July 7, 2009
The room was dark except for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the blinds. Peter Parker lay sprawled on the couch, the rhythm of his breath even and deep. His body ached from the day's battles, but exhaustion had finally pulled him into sleep.
Unbeknownst to him, a subtle hum began to ripple through the air. Unnatural, invasive. It brushed against his subconscious like a predator testing its prey.
Then it struck.
Peter's peaceful expression twisted into one of anguish, his fists clenching at his sides. His head jerked as if trying to shake something loose, but it was no use. Synapse's psychic web had ensnared him, dragging him into a vivid nightmare.
He found himself standing in the middle of a dilapidated Queens street, the familiar shape of his childhood home looming ahead. A shadow fell across the doorway, and Peter's heart sank. Uncle Ben stepped forward, his face grave, his words laced with disappointment.
"You could've saved me, Peter."
Peter shook his head, stepping back as guilt clawed at his chest. "No... I tried. I swear I tried!"
But Uncle Ben faded, replaced by another figure. Gwen Stacy stood on the edge of a bridge, her golden hair whipping in a phantom wind. Peter's breath caught in his throat as he lunged forward, but no matter how fast he ran, she was always just out of reach.
"You let me fall," she said, her voice cold and distant. "You weren't fast enough."
"I—I didn't mean to," Peter choked, dropping to his knees as tears streamed down his face.
The nightmare shifted again. He was back in Midtown, standing amidst a crowd of civilians. Their faces blurred, but their voices were sharp and accusing.
"Spider-Man failed us."
"He couldn't save everyone."
"What good is he?"
The cacophony grew louder, drowning out Peter's attempts to protest. He clutched his head, trying to silence the noise, but the guilt and doubt pressed in from all sides.
In the real world, Peter's body jerked violently on the couch. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and his fingers clawed at the fabric. He muttered incoherent words, trapped in a loop of his deepest fears.
The commotion startled Betsy Braddock awake in the adjacent room. She rushed out, her sharp eyes falling immediately on Peter. His spasms were growing more intense, his body threatening to throw itself off the couch.
"Peter!" she called, kneeling beside him and shaking his shoulder. His eyes remained tightly shut, his face contorted in pain.
Her psychic senses flared, and she recoiled at the malevolent presence lingering around him. Synapse. This wasn't just a nightmare—it was a psychic attack, carefully designed to prey on Peter's deepest vulnerabilities.
Betsy hesitated for only a moment. Entering someone else's mind was risky, especially when that mind was under assault. But leaving him like this wasn't an option. She took a steadying breath, her psychic blade materializing in her hand.
"I'm coming for you, Peter," she whispered, pressing her fingers to his temple.
In an instant, the world shifted around her. She found herself standing on the same dilapidated street Peter had seen, the oppressive weight of his fear pressing down on her like a thick fog. She could hear his voice in the distance, calling out in desperation.
"Uncle Ben! Gwen!"
She followed the sound, her psychic blade lighting the way through the swirling chaos of Peter's mind. As she moved, fragments of his memories flickered around her—moments of triumph, but mostly moments of failure and loss.
Finally, she spotted him, curled into himself at the center of the nightmare. Around him, shadowy figures whispered accusations, their voices dripping with malice.
"Peter," she said, her voice firm and steady.
He looked up, his eyes wide and filled with tears. "Betsy? What are you doing here? You have to go—it's too much. I can't... I can't stop it."
She stepped closer, her blade cutting through the shadows that tried to close in around her. "You don't have to face this alone."
"But it's my fault," he said, his voice breaking. "All of it. Uncle Ben, Gwen, every person I couldn't save—it's all on me."
Betsy knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You've carried this weight for so long, Peter. But guilt isn't what defines you. It's the fact that you keep going, no matter how hard it gets."
The shadows hissed, growing more frenzied as they closed in. Betsy rose, her psychic blade flaring brightly. "And now it's time to fight back. Together."
Peter hesitated, but the warmth in Betsy's voice cut through his fear. Slowly, he got to his feet, his eyes meeting hers. "You really think I can do this?"
"I know you can," she said, a small smile breaking through the tension.
With renewed determination, Peter stepped forward, and together they faced the shadows. Betsy's psychic blade and Peter's resilience burned through the illusions until the fog began to lift.
As the nightmare shattered, Peter found himself in a blank landscape with just the two of them. Gasping for air, Betsy sat beside him, her face pale but composed.
"Thanks," he managed to say, his voice hoarse.
She offered him a faint smile. "You'd do the same for me."
The unspoken bond between them grew stronger in that moment, a silent acknowledgment of the trust they now shared. But the threat of Synapse loomed heavier than ever.
Betsy Braddock stood in the distorted landscape of Peter Parker's mind, her psychic blade glowing faintly in her hand. The world around her twisted and shifted like a kaleidoscope of memories and fears, each fragment bleeding into the next. She could feel Peter's presence nearby, his essence flickering like a flame buffeted by a storm.
"Peter!" she called out, her voice firm and cutting through the oppressive air. "I'm here to help!"
From the swirling chaos, Peter appeared, his face pale and drawn. He looked at her with a mix of disbelief and relief. "Betsy? How...how are you here?"
"Synapse tried to trap you in your mind. I wasn't about to let that happen," she said, stepping closer. "But we need to move. This place—it's not stable."
Peter hesitated, glancing around at the distorted streets of Queens. His childhood home loomed in the distance, its windows shattered, the front door hanging crookedly on its hinges. "This is my fault," he murmured. "All of it."
Before Betsy could respond, the scene shifted violently. They were suddenly outside a run-down community center. The streetlights flickered ominously, casting eerie shadows on the pavement.
Peter froze, his breath catching in his throat. "No," he whispered.
Ahead of them, a group of masked robbers spilled out of the center, their guns drawn. Police officers surrounded the scene, their voices raised in frantic commands. And then, in the middle of it all, stood Uncle Ben, trying to calm the chaos.
"Please, everyone," Ben said, his hands raised. "We don't need to fight. Let's talk this out."
The first gunshot rang out like a thunderclap.
"No!" Peter shouted, running toward the scene, but the world seemed to stretch and distort, keeping him just out of reach. The memory played out in cruel, excruciating detail. Ben fell to the ground, his body crumpling as the gunfire continued.
Peter dropped to his knees, his face twisted in anguish. "I should've been there. I could've stopped it."
Betsy knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "You couldn't have known, Peter. This wasn't your fault."
"But it feels like it is," he said, his voice breaking. "He was trying to do the right thing, and he died for it."
The memory dissolved into darkness, and a cold wind swept over them. Betsy helped Peter to his feet, her psychic blade flickering as the labyrinth shifted again.
This time, they were standing on the George Washington Bridge. Peter's heart sank as he recognized the setting. "Not this," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Ahead of them, Gwen Stacy dangled precariously from the bridge, her terrified screams cutting through the air. Spider-Man swung toward her, his web line shooting out, but it was too late. The snap of her neck echoed like a gunshot, and her lifeless body fell into the churning waters below.
Peter staggered back, clutching his chest as if the memory itself were physically crushing him. "I failed her," he said, his voice raw. "I promised to protect her, and I failed."
Betsy stepped in front of him, her voice firm but not unkind. "Peter, listen to me. These memories—they're not here to help you. They're here to trap you, to break you. Synapse is using your guilt to keep you from fighting back."
"I don't deserve to fight back," Peter said, his eyes filled with tears.
"You do," Betsy said, gripping his arm. "Because you're more than your failures. You're the man who keeps going, no matter how many times you fall. And right now, I need that man to help me get us out of here."
Peter looked at her, the weight of her words cutting through the fog of his despair. Slowly, he nodded.
The ground beneath them rumbled, and the distorted cityscape began to crumble. Synapse's psychic influence was closing in, the walls of the labyrinth shrinking around them.
"This way," Betsy said, leading Peter through the collapsing maze.
They ran together, dodging falling debris and surging shadows. The memories tried to claw at Peter, dragging him back into the depths of his guilt, but Betsy's presence was like a beacon, pulling him forward.
Finally, they reached a shimmering exit, a portal of light that pulsed with energy. Betsy turned to Peter, her hand outstretched. "This is it. Are you ready?"
Peter hesitated, glancing back at the shadows of his past. Then he took her hand, determination hardening his features. "Let's do this."
Together, they stepped through the portal, breaking free of Synapse's control.
Peter awoke on his couch with a gasp, his body drenched in sweat. Betsy sat beside him, her face pale but resolute.
"You okay?" she asked softly.
Peter nodded, his voice hoarse. "I think so this time."
Betsy gave him a small smile, her eyes reflecting a newfound respect. As the weight of the nightmare began to lift, Peter realized that for the first time in a long while, he wasn't carrying it alone.
Peter Parker stretched his arms as he stood in the center of the psychic training room, still sore but ready for what Betsy had planned. Around him, the holographic environment simulated an empty urban landscape, quiet yet brimming with potential threats.
"Okay," Peter said, tugging at his mask as he adjusted it. "So, what's the game plan? Is this like meditation or more like 'let's poke around in Peter's head and see what embarrassing thoughts we find'?"
Betsy smirked from where she stood, arms crossed. Her poise was that of a seasoned warrior, but the faint twitch at the corner of her mouth revealed her amusement. "I promise, no psychic invasions without consent," she said. "This is about teaching you how to recognize and resist mental intrusions. Synapse is dangerous, Peter. You need to learn how to shield your mind."
She turned to the observation window where Cyclops and Storm stood watching. "I'll take him through the basics," Betsy said. "I think he's got potential, but I'll report back if we need to adjust."
Cyclops nodded. "Keep him sharp. We'll need everyone at their best if Synapse makes another move."
Peter waved up at them. "No pressure, right?"
Storm smiled. "You'll be fine, Peter. Just focus on what Betsy tells you."
Betsy turned back to Peter, her expression shifting to one of focus. "Let's begin. Close your eyes."
Peter complied, his usually animated demeanor fading into cautious attention.
"Imagine your mind as a fortress," Betsy began, her voice calm and steady. "Every thought, every memory, is inside that fortress. Synapse's power is to make you think the walls are crumbling, to exploit the cracks in your defenses. Your job is to strengthen those walls, brick by brick."
Peter peeked one eye open. "Brick by brick? You've seen me, right? I'm more of a 'throw webs at the problem and hope it sticks' kind of guy."
Betsy arched a brow. "Then consider this a new kind of webbing."
Over the next hour, Betsy guided Peter through exercises, her psychic presence brushing against his mind to simulate attacks. Each time, Peter learned to recognize the intrusion, pushing back with growing confidence. It wasn't easy—his thoughts often wandered, his natural tendency to joke and overthink occasionally disrupting his focus.
At one point, Peter winced, rubbing his temple. "Man, this is harder than dodging pumpkin bombs."
Betsy chuckled, a rare warmth in her usually composed demeanor. "You're doing better than most people would. It's not about perfection; it's about progress."
After another round, Peter managed to hold his mental defenses steady, even as Betsy ramped up the intensity.
"There," she said, nodding approvingly. "You're getting it. Feel that pushback? That's your mind telling me 'no.'"
Peter grinned beneath his mask. "I've had years of practice saying no to people trying to mess with me. Though, usually, it's just J. Jonah Jameson."
As they wrapped up, Betsy suggested taking a break. They moved to a nearby bench, where Peter pulled out a water bottle from his utility belt.
"Thanks for this," he said after a long drink. "I didn't know how much I needed it until now."
Betsy leaned back, her expression softening. "You've been handling this fight on your own for so long. It's admirable, but you shouldn't have to. That's why I wanted to help."
Peter tilted his head, studying her. "You know, you've got this whole 'stoic warrior' thing going on, but deep down, you care a lot more than you let on."
Betsy's lips quirked into a half-smile. "And you're not nearly as carefree as you pretend to be. We all have our masks, Spider-Man."
"Touché," Peter said, lifting an imaginary hat.
As the banter settled into a companionable silence, Peter sat up straighter. "Your turn. Let me share some tips. Psychic powers aren't really my thing, but I know a thing or two about dealing with overwhelming odds."
Betsy raised a brow. "Do you now?"
"Oh, absolutely," Peter said, standing and pantomiming a battle. "Step one: Make them think you're totally out of your depth. Step two: Find something to throw. Doesn't matter what—manhole covers, pumpkin bombs, AIM helmets, whatever's handy. Step three: Out-talk them until they make a mistake."
Betsy laughed, genuinely this time, a clear and melodic sound. "You're impossible."
"Maybe," Peter said, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalance. "But it works."
Their camaraderie had shifted subtly, the playful banter deepening into mutual admiration. As they prepared to head back to the others, Betsy looked at Peter thoughtfully.
"You've got potential, Parker," she said.
Peter grinned. "Coming from you, I'll take that as high praise."
Betsy turned, her psychic blade flickering to life as they walked back toward the main base. "Don't let it go to your head."
Peter chuckled. "Too late."
a holographic map of New York City glowing above the central table. Cyclops pointed to a blinking red marker in Lower Manhattan, the location of an abandoned industrial complex.
"This is it," Cyclops said, his voice steady. "Our intelligence confirms Synapse has set up a base here. He's been using the psychic-powered tech to amplify his reach, targeting key areas of the city."
Storm nodded, her expression grim. "We've traced the recent psychic disturbances to this area. It's heavily shielded, but we're confident this is where he's planning his next move."
Wolverine crossed his arms, his claws partially extended. "If Synapse wants a fight, he's gonna get one."
Betsy stood beside Peter, her arms crossed as she absorbed the briefing. Spider-Man, leaning against a nearby wall, tugged lightly at his mask, looking between the hologram and the assembled team.
"Let me guess," Peter said, "this abandoned factory isn't just a spooky villain hideout; it's also a giant maze of traps, henchmen, and suspiciously sturdy crates?"
"You'd be correct," Beast replied with a faint grin, adjusting his glasses. "Expect resistance—and possibly worse."
"Worse?" Peter echoed. "Great. Just what I needed to hear."
Cyclops raised his hand. "Focus, everyone. We'll split into two teams. Wolverine, Storm, and I will enter through the east side to draw Synapse's attention. Psylocke, Spider-Man, and Best will infiltrate from the west. Neutralizing Synapse is our top priority."
As the teams dispersed to prepare, Peter followed Betsy down a quiet hallway leading to the transport bay. The atmosphere between them, usually filled with playful banter, felt charged with something unspoken.
"So," Peter began, scratching the back of his neck. "Big mission coming up. You ready to show Synapse that psychic villainy doesn't pay?"
Betsy glanced at him, her expression softening. "I'm ready. What about you? This isn't your usual street-level fight."
Peter shrugged. "Hey, I've tangled with goblins, symbiotes, and the occasional alien invasion. What's a psychic megalomaniac compared to that?"
They reached the bay, where a sleek black X-Men jet waited. Betsy paused, turning to face Peter fully. Her sharp, analytical gaze softened, something vulnerable flickering in her usually composed demeanor.
"Peter," she began, her voice quieter now, "I wanted to say… you've been an incredible partner in this. Your perspective, your humor—it's been… refreshing."
Peter looked at her, surprised. His usual quips momentarily escaped him. "Betsy, you're… you're amazing," he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "I mean, the way you handle everything—your powers, your poise. You make it look effortless, and I know it's not. It's… inspiring."
For a moment, Betsy seemed genuinely flustered. She looked away briefly, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft. "That means a lot, coming from you."
The air between them grew heavy with unspoken emotions, and Peter, ever the one to diffuse tension, scratched his head awkwardly. "Uh, not that I'm trying to distract you or anything. I know, big mission, bad guy to stop. Just… putting it out there."
Betsy smiled faintly, her usual composure returning. "And I think you're more than you give yourself credit for, Peter. But you're right—mission first."
Peter gave a mock salute. "Mission first. Feelings later. Got it."
As they boarded the jet, Betsy glanced at Peter, her smile lingering. "Stay close out there, Spider-Man. Synapse won't hold back."
Peter grinned, his confidence restored. "Right back at you, Psylocke. Let's go save the city."
With that, the jet roared to life, carrying them toward Lower Manhattan and the confrontation that awaited.
The X-Men jet hovered silently over the desolate industrial complex, its sleek form blending into the night. Cyclops, Wolverine, and Storm descended toward the east entrance, while Spider-Man, Psylocke, and Beast slipped into the shadows along the western perimeter.
"Standard AIM villain setup," Peter muttered, his voice low as he clung to a wall. His mask's lenses narrowed as he scanned the area. "Lots of henchmen, very few windows. Who designs these places?"
"Focus, Peter," Betsy whispered, her tone calm but firm. She crouched beside Beast, her katana drawn. "Synapse is no ordinary enemy. Stay sharp."
Beast tapped a wrist-mounted scanner, his fur glowing faintly in the moonlight. "We're approaching the central corridor. Energy readings suggest Synapse's main operations are below ground."
The trio moved swiftly and silently, bypassing several AIM guards as they made their way toward an access hatch. The corridor ahead hummed with a faint, unsettling energy that set Spider-Man's spider-sense tingling.
"Anyone else feel like we just walked into a haunted house?" Peter quipped, his voice light but tense.
Before anyone could respond, the air around them shimmered. A sudden, crushing wave of psychic energy surged through the corridor, slamming into their minds like a tidal wave.
Spider-Man staggered, clutching his head as his spider-sense blared in confusion. Around him, the corridor twisted and warped, the walls melting into a kaleidoscope of distorted shapes. Psylocke and Beast froze, their eyes wide as their minds were ensnared by the psychic assault.
From somewhere deep within the facility, Synapse's voice echoed, cold and mocking.
"Fools. Did you really think you could outmaneuver me? You've walked straight into my web."
Peter's vision swam as the illusion deepened, dragging him into a chaotic swirl of memories and fears. Uncle Ben's voice called out to him, mingling with Gwen Stacy's screams. He saw himself failing, again and again, trapped in an endless loop of guilt and loss.
But even as the psychic assault tightened its grip, Peter felt something anchor him. Psylocke's voice, calm and clear, cut through the haze.
"Remember what I taught you, Peter. Ground yourself. Focus."
With effort, Peter closed his eyes and concentrated. He visualized the techniques Betsy had shown him: the mental shield, the steady rhythm of controlled breathing, the grounding sensation of his own physical strength. Slowly, the chaos receded.
Peter opened his eyes, his mind clearer now. He saw Psylocke struggling to resist the assault, her psychic defenses buckling under Synapse's relentless attack. Beast was pinned in place, his brilliant mind trapped in an endless loop of failure and frustration.
"Not today," Peter muttered, determination hardening his voice.
He reached out, gently placing a hand on Psylocke's shoulder. "Betsy, you've got this. You're stronger than him. Push back."
Her violet eyes flickered with recognition, and she nodded, drawing on Peter's support to stabilize her psychic defenses. Together, they focused their energies, breaking free from Synapse's grip.
Next, they turned to Beast. Psylocke's psychic blade shimmered as she gently cut through the tendrils of Synapse's attack, freeing their teammate.
"Thank you," Beast said, his voice shaky but resolute. "That was… unpleasant."
Synapse's mocking voice returned, tinged with frustration. "Impressive. But it won't save you."
Peter smirked beneath his mask. "Oh, it'll do more than save us. It'll stop you."
With their minds clear, the trio pressed on, moving with renewed purpose. The corridor ahead led to a reinforced door, its surface glowing with energy signatures.
"Synapse is behind there," Beast said, his scanner beeping furiously. "Prepare yourselves."
Psylocke's psychic blade flared to life as she turned to Peter. "You did well back there, Peter. I couldn't have broken free without you."
Peter shrugged, his voice light despite the tension. "Hey, teamwork makes the dream work, right?"
She allowed herself a small smile. "Let's finish this."
The three of them stood ready, united against the looming threat of Synapse and his master plan.
The dimly lit corridor hummed with the pulse of nearby machinery as Beast's claws tapped rapidly on a terminal, his mind racing to manipulate AIM's defense systems. Behind him, Spider-Man and Psylocke waited, their postures tense as the faint echoes of Synapse's psychic attacks rippled through the air.
"The others are in worse shape than I feared," Beast said, his tone grim. "Synapse's psychic onslaught is relentless. If we don't intervene now, Cyclops, Wolverine, and Storm won't last much longer."
Psylocke sheathed her psychic blade, her voice calm but decisive. "Then go, Hank. They need you more than we do right now."
Beast hesitated, glancing at her and then Spider-Man. "Are you certain you two can handle Synapse alone? His central chamber is likely the most dangerous part of this entire facility."
Spider-Man gave him a quick thumbs-up, his voice light despite the gravity of the situation. "We've got this. Besides, I have a feeling Betsy here is way scarier than Synapse on a bad day."
Psylocke arched an eyebrow but allowed a faint smirk. "Don't keep them waiting, Hank. We'll finish what we started."
With a curt nod, Beast activated a sequence on the terminal, redirecting AIM's automated defense systems to counter Synapse's psychic projections. Security turrets swiveled, firing at invisible threats, giving the beleaguered X-Men a brief reprieve. Beast turned and sprinted down a side corridor, his movements swift and purposeful.
Psylocke turned to Spider-Man. "Ready?"
Peter adjusted his mask and gave a mock salute. "Lead the way, Captain Psychic."
As they delved deeper into the base, the air grew heavier, the oppressive weight of Synapse's psychic influence pressing down on them. They passed through laboratories filled with grotesque hybrid experiments—twisted fusions of human and mutant DNA suspended in glowing tanks. Psylocke's expression hardened.
"This is what he's been working toward," she muttered. "Perfecting psychic technology by merging it with mutant DNA. These aren't just experiments—they're weapons."
Spider-Man's eyes narrowed as he examined the notes scattered across a console. "Weapons to control people. Looks like he's planning to use this tech to amplify his psychic powers and broadcast them across the city. A psychic takeover of New York."
Psylocke nodded, her grip tightening on her katana. "He'll enslave millions. We have to stop him."
They pressed forward, entering a massive chamber where Synapse's central operations were housed. The room was dominated by a towering, pulsating machine, its design alien and grotesque. Glowing conduits fed into a central platform where Synapse stood, his twisted form wreathed in psychic energy.
"Ah, my most troublesome pests," Synapse said, his voice dripping with disdain. "You've come so far, only to fail. My vision is already in motion. Soon, New York will be mine."
Spider-Man tilted his head, hands on his hips. "You villains really need to invest in better plans. This one screams 'final boss fight.'"
Psylocke didn't wait for banter. She launched herself forward, her psychic blade blazing as she slashed at Synapse's defenses. Peter followed, webbing up nearby equipment to disrupt its power flow.
Synapse retaliated with a wave of psychic energy, forcing both of them back. The ground beneath them shook as his amplified powers began to destabilize the chamber.
"You think you can stop me?" Synapse roared. "I am evolution! I am perfection!"
Peter, struggling to his feet, shot a web line to Psylocke, pulling her back from an incoming attack. "Y'know, for someone who thinks he's perfect, you sure talk a lot about it. Overcompensating much?"
Psylocke smirked despite the tension. "Less quips, more focus."
Meanwhile, Beast reached the captive X-Men, who were bound by psychic restraints and surrounded by AIM guards. Using his strength and intellect, he bypassed the generators powering Synapse's mind-control network, causing the restraints to falter.
"Cyclops, Wolverine, Storm—wake up!" Beast called as he worked to dismantle the generators.
Cyclops groaned as he regained consciousness, his visor flickering to life. "We're here, Hank. Let's finish this."
The four X-Men unleashed a coordinated assault, tearing through the remaining guards and destroying the remaining generators.
Author's Note: Hello everyone, so there have been a number of broad strokes in this chapter in terms of the worldbuilding when it comes to the past of this iteration of Spider-Man with mostly some familiar ideas. It also felt like a right opportunity to build on more of the development with the relationship between Spider-Man and Psylocke. I won't be having Spider-Man get psychic powers or anything but it will be able to make Spider-Man have some defenses against psychic attacks.
I would like to let KaidoFett know this much: I will get around to introducing Shinobi Shaw later on in the story though it will be later on. I hope you enjoyed your Christmas as well.
I hope everyone has enjoyed the action and all the development up to now, the next chapter will be a big accumulation of the last few chapters. It can basically serve as an ending of sorts but it will have more stories afterwards, hence why I have the Volume part for the chapters. I hope you all look forward to the rest of the story and where the future takes the characters.