Peter Parker, in his early twenties, has only carried the mantle for around six years, finds himself in a cat-and-mouse chase with an ever-encroaching serial killer who is seemingly targeting only the lowest of scum in the city-criminals. Even so, t...
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Peter's heart beat against his chest rapidly; he had been startled by a little critter nestled in his backpack. He stood in the middle of his room, half-naked with his clothes strewn about the bedroom. "how'd that get in there?" he joked.
The little critter to speak of was a tiny spider; it had leaped from his bag and landed somewhere on him. Needless to say, he was fortunate no one was home to hear him scream—or rather, squeal. The tussle with himself was a sight to behold, with it ending with him half naked and the spider nowhere in sight, largely due to his lack of vision since his glasses had been knocked away.
His family had been mostly out of the house, and Teresa should be home soon, but she had some tutoring after school. Uncle Ben was at the station, working. It's where he usually was in the evening, and Aunt May worked her job as a nurse at Feast.
"Gosh darn, I friggin' hate spider's man...." he said, picking up and putting his glasses back on. His blurry vision soon focused in, and he spotted the tiny spider in the corner of his vision. "Ew," he said, looking at it harder, "I should pick it up with a paper towel or something," reaching for his doorknob, he noticed a small bump on his right hand. He looked back toward the spider more suspiciously; Peter had written it off as a regular house spider, but upon a closer look, Peter noticed absolutely nothing. It was an utterly average-looking house spider.
Pondering whether to call 911, Peter thought back to the little bump. It didn't hurt. "No news was good news, right?" he thought, but just because it didn't hurt didn't mean it was totally harmless. Peter had settled on calling Aunt May. She had been an EMT and was now working as a nurse, so if anyone knew what to do, it would be her. She always preached safety stuff to both him and Teresa, but Peter was quite young to pay attention, let alone care. He went to get his phone from his bed.
Picking up the phone in his right hand, he immediately dropped it, a searing pain suddenly coursing throughout his entire body. The sharp pain stemmed from the bite; it felt like his skin was melting.
"Gahhhh—sh—ahh," he gasped for air; his vision was blurring even with his glasses on. This was followed by a churning sensation that sent all of the contents inside his stomach outward, almost as if it forcibly emptied itself. Peter began to phase in and out of conscience, his muscles spasming, extending and tightening down like a constant charlie horse but all over his body.
Peter's mind was wholly lucid; he could hear himself scream at the sheer pain, but it sounded muffled and distant. He was a spectator in his own body, watching from deep inside. Peter tried his hardest but couldn't manage to stay upright; he twisted his ankle trying to maintain his balance, ultimately losing it and slamming into his desk and passing out cold.
Later...
Teresa threw the front door open, plopping all her things onto the floor, clear exhaustion painted across her face. "Hughhh," She heaved; she pulled out her hair ties, her brown hair falling just above shoulder length. It is being cut short was more a personal decision.
