Hi everyone,
I hope you're all doing okay. I don't usually reach out like this, but lately, things have been really tough. As a college student, juggling studies, daily expenses, and preparing for upcoming exams has been overwhelming. There are days when I smile through the stress, but behind it, I'm just trying to stay strong.
If you're in a place to help, even in the smallest way, it would mean the world to me.
Landbank Account: 1746 3587 72(Any amount, no matter how small truly helps more than you know.)
Thank you for taking the time to read this. Just your kindness, your support, or even sharing this message is something I'll never forget. I'll keep writing from the heart for those who believe in me, and for the stories I still want to tell.
With all my gratitude,Thank you. 🙏
.....
Another side of the shattered city.
The wind howled through broken towers. A rebel flag, patched with scorch marks, fluttered weakly atop a rooftop bunker camouflaged in scrap and steel netting.
Inside, dim light glowed over a war table cracked maps, broken tech, old Oscorp blueprints… and wanted posters of the Sinister Six.
Standing before the table Harry Osborn, his jaw tighter than the last time the world saw him.
Scar along his left temple. Combat vest strapped tight. And beside him, as always, stood Mary Watson, rifle across her back, red hair tied back in a rough bun. Her gaze was focused. But her heart… trembled.
They stood together in silence, the hum of distant generators filling the space.
Then, quietly—
Harry said,
"…It's been a year since Peter died, huh?"
Mary nodded, eyes distant.
"I know…" she whispered.
"I still wish he was here."
Her fingers grazed the chipped corner of a photo taped to the wall—three kids smiling: Peter, Harry, and Mary. A photo from a better world.
(Peter… we needed you then. We still do now.)
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
The metal door opened.
A presence filled the room heavy, scarred, and burning with wrath.
Frank Castle.
Known now only as…
The Punisher.
Italian-American.
Former U.S. Marine.
Veteran of the Siancong War.
Bronze Star. Silver Star. Four Purple Hearts.
He had lost everything.
His wife Maria.
His children Lisa and Frank Jr.
Gunned down. Slaughtered by Sinister Six drones.
On orders from Dr. Octopus.
Now, he commanded the last militant resistance faction in Earth-42.
Frank stepped forward, dressed in urban camo, flak vest marked with the iconic white skull. His voice was gravel soaked in steel.
"We got movement. Nick fury's team reported something came up."
He looked directly at Harry.
"You ready, Harry?"
Harry looked at Mary.
A beat passed.
He kissed her, soft but firm like he might not come back.
"I gotta go."
Mary swallowed hard, her voice small but fierce.
"Be careful."
Harry nodded once, grabbed his rifle, and followed Francis into the war-scarred hall.
The war wasn't over.
The old team may have scattered.
Peter may have fallen.
But Earth-42 still had fighters.
Still had fire.
Still had comrades.
And tonight…
The Punisher marches again.
…
Scene: Underground Rebel Base – Earth-42
The base was a mix of rusted tech, salvaged Oscorp scrap, and holographic maps flickering on steel walls.
Worn-out rebels lined the perimeter, watching the newcomer like wolves sizing up a stray.
Ganke led the way through the narrow corridor into the central chamber.
"Welcome to the base," he said, voice casual but filled with pride.
Peter stepped in.
And the room froze.
Every rebel turned their head.
Eyes landed on his suit.
On the glowing white spider emblem sprawled across his chest.
Their expressions twisted—shock, caution, suspicion.
Peter stood still.
(…Damn. This feels like they're staring at me naked.)
One rebel muttered, "What is he wearing…?"
Quin scoffed from the back, arms crossed.
"Told you. Weird energy."
Ganke cleared his throat, stepping in front of Peter like a human shield.
"Don't worry, guys! This robot suit guy right here? Yeah, he saved our asses."
Peter offered a small, awkward wave.
"Hi. I'm Spider-Man."
The name echoed. Murmurs stirred.
Then—
"Ganke!"
A commanding voice boomed from the upper stairwell.
Everyone turned.
Nick Fury stood tall, trench coat dragging slightly behind him.
His cybernetic eye glowed red in the dim light.
The scar over his face looked deeper than the war itself.
He descended the stairs with heavy boots and a heavier presence.
Ganke snapped to attention.
"Sir!"
Salute. Sharp. Respectful.
Fury didn't return it. His one good eye locked onto Peter.
"You brought a stranger into our base."
Ganke stammered.
"Well, I—I mean, technically, he's not a stranger. He's Spider—"
Fury raised a hand, cutting him off.
He stepped in front of Peter.
Stared at the spider emblem on the chest.
Silent.
Then, quietly—
"…You are…"
Peter raised his chin.
"I am—"
"Spider-Man."
The word dropped like a bomb.
Gasps filled the room.
Eyes widened.
Ganke blinked. "Wait… you knew this guy?"
Fury's brow furrowed.
"No. Not exactly."
He turned to the others.
"Two years ago… I saw them. Spider-people. On one of the hacked Oscorp cameras. Footage before it was wiped."
He looked back at Peter.
"A girl in white. Fast. Ruthless. And another figure, I couldn't make out. Fighting the Sinister Six. Oscorp tried to hide it. The Sinisters were furious. Called it… 'an anomaly.'"
He stepped closer.
"Then I heard it… bits and pieces… even from their own lips. Something about 'other dimensions.'"
He stared Peter down.
"So I'll ask you once. You from another world too?"
Peter paused.
A beat.
Then shook his head.
"No."
"I mean… kinda?"
"It's complicated."
Fury's eye narrowed.
"Explain."
Peter took a deep breath.
"I'm not from another dimension. I'm from this one… and"
Peter thought "(Its about time to reveal myself)
Peter took a deep breath.
His heart thumped in his chest. Sweat clung to his brow beneath the cracked mask.
Then he lifted it off.
His face.
Bruised. Dirty.
But unmistakably Peter Parker.
The room fell silent. Gasps rippled across the rebels.
Quin's voice broke first.
"You're… Peter Parker? I mean…"
She stepped back, disbelief hardening her stance.
"…That can't be. They said your dead?"
Nick Fury's single eye narrowed.
"No way. You were confirmed KIA. Dead."
And then—
a voice cut through the noise.
"PETER!!"
The shout was raw. Choked. Hopeful.
Peter turned.
His eyes locked onto her.
From the far corridor, pushing past stunned rebels—
A girl.
Blonde hair tied in a messy bun. Dirty combat vest. A bandage on her arm.
Eyes wide. Lips trembling.
Gwen Stacy.
Not a Spider-Woman in this universe.
Just Gwen.
A fighter. A former military rebel.
And once, his closest friend.
She stopped halfway, staring at him like a ghost had just breathed.
"You're… You're alive?"
Peter's lips parted. His voice soft.
"Well… yeah. I'm sorry. I—uh…"
He didn't finish.
Because Gwen ran.
And threw her arms around him.
Hard.
She buried her face in his chest.
"You jerk," she whispered, voice cracking.
"You could've just told me where you've been. It's been a year…"
Peter froze for a second.
Then hugged her back.
Tight.
(This warmth… these memories… they're not just Peter's anymore. They're mine too.)
He whispered:
"I didn't mean to disappear. I promise… I'm back now."
Around them, the room stood in stunned silence.
Even Nick Fury didn't interrupt.
Because in that one moment…
It didn't matter if he was from this world or another.
It didn't matter how he came back.
What mattered was that he was here.
And hope, long buried beneath rubble and blood, just opened its eyes again.
Nick Fury crossed his arms, his gaze heavy as iron.
"I don't mean to interrupt your little reunion…" he said, voice like gravel sliding over steel, "…but you better explain how you're alive—and why you're wearing that."
He gestured to the torn, flickering Mark I suit, its white spider emblem still pulsing faintly against Peter's chest.
Gwen pulled back slowly, her expression shifting from tearful to questioning.
"…He's right. Peter… how are you here? You died. We… our old comrades buried you."
Peter hesitated just a second too long.
Then forced a crooked smile.
"Yeah, uh… crazy thing."
He scratched the back of his head.
"I don't really know what happened. I just remember… pain. Fire. Screaming. And then—darkness."
He looked down at his gloved hands.
"Next thing I know—I wake up in some abandoned alley. My head's messed up. Memories are fuzzy. But I felt different. Stronger. Faster. Alive."
His tone steadied.
"I followed the instincts. Started building this suit. Something told me to move. To fight. To be something more."
"So yeah… I built the suit to match whatever this power is."
Nick Fury raised an eyebrow, unconvinced.
"And the spider symbol?"
Peter chuckled, scratching his head, a bit awkward.
"Look, I grew up reading comics, alright?"
"And like I said… I gained this weird power—super strength, insane reflexes, this sort of… buzzing sense when danger's near. Oh, and I can crawl on walls."
He flexed his fingers.
"So I thought, huh, that's kinda spider-y. So…"
He spread his arms, mock-announcing:
"Spider-Man."
A few rebels muttered. Some exchanged skeptical glances.
Quin whispered, "He named himself after a bug?"
Peter shrugged.
"Hey, could've gone with 'Wall-Crawling Guy,' but it doesn't have the same ring to it."
Ganke stifled a laugh.
Fury didn't.
He simply stared a beat longer, then turned away with a sharp sigh.
"Comic books, huh? What the hell kind of world did we lose if that became our last hope."
(Sorry. I can't tell you I'm Drake. From another reality. That I… took this body. That your Peter's soul is gone, and I'm what's left. That I've only been here two weeks, and something—no, someone—chose me to carry on this life.)
(Also, his body wasn't decomposed. After one year? No skeleton. No rot. It was… like he died yesterday. Weird. Creepy. But…)
(I didn't question it. I had no time to.)
He looked up again, firm now.
"Look, I may not be the same as I was… but if I can fight for this city. If I can protect people—then that's what matters, right?"
Nick Fury stared at him.
Long. Quiet.
Then finally—
"…Hmph."
Nick Fury stared for a long beat. Judging. Calculating.
Then, a gruff nod.
"…Hmph."
Peter breathed out, then turned to the rest of the rebels who were still watching.
He gave a faint smile and asked casually—
"So uh… who are these guys?"
He pointed at the nearby rebels.
"I mean, I only recognize Gwen and you, sir Nick—last I recall, you were still with S.H.I.E.L.D.… so, what are you doing here?"
Nick crossed his arms.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. burned with the collapse of Manhattan. Sinister 6 wiped out what was left of it. Me? I survived. Regrouped. Found what was left of the next generation."
He nodded toward the rebels around them.
"These kids? Street rebels. Orphans. Survivors. But they fight like hell."
Peter turned to Gwen.
"And you… our old leader was Frank Castle. The Punisher, right?"
Gwen gave a slow nod, the mention of the name tightening something in her jaw.
"Yeah. He's still alive."
She glanced at Nick.
"After the Chicago Incident—when we fought Green Goblin… you saved us."
Her voice softened.
"You held the line, Pete. Against the Goblin's mech. You bought us the time to escape."
She exhaled.
"And then you… died."
Silence.
Peter glanced down, clenching a fist as the weight of that sacrifice—Peter Parker's—landed on his shoulders.
"So… what happened after?"
Gwen looked up, voice calm but haunted.
"We scattered. Frank took what was left of the military unit and moved east. I followed. Eventually, we reached this city."
Nick added—
"We found something else here. Something worse. Viper Enforcers. Synthetic death squads built by Scorpia."
Peter muttered,
"I ran into one already…"
"Good. Then you know they don't negotiate." Fury's voice was like a bullet.
Gwen continued.
"We found Ganke and a bunch of younger rebels fighting back. Nick was already helping train them—turning them into soldiers. So we stayed. We started again."
Peter slowly nodded, piecing it together.
(So this is the state of Earth-42 now. S.H.I.E.L.D. is gone. Punisher leads a splinter military. Nick Fury's training rebel teens. And I… I'm wearing a mask that belonged to a dead man.)
He looked at Gwen, softer now.
"Why didn't you leave?"
She met his eyes.
"…Because this place still has people worth saving."
And Peter… smiled.
Small. Earnest.
To be continue