It was noon, and Spiderman, having finished his daily patrol, arrived at lunchtime.
"Achoo!"
A loud sneeze echoed in a pizza parlor in Midtown Manhattan, nearly shaking a faded Yankees photo off the wall.
Peter rubbed his nose and gave an embarrassed smile to his surroundings; the restaurant was bustling at lunchtime, and no one particularly noticed the young man in the corner with somewhat disheveled hair—except for the sharp waitress.
"Seriously, Peter, how many times this week? Sounds like your immune system is fighting a tough battle and is about to lose."
Liz Allan walked over, carrying a steaming hot pizza fresh from the oven, and skillfully placed it in front of him.
She wore a slightly oversized waitress uniform, yet it couldn't hide her natural curves and beauty. She was once the center of attention in school, and now she was working in this job, waiting for a broader stage.
"Thanks, Liz. Maybe it's just recently… uh… maybe an allergy?" Peter sniffled, trying to find a decent excuse.
But the next second, the irresistible aroma of the pizza—a rich blend of baked cheese, spicy pepperoni, and fresh basil—hit his senses like a punch.
His stomach immediately let out a loud, almost mournful rumble, betraying his attempt to maintain composure.
"Wow!" Peter's eyes lit up, instantly forgetting the unsatisfactory sneeze from earlier. "This smells amazing, it's like a party for the taste buds."
Liz shook her head with a smile. "Enjoy your 'party,' Parker, and don't forget, if you catch a cold, remember that drinking more hot water might help."
She patted Peter's shoulder, then picked up the empty tray and lightly turned to merge into the noisy crowd of the restaurant, heading towards the kitchen.
Peter eagerly picked up a slice of pizza, the long cheese pull forming a perfect bridge. He took a big bite and sighed contentedly.
In this moment, he was just an ordinary young man enjoying a simple delicious meal, not the friendly neighborhood spiderman who had to swing through skyscrapers and bear the creed of "with great power comes great responsibility."
Tens of thousands of feet above the clouds off the coast of New York, a colossal Helicarrier, like a silent Leviathan, sailed through the sky. This was S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mobile fortress and the command center for its Director, Nick Fury.
Fury had just slammed down the encrypted communicator terminal, ending a highly unpleasant call. The name "Dr. Zander Rice" slowly faded on the communication screen.
"Motherf—" He cursed under his breath, biting back the last word, his single eye burning with anger and deep frustration.
"Mutants again. Every time I hear that word, my migraine gets a level worse." His thick fingers rubbed his temples forcefully, as if trying to squeeze out the annoying pain.
He rose from the ergonomic, expensive leather chair and walked with steady steps to the large, curved floor-to-ceiling window of his office.
Looking up outside the window, there was no longer an endless blue sky, but a deep, star-studded cosmic curtain, as if the curved edge of Earth below emitted a tranquil blue glow. Yet, this magnificent sight could not calm the storm within him in the slightest.
"Spiderman… Peter Parker… a mutant?" He whispered to the cold, reinforced glass, his voice filled with incredulous annoyance.
"Does that arrogant genius Tony Stark have nothing else in his head besides his suit and catchy ad slogans? Always shooting first and then dumping the mess on me, as if I, the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., was born to clean up after these vigilantes!"
He complained indignantly. Peter Parker was a young man he personally noticed and put on the Avengers' reserve list; he admired the kid's talent and his heart of gold.
But now, this suspicion from high-ranking officials and "experts" was like a cancerous tumor that could destroy everything.
In the current U.S., the mutant issue was as sensitive as a ticking time bomb. Politicians either openly hated and feared them, or only wanted to strap them to an operating table for dissection and research.
A publicly active superhero who is a mutant? This was akin to playing with fire on a powder keg. Those old men in Congress and scientific fanatics like Rice and Trask would never stand idly by.
But Fury was not one to believe a single side of the story. He needed the truth, he needed facts, and he needed a pair of eyes he trusted most to confirm it.
"I hope that old man Rice got it wrong," he muttered, his brow furrowed. "Otherwise, the war between mutants and humans that I fear… might come much sooner than predicted."
He turned and strode back to his desk, his fingers decisively pressing a button on the communication panel. "Connect me to Agent Romanoff. Have her come to my office immediately."
Without much waiting, the titanium alloy door of the office slid open almost silently, and Natasha Romanoff—Black Widow—walked in.
She wore her signature black tactical suit, perfectly outlining her agile and deadly figure, her fiery red hair like cooled lava. Her steps were silent, and her green eyes were calm and sharp, instantly scanning the entire room, assessing everything.
"Director. You called for me?" Her voice was steady, devoid of extra emotion.
"Agent Romanoff, sit." Fury gestured to the chair opposite, his face habitually stern. He didn't speak immediately, just tapped his knuckles rhythmically on the desk, as if weighing his words.
Then, he leaned over and opened a biometric-locked safe under his desk, retrieving a slightly aged paper file marked "TOP SECRET."
"This is a file that has been sealed for over twenty years," he pushed the file towards Natasha, his tone heavy. "Your next mission is related to it. Take a look first."
Natasha took the file and deftly broke the seal. Pulling out the documents, two names on the first page caught her eye: Richard Parker & Mary Parker.
Her gaze quickly scanned the summary below:
[Richard Parker — S.H.I.E.L.D. Level 7 Agent, brilliant geneticist, specializing in interspecies gene fusion technology...]
[Mary Parker — S.H.I.E.L.D. Level 6 Agent, intelligence analysis expert...]
[Cause of Death: Officially recorded as plane crash (Note: Highly suspected of being linked to HYDRA subordinate units, or to Red Skull's residual plans. Investigation suspended in 1995)]
As Natasha read, Fury's low voice spoke again: "Natasha, you are one of the top Agents in S.H.I.E.L.D., which is why I chose you. Your primary mission is to ascertain whether Spiderman, Peter Parker, is a mutant.
Secondly, if possible, without exposing yourself, investigate his residence to see if his parents left behind… anything unusual."
Hearing "Spiderman" and "Mutant" linked together, Natasha's neatly trimmed eyebrows subtly twitched, but her expression remained unperturbed.
She asked no questions, simply ingrained all the information in her mind, then neatly closed the file. "Understood, Director."
"And one more thing." Fury added, a rare, almost paternal softness flashing in his single eye. "Try not to disturb the kid's life; he's still a student. And… if, and I mean if, he runs into any trouble during your investigation, look out for him within your capabilities."
"Understood." Natasha stood up, without any unnecessary words, and turned to leave the office. Her heels clicked a decisive rhythm on the floor. She needed to prepare her gear immediately and head to Queens, New York, as quickly as possible.
Watching Natasha's disappearing back, Fury picked up the file and, uncharacteristically, sighed. His low voice was exceptionally clear in the empty office.
"This is what we owe you, Richard, Mary… I hope your spirits in heaven can bless that kid to just be a normal kid bitten by a spider."
He re-locked the file in the safe. But he knew in his heart that the possibility existed.
X-gene mutations could sometimes be triggered during adolescence, and although such natural mutations had become extremely rare since the popularization of transgenic technology, they were not extinct.
If Peter truly was… then the radicals led by Rice, Trask's Sentinel robot project, and those fearful politicians in the White House… none of them would let him go.
Especially if that rumor about Richard's research from years ago was true… then New York City's friendly neighborhood Spiderman might become the most potential and uncontrollable threat to humanity on this Planet.
Meanwhile, Peter patted his stomach contentedly. "Ah, feeling full is the real superpower."
After paying, he slipped into a dark alley, quickly shed his jacket, revealing the red and blue Spider-suit beneath.
There was still some time before his afternoon shift, enough for him to patrol a few rounds and see if the city still had any places that needed its friendly neighbor.
On a sidewalk in front of a subway exit, the crowd was bustling, a mix of complaints and honking horns.
"Hey! Hey! Watch where you're going, okay? Please don't bump into me!" An anxious voice struggled in the crowd. It was a dark-skinned man with pathetically thinning hair on his forehead, clumsily trying to protect a large, precarious roll of engineering blueprints in his arms. The surrounding human tide was relentless, and no one heeded his pleas.
Tragedy struck instantly. A burly mover stepped back, colliding squarely with him. "Oh! No!"
The blueprint scrolls scattered like falling flowers, strewing across the ground.
"My drawings! Can anyone… help me?" The man frantically half-knelt on the ground, trying to collect the important and fragile documents. The words "I need help" were practically written on his face.
Just then, a hand in a red glove reached out, deftly picking up a few drawings and skillfully rolling them up. "Here you go, be careful, Mr. Dylan."
Max Dillon looked up in surprise, and his eyes widened instantly after seeing who was helping him through his thick glasses.
Squatting in front of him was none other than Spiderman!
The texture of the suit, the iconic goggles… absolutely no mistake!
"Sp-Spiderman? Is it really you?" he stammered, almost unable to believe it.
"Hey, Max, glad you recognized me right away, but there's no prize for it," Spiderman's voice came through the mask, with a reassuringly friendly tone.
He tucked the rolled-up blueprints back into Max's arms and patted his shoulder. "But you'd better get out of here quickly; there are too many people here, and it's not very safe for you or your blueprints."
Max frantically clutched his recovered blueprints, excited beyond words: "You… you know me? You're… you're a big hero! I… I'm just… from Oscorp…"
"Of course I know you, Max Dillon," Spiderman's tone was firm and sincere. "An electrical engineer who keeps all of New York City shining at night, that's not something just anyone can do. You're a hero behind the scenes."
He paused, as if thinking, then said casually, "And, Max? That's a cool name. It reminds me of an old movie I watched—Ultraman Max, who was a hero who brought light to everyone. See, you have the same name, and you do the same thing—you bring light to this city, you're the same kind of person."
"R-really?" Max's voice trembled. The fatigue and numbness from long nights of work seemed to be shattered by these words, and a faint but real spark ignited in his cloudy eyes. "Can I… can I be a hero too?"
"Without a doubt, my friend." Spiderman's tone was incredibly firm. He even reached out and helped the disheveled engineer straighten his crooked collar. "You're doing a hero's job every day, silently."
For the first time in his life, receiving such affirmation, especially from the hero he admired, Max felt a warm current wash away all gloom and fatigue, as if his whole body was filled with new energy.
"Seriously," Spiderman stood up, preparing to leave, and added finally, "You should trim your beard sometime. Superheroes need to pay attention to their image, right?"
At this, he paused, seemingly hesitant, but still added, his tone a little more serious: "Max, listen… if you need to work on main cables or anything like that later, please be extra careful. Especially… stay away from the electric eel tank, okay? I read an article that said the electricity those guys put out is enough to knock out a bull."
With that, Spiderman raised his hand, shot a web, and gracefully swung away, disappearing between the buildings.
Max stood rooted to the spot, clutching his blueprints tightly, gazing in the direction Spiderman had disappeared, his heart long unable to calm down.
A warm current of being seen and acknowledged surged within him.
"Hey, Max, did you hear that?" he whispered to himself, a rare, unfamiliar smile curving his lips. "You're not a nobody. Spiderman knows your name… he said… you can be a hero too."
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