"Fifty years ago," Naoko said, her voice carrying the weight of inherited trauma. "Long before I was even born."
Her fair skin seemed almost luminous in the clinic's dim lighting, and her posture—shoulders slightly hunched, hands clasped together—spoke of deep-seated worry. She possessed the melancholic air of a widow mourning a husband lost to circumstances beyond her control, though Peter suspected her grief was for her entire species rather than one person.
"Originally, there were no beastmen on this planet," she continued, her gaze distant as if seeing the history she was recounting. "this planet was purely human. But then, one day, he appeared."
She paused, the silence heavy with significance.
"The High Evolutionary."
"High Evolutionary?" Peter interjected immediately, unable to contain himself. "Okay, I can tell you right now—without knowing anything else about this guy—that he's absolutely terrible. Anyone who calls themselves 'High' or 'Supreme' anything is guaranteed to be an arrogant, self-centered megalomaniac with a god complex the size of Jupiter."
"Don't interrupt," John said tiredly, shooting Peter an exasperated look.
"I'm just establishing a pattern," Peter defended.
"And you would be correct," Naoko confirmed, her expression darkening. "He created The beastial through genetic manipulation, elevating animals to human-level intelligence and beyond. At first, he presented it as a gift—evolution accelerated, potential unlocked. But his true purpose was to prove his superiority over natural creation."
Her hands clenched into fists. "When The beastial outnumbered humans, when their strength and enhanced abilities gave them overwhelming advantage... he simply stood back and watched as they enslaved us. An experiment. That's all we were to him."
The bitterness in her voice was corrosive.
"If you want to leave this planet," she continued, "it won't be easy. Every spacecraft capable of orbital escape is controlled by the beastial, and the High Evolutionary won't permit anyone to leave. This planet is his laboratory. We're all specimens—some just more valuable than others."
"I don't think waiting for permission is really our style anyway," Peter said, his mind already racing through tactical options.
He glanced at John, his expression becoming more serious. "We have three viable courses of action here."
"I'm listening," John said, straightening despite his obvious exhaustion.
"Option one: we wait for Plumber assistance. My communicator is destroyed, but when I miss my scheduled check-ins, they'll send a search team. Ben doesn't abandon people." Peter's confidence in that statement was absolute. "They'll find us eventually."
"How long would that take?" Naoko asked.
"Days. Maybe weeks. Depends on how long it takes them to backtrack our trajectory and scan this sector." Peter shrugged. "Not ideal, but survivable."
"Option two?" John prompted.
"We steal a spacecraft," Peter said bluntly. "Break into whatever passes for their spaceport, hijack something spaceworthy, and make a run for it. Problem is—" he gestured helplessly, "—without warp drive capability, we'd never reach Earth. We'd die of old age before completing the journey. So unless their technology includes FTL engines, which seems unlikely given what we've seen, that option is off the table."
John nodded slowly. "Agreed. Conventional thrust would take centuries."
"Which brings us to option three," Peter said, his voice taking on a different quality—harder, more resolved.
A beat of silence.
"We beat up the High Evolutionary."
Both John and Naoko stared at him in shock, mouths slightly agape.
The way Peter had delivered that third option—the absolute decisiveness in his tone, the lack of hesitation—made it clear this wasn't speculation. He'd already made up his mind.
"You're... you're serious," Naoko breathed, her eyes widening. "You'd be facing the combined military might of an entire planet. And they would absolutely be interested in someone like you—a human with spider-like abilities. You'd become their primary research subject if they captured you."
"Why would you think I'm joking?" Peter asked, genuine confusion in his voice. "There's a planet here where people desperately need help. I just happen to be a Spider-Man who made a promise to use his powers responsibly. Seems pretty straightforward to me."
John was silent for a long moment, studying Peter's face with new understanding.
"My father..." he finally said, his voice carrying notes of shame and admiration in equal measure. "He had you completely wrong. All those editorials, all those accusations... he always claimed you were a coward hiding behind a mask, too afraid to show your face and accept accountability for your actions."
John shook his head slowly. "He was so wrong. You're willing to fight an entire planet to help people you've never met. That's not cowardice. That's the kind of heroism most people can't even comprehend."
"If you're truly determined to do this," John continued, straightening his posture with renewed purpose, "then I'm with you. All the way. I won't let you fight alone."
Peter felt warmth spreading through his chest—genuine gratitude mixed with respect for John's courage. The astronaut had every reason to demand they focus solely on escape, but instead he was volunteering for what would likely be the most dangerous mission of his life.
"If you're really willing to help us..." Naoko said hesitantly, hope and fear warring in her expression. "I mean, if you're genuinely committed to this... I can introduce you to the human resistance. We're small, poorly equipped, always running... but we're organized. We've been fighting for years."
"Looks like we won't have to fight alone after all," Peter said cheerfully, his Spider-Man optimism returning in full force.
Naoko clearly didn't fully trust Peter and John yet—understandable given that they'd literally fallen from the sky claiming to be alien humans with spider powers and heroic intentions. That kind of story required verification.
Rather than taking them directly to the resistance's hidden base, she arranged a meeting at a neutral location. Time and place to be confirmed later, after she'd consulted with her superiors and they'd run whatever background checks were possible for interdimensional visitors.
In the meantime, Peter and John needed somewhere to stay. And money to pay for it.
"I do have a room I could rent out," Naoko offered, her clinical instincts toward helping people warring with reasonable caution. "But it can probably only accommodate one person comfortably. Maybe two if you don't mind cramped quarters."
"We appreciate the offer," John said. "Though we'll need to figure out payment."
"For me, this is actually pretty simple," the web-slinger said, a mischievous grin spreading across his borrowed face. "My suit contains fairly sophisticated artificial intelligence. Karen could hack into their financial systems, create digital accounts, transfer funds from various sources in amounts small enough to avoid detection..."
He paused dramatically.
"However, my moral compass won't allow me to just steal money, even from a dystopian beastman oligarchy that enslaves humans. Theft is theft, and I try to maintain consistent ethical standards across dimensional boundaries."
"Then how do you plan to acquire the necessary funds?" John asked, genuinely curious.
Peter's grin widened. "I need to borrow the identity of a good friend of mine. You might know him—Peter Parker?"
Peter Parker: I have a friend who's secretly Spider-Man and takes amazing action photos of his adventures.
"You mean..." John's eyes lit up with understanding. "You're going to photograph yourself in action and sell the images to newspapers?"
"Exactly! Classic revenue model." Peter's enthusiasm was infectious. "Though you're right that Spider-Man isn't exactly famous on Counter-Earth yet. That's actually perfect—means I'm working with a blank slate, no preconceived biases."
His expression turned calculating. "Give it twenty-four hours. I'll be famous. Or infamous. Probably both."
"How?" Naoko asked.
"I'm planning something big tonight," Peter said, his voice carrying the particular tone of someone about to do something spectacularly reckless. "Something newsworthy enough that every media outlet on this planet will be scrambling for footage."
"What are you going to do?" John asked warily.
"I'm going to infiltrate the High Evolutionary's tower," Peter announced casually, as if describing plans to grab coffee. "Not just to make headlines—though that's a nice bonus—but to gather intelligence. I need to see what's actually happening here with my own eyes."
He held up a hand before Naoko could protest. "You've been very helpful, and I appreciate the information you've shared. But you don't fully trust us yet, and honestly? I don't fully trust you either. No offense—it's just good operational security."
Peter's expression became more serious. "I won't base major tactical decisions solely on one person's account, even if that person is human like me. I need to verify the situation independently, see the evidence firsthand, understand the full scope of what we're dealing with."
Naoko nodded slowly, respect flickering in her eyes despite her concern. "That's... actually quite wise. For all you know, I could be a collaborator leading you into a trap."
"Exactly. Though I'm like 80% sure you're genuine." Peter's grin returned. "My spider-sense hasn't triggered once around you, which is usually a good sign."
If the High Evolutionary truly originated from outside this planet, Peter thought as he prepared his infiltration gear that evening, then Plumber intervention would absolutely fall within our mandate.
Non-interference in planetary internal affairs was a fundamental rule of the Plumbers—one Ben had established specifically to avoid becoming cosmic tyrants who imposed their will on developing civilizations.
Take Xandar as an example. When Thanos invaded with his Chitauri fleet, the Plumbers were obligated to assist in repelling external aggression. But if the Nova Corps experienced internal political fractures—if different factions started a civil war over succession or ideological differences—the Plumbers wouldn't intervene. That would be Xandar's internal affair to resolve.
But this situation was different.
The High Evolutionary wasn't native to Counter-Earth. He was an outside force who'd arrived, genetically manipulated the local ecosystem, created an entirely new dominant species, and established a hierarchical dystopia. That made him an invader, not an internal political actor.
Which meant taking him down was absolutely within Plumber jurisdiction.
Ben would approve, Peter thought with satisfaction. Probably show up personally if he knew what was happening here.
Night fell across the city that so closely resembled New York, its skyline illuminating with dazzling neon advertisements and holographic displays that painted the darkness in electric colors.
Peter, dressed in his full Spider-Man suit, leaped between buildings with the practiced ease of someone who'd been doing this for years. The cityscape was familiar enough that muscle memory took over—same approximate building heights, similar architectural styles, comparable street layouts.
It was like web-swinging through a mirror dimension version of home.
However, for tonight's infiltration mission, Peter had modified his suit's appearance. The classic red-and-blue color scheme was far too distinctive for stealth work—those colors practically screamed "look at me!" in any environment.
Karen had temporarily reprogrammed the suit's adaptive camouflage to display matte black with dark gray webbing patterns. Much better for sneaking through shadows.
"Karen," Peter said quietly, crouched on a rooftop three blocks from the High Evolutionary's tower. "Can you scan the internal structure of that building? Get me blueprints, security layouts, anything useful?"
"I'm afraid that won't be possible, sir," the AI responded, her British accent carrying notes of genuine regret. "The tower's construction includes advanced signal-dampening materials that prevent external scanning. Additionally, their network security protocols are extremely sophisticated—military-grade encryption with quantum randomization. If I attempted a direct hack, it would almost certainly trigger their intrusion detection systems."
"Damn," Peter muttered. "Alright, no infrastructure intel then. We'll do this old school."
He wished briefly that his AI was Azmuth instead of Karen. Ben's Galvan-designed system could probably crack these defenses in seconds, maybe minutes. Karen was excellent for Earth-level technology, but clearly Counter-Earth's systems were more advanced than anticipated.
"However," Karen continued, "I have successfully mapped the patrol routes of their security robots through external observation. By analyzing their movement patterns over the past forty minutes, I can identify a viable infiltration vector."
A holographic overlay appeared in Peter's HUD, highlighting a specific route through the tower's lower levels.
"You can attach yourself to one of the returning patrol units," Karen explained. "They follow a standard circuit that includes internal tower access. If you remain undetected during their return journey, you'll bypass the primary security checkpoints."
"Excellent work, Karen!" Peter said enthusiastically. "This is why you're my favorite AI assistant."
"I'm your only AI assistant, sir."
"Which makes you the favorite by default. Math checks out."
Peter activated his suit's advanced stealth mode—one of Ben's contributions to the design. The sophisticated system didn't just render him invisible through optical camouflage; it also included thermal dampening to defeat infrared sensors and acoustic absorption to neutralize sonar detection.
Basically, unless someone physically bumped into him, he was a ghost.
"Hopefully they don't have thermal imaging," Peter muttered, then immediately corrected himself. "Actually, scratch that—doesn't matter if they do. This suit could hide me from Superman's vision powers. Ben's paranoia about surveillance is occasionally useful."
Peter launched himself across the gap between buildings, his web-line carrying him in a graceful arc toward the tower's exterior.
His figure had already vanished from visible spectrum, the stealth systems rendering him effectively invisible to both organic eyes and electronic sensors. Even the slight heat signature his body generated was masked by the suit's thermal baffles, making him appear no warmer than the ambient air temperature.
A patrol robot hovered past, its anti-gravity generators humming as it conducted its programmed route. The machine was roughly humanoid in shape—twelve feet tall, heavily armored, with various scanning equipment and weapon systems built into its frame.
Peter landed silently on its back, his enhanced strength and control allowing him to perch on the machine without affecting its flight characteristics. The robot continued its patrol route completely unaware that it had acquired a passenger.
"These robots don't seem that advanced," Peter observed, gently tapping the armor plating.
The construction was solid but unimpressive—reinforced polymers with decent tensile strength but nothing extraordinary. Peter was fairly confident he could dismantle one with his bare hands if necessary. The internal components visible through maintenance panels looked functional but not particularly sophisticated.
Compared to Primus Technologies' Iron Guard units—which incorporated alien materials, adaptive AI systems, and self-repair nanites—these patrol robots felt like children's toys.
"Better safe than sorry though," Peter decided.
He pulled an electromagnetic pulse bomb from his utility belt—a small disc about the size of a hockey puck, courtesy of Ben's endless arsenal of useful gadgets. Peter carefully attached it to the interior wall of the robot storage warehouse as his unwitting transport carried him inside the tower.
The magnetic clamp engaged with a soft click, the device now hidden behind a support strut where routine inspections wouldn't spot it.
"Thanks for the ride, buddy," Peter whispered, patting the robot's head affectionately before slipping through the warehouse door into the tower proper.
The EMP bomb was insurance—if things went south and he needed a distraction, he could detonate it remotely and disable every robot in the facility simultaneously.
"Thanks to Ben's paranoid gadget-creating habits," Peter said cheerfully, "I'm basically Doraemon. Need something? Check the utility belt. There's probably three different versions."
He began ascending through the tower's interior, moving through shadows and utilizing his wall-crawling abilities to traverse routes that normal security wouldn't anticipate. Air vents, ceiling spaces, the gaps between elevator shafts—all became pathways.
The higher Peter climbed, the more beastman warriors he encountered.
These weren't the mindless patrol robots or ordinary civilians. These were elite soldiers—anthropomorphic predators who'd clearly received extensive combat training and possibly genetic enhancement beyond their baseline species abilities.
Each warrior exuded an aura of barely contained lethality, their enhanced senses making them far more dangerous than their appearance suggested.
"Those must be the Knights that Naoko mentioned," Peter whispered, spotting four figures whose presence dominated the entire floor.
Their armor was more ornate than the regular soldiers—ceremonial perhaps, but clearly functional. They carried themselves with the authority of people accustomed to absolute obedience.
Lord Tyger was immediately recognizable—massive Bengal tiger in elaborate plate armor, his bearing regal despite the martial context. The goat-headed figure beside him wore robes mixed with armor, suggesting both administrative and combat roles.
And were those... white mice?
Two smaller figures flanked the larger warriors. Despite their size compared to the predator species, they radiated an authority that made even the tiger defer to their judgment.
Peter edged closer, his spider-sense monitoring for danger while his enhanced hearing picked up their conversation.
"Sir Ram," Lord Tyger rumbled, his voice carrying obvious concern. "Have the intruders been located yet?"
Peter's heart skipped a beat.
Do they know John and I survived the crash? he thought with alarm. How? We covered our tracks, the ship's debris scattered across hundreds of kilometers...
But Sir Ram's response relieved his concern even as it raised new questions.
"We've captured them," the goat-headed warrior announced with evident satisfaction. He gestured imperiously to subordinates near the doorway. "Bring them forward!"
Several guards dragged two figures into the chamber—humanoid but with distinctly gray-purple skin, their builds unnaturally muscular, their features crude and somewhat frog-like.
Peter's eyes widened in recognition behind his mask.
"That's... the Vreedle Brothers?" he whispered in disbelief.
What were they doing here?
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