Peter's life was now split in two.
By day, he was a salaried genius scientist in the Baxter Building; by night, he was Spider-Man, swinging above Queens and Manhattan.
Aunt May and Uncle Ben had their complaints about him leaving early and coming home late, but once he pulled out the argument that "helping out in the lab could save lives," the two elders could only reluctantly compromise.
In reality, Peter spent an hour each day in the Fantastic Four's private lab and devoted the rest of his time to patrols. He could be a hero and do scientific research. Life couldn't have been more perfect.
"Peter, Aunt May and Uncle Ben don't mind?" Johnny asked as he led Peter into a spacious private laboratory.
"They more or less let it slide." Peter shrugged. "They're still mad that I kept it from them, but seeing that I have a proper job at the Baxter Building, they're turning a blind eye."
Johnny patted his shoulder. "You should still come clean with them when you get a chance. Welcome to your new domain."
Peter looked around at the enormous monitors, top-of-the-line computers, and fully equipped workbenches. It was a scientist's paradise.
"So cool." Peter set down his backpack, his gaze settling on a sophisticated Geiger counter in the corner. "Johnny, do me a favor? I want to test a new theory."
"Test what?"
"Your flame powers." Peter picked up some tools, deftly dismantled the counter, and connected an extremely fine nickel wire to its internal circuitry. "Light up."
"It's called 'Flame on!'" Johnny muttered, his whole body instantly engulfed in searing flames.
Peter watched the readings on the Geiger counter soar, a smile tugging at his lips. "Perfect."
Johnny extinguished his flames and leaned over. "Well? Figure anything out?"
"Your power comes from another dimension." Peter pointed at the modified nickel wire. "Your body is like a reverse sponge, or rather, a one-way valve. You aren't burning by absorbing oxygen from the air. Instead, you're radiating energy similar to white phosphorus outward from inside your body. When it comes into contact with our world's atmosphere, it undergoes a violent oxidation reaction that manifests as flames."
Johnny listened, dumbfounded. "Holy shit... Peter, you're incredible! Reed spent all that time studying it and couldn't figure it out, and you actually cracked it! Quick, send Reed your theory!"
Peter nodded and sent the report. He knew perfectly well that the theory came from his memories of his previous life, but being able to verify it flawlessly and articulate it was absolutely down to the terrifyingly brilliant mind in Peter Parker's body.
Over dinner, Reed, Susan, and Ben Grimm, the Thing, heard the theory too. Reed was full of praise on the surface, but Peter keenly caught a trace of distrust hidden in his tone.
That left him feeling somewhat helpless. Geniuses always tended to put their own kind on guard.
As time passed, Spider-Man's name took New York by storm.
Stopping a few robberies every day and striking a pose for the cameras along the way, Spider-Man was practically hyped into an urban legend by the city's residents. At school, his classmates' fanatical enthusiasm for Spider-Man made Peter's scalp prickle.
But he knew perfectly well that petty street crimes couldn't satisfy him at all. He needed bigger targets.
Lately, he had been following the Grass Stain Gang's trial. The evidence was conclusive; it was only a matter of time before they went to prison. To improve his ability to handle larger-scale situations, Peter trained hard in swordsmanship and combat under Colleen Wing.
With his brilliant mind and photographic memory, he could memorize complex sword forms in seconds, progressing so quickly that even Colleen was secretly astonished.
What had left the deepest impression on him, however, was an "accident" during last week's patrol.
That night, Peter had been swinging near Wall Street when he suddenly heard the sharp crash of breaking glass. Looking toward the sound, he saw a shapely figure in a black bodysuit and mask nimbly climbing a building's exterior.
Black Cat, Felicia.
Peter swung over and landed lightly on the rooftop in front of her. He wrapped an arm around her waist, and they rolled across the roof, with Peter using the momentum to pin her beneath him.
"Shouldn't we find somewhere else for our dates?" Peter grinned.
"Spider?" Felicia froze for a moment. "What are you doing here?"
"Just passing through." Peter glanced at her bulging waist pouch. "Out restocking again?"
"My business is none of yours."
"I'm a hero, and you're a thief. How is that none of my business?"
"Sorry, Spider, I don't have time to flirt." Felicia suddenly drove her knee up, striking Peter squarely in the groin.
"Hiss-" Peter sucked in a breath of pain and curled up. Felicia seized the chance to break free and ran toward the edge of the roof, ready to jump.
"Trying to run?" Fighting through the intense pain, Peter raised his hand and shot a strand of webbing around her ankle, then yanked her back.
Felicia fell onto the roof, drew a dagger, and sliced through the webbing. She laughed sweetly. "This webbing must be pretty expensive, huh?"
"As long as you can pay for it." Peter stood up, and the two put some distance between them again.
Felicia struck first, her dagger tracing a silver arc. Peter easily sidestepped it, caught her wrist, and twisted her arm behind her back, wrapping his other arm around her waist.
"Felicia, you could do something more meaningful," Peter whispered in her ear.
"How is what I do meaningless?"
"Stealing isn't what good people do."
"Your definition of good and bad is too narrow, Spider. I only steal from people who deserve it."
"Like that little jewelry store?"
"That was a Mafia money-laundering front."
"What about that broker on Wall Street whose office you broke into?"
"He's a heartless swindler. You think he's clean?"
"So you're a modern-day Robin Hood?"
"No, I only said I steal from the rich. I never said I give to the poor." Felicia abruptly broke free of his hold and kicked him back. She ran to the edge, turned, and blew him a kiss. "See you next time, Spider."
Watching her disappear into the night, Peter rubbed his still-aching groin and pulled a USB drive from his pocket, the corners of his mouth rising.
During their close-quarters scuffle, he had helped himself to the USB drive in her waist pouch.
"Now we're even." He crushed the drive and casually tossed it down a drain.
Back at school, Peter found nothing more boring than history class.
He leafed listlessly through his textbook until his gaze suddenly stopped on an old photograph from World War II. In it, Captain America and a group of soldiers sat on a crate of bombs marked "Property of Hitler."
But Peter's attention was entirely on the man standing beside Captain America, a Canadian flag pin attached to his clothes.
A full beard, a cigar clenched between his teeth, and a wild look in his eyes.
Peter's gaze shifted down to the name printed beneath the photograph.
"James Howlett."
Peter's pupils contracted slightly. James Howlett, the real name of Wolverine, Logan.
Mutants really did exist in this world!
Countless thoughts flashed through his mind. If mutants exist, has Professor Charles's school been established? Has Magneto started operating openly?
No. Mutants were still hidden in the shadows, not even qualifying as an urban legend. If the world knew mutants existed, Spider-Man would have been classified as one long ago.
"Peter Parker!" The history teacher's voice interrupted his thoughts.
Peter looked up. "What is it?"
"Are you listening? Tell me, who led Hitler's scientific research division?"
"Red Skull," Peter blurted out. "He also renamed that division Hydra."
"Correct. But Red Skull was only his nickname. What was his real name?"
Peter paused, then asked, "His real name wasn't Red Skull?"
"That was only an alias. Of course he had a real name his parents gave him."
"But he chose the name 'Red Skull' himself." Peter leaned back in his chair, his voice calm but carrying a hint of defiance. "His parents might have expected him to be an angel, but he turned out to be a Jew-hating Nazi. Since he chose that path, his actions deserve to be associated only with the name he chose for himself. His name is, and always will be, Red Skull."
The entire class fell silent. The teacher sighed. "A very... unique perspective. Let's continue the lesson."
Peter turned his head and met Felicia Hardy's gaze.