Peter's first person view
I woke up again with a minor headache, the kind that made the edges of the room blur just a little when I sat up too fast.
LOG IN DROP: … YOU'VE GAINED
Uncommon collapsible shield.
Mundane: $75.
Common: Night vision.
Uncommon: Minor endurance boost.
[System HUD Loading…]
Profile: Peter Parker (Connor Reincarnated)
Age: 17
Status: Healthy (Headaches: Occasional)
Energy: 50/50
Funds: $172.50
Current Objectives: Survive. Save Uncle Ben. Save Gwen Stacy. Get Rich. DO NOT Become Spider-Man.
Next Unlock: 75 hours, 14 minutes.
Skills/Gadgets:
Mundane: Perfect Memory Recall (active), Lock Picking (basic), Bus Tickets (used 3/5), $172.50.
Common: Basic Martial Arts (Shotokan Karate, green belt level), Smoke Bomb (x2), Night Vision (active toggle)(cost: 5 per minute)
Uncommon: Enhanced Senses (sight + hearing minor boost), Minor Endurance Boost (passive).
Rare: Structural Analysis (active)(cost: 10 per minute).
Epic: [LOCKED]
Legendary: [LOCKED]
Mythic: [LOCKED]
Primordial: [LOCKED]
I rubbed my temple and squinted at the floating text before it faded. Actually… not bad. Night vision, especially combined with my enhanced sight, was ridiculously convenient. Same with the minor endurance boost. Maybe I wouldn't gas out after a two-mile jog now. Still, it wasn't enough. Not here. Not in Marvel. But for the moment, I'd take what I could get.
At least Oscorp hadn't made any announcements yet. The infamous school excursion that was basically Peter Parker's death sentence? Still off the board. So yeah, I could breathe for now.
I focused, reaching into the inventory slot of the HUD, and the collapsible shield appeared in my hands. It was sleek—circular, no bigger than a dinner plate folded in, but when I flicked the release, it expanded with a satisfying shh-kt. A full-sized round shield, metallic, polished, light enough to hold but heavy enough to feel solid.
"Structural Analysis," I muttered.
[Analysis Active – Energy drain: 10/minute]
Item: Collapsible Shield (Uncommon)
Material: Titanium Alloy Composite (strength rating: 8/10)
Durability: High (capable of withstanding small-arms fire, blunt impacts, high heat resistance).
Weakness: Repeated high-caliber impacts, vibrational damage, adamantium or vibranium-class materials.
Special: Fold/Unfold mechanism (spring-loaded, reinforced hinges).
Maintenance Required: Minimal (oiling hinges every 3 months).
I grinned, running my hand along the edge.
Peter:Oh yeah… this is good
Not vibranium, obviously, but solid. Something I could actually trust in a fight if it came to that.
"PETER! BREAKFAST IS READY! COME DOWN, YOU KNOW YOU'LL BE LATE FOR SCHOOL!"
Aunt May's voice jolted me out of my thoughts.
Peter:Oh, right. School
I muttered under my breath. With a sigh, I collapsed the shield, stuffed it into my backpack where it fit snugly, and hurried downstairs.
The smell of toast and scrambled eggs greeted me. Aunt May stood at the stove, spatula in hand, while Uncle Ben sat at the table with his coffee, newspaper folded but unread.
Aunt May:You're cutting it close
Aunt May said, plating eggs and sliding them onto the table. "Eat fast."
"Morning," I mumbled, sliding into a chair. I shoveled eggs onto my fork, barely tasting them as I ate. My brain was already spinning through the day ahead.
Uncle Ben looked at me over his mug.
Uncle Ben:You've been up late again, haven't you?
I froze mid-bite. "Uh… no?"
He chuckled, shaking his head.
Uncle Ben:Don't burn yourself out, Pete. You're young. You've got time. Don't waste it all trying to grow up too fast.
"I'll try," I said, but the words felt hollow. Time wasn't exactly something I had. Not in this world.
Breakfast went by fast. I grabbed my bag, kissed Aunt May on the cheek, and waved at Uncle Ben before darting out the door. The bus ride was its usual blur of chatter, honking traffic, and the occasional kid blasting music too loud on their phone. I slid into a window seat, watching Queens roll by as I tried to center myself.
By the time I walked into Midtown High, the noise of the morning crowd hit me like a wave. Lockers slamming, kids laughing, the occasional shove in the hall. And then, as always, the knot in my stomach tightened.
Harry Osborn. Tall, black hair, lean yet muscular wore a simple grey shirt and pants you wouldn't believe he's the son of a billionaire
He was leaning against his locker like he owned the place, his perfect hair slicked back, that practiced Osborn smile plastered across his face. People orbited him, laughing at his jokes, hanging on his words. He looked every bit the golden boy, but I knew better. Or at least… I remembered better.
I'd been debating it for a month now, ever since my memories fully aligned. Harry Osborn. My best friend, my worst mistake, depending on the comic run. The son of Norman Osborn the Green Goblin. The boy who'd one day spiral into drugs, anger, resentment, and madness, dragged down by his father's shadow.
Do I continue to befriend him? Try to change his future? Be the anchor he'd need when everything came crashing down? Or do I keep my distance, knowing how messy it got? Every version of Peter Parker's life told me that being close to Harry was like hugging a live grenade you might save him, or you might blow up with him.
As if sensing me, Harry glanced up, spotted me across the hall, and grinned. "Parker!" he called, waving me over like we'd been friends for years.
Harry:Man, where've you been? You disappear off the face of the Earth or something?
I adjusted my bag, took a breath, and walked toward him. My head swirled with a thousand conflicting thoughts.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile.
Peter:Something like that.
And just like that, I was standing face-to-face with the boy who could either be my greatest ally… or the beginning of my downfall.
Harry leaned against his locker, arms folded, a teasing grin plastered across his face.
Harry:Hey Pete, you know I've always noticed something about you.
I raised a brow, pulling one of my books out. "What is it, buddy?"
Harry:You've stopped being obsessed with MJ
he said, his tone sharp but playful.
Harry:I mean, dude, you used to what? always try to find excuses to talk to her, then back out like you were allergic to conversation. Now? You're not even caring, not even trying. What gives? Is this some sort of new strategy? Ignore her until she comes running?
I paused, blinked at him, and couldn't help the thought that popped into my head. What do I look like now, Mordecai from Regular Show? Yeah, no thanks.
Peter:I don't know
I said finally, keeping my voice casual.
Peter:I just feel like she's more out of my league, you know? Like if I tried to… be with her, things could go really bad for me. I'd rather not set myself up for failure.
Harry gave me a skeptical look, half amused, half concerned.
Harry:That doesn't sound like the Peter Parker I know. You used to trip over your own shoelaces if she even smiled your way. Now you're saying you don't care? That's either growth… or you've given up.
Peter:Call it survival instinct
I muttered under my breath.
Before Harry could press further, I felt a hard shoulder slam into me. My books tumbled out of my hand, scattering across the hallway.
"WHAT IN HELL ARE YOU LOOKING AT, NERD?"
Flash Thompson stood over me, all brawn and zero brain cells, sneer etched across his face. His buddies snickered behind him like trained hyenas.
I looked up at him, biting back a groan. Why does he remind me of Bakugo from MHA? Same angry yelling, same superiority complex. Except Bakugo could back it up with explosions. Flash? Not so much.
Peter:Relax, Flash
I said, bending to pick up my books.
Peter:I wasn't looking at you.
Flash:That's the problem, Parker
Flash snapped, stepping closer.
Flash:You never know your place. You think just because you're smart, you get to act like you're better than everyone else.
Harry shifted beside me, his hand half-raised like he was debating whether to intervene.
Harry:Flash, come on, man. Chill out. He didn't do anything.
Flash's glare flicked to Harry for half a second before snapping back to me.
Flash:Why do you even hang around him, Osborn? You could be with literally anyone else. This loser drags you down.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my tone even.
Peter:If I'm such a loser, why are you wasting your time talking to me?
That earned a laugh from the students crowding around, which only made Flash's face darken. His jaw clenched, and for a second, I thought he was going to swing.
Harry stepped forward then, placing a hand on Flash's chest.
Harry:Hey. Leave him alone. We're gonna be late for class.
Flash shoved Harry's hand off but didn't throw a punch. Instead, he jabbed a finger at me, eyes narrowed.
Flash:Watch yourself, Parker. One of these days, I won't let you off easy.
I gathered my books, standing slowly, meeting his glare with the calmest look I could manage.
Peter:Sure, Flash. Whatever you say.
He huffed, turned on his heel, and stomped off, his little entourage following him. The crowd dispersed, disappointed there wasn't going to be a fight.
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair.
Harry:You're gonna get yourself killed talking back to him like that.
"Probably," I said with a shrug, stuffing my books into my bag.
Peter:But someone's got to point out the obvious. It's not my fault he doesn't like mirrors.
That got Harry to laugh, the tension fading just a little.
Harry:You're insane, you know that?
"Maybe," I admitted, adjusting my backpack.
Peter:but you're still hanging out with me, so what does that make you?
Harry smirked, falling into step beside me as we started down the hall.
Harry:It makes me the sane one in this friendship. Someone's gotta keep you from getting your head smashed in.
"Yeah," I said quietly, though my thoughts were heavier than my tone. Because the truth was, I knew Flash wasn't my real problem. Harry was. Or rather, Harry's future. Norman Osborn, the Green Goblin, the shadow looming over his son's life like a curse. And me? I was walking straight into it, pretending this was just another high school friendship.
But I couldn't help myself. Despite everything I knew, despite every warning screaming in my head, I looked at Harry smiling, alive, not yet broken, and thought, Maybe this time, I can save him.
Class was just beginning when I slipped into my seat, still shaking off the aftermath of Flash's morning performance. Harry sat a few desks over, already lounging like the class was his living room. I dropped my bag onto the floor, pulled out my notebook, and tried to ignore the dull throb of my headache.
Then she walked in Gwen Stacy. Blonde hair , sharp eyes, a notebook hugged to her chest. She wasn't late, not really, but she always seemed to cut it close, like she wanted to make an entrance without looking like she was trying to. She caught my eye as she passed, and for once, I didn't look away.

(Please rate this image created by yours truly)
Gwen:Morning, Pete
she said with a small smile, sliding into the seat next to mine.
"Morning," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. Over the past month, I'd made a point to talk to her whenever I could. Study sessions, quick chats after class, even helping her carry books once when her hands were full. It wasn't about flirting not yet at least....call it insurance, anyway it was about building something solid. Friendship first. And somehow, it worked. Gwen actually liked talking to me.
She leaned over a little, lowering her voice so the teacher wouldn't catch her.
Gwen:you look like you fought a bear on your way to school. Long night?
I smirked faintly.
Peter:Close. Just Flash Thompson being Flash Thompson.
Her eyes softened with a mix of sympathy and exasperation.
Gwen:You'd think he'd grow out of it by now. But you—
she gave me a teasing look
Gwen:you can't resist poking the bear, can you?
Peter:I'm a glutton for punishment
I said dryly, scribbling on my notebook just to have something to do with my hands.
Harry, who had been half-dozing in his chair, perked up at Gwen's words. His eyes flicked between us, and I saw the way he sighed and shook his head ever so slightly, like he was saying to himself, From MJ to Gwen, huh? I pretended not to notice, though inside I felt the twist of unease.
The teacher clapped his hands at the front of the room, cutting through the chatter.
Mr Port:Alright, everyone, settle down. I have an announcement before we begin today's lesson.
The room quieted, though the undercurrent of curiosity buzzed in the air. I straightened in my seat, a pit forming in my stomach before the words even left his mouth.
"Next week," the teacher said with a smile,
Mr Port:Midtown High has been invited to participate in an academic excursion to Oscorp Industries. You'll get the chance to tour their facilities, learn about their latest scientific advancements, and see firsthand how cutting-edge research is shaping the future. It's a rare opportunity, so I expect you all to take it seriously.
A chorus of murmurs swept through the class. Excited whispers. Some kids groaned like a science field trip was a death sentence, others practically vibrated at the chance to see Oscorp up close.
I froze. My pen slipped out of my hand and clattered onto the desk. So canon is starting?
I forced myself to keep my face neutral, but my mind was screaming. Oooh shit, I'm not ready.
Gwen nudged me lightly with her elbow.
Gwen:Hey. You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost
"Y-Yeah," I said quickly, fumbling to pick up my pen.
Gwen:Just… surprised. Didn't expect Oscorp to open their doors to a bunch of high schoolers.
She smiled, oblivious to the storm in my head.
Gwen:It'll be fun. I've always wanted to see their genetics division. Their work on cross-species genetics is insane. Can you imagine what it'd be like if they cracked that code?
"Yeah," I muttered, my throat dry. "I can imagine."
Images flashed through my head the spider, the bite, the powers that followed. The whole chain reaction that turned Peter Parker into Spider-Man. My stomach churned. No. Not this time. I wasn't playing by those rules.
Harry leaned back in his chair, smirking.
Harry:Come on, Parker. This is your dream, right? A lab full of billion-dollar toys? You'll probably lose your mind in there.
I gave him a thin smile, pretending to laugh it off. "Yeah. Toys."
The teacher went on about permission slips, schedules, and dress codes, but I barely heard him. My eyes drifted to Gwen, who was scribbling notes in the margin of her book, her brows furrowed in focus. She looked calm, excited even, while my nerves burned holes in my stomach.
This was it. The tipping point. I could almost hear destiny whispering in my ear, telling me the script was already written. But I wasn't Peter Parker not really. Not this time.
I tapped my pen against the desk, whispering to myself so low no one else could hear. "I'm not ready."
And the worst part was, I wasn't sure I ever would be.