C 107

Spider-Man had been excited about what Anton had planned, but his enthusiasm wavered as Anton drove into a secluded alley and stopped at a remote parking lot. 

Getting out of the car, Anton walked to a nearby sewer manhole cover and opened it.

"What does this mean?" Peter asked, confused.

Anton looked back with a smirk. "Let's go. All your new friends are inside."

Without further explanation, Anton descended into the sewer.

Peter hesitated for a moment before following. As he entered, he was surprised to find that the space was nothing like what he'd expected. There was no foul smell or decay—this sewer was surprisingly clean and well-maintained.

After walking for two or three minutes, they reached a hidden chamber that left Peter speechless.

"This is...?"

Peter's face froze in astonishment as he took in the sight before him.

The area had been transformed into a secret base. The walls were lined with monitors, and advanced technological equipment filled the space.

Peter recognized some of the devices immediately—they were the same kind of equipment he'd used during his weekend part-time job at Oscorp.

But what shocked him the most was the figure working diligently at one of the workstations: a one-armed scientist he knew well.

"Professor Connors!" Peter exclaimed in surprise.

The scientist turned to see Peter and smiled, his expression tinged with both warmth and guilt.

"Peter, long time no see," Connors greeted.

"Professor Connors, why are you here?"

Peter glanced at Anton, then back at Connors. Stepping closer, he caught sight of the data displayed on the monitors and suddenly understood.

"Wait… you're still studying the Lizard genes?!" Peter's voice carried a mix of concern and alarm.

"Don't worry, Peter," Connors reassured him with a smile, patting Peter's head gently with his remaining hand. "I won't let that madness consume me again—not over this arm."

Connors' smile softened as he added, "You should thank Batman for giving me this chance to start over."

Peter's mind raced with questions, and he turned to Anton. "Then... where's Uncle Norman?" he asked hesitantly.

Anton's expression grew serious. "His condition is very bad. It's not convenient for you to see him right now," he said flatly.

Before Peter could press further, a loud bang, bang! echoed from another section of the sewer, followed by the sounds of something hitting the walls and a guttural roar.

Peter instantly understood. Norman Osborn was still in his Green Goblin state, struggling with the uncontrollable rage and paranoia caused by the side effects of the body-enhancing serum.

"I've got a lead," Connors interjected, noticing Peter's unease. "With the help of the mutagen from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I believe we can develop an antidote to restore Norman's mind. It will eliminate the negative emotions plaguing him and, at the same time, grant enhanced self-healing abilities."

"Wait... does that mean your arm could grow back too? This time without any side effects?" Peter asked, his tone full of hope.

Connors nodded solemnly. "Yes. That's the goal. And it's all thanks to Batman's support."

Peter glanced at Anton, gratitude shining in his eyes.

To Peter, Connors was more than just a scientist. He was a respected elder who had helped him immensely in the past. Seeing Connors given a second chance filled Peter with hope—not just for Connors, but for Norman as well.

Peter was sincerely happy to see that Connors had corrected his past mistakes.

Anton waved at him and said, "Peter, I brought you here to meet some new friends."

"New friends?"

Spider-Man had already begun to suspect who these "new friends" might be. After all, they'd been making a name for themselves recently.

"They're over at the training ground," Connors said, nodding toward a different area of the base.

"Let's go," Anton said, leading Peter to the dojo, which served as the turtles' training ground.

Inside, Master Splinter, the wise and strict mentor of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, was putting his students through rigorous training. On one hand, it was to sharpen their discipline; on the other, it seemed like punishment.

"Who broke my potted plant this morning while I was at the police station?" Splinter growled, pacing between the turtles.

The turtles, who were all balancing upside down on exercise balls, struggled to maintain their positions as Splinter's long, thin tail kept flicking them, throwing them off balance.

"It wasn't me, Master!" Michelangelo yelped. "It was Donnie! He stepped on your plant!"

"Don't blame me, Mikey! It was you!" Donatello snapped, gritting his teeth.

"Either way, it wasn't us!" Raphael interjected, panting. "So let me and Leo go already!"

"Master, it's my fault," Leonardo said, taking responsibility. "As their leader, I should've managed them better."

As the eldest and their captain, Leonardo carried the burden of his brothers' actions. His punishment was harsher—he was upside down on his exercise ball while kicking a heavy boulder with his feet. He was visibly exhausted and on the verge of collapse.

Suddenly, the turtles turned their attention to the newcomers. All eyes fell on Anton and Peter.

"Anton, what brings you here?" Splinter asked, glancing over Anton before locking eyes on Spider-Man. "And who is he?"

"This is Peter Parker," Anton introduced, gesturing toward Peter. "Master Splinter, I'd like you to give him some special training. Among everyone I know, you're the best teacher when it comes to training apprentices."

Splinter accepted the compliment with a calm nod. He approached Peter, circling him while sniffing the air. 

Then he gave Peter's arm muscles a firm squeeze and raised an eyebrow. "Your strength doesn't match your appearance, young one," Splinter observed.

"Uh...hello," Peter said, looking at the large, talking rat in amazement.

He was already familiar with the turtles in front of him. They had become a New York sensation, and the city was abuzz with news of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

In fact, their fans had grown so enthusiastic that some even proposed hanging a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles flag at City Hall. Not even Batman's most devoted fans had come up with an idea so absurd!

"Little guy? What kind of strength could he have?" Michelangelo scoffed, rolling his eyes before turning to Splinter. "Master, let us down already—we're dying up here!"

"Alright," Splinter relented. He pointed at Michelangelo. "Mikey, you'll test this young one's strength."

"Test?" Michelangelo said, flipping off the balance ball and landing gracefully in front of Peter. He grinned, flashing a mischievous turtle smile. "Alright, little guy, don't blame me for being rough!"

"Bring it on!" Peter replied, his confidence unwavering.

Peter stepped into the ring at the center of the dojo and gestured for Michelangelo to join him. The yellow-eye-masked turtle met his gaze with an easy smile and said confidently, "I won't go easy on you."

"Neither will I. Don't cry later," Peter replied, smirking.

Michelangelo climbed into the ring, leaving his nunchaku behind and adopting a defensive stance. 

"Alright, kid. I'll let you take the first shot!" he said, knocking his turtle shell with pride. His confidence earned groans from his brothers and an eye-roll from Splinter.

Anton raised an eyebrow, glancing between Michelangelo and the mischievous Spider-Man. He didn't say a word, clearly content to let the scene play out.

Splinter, having briefly tested Peter's strength earlier, already knew the young man's power was extraordinary. Still, he didn't warn Michelangelo—perhaps this would serve as a lesson in humility for the overconfident turtle.

The other three turtles exchanged uneasy glances. They noticed the calm expressions on both Anton and Splinter and couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to go very wrong.

"Alright then, I'm not holding back!" Peter said with a grin.

Deliberately taking his time, Peter stepped forward toward Michelangelo. With a playful air, he clenched his fist, winding up his punch.

BOOM!

The air cracked as Peter's fist flew forward.

Michelangelo's confident grin vanished, replaced by wide-eyed shock. Although his turtle shell didn't crack, the sheer force of the punch sent him flying across the dojo. 

He slammed into the sewer wall with a resounding thud near the confluence.

"Damn!" Michelangelo groaned, dazed and slumped against the wall.

….

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