Let's get one thing straight. I am Venom of Earth-616, and I am currently the only thing keeping our host from becoming a permanent stain on the pavement.
High above the neon-drenched canyons of Manhattan, a figure plummeted from the sky. To the oblivious pedestrians below, it looked like a meteor.
The Web of Fate is completely devoid of basic safety protocols. Combine that aggressive, unannounced dimensional rip with a lungful of Dr. Connors' toxic reptilian breath, and the result is catastrophic system failure. Peter is completely unconscious. We are flying blind.
Black sludge erupted over the red and blue fabric of the Spider-Man suit, surging outward to take full motor control of the paralyzed teenager. Venom fired a thick, desperate web-line, catching the corner of a massive digital billboard. The symbiote swung their shared body in a wide, stomach-dropping arc, bleeding off their terminal velocity before landing heavily in the shadows of a rooftop water tower.
Venom knelt on the tar paper, forcing Peter's lungs to violently exhale. A thick cloud of green mist—the residual Lizard mutation serum—billowed out of their mouth, dispersing harmlessly into the freezing night air.
There. The toxin is diluted. Now, where the hell are we?
Venom stepped to the edge of the roof, peering down at Times Square. It was brightly lit, but the details were entirely wrong. The massive, glowing logo for Stark Industries was replaced by a sleek, militaristic billboard reading Tony Stark Arms Company. Across the street, a massive jumbotron played a promo for a hit reality TV series starring the Fantastic Four.
This wasn't their New York.
Venom looked at a different news ticker scrolling across a skyscraper. The face was instantly recognizable—the flat-top haircut, the bristling mustache. J. Jonah Jameson. But the headline beneath his furious face made the symbiote freeze.
"Spider-Woman is a despicable, masked menace!" Jameson's digital voice echoed up to the rooftop. "And without a doubt, she must be held fully accountable for the brutal murder of innocent high school student Peter Parker!"
A blurry photograph flashed on the screen. It showed a figure in a white hood and a black-and-white suit, fleeing a crime scene. Above it, the text read: NYPD ISSUES ARREST WARRANT FOR SPIDER-WOMAN.
Well, Venom mused darkly, retracting from Peter's face to let the boy breathe the cold air. I suppose we cannot crash at the Parker residence in this universe. And judging by the billboards, the Avengers do not exist here either. Time to find a very dark, very quiet hole to sleep this off.
"Alright, let's go over it one more time."
The wind roared over the Hudson River. Swinging high above the choked traffic of the West Side Highway, a figure in a sleek black-and-white bodysuit launched herself into the sky. Her bright magenta web-shooters caught the light as she fired another line, the stark white hood of her suit snapping back against her head.
Below her, the wailing sirens of four NYPD cruisers painted the asphalt in flashing red and blue.
"I was bitten by a radioactive spider," Earth-65 Gwen Stacy narrated to the empty air, flipping gracefully backward to dodge the sweeping beam of a police helicopter spotlight. "And for the last nine months, I have been the one and only Spider-Woman. In a world completely devoid of caped crusaders."
She released her line, tucking her knees into her chest and diving down an alleyway to lose the chopper.
"You probably know the rest. I joined a band with Mary Jane Watson. She named us The Mary Janes, which is a fundamentally stupid name, but she plays a mean guitar. I honestly didn't know what to do with my powers. Every other enhanced person in this city is using their gifts to steal cash or hurt people."
Gwen fired a double line, catapulting herself up the side of a brick tenement building.
"I used my powers to save my dad from an armed robber. But..." Her voice caught, the forced, cinematic bravado instantly dissolving. "I couldn't save my best friend."
She landed softly on the gravel roof of a Forest Hills apartment building. She reached up, pulling the white mask and hood off her head. Her choppy blonde hair fell around her face. She dropped her shoulders, suddenly feeling entirely ridiculous.
"Oh my God, why am I even introducing myself out loud?" Gwen muttered, rubbing her tired eyes. "Who am I even talking to?"
Her smartphone buzzed violently in her pocket. She pulled it out. The caller ID read Captain Stacy.
Gwen sighed, swiping the screen to accept the call. "Hey, Dad."
"Gwen," George Stacy's gruff, exhausted voice came through the speaker. He sounded like he was standing in the middle of a busy precinct. "I... I really want to talk to you about the band. You're missing classes. You're constantly out late. Maybe you shouldn't be so obsessed with drumming right now. You need to study. Think about your future."
Gwen leaned back against a brick chimney, staring out at the Manhattan skyline. She didn't say anything.
"I know Peter's death hit you hard," her father continued, his tone softening into a plea. "It hit all of us hard, sweetheart. But you can't keep wallowing in this. Numbing yourself with loud rock music and isolating yourself... it isn't going to bring him back."
Gwen squeezed her eyes shut. Her knuckles turned white around the phone case. "I know, Dad."
She hung up without waiting for a reply. She stared at the black screen of her phone, specifically at the speed-dial contact she could never call again.
You have no idea, Dad, Gwen thought, her throat tightening painfully.
Her best friend, Peter Parker, was dead. And he had died by her hands.
The quiet, fiercely intelligent boy had been relentlessly bullied. He had watched Gwen gain incredible powers and become someone special. He just wanted to be like her. So, he synthesized a volatile reptilian serum and injected it directly into his own veins. He became a mindless, hulking monster—the Lizard.
He had stormed their high school prom to take revenge on his tormentors. Gwen had fought him, trading brutal, bone-breaking blows in the gymnasium. She hadn't known the monster was Peter. Not until he was beaten, bleeding, and the scales finally melted away.
Peter had died in her arms on the ruined gym floor. His last words still echoed in her nightmares: I just wanted to be special. Like you.
A sudden, agonizing spike of electricity stabbed into the base of her skull.
Gwen gasped, dropping her phone. Her Spider-Sense was screaming. She whipped her head around, scanning the dark sky.
"Impossible..."
Falling through the clouds, silhouetted against the moonlight, was a massive green figure.
Something that remind him of the worst night in his life.
Panic and pure, unadulterated adrenaline flooded her system. Gwen didn't stop to calculate the physics or the probability. She yanked her mask back over her face, dove off the edge of the roof, and fired a desperate web-line toward the falling monster.
She swung wildly toward the docks, pushing her momentum to the absolute limit.
CRASH.
The massive reptile hit the freezing waters of the Hudson River before she could even clear the highway. A geyser of white water erupted into the night sky.
Gwen landed on a rusted shipping crane, her chest heaving. She scanned the dark, churning water for ten straight minutes. She waited for the beast to surface. She waited for a roar.
Nothing. The river was completely still.
Was it actually a Lizardman? Why was it falling from the sky? Was she hallucinating from sleep deprivation?
Gwen let out a long, shaky breath. She gave up.
Thirty minutes later, Gwen Stacy walked down a crowded Queens sidewalk in her civilian clothes. Her oversized green jacket was pulled tight against the cold, her headphones blasting heavy punk rock over her ears to drown out the noise of the city.
A teenager sprinted past her, clutching a stolen purse. An older woman screamed for help a few yards away. Gwen didn't even break her stride. She just pulled her collar up and kept walking.
She wasn't a crime fighter. Not really. And this world didn't want heroes anyway. Janet Van Dyne, the Wasp, had hung up her wings years ago to become a wealthy supermodel. The public hated vigilantes.
She passed a glowing electronics store window. The news anchor on the display televisions was reading a breaking report: "The high-tech terror syndicate known as 'SILK' has successfully infiltrated a Stark Arms warehouse, making off with millions in advanced munitions..."
Gwen rolled her eyes. Tony Stark was a ruthless arms tycoon living in luxury. He had an entire mechanized private army called War Machine. He didn't need a teenager in ballet slippers fighting his battles.
She turned the corner onto her street in Forest Hills. She stopped on the sidewalk, frowning at her two-story house.
The living room lights were on.
It was way too early for Captain Stacy's shift to end. He must have taken the rest of the day off. Her perfunctory answer on the phone had clearly triggered an emergency father-daughter intervention.
What is there left to even talk about? Gwen thought bitterly.
She walked up the front steps, pulled her keys from her pocket, and unlocked the front door. She pushed it open, keeping her eyes firmly glued to the hardwood floor.
"Look, Dad, I know you mean well, but I really don't want to do the whole therapy speech tonight—"
No one answered.
Gwen stopped. Her Spider-Sense gave a low, confused hum. She slowly looked up.
Sitting at her kitchen table, illuminated by the warm glow of the overhead light, was a teenage girl. She was exactly Gwen's age. She was wearing an elegant, dark trench coat over a stylish skirt. She had stunning, expressive blue eyes, and long, perfectly styled blonde hair.
Gwen's breath hitched. She stared at the intruder.
It was a long-haired, alternate version of herself.
Gwen's mind raced through a dozen terrifying scenarios. Was this a cloning experiment funded by the Kingpin? A shape-shifting Skrull assassin who botched the haircut? A psychological weapon designed to drive her insane?
The long-haired girl looked equally shocked. She stared at the punk-rock drummer standing in the doorway, her blue eyes wide. After a long, agonizingly awkward silence, the girl in the trench coat raised a hand and gave a small, hesitant wave.
"Hey," the girl said, her voice an exact, pitch-perfect match to Gwen's. "I'm... I'm Gwen Stacy. Which I know sounds insane. But I'm Gwen Stacy from Earth-616."
Earth-65 Gwen didn't move a single muscle.
The alternate Gwen swallowed hard, leaning slightly forward over the table. "Have you ever met Peter Parker? I mean... the real Peter Parker?"
Earth-65 Gwen Stacy stared at her own face. Her brain completely short-circuited. She opened her mouth, but only a single, profoundly intelligent syllable managed to escape.
"Huh?"
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