New York, Queens, on an empty street.
Peter's eyes widened as a massive black fist churned the air and hurtled toward his nose. A burning sting crawled up his neck and into his brain, while his Spider-Sense buzzed without pause.
He took two consecutive steps back to evade the powerful punches of the hulking black man in the tattered cape. Every time Peter retreated, the other man advanced, bellowing incoherently as he continued his assault.
"Wow, honestly, that outfit of yours is really ugly." Peter ducked beneath a punch, bent his legs, and sprang into the air. "Who made that lousy cape for you? Take my advice: your tailor should be fired. His skills and taste both seem to have some serious problems."
The man in black let out a loud cry, spread his fingers, and reached back at Peter with savage force. Peter tucked in his shoulder and narrowly dodged, then lashed out with a kick in return, only for it to be blocked by the man's thick, sturdy arm.
"And what's with your mask? Looks like you forgot to leave eyeholes. I seriously can't imagine how you see anything wearing that thing. Let me guess, a bat bit you, and now you don't need vision anymore?"
Peter's mouth never stopped moving, but his feet did not slow either. This black-clad guy seemed barely any slower than him in terms of reaction speed, and he even appeared to have a slight advantage in strength. The two figures tangled and crisscrossed through the streets of Queens, moving so fast they dazzled the eye.
Peter kept running his mouth, but deep down, he knew it was only to hide his anxiety. Whenever he got nervous, he became a chatterbox, because it helped distract him and ease his taut nerves.
But how could he not be nervous? This superpowered man in that ridiculous blue-and-black bodysuit—whoever he was—had come for Peter Parker, not Spider-Man. That meant he knew Peter Parker was Spider-Man, and it also meant that even if Peter had decided to stop being Spider-Man, his family and friends could still be in danger.
Stay calm, Parker, he told himself. First, you need to deal with this big idiot. He doesn't look that hard to handle, right? You've taken down so many troublesome supervillains. You can definitely beat one muscle-bound moron in a ragged cape with no eyeholes.
He leaped over the hulking man's head, pressed a palm against the man's broad back for leverage, soared higher, and flipped in a graceful, perfect arc toward his opponent's back.
But to his surprise, the man in black abruptly turned around, raised both hands, and shot out two thin strands of white webbing! The webs suddenly stuck to Peter's back while he was still in midair, and a tremendous force yanked him back. The man in black kicked up with his right foot and viciously struck him in midair. Peter grunted and flew backward, crashing through a fence and tumbling into someone's backyard.
Peter climbed up from amid overturned potted plants, shaking his head. "I really hope the owners aren't home."
His Spider-Sense flared up again as the black figure vaulted over the yard wall in pursuit. Two strands of webbing shot from the other man's hands, spiraling open into two white nets that descended upon Peter.
Peter dodged sideways and grabbed the two strands of webbing with one hand. "Hey! That's my patent! I'm suing you for stealing someone else's hard work!"
Though he said that, he was only growing more worried. More and more questions flooded his mind. Who was this guy? Why could he shoot webs too? Who had sent him? How did they know who Spider-Man was?
But those questions could only be answered after the other man had been beaten down first.
Peter yanked hard on the two web strands, violently pulling the man in black in front of him. His kick struck the man squarely in the face, sending him tumbling several times before he crashed through the clothesline in the yard, scattering dry laundry everywhere.
"When the owners get back, I'll tell them this was all your fault!"
Peter pursued him with two swift leaps. The man in black got up and threw a punch, but Peter dodged it and countered with a right hook to the face. This guy's hide was unbelievably tough; Peter felt as though his fist had struck a solid brick.
"Roar!"
The black-clad monster roared furiously and caught Peter off guard by slapping a hand over his face. He grabbed Peter by the head, lifted him overhead, and slammed him back into the ground. Intense shock rippled down Peter's spine, making the world spin as his brain swam and his balance seemed to vanish.
He saw the black-clad monster let out a strange cry and raise both fists, apparently about to smash them down on him. But the dizziness left him too weak to dodge.
Great. This is definitely going to hurt like hell.
But the expected impact never came. He saw the black-clad monster's fists freeze in midair. Half a second later, the creature suddenly let out an even more piercing howl. He clutched his head and staggered backward, as if someone had started a blender inside his brain.
The creature retreated to the yard wall and violently shook his head, seemingly losing all interest in Peter at once. He turned, leaped over the wall, and disappeared down the long road outside moments later.
Peter stood up, dragging his painfully battered arm. "Okay, what was that all about?"
***
Somewhere in the remote outskirts, inside the CIA Technology Division's top-secret biological laboratory.
Staff wrapped head to toe in white protective suits moved back and forth through the experimental chamber. A cylindrical culture tank filled with sea-blue liquid stood in the center of the room. Countless precision instruments were connected to it, feeding complex data into the computers in the control room outside every moment.
Unlike the Cloning Laboratory on the other side, this entire laboratory had only one test subject, because this subject was the most extraordinary of all.
A man in an immaculate suit with center-parted hair stood in the control room. Judging from his attire and bearing, he appeared to be the person in charge here. A young assistant in a white lab coat approached him, flipping through documents containing the relevant data.
"You want to alter the test subject's memories now?" the assistant asked.
The suited man gave him a sidelong glance. "Those are the Master Controller's orders. This is the work he cares about most and is proudest of. He wants the test subject ready for deployment immediately."
"But according to the monitoring data, the test subject's various vital signs are still unstable," the assistant said. "Especially the memories. The target memories are already chaotic, fragmented, and unsystematic. If we make alterations rashly, or even implant an entirely new set of memories, it could damage the target's brain functions. In the worst-case scenario, an incident like the one in the other laboratory last night may occur."
The suited man raised an eyebrow. "You mean the test subject could go berserk, lose control, and kill his way out of here?"
"We should account for that possibility, sir."
"Then hurry up and fix it!" the suited man raised his voice. "I trust I don't need to remind you again what a dangerous man the Master Controller is. If he has to come personally to make adjustments over such a trivial matter, you won't want to find out what happens next."
"All right." The assistant closed the folder. "I'll inform the team and see what we can do."
The assistant hurried out with the documents in his arms. The suited man stood there with his arms folded for a while, until red warning lights suddenly flooded the entire room and alarms rang through every corridor of the base.
"Sir! The laboratory is under attack!"
The suited man snorted. "Someone invaded a CIA facility? Who's tired of living? Tell every agent in the facility—whoever dares break in, shoot first and ask questions later!"
Boom!
With a thunderous roar that seemed capable of shaking heaven and earth, the ultra-heavy alloy doors at the facility entrance crashed down under overwhelming external force, kicking up thick clouds of dust. The agents guarding the entry passage leveled their weapons toward the entrance, holding their breath without moving.
A faint mechanical hum sounded as black armor broke through the smoke outside the doorway. A chilling gaze shone from behind the V-shaped visor, its pale blue glow dim and eerie.
The instant he stepped out of the smoke, everyone stopped breathing.
It felt as though icy hands had clamped around their throats.
(Thanks to reader Yaoyan Jianhuo Chuncun Bu Zuozuo for the 1,000 Qidian Coin donation, and reader Da Momo for the 100 Qidian Coin donation!)