Dawn crept through the broken skyline, soft orange bleeding across shattered glass towers and scorched highways. The city of Earth-42 never truly slept, but in this hour… it paused.
A military transport truck rumbled across the cracked asphalt, flanked by two modified scout bikes and a hovering recon drone. Dust whipped up around them. The air smelled of metal, smoke… and memory.
Inside the truck
Harry Osborn sat across from Frank Castle, checking the loaded pistol at his side.
Harry asked quietly,
"We close?"
Frank didn't look up.
"Yes. Fury's base is about four blocks from here—buried under what used to be Midtown's transit hub."
In the back corner, Robin leaned against the metal wall, fingers twirling a combat knife with bored precision.
"Can't wait to solve this mystery Vibranium theory," he muttered.
Harry said nothing.
But his jaw tensed.
(Fury doesn't panic. And if he's calling us in, it means this is big. Real big.)
The driver gave a sharp knock on the cab wall.
"Approaching base entrance."
The engine shifted gears.
Frank stood, adjusting his rifle strap and slipping on a kevlar-layer trench.
"Weapons on safety. Eyes open. We don't aim unless it aims first."
The rear doors clanked and opened.
Light flooded the truck.
They stepped out.
A disguised entrance sat ahead—hidden beneath a collapsed subway tunnel and fused scrap gates. Old S.H.I.E.L.D. tech flickered behind concrete, the scanner built into the wall glowing faint blue as it began ID-verification.
Robin muttered,
"Reminds me of the old Manhattan outposts… before the bombs."
The scanner beeped.
Doors unlocked.
And the five men descended into the base.
Interior – Fury's Base
Tension was immediate.
Rebels looked up as the military squad stepped in. Whispers broke out. They recognized the symbol on Frank's armor. Some even saluted.
Nick Fury stood waiting inside the command room arms crossed, eyes calm but unreadable.
Frank nodded.
"Fury."
"Castle."
Behind him stood Gwen. Ganke. Quin. Milo. A few other rebel leaders flanked them, curious and cautious.
Then, from the far end of the hall—
A figure stepped forward.
Boots echoing softly against steel.
Red-and-black suit. White spider across the chest. The lenses of his mask glowing slightly as he walked toward the Punisher's unit.
Frank's eyes narrowed.
Harry's breath stopped.
The figure paused.
Then slowly… raised his hands and removed the mask.
The air left the room.
Harry's voice cracked.
"…Peter?"
Peter Parker looked back.
Quiet. Uneasy.
But real.
"Hey." he said softly.
Robin stumbled backward a step.
"No… f*ing… way."
Frank Castle's fists clenched but he didn't speak.
Harry stepped forward, his footsteps uneven like his body was struggling to accept what his eyes were seeing.
His voice trembled, breaking apart with every word.
"…You… you died. We buried you.You died in Chicago."
His fingers balled into fists.
"I held Mary while she cried for days, Peter.
And I…"
Peter stood still.
Shoulders straight. But his eyes guilt and sadness flickering behind them.
"I know," he said softly.
A pause.
"And I'm sorry."
Harry's voice cracked.
"No you can't be Peter… are you really Peter?"
He took another shaky step.
"No… No…. I buried him."
He clutched his head, voice rising—like trying to shout away a nightmare.
"This must be a dream… this must be…"
"He's real, Harry," Gwen interrupted, stepping beside him.
She placed a hand gently on his arm.
"He's real."
Harry looked at her… and then back at Peter.
Tears rimmed his eyes now, but his jaw clenched in fury.
"You died one year ago. By the hands of Vulture."
His breath shook.
"And I hunted that son of a bitch until the end."
He stepped close chest almost touching Peter's.
"I found him. I looked him in the eyes… and I made sure he died screaming."
Peter didn't flinch.
He didn't defend.
Didn't back away.
He just stood there.
Still.
Heavy with the weight of the truth he couldn't tell.
(Because you didn't lose just a friend, Harry… you lost a brother. And I'm not him. Not the one you buried. Just the one who carries his face now.)
Robin looked away. Even his usual jokes died in his throat.
Nick Fury, quiet the whole time, watched the exchange like a man calculating where to place a dagger or a bandage.
Ganke whispered, voice trembling slightly:
"This ain't no clone movie…"
Harry's hands shook.
He didn't punch.
Didn't scream.
Instead, he just said:
"…If you're him…"
He turned his head, just slightly enough for Peter to see the glint of tears barely held back in his eyes.
"…Then prove it."
A breath.
A pause.
Then—
"What happened in high school?"
He turned fully now, stepping back toward Peter, eyes hard.
"That day on the rooftop. Just you, me, and Mary."
"We skipped class. You said something. And we laughed. All three of us."
He walked closer face inches from Peter's.
"What did we do?"
The room was dead silent.
Everyone stared.
Gwen's brows furrowed.
Ganke slowly stepped back.
Even Fury leaned forward just slightly.
Peter stood frozen for a moment.
Then—
(I know this. Peter's memory… I saw it the first night I arrived. He thought about it in the mirror. He missed that day so bad it burned into me like a scar.)
He took a slow breath.
Then spoke:
"…You dared Harry to moon the security drone."
Harry blinked.
Peter continued.
"And Mary… she panicked and tried to cover you up with her hoodie, but tripped and dragged you both to the ground."
He gave a small smile. Sad.
"We laughed so hard, we nearly got expelled. Then you both blamed me, and I had to write a fake apology letter pretending to be your 'concerned cousin from Pennsylvania.'"
Harry's lips parted.
His breath hitched.
Peter added one last thing
"You spelled 'principal' wrong on the envelope and said it was 'on purpose to throw them off our trail.'"
A silence.
Long. Heavy.
Harry stared.
Eyes locked on Peter's.
And then—
He looked away. Eyes wet. Shoulders heavy.
But this time… he didn't walk away.
He just whispered:
"…It's really you."
And something between them broken for a year just started to heal.
..
Meanwhile
CRACK!
A wrench slammed against steel.
Sparks flew.
Inside a dark, humming lab lined with broken robot shells and severed scorpion limbs, Scorpia leaned over a reinforced table sweat running down her temples, welding torch in one hand, rage in her veins.
Her fingers twitched as she twisted a bolt into the thick, segmented tail of the next-generation Skorpion unit.
"Tsk… that Spider-Man…"
She growled, metal grinding beneath her fingers.
"…I bet he knows that bitch."
Her eyes narrowed scarred, red-rimmed.
The last thing Scorpia remembered that day was being flung backward.
She clenched her jaw so tight it cracked.
"You broke me."
She stabbed her finger onto a console screen, showing the captured footage from a drone during the recent rebel clash.
There center frame was him.
Red and black suit. Stylized white spider across the chest. Mask lenses glowing.
Spider-Man.
"But you…"
She leaned closer to the screen.
"…You're different."
She hit Enhance.
Paused at the moment Peter fired a plasma shot from his palm.
Her lips twisted into a sneer.
"You're not hers. But you're dangerous. And worse…"
"…But still you look like a novice."
She turned to the skeletal frame of her next weapon.
Larger.
Heavier.
Deadlier.
Her voice dropped into a whisper—cold and trembling with vengeance.
"Let's see how long your heart lasts when I rip it out through your suit."
Then she screamed to the side hall—
"Deploy the prototype Skorpion-X. I want him tested within 48 hours."
A mechanical voice echoed back:
"Affirmative. Units charging."
And Scorpia?
She just smiled.
Twisted.
Wicked.
To be continue