Chapter 1: The Bite
The bus rattled along the uneven road, packed with students half-asleep and half-scrolling through their phones. Peter slouched in his seat, head leaning against the window, trying to ignore the dull ache spreading through his body.
Why am I feeling so tired after that spider bit me…? he thought, blinking slowly. I hope it didn't give me the flu or something.
His eyelids felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. The chatter around him faded into a low hum. Something was definitely off.
Peter straightened up, forcing a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just... tired."
Mr. Harrington gave him a look over his shoulder. "Really, Mr. Parker? I figured you of all people would be thrilled after getting to tour a billion-dollar tech lab."
Peter nodded faintly. "Yeah, it was cool… im just tired"
Mr. Harrington shrugged and turned back to face the front. "Well just hold on for little bit longer were going home and if you dont have a ride home come to my office ill give a rid home
Peter nodded to Mr. Harrington and rested his head against the uncomfortable bus seat.
The ride dragged on, every bump in the road making Peter feel worse. His skin was clammy, and sweat clung to his forehead despite the bus's weak air conditioning. His heartbeat echoed in his ears, thudding faster than it should have.
He closed his eyes.
Flashes of the Oscorp lab swirled through his mind—the sterile white walls, then he remember the containment with spider in them and he remembered the empty container then it clicked
He winced, instinctively rubbing the bite. It had swollen slightly, the skin around it red and warm to the touch. His vision blurred for a second, and his stomach churned.
Maybe I should've said something...
No. It's just a bug bite. It'll go away. Right?
A sharp jolt ran up his spine, like electricity sparking beneath his skin. He sat up slightly, eyes wide—but no one noticed. The other students were laughing, arguing over videos.
Peter leaned back again, breathing slowly.
Something was changing in him.
He could feel it—his body like a furnace.
The bus screeched to a stop, brakes hissing. The jolt sent a wave of nausea through Peter's stomach. He gritted his teeth, clutching the seat in front of him as the rest of the students stood and began shuffling out.
"Everyone off! Go home stay out of trouble "Mr. Harrington called out.
Peter moved slower than usual, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. It felt like he was dragging himself forward. By the time he stepped off the bus, the afternoon sun hit him like a spotlight. His skin prickled. The light was too bright, the sounds too loud—every car horn, every voice on the street, every breeze brushing his skin felt amplified.
What's happening to me?
He didn't say a word as he walked past Mr. Harrington, who gave him a quick nod. "Get home safe, Mr. Parker."
Peter just nodded again, trying not to stumble as he started heading to aunt may house
By the time he reached the front steps of his building, sweat soaked through his shirt. His breath came in shallow gasps. He fumbled with his keys and finally made it inside, climbing the stairs like they were a mountain.
He reached his bedroom, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed.
He reached his bedroom, shut the door, and collapsed onto the bed.
The Next Morning
Peter stirred under the covers, drenched in sweat. His bedsheets were tangled, and his body ached like he'd just run a marathon in his sleep. His head throbbed, and the light leaking in from the window made him wince.
Down the stars in the living room he hears aunt may talking to his teacher clear as day from his room
"A fever? No, it came on suddenly after the field trip," Aunt May said, her tone laced with worry. "Yes, he's still sleeping. He barely moved all night."
A pause.
"I don't know, he's just... not acting like himself. Maybe its just the flu
Peter kept his eyes shut, listening.
Another voice, faint but recognizable. Mr. Harrington, probably on speaker.
"Yeah, he didn't look great on the bus yesterday," the teacher said. "He looked pale and said he was tired, but I thought it was just motion sickness or something."
"Well, I'm keeping him home today," aunt May replied firmly. "If he's not better tomorrow, I'm taking him to the doctor."
Peter slowly opened his eyes. The buzzing in his ears had quieted, but his body still felt strange. Not weak exactly—just... different.
He pushed himself up slightly, only to freeze as his hand gripped the headboard.
His fingers had stuck to it.
"What the—?!" Peter whispered, tugging hard.
Nothing.
He yanked again, panic rising in his chest. His hand wouldn't budge—it was like it had been glued there. The more he pulled, the more his heart raced. Sweat dripped down his face as he gritted his teeth and gave one final, desperate jerk.
CRACK!
The headboard splintered with a loud snap as Peter tumbled backward off the bed, landing hard on the floor with a thud and a groan.
"Peter?" Aunt May's voice called from outside the room. She knocked once, concerned. "Everything okay in there?"
Peter scrambled to his feet, tripping over his own legs in the blanket mess. "Yeah! I-I'm fine!" he shouted, his voice cracking.
There was a pause. "It sounded like something broke."
Peter looked at the piece of wood still stuck to his hand. "I just—uh—I fell! Out of bed!" he stammered. "It's cool! Just a clumsy morning, y'know!"
He realized too late he was only in boxers.
"And I'm—uh—naked! So don't open the door!" he added quickly, half-panicked.
That bought him a beat of silence.
"…Okay, okay!" May said, backing off. "Well, breakfast is ready when you're decent!"
Peter waited until her footsteps faded before collapsing back onto the bed, staring at his hand still clinging to the broken headboard piece.
"What the hell is happening to me?"
He didn't stick around to find out.
Ten minutes later, Peter burst out of his room, fully dressed and wide-eyed. He flew past the kitchen, ignoring the smell of eggs and toast, grabbing his backpack.
"Peter?" Aunt May called after him as he reached the door. "Where are you going? You're still sick!"
he left without looking back.
"Peter!" she called again, but he was already down the stairs, heart pounding like a drum.
He didn't know where he was going, but his body did. His legs moved faster than they ever had before, like they knew exactly how to carry him—not just faster, but smarter. He weaved through pedestrians, ducked under scaffolding, and leapt over a fire hydrant without even thinking.
In minutes, he reached it.
An old, abandoned dumbsite that been over filled for years the city doesn't have the funding to get rid of it so it just sits there
It was perfect.
Peter slipped through the busted chain-link fence and walked into the open dirt lot, his shoes crunching over broken gravel
He looked down at his hand—the one that stuck to the headboard. He flexed his fingers slowly, still expecting it to feel... normal.
But it didn't. Nothing did.
He raised his arm and reached toward a nearby metal support beam. His palm grazed it—then stuck.
He pulled back—and it didn't come loose.
"No way..." he whispered, staring wide-eyed.
He yanked his hand off with a sharp pull, then stared at the beam. "Okay... so it wasn't just the headboard."
Peter took a deep breath, turned, and sprinted toward a stack of concrete slabs. He leapt—not expecting much.
He soared five feet higher than he should have.
And landed perfectly.
Eyes wide, chest heaving, Peter looked down at the ground below. "Okay. Okay! That's... definitely not normal."
He turned and ran again, faster this time, letting his instincts guide him. Every movement felt sharp, fluid, precise—like his body had memorized the rules of parkour overnight.
He launched off a pile of wood and landed on a support beam.
He didn't even wobble.
Peter stared down at his hands, then up at the sky.
"…What am I?"
Peter dropped down from the support beam, landing in a crouch without even thinking about it. His hands touched the ground lightly, his weight balanced perfectly.
Okay, he thought, standing up. So I can stick to things. I can jump like a freakin' kangaroo. And I'm way faster than I used to be. That's... something.
He moved to a wall of dented metal panels and reached out again. His hand clung to it like a magnet. He started to climb—slowly at first, one hand after another. It was awkward for a second, until his muscles took over. Then it felt natural.
Too natural.
Within seconds, he was crawling sideways along a broken-down truck like it was the floor.
He flipped down, landing in a tight roll and springing back to his feet.
"This is insane," he muttered, grinning despite himself. "I mean... this is awesome"
He took a few steps forward when suddenly—everything slowed.
He didn't know why. But his body tensed up.
And then a towering pile of garbage bags and old scrap metal tilted from the top of the heap nearby, collapsing toward him like an avalanche.
Peter moved as soon as the garbage started falling he moved .
In a blur, he flipped backward, landing in a perfect crouch as the heap slammed into the ground inches from where he'd been standing. Dust exploded around him, choking the air.
His heart was racing, but his face was pale.
"I—I knew that was coming," he whispered. "I was able to tell that it was coming even though I wasn't even looking and it didn't make any loud noise."
He looked around, confused. "What the hell was that?"
A tingling buzz crawled across the back of his neck—like a sixth sense, a warning whispering just under the surface.
Peter stood there, breathing heavily, staring at the crushed pile of debris.
"…Okay. That was new."