#012

I've been researching by myself—good old Google—looking for anything I could use to deal with fires.

And… well, the options aren't exactly encouraging.

I could go in raw (stupid).

I could rent a firefighter suit (heavy).

I could buy or make a suit out of Kevlar or something similar (expensive).

Or I could use asbestos.

Yeah. Asbestos. The thing that literally gives you cancer.

Great.

I'm a little reluctant to ask Peter for help now.

He was one of the few—maybe the only one—who genuinely cared about me through all of this.

I don't want to drag him deeper into this.

I don't want him worrying about me while I'm hunting Cletus.

Speaking of that...

I need a way to track Cletus.

I can't just sit around waiting for him to make another campfire out there in Queens.

Come on, brain… think. Anything.

When I first started the whole hero thing, I didn't—

Daredevil.

I never gave it much thought, but that mugger I stopped mentioned Daredevil.

If he could hear Cletus starting another arson and pinpoint it, I could finally have that son of a bitch in my hands.

Sure, it wouldn't exactly stop the fire itself, but it'd give me time—time to catch Cletus slipping away from the scene.

Wait...

How the hell am I gonna convince him to help me?

Well, Cletus is a public danger. That part should be easy enough.

Daredevil, my personal bloodhound. Heh.

Now...

Convincing him to let me kill Cletus?

That's gonna be tricky.

Huff.

It's not ideal.

It's fucked, actually.

But if it comes down to it... I'll have to blackmail him.

Threaten to reveal his identity if he doesn't play along.

Not that I ever would.

Not in a million years.

I respect him too much for that.

But respect won't stop the nightmares I've been having.

Won't stop the fire.

Won't stop him.

It's a major dick move. I'm honestly disappointed in myself for even thinking about it.

But killing Kasady?

It's worth it.

---

I appeared on the news—can you believe that?

And not just any news—J. Jonah Jameson himself presented it.

They plastered a blurry picture of me, in the good old Kick-Ass suit exiting the fire, all over the screens like I was the latest scandal nobody asked for.

Apparently, before Peter stepped in and smoothed things over, I was labeled as a menace—a real bad apple.

Some headlines were blatant about it and threw around "A Troublemaker in a Mask" others got a little more creative, blaming me and calling me "The Firestarter of Queens."

Real flattering stuff.

Of course, once it came out that I was a minor—and Peter publicly vouched for me, mentioning how we'd been actually helping people and those people testified too—everyone scrambled to cover their asses.

My lovely "menace" title got replaced with softer, sugar-coated headlines like "Young Everyday Hero Helps in Fire" or "Boy Wonder Saves Lives."

Funny how fast the narrative changes when a PR disaster is looming.

Also, curiously enough, the name Kick-Ass was never mentioned.

Maybe they thought it was too vulgar for daytime TV?

Or maybe someone at the station thought calling a kid Kick-Ass on live air would set off the FCC.

They called me Boy Wonder, Young Vigilante, things like that—which honestly was embarrassing to hear.

Still, hearing J.J.J. trying to spin it around was comedy gold.

At one point, he practically choked trying to stay angry while also not looking like a complete jackass.

"Sure, I said he's reckless... but also... uh... Courageous too, right? Look, folks—my words were taken out of context!" he barked, jabbing a finger at the camera like it owed him money. "I didn't say he's a menace! I was simply asking the real question here—who let a child fight crime in the first place?! Huh?! Where are the parents?! Where's the outrage?! Maybe—" he slammed his hand on the desk, making the mic rattle "—maybe we should stop worrying about distorting my words and start worrying about the crumbling state of parenthood in our society!"

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion—you didn't want to look, but you couldn't look away either.

Honestly, at this point, he could slip on a banana peel and he'd still find a way to blame the sun.

---

Friday.

Today's the Oscorp field trip.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't nervous.

No—nervous doesn't even begin to cover it.

It felt like my bones are rattling under my skin.

Norman Osborn's house of horrors.

The birthplace of Spider-Man.

If things go the way they're supposed to...

Let Peter get bit or not—that's the real question, isn't it?

You wanna know something I definitely didn't miss?

School buses.

And now, it was even worse, because I was the most popular guy in school.

Every seat I passed had someone waving, nodding, or pretending they were my best friend.

It was mad annoying.

I sat down next to Peter and practically glued myself to the window, praying no one else got any ideas.

Of course, that didn't stop them from staring or trying to start a conversation.

At some point, Elizabeth Allan—yeah, that Liz, Peter's long-time crush—actually slid into the seat across the aisle, leaning in and flashing a bright smile.

"Hey, Wade" she said, all sunshine. "We're all super proud of you. What you did was... really brave." She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

Peter stiffened next to me like he'd just swallowed a fork.

I just offered a small, forced smile. "Uh, thanks. Just doing what anyone else would've done."

Another cheerleader—can't remember her name, probably another Ashley or Brittany—leaned over Liz's shoulder, giggling.

"You know, if you ever want some company... like, tutoring or something" she said, twirling her hair like we were in a cheesy rom-com, "you can always text me."

Peter looked like he was about to pass out, stealing glances at Liz every few seconds like he couldn't help himself.

I just gave a tight nod, muttered something noncommittal like "I'll keep that in mind... thanks" and leaned against the window, using my hand as a makeshift pillow.

I drifted off for the rest of the ride, letting the engine's hum and the chatter around me blur into background noise.

Meanwhile, Peter kept fidgeting in his seat, like he wanted to say something but couldn't find the guts.

At one point, I heard him murmuring to himself an "oh my God" whenever Liz laughed at the gossip she and the other girl talked about.

Poor bastard.

---

We finally arrived.

We stepped off the bus in a disorganized line, half the students buzzing with excitement, the other half dead-eyed and running on fumes.

I stretched my limbs and looked up at the building towering over us.

A big-ass tower, curled up on itself, with Oscorp Industries stamped across the side in giant gray letters, like it was challenging you not to be impressed.

Green-tinted windows gleamed under the sun, giving the whole place a weird, sickly vibe — like it was trying way too hard to look clean.

I already hated it.

A guide was waiting for us at the entrance, rattling off all the usual safety regulations—no touching, no ingesting, no breathing too hard near the equipment, that kind of stuff.

Not that we needed him. Peter was already filling that role pretty well, explaining everything to anyone who would listen.

I don't know why, but he seemed way more excited than anyone else about this.

Dude, haven't you been here a million times already?

Maybe he just wanted to share his interests with the class... And not just be my shadow.

I did what any good friend would do: Try paying attention, nod along whenever something sounded familiar, and tell him how amazing it all was.

It worked better than expected. Some of the others actually started listening too—some genuinely interested, others (like Liz) were more interested in trying to chat with me.

Peter pointed excitedly at a glass case with some weird mechanical arms inside.

"You see that?" he said, practically vibrating. "Those are prototype exoskeleton manipulators—Oscorp's trying to make them strong enough for industrial construction!"

I squinted at the metal arms and nodded solemnly.

"Wow, man. That's... really something," I said, pretending I hadn't just completely zoned out halfway through his explanation.

I mean, robot arms are cool—no argument there—but how are they made? How do they work? I couldn't care less.

The other nerds in the class nodded and chimed in with their own praises, genuinely impressed by Peter's rambling.

Even Liz leaned in, smiling warmly as she said

"That's really cool, Petey."

Peter lit up like a damn Christmas tree at that, practically glowing under all the attention.

Good for him.

---

Finally, the main attraction. Oscorp's genetic therapy, mixing DNA from other animals—lizards, hydras, you name it.

And then, there he was. Norman Osborn, the man himself, standing in front of the crowd, multiple cameras surrounding the stage, looking like a corporate king about to give a presentation.

Elegant as ever, dressed in a dark green suit, and a neatly folded purple handkerchief tucked into his chest pocket—because of course he would color coordinate with the company colors and the Green Goblin.

He didn't look like Willem Dafoe, though—just Norman Osborn. Sharp orange hair slicked back, streaked with the first hints of gray. A few deep lines etched into his face—the kind that spoke of years of sleepless nights, power struggles, and far too much responsibility for one man to carry without going a little mad.

He carried himself like he owned the room.

Because well... he did.

He was flanked by a few scientists of varying ages, but there was one girl who immediately stood out. Golden blonde hair, thick red-rimmed glasses, and a black headband keeping her long hair neatly pulled back. Her sky-blue eyes were soft but focused—like she was taking in everything at once. She wore the lab coat like it was part of her skin, natural, not forced like some of the others.

When our class shuffled in, she gave a small, shy wave toward Peter. Friendly. Familiar.

Oh.

Oh, okay. Parker's luck is already kicking in?

I nudged Peter in the ribs, leaning in.

"Who's the girl?" I asked with a smirk, like I hadn't just clocked the entire interaction.

Peter turned and nudged me back, then lifted a hand to wave at her.

"Gwen Stacy" he said, his voice going just a little softer. "She was one of my partners during the internship with Dr. Connors."

Gwen Stacy...

If she's here, that means there's a probability of Peter turning into a lizard, right? It could actually be me just being paranoid, but it's better to be ready than to sob later.

---

Norman Osborn finally took center stage.

He stepped up to the mic, flashing a tight, rehearsed smile.

"Ladies and gentlemen, future promises of tomorrow" he began, voice smooth as glass. "Welcome to Oscorp Industries."

He moved across the stage with slow, deliberate steps, like some high-priced motivational speaker, hands folded neatly behind his back.

"At Oscorp, we believe limits are not walls, but invitations" he said, voice rising slightly with each word. "Today, you're witnessing history in the making—advances in genetic therapy that will change the world as we know it. Healing the sick... restoring the broken... improving life for every man, woman, and child on this planet."

"Behind me stand some of the brightest minds of our generation" he continued, turning slightly to acknowledge the line of scientists. "Researchers, engineers... visionaries. Men and women who refuse to accept 'impossible' as an answer. And yes-" his sharp gaze landed directly on Peter "-even the young minds—like Mr. Parker here—are already making waves."

Peter visibly tensed, shrinking slightly as everyone glanced his way.

You want the attention or not, dude?

Behind Norman, the slideshow clicked forward, showing time-lapse footage of a rat's severed limb slowly regenerating on loop, fascinating if you ignore the twitchings in the rat's new arm afterwards.

"Today you see a glimpse—" Norman said, his voice softening into something almost tender, almost fatherly, "—of what tomorrow could look like. In the words of our Chief Scientist, Dr. Curt Connors: 'Imagine a world without disease, without disability... without weakness'."

He paused, letting the idea settle over the room like a heavy blanket, before flashing a smile—Teeth, just a little too sharp behind the charm.

"At Oscorp, we don't just dream. We build the future."

"At Oscorp... we don't wait for miracles. We create them."

The lights dimmed slightly as the next round of videos began: a series of animals recovering from brutal injuries in mere days, all accompanied by triumphant orchestral music blaring from the speakers.

I shifted uneasily.

Yeah... real heartwarming stuff.

Like something out of a horror movie crossed with a miracle ad.

The class was fascinated, jaws hanging open.

And yeah... even I had to admit it was impressive.

If you ignored the creepy undertones, anyway.

---

After the presentation, they let us roam around the building, mostly free, herding us from one shiny display to another. Each exhibit showed off some Oscorp creations or "future project" that was supposed to revolutionize the world.

I didn't care much. My eyes were locked on Peter and Gwen.

Keeping an eye on them both was exhausting, though, so eventually, I decided to just drag Peter along with me toward the exhibit Gwen was explaining.

Not gonna lie, I felt a little guilty when I saw how nervous Gwen got.

Gwen gave a small, nervous smile as Peter and I approached. She adjusted her glasses with one hand, the other gripping the edge of the table like it was the only thing keeping her grounded.

"Hey, Peter" she said, her voice a little shaky but still warm. "I, uh... I'm just going over the genetic splicing protocols for limb regeneration. N-not that you don't already know all that stuff... I mean, you probably know it better than I do..."

She let out a nervous laugh, tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her eyes darting between Peter and me like she was trying to figure out how to handle both of us.

"And... um, hi" she added, her gaze briefly meeting mine, not really interested in socializing with me.

She kept wringing her hands behind the table, looking like she was about to make some big announcement or testify in front of a judge.

Poor thing. Way shyer than I expected—guess it makes sense since she's still pretty young.

Still, it was for the best to make sure no radioactive spiders decided to chomp down on her too.

I leaned closer to Peter, smirking and muttering under my breath as another batch of classmates crowded around the table.

"Is she always like that around you?"

Peter blinked, genuinely confused.

"Huh? I dunno. Never really paid attention."

I gave him a deadpan look, complete with a slow side-eye.

I should shove him into a locker for that.

---

While that beautiful trainwreck of an interaction was happening, something caught my attention from the corner of my eye—

A security guard approached Norman, leaning in close to murmur something in his ear.

Norman's whole posture changed in a heartbeat.

From king of the world to silent panic.

He nodded sharply, muttered something to the guard, and turned away from the crowd, his shoulders stiff.

That's... worrying.

But I couldn't let myself get distracted—SHIT.

I spotted it—a faint, glinting thread of spider silk drifting down—right towards Peter's neck.

My instincts kicked in.

I moved without thinking, slapping Peter's shoulder hard as I passed.

He flinched, giving me a confused look, but I barely registered it.

My hand closed around the thread—

a second too late.

It bit Peter.

And it bit me too.

A sharp, burning sting shot up my wrist so fast it made me curse under my breath.

Reflex took over—

I crushed the spider in my palm, grimacing at the sick, wet crunch.

There goes the plan.

"Ow—" Peter blinked at me, rubbing the back of his neck. "Dude, what was that for?"

I forced a grin, swallowing down the rising nausea.

"Sorry, man. Thought I saw a wasp. You're welcome."

He shrugged it off, already drifting back into his conversation with Gwen.

Meanwhile, I jammed my burning hand deep into my hoodie pocket, heart hammering against my ribs.

Something hot and sticky was dripping from in-between my fingers.

I risked a peek inside—

Blood.

I looked at Peter. At the back of his neck.

He seemed fine.

Just... confused, rubbing the back of his neck where the spider had bitten him.

Just a tiny red mark.

Like a mosquito bite.

The world started to spin.

I stumbled, nearly knocking over a table, and slammed my palm down in front of Gwen and Peter—

startling them.

Startling everyone nearby.

Peter leaned forward, gripping my shoulder, panic flashing across his face.

"Wade! What happened?! Are you okay!?"

Gwen flinched like I've fired a gun, eyes wide, frantically trying to see if I was hurt.

I yanked my hand out of my pocket—

and it was worse than I thought.

The skin had turned a sickly, furious red, while around the bite, black veins spiderwebbed outward, poison tearing through me.

No.

No no no—NO!

Don't tell me it's like Ruins.

Not like this.

Not like this!

My mind raced—

Cletus.

Cletus Kasady.

He can't go unpunished.

Please.

I slammed my fist onto the table—a desperate, furious blow.

The shock rattled through the table.

Peter and Gwen both cried out, scrambling back, yelling for help—

but their voices already sounded distant, swallowed by the fire raging inside me.

My nostrils.

My ears.

My eyes.

Bleeding.

The blood wasn't just leaking—

it was pouring.

Vivid. Wrong.

Like something inside me was rotting its way out.

Everything turned red, like the edges of the world were being ripped apart.

The floor tilted.

The walls caved in.

I staggered back, clutching the table like it was the only thing holding me to this reality.

Then—

I collapsed.

Knees buckling.

Face slamming into the cold tiles.

Blood smeared across the floor as I hit.

The pain kept burning.

Eating.

Twisting.

It felt like my entire body was trying to tear itself apart.

And then—

Darkness.

---

[System Rebooting…]

> Analyzing Fatal Event...

Cause of Death: Incompatibility with Radioactive Spider Venom. Rejected by S҉p҉i҉d҉e҉r҉ T҉o҉t҉e҉m҉.

Total Fear Endured: moderate

Physical Trauma: Severe

Emotional Stress: Severe

Karma Accumulated: +32

People Saved: 0

Villains Defeated: 0

> Evaluating User Intent...

Moral Alignment: Altruistic

Desired Path: Hero

Plan Selected: "Hunting the Flame"

> Syncing Parameters…

[Hunter Starter Pack Granted]

– Acrobatic Skill (Basic)

– Stealth Skill (Basic)

– Tracking Skill (Basic)

[Firefighter Starter Pack Granted]

– Fire Resistance (Slight)

– Heat Resistance (Slight)

– Lung Capacity Boost

> Rewinding Local Timeframe…

Reinserted into Timeline – Friday afternoon.

> Welcome back, Warren Wade.

> Your intentions were noble.

> Try again. Keep being a good friend.

---

The world warped.

One moment, I was bleeding out on the tiles, my vision swimming in red—the next.

I was standing again. Same room. Same people.

But everything was wrong.

I was wrong.

There was a buzzing under my skin, like static clinging to every nerve ending.

I felt tired—not sleepy tired, but bone-deep, like I had trained my whole body until it ripped apart. Without me even knowing it.

And my mind—

My mind remembered things I hadn't done.

Months of knowledge jammed into my psyche, rammed into my skull like someone smashing puzzle pieces where they didn't fit.

Techniques, instincts—

I could feel it.

I could smell it.

I stumbled forward, catching myself on the table. My legs knew how to move, but they felt like strangers.

Every breath felt sharp, clean, too big for my lungs. Like I'd been breathing through a straw my whole life and only now realized what real air felt like.

Panicking, I yanked up my sleeve and checked my palm—

Nothing.

No bite.

No blood.

Just clean, unbroken skin.

I blinked, disoriented.

A second ago, I was dying.

Now I was... back.

Like somebody hit rewind—but only for me.

So I did die.

No way around it.

But then—

Why am I here?

Why this moment?

Last time, after the truck ran me over—I woke up in my bed.

Fresh. Reset.

Like it never happened.

What changed?

What were the conditions?

Was it because I didn't finish something?

I gritted my teeth, trying to piece it together.

Dying. Reset. Why? How?

Dying was like waking up after dreaming of drowning—but part of you still remembered the feeling of the water filling your lungs.

I could still taste death in my mouth, like a bad memory stuck to the roof of my brain.

And yet...

I felt sharper. Faster.

Something had changed. Again.

I staggered again, stumbling towards the nearest door.

Everyone was staring at me now.

Peter, Gwen, random classmates—

like I was some wounded animal.

Peter rushed up beside me, grabbing my shoulder.

"Warren! Dude, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Liz hovered close too. "Should we call someone? Your parents?"

Voices buzzed around me, pressing in.

I barely processed them.

I forced a shaky nod.

"M'fine, k? Just...dizzy" I muttered.

Peter didn't look convinced.

"Man, you're not fine. You look like you're about to fall over."

I managed a lopsided grin that probably looked more like a grimace.

I jerked my head toward the door.

"Outside. Fresh air. Good for the brain and all that"

They hesitated, still crowding me with worried looks.

"I'm fine, seriously" I said, waving them off. "Not dying. Probably."

I shoved the door open and stumbled out into the hallway, the cooler air hitting me like a slap. I half-collapsed onto the stairs, sitting heavily and dragging in deep, shaky breaths. My head was pounding. My skin still felt like it was buzzing under the surface.

Peter and the rest followed a few steps behind, hovering awkwardly.

"You sure you're okay, Wade?" Peter asked, crouching down next to me.

"You look pale" Gwen said, biting her lip. "Like, seriously pale. Are you dizzy? Nauseous? Chest pain?"

I tried to wave her off with a half-hearted smirk.

"Thanks for the diagnosis, Dr. Stacy" I muttered, pressing the heel of my palm against my forehead. "Yeah... feel like I'm gonna puke up a lung. Anyone got water?"

"I got water!" one of Flash's buddies—Kenny, I think—piped up, jogging over like he was about to earn a medal for it.

He shoved a plastic bottle into my hand. I cracked it open and chugged half of it right away, most of it spilling down my chin.

"Whoa, dude, slow down" Kenny said, backing off a little.

Peter crouched next to me, frowning.

"You should go home, Wade. Seriously. You don't look good."

"Yeh" I croaked, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. "That's... probably a smart idea."

Peter stood, glancing over his shoulder toward the rest of the class. "I'll tell the teacher you had, uh, food poisoning or something."

"Appreciated..." I mumbled, fishing my cracked old phone out of my hoodie pocket and shoving it into his hand. "Call me an Uber, will ya? Password's... 'password'."

Peter snorted but nodded, already tapping away.

"Text us when you get home, okay? Promise."

I gave a shaky thumbs-up.

"For sure."

He didn't look convinced, but let me go anyway.

They watched as I stumbled down the sidewalk, getting into the Uber.

---

The Uber ride was a blur.

I thanked the driver with a weak nod, practically tumbling out of the backseat.

My legs wobbled at first, but I caught myself before I could faceplant on the sidewalk.

More stable now. Still aching everywhere. Still buzzing.

I fumbled with the keys, cursing under my breath when I dropped them, then finally managed to get the front door open.

The house was dark and quiet. As usual.

I practically kicked the door shut behind me and didn't even bother with the lights.

Just stumbled through the familiar layout, stripping off my hoodie and tossing it onto the couch.

My backpack—and me—followed with a heavy thump, collapsing onto the pillows face-first.

For a second, I just lay there, breathing hard.

Not struggling. Just... Better?

Like my lungs had leveled up or something.

I rolled onto my back and stared blankly at the ceiling, eyes half-lidded.

And then, without even realizing it, I fell asleep.

_______________________________________

Word count: 4.083