Midtown Manhattan, New York
Volume 1: Origin
The bell rang signaling the start of school. He sat alone, Jeremy didn’t have friends. His first period happened to be homeroom. His classmates stared at him, much to his annoyance, but he disregarded their looks and remained apathetic. The events of earlier undoubtedly spread by now.
While he sat in class he pulled up his status sheet. His reasoning early seemed even more logical. The System was based around Personas, which meant he became the individual he unlocked. Like the York boy memories he has Jason Todds too, well he has some, the percentage meant more than just abilities. lives nor their mental shortcomings.
He was unceremoniously transmigrated into this unknown dangerous Marvel world. So, How could he just depart with his identity? He shook his head in exasperation. He would wear the mask of the York boy but wouldn't become him. He will reinvent himself, even if that means taking aspects of York. He had already assuaged the part that remained. He would seek vengeance on The Hand and the Yorks that conspired against the boy's parents.
'All of this is just so complicated.'
Cole held his planner in his hands, which had been updated, courtesy of Principal Moira. Once again, he was reminded of the troubles the York boy was causing him. Academic probation didn't mean he needed to pass barely, and the well-meaning principal wanted him to excel. Sad really. Former multibillion-dollar heir to York vast fortune regulated to a common thug, drug dealer, and all-around no future individual. A great origin story in the making.
As he observed the planner, he was brought back to the vastness of this universe he had been dropped in. He had quite extensive knowledge about the Marvel cinematic universe, but he couldn't claim he knew dates and special occurrences to pinpoint which Earth this happened to be. But, did it matter? No. What mattered was preparing and being ready for the perceivable sky fall.
One thing he did look forward to was attending this school. The benefits of the state-of-the-art class were right before his eyes. He looked up and observed his homeroom teacher, an advanced Artificial Intelligence. "Stark Enterprise's led by the billion-dollar playboy Tony Stark, and also currently missing and presumed dead, at least that's what Obadiah Stein is suggesting."
Tony Stark has also personally donated large sums of money to the school budget; since then, better-qualified educators have applied for employment. He immediately noticed a problem by browsing the school's website, and it quickly became merit-based. Quite soon, only the rich, influential, and highly extraordinary would be in attendance.
He had also found that the not-so-currently fantastic four were probably already experimenting with cosmic rays that would turn them into human mutates. Either version could pass on the genetic marker to their descendants. Speaking on Metahuman he wondered if was Sublime in this verse, and if so he would have to deal with him to stamp damn on the mutant extremist from being born.
Time slowly trickled forward, and soon the end of the period came. He was before his locker. He had Math next. His neighbor, a teen of small stature and even lesser presence, stared at him. Noticing the teen glaring, he turned to regard him.
The two teens' eyes met mere seconds. Cole's mask slipped a fraction of a second, but that's all it took for the boy's senses to go haywire. His neighbor gripped the locker so tightly it began to squeal and misform. Peter took a small step back from the locker in alarm, his mouth agape before he realized what had happened? His senses in the brief moment began to spasm. All kinds of thoughts went through Peter's mind...
Cole glanced at the dented locker, then back to the teen before ignoring him once again. 'Interestingly, the sense of the spidey is impeccable,' he thought internally. 'If I had bad intentions, nobody would have secrets.' He also understood that his knowledge of events and identities were dangerous, life-threatening danger. He hoped the System had safeguards for mental intrusion because...
He closed his locker and looked above his head for the mathematics wing's direction. The hallways of Midtown high were loud, and teenagers' wild nature was on full display.
He smiled tightly. Jermey York was an outcast outside of the local drug users he interacted with. The same group was supposed to hit the block with him when he was stabbed. 'I wonder.'
He identified several people regarding him, interested in playing across their facial expressions. One motioned him toward the bathroom. Present yourself to me so early? And the fellas have arrived.
Jeremy's memories were opened to him. He knew he wasn't highly thought of. He wasn't a saint by a long shot. He did his dirt too.
"Peter Parker!" Said a female voice over the crowds of talking students. I stopped. The delinquents were forgotten. That voice sounded familiar, and this body reacted on its own accord; my heart clenched as memories came unbidden. I whirled around. His calm face morphed into one of yearning as his heart thrummed in his chest. Like a wild thoroughbred, it ran.
Quickly moving through the now parting crowd was the girl of Jeremy York's dreams. She had a statuesque figure that radiated otherworldly beauty. Her face was Symmetrical; framing her nearly perfect face was splendid blonde locks of well-manicured hair.
She had stopped before Peter. Her eyes were hard as she locked onto him, causing the diminutive teen to freeze.
He raised his hand to his chest. Damn, you sure know where to shoot,' I admonished myself. Deeply in love. He soon realized something; he was a teenager. There was hunger that was barely hidden...
He clamped down on the hormones and steeled himself.
The hallways were quiet. One of the most beautiful and popular girls approached Peter Parker. This is a precursor event. I scanned the crowd, and my eyes landed on another teen whose face was red with rage. He looked nothing like the comics nor the movies.
"What happened to you last night?" she questioned as she stepped closer, invading the sweating teen personal space. Her French-tipped finger tapped his chest. "Were supposed to have studied together, remember? I place the reminder in your phone, Peter Parker."
"Huh?" Was his only response to the beautiful teen words.
"Huh." Gwen parroted, her voice rising in octaves. Quickly, the two drew the attention of others and the ire of many of her adoring admirers. Her eyes slanted in a way only a woman could accomplish. Her body seemly vibrates as she bounced on the balls of her feet.
She unleashed womanly Fury upon Peter Parker. She practically shook the mouse-like boy. After a while, she relented. She brought the object of her worries out and decided to use it on him instead; now equipped with her science book, her displeasure of him was renewed.
Parker showed some finesse and used some quick social engineering techniques. He had ended up piecing and an all-to believable story together; even he would have believed him after his tale was done. Cole's eyes rose along with many others; he felt a slight tinge of jealousy knotting in his heart.
Wholly ignored, he listened closely. He ended up having to rub the back of his neck, assuaging himself. Gwen's eyes cut over to him, appraising him as only a woman can accomplish. His hands became clammy, and he looked away.
"You look familiar," she mumbled. "Parker, introduce me to your friend!" Her words were one of demand. Peter fumbled with his words but finally remembered me; he omitted a glaring fact, we weren't friends, not even close. Gwen nodded before a lightbulb went off in her head. She must have had some vague memory of me. She noted that I seemed taller and more streamlined.
It has been a while since Jeremy attended school. Cole watched her walk off and sighed. In the end, he remained quiet.
Suddenly, he became nauseous, and he spied around for the nearest restroom. He splashed water across his face, corralling his teenage desires and impotence.
In the mirror, staring back at him, was Jermey York. He wasn't ugly, but neither would he be considered handsome. He had shoulder-length dreadlocks. His skin was light brown, courtesy of his Father. He had steely gray eyes with a pronounced slant denoting his mother's heritage. He was of biracial ethnicity. He recalled his Mothers family disowned her for marrying an African-American. Little did they know the said man was genius on par with Antonio Stark Sr.
The door opened widely. A blonde, ruggedly handsome youth entered, followed by a gang of similarly dressed teens, each wearing a letterman sports jacket—the Midtown high Varsity Football team.
The leading teen was the unmistakable 'Flash Thompson.' He gave me a passing glance that held traces of warning. Masks weren't always of the physical variety. Each one occupied a stall. Soon the smell of pot waffled from the occupied stalls. My presence drew the ire of the one remaining. He said some choice words before motioning for me to exit. I smiled thinly but ended up departing.
The residing teacher grilled me on my absence but soon turned to concern as I played up my status, orphan, group home, quickly playing at one heartstring. She soon vanished after holding her hand out for my planner. Twenty minutes later, she returned with stacks of missing work. She smiled sadly down at me and told me I had one opportunity. I made promises. I just hoped I could keep them.
The second period was uneventful. I had my makeup work and tests that I needed to compete. She mentioned it was to be completed during free time after she caught me not paying attention to her lecturing or after school. I paid attention to her droning on about velocity and magnitude. I even took some notes.
I got to pay attention to these things. The third was P.E. The coach looked me over and said I've grown some inches. Did I? Thankfully, I'm Six-teen, still got some growth spurts in me. He pretty much needed an updated physical on me.
Afterward, he told me to exercise or join the basketball game, and I chose option one. I was wondering about my abilities, mainly my physical limits. Midtown had a pretty decent set of training equipment.
The sports team mainly used the exercise room, but there were private rooms. I chose the latter. I didn't need prying eyes, nor did I want the sports team to take notice of me.
I started small; my body weight was a better start than any. Placing one-hundred and fifty pounds on the bar, I began my tests. Two hundred reps later and no worse for wear, I went to grab more weights. I added another one-hundred fifty, giving me a total of three hundred pounds. The first rep was easy. The second was the same. After fifty presses, I theorized I was nearing my limits. I reckoned I could bench nearly five hundred if needed, possibly another hundred under the influence of adrenaline.
My next test was my speed. I was setting up the treadmill. I began to run at a relaxed pace. My goal was to see how many miles I could run in 30 minutes. My timer went off, and I hopped off. I ran fifteen miles in thirty minutes, which put me thirty mph. Satisfied, I went to do other things before the period came to an end.
Before I could reach for the knob, someone had already opened the door; before me was the fiery red-headed beauty, Mary Jane Watson.
"Excuse me! This room had been reserved." She cocked her head and peered behind me.
I smiled tightly and raised my hand placatingly before apologizing. She explained to me how the private room reservations worked. I explained to her how I honestly didn't know, and she let me leave with a stern warning.
Mary Jane was exasperated. Just who did that boy think he was? She quickly changed her clothes and froze as she looked at the bench and the weights still set on it.
She ran back to the door and opened it, and she looked around for him. "No way! There is no way that skin and bones were capable of lifting three-hundred pounds." She mumbled aloud, but her eyes told another story.
Cole was heading to the fourth period but froze and silently cursed. He hadn't reset the weights... He contemplated briefly but ended up believing nobody would believe he was capable of lifting three-hundred pounds, anyway
Midtown Manhattan, New York
Volume 1: Origin
The bell rang signaling the start of school. He sat alone, Jeremy didn’t have friends. His first period happened to be homeroom. His classmates stared at him, much to his annoyance, but he disregarded their looks and remained apathetic. The events of earlier undoubtedly spread by now.
While he sat in class he pulled up his status sheet. His reasoning early seemed even more logical. The System was based around Personas, which meant he became the individual he unlocked. Like the York boy memories he has Jason Todds too, well he has some, the percentage meant more than just abilities. lives nor their mental shortcomings.
He was unceremoniously transmigrated into this unknown dangerous Marvel world. So, How could he just depart with his identity? He shook his head in exasperation. He would wear the mask of the York boy but wouldn't become him. He will reinvent himself, even if that means taking aspects of York. He had already assuaged the part that remained. He would seek vengeance on The Hand and the Yorks that conspired against the boy's parents.
'All of this is just so complicated.'
Cole held his planner in his hands, which had been updated, courtesy of Principal Moira. Once again, he was reminded of the troubles the York boy was causing him. Academic probation didn't mean he needed to pass barely, and the well-meaning principal wanted him to excel. Sad really. Former multibillion-dollar heir to York vast fortune regulated to a common thug, drug dealer, and all-around no future individual. A great origin story in the making.
As he observed the planner, he was brought back to the vastness of this universe he had been dropped in. He had quite extensive knowledge about the Marvel cinematic universe, but he couldn't claim he knew dates and special occurrences to pinpoint which Earth this happened to be. But, did it matter? No. What mattered was preparing and being ready for the perceivable sky fall.
One thing he did look forward to was attending this school. The benefits of the state-of-the-art class were right before his eyes. He looked up and observed his homeroom teacher, an advanced Artificial Intelligence. "Stark Enterprise's led by the billion-dollar playboy Tony Stark, and also currently missing and presumed dead, at least that's what Obadiah Stein is suggesting."
Tony Stark has also personally donated large sums of money to the school budget; since then, better-qualified educators have applied for employment. He immediately noticed a problem by browsing the school's website, and it quickly became merit-based. Quite soon, only the rich, influential, and highly extraordinary would be in attendance.
He had also found that the not-so-currently fantastic four were probably already experimenting with cosmic rays that would turn them into human mutates. Either version could pass on the genetic marker to their descendants. Speaking on Metahuman he wondered if was Sublime in this verse, and if so he would have to deal with him to stamp damn on the mutant extremist from being born.
Time slowly trickled forward, and soon the end of the period came. He was before his locker. He had Math next. His neighbor, a teen of small stature and even lesser presence, stared at him. Noticing the teen glaring, he turned to regard him.
The two teens' eyes met mere seconds. Cole's mask slipped a fraction of a second, but that's all it took for the boy's senses to go haywire. His neighbor gripped the locker so tightly it began to squeal and misform. Peter took a small step back from the locker in alarm, his mouth agape before he realized what had happened? His senses in the brief moment began to spasm. All kinds of thoughts went through Peter's mind...
Cole glanced at the dented locker, then back to the teen before ignoring him once again. 'Interestingly, the sense of the spidey is impeccable,' he thought internally. 'If I had bad intentions, nobody would have secrets.' He also understood that his knowledge of events and identities were dangerous, life-threatening danger. He hoped the System had safeguards for mental intrusion because...
He closed his locker and looked above his head for the mathematics wing's direction. The hallways of Midtown high were loud, and teenagers' wild nature was on full display.
He smiled tightly. Jermey York was an outcast outside of the local drug users he interacted with. The same group was supposed to hit the block with him when he was stabbed. 'I wonder.'
He identified several people regarding him, interested in playing across their facial expressions. One motioned him toward the bathroom. Present yourself to me so early? And the fellas have arrived.
Jeremy's memories were opened to him. He knew he wasn't highly thought of. He wasn't a saint by a long shot. He did his dirt too.
"Peter Parker!" Said a female voice over the crowds of talking students. I stopped. The delinquents were forgotten. That voice sounded familiar, and this body reacted on its own accord; my heart clenched as memories came unbidden. I whirled around. His calm face morphed into one of yearning as his heart thrummed in his chest. Like a wild thoroughbred, it ran.
Quickly moving through the now parting crowd was the girl of Jeremy York's dreams. She had a statuesque figure that radiated otherworldly beauty. Her face was Symmetrical; framing her nearly perfect face was splendid blonde locks of well-manicured hair.
She had stopped before Peter. Her eyes were hard as she locked onto him, causing the diminutive teen to freeze.
He raised his hand to his chest. Damn, you sure know where to shoot,' I admonished myself. Deeply in love. He soon realized something; he was a teenager. There was hunger that was barely hidden...
He clamped down on the hormones and steeled himself.
The hallways were quiet. One of the most beautiful and popular girls approached Peter Parker. This is a precursor event. I scanned the crowd, and my eyes landed on another teen whose face was red with rage. He looked nothing like the comics nor the movies.
"What happened to you last night?" she questioned as she stepped closer, invading the sweating teen personal space. Her French-tipped finger tapped his chest. "Were supposed to have studied together, remember? I place the reminder in your phone, Peter Parker."
"Huh?" Was his only response to the beautiful teen words.
"Huh." Gwen parroted, her voice rising in octaves. Quickly, the two drew the attention of others and the ire of many of her adoring admirers. Her eyes slanted in a way only a woman could accomplish. Her body seemly vibrates as she bounced on the balls of her feet.
She unleashed womanly Fury upon Peter Parker. She practically shook the mouse-like boy. After a while, she relented. She brought the object of her worries out and decided to use it on him instead; now equipped with her science book, her displeasure of him was renewed.
Parker showed some finesse and used some quick social engineering techniques. He had ended up piecing and an all-to believable story together; even he would have believed him after his tale was done. Cole's eyes rose along with many others; he felt a slight tinge of jealousy knotting in his heart.
Wholly ignored, he listened closely. He ended up having to rub the back of his neck, assuaging himself. Gwen's eyes cut over to him, appraising him as only a woman can accomplish. His hands became clammy, and he looked away.
"You look familiar," she mumbled. "Parker, introduce me to your friend!" Her words were one of demand. Peter fumbled with his words but finally remembered me; he omitted a glaring fact, we weren't friends, not even close. Gwen nodded before a lightbulb went off in her head. She must have had some vague memory of me. She noted that I seemed taller and more streamlined.
It has been a while since Jeremy attended school. Cole watched her walk off and sighed. In the end, he remained quiet.
Suddenly, he became nauseous, and he spied around for the nearest restroom. He splashed water across his face, corralling his teenage desires and impotence.
In the mirror, staring back at him, was Jermey York. He wasn't ugly, but neither would he be considered handsome. He had shoulder-length dreadlocks. His skin was light brown, courtesy of his Father. He had steely gray eyes with a pronounced slant denoting his mother's heritage. He was of biracial ethnicity. He recalled his Mothers family disowned her for marrying an African-American. Little did they know the said man was genius on par with Antonio Stark Sr.
The door opened widely. A blonde, ruggedly handsome youth entered, followed by a gang of similarly dressed teens, each wearing a letterman sports jacket—the Midtown high Varsity Football team.
The leading teen was the unmistakable 'Flash Thompson.' He gave me a passing glance that held traces of warning. Masks weren't always of the physical variety. Each one occupied a stall. Soon the smell of pot waffled from the occupied stalls. My presence drew the ire of the one remaining. He said some choice words before motioning for me to exit. I smiled thinly but ended up departing.
The residing teacher grilled me on my absence but soon turned to concern as I played up my status, orphan, group home, quickly playing at one heartstring. She soon vanished after holding her hand out for my planner. Twenty minutes later, she returned with stacks of missing work. She smiled sadly down at me and told me I had one opportunity. I made promises. I just hoped I could keep them.
The second period was uneventful. I had my makeup work and tests that I needed to compete. She mentioned it was to be completed during free time after she caught me not paying attention to her lecturing or after school. I paid attention to her droning on about velocity and magnitude. I even took some notes.
I got to pay attention to these things. The third was P.E. The coach looked me over and said I've grown some inches. Did I? Thankfully, I'm Six-teen, still got some growth spurts in me. He pretty much needed an updated physical on me.
Afterward, he told me to exercise or join the basketball game, and I chose option one. I was wondering about my abilities, mainly my physical limits. Midtown had a pretty decent set of training equipment.
The sports team mainly used the exercise room, but there were private rooms. I chose the latter. I didn't need prying eyes, nor did I want the sports team to take notice of me.
I started small; my body weight was a better start than any. Placing one-hundred and fifty pounds on the bar, I began my tests. Two hundred reps later and no worse for wear, I went to grab more weights. I added another one-hundred fifty, giving me a total of three hundred pounds. The first rep was easy. The second was the same. After fifty presses, I theorized I was nearing my limits. I reckoned I could bench nearly five hundred if needed, possibly another hundred under the influence of adrenaline.
My next test was my speed. I was setting up the treadmill. I began to run at a relaxed pace. My goal was to see how many miles I could run in 30 minutes. My timer went off, and I hopped off. I ran fifteen miles in thirty minutes, which put me thirty mph. Satisfied, I went to do other things before the period came to an end.
Before I could reach for the knob, someone had already opened the door; before me was the fiery red-headed beauty, Mary Jane Watson.
"Excuse me! This room had been reserved." She cocked her head and peered behind me.
I smiled tightly and raised my hand placatingly before apologizing. She explained to me how the private room reservations worked. I explained to her how I honestly didn't know, and she let me leave with a stern warning.
Mary Jane was exasperated. Just who did that boy think he was? She quickly changed her clothes and froze as she looked at the bench and the weights still set on it.
She ran back to the door and opened it, and she looked around for him. "No way! There is no way that skin and bones were capable of lifting three-hundred pounds." She mumbled aloud, but her eyes told another story.
Cole was heading to the fourth period but froze and silently cursed. He hadn't reset the weights... He contemplated briefly but ended up believing nobody would believe he was capable of lifting three-hundred pounds, anyway
