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Chapter 1: A New Web in the Mainline
Peter Parker was dead. Or at least, the old Peter was. The mind that now inhabited the lanky, awkward body of a sixteen-year-old Queens kid wasn't the same one that had grown up idolizing Uncle Ben and crushing on Mary Jane Watson. This Peter was someone else entirely—a soul from another world, armed with memories of a life not his own, a voracious intellect, and a burning desire to avoid the tragic pitfalls of the Spider-Man he'd read about in countless Marvel comics. The mainline universe, Earth-616, was no forgiving place for heroes, and this Peter wasn't about to let himself become its punching bag.
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The first thing he noticed was the smell. Queens smelled like asphalt, hot dog carts, and the faint tang of urban decay. He was sitting on the edge of his bed in a cramped bedroom filled with science textbooks, a clunky Dell desktop, and a half-built model rocket. The mirror across the room showed a scrawny kid with messy brown hair and dark circles under his eyes. Peter Parker, pre-spider bite, pre-everything. He was still a nobody. But not for long.
His new memories were a chaotic jumble at first—decades of comic book lore, from Amazing Fantasy #15 to the sprawling cosmic epics of the 2000s. He knew what was coming: the spider, the powers, the villains, the cosmic threats. He also knew the misery that dogged Spider-Man—poverty, loss, and an endless parade of bad luck. "Not this time," he muttered, clenching his fists. "I'm rewriting the script."
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The bite came as expected, at the science expo at Oscorp. Peter, now hyper-aware of his surroundings, didn't stumble into the radioactive spider's path by accident. He sought it out, slipping past a distracted security guard to linger near the experimental arachnid enclosure. When the glowing spider scuttled across his hand and sank its fangs into his skin, he didn't flinch. Pain was temporary. Power was forever.
The fever hit hard that night, his body burning as the spider's altered DNA rewrote his own. He lay in bed, sweat-soaked, calculating. Strength, speed, agility, wall-crawling, spider-sense—he'd have it all. But unlike the canon Peter, who'd stumbled into heroism with a teenager's impulsiveness, this Peter had a plan. He wasn't going to be a broke vigilante swinging from rooftops, scraping by on freelance photography gigs. He was going to be smart.
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By the time the fever broke, Peter was already sketching designs. The iconic red-and-blue costume was fine for branding, but it was impractical—flimsy fabric that tore in every fight. He'd need something better. Kevlar weave for durability, integrated tech for utility, and a sleek design that screamed "professional" rather than "teen science project." He raided his savings—$127.43 from mowing lawns and fixing neighbors' computers—and hit up a local fabric store and an electronics shop. Oscorp's public patents, easily accessible online, gave him ideas for lightweight polymers and micro-circuitry.
The costume took a week. Red and blue, yes, but reinforced with a thin layer of experimental ballistic mesh he'd "borrowed" from a shady online supplier. The web-shooters were his pride and joy: dual wrist-mounted devices with adjustable nozzles for different web patterns—ropes, nets, impact pellets. He'd even hacked together a rudimentary heads-up display in the mask, using salvaged smartphone screens and a cheap microcontroller. It wasn't Stark tech, but it was a start.
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Peter's first night as Spider-Man wasn't about stopping a mugging or saving a cat from a tree. He had bigger fish to fry. His spider-sense, a tingling hum at the base of his skull, guided him to a warehouse in Hell's Kitchen. His otherworldly knowledge told him this was no random break-in—it was a staging ground for the Kingpin's latest smuggling operation. Wilson Fisk, the untouchable crime lord, was a problem Peter intended to solve early.
Crouched on a rooftop, Peter watched as goons loaded crates onto a truck. His HUD flickered, zooming in on a crate marked with a familiar symbol: a green octopus. "Otto Octavius," he whispered. "Already working with Fisk? That's new." In the comics, Doctor Octopus didn't cozy up to the Kingpin until later, but Earth-616 was unpredictable. Timelines shifted, events overlapped. Peter's knowledge was a guide, not gospel.
He didn't leap in fists-first like the old Peter would have. Instead, he hacked into the warehouse's security system using a burner phone and a custom script he'd written in his bedroom. Cameras looped, alarms disabled. He slipped inside, silent as a shadow, and planted micro-trackers on the crates. Whatever Otto was shipping—likely components for his infamous mechanical arms—Peter would know where it went.
As he prepared to leave, his spider-sense screamed. He ducked just as a massive fist smashed through the wall beside him. A hulking figure loomed in the shadows—Rhino, already? Aleksei Sytsevich's bulk filled the doorway, his gray, armored skin glinting under the warehouse lights.
"Well, crap," Peter muttered. He hadn't planned for a fight tonight, but Earth-616 didn't care about plans.
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Rhino charged, a living battering ram. Peter flipped backward, sticking to the ceiling as the brute demolished a stack of crates. "Hey, big guy, ever consider a gym membership? You're overcompensating with the horn thing!" Peter's quip was calculated—anger made Rhino sloppy. Sure enough, the villain roared and barreled forward, missing Peter by inches.
Using his webs, Peter yanked a steel beam from the ceiling, swinging it like a bat into Rhino's back. It barely slowed him. "Okay, plan B," Peter said, diving for cover. His HUD scanned the warehouse, locking onto a crate of industrial chemicals. A quick web-shot and a flick of his wrist sent a barrel of volatile solvent crashing at Rhino's feet. One spark from a nearby exposed wire—courtesy of Peter's earlier sabotage—and the warehouse erupted in a controlled explosion.
Rhino staggered, dazed but unharmed. Peter didn't stick around for round two. He swung out into the night, trackers active, data streaming to his phone. He'd deal with Rhino later—after he had better gear and a proper strategy.
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Back home, Peter sat at his desk, Aunt May asleep downstairs. His phone buzzed with data from the trackers: the crates were headed to a lab in Manhattan, one tied to Oscorp. "Otto's building something big," Peter murmured, sketching a timeline of known 616 events. The Green Goblin was still out there, Norman Osborn likely already experimenting with the Oz formula. Then there were the cosmic threats—Galactus, Thanos, the Kree. And the gods—Loki, maybe even Thor if he got tangled in Asgardian nonsense.
But Peter wasn't daunted. He had knowledge, powers, and a mind sharper than any web. He'd build a network—allies, tech, maybe even a company to rival Stark Industries. No more living paycheck to paycheck. No more losing Uncle Ben. This Spider-Man would be a hero, sure, but he'd also be a player in the game, not a pawn.
As dawn broke over Queens, Peter smiled. "Time to spin a better web."
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End of Chapter 1
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