Super Template System In Marvel and Beyond

Inside Oscorp's genetics lab, Peter Parker followed the tour guide with a mixture of curiosity and hesitation. His camera clicked as he took snapshots of genetically modified spiders spinning webs inside their reinforced enclosures.

"This is insane," he whispered to himself. "How did they even do that?"

As he leaned in to snap a closer photo, he didn't notice the small red-and-blue spider descending silently on a thin strand of silk, directly above him. A moment later—sting!

"Ow—" Peter flinched, brushing the back of his neck. "What the...?"

He turned, glancing around, but saw nothing. Just a faint red mark on his skin.

"Probably just a regular spider…" he muttered, rubbing his neck and continuing the tour.

Later that night…

Peter stumbled into his bedroom, kicking the door shut behind him.

"What a weird day," he mumbled, dropping his bag. He collapsed onto his bed but immediately sat up again.

His skin was burning.

"Okay… what the hell?"

He rushed to the mirror. His hands trembled. His pupils were dilated, his veins glowing faintly beneath his skin.

"No, no, no—what is this? Did I get drugged? Food poisoning?" His breathing quickened as he gripped the sink.

His fingertips stuck to the porcelain.

He yanked them away, then looked at the wall—his palm clung to it like static.

"Okay. Okay, not normal."

He staggered backward, body heat rising, muscles spasming randomly.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, eyes wide.

"Why… why does it feel like my whole body's being rewired?"

His vision sharpened—far too sharply. He could suddenly read text from across the room. He could hear the faintest buzzing of a fly outside his window.

"What's happening to me?"

He gripped his shirt—beneath it, his muscles were subtly more defined. His posture had shifted.

Something was changing.

And Peter had no idea why.

Peter sat on the floor for what felt like hours, chest rising and falling rapidly as the world around him felt more alive—more overwhelming—than ever before.

Every sound was crisper. Every detail in the room—scratches on the desk, dust on the bookshelf, the subtle hum of the fridge downstairs—stood out as if screaming for his attention.

He couldn't stay indoors.

He needed air.

He threw on his hoodie, grabbed his phone, and slipped out through the fire escape, climbing down the cold metal stairs of his apartment building. As his hand touched the railing, he accidentally crushed part of the steel.

"…Okay. That's new."

He glanced at his fingers. Nothing seemed unusual—until he gripped the rail again and felt how sensitive his grip had become. It was like he could sense the material, the tension, the resistance.

Like his hands weren't just limbs anymore—they were tools.

As he stepped into the alley and onto the sidewalk, the world around him felt strangely synchronized. He could feel the movement of cars blocks away. He heard the flap of pigeon wings overhead. The breeze seemed to dance across his skin in slow motion.

Pedestrians walked past, oblivious to the fact that something impossible was standing right beside them.

Peter's heart pounded.

"This can't be real," he whispered. "Am I hallucinating? Or… mutating?"

Suddenly, someone threw a can toward a nearby trash bin. It missed—ricocheting toward Peter's head.

Whip!

His hand shot up instinctively, snatching the can out of the air with inhuman precision.

He blinked, staring at the aluminum clutched in his hand.

"…I didn't even think."

For a few minutes, Peter walked, aimless and wide-eyed, through the night streets of Queens. His body was calm now—but beneath the surface, power pulsed. It wasn't violent. It wasn't monstrous. But it was alien.

His legs tensed as he stepped onto a bench… and suddenly leapt.

"—Whoa!"

He soared higher than he should've, his body moving with more control than any normal human. He landed awkwardly on a rooftop, stumbling into a crouch—but didn't fall. His reflexes corrected him in an instant.

Breathing hard, he looked out at the glowing city skyline.

"Okay… this is definitely not normal."

**

Peter stood at the edge of the rooftop, the wind brushing against his face as he stared down at the alley below.

"Nope. Nope. No way," he muttered, backing up a few steps.

But something inside him—it wasn't fear. It was curiosity... and something more primal. A pull.

He took a deep breath and ran.

His feet pounded the concrete rooftop, body moving with grace and balance he didn't know he had. At the edge, he leapt—not like a clumsy teenager—but like something more.

Something designed to fly.

For a split second, the air caught him.

Then—THUD.

He landed hard on the opposite rooftop and rolled forward, panting. But it didn't hurt. Not really.

"Holy crap," he whispered, eyes wide. He stood and looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers.

"I just jumped two stories."

Adrenaline surged through him. He ran again, this time deliberately leaping across gaps, climbing ledges, scaling fire escapes with ease. Each time he landed, he felt stronger, faster, more balanced.

After about twenty minutes of rooftop leaping and wall-scaling, Peter found himself standing atop a water tower, overlooking the city like a sentinel.

He took off his hoodie—drenched in sweat—and looked at himself under the moonlight.

His body had changed. Not drastically—but enough.

Leaner. More toned. His arms had more definition, his posture straighter. He moved like someone trained in acrobatics, not someone who spent afternoons in science club.

He extended one arm to balance himself—and without warning, his fingers gripped the side of the water tower like they had tiny barbs. He could feel every microscopic texture on the surface.

"Okay... this is officially unreal."

He looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers slowly. Then at his forearms.

The strength, the speed, the reflexes. The web.

And then, something clicked.

"…The spider," he whispered.

Memories from earlier that day rushed back—the Oscorp tour, the genetics lab, the display of engineered spiders spinning perfect webs.

He remembered leaning in for that photo… and the sting on his neck.

"It wasn't just any spider," he muttered. "It was one of those spiders."

His pulse quickened again, but not from fear—this time, from understanding.

"Oscorp. That lab… that radioactive spider. That's what did this."

He stared down at his hands again—now not just curious, but focused.

"This isn't just random. This is science. Mutation. I've been changed."

He looked out across the rooftops, eyes sharp with new resolve.

"Now the real question is… what am I supposed to do with it?"

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