The screech of tires braking on asphalt, a blinding flash, the sound of shattering glass, immense pain—his body lying on a cold, hard surface was the last thing he remembered before everything went silent. The greatest silence he had ever known, heavy and utterly agonizing.
In a house in the suburbs of Queens, in a room barely touched by sunlight thanks to the blinds, lay a teenager with shoulder-length dark brown hair, pale white skin, and a slim yet toned body, seemingly sleeping peacefully in his bed.
beepbeepbeep
The alarm clock began to ring, breaking the room's peace, and at the sound, the teenager slowly opened his eyes, blinking as he tried to adjust his blurred vision.He was staring at the ceiling, at its smooth, white surface."Where am I?" were the only words that escaped his mouth as his senses gradually sharpened, allowing him to truly take in the room he was in.
And upon seeing it, he could only think it was a teenager's room—comics scattered across a desk on the other side of the room, action figures placed on top of a wardrobe next to the door, posters of women in bikinis taped to the walls, and a rack holding four skateboards.
"What the hell?" the words slipped from his mouth, and instantly he brought his hand to his throat."And this voice?" he muttered, hearing the words that had come out of his mouth. Even though he knew he had said them, something about them felt wrong. They sounded higher-pitched, younger—and it was at that moment that his heart began to beat faster.
He got up from the bed, feeling sweat covering his body, and began inspecting himself for abnormalities, noticing nothing—until:
"Since when do I have a tattoo?" he said, now fully alarmed, seeing on his left side a completely black eight-legged spider with a white number 4 at the base of its body. No matter how much he tried to wipe it away, it wouldn't disappear."What the hell is happening here?"
As if those words were a signal, the teenager began pacing in circles, desperately looking for one thing.A mirror—which he soon found hanging on the wall.
The moment he saw himself, he froze. The face staring back at him was nothing like the one he was supposed to have. Brown hair, boyish features, and big blue eyes.
"This can't be real," were the only words the boy managed to say before collapsing to his knees, holding his head.
Information—too much information—was flooding his mind, all of it disorganized. Memories from the body began to surface. Every image, every word, every smell and taste that had been recorded in its memory was now being downloaded into his mind all at once. It was excruciatingly painful.
But through the pain, he caught glimpses—his parents were dead, he and his siblings had been raised by their aunt and uncle since he was a baby, he was on scholarship at a school called Midtown High. Names began to surface: Ben, May, Kaine, Benny, Teresa, Gwen, Harry, Flash, Liz, Michelle, Mary Jane… and finally, his own name.
"Peter Parker," Peter said between ragged breaths, the unbearable headache now reduced to a light migraine, until it finally faded completely."I'm fucking Spider-Man."
Those were the only words that left his mouth as he felt a wave of emotions—confusion over the situation, mixed with the thrill of being one of the world's most famous superheroes. But that excitement was abruptly cut short when, without warning, his door slammed open, causing Peter to fall back onto his butt.
Standing behind it was a young adult, dressed in a police patrol uniform. He was taller than Peter, more muscular, with the same blue eyes and hair shaved at the sides, the top combed back. His expression conveyed only one emotion.
As if by instinct, the man's name immediately popped into Peter's mind, along with several related memories: Kaine Parker, his older brother.
"Turn that shit off already, will you? I pulled a double shift, and if I don't sleep right now, I'm going to get violent," Kaine said with irritation in his voice, staring at Peter, who was still on the floor. The sight struck him as odd, but he dismissed it quickly—exhaustion weighed heavier than curiosity.
beepbeepbeep
Peter turned and realized that throughout his entire crisis, he had never turned off the alarm—it had been ringing the whole time.
"Didn't you hear me, runt? Turn that damn thing off already!" Kaine shouted, raising his voice and snapping Peter out of his thoughts. Peter quickly stood and turned off the alarm.
"Sorry, I just…"
"Don't care," Kaine cut him off, shutting the door as he left.
Peter just stood there, staring at the door as he processed the interaction he had just had, and only one question formed in his mind:
"Since when does Spider-Man have brothers?" he asked aloud, completely lost in the situation—for the third time in less than fifteen minutes. And the day had only just begun.
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