In the United States, Homecoming week is supposed to be a grand, unifying tradition. Monday through Friday are packed with theme days, cafeteria banner-signing, and hallway decorating, all culminating in a Friday night football game and a Saturday dance. It is a carefully engineered psychological operation designed to help freshmen integrate into the campus ecosystem and give returning students a burst of school spirit.
In reality, it devolved into a hyper-competitive costume arms race.
"I'm not trying to be a loner," Gwen said, adjusting the strap of her backpack as she walked next to Peter. "I just didn't know who I was supposed to be. Have you actually Googled female superhero costumes? If I walked out of the house in any of those, my dad would have a myocardial infarction." Captain Stacy was a fair man, but he had strict limits.
They were the only two students not currently participating in the spandex marathon. Peter wore his thrifted trench coat and pinstripes, while Gwen was dressed in a completely normal skirt and sweater.
"You could have asked me in advance," Peter said, dodging a kid dressed as the Flash. "I could have given you some safe recommendations."
"Good point. Why didn't I think of that?" Gwen side-eyed him. "So, if someone asks why I'm dressed like a girl going to AP Biology, who am I playing?"
"Wolf Girl."
"Who is that?"
"It's from the same series as my character," Peter said, grinning.
Gwen rolled her eyes, but Peter wasn't looking at her anymore. The fine hairs on his forearms stood up. A low, persistent buzz hummed at the base of his skull. Carl King. Again.
Peter kept his pace steady, not turning around. He's completely locked onto me, Peter thought. Why? Because of the spider? Carl had grabbed the radioactive spider at the Oscorp Expo and dropped it down Peter's collar just to be a jerk. He'd witnessed the exact moment Peter was bitten. Was Carl finally putting the pieces together? What was his endgame? Was he planning to connect with some underground villain organization?
"Peter? Earth to Peter!"
Peter blinked, shaking his head. "Huh? Oh, sorry. I was still thinking about Carl."
Gwen stopped walking and crossed her arms. "What did I just say?"
"I have no idea."
She let out a sharp breath. "I asked if you could go clothes shopping with me after school. I need an actual costume. I originally thought this theme day nonsense was only going to be one day. I didn't expect it to drag on all week."
Peter hesitated. He shifted his weight, thinking about the Avengers Tower. Tony Stark had given him an ID card with full access to JARVIS. He needed to borrow the servers to run a behavioral analysis on Carl King's surveillance patterns. If Carl was close to figuring out his identity, Peter needed a countermeasure. "Uh..."
Gwen's eyes narrowed. "Why? Do you have somewhere else to go?"
"It's... hard to say. Depends on the news."
"Are you hiding something from me?" Gwen stepped closer, dropping her voice. "You've been incredibly secretive since high school started. We rarely even go to and from school together anymore."
Peter's stomach dropped. He held his hands up defensively. "No. Absolutely not. Seriously, Gwen, don't worry. If there was something big going on, I would definitely tell you."
She studied his face for three agonizing seconds before her shoulders relaxed. "Fine. Then it's settled. You're coming clothes shopping with me today."
"Right."
Having barely managed to dodge Gwen's interrogation, Peter navigated the crowded corridors with her. The broad scope of the "superhero" theme had heavily deteriorated into absolute chaos, filling the school with an eerily joyful atmosphere. Harry Lyman rolled past them, having upgraded his motorized wheelchair base from yesterday's Dalek into a full silver Cyberman. Further down the hall, someone was waddling by in a massive plush Pikachu suit. Peter stared at it. Is Pikachu a superhero now?
"Hey, Peter. Oh, hey, Doc."
Jessica Drew leaned against a row of lockers, adjusting a plaid deerstalker hat. She wore a heavy double-breasted coat and a capelet, looking exactly like a standard Sherlock Holmes.
"Are you sure you're a superhero?" Peter asked, looking her up and down. "You're just... Sherlock Holmes."
"Hey, Parker," Jessica shot back, adjusting her collar. "Of course Holmes counts as a superhero. How is he not okay?" She noticed Gwen and brightened, extending a hand. "Hi, I'm Jessica. President of the Detective Agency. Peter here is one of our members."
"Gwen," she said, offering a polite nod. "We're... friends."
As Peter introduced them, the buzz in his skull spiked again. Carl King. Peter made a tactical decision: zero feedback. He wouldn't look back, wouldn't alter his routine, wouldn't acknowledge the surveillance. He was going to leave Carl to sneak around, perfectly convinced he was invisible, just to see what the guy planned to do next.
A hundred feet away, Carl King leaned against the tiled wall, chewing violently on his thumbnail. His entire theory was unraveling. There was nothing strange about Peter Parker. He hadn't found Spider-Man's uniform in Peter's closet, and Parker was completely oblivious to being followed.
Carl pulled out his phone. He planned to tail Parker after school today to get definitive proof, but a notification from a video app suddenly took over his screen.
He clicked it. The video buffered, then cleared. It was Spider-Man. The hero was out on the street, beating up thugs and helping ordinary civilians. But more importantly, the video was released just now, and the hero was wearing a brand-new, high-tech uniform. The action, the angles—it was a flawless performance.
Carl stared at the timestamp. Live. Right now. While Peter Parker was standing fifty yards down the hallway, chatting with two girls about Sherlock Holmes.
Carl's chest tightened. He felt entirely confused. Did Peter Parker really not seem to be Spider-Man? Was he really mistaken? Did the spider not give Peter Parker his abilities?
The person starring in the newly released video was, of course, Dmitri Snerdyakov—the Chameleon. With Quentin Beck's technical wizardry, he had pulled off another outstanding performance, perfectly imitating the superhero.
To ensure the Punisher didn't suddenly appear on the road and violently kill everyone, Quentin Beck had actually solved the problem alone. He used his light-particle projections to transform the interior of an abandoned warehouse into a photorealistic New York street corner, effectively blocking it off. He had lured the real Spider-Man to a different building entirely, isolating the broadcast.
Dmitri dropped to the concrete floor of the warehouse, breathing hard. The humiliation of his recent defeat by Spider-Man burned in his chest, driving him to take a deep breath to steady himself.
But Quentin Beck wasn't thinking about revenge. Beck stood in the dark corner of the warehouse, his face illuminated by the eerie glow of the massive projection fishbowl. He couldn't figure out how Spider-Man knew his name, but more importantly, he was fixated on how his illusion had been broken.
Beck tapped his finger against the thick glass of the tank, staring at the pulsing light arrays inside. He couldn't help muttering to himself.
"Infrared vision..." Beck whispered, his voice echoing lightly over the hum of the servers. "Infrared... infrared light is also light?"