While Peter was busy archiving animal DNA, halfway across the world in San Francisco, the Life Foundation headquarters was a hive of frantic activity.
The sirens in the high-security lab jolted Dr. Dora Skirth from her light sleep. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she saw an emergency transmission coming from the Drake rocket, currently high in orbit. She scrambled to answer.
The moment the line connected, a female astronaut's sobbing, panicked voice filled the room. "Help me! The Drake is completely out of control!"
Dora tried to calm her down, but as the story unfolded, her blood ran cold. One of the astronauts had accidentally shattered a containment unit holding an extraterrestrial lifeform. Now, that creature was on a killing spree.
Dora heard a sharp shatter over the comms—glass breaking—followed by a scream so gut-wrenching it made her skin crawl. Then, silence.
Dora fumbled for her phone and called Carlton Drake. Upon hearing the news, Drake didn't just turn red—he practically hit boiling point.
He rushed to the Launch Center, barking orders at Dora to organize a "containment and cleanup" team (code for silencers), while he calculated the rocket's trajectory.
The supercomputer finally spat out the coordinates: Eastern Malaysia.
Drake didn't hesitate. He prepped his private jet and summoned Mac Gargan and the others. If they wanted the "gift" he promised, they'd have to fly to a jungle to get it.
As the first light of dawn touched the horizon in New York, Peter finally finished scanning the zoo. Exhausted and ready to sleep until noon, he had just closed his eyes when his phone buzzed.
"Boss! It's happening!" Skye's voice was urgent. "The Drake rocket had an 'incident' in orbit. Its trajectory shifted. It's projected to crash-land in the wilds of Eastern Malaysia tomorrow night!"
"Monitor logs show Carlton Drake is already boarding a private jet to the site."
Peter's eyes snapped open. Sleep was a luxury; the symbiotes were a priority. "Great work, Skye. Keep me posted on any other movements."
He rolled out of bed, left a note for Uncle Ben and Aunt May claiming he was doing "field research for the Arbiter" and wouldn't be back for a few days, and then summoned his glider.
High above the clouds, the wind howled like a pack of wolves, the air sharp as knives. In the past, Peter would have had to grit his teeth and tank the friction with his raw durability.
Now? "Hurricane, Please~!"
The emerald magic circle swept over him. Unlike the Kamen Riders of the Showa or Reiwa eras, Wizard didn't have a transformation time limit.
The Driver was a magic converter; as long as the host had magic, the form stayed. And thanks to the Horse Talisman, Peter's cells were constantly regenerating energy. He didn't just have magic; he had an infinite battery.
He could fly ten laps around the globe and still be fresh.
Snap!
Peter snapped his fingers in Hurricane Style, creating a protective wind shield around him. The violent turbulence smoothed out instantly.
Instead of fighting the wind, he manipulated it to boost his glider's speed, adding another 300 km/h to his pace.
"Now that's comfort," Peter mused. He even dispelled his helmet, his hair barely moving behind the windbreak. He sat cross-legged on the glider, pulled out his phone, and enjoyed the ride.
Ten hours later, Peter touched down in Malaysia. A quick call to Skye confirmed Drake's jet was still an hour out and the rocket wouldn't drop for another three.
Peter took the opportunity to grab dinner in Kuala Lumpur, enjoying the local satay before heading to the crash site.
BOOM!
The sky turned a violent shade of orange as the rocket slammed into a clearing. The impact hollowed out a massive crater, and the wreckage immediately ignited into a towering inferno fed by leaked aviation fuel.
Ordinary humans would have been incinerated. Peter didn't even flinch.
"Flame, Please~!"
Clad in his crimson-gemmed armor, Peter strolled into the twisting heat. The flames, sensing their master, parted before him like the Red Sea. He walked through the molten metal until he found the cockpit.
Three astronauts were dead. The fourth was twitching on the ground, his limbs contorted at impossible angles.
The moment the survivor saw Peter, he lunged upward like a zombie from a horror movie. His jaw unhinged to an impossible degree, and a thick, writhing mass of jet-black slime shot out of his mouth, aiming straight for Peter's face.
In Peter's kinetic vision, the black mass moved in slow motion. He didn't dodge. Instead, he smiled and opened his arms wide to the interstellar visitor.
Come on, little guy. Let's see what you've got.
Venom:???Earthling, you're not right! Why are you standing there like you're waiting for a hug?!
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