Date: Tuesday, September 7, 2010.

  Location: Four Season Hotel Downtown, Manhattan, New York

  As the m sun bled into the Empire Suite in the Four Seasons Downtown, Tyson anticipated his first day at Midtown High with excitement.

  Bzzz. Bzzz. His phone vibrated on the marble bedside table, the s lighting up with a new message. Pig it up, he saw it was from Illyana Rasputin, his now ex-girlfriend. They’d only just broken up a few days earlier. The memory was still tender in his mind.

  Good luck at Midtown, Ty. Remember, try to have fun. Think normal thoughts.

  Despite the ache in his heart, Tyson managed a small smile. Illyana had ehings because she wanted him to experience everything that high school had to offer without w about her, especially with her training to be a sorcerer on the opposite side of the world. Quickly, his fiapped out a reply.

  Thanks, Illyana. Hope the training is going well.

  No sooner had he sent the message, than aext from Illyana popped up.

  Before I fet, here’s Jean’s and Jubilee’s numbers. Don’t be a strao them, okay?

  He texted back before saving the new tacts.

  Got it. Thanks… Miss you.

  Setting the phone down, Tyson’s gaze drifted around the room, finally nding on the shopping bags from yesterday. Getting a new cell phoer Illya hadn’t been his only therapy purchase. There was a sense of independence, and perhaps rebellion, in buying the new, leather jacket that y crisply folded among other things. It was pletely unlike his old style, his way of stepping into this neter of his life. The jacket iece of the person he was being, the person he wao be… Plus it matched his new ride.

  His routine was simple; a quick shower, followed by a breakfast of scrambled eggs and waffles, ba, and sausage that was delivered to the room. After dressing up in casual jeans, and a t-shirt, and throwing on his new leather jacket and matg gloves, Tyson grabbed his backpad headed out.

  Ihe Four Seasons underground parking sat a bck motorcycle, which he’d bought the previous day. This purchase was made with the money earned from pawning some gold he’d acquired from the Federal Reserve. Tyson found himself flush with more cash than he knew what to do with. After the paperwork, courtesy of the A One, he had a lise and the legal proof o make these purchases.

  Straddling the motorcycle, Tyson donned his helmet. More for blending in than safety. With his skull reinforced by iructible Adamantium and a healing factor that ughed in the face of injury, Tyson was virtually unbreakable. But he o maintain appearahe motorcycle thuo life, and with a final look at the t elegance of the Four Seasons, Tyson revved the engine and sped off toward Queens.

  The wind rushed against him, tugging at his jacket and r in his ears, the city being a blur of color and motion. The iic structures of Manhattan slowly gave way to the mrounded, unity-driven ndscape of Queens. As he navigated through the traffic, Tyson couldn’t help but feel a sense of exhiration.

  Finally, Midtown High came into view, students milling about, chatting and ughing in groups. As Tyson rolled into the school parking lot, the low growl of his motorcycle's eurned several curious heads. He couldn’t help but feel a small surge of satisfa. Yet, that sense morphed into as he noticed a crowd gathering not far from where he parked. Swinging his leg over the bike and removing his helmet, Tyson strode toward the otion. As he drew closer, his eyes caught sight of a boy at the ter of it all.

  He was lean, not particurly tall, with tousled brown hair and a kind of nerdy air about him. He wore a simple bination of a T-shirt and jeans, both of which looked one size too big as if he’d ied them from someone older. The boy’s gsses were slightly askew, and his books were scattered on the ground. Reition flickered in Tyson's mind.

  Tobe…Peter Parker.

  The reason for the crowd's i became clear. T over Peter was audent, broad-shouldered with a fident smirk pstered across his face. His skin was tan, his hair styled heavily with gel, and his letterman jacket seemed to scream "popurity." This had to be Fsh Thompson, a stereotypical high school jock, known for his athleticism and his less admirable trait of being a bully.

  “e on, Parker,” Fsh jeered, shovier, who stumbled as he was attempting to rise to his feet. “Stand up for yourself, Peter. Or are you just good at hiding behind those sce books of yours?”

  The crowd ughed; Tyson’s fists ched at his sides, heat rising in his chest. He pushed through the gathered students, his size making it all too easy. As he stepped into the circle, his shadow momentarily engulfed both Peter and Fsh. The crowd’s ughter died down.

  “Hey!” Tyson called out, his voice deep and anding, drawing every eye to him. He towered over Fsh, his 6’6 frame broad and muscur, eclipsing Fsh’s 6’2 lean athletic build. “That’s enough.”

  Fsh’s eyes widened, clearly taken aback by Tyson’s sudden appearand imposing stature. But he recovered quickly, “This doesn’t you. Why don’t you mind your own—”

  Tyson cut him off, pointing at Fsh, “Yoing to,” and then back at himself in turn “Tell me what to do.” He asked threateningly. “Go ahead… finish what you were saying.” Tyson’s voice was calm, but it carried an edge, a silent warning daring Fsh to tinue.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. Fsh sized Tyson up, his gaze traveling up and then down, the smirk fading when he realized he was signifitly outsized. There was a moment, a silent standoff, where it seemed Fsh might escate the situation.

  But then, something unusual at Midtoened.

  Fsh backed down.

  “Fine,” he muttered, the word ced with frustration. He shot Peter a final, warning look. “This isn’t over, Parker.”

  With o gre at Tyson, Fsh turned and disappeared into the dispersing crowd, his friends trailing after him. The circle of spectators broke up as the excitement of the frontation passed, leaving Tyson with Peter, who was slowly gathering his books.

  Tysoended a hand, a small, reassuring smile. “You alright, Peter?”

  Peter looked up, a mix of gratitude and surprise in his eyes behind those slightly skewed gsses. He took Tyson’s hand and pulled himself up. “Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Thanks, uh…”

  “Tyson,” he filled in, still holdier’s gaze, ensuring his siy was evident.

  “Thanks, Tyson,” Peter repeated. He gnced away for a sed, awkwardly adjusting his gsses, before adding, “You didn’t have to, you know, step in. But I’m gd you did.”

  Tyson gave a slight shrug, "I couldn't just stand there and watch," he said. Then, with a pyful glint in his eye, he added, "Plus, it retty good way to make arany first day, don't you think?"

  Peter ughed, the sound light and relieving, pushing away the st remnants of tension in the air. "You're n," he admitted. "So, you're new here? I haven't seen you around before."

  "It's my first day," Tyson firmed, "And by the looks of it, just in time, huh?"

  Peter's gaze drifted to where Tyson had gestured, nding oorcycle parked a short distance away. His eyes widened behind his gsses. "That's yours?!" he asked, a note of incredulity mixed with admiration in his voice. "Your parents let you ride that?"

  A shadow passed over Tyson's features, his smile fading slightly. "My parents aren’t around," he said simply.

  Uanding fshed ier's eyes, and his expression softened. He of all people khe pain of not having parents around, the gaping absehat was left in everyday life. "I get it," he said sincerely. "I lost my parents too. I live with my Aunt May and Uncle Ben."

  For a moment, the air between them was charged with a mutual uanding.

  "Looks like we have more in on than I thought, Peter Parker," Tyson said, the er of his mouth turning up in a half-smile.

  Tyson cpped a hand oer’s shoulder, “There's strength in numbers.” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “I helped you up. Maybe you repay the favor and help me find my first-period css.”

  Peter chuckled, and just like that, the air around them felt lighter. As the bell rang in the distance, signaling the start of the school day, Tyson was thankful that he arrived just at the right time. He hadn’t just made a grarance, he might have also made an important friend.

  — Rogue Rept —

  The room was alive with teenage energy. Students milled around, chatting about everything from the test school gossip to their favorite video games. But all that white noise faded into the background as the teacher, Mrs. Morita, a woman of short stature but undeniable authority, cpped her hands sharply. The sound silehe cacophony as if she’d flipped a switch.

  “Alright, everyone, settle down. We’re assigning b partoday. This is Chemistry, not a social hour,” Mrs. Morita announced. As she began pairing off students, Tyson took the opportunity to look around, his eyes taking in the b stations, the safety posters pstered on the walls, and his cssmates. “Tyson Smith, you’re with Gwen Stacy,” Mrs. Morita said, not looking up from her clipboard.

  A girl detached herself from a nearby group. Her blonde hair was secured in a ponytail, her blue eyes bright with intelligence, “I’m Gwen,” she introduced herself, a hand with a courteous smile.

  “Tyson,” he replied while shaking. Weariher gloves in css may have been unusual, but Tyson making skin tact would’ve been far more problematic.

  As they settled into their assigask, Tyson’s first impression of Gwen was she was brilliant, handling their chemistry assig with deftness and uanding. He watched as she skillfully measured and poured, her hands steady, her attentioailed.

  “Man, I just got through Physics, and now this,” Tyson couldn’t help but mutter, half to himself, as he attempted to follow her lead with his brows knitting together in tration.

  Gwen gnced up with a polite smile, “It’s a lot, I know. But you’ll get the hang of it. Chemistry be tough, but it’s not impossible. Here, you’re adding too much of the reagent. Try to level it off a bit, like this,” she demonstrated.

  Tyson managed a det attempt at mimig her. “Thanks, Gwen.”

  “No problem, Tyson,” she replied, that ear smile still on her face. Theone shifted, “You know, I saw what you did this m. With Peter.” Gwen held an approving expression as she tinued, “That was brave. Fsh isly...easy, to stand up to. But you did it anyway. Not a lot of people would’ve dohat.”

  He shrugged, trying to appear nont, “Couldn’t just stand there, you know?”

  “Well, I’m gd you did,” Gwen said early, her focus returning to their assig but her words lingering in the air between them.

  The versation ebbed and flowed after that. Gwen wasn’t just the smartest girl in the room; she was kihetid just. As the bell eventually rang, signaling the end of css; Tyson packed up his things. He shot Gwen a grateful smile, receiving an encing one iurn.

  — Rogue Rept —

  The hallway after his third period was like an o, with waves of chatter. Locker doors smmed, punctuated by the ughter and shouts of teenagers. Tyson found himself swept up in the current of students, all hurrying to their destination. He was surrounded by faces in the crowd, anding out until he saw… her.

  She was like a monoe siren. Her white hair flowed freely down her back as though it refused to be tamed. Her bck clothes were simple yet bold. It wasn’t just her appearahat caught Tyson’s attention; it was the way she moved. There was a deliberateness iep, a silent fidehat bordered oory. She anther among housecats, and she k.

  Their eyes locked, and the cmor around them seemed to mute. “Felicia,” she said when they were close enough. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it didn’t o be. It had the kind of pitch that demao be heard, clear and stro inexplicably intimate, as though her words were meant for him and him alone.

  “Tyson,” he responded, his name feeling somein as it left his lips. He found himself wishing he had something more iing to say, caught up in her presence.

  A small, cryptic smile pyed on her lips as if she were privy to a secret that he wasn’t aware he’d shared. “I saw what you did this m,” she said, her tone casual but her eyes sharp. “That was...ued. Especially for the new guy.”

  He shrugged, “Just seemed like the right thing to do.”

  "Oh," she expressed in mock surprise, her eyes gleaming with amusement while a pyful grin formed. "A knight in shining armor type... That's a bold move. You're already the talk of the town. Not here to just blend in, are you, Tyson?"

  He chuckled, a short, dry sound, and shook his head. “No more than you are, it seems.”

  Felicia’s smile widened by a fra, aowledging his point. “True. I guess it takes oo know one.”

  The bell chose that moment t, its shrill sound signaling the end of their brief interlude and the o move on to their csses. The spell broke, and the noise of the hallway crashed bato Tyson’s awareness like a tidal wave reg the shore.

  “I’ll be seeing you around then,” Felicia said. It wasn’t a question, nor was it a simple statement. It was an assurance. With a final, inscrutable look, Felicia turned and merged bato the student body flowing through the hallway. She weaved through the crowd until she was out of sight.

  Tyson stood there for a few seds lohe echo of her words lingering in his mind. With a deep breath, he readjusted his backpad headed to his css, her enigmatic smile imprinted in his thoughts.

  — Rogue Rept —

  Tyson had been looking for the cafeteria and found himself pushing open a door to the sound of overly impassioned dialogue. Inside, oage, was a girl with fiery red hair and an energy that seemed to captivate her cssmates.

  She was running lines with audent. The momeepped ihe se paused, and her eyes found Tyson in the doorway. “Hey, you’re the new guy, right? ” Caught off guard, Tyson could only nod. The redhead beamed. “I’m MJ. You should join the drama club. We could use someone who’s not afraid of the spotlight.”

  Her invitation was impulsive and sincere, and though Tyson didn’t see himself on stage, he couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I’ll think about it,” he promised.

  He made his way back outside the auditorium and tinued walking until he stumbled upoer. “There’s someone I want you to meet,” Peter said. He pointed down the hallway at a boy dressed in a casual ensemble that somehow screamed designer, from the effortless drape of his jacket to the pristine quality of his shoes. His hair was a tidy mess, likely styled to appear uional, and though he was engrossed in something on his phohere was an undeniable air of isotion about him.

  “That’s Harry,” Peter expined, a small smile tugging at the ers of his lips, though it didn’t quite mask the worry in his eyes. “Harry Osborn.”

  As they approached, Harry looked up, his expression transf from one of distracted io a warm, weling grin. Harry quickly sized Tyson up before extending a hand iing, “Harry Osborn.”

  “Tyson Smith,” he replied, accepting the handshake. “Good to meet you.”

  “You too, man. Heard you made quite a se this m. Fsh is all bark and no bite, but I guess you figured that out already,” Harry chuckled, though the ughter didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  — Rogue Rept —

  Students shuffled into the gymnasium for physical education. The moment Tysoered the gym, his eyes were inexorably drawn to the figure standier-court. Her hair was a cascade of auburn curls that fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her skin was smooth and fwless, save for a few almost imperceptible lihat creased momentarily when she sed her surroundings. Her attire g to her in a way that mao be both modest and revealing. The form-fitting nature of her white top and bck leggings highlighted a physique that was lean, almost dancer-like in its tours, but Tyson could see the tent strength that resided in her limbs. Her eyes were a striking shade of green. They flicked across the students, assessing with the kind of gaze that seemed to pee and analyze one's very essence. Even when her lips curled into a professional smile, her eyes retained a watchful light.

  When she walked over toward the gathered students, there was an ey to her movements, nothing wasted. Seeiyson's senses didn't just take in a woman of strikiy; they aowledged a human on in gym teacher's attire. This was a facade, a guise worn as fortably as her skin, but as Tyson well kneearances could be deceiving.

  She introduced herself with a smile that didn't quite meet her eyes, maintaining a cool professional demeanood afternoon, everyone. I'm Ms. Natalie Rushman, and I'll be guiding your physical education sessions for the foreseeable future."

  Tyson's heart didn't so much skip a beat as it did freeze entirely. He knew her, not as Natalie Rushman, but as Natasha Romanoff, also known as the Bck Widow. Every arm bell in his head went off at the realization that one of the most formidable spies and assassins was here, in Midtown High, masquerading as a gym teacher. The question that pounded in his skull was, why?

  "We're pying dodgeball today," Natalie announced, and the groans and cheers alike couldn't disguise the students' curiosity about her, their whispers swirling around the gym. "I'll participate to bahe teams."

  The game unfolded, and Natalie, Natasha, was nothing short of a spectacle. She dispyed an almost surreal agility, dodging and throwing with a precision that hi her true, lethal skill set. The gym buzzed with whispers and wide-eyed gnces as "Natalie Rushman" showcased moves that made even the most athletic students gawk. Fsh Thompson sauntered up to her, a smug grin pstered on his fabsp;

  "Hey, Miss Rushman," Fsh drawled, puffing out his chest. "Need a partner for a demonstration? I’m pretty skilled myself."

  Natalie turo him, "That won’t be necessary," she replied coolly, her voice carrying enough firmo hush the murmuring students.

  Fsh Thompson seemed to take her denial as a challenge. "Bet you’ve never had a student as athletic as me," he decred as he puffed out his chest.

  Natalie looked at Fsh, unimpressed, then turned her gaze directly to Tyson, who stood a distance away. "Actually," There was an undeniable softening in her eyes as she said, "I see more talent in him." Her voice held a hint of... Respeaybe Fondness? It was hard to pinpoint, but it was there when she referred to Tyson.

  Murmurs erupted among the students as Fsh’s smirk faltered, his bravado defting faster than a punctured balloon. Tyson, suddenly scious of every pair of eyes on him, found himself analyzing her ued response. Red-faced and embarrassed, Fsh skulked back to his friends, while the other students struggled to hide their giggles.

  But Tyson couldn't fully focus on the game. His mind raced, trying to piece together the puzzle of Bck Widow's presence. Peter hadn't bee Spider-Mahis m’s altercation with Fsh made that clear. So, she wasn't here for a friendly neighborhood superhero chat. That left one uling option.

  She was here for him.

  But why? Was SHIELD now keeping tabs on him through one of their top operatives?

  After the css, as the students filed out of the gym, Natalie approached Tyson. His enhanced sense of smell picked up her subtle, natural fragrance. Rich leather, exotic spices, and a cool wisp of winter air, all iwined with the fairace of gunpowder. Her gaze was inscrutable, and she spoke with casual praise, "You have good moves, Tyson. But your instincts could use a little work."

  Struggling to keep his voice even, Tyson replied, "Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. You're pretty impressive yourself."

  A flicker of amusement crossed her features. "I've had my share of practice." She held his gaze, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "I look forward to seeing what else you do," she added. Her tone was light but the undercurrents were deep. It wasn't a mere statement; it was a warning, ohat should have gone over Tyson’s head, but with his meta-knowledge, it gave away her purpose in the school.

  She then moved away to attend her css, leaving Tyson grappling with his thoughts. The presence of the Bck Widow in his school plicated things. As he left the gym, Tyson's mind was abuzz with the most nagging question being, what game was SHIELD pying at Midtown High? How did he end up on their radar? Was it because of his mutant ability, or maybe he screwed up during the heist.

  Fubsp;

  He definitely screwed up during the heist.

  — Rogue Rept —

  The school gradually grew quiet as students dispersed, each to their destinatioer, with a hesitant but genuine smile, turo Tyson. "So, um, you want to e over for dinner? My Aunt May's not half bad i," he offered. There was a lightness in his too mask the underlying siy.

  Tyson was surprised but touched by the invitation, and accepted. They hailed a cab, and the ride was filled with the kind of easy chatter that newly minted friends share. The cab rolled to a stop in front of a quaint, well-kept house. Peter paid the fare, and they headed toward the entrahe door opened before they reached it, revealing a woman whose smile was as kind as her eyes.

  "Peter. And who's this?" Aunt May greeted, her voice lilting with pleasant surprise.

  "This is Tyson, Aunt May. He's o the school," Peter introduced.

  "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Tyson said, extending a hand politely.

  "Oh, none of that 'ma'am' business," Aunt May chided gently, "e in, e in. Dinner's just about ready. You're in time to save Peter from his cooking duties."

  They ughed, and Tyso an ued pang of... was it longing? But he pushed it aside as they ehe house. The aroma of a home-cooked meal wafted through invitingly.

  They settled at the diable, where a man with a friendly fad a gentle demeanor joihem. Tyson immediately reized Uncle Ben.

  "So, Tyson, what brings you to our part of the city?" Uncle Ben inquired, passing the mashed potatoes.

  "I had difficulties at my st school up i Chester. I was lucky enough to get accepted to Midtown, so I made the ute over from Manhattan. It’s not too bad, only twenty-five minutes or so." Tyson replied.

  "And how are you finding things? Settling in okay at school?" Aunt May asked, tinting her words.

  Tyson g Peter, sharing a look that held the weight of today's events. "It's been an... iing first day."

  Both Aunt May and Uncle Ben caught the uo chose to let it lie, uanding that some stories weren't meant to be told at the diable. Instead, they shared stories of their own, filling the meal with a sense of unity that Tyson hadn’t realized he'd been missing.

  The night had settled when Tysoually left. He’d met Peter Parker and his family, but it wasn’t the Peter he’d expected. Add in the presenary Jason, Gwen Stacy, Felicia Hardy, and the Bck Widow, and Tyson wasn’t sure what he knew anymore.

  Behind the ses

  - Reminder from No Way Home: Peter #1 - Tom Holnd, Peter #2 - Tobey Maguire, Peter #3 - Andrew Garfield.

  - The versions of Peter Parker and most of the Spider-Man characters that Tyson enters here are from Tobey Maguire’s version of Spider-Man. The exception is Gwen Stacy, who’s from Andrew Garfield’s, and of course, Natasha from the MCU.

  - Tyson turned 17 years old iime betwee chapter and the start of this one.

  - New Cover Art should be updated shortly after this chapter is posted.