October 5th. Friday. Three days had passed since a black sedan tried to turn Peter Parker into a pancake on the asphalt. Three days since I witnessed the birth of his abilities in the school hallway. And for three days, anxiety had been clawing at my soul like a hungry beast.
The news of the attempt on Peter's life—which, by the way, he only shared with me and Gwen, writing it off as a reckless driver, though his spider-sense, which he spoke of confusedly and hesitantly, suggested otherwise—was the final straw. The spider bite at Oscorp, gaining superpowers, sudden aggression from unknowns in an expensive car… My brain, overloaded with knowledge from another world, obligingly supplied the images. The plot painfully resembled a comic book I had read a long time ago—"The Ultimate Spider-Man." A darker, more realistic version of the Spider-Man story. And if events were developing according to this scenario… oh no.
There was, however, one inconsistency. In that story, it was Harry who brought Peter to Oscorp on his father's advice after a tour, and already in the laboratory, Otto Octavius, completely unconcerned about the consequences, took Peter's blood right in front of everyone. But several days had passed, and besides the attempt on his life, nothing else had happened. Did this mean that Norman Osborn either no longer needed Peter's blood for his experiments, or… or he had found another way?
If Norman had already gotten what he wanted (or thought he had), and at the same time considered Peter either dead (as he initially thought) or an uncontrollable anomaly (after Shaw's report), then events could accelerate. This meant that the tragedy—the very point of no return that turned Peter Parker into Spider-Man—could be just around the corner. The death of Uncle Ben. A stupid, senseless death at the hands of a petty robber whom Peter could have stopped but didn't. I felt the approach of this disaster almost physically.
And then there was Norman Osborn. Yesterday at lunch in the school cafeteria, Harry, trying to explain his depressed mood, casually dropped a few phrases about serious problems in his father's company. Some important military contract was on the verge of collapse, investors were nervous, his father was ranting and raving, working around the clock, conducting some risky tests… The Green Goblin. The image of a mad maniac on a glider rose before my eyes. Was this also about to become reality?
I couldn't just sit and watch my friends' lives fall apart. Peter would lose his uncle, the man who was a father to him. Harry would lose his father—difficult as he was, still a father—to a monster. I had to do something. Find a way to prevent Ben Parker's death. Warn Peter? But how? Say to him, "Hi, Pete, I know the future, your uncle is going to be killed soon, and you're going to become a superhero"? He'd think I'd lost my mind. Or worse—he'd try to intervene and only make things worse. And how to help Harry? Talk to Norman Osborn? Tell him, "Mr. Osborn, your serum is dangerous, it will turn you into a psychopath"? Ha! At best he'd laugh; at worst, Shaw would give me a personal tour of the bottom of the Hudson. I felt helpless before the gathering storm.
The last class on Friday was chemistry. Mr. Warren—Mrs. Warren's husband—was explaining something about valence, but my thoughts were far away. After the bell, when everyone started packing their things, Harry came up to us. He looked a bit disheveled but was clearly trying to seem upbeat.
"Guys, listen!" he raised his voice to get his classmates' attention. "I've got a couple of tickets going to waste for tonight… well, not going to waste, my dad gave them for the whole group. Local wrestling, UCW Spankdown. There's a big fight today, the champion's entering the ring. Want to go? Blow off some steam?"
The offer was unexpected. Wrestling? Not the most intellectual entertainment, but as a distraction—it would do. An approving murmur swept through the class.
"I'm in!" Flash responded immediately. "I've wanted to see Crusher Hogan live for a long time! They say he's a machine!"
"Yeah, me too!" Kong chimed in, flexing his muscles. "Maybe I'll even get in the ring myself, show him a couple of moves! Make some bank!"
"Oh, wrestling! Sounds like fun!" Mary Jane exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "I've never been! Peter, are you going?"
Peter, who had been staring distractedly out the window, startled and looked at MJ.
"Um… me? Well… if everyone's going…"
In the end, almost everyone agreed—Flash, Kong, MJ, Peter, Harry, me, Liz, Betty, and a few others. Only Gwen declined.
"Sorry, Harry, I'd love to, but I promised to help Dr. Connors in the lab today," she said apologetically. "He's at some important stage in his regeneration experiment."
"Dr. Connors?" I asked, feeling a chill run down my spine. Curt Connors. The one-armed biological genius obsessed with the idea of regenerating limbs using reptile DNA. "The one from the university?"
"Yes, that's him," Gwen nodded. "I'm interning with him after school. He's an amazing scientist! Although a bit… eccentric."
I silently digested the information. So Connors was already here. Experimenting with lizards. The Green Goblin. The Lizard. Who was next? Doctor Octopus? Electro? Sandman? Venom? It was as if this world decided to gather all of Spider-Man's villains at once and give us a personal hell. What is wrong with this world?!
In the evening, our whole group piled into a small but packed hall where the UCW Spankdown fights were held. The atmosphere was… specific. It smelled of beer, popcorn, and cheap adrenaline. The crowd was a mixed bag: blue-collar workers after a shift, students, high schoolers like us, and just fans of a good brawl. A square ring stood in the center of the hall under bright spotlights. The air vibrated with the excited hum of the crowd.
We found seats close to the ring. Harry, taking the opportunity, sat next to Mary Jane and immediately began telling her something enthusiastically, gesturing actively. MJ listened with a polite smile, nodding occasionally, but didn't show much enthusiasm. However, she didn't push him away either. Peter, sitting on the other side of me, watched this scene gloomily, resting his chin on his fist.
The ring announcer—a bald little man in a shiny jacket with a microphone in hand—stepped into the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he yelled into the mic, drowning out the noise of the crowd. "Welcome to the main event of the evening! Today, our invincible champion, the man-mountain, the destruction machine… Cr-r-rusher Ho-o-ogan!!!"
To the roar of the crowd and loud music, a giant-sized wrestler climbed into the ring. Huge, muscular, with a wild look and a fierce grimace. He posed, flexing biceps the size of my head, and growled threateningly at the audience. He looked impressive.
"Yes! Now that's power!" Flash exhaled admiringly.
"Pfft, I'd take him with one hand tied behind my back!" Kong stated overconfidently. "Hey, man!" he shouted to the announcer. "I want to fight your champion! How much do you pay?"
The announcer looked at us in surprise. "What? Fight? Kid, are you in your right mind? You're a high schooler! We have a strict rule—participants must be over twenty-one! And sign a bunch of waivers! So sit down and watch!"
Kong deflated in disappointment as Flash laughed. "Whatever! I would've owned him anyway!"
I wasn't listening to their bickering. I looked around, subconsciously searching for him—Peter had disappeared somewhere. Probably went to get a soda or just couldn't stand looking at Harry and MJ anymore.
Meanwhile, the announcer continued his pitch: "So! Who dares to challenge our champion? Who is ready to risk their bones for glory and three thousand dollars?! Are there any brave souls in this hall?!"
Then something strange happened. As if from nowhere, a guy appeared on the ring ropes. He was dressed in some baggy clothes—old jeans, a gray hoodie with the hood pulled over his head, and his face was hidden by a simple red ski mask with eye slits. He easily hopped over the ropes and landed in the center of the ring opposite the stunned announcer and a frowning Hogan.
"Hey, cueball!" the masked guy shouted to the announcer, his voice slightly muffled by the mask, but containing familiar notes. "Don't want to dance with me? Or straight to your over-pumped buddy? Three thousand dollars, you say? Sounds tempting!"
The crowd gasped and then buzzed. The announcer waved his hands indignantly. "Hey! You can't just hop in here like that! You're breaking the rules! Security! Get him out of here!"
"Have you lost it, shorty?" Crusher Hogan growled, taking a step forward and threateningly cracking his knuckles. He was nearly twice as tall and three times as wide as the masked guy. "I'm gonna tie you in a knot!"
But the masked guy wasn't afraid. He stood relaxed, even a bit insolently. I looked closely at his figure. Lean but strong. Height… movements… Damn! That's Peter! It can't be! What is he doing?!
Suddenly a thought flashed through my head like a light bulb turning on: "This is it. The beginning of the path. From this moment, everything went haywire."
Hogan rushed at the upstart with a roar, intending to catch him in his famous "bear hug." But Peter moved with incredible speed. He easily dodged the giant's clumsy attack, slipping under his arm. Hogan flew forward by inertia. Peter turned around and, before anyone could understand anything, ducked under the massive wrestler, grabbed him by the waist and… lifted him! He lifted the enormous Crusher Hogan into the air as if he were a feather!
The crowd froze in shock. Then Peter easily flipped the wrestler and slammed him face-down onto the ring mat with force. There was a dull thud. Hogan remained motionless.
For a second, there was dead silence. And then the hall exploded with an ovation. People jumped from their seats, yelling, whistling, applauding. They had never seen anything like it!
"Yes! Yes! Get him!" Flash screamed, forgetting his recent bragging.
"No way!" Kong echoed with his jaw dropped.
The bald announcer was the first to recover. Professionalism took over. He hopped over to the masked guy, pointing the microphone at him.
"Incredible! Phenomenal! Did you see that?! A mysterious fighter just laid out the invincible Crusher Hogan! Who are you?! Who are you, mysterious masked guy?! Reveal your name to the crowd!"
The masked Peter shook his head. "Name? Forget it. Where's my three thousand?" his voice was still distorted by the mask.
"Three thousand? So fast?" the announcer clearly didn't expect this turn. "Listen, kid, you're a sensation! The public loves you! Let's sign a contract? You'll perform for us regularly! We'll make you a star! We'll come up with a cool name for you! A costume!"
Peter froze for a moment upon hearing the offer. But then he shook his head again. "I don't need a contract. I need the money. Now. Three thousand. For beating your champion. Those were the terms."
"Okay, okay, kid, don't boil over!" the announcer raised his hands. "You'll get your money. But think about my offer! With such strength and agility… you could become a legend!"
A short, business-like conversation took place between them. Peter clearly didn't want to be in the spotlight, insisting on anonymity and immediate payment. The announcer urged him to think about it, promising mountains of gold. In the end, they agreed on something—apparently, Peter agreed to another fight in the future on his terms. After receiving assurances (and maybe the money itself, I couldn't tell), the masked guy hopped off the ring as quickly as he appeared and dissolved into the buzzing crowd near the exit.
It all happened so fast. No more than five minutes passed before Peter Parker materialized next to me again. He was breathing heavily, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead—apparently he got sweaty while changing—but his eyes burned with triumph and excitement. Where did he get spare clothes? No idea. He had just defeated a huge wrestler and, it seemed, earned a lot of money.
But his high spirits evaporated instantly as soon as he looked toward Harry and MJ. They were still sitting together, Harry showing her something on his phone while she laughed. The smile slid off Peter's face, his shoulders slumped. Triumph was replaced by familiar bitterness and insecurity.
I sighed. Poor guy. Just did the impossible in the ring, yet in ordinary life, he still felt like a loser. I had to support him somehow, distract him from dark thoughts. I turned to him. "So, Parker, where've you been? You missed the most interesting part…" I began with a slight smirk.
Monday, October 8th. Evening. UCW building again.
Only three days had passed since the Friday triumph of the mysterious masked guy, and the buzz around UCW Spankdown had not quieted down. The announcer, smelling a gold mine, immediately organized a rematch for the following Monday evening. And so, the hall was packed again, the crowd roared in anticipation, and a familiar but still incredible sight unfolded in the ring.
The man in the red ski mask and baggy clothes was again dancing around the massive Crusher Hogan. Но this time it wasn't just a dance—it was mockery. Peter moved with such ease, such superhuman speed and grace, that the huge Hogan looked like a clumsy, slow bag of muscles next to him. He dodged every strike, slipped through grapples, and his own counter-strikes, though they didn't look powerful, clearly caused the champion pain and confused him.
"Just look at that!" the bald announcer screamed into the microphone, running around the ring. "Who is he, this mysterious masked man?! Where did he come from?! Our champion, Crusher Hogan, can't handle it! He simply can't hit this acrobat!"
The crowd echoed him with a roar. Even those who came to cheer for Hogan couldn't help but admire the newcomer's agility.
"He was considered invulnerable!" the announcer continued. "Considered invincible! A mountain that couldn't be moved! But this guy… he's playing with him! Masterfully! Precisely!"
At that moment Peter, apparently deciding to end the show, again did something incredible. He dodged another of Hogan's sweeping strikes, ducked under him and, just like last time, easily lifted the giant off the floor, raising him above his head.
Hogan's face contorted with terror and… indignation?
"Hey! That's not fair!" he puffed, dangling his legs in the air. "This wasn't in the script! I didn't sign up for this! I have a bad back!"
"Stop whining," Peter's voice from under the mask sounded cold and detached.
And with those words, he slammed Crusher Hogan's body onto the ring with force. The crash from the fall drowned out even the roar of the crowd. BOOM!!! Hogan remained motionless, limbs splayed.
"Whoa! Did you see that?! Did you see that?!" the announcer hopped over to the fallen giant. "The Crusher is down! The Crusher is down! Referee! Count to three! One! Two! Three! It's a knockout!"
The referee ran over, quickly counted the hits on the mat, and threw his hand up. "The fight is over!" the announcer shouted. "Behold the new UCW champion! The incredible, the incomprehensible, the invincible… uh…"
He ran over to Peter, who was standing in the middle of the ring, breathing heavily, and whispered urgently in his ear, covering the microphone with his hand: "Kid! Kid! A name! We need a name! The crowd demands a hero! What do I call you?!"
"I told you, I can't…" Peter muttered, looking around at the roaring crowd. The attention clearly burdened him.
"I need at least a pseudonym! A stage name! A handle! Anything!" the announcer wouldn't give up. "You just took down the champion! You need a name!"
Peter thought for a second. His gaze accidentally fell on his own hands in rough gloves. A spider. That same spider from Oscorp…
"Ah! Uh… 'Spider' will do?" he suggested hesitantly.
The announcer's eyes lit up. "Spider"! Perfect! He immediately turned to the crowd, grabbing Peter's hand and thrusting it up. "Ladies and gentlemen! Boys and girls! Give it up with a thunderous applause! For the new UCW champio-o-o-n!!! The incomparable! The mysterious! The Amazing Spider-Ma-a-an!!!"
"Spider-Man"? The announcer clearly embellished. But the crowd didn't care. The name was spoken. A hero was born. The hall exploded with a deafening roar, chanting the champion's new name.
And in a dark corner of the venue, near the exit, leaning against the wall with arms crossed over my chest, stood me. I was wearing a dark hoodie with a deep hood hiding my face. From the very moment on Friday when Peter first jumped into the ring, I hadn't taken my eyes off him. I knew where this was headed. I knew that this money he was so desperately trying to earn the easy way would become the catalyst for tragedy.
Why was I here? Why wasn't I at home, or with Gwen, or trying to live a normal life? Because I couldn't. I couldn't just know what was supposed to happen and do nothing. I had to try. To prevent the death of Ben Parker. This had become my obsession for the last three days. I followed Peter, trying not to be seen, was present at his first triumph, and now—at the second. I waited. I waited for that very robber to appear.
My nerves were stretched to the limit. I carefully scanned the crowd, looking for any suspicious movement, any face that might belong to a person capable of robbery and murder. My heart pounded; the noise of the crowd cut my ears. I was afraid to miss the moment. Afraid I wouldn't be in time.
Then my gaze caught some commotion near a small door with a sign "Organizers' Office." Several people in security uniforms came out with stunned and angry faces, discussing something animatedly. Snatches of phrases reached me: "…all the cash is gone!", "…right out of the safe!", "…no one saw a thing!". A robbery. It happened.
A minute later, the Spider-Man was led out of that same door. They tried to pin all the blame on him, and the wrestlers, without thinking, rushed to grab him. But Peter was no longer that defenseless boy: using his superhuman abilities, he easily broke free from the rough hands and, deftly maneuvering through the crowd, dissolved into it like a shadow.
I looked around feverishly. And I saw him.
From the shadows of another exit, trying to keep a low profile, a man slipped out. Looking to be in his late thirties, unkempt, in a worn jacket. He moved quickly, nervously looking around. His left hand was pressed tightly to his side; something was clearly hidden under his jacket—a bundle of money? Or a weapon? His gaze was shifting, anxious. It was him. I was sure. This was the robber from the classic story. The man who would kill Uncle Ben.
Without thinking for another second, I pushed off the wall and slipped after him, trying to stay in the shadows and not attract attention. My heart was thumping in my throat. The robber left the building through a side exit and walked quickly down the street, turning into a dark alley between two high buildings.
"Did he notice me? Is he leading me into a trap?"—a panic-stricken thought flashed. But I immediately dismissed it. It didn't matter. I had to stop him. For Peter. For Uncle Ben. For once in this cursed new life, to do something truly right instead of just reacting to events.
Clenching my teeth, I quickened my pace and turned the corner after the robber. A fatal mistake!
I ran straight into him. He was waiting.
In the dim light of a single streetlamp, a knife blade flashed. I didn't have time to react. A sharp, burning pain pierced my right side. I gasped, instinctively clutching the wound. Blood immediately soaked through the hoodie, warm and sticky. While I stood there, paralyzed by shock and pain, the robber kicked me in the stomach with a short grunt. The blow knocked the air out of my lungs; I doubled over, coughing.
The man didn't finish me off. He just cast a quick, angry glance at me, turned, and limped away, running deeper into the dark alley, dissolving into the shadows.
I was left alone. I stood on my knees in the dirty alley, clutching the bleeding wound, trying to catch my breath. The pain was hellish. The world swam before my eyes. I tried to stop the robber. Tried to prevent the tragedy. And instead… I got a knife in the side. I turned out to be a pretty poor excuse for a hero.