned his attention to the frozen image on the screen, his grin slowly returning. "A creature that can consume and evolve without limit," he murmured, almost to himself. "Perhaps, in Apex, I have found a kindred spirit. A force that understands what it means to rise above weakness."

His eyes gleamed with ambition as he straightened, his voice rising to address the room. "Mark my words, gentlemen. Apex may be the end of many things... but for Hydra, it will be a new beginning."

…

In the grand halls of Asgard, a solemn quiet hung in the air as the All-Father, Odin Borson, sat upon his gilded throne. The sprawling chamber, usually bustling with warriors, advisors, and attendants, now felt heavy with the weight of grim news. Thor stood before his father, his expression conflicted. In his hand, he held a glowing crystal imbued with Midgardian technology—SHIELD's recordings of Apex's battle against the Hulk clones.

Odin's single eye watched the projection with an intensity that made even Thor uneasy. The flickering images showed Peter—or Apex as the mortals had begun to call him—tearing through the Hulk clones with horrifying efficiency. Impalements, dismemberments, and that unsettling moment when Apex bit down on a clone's arm and shook it like a beast with its prey.

The projection ended, leaving the room in a tense silence.

"This... Apex," Odin said finally, his deep voice rumbling through the chamber. "It was once the mortal Spider-Man?"

Thor nodded, his grip tightening on Mjolnir. "Aye, Father. But he is no longer the man I fought beside. Whatever remains of Peter Parker has been consumed—or perhaps transformed—by the virus that now makes up his being."

Odin's gaze lingered on the now-blank projection crystal, his expression unreadable. Finally, he leaned back in his throne, stroking his beard as he processed what he had seen.

"The mortal defended his city," Odin said, his voice low but resonant. "And yet he did so with the savagery of a beast. He consumed his foes, ripped them apart as though they were naught but prey to him."

Thor shifted uncomfortably. "He claimed it was necessary," he said hesitantly. "The clones were unstable, rigged to detonate like Midgardian weapons. Apex neutralized them before they could cause greater destruction."

Odin's gaze snapped to Thor, his eye narrowing. "Necessary, you say? Tell me, my son, do you find such barbarism... acceptable?"

Thor hesitated, his jaw tightening. "No, Father. It is not the way of a warrior to consume one's foes. But... I cannot deny that Apex's actions saved countless lives. The clones would have destroyed much of the city had he not intervened."

Odin rose slowly from his throne, the weight of his years evident in his movements, though his presence remained commanding. He stepped down toward Thor, his robes sweeping the marble floor.

"I see in this creature," Odin began, his tone sharp and measured, "a being that defies the natural order. It is not mortal, nor truly alive. It is a construct of chaos, a force that consumes, adapts, and grows stronger with every act of destruction."

He paused, his gaze piercing as it met Thor's. "Such a force is not to be underestimated—or tolerated."

Thor frowned. "Father, he is not without reason. Apex may be unsettling, but he retains some semblance of Peter Parker's mind. He speaks, he reasons, he even expresses concern for those around him."

"Concern?" Odin repeated, his voice hardening. "He consumed six beings with the ease of a wolf devouring sheep and spoke of it as though it were mere sport. Tell me, Thor, what happens when his hunger grows? When there are no Hulk clones to satisfy his needs? Will he look to Midgard's people next?"

Thor's grip on Mjolnir tightened. "He is not without restraint, Father. He claims to control his... impulses. I believe there is still humanity within him."

Odin regarded Thor for a long moment before turning away, his gaze shifting to the grand windows overlooking the Asgardian sky. "Perhaps," he said finally, though his tone remained skeptical. "But I have seen creatures such as this before. Forces of chaos and hunger that think themselves masters of their nature—only to succumb in the end."

He turned back to Thor, his expression grave. "You speak of his humanity, my son, but humanity is a fragile thing. When it is gone, what will remain of this Apex? A guardian... or a scourge?"

Thor's shoulders slumped slightly, but his resolve did not falter. "I do not know, Father. But I intend to watch him closely. If he falters, I will act."

Odin nodded slowly, though his concern remained etched in his features. "See that you do. And remember, Thor: it is not only Midgard that must prepare for this creature. Should Apex's hunger grow unchecked, his shadow may fall upon realms beyond."

Thor bowed his head solemnly. "I understand, Father."

As Thor turned to leave, Odin's voice stopped him. "One last thing, my son."

Thor looked back, meeting Odin's gaze.

"Should the day come when this Apex can no longer be reasoned with," Odin said, his voice heavy with the weight of kingship, "you must ensure that the realms do not suffer for Midgard's folly. Even if that means striking down what remains of Peter Parker."

Thor hesitated, his grip tightening on Mjolnir. "I pray it will not come to that."

"As do I," Odin said quietly, his gaze distant. "But prayers do not always stop a storm when they come… sometimes, the storm needs to run it's course."

…

Nick Fury sat at his desk in the heart of a secure SHIELD facility, his one good eye scanning the endless stack of reports in front of him. The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, but it was drowned out by the sounds of agents murmuring and phones ringing in the background.

Each report was stamped with the insignias of different nations, organizations, and factions, some official, others... less so. A digital tablet displayed more of the same, with screens flickering through messages, contracts, and alerts. Fury leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples with a deep sigh.

He picked up one report and scanned the bolded text: "Priority Target: Apex—Reward: $1 Billion (USD)—Status: Dead or Alive."

Tossing it aside, he grabbed another: "Directive from Xian Intelligence Bureau: Capture the Viral Entity Alive for Study. Unlimited Resources Authorized."

And another: "Latverian Edict: Immediate Retrieval of Bio-Sample for Doom's Exclusive Study. Non-compliance Will Result in War."

Fury's expression darkened with each one. The sheer volume of bounty notices and black-market contracts was staggering. The entire world had lost its collective mind.

He slammed the tablet onto his desk, the screen flickering under the force. "Goddamn it," he muttered, the words carrying the weight of exasperation and disbelief. His voice cut through the air like a whip as he called out to his second-in-command. "Hill! Get in here!"

Maria Hill entered the office moments later, her expression as grim as Fury's. She glanced at the mess of reports and shook her head. "Yeah, I saw the latest updates. It's official, everyone's gone insane."

Fury jabbed a finger at the pile of papers. "Everyone? Try everywhere. Governments, private corporations, rogue states, even goddamn warlords. They've all put a bounty on him. A billion dollars from just one of them. And that's if they want him alive." He paused, his voice dropping. "Most of these bastards want him dead."

Hill crossed her arms, her face stoic but her eyes betraying her unease. "Can you blame them? After what happened with the Hulk clones? Hell, after the footage of him eating them? To the world, he's not Peter Parker anymore. He's Apex, a walking, talking weapon of mass destruction."

Fury leaned forward, his hands pressed against the desk. "I get that, Hill. What I don't get is why nobody's stopping to think about the consequences. You kill him, and what happens to all that biomass he's absorbed? What happens if it destabilizes, or worse, spreads?"

Hill's jaw tightened. "They're not thinking about that. All they see is a threat, or an opportunity. To most of them, he's either a nightmare they need to eliminate or a golden ticket to the next super-soldier program."

Fury snorted, his lips curling into a grimace. "A super-soldier? Yeah, sure. Let's turn the guy who ate six Hulk clones into a goddamn lab rat and hope nothing goes wrong. Brilliant plan."

Hill hesitated before speaking. "And it's not just the governments. We're getting intel that groups like AIM, the Hand, and even remnants of Hydra are scrambling to mobilize. They're not waiting for governments to act, they're hiring their own mercenaries and black ops teams."

Fury stared at her for a long moment, then let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Of course they are. Because the last thing we need is every shady bastard in the world trying to play hero, or villain."

He picked up one of the reports and held it up for emphasis. "You know what this means, right? It's not just Peter, or Apex, who's at risk. It's us. Every bounty hunter, rogue agent, and hired gun with a grudge is gonna be crawling out of the woodwork to take a shot at him. And when they fail, and they will fail, we're the ones who'll be cleaning up the mess."

Hill nodded grimly. "What's the play, then? Do we bring him in? Try to protect him?"

Fury leaned back in his chair, his gaze hard. "We're way past that. Right now, Apex doesn't need us to protect him, he needs us to keep the rest of the world from getting itself killed trying to take him down. That means monitoring, containment, and keeping him out of the hands of anyone stupid enough to think they can control him."

He grabbed a communicator from his desk and activated it, his voice sharp as he barked orders. "I want every available asset tracking this. Every bounty, every contract, every goddamn whisper. And get me an update on Apex's location, now."

As the room buzzed with activity, Fury stood, his gaze fixed on the chaos outside his office. "A walking, talking biological apocalypse," he muttered under his breath. "And everyone's lining up to play with fire."

Hill glanced at him, her voice quiet but no less serious. "You think he knows?"

Fury's lips thinned. "Oh, he knows. Question is, what's he gonna do about it?"

As Fury paced his office, the low hum of SHIELD's operations center was interrupted by the sharp chime of an incoming alert. Maria Hill tapped her earpiece, listening for a moment before her expression turned grim.

"Sir," she said, her voice tight. "We've got another report. Apex encountered a hit squad."

Fury stopped mid-step, narrowing his eye as he turned to her. "What kind of hit squad?"

"Russian mercenaries," Hill replied, swiping at her tablet to pull up the details. "High-level operatives. They had heavy armor, experimental tech, and anti-biological weaponry. They were deployed to neutralize him."

"And?" Fury pressed, though the answer was already etched across Hill's face.

Hill hesitated, glancing at the room full of SHIELD agents. "They're gone. All of them."

Fury's jaw tightened. "Gone how?"

Hill swallowed hard, tapping the screen of her tablet to display the carnage for Fury. The video feed from a drone showed the aftermath: a desolate industrial area littered with shattered concrete and twisted steel, dark streaks staining the ground where the mercenaries had fallen.

"Witness accounts are... graphic," Hill said, her voice low. "The first operative, Apex... punched him. The hit connected with his chest plate, and—" She stopped, grimacing. "It shattered. The force blew straight through the armor and... well, the guy wasn't intact after that."

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose, motioning for her to continue.

"The second one tried to flank him," Hill continued. "Apex responded by kicking him. Hard. The impact severed the mercenary clean in half. Midsection gone."

A faint murmur rippled through the room as agents exchanged uneasy glances. Fury didn't react, his face unreadable, but the tension in his shoulders was more than apparent at this point.

"And the third?" Fury asked, his voice razor-sharp.

Hill grimaced again. "He didn't even have time to engage. Apex threw him into a brick wall. The force... well... he didn't just hit the wall. He went through it. Witnesses described it as... as if he just... popped."

Fury stared at her, his expression darkening with every word. The room fell silent as the weight of the report settled over them like a storm cloud.

"Jesus Christ," one agent muttered under his breath, breaking the silence.

Fury ignored him, turning back to Hill. "Where's Apex now?"

"He left the scene immediately after," Hill said. "No trace. No pursuit. The area's being cleaned up by local authorities, but..." She trailed off, her voice faltering.

"But?" Fury prompted.

Hill met his gaze, her tone grave. "He's not hiding, sir. He's moving. Deliberately. He wants everyone to know what happens if they come after him."

Fury exhaled slowly, the sound like the hiss of a pressure valve. He turned toward the window overlooking the facility, his gaze distant as he processed the news.

"What the hell are we dealing with here?" Fury muttered to himself, though… he already knew… a virus… plain and simple… just doing what it does.

Hill stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "Sir, with respect... if governments keep sending people after him, this is going to escalate. Fast."

Fury nodded grimly. "Oh, it's already escalating. This isn't just about Apex anymore. This is about how stupid people can be when they're scared, and how dangerous that stupidity makes them."

He turned back to Hill, his tone serious. "Get me a full briefing on every bounty, every contract, and every mercenary group with even a passing interest in this. I want to know who's coming after him before they make their move."

Hill hesitated, then asked, "And what do we do if he keeps responding like this?"

Fury's eye hardened, his voice cold. "We pray he doesn't decide to escalate first."Bottom of Form

…

The city skyline blurred beneath Peter, or Apex, as the world now called him, as he soared from rooftop to rooftop, his tendrils coiling and lashing out like living grappling hooks. The speed was exhilarating, and the control was effortless. Below, New York's chaos churned as it always did, but for Apex, it was almost meditative.

Today, his focus was simple: cleaning house.

The first group had been a clumsy ambush set up in a warehouse near the docks. Apex had sensed them, or rather their heat signatures and bio-masses like a hawk zooming in on a fish in water from over eighty feet away.

before they even moved. Mercenaries, decked out in state-of-the-art anti-biological armor and armed to the teeth. They'd been hired to test him, but instead, they'd gotten an education.

Apex landed silently behind them, his tendrils extending outward and plucking their weapons away before they could react. One by one, they were knocked out cold, carefully, non-lethally. When the last mercenary hit the ground, Apex bundled them together like groceries, his tendrils wrapping around them tightly.

Minutes later, he dropped them unceremoniously at the nearest SHIELD outpost. "These guys need better hobbies," he said to the baffled agents before leaping back into the city.

…

A while later, word had spread quickly.

By the time the next group tried their luck, Apex had become something of a spectacle. Cops gathered on street corners, some discreetly filming, others openly placing bets on how long it would take for Apex to drop his latest haul of mercenaries onto the pavement.

"He's covering half the city in under a minute," one officer said, shaking his head in amazement. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Fifty bucks says he brings back more than four this time," another officer added, jotting down notes in a small notebook.

They didn't have to wait long. Moments later, Apex descended like a dark comet, his tendrils unfurling as he landed gracefully in the middle of the street. The bundled group of struggling, groaning mercenaries was deposited at his feet, the tendrils retracting as Apex turned to look at the astonished officers.

"Better call SHIELD," he said casually, his crimson-tinged eyes glinting as he prepared to leap away. "There's more where that came from."

The officers scrambled, some dialing SHIELD, others watching as Apex disappeared into the skyline once more. "Unreal," one of them muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

…

Apex's night wasn't over. As the hours ticked by, he encountered more would-be assassins and mercenaries.

A trio of Hand ninjas, Disarmed, knocked out, and left hanging from a streetlight in front of a SHIELD vehicle.

A high-tech strike team from AIM, Disabled their weapons mid-fight, neutralized their leader with a single tendril whip, and delivered the entire team to a SHIELD checkpoint.

An elite assassin from Latveria, Rendered unconscious after a brief struggle, her cybernetic enhancements no match for Apex's speed and strength. She woke up in a holding cell with no memory of how she got there.

From Apex's vantage point, it all felt mechanical. Efficient. He didn't take any pleasure in the takedowns, but there was a certain satisfaction in how easy it was. His tendrils moved faster than bullets, his strength rendered their weapons useless, and his speed made escape impossible.

As he perched on a skyscraper, surveying the city below, Apex mulled over his actions. Was this really him, Peter Parker, taking down criminals with precision and care? Or was it the virus, the part of him that hungered for control, for dominance, that made this so... effortless?

He shook the thought away as his tendrils flared. Another mercenary group had set up shop three blocks over. He leapt into action, moving so quickly that he was a blur against the city lights. They wouldn't stand a chance.

And neither would anyone else who dared to test him.

…

Nick Fury sat in his dimly lit office, the faint glow of his tablet casting sharp shadows across his weathered face. The walls of the SHIELD facility felt closer than ever, as if the sheer enormity of the report in his hands was suffocating the air around him.

He scrolled through the latest updates, his good eye narrowing with each line. The numbers were staggering, over 200 mercenaries captured, dozens of organizations disrupted, and a trail of destruction crisscrossing New York City like an elaborate spiderweb. All attributed to one individual: Peter Parker, or, as the world now called him, Apex.

Fury leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow, exasperated breath. "Jesus H. Christ," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Hill entered the office, a datapad in hand, and stopped short at the sight of Fury's expression. "Sir?"

Fury slammed the tablet onto his desk, his voice sharp and incredulous. "Hill, tell me I'm not reading this right. Tell me this is some elaborate prank cooked up by some bored tech."

Hill raised an eyebrow. "If it is, they've managed to prank the entire intelligence community. It's all legit. Every capture, every takedown, every inch of destruction. He's... efficient."

Fury pointed at the tablet, his hand trembling slightly with frustration. "Efficient? You call this efficient? The guy has covered more miles in a single day than most of our agents do in a month. He's neutralized over 200 armed operatives, delivered them gift-wrapped to SHIELD, and took out a suicidal fanatic, without even bothering to absorb him because, apparently, he has standards now."

Hill smirked faintly, though she quickly suppressed it. "It's hard to argue with the results, sir. He's keeping the city safer than-."

Fury cut her off with a glare. "Keeping it safe? Hill, he's terrifying people. Cops are taking bets on how many mercs he'll drop off in a day. He's swinging by Aunt May's like it's a coffee run and taking out snipers like he's swatting flies. This isn't 'safe.' This is a goddamn horror movie."

Hill hesitated before speaking. "And yet, the alternative, letting those mercenaries run loose, would've been worse."

Fury groaned, leaning forward and rubbing his temples. "This is what's giving me the headache of a lifetime, Hill. Apex is doing our job better than we are, and he's doing it with... whatever the hell he's made of. Every time I think I've wrapped my head around him, he goes and does something like this."

Hill placed the datapad on his desk, her tone cautious. "There's more, sir."

Fury's eye snapped up to meet hers, his patience thinning. "What now?"

"Reports say he's... experimenting. Testing his limits. Not just with the mercenaries but with himself. He's refining his abilities, figuring out how to use them more effectively. That suicide bomber he stopped? He didn't just let the guy detonate. He calculated the exact distance to keep the damage contained and neutralized the threat without collateral."

Fury stared at her, his expression caught between shock and disbelief. "You're telling me he's not just... surviving. He's strategizing?"

Hill nodded. "He's evolving, sir. Fast."

Fury leaned back in his chair, his fingers laced together as he stared at the ceiling. "Great. A sentient, evolving viral weapon that doesn't just act, it thinks. My head's definitely going to explode now."

Hill shifted uneasily. "What's the plan, sir?"

Fury let out a heavy sigh, picking up the tablet again and staring at the screen. "The plan is to figure out whether Apex is a miracle, a nightmare, or something worse. And we need to do it fast because if we don't, someone else will, and I'm not sure we'll like their answers."

He glanced back at Hill, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I don't know whether to lock him up, study him, or thank him for not leveling the whole damn city."

…

Mary Jane Watson sat on the edge of her couch, her hands gripping the remote tightly as her eyes remained glued to the television. The news was relentless, non-stop coverage of Apex, the viral entity that had once been Peter Parker. Beside her, Paul shifted uncomfortably, glancing at her with concern. The tension in the room was immense, made worse by the images flashing across the screen.

The latest footage showed Apex in action. He leaped over a row of buildings with a speed and grace that defied gravity, the camera struggling to keep up. As he landed, the pavement beneath him cracked and fissured, the miniature earthquakes spreading outward like ripples in a pond. Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, the sheer force of his movement tearing into the concrete and leaving deep gouges in the ground.

In another clip, Apex collided head-on with a reinforced metal fence, his tendrils whipping out and tearing through the steel like paper. He emerged on the other side, his glowing red eyes fixed on the camera, his jagged grin sending a chill down Mary Jane's spine. The announcer's voice-over did little to help.

"The entity known as Apex, or the viral Peter Parker, continues to leave a trail of destruction in his wake. Authorities are still struggling to classify him as hero, threat, or something far worse. But one thing is clear, this being is unlike anything we've ever encountered."

Mary Jane's grip tightened, her knuckles whitening. The images shifted to another clip, this time of Apex punching clean through a wall of concrete and rebar as though it were nothing, stepping through the rubble like a predator stalking its prey. His movements were unnervingly deliberate, and for the briefest moment, he looked directly at the camera. The grin was still there, but it wasn't malicious. It was... enjoyment.

"He's enjoying this," Mary Jane whispered, her voice trembling.

Paul glanced at her, concern etched on his face. "MJ, maybe you should turn it off. Watching this isn't helping."

But she ignored him, her mind racing. Images of Peter as she remembered him, smiling, kind, brave, flashed in her memory. She could still hear his voice, soft and familiar, calling her name. That Peter was gone, consumed by whatever this... thing, was.

She thought back to the phone call she had ignored weeks ago, the one from Gwen Stacy. Gwen had sounded frantic, begging Mary Jane to come to the hospital, to see Peter while there was still time. But Mary Jane had refused. She'd been angry, bitter, and tired of the tangled web of emotions Peter had left behind.

And then she'd heard the news. Peter Parker had died. Blown up, impaled, and declared dead before being taken to the morgue.

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening as the memory clawed its way to the surface. Gwen had called again, but this time the news was different, terrifying. Something had consumed Peter. At the subatomic level. A sentient virus had devoured his body, and when it reanimated, it wasn't Peter anymore. Or at least, not entirely.

Paul's voice pulled her back to the present. "MJ, seriously, you're spiraling. Turn it off."

She shook her head, her eyes never leaving the screen. "I can't," she said. "I can't look away. That's Peter, or it was Peter. I don't even know anymore."

The next clip began to play, showing Apex standing atop a shattered building, his crimson eyes scanning the city like a predator. The sight sent a shiver down her spine, and for the first time, Mary Jane felt something she hadn't felt for Peter in years.

Fear.

The news broadcast was in full swing, with live footage of Apex wreaking havoc, or what the anchors were cautiously describing as "engaging with unknown hostile elements." The camera struggled to keep up with his movements as he blurred from street to rooftop, leaping with impossible grace. Then, the feed zoomed in on something streaking toward him.

A missile.

"Wait, are we seeing this correctly?" the anchor stammered. "A Hellfire missile has just been launched, presumably targeting Apex!"

The missile screamed through the air, its fiery contrail painting the sky as it closed in on its target. Apex paused mid-stride, standing still atop a crumbling building, as though he'd noticed the missile and decided to let it come. The camera zoomed in just in time to capture the horrifying moment.

Apex's face twisted unnaturally, his human features peeling back to reveal a cavernous mouth lined with rows of serrated, shark-like teeth. Tendrils wriggled along the edges of his face, stretching and expanding to accommodate the incoming projectile.

The missile hit him square in the face, and he bit down.

The explosion erupted, a deafening boom followed by a plume of fire and smoke. But as the camera struggled to regain focus, Apex emerged, standing unharmed in the epicenter of the blast. His jagged teeth were still clamped around what little remained of the missile, glowing fragments dissolving as his tendrils coiled around them and absorbed the debris.

The crowd watching from nearby rooftops screamed in panic, but Apex ignored them. His crimson eyes locked onto a figure perched on a distant rooftop, a sniper clad in black tactical gear, frantically loading another missile.

Apex tilted his head, his mouth curling into an eerie grin as a long, whip-like tendril sprouted from his back and arched over his head. It lashed out with terrifying speed, slicing through the air like a serpent. Razor-sharp claws lined the whole thing as it shot from one rooftop to another, gleaming menacingly in the fading sunlight.

The assassin had no time to react. The tendril impaled him through the face, the claws tearing through his helmet like wet paper. The camera zoomed in as the tendril pulsed and rippled, breaking the assassin down into a slurry of organic matter that Apex absorbed effortlessly. The body disintegrated within seconds, leaving nothing but tattered gear and a faint mist of blood.

The tendril retracted, curling back into Apex's form as he stretched lazily, as though finishing a satisfying meal. His face returned to its usual unsettlingly human guise, his jagged grin fading into something calmer. With a casual wave toward the camera, as though acknowledging his audience, he leaped off the building and continued on his way, vanishing into the skyline.

The newsroom erupted into chaos.

"Did... did that just happen?" the anchor stammered, her voice trembling. "He just... he bit a missile. He bit a missile, and it exploded in his mouth, and he's still standing."

Her co-anchor, pale and visibly shaken, could only nod. "And that assassin... He didn't even hesitate. He... devoured him."

The footage replayed on a loop as the nation, and the world, watched in stunned silence. Apex wasn't just a force of nature. He was a predator. And he seemed to be enjoying every second of it.

Mary Jane sat frozen on the couch, her hands clasped tightly together as her eyes remained glued to the television screen. The room was filled with the muffled sounds of traffic outside, but it might as well have been silent. The footage of Apex, Peter, had just played out, leaving her pale and trembling. Paul, seated beside her, leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Did he... Did he just eat that missile?!" Paul asked, his voice incredulous and disbelieving. His hand hovered near the remote, as if he wanted to turn the TV off but couldn't bring himself to do it.

MJ didn't respond immediately. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling as her mind raced to process what she had just seen. She finally shook her head, her voice barely being heard. "That wasn't him… That can't be him..."

Paul leaned back, running a hand through his hair. "Mary Jane, you saw the same thing I did. That... thing, whatever it is, looked right at the camera and smiled after biting a Hellfire missile in half. Then it-" He gestured at the screen as if the words were caught in his throat. "-it impaled that guy and ate him. What part of that is the Peter Parker you knew?"

"I don't know!" MJ snapped, her voice breaking as she turned toward Paul. "I don't know, okay? I don't know what to think anymore!" Her hands shot up to cover her face, her shoulders trembling. "How is this even happening? How is any of this real?"

Paul sighed, sitting up and placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. "MJ, I know this is hard for you to hear, but... that's not Peter anymore. Whatever happened to him, whatever that virus is, it's not him."

MJ pulled her hands away from her face, her tear-streaked eyes glaring at Paul. "You don't understand. You didn't know him like I did. He wouldn't, he couldn't, just... turn into that. He fought to save people. He, he," Her voice cracked, and she turned away, her hand clenching the edge of the couch. "He's still in there. He has to be."

Paul's expression softened for a moment, but he quickly shook his head. "MJ, look at what just happened. He tore through those mercenaries, devoured Hulk clones, and now this?" He gestured at the screen again, where the footage replayed of Apex grinning before lunging off the rooftop. "This thing isn't just dangerous. It's a monster. Everyone sees that."

MJ's eyes flicked back to the screen, the image of Peter's jagged maw and tendril-filled grin burned into her mind. Her lips trembled as she whispered, "It's not supposed to be like this."

Paul hesitated, then spoke carefully. "Maybe... Maybe it's time to stop thinking about who he was. Maybe we need to start thinking about what he's become, and how to protect ourselves from it."

MJ's head snapped toward him, anger flashing in her eyes. "Protect ourselves? From Peter?"

Paul frowned, his voice firm but not unkind. "From whatever that thing is."

The tension in the room was suffocating, the sound of the news anchor's stunned commentary barely registering in the background. MJ turned back to the screen, the looping footage showing Peter, or Apex, tearing through the battlefield with unnerving precision and ferocity.

Tears welled in her eyes as she muttered under her breath, "What happened to you, Peter?"

The building shuddered violently, the floor beneath Mary Jane and Paul trembling as if an earthquake had struck. A deafening crash sounded outside, followed by the unmistakable groaning of stressed steel. Mary Jane gripped the couch, her knuckles white, while Paul instinctively shielded her as they both turned toward the source of the commotion.

Before either of them could process what was happening, the wall across the room exploded inward, showering the floor with chunks of plaster and debris. Peter, no, Apex, was launched through the wall, landing heavily in a heap of rubble just shy of the television. A fine cloud of dust filled the room as Apex slowly rose, brushing off his hoodie like he'd simply tripped.

"Well," Peter muttered, glancing at the new gaping hole in the wall. "So that's what getting hit by a modified bunker buster shell feels like. Not a fan."

Mary Jane and Paul froze, staring in stunned silence as the viral entity stood in their living room. His crimson-tinged eyes glinted faintly in the dim light, his tendrils rippling just beneath the surface of his clothes. Before anyone could speak, another earth-shaking thud reverberated through the room as the sound of colossal footsteps approached.

Mary Jane's eyes darted to the TV, where a live news feed displayed the chaos outside. A towering Sentinel loomed near their building, its metallic body gleaming ominously as it raised an arm to fire.

Peter, or Apex, turned his head slightly, his expression unbothered. A network of black and red tendrils erupted from his back and arm , moving like living things as they shot through the broken window and continued to extend and grow. The tendrils coiled and pierced the Sentinel's head, worming their way through its mechanical body like a virus spreading through a host. Sparks flew as the machine spasmed, its joints locking before it collapsed with a thunderous crash.

Outside, the camera feed showed more tendrils branching out, snaking through the air and latching onto three more Sentinels. The massive constructs convulsed as Peter's tendrils tore through their circuitry, dismantling them with brutal efficiency. One of the tendrils split into pincers the size of cars, cleaving a Sentinel cleanly in half before stacking its remains neatly with the others.

Back in the room, Peter turned his attention to Mary Jane and Paul. His head tilted slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing as he studied their faces. "Do I know you?" he asked, his tone genuinely curious. His voice was calm, almost disarming, though the undertone of something alien remained.

Mary Jane's heart raced as she met his gaze, her throat dry. "P-Peter…" she managed to whisper, though the word felt foreign in the moment.

Paul, on the other hand, was backing up slowly, his hand gripping the edge of the couch. "What the hell is this?" he muttered, his voice trembling as he glanced between Peter and the TV, where the tendrils were wreaking havoc outside. "What are you?"

Peter's gaze flicked to Paul, then back to Mary Jane, his expression thoughtful. "Peter," he repeated, almost testing the name on his tongue. "That sounds… familiar." His eyes softened slightly, the faintest glimmer of recognition flickering across his face. "Do I know you?" he asked again, more insistently this time.

All the while, his tendrils continued their destructive dance outside, cutting through the last of the Sentinels and stacking their remains neatly in the street. The news feed showed the towering pile of broken machines, an eerie testament to Peter's power and precision.

Mary Jane's voice trembled as she stepped forward, her eyes filled with a mix of fear and heartbreak. "Peter, it's me. It's Mary Jane."

Peter blinked, his expression faltering for a moment as he processed the name. "Mary… Jane," he repeated slowly, the words carrying a strange weight. He tilted his head again, his tendrils retracting slightly as if mirroring his hesitation. "Maybe," he said finally, his voice quiet. "Maybe I do remember you."

Peter's glowing crimson eyes flicked away from Mary Jane and Paul, his expression unreadable. Suddenly, he held up a hand, gesturing for silence. "Hmm…" he muttered, tilting his head as if listening to something. "Give me a second."

Mary Jane opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, watching as Peter's features shifted from curiosity to contemplation. He seemed to be debating something internally, his gaze momentarily distant. Then, with a slight shrug, he spoke again, his tone disturbingly casual.

"Hm. I remember that a Mary Jane was… with Peter, with me, for a while. But other than that…" He turned his head back toward her, his face devoid of recognition. "Nothing. No face, no memories. Not surprising, I guess. My neurons were dead for a few hours in the morgue." He shrugged again, as though the thought didn't bother him. "Oh well."

Before anyone could react, Peter spun on his heel and leapt through the shattered window with a burst of motion so fast it sent a gust of wind through the room. Mary Jane and Paul stumbled back, shielding their faces from the debris. The live news feed on the TV showed Peter's descent as he hurtled toward a Sentinel.

The towering machine turned to face him, its mouth opening to reveal a glowing energy cannon. But Peter's trajectory didn't falter. He dove straight into its maw, disappearing within the metallic beast. Moments later, the Sentinel convulsed violently, sparks and tendrils erupting from every joint and crevice as Peter tore through its insides.

Metal plates peeled away, and wires were ripped apart as Peter's black-and-red form erupted from the Sentinel's chest. He punched through its core, dragging out vital components before leaping to the ground with predatory grace. The mangled remains of the machine crumbled behind him, the sound of its collapse echoing through the city.

On the TV, the camera zoomed in on Peter as he stood amidst the wreckage. He tilted his head toward the nearest Sentinel, his tendrils coiling and writhing in anticipation, and then lunged toward it with terrifying speed.

Back in the room, Mary Jane stared at the screen, her hands trembling. "That… that's not Peter," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Paul, pale and wide-eyed, could only nod in agreement. "Whatever it is… it's not human."

…

The morning news was dominated by images and videos of the chaos that had unfolded overnight. Helicopter footage captured the towering Sentinels crumbling one by one, their mechanical remains littering the streets. Streets were cracked and scorched, and buildings near the battles bore evidence of the intense skirmish, smashed windows, scorched facades, and the occasional toppled fire escape. Yet, remarkably, much of the city was intact.

The Damage Report

Total Estimated Damages: $78 million.

Infrastructure Repairs: $45 million (roads, sidewalks, structural damage to buildings).

Utility Repairs: $10 million (destroyed power lines, ruptured water mains, and gas leaks).

Public Transit Disruptions: $8 million (several subway entrances damaged, though the tunnels remained intact).

Private Property: $15 million (damaged storefronts, parked cars, and residential units).

Casualties: Zero confirmed deaths, thanks to early evacuation efforts and Peter's efforts to keep the fight contained.

Evacuations and Displacements: Around 2,000 people temporarily relocated.

Jameson leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming against the armrest as he kept his eyes locked on the screen. For once, he didn't fire back at Robbie's remark. His jaw tightened, and he reached for his cigar, rolling it between his fingers instead of lighting it. The footage looped on the monitor: Apex stacking the decommissioned Sentinels like discarded soda cans, the battle leaving behind far less destruction than anyone would expect from something of its scale.

"You think I don't see that, Robbie?" Jameson said, his tone surprisingly measured, almost weary. "You think I haven't read the reports? Seen the aftermath?"

Robbie arched an eyebrow but didn't interrupt. Jameson gestured at the screen, his movements sharper than usual. "I know the numbers. I know damn well that most of the damage was because of the Sentinels, the mercenaries, and those idiots with their rocket launchers. Hell, I know he probably saved more lives than anyone else could have in that chaos."

Robbie tilted his head. "Then why not say that? Why not let the people know the truth for once?"

Jameson let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Because it's not that simple, Robbie. It's never that simple. Look at him! That's not Spider-Man. That's not some plucky kid in red and blue tights swinging around saving the day. That thing, whatever he is now, is something else entirely. Something the world doesn't understand. And people fear what they don't understand."

Robbie took a step closer, crossing his arms. "So what? You're just going to add to that fear? Stir the pot like you always do?"

Jameson's fist slammed down on the desk, making Robbie flinch slightly. "What do you expect me to do, huh? Get on the air and tell everyone to relax? That a walking viral apocalypse who eats people and tears Sentinels in half is no big deal? Because that's what he is now, Robbie. You've seen the reports. He's not Parker anymore, not entirely."

Jameson leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he stared at the screen, his fingers steepled in front of him. The light from the monitor flickered across his face, highlighting the wide-eyed look.

and the deep lines of frustration etched into his features.

"On one hand," he began, his voice low and deliberate, "he's lost all restraint when it comes to the attention he's getting. The whole world is watching, Robbie. Every damn thing he does, every Sentinel he tears apart, every assassin he… consumes." He grimaced, the word leaving a bad taste in his mouth. "It's like he's leaning into it, whether he means to or not. And that's not something people are going to ignore."

He sighed, leaning back in his chair and pinching the bridge of his nose. "And on the other hand… hell, Robbie. I'm not ashamed to admit it, I'm kind of intimidated. The last thing I'd want is to paint him in a bad light and have him decide the Daily Bugle is next on his list."

Robbie tilted his head, surprised. "You, intimidated? That's a first."

"Don't start," Jameson snapped, though the usual fire in his tone was subdued. He gestured to the stack of reports on his desk, his frustration boiling over. "Do you have any idea how many eyes are on this? My bosses are breathing down my neck, demanding answers. 'Why isn't the Bugle leading the charge on this Apex story?' 'Why haven't we released an op-ed condemning him?' 'Why haven't we-.'" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath before continuing. "They don't get it. They don't understand what we're dealing with here."

Robbie crossed his arms. "So what are you going to do?"

Jameson tapped his desk with one finger, his expression hardening. "We're going to give a measured response," he said firmly. "No sensationalism. No wild speculation. We stick to the truth and nothing but the truth."

Robbie raised an eyebrow. "Since when does the Bugle stick to 'just the facts'?"

"Since now," Jameson snapped, pointing a finger at him. "I don't want spin, I don't want headlines that scream 'Monster!' or 'Hero!' I want facts. Hard, cold, undeniable facts. What did he do? How much damage was caused? Who's responsible for what? Every angle, Robbie. All of it."

Robbie nodded slowly, processing Jameson's uncharacteristically tempered approach. "You sure about this? The bosses won't like it if we're not stirring up outrage."

Jameson's lips curled into a faint, humorless smirk. "Let them not like it. Because the second we start leaning one way or the other, we'll be playing with fire. And something tells me Apex is the kind of fire you don't want to piss off."

He glanced back at the screen, where the footage of Apex's latest battle played on a loop. His crimson-tinged eyes glinted in the light, a faint smirk on his face as he cleaved through a Sentinel with unsettling ease.

Jameson shook his head, muttering under his breath. "The truth, Robbie. That's all we're doing. The facts and nothing but the facts." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he stared at the screen. "Because God help us if we get this wrong."