Peter awakens from his sleep to his parents' shrill screams, as he does every night. The young boy shields his ears with his pillow, trying to block out the usual arguing. They do this every night. It will be over soon. It always is.

Young Peter can hear their words even through his wall. They're arguing about money, about dinner, about Peter, about the dog. They're arguing about Mr. Parker's alcoholism. He always gets so angry when he's been drinking.

Peter hears a loud thud as his mother's head slams into the other side of the wall. He turns and looks out his window and stares at the falling raindrops as they plunge to the ground and shatter into a million glass balls. Peter thinks that it looks like Daddy's beer bottle when he slams it on the table. Lightning crashes and it's like the noise the bottle makes.

"Mommy," Peter whispers fearfully under his breath. He hops out of his sheets and off his bed, his cold feet landing soundlessly on the carpeted floor. He slowly makes his way to his bedroom door and cautiously turns the knob. He opens the wooden door with a slow creak and steps out into the dark hallway.

"Mommy, I'm scared of the thunder," Peter says, lowering his head to his shoulder and closing his eyes.

His mother is overrun by the shock of seeing him out of bed and quickly moves her hand to cover the hideous bruise forming under her eye.

"Peter, go back to bed," she says quickly, trying to catch her breath. She runs her fingers along the side of the wall trying to get back on her feet. "Mommy will come and tuck you in again in a minute." Her husband pushes her head back to the ground.

"Mommy, is daddy hurting you again?" Peter asks quietly, tucking his hands behind his back. Before he gets an answer, his father's large hand swipes behind his back and strikes the young boy's face.

"Daddy!" The boy falls to the floor. Daddy hits his poor wife again.

Peter's Daddy is a bad man. He never lets Peter be happy and play. He's only nine years old. Why can't he play? Peter is always doing something wrong and is always punished. Mommy is too. Sometimes when he's drunk, Peter's Daddy touches Peter in ways Mommy says are wrong. It's bad, she says. But sometimes, Peter likes it when his daddy touches him. And that makes Peter feel even worse. He hates to disappoint his mother.

But Peter hates it when Daddy hits him and his Mommy. It hurts. Daddy should have to hurt too.

As Daddy punches Mommy again, she claws at his naked chest, ripping his skin. Peter looks at his eyes and they're filled with evil and hate and anger. He slams his big fist into the side of her head, knocking her to the ground like a pile of bricks. Mommy's not moving anymore. But Daddy still hits her.

"Daddy, stop! You're hurting my mommy!!"

"Shut up."

"STOP IT!"

Peter runs to his father's side of the bed and reaches under the mattress, biting his lip as he searches.

"Daddy. Stop," Peter says again, tears falling like the raindrops outside.

His father turns around quickly and raises his blood-drenched fist. "WHAT DID I S--?!" Mr. Parker's face turns white like Mommy's and his expression drops as he stares into the barrel of a shotgun.

"I told you to stop, Daddy," Peter says, clutching the cold trigger.

"Peter, what do you think you're doing with Daddy's gun?"

"I told you to stop."

Lightning crashes and raindrops and a bullet shell fall.

Peter sits beside his mother and holds her lifeless hand up to his as her blood trickles down his forearm.

They do this every night. It is finally over for them. It will never be over for Peter.

*Briiiiiing*

A nearly endless sea of children flood out the arched school doors of Midtown High as the final bell of the day rings joyfully. After the flood has slowed to a trickle, teenaged Peter Parker walks through the doors alone, looking more at the ground than ahead of him. He clutches his schoolbooks almost for security and continues through the school grounds and to the sidewalk. Ripping his gaze from the concrete, he surveys the area and sees nothing but smiling kids, laughing, talking, kissing. Peter is alone. Why is he the only one who's alone? He's never been able to make friends. He's always been sheltered, hiding in his dark room with only his curiosity. Why is that, he thinks? He knows why. He's scared that anyone he loves is just going to leave him. Like before.

Peter keeps walking the sidewalk, trying desperately not to hear the whispers from the other side of the fence; all the taunting of the other kids. He can't help who he is.

"Hey, Parker!" This one was too loud and obnoxious to ignore. "You finished my homework yet?"

"Fuck off, Flash," Peter whips his head around to see the thick-necked thug sitting at the wheel of his red convertible, slowly following beside Peter. Rich snob, Peter thinks. "I told you I wasn't your slave here to do your bidding."

"Didcha hear that?" Flash asks his three equally thuggish friends also in the car. "Pussy Parker here thinks he has a choice." Flash opens the car door and steps onto the sidewalk, taking special care not to step in the puddle with his certainly expensive shoes. Flash walks right up to Peter and looks down in his eyes. Peter looks back up at him then turns his head down and rolls his eyes.

"You don't want trouble, do you, Pussy?" Flash asks, accentuating each syllable with a wide mouth. Sparks of saliva spit out off his tongue and land on Peter's glasses like a rainstorm. Peter doesn't answer. "DO YOU?" Still no answer and Flash throws his arms backwards and slams them into Peter's chest, knocking him onto the ground where he lands in a puddle of muddy water. Peter looks past the glasses now resting on his nose and stares coldly at Flash.

"What the hell are you doing, Thompson?!" A female voice interrupts from behind them. Flash promptly turns around, running his hand through his hair and adjusting the collar of his Midtown Football jacket.

"Hey, Gwendy," he says surprised, squinting his eyes and showing his top row of expensive, sparkling white teeth.

Gwen Stacey stands in front of him with her hand resting on her shapely hips, a thin, silky skirt hanging off them. She's wearing a tight white shirt and her gorgeous blonde hair rests right on top of her shoulders. She knows that Flash is staring.

Gwen sighs. "Psh, yeah right, Thompson," she stares at him condescendingly. "In your dreams."

"You bet, Gwendy," Flash smiles. "Every night." Gwen walks right by him, pushing him away with a light tap.

"Peter, are you okay?" she asks, leaning over and offering him a hand. Peter finds himself unable to answer as her stares wondrously into Gwen's eyes.

"Um...yeah, yeah. Of course. I'm fine."

"Good," she replies. "C'mon. I'll walk you home."

Before walking away, Gwen tosses Flash a cold stare.

"See you tonight, bitch. You're always so much more personable in my dreams," Flash says seductively, waving his tongue at Gwen. The comment immediately gets chuckles from his friends.

Gwen turns around, disgusted, and walks away, taking Peter's arm in hers.

"Don't let them bother you, Peter," she says lightly, putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Easy for you to say," Peter responds, staring at the tight bow of his shoes.

"I know," Gwen nods her head slightly. "Just keep telling yourself one thing, Peter: You're better than them. You always will be. They may be a pain in the ass now but in 10 years you may be operating on Flash's latest football injury or something and conveniently forget your pen inside."

Peter can't help but chuckle. He finally tears his eyes from the ground and looks up at the girl, taking his glasses into his hand. "Y'know, Gwen, you're the only real friend I've ever had. I do think of you as a friend, y'know. I've moved around a lot since I was 9 years old. Sometimes I've had a couple friends but I knew they were only with me because I was smart and could help them get good grades. They weren't real friends. But you are," Peter smiles, realizing that he's babbling. "You're the first person to like me for who I am."

Gwen smiles, swiping a strand of her golden hair behind her ear. "I think of you as a friend too, Peter." She doesn't stop smiling at him.

"Gwen," Peter says apprehensively. "Do you--um--do you want to go to a movie with me tomorrow night?" He blurts out. "Like...like on a date."

Gwen blinks, still smiling, and Peter feels like her eyes are closed for an eternity. She bites lightly at her bottom lip. "I'm flattered, Peter and I meant what I said. But I don't see you in a romantic way. I'm sorry." Gwen looks away from Peter in fear of his reaction. Her smile is gone.

"That's okay," Peter says. He looks at the ground again and clenches his fist. "I understand. But, hey, do you at least want to come with me to the science center on Sunday? There's a demonstration on mutancy in non-human species. Should be interesting."

"Um, yeah, okay!" Gwen smiles again.

"Great!" Peter looks up again. "I'll walk by your house around one o'clock and we can walk over."

"Cool."

"This is my house," Peter says, stopping. "I'll see you Sunday."

"Sunday at one," Gwen confirms, her lips still upright in that gorgeous smile.

"Goodbye," Peter says. He finally smiles with her.

As Gwen continues down the street, Peter walks up the paved path to his house. He opens the door and closes it behind him. He leans against the wood and closes his eyes, letting out a large sigh.

"Peter! Peter, is that you?" A voice travels from the kitchen. Peter rolls his eyes and looks at the ceiling.

"Yes, Aunt May! It's me!"

"How was your day?" The voice yells again, the woman still hidden in the other room.

Peter bites his lip for a second. "Fine," he says, probably too quiet for his aunt to hear him anyway.

The stairs above him creak and Peter looks up and sees his uncle descending them. "Who was that girl I saw you with outside, Peter?" the man says very bluntly, smiling devilishly at the young man as he continues down the stairs. Aunt May finally peaks her head out of the kitchen at the sound of the words.

"A girl?" She asks, intrigued.

"That was Gwen. We're just--we're just friends."

"I see..." Uncle Ben says, still holding his grin.

Peter takes off his coat and shoes and walks further into the house.

"How was your day at school, Peter?" Ben asks the boy, following beside him.

"Not great..." Peter admits, closing his eyes tightly with all his power. "It was the same as always."

"Flash again?"

"And more..." Peter utters. "I swear I heard somebody whisper 'murderer' when I walked by. What if they know, Uncle Ben?"

"Then we'll move again. Just like the last time."

"I don't want to leave Gwen," Peter whispers.

"Don't worry about that now. I'm sure you'll be worrying over nothing."

"I hope so."

"I know so."

Peter smiles at his uncle.

"What was Flash doing this time?" Ben asks, crossing his arms.

"The same as always. Why does he do this to me, Uncle Ben? Why is he so mean?"

"A long time ago I heard a phrase that stuck in my mind, Peter, and I have always found that it summed up this planet pretty well. 'Absolute power corrupts absolutely' is what it was. Remember that phrase, Peter. Flash is bigger than you, and stronger, and he knows it. He's already got that advantage. Don't give him any more. Don't be afraid of him. Don't let him control you. Live your life how you want and don't give a damn about Flash."

"Benjamin Parker!" May yells from the kitchen again. "Watch your mouth!"

Ben rolls his eyes and smiles. "Just ignore him, Peter, and soon Flash will have no power over you."

"Uncle Ben, thank you." Peter hugs the man tightly. May peaks her head out of the kitchen and smiles.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I appreciate your company here on what, I personally believe, is a momentous day for science and mutagenics in particular." A man in his thirties dressed in a white coat and clutching a full clipboard stands in front of two dozen attentive listeners. The small room is composed primarily of stainless steel and the audience stands uncomfortably as they listen. "I had hoped for a slightly larger turn-out, but this will do," the man says, smiling. The listeners smile with him, and Peter Parker and Gwen Stacey, among the crowd, look at each other and do the same.

Peter turns to Gwen and whispers to her. "Dr. Conners is one of the world's greatest experts on mutagenics. He's written a number of papers on the subject. They were extremely fascinating." Gwen smiles at Peter. "It's such an honor to see the results of one of his experiments in person!"

"You are all well aware of the gradual rising of the mutant population in humans," the doctor continues. "Despite the unfortunate fear that surrounds these individuals, they are indeed a fascinating look into the future evolution of all of humanity. Although, there is the possibility that these mutations will not only encompass humanity, but also the other species of the world. I don't know about you," Curt Conners smirks, "but I'm an impatient man." The assembly of people leak out a small wave of light laughter. Peter gazes wide-eyed at the man in partial awe of even his presence.

"Dr. Conners is the top authority in mutagenics," Peter whispers in Gwen's ears. "He's written a ton of papers on the present mutant problem and future mutagenics."

The doctor continues, frequently taking his eyes off the crowd to look at his clipboard. "I've taken the...ahem...god-like liberty of jumping ahead a few generations in a selection of non-human species. I've started small, however, with a common black ant, a fire fly and a black widow spider." With the push of a button from Dr. Conners gloved finger a metal platform slowly ascends from the ground, stopping at the height of Conners' waist. On its flat surface there are three glass cases, in each one of the three species the doctor mentioned.

"With modern gene mapping technology I have been able to isolate the recessive X-Factor gene in each species and have artificially stimulated it with slow radiation treatments. The result was an unnatural mutation similar to those usually exclusive to the Homo Superior species."

Smiles rise on the faces of the audience and hushed murmurs of amazement spread throughout them.

"Thank you," Conners nods his head. "Now, I am sure you are all anxious to discover what changes these animals have gone through." Conners lowers his head for a moment to cough. "So I will not waste any more time." Conners walks behind the encased specimens and lowers his head to the black ant's case, tapping the glass and watching the insect scurry. "One thing I noticed in my research is the invariability of the x-factor within each species of insects. In other words, the mutation was the same for every ant I tested. When the x-factor was stimulated, the ant almost immediately showed signs of strength levels even higher than before." The doctor opens a small window at the top of the glass case, picking up a fist-sized rock off the table in the other hand. He lifts it above the case and drops it inside. The tiny ant catches the proportionately enormous rock before it could crush the insect.

The audience is visibly excited and surprised by the effects and their eyes can not break off the ant as they watch it carefully place the rock on the bottom of its case.

"The effects on the firefly, also known as the Lampyridae, were also generally invariable," Dr. Conners continues. "After their treatments, the cells in the bodies of the fireflies which once emitted only harmless light now emit a powerful form of energy. The energy still produces the same light, but it can now be used offensively by the insects by projecting the energy at their prey." Conners taps the glass case of the firefly and streaks of energy spring from the insect and spreads through the case, illuminating the room further.

"Strangely, my treatments had no effect on the Latrodectus Mactans, the North American species of Black Widow spider. Further tests will determine whether or not this is common to all arachnids, or merely this species."

Dr. Conners walks in front of the specimens again and faces the crowd. "Are there any questions?" he asks. However, behind him, the firefly continues to emit its powerful energy and the crackling fire heats the tenuous glass. The glass begins to crack like a child stepping on thin ice and the cracks spread through the glass like a disease. The eyes of all the spectators widen and Dr. Conners swings his body around and looks at the metal platform.

"My god," he whispers. "Everybody, get back!" He yells, raising his arms into the air. Suddenly, the glass case explodes and shards of glass fly into the air. Everybody in the crowd ducks down and Dr. Conners tries to shield his face and skin with his long lab coat. Fiery energy blasts out of the shattered case and crashes into the two adjacent cases, destroying them in the same way.

After all the glass splinters have finished raining to the ground, Dr. Conners stands upright again. "Is everybody okay?" he asks, running his hands through his hair and sighing.

After everybody has risen, Peter still sits on the ground, clutching his ankle. "OW!" He yells. "Something bit me!"

"Shit," Conners mutters, rushing over to the young man. "What does it feel like?"

Peter's breathing picks up rapidly. "Ah! It hurts like a bee sting," he hollers. "And my blood feels all hot. The heat and the pain is rising up my leg...into the rest of me! GAH! My wrist. It hurts."

"Damnit!" Conners utters. "Shit. I think the spider must have bit you."

"The Black Widow?!" Peter screams!

"Oh, Peter!" Gwen cries out.

"Don't worry, don't worry," Conners eases him. "You'll be fine...fine. But you need to see a doctor."

"I'll take him!" Gwen volunteers loudly. She takes his hand and lifts him up, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "Peter. Peter, are you okay?"

"I--I'm fine. I'm starting to feel better."

As Gwen carries the limping Peter out of the room, Dr. Conners turns away from the crowd and grabs his head with both hands, running them across his scalp. He lets out a heavy breath and closes his eyes. "Damn."

Outside on the street, Peter now walks on his own beside Gwen.

"Peter, where is your family doctor's office?"

"I'm not going to the doctor."

"What?"

"I hate doctors...I hate them...always touching me. My neck...my chest...touching me."

"Peter, you have to go to the doctor."

"No, it's okay. I feel fine now. All the pain is gone. I'll be fine."

"Peter..."

"Gwen, I'm not going to the doctor," He says to her sharply, staring at her. "I'm going to go home now. I'll see you on Monday. I had a good time, Gwen..." Peter walks away from her almost aimlessly, but turns down the street heading towards his house.

"I had a good time too, Peter..." Gwen whispers, wiping her fluid blonde hair from her face and behind her head. "Bye..."

Peter walks up the path to his home, staring straight ahead and not blinking. He opens the door and walks in, heading directly for the ascending stairs.

"Peter, you're home!" his Uncle Ben notices. "How did it go?"

"Fine. I'm tired now. I'm going to go to bed."

"But, Peter," his Aunt May cuts in. "It's only 2:30 in the aftern--"

"G'night," he interrupts, continuing up the stairs.

Ben and May stare at each other in shock and confusion.

While sleeping, Peter has nightmares. They are always about his father; what he did to Peter as a boy. They're always just the same. Peter is always standing in a dark basement, naked, wet. His father stands in front of him and it's raining outside. Peter slowly turns his head to look out the small, rectangular windows as the thick raindrops explode against the glass and he wishes he could be as free as they are. He turns back to face the tall man and feels the powerful hands on his legs and back as Peter is pulled closer to the large man. The man undoes his pants and Peter knows what is next and it isn't long before the man's coarse hair of his mid-section is tickling the front of the young boy's nose. Peter tries to ignore the pain he feels as the larger man pulls at the hair of Peter's head. The boy tries to disregard the pain and tears and tries to concentrate on something else and he notices the odd coincidence that his nose fits perfectly into his father's belly button as he is yanked back and forth. Peter's father grabs tighter onto Peter's legs and backsides. They'll definitely bruise. The man's head slowly falls to the side like a rag doll, his mouth wide open. Peter closes his eyelids with all his might and they fill with salty water until he cracks them open again and the tears flood out like a broken dam; broken like his spirit. His father bursts too and he screams and Peter cries as he uses his hands to wipe off his chest and clear it of the dirty evidence that his father has left sticking to his son's young body.

And now, like every time, Peter wakes up in a panic, wet and sweaty like in his dream. He breathes heavily and shakes. Peter puts his hand to his heart but when he pulls it away he notices that a dried, sticky, white substance clings to his fingers and his heart beats even faster than before and his shaking picks up. He quickly realizes that the substance covers his entire body and it strings from him like the many tangled cords of a marionette, attached to his walls, ceiling and furniture. He gasps in shock at the sight and rips through the cocoon-like substance surrounding him, shredding it. He hops out of bed and steps through the sticky material, which covers his floor like many uncovered roots on a jungle terrain, examining it cautiously.

"What...what the fuck?" he whispers to himself. He stumbles towards the door and grabs the handle and then notices on his uncovered wrists two inch-long protrusions an inch below his palms with black holes at the base of the triangular bundle of flesh. He takes his hand from the door and runs two fingers over the protrusion on the opposite wrist and his lip quivers. He quickly shakes his head and runs out the door and into the bathroom. He immediately runs the tap and splashes his face with cool water. He looks into the foggy mirror and notices for the first time this morning that he has seen all this perfectly without his glasses. He lets out a large breath and runs his hand through his hair.

"Peter!" He hears yelled from downstairs. "Hurry up and get some breakfast or you'll be late for school!"

"I'm not hungry, Aunt May!" he yells back.

"Nonsense," she yells dismisingly. "You're a growing boy."

Peter stares at his reflection as he flexes his biceps in the mirror, mystified by their sudden growth and strengthening.

He runs from the bathroom to his room, quickly tossing on some clothes. Peter jumps down the stairs two at a time and runs into the kitchen, slipping across the floor on the smooth tiles.

"Well, good morning there, Peter," Uncle Ben says, lowering his newspaper below his eyes. Peter mumbles a similar greeting through the orange juice that he gulps back excessively. He quickly shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth and doesn't stop to greet his aunt who's now staring at him.

"Peter, slow down," she says with her mouth wide open. "You're going to choke!"

"I'll be fine," he manages to say with a full mouth. "I've got to go. See you guys later." Peter rushes out of the room and runs out the door, grabbing his school bag on the way out.

"That boy just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

"I'm worried about him, Ben."

Ben looks at May compassionately. "He'll be fine, I'm sure."

"I hope so," May says softly. "He forgot his glasses."

Later at Midtown high, the bell rings and the students in the classroom get up from their seats and stream from the class.

"Peter," The teacher says, still looking down at his desk. "I'd like you to stay for a minute."

Peter rolls his eyes and walks to the front of the class. "What is it, Dr. Octavius?"

"What was wrong with you today, Peter?" The man says, leaning against his desk and folding his arms.

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. Usually you take a keen interest in biology, but today, you seemed so distant that you didn't even answer when I talked to you. Is there something the matter?"

"Yes. I mean, no. No. I mean...Dr. Octavius, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Peter."

"Okay...say I was...or I mean, what do you know about mut...um...y'know what? I'm fine, actually. I'll be fine."

"Peter, if you're having problems at home, don't be afraid to talk to me or a school counselor."

"I know. See you tomorrow, Dr. Octavius."

Peter walks into the hallway and to his locker, turning the lock and opening it. He rummages through the cavernous metal box in search of his next textbook. Down on his knees, wading through the swamp of papers and books, he finally finds it and pulls it out, holding it in front of his face like a prize and smiles. His focus, though, quickly turns from his book cover to his hands, as he realizes that something is different. His grip feels tighter, but he is not clenching his fingers. As he tries to break the grip it feels like a magnetic pull is keeping his fingers affixed. Peter stares at his hands and the book.

"Peter?"

Peter, shocked by the sudden noise throws the book from his hand and into the locker and quickly stands up, turning simultaneously.

"OH, hi, Harry!"

"Um...hi, Peter."

Harry Osborn is rich and it shows. Everything he is wearing is a big brand name. The necklace around his neck is pure silver. His watch is too. His shoes are Italian leather.

"You okay, man?" he asks. "You seemed a little...weird in Biology today."

"Naw...I'm fine...just a little...tired."

"Okay, good to hear."

"PARKER!" a brutish voice yells from across the hall. Peter and Harry turn around and see Flash walking towards them, his face fiery with anger. He stands in front of them and pushes Peter lightly into his locker. "What's this I hear about you and Gwen, Peter?! What are you doing with her!?"

"Hey, Flash!" Harry interrupts. "Leave him alone, man,"

"Stay out of this, Osborn!" Flash swings around and sticks his finger in Harry's face. He turns back to Peter. "What do you think you're doing with MY girl, Pussy?!" Flash pushes Peter into the lockers again, this time harder.

"Your girl?!" Peter yells back. "When were you planning on telling HER that?"

"She is my girl. She just doesn't know it yet."

Peter clenches his teeth together and his eyebrows lower. "You stay away from her!!" Peter yells through his gritting teeth as he slams his hands into Flash's chest. Flash's feet leap from the ground from the force and he slams into the lockers on the other side of the hall.

Peter slams his locker shut and walks quickly through the hallway towards the doors.

"Peter?!" Harry shouts out to him. "Peter!"

Peter walks down the streets downtown with his head down and his hands in his pockets. He looks from side to side and then ducks into a dark side alley. He walks deep into the shadows and stands adjacent to the old, dirty brick wall. He looks from side to side again and then places all five fingers of one hand on the wall. He feels the tug again, fixing his fingers to the wall like they were adhesive. He places his other hand on the wall. Apprehensively, he moves one hand higher, then the other even higher, moving one foot up to the wall as well. Soon, both his feet have left the ground and Peter slowly moves one hand over top of the other, scaling the bricks as easily as he would walk. He feels his fingers move across each crevice in the decaying brick and he notices that he is suddenly in tune with every swirl in the skin on his finger tips and every muscle in his body. He can see farther than he could ever imagine to and he can hear things he couldn't before. He feels great!

Peter soon reaches the top of the structure and he stands right at the edge, not at all afraid of the towering height between him and the ground. He runs his left fingers against his right wrist, feeling that protrusion as he becomes more mentally aware of it. It feels like a thick, open vein and he feels something inside, pushing against his wrist. Almost instinctively, Peter holds out his arm and pushes on his palm. Suddenly, the tension in his wrist is released as a thin strand of white fluid streams out, attaching to the neighboring building and hardening immediately.

Peter spends the entire afternoon testing his new abilities, never questioning them. He leaps from building to building and scales their faces. He finds that his strength is enough to lift cars and he does so. He's never had so much fun in his life.

Peter soon realizes that dusk has fallen and it is late evening. He jumps from a building's edge and lands on the ground of another dark alley and walks out onto the street casually. He is in the shady back streets of downtown but, for the first time, he doesn't feel scared. Up ahead, he hears loud noises and voices and sees a crowd of people and continues down the street. As he nears them he notices that inside a circle of people, two mean are fighting, while everyone around them are cheering and holding handfuls of small bills. Both fighters are heavily injured and bloody and one of them slams his fist into the other's jaw, knocking the man to the ground. He doesn't get up and most of the spectators scream with enjoyment. One man walks into the circle and grabs the winner's hand, holding it in the air.

"And the winner, once again, gentlemen, is our favorite Mac Gargan!! !!" the man yells and the inglorious crowd screams again.

Peter tries to walk around the crowd of men to get past.

"Hey! Wait there!" The announcer yells at Peter. "What do you think you're doing, buddy?! Nobody gets past without fighting!"

Peter looks at all the questionable men. "Wh-what?"

"You heard me. Nobody gets by without fighting."

Peter stares at them again and starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Alright. You're on!"

Next issue: You haven't seen anything yet! Can Peter's mind handle the drastic changes his body is going through, especially when his life has just been rocked by horrible tragedy?! How will Gwen react to Peter's changes and just who is the mysterious Goblin?! It's not what you think!