At Midtown High, afternoons were split:
3 p.m. to 8 p.m. meant "extracurricular time." Clubs, sports, student projects.
For Peter Parker, it meant one thing:
Freedom.
The moment the clock hit three, he was already in motion. Books slammed shut. He bolted for the hallway, swung open his locker, grabbed his bag, and vanished out the back exit in one seamless blur.
A practiced escape.
Smooth. Efficient. Almost… too efficient.
After all, Peter had been perfecting this routine for weeks.
And the odds of getting caught? Pretty low.
Because hidden deep in his powers was an instinct—a spider's instinct. The ability to slip away, unnoticed, blending into the cracks of the world.
That stealth had only sharpened since his trip to the noir Spider-Man's universe. Now, his tracking, hiding, and counter-surveillance skills were better than ever.
If he'd had this version of his stealth back when Tony Stark was searching for him… maybe Iron Man wouldn't have found him so quickly.
Maybe.
Then again, Stark had super-A.I., the Avengers' intel network, and virtually unlimited resources. Secrets didn't stay secret from him for long.
Good thing Stark was on his side now.
---
Peter ducked into a quiet alley. In seconds, he was no longer a high school kid—he was Spider-Man. The Iron-Spider suit clung to him like a second skin.
Next, he tugged his school backpack into view and aimed his web-shooter. With a few quick sprays and a dab of color, the plain bag was transformed into something new—same design, totally different look.
Lesson learned. Too many times, he'd stashed his bag during patrols only to have it stolen by some random passerby. Asking Aunt May for yet another replacement backpack had been humiliating.
So now? He was a backpack Spider-Man. Bag always on. Problem solved.
Tony himself had told Peter his role existed in that gray area—between what Iron Man could handle and what Iron Man wouldn't bother with.
Peter grinned. "Gray area. Sounds legit enough."
---
"Good afternoon, Peter," chimed a voice inside his mask.
"Hey, Karen," Peter replied with a smile.
Karen—the A.I. built into the suit—projected a holographic list of "Hero Training Modules." Stark's way of making him a real superhero.
Peter sighed. "Alright, today's lesson is… 'The Science of Web-Swinging: Gymnastics and Aesthetics.' Ugh. Who names these things?"
"Mr. Stark," Karen said bluntly.
Peter groaned. "Figures. The man's a genius and a dad-joke machine."
Karen stayed politely silent.
---
As part of his routine, Peter activated the police-band receiver wired into the suit. With it, he could scan Queens for emergencies and jump in instantly.
Except today, Queens was quiet.
Between 3 and 5, he only helped a sweet old lady cross the street and reunited a lost little girl with her mom.
The rewards?
One hot meat pie.
One chocolate bar.
Small tokens, sure. But to Peter, it wasn't about the food. It was about the smiles. The gratitude. The recognition.
That's what mattered.
---
Later, back home, Peter microwaved leftovers, ate alone, and got to work.
Aunt May was out running her charity gig—something that smelled suspiciously like a Red Bull sponsorship. She'd left food and cash, enough for Peter to survive solo for a few days.
Up in his room, Peter sat cross-legged at his desk. On the table: his web-shooters.
Tonight's upgrade plan:
Add a second ammo chamber.
Chamber 1: his own elastic silk (Web Formula One). Perfect for takedowns, rescues, impact absorption.
Chamber 2: silk from the Amazing Spider-Man (Web Formula Two). Tougher, stronger, ideal for stopping cars or holding buildings.
He could even mix the two—combine elasticity with raw strength for monster-level webs. Though that would burn through his supply fast.
Still, it was worth it.
After an hour of tinkering, the upgrade was complete.
Next project: reworking his old junkyard tensile tester, the homemade machine he used to measure web strength. He sketched out notes from Midtown's far superior pneumatic version, reconstructing its blueprints entirely from memory.
His spider-enhanced brain made the recall easy. The build, however? Not so much.
Buying parts was out of the question—he was broke.
Every dollar in his pocket was already budgeted for food.
So, he'd do what Peter Parker always did:
Make miracles out of garbage.
And maybe, just maybe, one day pitch his research to Tony Stark.
---
Peter paused mid-scribble.
A sudden thought hit him.
Wait.
He never asked Tony an important question—
Do Avengers interns… get paid?
He wasn't worried about the suit—it came courtesy of the Stark Relief Fund. But full-fledged Avengers got a living stipend, right? That's what Stark said about Natasha and the others.
So what about him?
Sure, he was "just" a trainee…
But still.
There's gotta be a paycheck. Right?
Peter stared at the ceiling, wondering if "Avengers salary" was monthly, or biweekly… or even hourly.
Then he groaned into his pillow.
Of all the questions to forget to ask Tony Stark, this one might've been the most important.
---
—End of chapter—
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