The next day, Tony flew us back home. I thanked him profusely for helping me out. He didn't mind — after all, he'd gotten to spend some time away from the lab and away from his PTSD. I tried to get him to see a therapist, but I don't think he really took it on board.
Note: This chapter split point falls within Chapter 22 (HYDRA's Weapon), which contains the storage unit visit and the events leading up to Italy. Chapter 21B has been restructured to begin from the storage unit scene as the natural continuation of Chapter 21A's closing thoughts.
———
The storage facility was on the outskirts of downtown, a field of numbered containers each with their number stencilled on in bright orange paint. I pulled into the lot with Ben beside me in the DeLorean. There weren't many cameras — just a few positioned at the corners.
"Which one was it?" I asked.
"342," Ben pointed down the rows. "Right there."
We stopped in front of container 342. It looked like any other — heavy metal padlock, rusted shutter. Ben crouched down, unlocked it, and hauled the shutter open to reveal what I could only describe as a hoarder's paradise.
It was an extraordinary mess. So many objects crammed into one space. There were men's and women's clothes, computer components, sealed vials from old experiments, stacks upon stacks of papers, framed photographs, furniture, and in one corner, what appeared to be a child's cot.
"After they died I had their things moved into his storage space," Ben told me, walking up to the small cot. "This was yours. When you were just a baby."
I nodded, looking around. The books were all highly advanced — the sort of thing Reed Richards would read for casual entertainment. Mostly genetics, with a little quantum physics mixed in.
The computers were all broken apart, but I found the hard drives intact. I was fairly confident I could still get something out of them.
I set them aside and began working through the books and papers scattered about. Ben left me to it, stepping outside to take a call. I worked methodically through the documents until I found the ones dating from around the time Richard had started university.
I gathered those up, along with a few books I thought might be useful, and headed outside. I found Ben standing over a photo album, looking through it. Peering over his shoulder, I spotted a tiny Peter Parker cradled in his parents' arms.
"They didn't want to go," Ben admitted, his eyes welling up. "They hated the idea of leaving. Mary was convinced something terrible was going to happen. Richard didn't believe her, but... I suppose she was right."
I looked at the photo. The man didn't look like a mad scientist. He looked like a loving husband and a devoted father. Not someone who made monsters. And I intended to prove it.
"I'm done, Uncle Ben. We can go," I told him.
"Right." Ben closed the album and handed it to me. "We can show this to your aunt — she'd love to see it."
I nodded. Ben locked the shutter behind us and I drove us back home. Once there, I shut myself inside my basement lab and got to work connecting Richard's hard drive to my computer.
After wrestling with it for a while — it was an older model — I finally got it to fit and booted it up.
I leaned back and watched as my computer transferred the files, scanning everything and copying it across to my own drive.
When the transfer was complete, I started going through the files, looking for Richard's research papers. I found a lot of college essays, a few email chains, and deep within the folder structure, some late-nineties pornography. Terrible stuff. But at least now I could say with absolute certainty that Peter's fondness for redheads came from his father.
Eventually, I found something. A locked folder, buried deep within the file system. I tried opening it, but it required a security code — exactly ten characters, no more, no fewer. And I had one attempt.
I tried everything I could think of. My own name. My mother's maiden name. Birthdays. Even the name of the German scientist who had developed the original super-soldier serum for Captain America. Then, browsing through the old books, I noticed Richard had a love of Charles Dickens. I tried shortening the name and entering it — nothing.
I was frustrated. He would have written the password down somewhere, surely? This was possibly his life's work. He wouldn't risk being locked out of it himself. I had my own safeguard on the terminal at the Baxter Building — a backup access for Johnny and Sue if I wasn't around.
So... I turned to the stack of books and notes I'd taken from the storage unit. He had begun his genetic theories at university, which meant he'd created this file around that time. The passcode had to be in here somewhere.
I worked through the books carefully, looking for any underlined or highlighted words. I found nothing beyond the scribbled margin notes of a student cramming before exams. I set the textbooks aside and turned to his handwritten notes.
His handwriting was nearly illegible. Genetic, apparently. But the notes themselves were meticulous — formula after formula. I wasn't a biology specialist, my focus being more on engineering with a dash of chemistry, but I could follow the underlying logic of what he was trying to build.
It was a modified testosterone chain. His alteration was designed to allow the body to bulk up to three times its natural muscle mass almost instantaneously — and it was based on a genetic sequence he had derived from spiders. Even back then, it seemed the Parker family had a thing for spiders.
I had seen something similar before. Not the Venom symbiote — I meant the green compound Bane used in the comics. The performance-enhancing serum.
This was the basic formula Richard had started with, the foundation his entire paper was built upon. He had eventually moved away from it, but nobody forgets their first theory. I still had a fondness for my own early work — I even used part of it as a password once.
He had given it a nickname: STR-SPIDER.
I kept the notes beside me as I entered it into the prompt. And just like that — it unlocked.
There were dozens of folders inside. I began the slow process of working through them all. The oldest was dated just after he'd left university. I opened it and found a collection of video files. I clicked on the first one and leaned back to watch.
The recording opened on a modest lab — test tubes and scientific instruments arranged across a table, a chair positioned before them. A young man with brown hair walked into frame. It was Richard Parker. My father.
"Recording — Day One," he said, his voice uncannily similar to my own. "I've joined a private research facility today. I'm not permitted to name it — the risk of exposure is too great, and security is taken extremely seriously here. I was introduced to the team and given my own lab to work in. I'm not certain when I'll be able to record again, but I hope it will be soon."
The next recording was a month later. I opened it.
"It's been a month since I last recorded. I've found out what my role involves, and... honestly, I'm ecstatic." He grinned. "The opportunity of a lifetime — to recreate what Dr. Abraham Erskine achieved so many years ago. I've started working from whatever limited data exists on the super-soldier serum, mostly just handwritten notes. I've found that the spider-serum formula I developed isn't quite what Erskine had in mind, but sadly I've had to set that line of thinking aside for now."
The next video was recorded the very next day. This time Richard's hair was soaked and his face was flushed, as though he'd just come in from the rain.
"I met my research partner today." He smiled like an idiot. "Mary Fitzpatrick. She specialises in genetic splicing. My God, that woman is extraordinary. I swear she's my soulmate — red hair, perfect smile, and that— Oh God." I rolled my eyes. Yep. Definitely Peter's dad. "I'm not sure how she feels about me yet, but... I'm excited."
The next video was a year later.
"Mary found something interesting," Richard said, his expression serious. "A document in the archives that most people had overlooked. The author wasn't listed. It detailed a method by which the body's cells could be made to accept genetic modifications. A brilliant piece of work — most people here had been using it as a practical reference for years. But Mary had a different theory. She believed it was more than just a guide. That—"
"Parker? Are you in there?" A woman's voice cut through from off-screen. Richard startled.
"In here, Mary." He immediately reached forward and stopped the recording.
The next video was a month after that.
"We've been developing a new formula — one based on the text Mary found." Richard looked exhausted, though he was still smiling. "As I was saying before — we believe the book was written by none other than Dr. Abraham Erskine himself. The writing style is extremely similar to other documented samples. If we're right, this book could contain the answers we've been looking for." He chuckled. "Oh, and on a separate note — I finally convinced Mary to go on a date with me. So there's that."
The next recording was nearly a year later, and this time Mary sat beside Richard in the frame.
"Things aren't looking good," Richard said. He looked more tired than I had ever seen him. "We managed to crack half the code of the super-soldier formula. We brought our findings to Herbert and... I should have listened to you, Mary." He sighed. Mary reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently.
"We made a terrible mistake," Mary continued. "These people weren't who they claimed to be. People are disappearing — our colleagues, anyone involved with this project. We're leaving first thing tomorrow morning. I've contacted the government and requested assistance. I don't know what's going to happen now."
The final recording was three years later. The setting had changed. I recognised the room immediately — it was unmistakably familiar. That living room. My house. Richard and Mary sat before the camera, both visibly older. And cradled in Mary's arms was a small baby boy with brown hair and a red dummy.
My eyes widened as I reached out and touched the screen. That was... Peter. That was him as an infant. Richard and Mary settled themselves onto the sofa, the baby bouncing happily in Mary's arms. She could barely contain him as she smiled and rocked him gently.
Richard looked at his family for a long moment before turning to the camera with a heavy sigh. "I prayed I would never have to use this again... They found us. I don't know how, but they did. People have been following Mary and me all week. They want the formula — I know it. We perfected it six months ago. But now... it can never fall into their hands. We have to make sure of that."
Mary passed the baby to Richard and turned to face the camera directly. "We are placing these recordings onto Richard's old computer, along with enough evidence to implicate the man we believe is behind all of this. We pray that this reaches the right hands — and that what we've uncovered doesn't spark a war that could end the human race as we know it."
The recording ended. It was the last one.
I cursed under my breath and quickly began combing through the remaining files. There were documents relating to property ownership, bank statements, photographs of a run-down laboratory, and a small collection of pictures of a man with black hair and a thick beard.
All of it pointed to one person. Herbert Wyndham. A quick search told me a great deal about him. Geneticist — naturally. His father was German, his mother Italian. He came to America for university and worked for, predictably, a mysterious private research facility.
He had eventually left the country, setting up his base of operations in Italy. He gave occasional guest lectures and, from what I could find, charged handsomely for the privilege. That was presumably how he kept the lights on.
He looked old — older than Uncle Ben. There was no address listed, but he did have a scheduled public appearance in one week's time at an Italian university, giving a lecture on genetic enhancement as the future of humanity.
I tapped my chin. This was a mystery. And while mysteries weren't usually my favourite thing, when they were this compelling, I couldn't walk away.
I needed to get to Italy. I needed to speak to this man. I could approach him as Spider-Man, but if Peter Parker was seen travelling to Italy and then someone happened to interrogate Wyndham shortly afterwards — well, you wouldn't need to be a genius to connect those dots.
I needed to go covertly. And for that, I needed a private jet. I checked the clock. It was nearly midnight. Perfect.
I picked up my phone and dialled Tony's number. He picked up within seconds. "Hey, Spider. What can I do for you?"
"Can I ask you a favour?" I said with a smile.
———
A week later:
Felicia and Ben were with me at Stark's private airstrip. Yes — the man had his own landing strip. At this point, nothing about Tony Stark surprised me anymore.
"Are you sure you have to do this, Peter?" Ben asked, looking dejected. "I thought you were happy at the Baxter Building." I had told him and May that I was travelling to Italy with Tony to visit the Stark manufacturing facility there — a plausible lie.
"I am, Uncle Ben. I'm honestly just curious to see what Mr. Stark makes over there," I shrugged. "Relax — I'll be fine. I'm going with Iron Man, aren't I?"
"Which is exactly what worries me," Ben grumbled. "Trouble follows that man like a magnet—"
"—And I'm sure Peter will duck and take cover when things get hairy, won't you, honey?" Felicia winked.
"Yes, sweetheart. I promise," I smiled.
"I still don't understand how you managed to meet Tony Stark," Ben said, glancing over at Tony who was waiting by the jet stairs.
"I told you — he's a friend of Sue's. I asked her for a favour," I shrugged. "Relax, Uncle Ben. I promise I'll be fine."
Ben sighed. "Alright, if you're sure." He pulled me into a hug. "Just stay safe, okay, slugger?"
I stepped back and nodded. "Promise."
"Good. Now — I'll leave you two alone." Ben gave me a wink and walked back to his car.
I turned to Felicia. "I think May's finally talked him into booking a venue for the wedding."
Felicia shrugged. "Yeah, I figured." She looked at me with narrowed eyes. "What's this really about, Tiger? And don't give me that rubbish about a factory visit. I'm not that gullible."
I smirked. "I wasn't going to lie to you, Kitten." I sighed. "It's... personal."
"I'm your girlfriend. Personal is my department," she hissed.
"I know," I nodded. "I promise — when I get back, I'll tell you everything. But I need to do this first. And I need to do it alone." I held her gaze until she finally backed down with a quiet exhale.
"Fine. But I swear — next time you're taking me with you," she said. "And you're bringing me back shoes from Italy. Expensive ones. Black. No cheap rubbish."
I smirked. "Promise." I slid my arms around her waist and pulled her in for a kiss. She hummed softly and pulled away slowly. "I'll be home soon."
"Go get them, Tiger," Felicia smiled.
I chuckled. She had no idea how much she sounded like MJ right now.
I watched her climb into Ben's car, and then I walked up the jet's steps and settled in beside Tony.
"Any questions?" he asked, swirling a glass of whiskey.
"Nothing I can't handle," I shrugged, as the jet's doors sealed and the engines began to spool up. "Just thinking about why I'm going."
"You never did tell me, you know," Tony lifted an eyebrow.
"You're right. I didn't." I left the unasked question hanging in the air.
"I could always turn this plane around," he said pleasantly. "One word to the pilot and we don't move an inch. You'll just have to find another way there. Maybe Thor could—"
"My parents worked on the super-soldier serum," I cut in. There was no point holding it back. He'd be insufferable for the entire flight otherwise.
"I'm sorry? Aren't they a little... young for that?"
"Not the original — they were trying to recreate it. And," I paused, "I think they succeeded."
Tony looked at my arms. "Is that what he put into you?"
I nodded. "A version of it, I think. But something went wrong. The people they worked for weren't good. My parents were frightened of them, so they went into hiding. And then they died."
Tony turned his drink slowly in his hand. "And this connects to Italy how?"
"The lead researcher — Herbert Wyndham. My parents believed he was the one hunting them. He's based in Italy."
"Well then," Tony smiled. "Let's go find him."
"No."
"No?"
"No. This is personal. Tony Stark cannot be seen anywhere near Wyndham — he's too significant a target. I'll handle it. Alone."
"In the suit?"
"No. A ski mask will do. No one needs to know I'm there."
"So you needed my jet to avoid leaving any record of you entering the country?" Tony asked. I nodded. He smiled slowly. "I've always wanted to be an international smuggler."
We arrived in Italy ten hours later. Tony arranged for me to clear the airport without going through formal channels, and we drove to the university where Wyndham was scheduled to deliver his lecture.
The streets of Rome were extraordinary — beautiful and alive with noise and movement. Street artists, musicians, and more than a few women in summer dresses. Sigh.
Tony dropped me off and then went off to actually visit his Italian factory — at least one of us was being honest about the trip. I told him I'd call if I needed backup.
I walked onto the campus, moving carefully. The students were older — university age — but given my height, I didn't think anyone would question whether I belonged.
I managed to slip into the lecture hall before Wyndham arrived, taking a seat near the back, well away from the main body of students. Just as I settled, he walked in.
His lecture was in Italian, naturally. I followed it with some difficulty, though I managed — a good thing I'd picked up some of the language. His ideas were genuinely brilliant. Honestly, this man could give Sue a run for her money — though he did have about sixty years on her. I might have liked him, had I not suspected him of being responsible for the death of Peter's parents.
When the lecture ended, he excused himself and worked the room — speaking with the head of department, taking a few photos with students, handing out career advice. He collected his fee and left.
I followed at a distance, doing what I had been trained to do by SHIELD — moving like an agent. Nat always said my stealth needed work, and she was right. She could spot me in any crowd. But Wyndham was just an elderly academic.
He got into a car and pulled out into traffic. I attached a spider-shaped tracker to the bonnet and watched him drive away.
That night, I followed the signal to his house. I was dressed in a black ski mask and dark clothing, carrying a few of Felicia's burglary tools. I'd asked to borrow them. She hadn't even questioned why. God, I loved that woman.
He had security — silent, top-of-the-line, the best money could buy. I connected my SA to his telephone line, accessed his wifi, and through that managed to infiltrate his security system and shut it all down. My hacking skills were genuinely improving.
Using one of Felicia's laser glass cutters, I slipped inside without a sound. I crawled along the ceiling towards the living room, where the lights were still burning. I eased the door open just a crack.
The study was old and elegant — walls lined with bookshelves, two armchairs set before an open fireplace. Wyndham sat in one, staring into the flames with a glass of wine in his hand. A computer sat on the desk near the far wall.
I crept into the study and wall-crawled across the ceiling to the far side of the room. Not a sound. I eased myself down the wall and approached the computer, inserting a copy drive that would scan and duplicate all the files it contained.
"So — are you simply going to leave without saying goodbye?"
I froze.
I immediately tucked myself beneath the desk and held perfectly still. How had he known? I had been on the ceiling. I sniffed the air — no fear, only curiosity. And a trace of mild confusion. He wasn't certain. I stayed quiet. Hopefully he thought he was just hearing things.
The old man said nothing more. I heard him rise from his chair and move towards the door. "I know you're here, my dear. You can come out."
He walked out. Had he mistaken me for someone else? Most likely. I turned back to the drive — it was glowing green. Done. I pocketed it carefully and prepared to leave, when I heard something move. Something large.
"I can't keep living like this!" A woman's cry came from somewhere inside the house. Curious. I crept to the doorway and eased it open just enough to see into the kitchen.
"You must," Wyndham said, his voice firm. "You know the dangerous people who are looking for you — Interpol, SHIELD—" He practically spat the last name. I moved closer. Through the gap, I caught a glimpse of a young woman — dark hair, tall, striking figure — who stepped into my line of sight.
"I don't care. They don't even know I'm alive!"
"And if they find out, they will kill you!" Wyndham snapped. "And then what becomes of you?"
"I'll be free!" The woman's accent was unmistakably American. What was she doing in Italy?
"Your father didn't want this for you," Wyndham said, his tone softening. "He asked me to keep you safe. That's what I intend to do."
"Keeping me locked away isn't keeping me safe!"
"I know, I know... just give me a little more time. When it's safe, you can do whatever you wish."
"And until then?"
"Until then, you have studying to do, young lady." Wyndham smiled. "Have you finished the assignment I set out for you?"
"Yeah, I—" She paused. She sniffed the air. Her eyes began moving slowly around the room, scanning — then landed directly on me.
Damn.
"What the—?!"
She launched herself at me — clearing twenty feet in a single bound — tackling me clean through the door and slamming me down onto the floor. I kicked her off, sending her sailing through the air. She landed against the wall and stuck there.
I stopped cold. She could wall-crawl?
"Who the hell are you?" she hissed.
I jumped to my feet. "I'm Pikachu." Too many variables — I needed to get out. I ran for the door, but she leapt into my path. I ducked under a kick and dodged her follow-up.
I stepped back into a fighting stance. She was trained — every strike designed to kill — but her execution was sloppy. Nat would have been appalled. I grabbed her arm and threw her over my shoulder.
She landed cleanly and came at me again. I stepped inside her swing and drove my fist into her gut. She buckled.
"Sorry, love — I have somewhere to be." I bolted for the window and crashed through it, sprinting out into Wyndham's garden. Trees up ahead. I could lose them in there.
"Get back here!" she shouted, vaulting through the broken frame and giving chase. I was running at around twenty miles an hour. She was keeping up.
"Can't you just let me go? All I wanted was to ask you out!" I shouted back, buying myself a second to think. She had my powers — agility, endurance, enhanced speed. Not a clone — the colouring was all wrong, and any geneticist worth the name knew you needed the same sequence to reproduce the same results.
I reached the tree line and went vertical, leaping from branch to branch.
"Oh no you don't!" she yelled, following me upward. I reached a high branch when a flash of green energy tore through the darkness, obliterating it beneath my feet. I dropped, hitting the ground hard and rolling into a low crouch.
Before I could recover, she came down on top of me, pinning my arms.
"You're not going anywhere, pal." She grinned.
I tried to push her back, genuinely surprised by her strength. She wasn't ordinary. I looked up into her face — green eyes, the same shade as that energy beam. Bio-electric energy. Just like—
Oh no.
"Jessica?" I said, completely stunned.
She stared at me. "How do you know my name?"
"I— I—" The words died in my mouth. Something else took over. The world seemed to recede. I felt a heat build inside me — instinctive, urgent — and the unmistakable scent of maple syrup drifted off her skin. I could feel her desire.
"W-what's happening?" she breathed, her grip on my arms loosening.
"I don't—" I felt myself responding before my mind caught up with my body. I reached up and cupped her face. The lust hit me like a wave — overwhelming, consuming — and from the way she looked back at me, I knew she felt exactly the same.
She kissed me. If anyone ever asked, I would swear to that. She kissed me first. Her hands went beneath my shirt. Her tongue— Felicia.
The name hit me like a bucket of cold water. A surge of shame and fury tore through the haze. I wrenched myself back, breaking the kiss. She looked at me, breathless, her voice husky with something I had no business responding to.
"What's wrong?"
"I have a girlfriend," I said. "Sorry." I channelled a controlled pulse of bioelectricity through my arms into her rain-soaked clothing.
She jerked with the shock and I pulled away, running as fast as I could. I glanced back — she was already getting to her feet, looking confused. Whatever the pheromone effect had been, it seemed to be fading for her too.
She didn't follow.
I found a road eventually and called Tony for someone to come and collect me. While I waited, I went through what had just happened.
She was like a drug. I couldn't even be in her presence without an overwhelming, animal need to— it was primal. And the only explanation that made any sense was pheromones.
Jessica Drew. I was certain of it. She had the powers, the build, the fighting style, and the abilities to match. But why had I reacted to her so intensely? The original Peter Parker never had that problem with Jessica, and...
Oh no.
I wasn't the same Peter Parker, was I?
I had Jessica's abilities too — or at least a portion of them. I couldn't manipulate pheromones the way she could, but I could detect them. Which meant...
It was like the Cindy Moon situation all over again.
In the comics, Cindy had been bitten by the same spider that bit Peter. Whenever the two of them were near each other, they couldn't keep their hands off one another. A genuine problem. Could something similar be happening between Jessica and me? We both had spider-based powers that involved pheromone sensitivity. The interaction between those abilities might have been triggering each other.
It was possible.
But why was she there with Wyndham?
And then it hit me. Wyndham... why did I know that name outside of Richard's files? I turned it over in my mind, and slowly the answer surfaced.
Jessica Drew had been controlled by HYDRA before she became a hero. Which meant Wyndham was connected to HYDRA. Which meant Peter's parents had worked for HYDRA.
Oh God.