Morning sunlight crept through the reinforced glass of the Avengers Compound guest room, casting sterile beams across the workbench.
Peter — no, Otto — didn't sleep. Sleep was inefficient. While the body dozed in cycles, he labored in silence, refining protocols, optimizing suit functions, and erasing backdoors Tony had foolishly left behind.
By dawn, the Iron Spider suit was no longer Stark's creation.
It was his.
A soft knock interrupted the symphony of humming processors.
"Peter?" It was Vision.
Otto blinked once, concealing his disdain. "Enter."
Vision phased through the wall instead.
Otto's brow twitched. Show-off.
"I noticed alterations in the suit's neural interface. Stark requested I monitor activity for safety protocols."
Otto turned fully, feigning teenage awkwardness. "Oh! Uh, yeah. I was just… tweaking a few things."
Vision's head tilted. "Tweaking?"
"Yes. I noticed latency in limb response during combat simulations. I recalibrated the neural lag. You're welcome."
A pause.
"You improved Stark's design?"
Otto offered an innocent smile. "I'm a quick learner."
Vision studied him. "Your cognitive patterns appear… altered. Elevated."
"I've been through a lot," Otto said flatly. "Trauma. Changes a man."
Another pause. Longer.
Then Vision nodded. "Indeed."
He phased out — but not before glancing once more at the reconfigured interface.
Otto watched the wall shimmer closed. "Curious construct. I'll have to deal with him eventually."
---
Midtown High — Again
Another day, another masquerade.
He walked the halls with a straight spine and half-lidded contempt. The world still saw Peter Parker: awkward, gifted, a footnote in a world of titans.
They had no idea.
He navigated the day with clinical precision — earning top marks, subtly correcting errors in textbooks with red pen, planting seeds for "extra credit" projects that would give him access to Midtown's lab.
All while analyzing Stark's tech on a hidden device embedded in his backpack.
Then, the tingle.
Not Peter's "spidey sense." Something… deeper. More primitive. A threat.
He turned, eyes narrowing.
Flash Thompson was approaching. Smug. Loud. A caveman with a varsity jacket.
"Hey, Parker," Flash barked. "Heard Stark's making you an Avenger. What's next? You doing his dry cleaning too?"
Otto's lips curled slightly.
He'd tolerated this cretin once.
Not anymore.
Otto stepped forward, invading Flash's space with precision. "Do you know the tensile strength of the human jawbone, Mr. Thompson?"
Flash blinked. "What?"
Otto leaned in. "Roughly 3,000 newtons. But a properly placed strike can dislocate it with a fraction of that force. Would you like a demonstration?"
Flash backed up, thrown off by the cold intensity in Peter's eyes.
Otto straightened his collar and walked away.
Behind him, Flash stood frozen, unsure whether he'd been threatened or educated.
---
That Evening — Rooftops of Queens
The Iron Spider suit shimmered under the moonlight, silent as a shadow.
He moved like a ghost between buildings, not patrolling — hunting.
He intercepted a carjacking with brutal efficiency. The thieves screamed as mechanical limbs pinned them to the vehicle like insects.
Otto crouched beside them, voice calm.
"Tell your friends: Spider-Man's gotten… smarter."
He vanished before police arrived.
Watching from afar, Matt Murdock — Daredevil — frowned. Something was wrong.
The kid moved differently.
He'd seen Peter in action before.
And that wasn't Peter Parker.
Two Days Later — Nelson & Murdock, Law Offices
The city buzzed outside, but Matt sat in silence, nursing bruised ribs and replaying every sound, every heartbeat from that rooftop.
Karen walked in, concern in her eyes. "You're still thinking about him."
Matt didn't look up. "He moved like Peter. But he fought like something else. Tactical. Efficient. No hesitation."
Karen frowned. "You think he's not Spider-Man?"
"I know he's not the kid I met. But…" Matt sighed, fingers steepled. "He didn't kill me. He could've. He chose something else."
Karen leaned against the desk. "So you think it is Peter?"
"I don't know. Maybe trauma. Maybe grief. Maybe something deeper. But it's him. Same heartbeat. Same voice under the modulation. Same... guilt."
She sat beside him. "Then help him."
Matt turned toward the window. "I intend to."
---
Avengers Compound — Private Gym
The Iron Spider suit hung from a reinforced bar while Otto — sweatless, tireless — performed inverted pushups with machine-like rhythm.
"You train harder than ever," came a voice behind him.
It was Matt.
Otto dropped gracefully, turning.
"Come to finish what you started?"
Matt shook his head. "No. I came to talk."
Otto narrowed his eyes. "Unusual tactic for someone who threw a baton at my skull."
"I've been watching you. Quietly. You're still helping people. Still saving lives. Just… differently."
Otto said nothing.
Matt stepped closer. "I've been trying to convince myself you're not Peter. But you are. You've just buried part of him."
Otto chuckled — low and grim. "The boy you knew was ruled by guilt and sentiment. He let his brilliance rot behind self-pity. I'm doing what he never could."
"And what's that?" Matt asked.
"Be better."
Matt nodded slowly. "Maybe. But being better doesn't mean being colder."
Otto's gaze sharpened.
"You're not here to fight."
"No. I'm here to remind you," Matt said gently, "Peter Parker is still in there. And someday, he's going to come back."
Otto's smirk faltered.
For just a second.
But then it returned — calculated and controlled.
"If he does," Otto said quietly, "I hope he takes notes."
Matt stepped back. "So do I."