Absolute Spider-man

Peter sighed as he finished writing the last formula in his physics book. Everything had seemed incredibly easy to him—so much so that, even an hour after Benny had left, he had already finished all the homework he had brought.

"I guess that's the advantage of having the mind of a genius," Peter thought, remembering how in comics, movies, and series, it was often said that Peter was a genius or at least intelligent—but it was rarely shown in action. Supposedly, Peter was only a step below geniuses like Reed Richards or Tony Stark, yet the only technology you ever saw him use were his web-shooters and the synthetic web fluid that only he could make.

Sure, he had made hundreds of gadgets and various suits over the years, but they never lasted long, or were simply used once and then disappeared permanently without a second mention.

The only ones that stuck around were the web-shooters.

"What a waste," Peter couldn't help but say out loud, thinking about the wasted potential that was Peter's mind. Seeing his memories, he was sure that this Peter was intelligent—extremely intelligent, to the point of being frightening. He had advanced knowledge for his age in subjects like chemistry, physics, biology, engineering, mathematics, and mechanics.

That last one was more practical than theoretical thanks to Uncle Ben, who had made him work in his workshop since he was 10. Peter was sure he could assemble and disassemble a car engine with his eyes closed—without leaving any parts out—and the car would start just fine. Though that didn't stop him from hating having to clean off the grease afterward.

Actually, if he really thought about it, he should already be able to graduate from school whenever he wanted. But…

"I promised Aunt May," Peter remembered how, once he started showing his intelligence, his aunt had made him promise never to skip a grade—probably fearing he would become a recluse or damage his social skills if he did.

"What a joke, with MJ, her brothers, and her uncles… why would I need more people?" Peter thought, but he soon understood the wisdom behind his aunt's reasoning. At the very least, Midtown offered a challenge and an environment that made going to class worthwhile—even when he already understood the material. Plus, it gave him the chance to make some money off a good portion of the students.

Peter sighed. He now had a week to think about what he was supposed to do. With the signed NDA and the money he had earned, he had enough to not worry about finances for a while, but in truth, what concerned him the most at that moment was something else.

"Should I become Spider-Man?" Peter asked himself, even though it seemed obvious that being Peter Parker meant he would have to become Spider-Man. Peter was seriously doubting the idea—and for good reason. Being a hero ruined Peter's life in more ways than it improved it.

He had practically no stable romantic life, few friends, and was just as poor as he'd been in high school—not to mention that a good portion of the community saw him as a threat thanks to JJ.

And from what he could remember, this Uncle Ben hadn't taught him heroic things like "defend the innocent" or "don't let injustice go unpunished." In fact, if he had to list and summarize the lessons, they'd be: Take care of your own and Pay your debts.

Only the first could be considered noble, and even then, the way his uncle taught it wasn't exactly noble.

Peter then remembered the day his uncle gave him those lessons. He was 12 at the time, on a hunting trip with Kaine, Ben, and Uncle Ben. They were in the forest around a campfire when a couple of hunters showed up and started insulting them—especially talking badly about Aunt May.

Uncle Ben had stepped forward, and just when Peter thought they would talk things out peacefully, he pulled out his revolver and started beating one of the men in the face with it, while threatening the other to stay still. He told Kaine to take their weapons, money, phones, and supplies—then shot the man he had beaten in the leg, proceeded to beat the second guy, and also shot him in the leg.

They left shortly after, leaving them lying in the woods.

Peter never knew if those hunters were ever found—he never really cared—but when they got back to the truck, Uncle Ben spoke clearly:

"Remember this: people think they can say and do whatever they want when they believe there won't be consequences. But that's only true if you let them get away with it. If you don't set the example, they'll keep doing it. And if they insult your people, your family, and you do nothing… then you just disrespected yourself."

Peter remembered nodding silently, his knuckles clenched and his eyes fixed on the truck door, not sure if what he felt was fear, shame, or some twisted form of pride. Kaine, of course, was smiling like he had just lived the best moment of the trip, and Benny was casually eating the supplies they had taken from the hunters.

Shaking his head, Peter returned to the present—sitting on his bed, staring at his hands again. These were no longer the hands of a normal person. He could feel the strength growing as he clenched them, and his knuckles started to crack.

Being Spider-Man meant carrying an image—that of the friendly neighborhood guy who risked his life for no reason other than because it was the right thing to do. And while most heroes had that same motivation, Spider-Man was different because he was almost always alone. He didn't have the backing of the government or a billion-dollar company, and not even consistent public approval.

He wasn't like other street-level heroes like Luke Cage or Iron Fist with Heroes for Hire, who charged for professional investigation and protection services. Peter clenched his fist tighter the more he thought about the idea of being Spider-Man. It was all sacrifice, all surrender, all loss. Time, money, health, relationships… and for what? To be chased by the police, slandered by Jameson, blamed by the city when things went wrong.

And yet…

There was something more to the idea of being Spider-Man that he just couldn't get out of his head.

It wasn't altruism.

It wasn't a calling of destiny.

It wasn't justice.

It was… it was…

His pride. It was his vanity.

It was his ego—the desire to be something greater, something the world couldn't ignore, something the world had to see even if it didn't want to. Something to be praised, something to be admired. Something that had to be looked up to, because he would be above.

It was like that childish urge to be the smartest kid in class—not to earn applause or genuine recognition, but simply because he could: to sit on an imaginary throne and look down on everyone else.

"All right, I've decided," Peter thought, standing up and walking toward the window."I'll be Spider-Man—and I'll look down on all of them from above."

And now that the decision was made, there was no turning back.

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