New York, Queens—cold raindrops fell from the sky, turning the already damp and grimy alleys even filthier and more disgusting.
A man dashed through the narrow passages like a headless fly, his panicked gasps echoing unpleasantly through the alleyways. Because of a congenital mental condition, his brain buzzed loudly, like explosives were stuffed inside his skull. The intense pain made his head throb, and his eyeballs felt like they might burst. In the past, whenever an episode occurred, he would immediately take a sedative to relieve the symptoms.
But now, he had nothing—only a piece of torn clothing soaked in his own blood.
As time passed, the pain grew unbearable. He finally collapsed into the dirty sewage, writhing in agony. Just as he was about to lose consciousness, he heard slow, deliberate footsteps behind him.
"Mr. Peter Parker, run! Why aren't you running anymore? I thought you could keep it up forever. What's wrong—tired now?"
"I cut your back, and you've lost so much blood. You still made it this far—impressive. But enough with this cat-and-mouse game. It's time to end it."
Two tall, burly men rounded the corner of the alley, pistols in hand, cruel smiles on their faces.
Watching them approach, the man on the ground felt a wave of despair. He slowly closed his eyes, seemingly ready to accept a tragic fate.
Suddenly, all the memories since transmigrating into this world flashed through his mind like a revolving lantern.
His name was Li Ran, a transmigrator.
He had crossed into the dangerous Marvel Universe and had even become Peter Parker, the person destined to become Spider-Man.
However, this wasn't the main Marvel Universe. It was a parallel universe with an uncertain timeline. In this version, the spider meant to bite Peter Parker never appeared. It was as if destiny had forsaken him.
Before transmigration, Peter had been just an ordinary young man, intelligent and diligent but otherwise unremarkable. He studied hard, hoping to build a better future, eventually becoming a graduate student under Dr. Curt Connors.
During this time, he and Dr. Connors had been researching the Lizard Serum, aiming to change human evolution through genetic experimentation. Fueled by ambition and long hours of labor, Peter combined some of his late father's biological research into a thesis, which he gave to Connors for review.
The paper clearly outlined the potential of interspecies gene fusion—something groundbreaking, even in the technologically advanced Marvel world. It had the power to make headlines.
And it did.
But the final name on the thesis wasn't Peter's—it was Dr. Curt Connors.
Peter never imagined that the result of years of dedication would be stolen by his mentor.
Thanks to the stolen work, Connors rose to near godlike status in the field of biological genetics. When Peter tried to expose the truth, he was accused of slander and academic fraud, expelled from the university, and had even his undergraduate degree invalidated.
Not long after, the only family Peter had in this world—Aunt May—was murdered.
According to police, a gang had broken into their home during a robbery, and Aunt May was killed when she resisted. But they couldn't—or wouldn't—identify the killer, only promising to "continue the investigation."
What the police didn't know was that Peter had installed a secret surveillance camera in the house days before the incident, fearing for Aunt May's safety.
That footage was handed over to the police. Peter hoped it would bring justice.
But reality was far crueler. The police handed the evidence over to the gang.
The shock of betrayal, injustice, and grief caused the original Peter Parker to suffer a fatal heart attack.
And it was at that moment that Li Ran transmigrated into his body.
Since then, his head would periodically explode in blinding pain. Thinking it was a neurological illness, he carried sedatives at all times. Transmigrating into the Marvel Universe was bad enough—but to do so without powers, and while carrying a debilitating condition, was a cruel joke.
Still, he refused to give up. He resolved to continue Peter's research and perhaps use the Lizard Serum to cure himself.
But before he could act, he was attacked by two gangsters, leading to his current situation.
As these memories flashed through his mind, he slowly opened his eyes, bitterness etched across his pale face.
Other transmigrators often found themselves blessed—reborn as nobles, granted magical systems, or given cheat-like advantages. But he had nothing. No system. No destiny. Not even the benefits the original Peter Parker should have inherited.
And yet, he wasn't ready to die.
Grimacing through the pain, he propped himself up against the alley wall and glared weakly at the two approaching men.
"Big brother, can't we talk this out? There's no need to kill me!" Peter said with a forced grin, as if begging.
If he'd known it would come to this, he would've injected the Lizard Serum earlier—even if it meant turning into a monster, it was better than being gunned down by nobodies.
But before he could plead further, something inside his head shifted.
A sensation like a bomb exploding in his brain suddenly ceased. The pain vanished.
Instead, his mind became razor-sharp. He could solve complex problems at lightning speed. His cognitive ability surged. His brain felt like a supercomputer.
And more than that—dimensional channels began to open in his mind.
Each one linked to a different technological universe: Neil: Mechanical Era, Big Hero 6, Transformers, Resident Evil, Pacific Rim, Dragon Ball...
Only the channel marked "Neil: Mechanical Era" was currently active, emitting a bright light.
From this channel, an overwhelming flood of knowledge rushed into his mind—equations, theories, blueprints, strategies—everything from that world's advanced tech.
He realized that what he had thought was a mental illness all along was actually his golden finger, his special ability. When triggered, it modified his brain structure, connecting him to other universes and downloading their technological knowledge.
And the pain? It was merely the side effect of this forced evolution.
This time, the pain had intensified only because he had lost his medication during the chase—ironically, allowing the ability to awaken fully.
With his intelligence heightened and his five senses sharpened, he could now detect things he previously would've missed. For example, near his hand was a discarded can of spray paint, still half-full. And between his body and the wall was a loose brick.
His enhanced brain quickly formulated a 60% chance of escaping alive.
His eyes narrowed.
"You don't wanna die, do you?" one of the thugs taunted.
"Who wants to die for no reason?" Peter wheezed. "Let's talk. What do you want?"
The two gangsters exchanged glances.
"You've got your father's genetic research data, don't you? Hand it over, and maybe we'll let you live."
"You're kidding me—that's what you've been chasing me for? You should've said so earlier! I'd have given it to you without all this trouble!" Peter laughed weakly.
"Heh. Smart kid. Hand it over now."
"Well, obviously I don't carry something that important on me. I hid it somewhere safe. How about I take you to it?"
He made as if to stand but then groaned in pain.
"My back… it's bad. Can I at least have a cigarette? It might help ease the pain..."
The two men looked at each other again. One walked over and crouched down in front of him.
"Don't try anything funny, or you'll regret it."
He pulled out a cigarette and lighter, putting the cigarette in Peter's mouth.
At that moment—boom!
Peter sprayed the lighter's flame with the paint can, creating a sudden jet of fire that engulfed the thug's face.
Simultaneously, Peter grabbed the brick and smashed it into the second thug's skull.
Their screams echoed down the alley.
As they reeled in pain, Peter lunged at the burnt man, biting off his ear. The man howled and dropped his gun.
Peter rolled to grab it and, without hesitation, fired—headshot.
Then, without giving the second man a chance to react, Peter turned the gun on him and fired again—two shots, two kills.
All of this happened in less than ten seconds.
Ten seconds of pure adrenaline-fueled survival.
Then, as the rush faded, his knees buckled. The world spun.
He collapsed, unconscious.
And then, from the far end of the alley, as the rain poured harder than ever—a graceful figure emerged, running toward him through the storm.
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