Peter POV:
The night was hushed when the car rolled out of the garage. Its headlights cut through the mist like a blade, the engine purring low as if it knew the weight of its passengers.
I drove the car in silence, my gauntleted hands steady on the wheel as the car went through the portal that I opened. In the backseat, Gwen sat rigidly with her mask clutched tight against her chest. Beside her, scarred Peter leaned against the glass. Gwendolyn was resting her eyes. Gwen and Scarred Peter looked outside as if the city itself had turned into a stranger, the city they once called home.
Captain Stacy sat in the passenger seat, every muscle locked. Though this scarred Peter was not the same Peter he called son, not his Gwen, he felt the same duty pounding in his chest. To shield, to protect, to bear witness. He glanced back once, watching Gwen but said nothing.
The ride into Manhattan 65-B was long. No one spoke. It was as if words themselves had been banished, left behind in the other dimension.
When the car reached Times Square, I pulled to the curb. Neon light bled through the windshield, drowning our faces in colors as if too bright to belong to reality.
Without a word, I raised my gauntlet. Power lines hummed a deep electric thrum and the entire square went dark. Every billboard, every screen, every flashing ad blinked into nothing. A ripple of panic stirred in the crowd. Then the world lit up again. With him.
[Image]
The mask of Bloodshot filled Times Square, crimson and monstrous. The voice was warped, jagged, dripping malice.
"New York. You've been deceived. Exactly one year ago, I stole Peter Parker from you. I twisted the truth into a corpse, a lie. And I left Spider-Woman framed for my crime. She was never guilty. I was. Every drop of blood belongs to me."
The city trembled. Every towering screen became a tapestry of cruelty. Illusions woven by me. Images of Peter bound, scarred, screaming into silent rooms. Simulations of torture etched into flesh by nanobots that burned real wounds into him even now.
And then, with perfect precision, the performance ended.
Crowds froze, necks craning, eyes wide as the false confession carved itself into memory. Then, with a precision almost cruel, I materialized atop the tallest screen and let the real Peter fall. Spider-Woman swung in and caught him.
Fresh wounds. Red scars. A broken boy dropped onto the sidewalk like discarded evidence.
Gasps tore through the square. Some screamed. Some wept. Some captured the moment on their phones, ensuring it would never vanish.
Captain Stacy's hands gripped the dashboard, knuckles white. "You abandoned him…"
My voice was cold, almost detached. "Because he has to be abandoned. If the illusion of Bloodshot holds, then Peter's survival makes sense. If I walked him in myself, the lie crumbles. This way, he lives… and Gwen is free."
By the time ambulances rushed in, the car was gone, swallowed into the night. Leaving Spider-Woman in a blood drenched suit.
When scarred Peter woke again, it was to the antiseptic glow of a medical wing. White walls, humming monitors, steady IV drips. His body was a map of pain, each scar alive and throbbing.
At his bedside, Aunt May held his hand with shaking fingers. Uncle Ben stood just behind, jaw tight with the effort of holding himself together. Lieutenant Stacy lingered in the corner, arms folded, his eyes shadowed by suspicion and sorrow.
The door opened.
I stepped inside, followed by Gwendolyn and Captain Stacy. But it was the fourth figure that stole the room's breath.
A girl in a spider-suit. Suit drenched in blood, mask hiding her face, her movements taut with dread. She stood frozen in the doorway, then slowly reached up and peeled the mask away.
"Dad."
Her voice cracked the silence.
Lieutenant Stacy's face blanched. He staggered a step forward, his lips shaping words that died before they formed.
Gwen's tears fell hot and unrelenting. Her voice rose, sharp with grief, raw with defiance. "It was me. All this time. I was Spider-Woman. I was the one you hunted. I was the one you cursed. And you never knew that I was your daughter beneath the mask."
Her voice trembled but she forced it onward. "That night… Peter was indeed killed by me. He drank Connors's formula. He became a monster. I fought him. I buried him in rubble because I didn't know it was him. I thought he would survive. But he died in my arms. And you saw only Spider-Woman with his body. You saw me. And you damned me for it but I truly didn't have a choice."
Her sobs broke against the sterile walls but she refused to falter. She stepped closer, shaking, every word carrying the silence she held within her.
"I never stopped being your daughter. But I lost you the night I lost him. I carried both graves inside me. And now against everything I ever thought possible Peter stands here again. And I don't know how to ask you to believe me. But you have to. Please."
The room was still, heavy as stone.
Lieutenant Stacy's chest rose in ragged bursts. His hand shook as it reached for her, then fell back. His voice came low, torn from him like broken glass. "Gwen… God help me. What have I done?"
Before he could crumble, Captain Stacy stepped forward, his exact copy, steady as bedrock. His voice rang with authority and ache.
"George. Look at her. Look at both of them. You lost Peter. You lost Gwen. And grief drove you blind. But she never stopped being your daughter. This is your chance to stand back up. Don't let anger be the only thing she remembers you for."
Lieutenant Stacy's knees nearly buckled. At last, with a sob that gutted him, he closed the space and folded Gwen into his arms. She clung to him, trembling, as pent up pain broke loose between them.
My voice cut the silence, calm but heavy. "The Bloodshot lie was mine. I scarred Peter with nanobots. I gave him strength and regeneration. It was the only way to explain his survival and to clear Gwen's name. Now the city will believe. Spider-Woman is redeemed. Peter Parker is reborn. And your family has a second chance."
No one spoke. The only sound was Gwen's muffled sobs against her father's chest and the steady hum of monitors keeping rhythm with Peter's fragile breath.
At that moment, for the first time since the collider tore open the sky, there was no battle to fight. Only truth, raw and unflinching.
Read 45 chapters ahead on P.A.T.R.E.O.N
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