The sewers of New Wundagore were surprisingly clean compared to Earth's equivalent infrastructure—advanced filtration systems and automated maintenance drones kept the worst of the filth contained—but they still smelled like sewers. That particular combination of stagnant water, industrial runoff, and organic decay that no amount of technology could completely eliminate.
Peter's enhanced senses made the experience worse than it would be for a normal human. Every breath carried detailed olfactory information he absolutely didn't want.
"I'm taking the mask off before we meet anyone," John announced, reaching up to deactivate his bionic disguise. "Don't want them thinking I'm actually a beastman and shooting first, asking questions later."
The leonine features melted away, revealing John's normal human face underneath. He looked relieved to be himself again—the bionic masks were sophisticated technology, but wearing them felt unnatural, like your face was covered in living latex.
As they walked through the wide maintenance tunnel, John kept pressing Peter for details about the tower infiltration.
"So the Knights of Wundagore really weren't a challenge?" he asked eagerly. "You made it sound almost easy in the photos."
"They weren't a match for me," Peter said honestly, his invisible form creating slight distortions in the air as he moved. "But the High Evolutionary himself? That's a completely different story. His power exceeded my expectations by orders of magnitude."
Peter paused, choosing his words carefully. "If the resistance can't even handle those so-called elite Knights, I seriously doubt they're capable of overthrowing the High Evolutionary's regime. The power gap is astronomical."
"Are you underestimating us?"
The voice came from ahead—sharp, hostile, echoing through the tunnel with obvious indignation.
Peter and John both looked up to see a hovercar approaching through the sewer's wide maintenance corridor. The vehicle was clearly repurposed civilian technology, its sleek exterior covered with makeshift armor plating and what looked like improvised weapon mounts.
Three people occupied the car.
A young woman with vibrant orange hair tied back in a practical ponytail sat in the driver's seat, her expression alert and intelligent. An older man with blonde hair and a fierce, weathered face occupied the passenger side, scowling at the newcomers with immediate suspicion. And in the back seat, a younger blonde boy wrapped extensively in medical bandages sat quietly, watching them with unnervingly calm eyes.
The demographic spread was almost comically comprehensive—young woman, old man, injured youth. Like they'd been cast for maximum diversity.
Peter found himself examining the two blonde males more closely. The facial structure was similar enough that they could easily be grandfather and grandson. Maybe that's exactly what they were.
"You're the resistance fighters?" Peter asked, allowing his skepticism to show in his tone.
The older blonde man's scowl deepened into something approaching genuine fury. He jerked the hovercar's controls, performing an aggressive drift that brought the vehicle to a halt directly blocking Peter and John's path. Then he vaulted out with surprising agility for his age, stomping toward Peter with clear hostile intent.
He wasn't particularly tall but his temperament more than compensated for his stature. Compact, angry energy radiated from every movement.
"So you're the type who underestimates the resistance?" he snarled, getting right up in Peter's invisible face—or at least where he assumed Peter's face was. "Listen here, boy—don't think you're hot shit just because you fought the Knights of Wundagore! Plenty of people can throw punches!"
"I don't think I'm 'hot shit' because I fought them," Peter replied calmly, his voice emerging from empty air directly in front of the angry man. "I think your group is underestimating the challenge because you've never actually competed with the Knights yourselves. There's a difference between theoretical confidence and tested capability."
"You—!" The blonde man drew back his fist, clearly ready to throw a punch at empty air out of sheer principle.
"Brumley, that's enough!" The orange-haired woman's voice cut through the confrontation with practiced authority.
She'd stepped out of the hovercar with calm, measured movements—a leader used to managing volatile personalities.
"What he said is factually accurate," she continued, moving to stand between Brumley and the invisible Peter. "We haven't directly engaged the Knights at full strength. And what we need right now is to unite all forces capable of resisting the High Evolutionary's regime, not waste energy arguing among ourselves."
"Finally," Peter said, his invisible form shifting slightly, "someone who understands basic strategic thinking."
Brumley snorted with obvious dissatisfaction, turning his head away and crossing his arms like a petulant child denied his favorite toy. But he didn't resume his aggressive posturing, which Peter counted as progress.
The orange-haired woman turned toward where she assumed Peter was standing, her expression professional and welcoming despite not being able to see him.
"Let me introduce our group," she said. "My name is Karen—"
Peter's eyebrows rose slightly beneath his mask. Karen. The same name as his AI assistant. What were the odds?
"—this is Brumley, our primary mechanic and weapons engineer." She gestured toward the still-scowling old man. "And this is Kit."
The bandaged boy in the back seat still hadn't spoken. Instead, he reached into his pocket with slow, deliberate movements and produced two wrapped candies, offering them to Peter and John with a slight nod.
"Thanks," John said, accepting his candy with a friendly smile.
Peter deactivated his invisibility just long enough to take the offered sweet, his hand materializing from nothing to pluck it from Kit's palm before vanishing again.
"We have several hundred people in our main base," Karen continued, clearly trying to project strength through numbers.
"Several hundred?" Peter couldn't keep the skepticism from his voice. "That's all?"
The number was depressingly small. There were more trash cans in New Wundagore's elevated districts than resistance fighters in their entire organization.
"And all the poor humans throughout the city," Karen added with determined optimism. "They're our hidden members—sympathizers who can't actively fight but provide intelligence, safe houses, supplies. The resistance is larger than our active combat personnel suggests."
"Fair enough," Peter conceded. "So what about you two? Your turn for introductions."
"My name is John Jameson," John said clearly. "And this is Spider-Man. We're from another planet—specifically Earth, in a completely different star system."
"He's one of those stinking beastmen!" Brumley immediately interjected, glaring at where he assumed Peter's invisible form was standing. "I can tell from the voice modulation!"
"No, he's human," John said quickly, raising his hands in a calming gesture. "I promise. There are no beastmen on our planet..."
He paused, thinking about Dr. Connors and the Lizard transformation. Then about the various alien species now living on Earth under Plumber protection. His certainty wavered.
"...probably," he finished weakly.
Peter sighed and lifted a small section of his stealth-suit's mask, revealing his very human chin and lower jaw. The pale skin and normal human anatomy should be sufficient proof.
Brumley's expression softened slightly—from active hostility to mere suspicious tolerance.
"As long as you're not a beastman, we can work together," he muttered, though his tone suggested this was a significant concession. "I refuse to collaborate with those stinking animals. Absolutely refuse."
The vehemence in his voice suggested personal trauma. Someone had clearly hurt him badly, and he'd redirected that pain into species-wide hatred.
Peter looked at Karen with genuine sympathy. "You must have an incredibly difficult job."
Karen smiled wryly, understanding exactly what he meant. "Leading the resistance isn't just about fighting The beastial . It's also managing problematic personalities within our own ranks. Sometimes I'm not sure which challenge is harder."
"That's exactly why I need your help," she continued, her expression shifting to serious focus. "Besides the tactical advantage of having two capable fighters, I want detailed intelligence about the tower's interior and the current status of the Knights of Wundagore."
"The Knights themselves aren't worth worrying about," Peter said casually, re-activating his full stealth field and disappearing from view again.
"I subdued all four of them easily. Didn't even break a sweat. Actually punched Sir Ram's horns completely off his head with a single strike—knocked them clean off like breaking breadsticks. Hopefully his girlfriend won't mind dating a bald ram. If he even has a girlfriend, which seems unlikely given his personality."
Kit—the bandaged boy who'd been silent until now—suddenly looked up sharply, his attention completely focused on Peter's invisible position.
"Is that actually true?" Karen asked, her eyes lighting up with cautious hope. "You really defeated all four Knights?"
Brumley clearly thought Peter was exaggerating. "Big talk from someone hiding in an invisibility suit."
"Of course it's true," Peter said with audible smugness. "My suit has comprehensive recording functions. Would you like to watch footage of Spider-Man teaching circus animals proper manners?"
Before anyone could answer, Peter projected the video directly from his suit's systems.
The holographic display materialized in the air between them, showing crystal-clear footage starting from before his tower infiltration. When the recording reached the moment where his suit's AI called out "Karen" for assistance, the orange-haired resistance leader gave Peter a surprised, questioning look.
"Coincidentally," Peter explained quickly, "my artificial intelligence shares your name. Pure chance. No cosmic significance."
"It's a common enough name," Karen said diplomatically. "No explanation needed."
The footage continued, showing Peter's stealthy approach, his ride into the tower on the patrol robot, and then the confrontation with the Knights of Wundagore.
They watched in growing amazement as Peter effortlessly dismantled Lady Ursula, dodged Lady Vermin's telekinetic attacks, broke Lord Tyger's crushing hold, and one-punch-knocked-out Sir Ram hard enough to shatter his reinforced horns.
Even Brumley looked impressed despite himself, muttering under his breath. "Well damn. Maybe the kid isn't just blowing hot air. Can't judge a book by its cover, I suppose..."
Then the High Evolutionary appeared on screen.
"That's him!" Karen leaned forward urgently, her entire body tensing. "That's the High Evolutionary himself! Keep playing—"
Peter immediately cut the feed.
The holographic display vanished, leaving them in relative darkness again.
"Um," Peter said with obvious awkwardness, "the rest of the content will remain classified for now. All you need to know is that Spider-Man successfully escaped with his life. Mission accomplished. Intel gathered. Everyone survived. The end."
The silence that followed was eloquent.
Anyone with functional brain cells could deduce what the missing footage showed: Spider-Man getting absolutely demolished by the High Evolutionary. The abrupt cut, the defensive tone, the embarrassment radiating from Peter's voice—it all painted a very clear picture.
"So that's why you think we can't win," Karen said quietly. "His strength exceeded your imagination."
No, not exactly, Peter thought but didn't say aloud.
"I've encountered beings countless times more powerful than the High Evolutionary," he said instead, projecting confidence he didn't entirely feel. "My boss, for instance—the head of the Plumbers organization. He makes the High Evolutionary look like an angry toddler throwing a tantrum."
He gestured vaguely toward John. "Tell them about Ben Parker."
"Ben rarely shows his face publicly," John said, catching on to Peter's strategy. "He's the Leader, the supreme commander of the Plumbers, the peacekeeping organization with jurisdiction over this entire region of space. The High Evolutionary only dares to act like a tyrant on this one isolated planet. The moment he steps off Counter-Earth into monitored space, he has to behave himself. Keep his head down. Follow the rules like everyone else."
Peter picked up the narrative thread, warming to the topic. "On this planet, you call him the High Evolutionary—master of genetic manipulation, god-king of Counter-Earth. But outside this world? He's just another minor scientist operating in violation of about seventeen different interstellar treaties regarding genetic experimentation and forced evolutionary manipulation of sapient species."
John listened with rapt attention as Peter continued, recounting stories he'd only heard fragments of before.
"Ben Parker once liberated an entire planet from tyrannical rule in less than a month," Peter said, his voice carrying genuine admiration. "He defeated Thanos—the Mad Titan, one of the most dangerous beings in the universe. He systematically dismantled three major galactic empires when they threatened peaceful worlds. He's personally responsible for saving more lives than anyone in recorded history."
The specifics were embellished slightly—Peter was performing for an audience, after all—but the core facts were accurate. Ben had accomplished genuinely impossible things on cosmic scales.
"My professional advice," Peter concluded, "is to avoid direct confrontation with the High Evolutionary until Plumber reinforcements arrive. I estimate they'll locate me within two weeks maximum."
He considered the tactical situation carefully. The Copytrix contained tracking systems Ben had installed—not just GPS, but quantum-entangled locators that functioned across interstellar distances. Even damaged, those systems should still be pinging Ben's scanners.
But two weeks without any contact would definitely raise alarms. Ben would notice. Ben would investigate. Ben would mobilize rescue operations.
Probably.
"Two weeks," Karen said, processing the timeline. "That's acceptable. We can maintain defensive operations for two weeks without major offensive actions."
"No!" Brumley objected immediately, his weathered face creasing with alarm. "Karen, have you forgotten? Sir Ram was secretly researching biological weapons before Spider-Man defeated him! Toxins specifically engineered to kill baseline humans while leaving beastmen completely unharmed! If he's already completed that research and someone else continues the project, they could exterminate us all at once!"
"Brumley," Karen said with exaggerated patience, "Sir Ram has already been defeated. Spider-Man knocked his horns off, remember? We literally just watched the footage. His research facilities were in the tower Spider-Man infiltrated. The project is disrupted."
She turned back toward Peter's invisible position. "Two weeks. We can wait that long."
Two weeks passed with surprising speed.
But the Plumber support Peter expected never materialized.
No rescue ships. No quantum communications. No dimensional portals opening to deposit armed Plumber agents ready to extract them from Counter-Earth.
Just silence. And growing uncertainty. And the sinking realization that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong.
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