New York, the Big Apple.
The dazzling morning Sun dispelled the darkness, and skyscrapers stood like massive metal giants in this modern metropolis, with an endless stream of pedestrians on the streets.
Since New York's friendly neighborhood Spider-Man and that attention-seeking billionaire Tony Stark joined the fight against crime, with the combined efforts of masked vigilantes and the Avengers, the city's crime rate has plummeted to an all-time low.
Recently, there have even been rumors that Spider-Man will join the Avengers and become one of its members.
"If you ask me, Spider-Man isn't even a superhero. I strongly demand the Avengers thoroughly investigate his background! That Little Bug makes a mess of the city every time he catches someone. I seriously suspect he's a masked Mutant who could lose control and cause a disaster at any moment!"
On the giant electronic screen in Times Square, J. Jonah Jameson, editor-in-chief of the Daily Bugle, was spewing venom, delivering his usual tirade against his favorite Spider-Man, practically wishing he could plaster his spittle all over that annoying Little Bug's face.
Just then, a red and blue figure suddenly swung across the screen, his Silk shot from his wrist accurately sticking to J. Jonah Jameson's mouth.
"Shut up, J. Jonah, I'm really tired of you. Why can't you treat Little Spider the same way you treat Captain America?"
Spider-Man, who had swung across the silver screen, mumbled a few words and continued to swing between the tall buildings. The Sun shone down, gilding him with a golden edge, and the Shadow he cast on the bustling streets was particularly conspicuous, causing pedestrians below to frequently look up.
"What was that?!"
"Maybe a bird? Maybe a plane?"
"No, you're all wrong, it's our friendly neighborhood—Spider-Man!"
Spider-Man is a big name in New York City. Over three years, everyone from elderly people sunbathing in their yards to children eating lollipops knows him. People excitedly waved at the sky, and Peter Parker smiled under his mask, fully displaying the lively nature usually hidden beneath his shy exterior.
"Wow! The weather is great, isn't it? Good morning, everyone!"
Facing the enthusiastic greetings of his fans, he would always deliberately lower himself to high-five people who extended their hands, or land on the ground to give them a big hug.
After a quick patrol revealed no criminal activity for the time being, he swung to the top of a building, took out his hidden camera, and, looking at the photos of Spider-Man popular with the public, muttered:
"What perfect photos!! But J. Jonah definitely doesn't want to see these; he only wants dirt on me. But Mary Jane will definitely like them."
Mary Jane—Mary Jane Watson is his girlfriend. They are currently dating.
Peter grinned, fixed the camera to his waist with Silk, and swung high again.
Just then, a sudden, tearing pain violently pierced his brain!
He was sure this wasn't his Spider-Sense.
"Ugh ah!" He clutched his head, trying to land, but heard a piercing whoosh—
Whoosh—bang!!
A Rocket hit him squarely from below...
In a dim alley, four mercenaries gathered around. The scar-faced leader held an oval-shaped detector, pointing it at the unconscious Spider-Man.
The five-bar signal instantly filled up.
"That big mouth J. Jonah wasn't wrong—this spandex-wearing freak really is a Mutant! We're rich now!" the Rocket launcher-wielding subordinate excitedly yelled.
"Idiot! Who told you to use a Rocket?!" The scar-faced Master kicked him. "This is the person who can make us rich. What if you killed him?!"
After scolding his subordinate, he squatted down and lifted Spider-Man's mask halfway, checking for breathing—fortunately, he wasn't dead.
"Get the person and retreat quickly! The explosion might attract the attention of other superheroes. I don't want to be found by the Iron Can or that skull-wearing bastard."
...Alkali Genetic Research Institute, outside New York.
When the unconscious Peter Parker opened his eyes again, a flood of unfamiliar yet familiar memories surged into his mind.
At this moment, he realized that he was Spider-Man Peter Parker, and also a Transmigrator from another World, who had only now awakened his memories for some reason.
He took a deep breath, quickly calmed down, and through the mask's goggles, began to survey his surroundings, looking at the pure White ceiling, the precise life monitor by the bed, and the researchers in White coats and masks.
He had a strange collar around his neck, and his limbs were secured by special shackles... This was exactly how White mice were treated in a laboratory.
"Look, our Little Spider is awake." The White-coated researcher wiped a scalpel, his tone mocking: "How ironic!! New York's friendly neighbor is actually a Mutant, and from the looks of him, he doesn't even know it himself."
He's a Mutant? Peter's eyes widened. That's impossible; his powers came from a mutated spider, not an X-gene.
Fortunately, the mask was still on his face, so it seemed his identity had not been exposed.
"Alright, our Little Spider Mutant has awakened. It's time to reveal his true identity. I'm really looking forward to it!"
He wanted to explain that he was bitten by a radioactive spider and had nothing to do with Mutants, but before the words left his mouth, a chill suddenly ran up his spine!
His Spider-Sense was blaring madly.
The danger came from the small scalpel in the researcher's hand.
"Hey, sir, it's impolite to try to remove someone's mask without the Master's permission. Also, I suggest you put down that thing in your hand. I'm a little... allergic to sharp objects, you know, Little Spiders are afraid of pointy things."
As Peter spoke, he tentatively tugged at the shackles. The Mutant collar on his neck didn't react, and he finally relaxed completely.
He had already said he wasn't a Mutant; his spider powers came from the spider totem.
The approaching researcher insisted on his view, convinced that Peter was a Mutant. He disdainfully pointed to the collar on Peter's neck: "Don't waste your effort. Under the restraint of the X-ability suppression collar, you are just an ordinary person now. Let me take off your mask and see."
"What a pity! I actually quite liked you, Little Bug... but unfortunately, you're a Mutant. Mutants aren't even considered people; they can only become experimental specimens. But your body would make a very valuable specimen."
Peter's eyes turned cold at these words. Neither having his mask removed nor being made into a specimen was what he wanted.
"It seems you guys do this often. You must have more than one life on your hands... But today, you've caught the wrong person."
As soon as he finished speaking, Peter suddenly exerted force—the shackles snapped! He reached his right hand to his neck and tore, and the X-ability suppression collar ripped open like paper!
"Impossible! How can you still use your abilities?!" The approaching researcher was dumbfounded.
Peter didn't care about anyone's surprise. Once freed, he performed a graceful backflip, hanging upside down from the ceiling. He shot three strands of Silk from his wrists, disarming the guards at the door, and then wrapped his body in a bedsheet.
"I told you I'm not a Mutant—but you experimenting on living people is irrefutable evidence, guys. You're in big trouble. I think if Magneto knew you were dissecting Mutants here, the Golden Gate Bridge incident would repeat itself."
"Magneto?!" That name was a nightmare to them. The researcher's eyes suddenly turned vicious, and he violently pulled out a pistol from under his White coat!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
He had no psychological burden in ambushing Peter. After all, even if he failed, the worst that could happen was a few days in jail. Everyone knew Spider-Man wouldn't kill.
With his Spider-Sense, Peter easily dodged the incoming bullets. He leaped down from the ceiling, followed by a powerful punch!
Boom!!
The researcher who fired the gun didn't even react, slamming into the wall as if hit by a truck, his chest caved in, blood gushing out.
At the same time, the alarm blared throughout the laboratory.
"You... you don't kill people..." The profusely bleeding researcher squeezed out his last words, then his head lolled to the side, and he completely stopped breathing.
"Sorry, sorry! I pulled my punch! Who knew you were so fragile!"
Peter himself was stunned. He had indeed pulled his punch, but his control over his strength seemed a bit off today.
He tried to lean against the wall and gently pat the other person's cheek: "Hey, brother, don't sleep! Wake up!" But it was no use at all.
Judging by the collapsed chest of the victim, it was clear he was beyond saving.