Listening to the gang members' conversation, Peter's mind rapidly processed and reorganized information about this world.
Since he had inherited the original Peter Parker's memories, he naturally understood the events happening throughout New York City. However, the previous Peter had been preoccupied with researching the Lizard Serum and hadn't paid much attention to broader city affairs.
Now, his illness had miraculously been cured, and he had been injected with a perfected version of the Lizard Serum. This dramatically improved his physical condition. With his new body and abilities, he was ready to start his revenge.
As the saying goes: birds of a feather flock together. Good people associate with the good, while villains inevitably interact with other villains. If Peter took this path of vengeance, it was only a matter of time before he crossed paths with superheroes or anti-heroes.
Before that happened, he needed to carefully organize his understanding of this world so he could fully embrace his new identity and navigate future conflicts effectively.
He already knew about the Punisher and Daredevil, mentioned by the gangsters. Not only them—he had also heard of Kingpin, the emperor of New York's underworld. Although he'd never encountered them personally, he'd seen reports on television.
When it came to Kingpin, Peter's brows furrowed. As the dominant force in the criminal underworld, Kingpin was immensely powerful. Nearly 40% of all criminal activity across the U.S. could ultimately be traced back to him. His influence stretched globally, revealing the vast scale of his criminal empire.
If these gangsters were indeed Kingpin's subordinates, that would suggest that Kingpin himself might be behind the current incident. If that were true, this situation was far more dangerous than Peter had originally thought.
But since he had chosen this path of vengeance, he was prepared to bear any consequences—no matter how dire—even if it cost him his life.
The van carrying Peter circled around New York's busy streets before stopping at the entrance of a hidden passage leading to an underground casino. Hooded, Peter quietly followed the gang members through a narrow hallway and into a dimly lit chamber.
At last, one of the gangsters removed the black cloth from Peter's head—but they made no move to unshackle his handcuffs.
The moment Peter entered, the dim underground room was suddenly illuminated by blinding white light. Squinting, Peter took a moment to adjust to the abrupt brightness.
A man dragged a chair behind Peter and kicked him into it without saying a word. The kick landed hard, but Peter didn't feel a thing. With his enhanced body, even a shot from a small-caliber pistol couldn't break his skin. A simple kick was nothing—it was like a tickle.
Still, Peter silently sentenced the man to death in his heart. If it weren't for the fact that the real mastermind hadn't appeared yet, he would've already ripped the man's head off.
As Peter simmered with restrained fury, a tall man in a black suit, chewing on a cigar, slowly entered the room.
"Are you Peter Parker?" the man asked coldly, his voice hoarse.
Peter raised his head, pretending to be in pain. His gaze locked onto the pale-faced man—so pale he resembled a movie vampire. The man was about 6'1", tall and lean like a bamboo stick. But his sharp eyes betrayed that he wasn't someone to be underestimated.
Peter simply nodded without speaking.
The man sneered at Peter's silence. "Let me introduce myself. I'm Stone. I don't have much patience, so I'll get to the point. You have two choices.
"First, hand over the information voluntarily, and I might spare your life. Second, I'll extract it by force—and trust me, the process will be a fate worse than death. You won't survive it. So, choose wisely."
At his words, the surrounding gangsters exchanged meaningful glances. One of them, a dark-skinned man, even reflexively touched his crotch—implying that "a fate worse than death" would be more than simple torture. It was psychological torment, maybe worse.
Peter, unfazed by the threats, remained silent. But a cold light flickered in his eyes.
As a transmigrator, Peter knew of the name Stone. According to his knowledge, Kingpin had three elite lieutenants: Stone, Scorpion, and Prowler. Each possessed extraordinary abilities.
Scorpion wore a high-tech battle suit that gave him strength beyond a normal human's. Prowler also used a suit, allowing him to scale walls and perform acrobatics akin to Spider-Man.
Stone, meanwhile, had suffered from albinism since childhood. But after being injected with a special serum, he became immune to blades and bullets and could generate intense heat across his body.
Each of them was one of Kingpin's deadly "claws," and all were stained with blood.
So, hearing the name Stone confirmed Peter's worst suspicion: Aunt May's death was likely tied to Kingpin.
What he couldn't understand was why. He'd had no connection with Kingpin before. So how did Kingpin learn about the gene fusion formula? Why did he want it so badly?
The only possible link Peter could think of was his former professor—Dr. Connors.
It seemed the truth of Aunt May's death and the formula was entangled with that hypocrite.
Still, these were only guesses. He needed more information.
As for Kingpin—Spider-Man's greatest foe—Peter wasn't ready to face him. He hadn't even officially become Spider-Man yet.
He smiled slightly at the thought and looked up at Stone, a wicked grin on his lips.
Stone, catching the unsettling glint in Peter's eyes, suddenly felt uneasy. A chill crept down his spine.
But as a gang boss, he couldn't show fear. If his subordinates saw weakness, it would damage his authority.
He had to act dominant, as if Peter's life and death were completely in his hands.
"Still not talking? That means you've chosen the second option. Fine. Don't blame me."
Stone sneered and gestured to the thug who had earlier kicked Peter.
The man grinned darkly, picked up a pair of pliers, and walked toward Peter. His intentions were clear.
But Peter suddenly spoke.
"You're Stone, right? I remember your real name is Lonnie Thompson Lincoln, isn't it?"
Stone froze.
He never expected Peter to speak his real name aloud.
That name had been buried for years. Even Kingpin probably didn't remember it.
"Who the hell are you?" Stone demanded, all pretense gone.
Peter smirked. "You should be asking how I know about your pitiful past—but even if you ask, I won't tell."
Stone growled. "Do you think you're funny?"
Peter's grin widened. "Isn't it ironic? The sickly little boy who was bullied every day ended up joining a gang and bullying others. You've been living pretty comfortably, huh?"
"Indeed, in this world, if you want to survive, you have to be more ruthless than anyone else. Don't you agree… Mr. Lonnie Thompson?"
Stone trembled. Peter's words hit his deepest wound. His tragic childhood was a memory he desperately wanted to forget—one that haunted his dreams.
Despite his current power and status, the memory of being helpless and ridiculed had never left him. His extreme personality and ruthless behavior were all rooted in that pain.
But those memories were supposed to be secret. No one should know them.
Yet Peter had recited them as if he were reading from a diary.
"Who the hell are you!?" Stone shouted, slamming the table.
Peter shrugged. "You don't need to know. Just know that I'm someone who won't die easily."
Stone's face contorted with rage. "We'll see about that."
He motioned to his thug again.
The man sneered, pliers in hand. "Three seconds. That's all I need to wipe that smirk off your face."
Peter chuckled. "Three seconds? I don't believe you."
Then he added coldly, "But do you believe that in one second, I'll make you stop breathing?"
"???"
The thug frowned. But before he could react, Peter casually snapped his handcuffs apart.
In the blink of an eye, Peter's hand shot out like lightning and clamped around the man's neck. Effortlessly, he lifted him into the air like a ragdoll, then slammed him down with terrifying force.
The man's skull cracked on impact—he died instantly.
The entire room went silent, blank shock written across everyone's faces.
But in that brief pause, Peter transformed from a chained captive into a harbinger of death.
In an instant, he struck down three more men—his claws slashing like blades.
"Shoot him! Kill him!!" someone screamed in panic.
Two of the remaining gangsters drew pistols, but Peter moved like a leopard. He leaped forward, slit one's throat, and snatched his gun.
The other gangster fired—a 5.56mm round slammed into Peter's chest.
Peter staggered slightly, but the bullet bounced off.
"What the hell!?" the gunman gasped.
Before he could fire again, Peter pulled the trigger.
Bang!
A bullet tore through the man's skull. Blood sprayed like a fountain—splattering Stone's pale face.