"Parker. Mr. Parker?"
Peter Parker's wandering mind was yanked back by his geometry teacher's raised voice and the sharp crack of her pointer striking the blackboard. He realized he was sitting in algebra class.
"Could you answer this question, Mr. Parker?" The geometry teacher pointed her stick at the plane figure on the board.
Peter blinked and studied the diagram for a few seconds. "The answer is sixty degrees, ma'am."
"Correct. Thank you, Mr. Parker."
The teacher turned back to her lecture, and Peter Parker drifted off again like a battery-powered toy with its batteries removed.
He had been like this for quite a while. His attention wandered, his spirits were low, and whenever he walked, his eyes seemed determined to stay fixed on the tips of his shoes. He was utterly listless, like a walking corpse.
He ignored everyone, even when his few friends tried to show concern. Even after school, when Flash Thompson—a muscle-brained member of the school football team who always enjoyed bullying Peter—came looking to start trouble, Peter simply walked around him without a word.
The football star clearly could not accept being ignored by a nerd. Flash grabbed Peter by the shoulder and snarled, "No time, Parker? Then I'll make some for you."
Flash never imagined that the frail nerd he had bullied for years would suddenly erupt with such strength and courage. He did not see what happened at all. He only felt the nerd seem to turn around, followed by a tremendous force exploding in his abdomen like blazing dynamite. Flash went pale, clutching his stomach as he crumpled to the ground, covered in sweat and unable to speak for a long while.
"Not in the mood today, Thompson."
Peter spoke darkly, slung his backpack over his shoulders, ignored the stunned crowd around him, and strode away.
Peter Parker had not always been like this. What kind of kid had he been? Most people who knew him would probably give a similar answer.
Peter Parker, Caucasian, sixteen-year-old high school student. He was a complete nerd, far better at dealing with books than people. Other than excellent grades, he had no particular strengths. His athletic performance hovered around passing year-round, and according to his gym teacher, his physical fitness did not even reach the average level of the girls' group.
But that had been before this year.
Ten months ago, an accident during a school-organized field trip to Osborn Corporation changed his life. A spider somehow mixed with the Oz serum escaped its laboratory enclosure and bit him. The Oz serum infected his blood through the wound, further altering his genetic structure and granting him extraordinary power far beyond human limits.
If Peter Parker's life before then had been a plain glass of water, then afterward, it became a stew full of every possible flavor.
First, Peter lost his beloved Uncle Ben because of one irresponsible mistake, learning the painful lesson that with great power came great responsibility. Determined never to suffer such regret again, he put on a skintight suit and became Spider-Man, New York's friendly neighborhood hero, making it his duty to punish evil and uphold justice.
At first, everything went incredibly smoothly. His superpowers, his costume, the good deeds he did, and the people he saved—Peter had imagined more than once over the years that his life would take a turn, just like countless teenagers his age. He had longed to become the center of attention, someone girls noticed. And now, he finally seemed to have that chance, like the protagonist of a movie. He put on the costume and fought for justice, feeling as though this was the duty fate had assigned him, as though he had found the meaning of his life for the first time.
Peter was smart, but he was still only sixteen. The wave of excitement surrounding Spider-Man briefly clouded his judgment, driving him to make the decision he regretted most in his life apart from Uncle Ben's death.
He told the girl he had secretly loved for so long that he was Spider-Man.
Her name was Gwen Stacy, a girl in his class. Her grades were every bit as outstanding as Peter's, and she had even secured an internship at Osborn Corporation at the age of sixteen. Peter's impression of her was mostly of dazzling golden hair, Snow White-like skin, fashionable yet cute clothes, and sometimes a black headband.
Peter could not begin to describe how happy he had been when Gwen agreed to be his girlfriend. For a while, he had even truly believed this was what his destined life was supposed to look like.
Until Harry Osborn—Peter's best friend—put on the Green Goblin equipment his father had left behind and came for revenge on a Glider.
If he had to say, Harry used to be a pretty good guy, at least to Peter. Whenever Peter was bullied by classmates, Harry often stepped in to help him out. For a long time, Harry had been his only friend.
Peter still did not fully understand what had happened afterward, but from Harry's incoherent ramblings after he injected himself with the Green Goblin serum and lost his mind, Peter roughly understood that Harry seemed to blame Spider-Man for his father's death.
Nine months ago, countless witnesses saw the Green Goblin attack a banquet. Spider-Man crashed in through a window to stop him, and the two fought atop the Green Goblin's Glider before vanishing into the night.
The next day, the newspapers reported an explosion at the Osborn residence. A charred corpse wearing damaged Green Goblin armor was dug out of the ruins, and DNA testing confirmed that it was Norman Osborn.
Although neither the police nor the FBI found any evidence to support it, Norman's son, Harry Osborn, insisted that Spider-Man had killed his father. He injected himself with the Oz serum as well, stole the company's equipment, and became the second Green Goblin in an attempt to take revenge on Spider-Man.
The Oz serum further warped and fractured Harry's already traumatized mind, making him insane and unpredictable. Later, by chance, he discovered that Spider-Man was actually his best friend, Peter Parker. That convinced him Peter had betrayed him, worsening the symptoms of his mental illness even further.
That was why he threw Gwen off Washington Bridge.
Peter had been there. He had watched Harry throw Gwen off the bridge with his own eyes, and he had desperately tried to save her. The web he fired caught up to Gwen at the last possible instant. For one moment, he had even felt immense relief, believing he had made it.
But he had not.
The opposing pull of the web and gravity snapped her neck, taking her life instantly. For a while, Peter truly wanted to kill Harry in his grief. He threw punch after punch at the Green Goblin's face without holding back, smashing his mask and tearing his flesh. He kept hitting him until Harry was barely alive, able only to let out unconscious moans.
But in the end, he did not finish him.
What would have been the point? Gwen was dead. Even killing his former best friend could not bring her back.
If anything had truly made him realize something, it was how absurd and ridiculous everything he had tried to do over the past ten months had been. Spider-Man was a joke. Everything he did only kept hurting the people close to him.
So he gave up. At least he still had Aunt May. He could not allow Spider-Man's mess to drag Aunt May into it too. He decided to become an ordinary boy again, going to school and coming home on time every day, never getting tangled up with supervillains on the way.
Just as he thought that, Peter's Spider-Sense began buzzing and shrieking in his head like an alarm clock at maximum volume. Spider-Sense was one of his many abilities, capable of warning him when danger approached.
Without hesitation, Peter instinctively performed a backflip, narrowly avoiding the sudden attack of a black shadow. His palms hit the ground, and he flipped again, widening the distance before landing in a half crouch.
Peter looked up. In the middle of the empty street stood a pitch-black stranger. He had a head of messy red hair like a bird's nest, wore a blue-black skintight suit, and had a tattered red cape draped over him.
Peter held his breath. Instinctively, he sensed something indescribably strange about this bizarre figure whose appearance did not exactly fit modern tastes.
He narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"
There was no answer. The black-clad stranger let out a bizarre cry somewhere between a roar and a wail, kicked off the ground, and charged at him like a sprinting cheetah.