Chapter 1: Being a Hero isn't a Choice

The pain felt in my hand was immense, like a hot iron pressed up against my skin. Whatever it was borrowed through my skin and into the veins in my hand. I grunted in pain holding it, trying to hold it it, but a roar of pain came out loud.

"Argh!"

And then suddenly, I realised I was somewhere else.

The floor was pristine marble reflecting my face, my skin was pale, my hair brown and I was wearing the biggest pair of circular glasses I have ever seen in my life.

"Mr. Parker, ae you okay?!" someone called out.

I looked down, the face looking back mirrored my looks. 'Was that me?' I asked myself unbelievingly. My hand stung, and looked down and saw it sewing to twice it's size with two bright red bite marks near my knuckles.

"Mr. Parker? Mr. Parker?!" someone shook me.

I blinked as I looked up and found a crowd of students looking at me. They were all looking at me like a caged exotic animal, and right before me was a woman that looked to be around fifty with black hair greying at the sides.

A name popped into my head, 'Mrs. Sonada', that was her name, she was a biology teacher, my biology teacher. I blinked, 'that's not right. I've never meet her before in my life!'

"Mr. Parker!" Mrs. Sonada called out once more, "are you okay?"

I blinked, "I-I yeah, I am," I responded on reflex, suddenly a sharp pain ran through my hand and I flinched, my hand was hurting, badly.

"That looks bad, we should get that checked out," she whispered, turning to the rest of the class and announced, "akright class we're cutting the class short! Everyone get your buddy and walk out to the parking lot!"

"Alright! Guess puny Parker was good for something after all!" a tall blond teenager yelled out to his friends.

I looked around, I was in a lad of some kind, people in lab coats were walking around, moniers showed the DNA of a human being manipulated, numbers ran through them, I didn't know how, but I understood every single one of them.

"Come Peter, I'll get you checked up," Mrs. Sonada whispered as she guided me out. Outside a large yellow school bus was waiting for us, we got on and she put me in the front with her. I could feel a fever coming on, sweat pouring down my brow. And slowly, darkness.

I remembered seeing flashes in my head. Getting off the bus and into a hospital gurdy. A doctor looking me over before informing that I was suffering from an allergic reaction. He informed me to have a week's bed rest and somehow I managed to grunt in understanding.

I remember someone picking me up, his face was aged, his hair white and cut short. But the moment I saw him I knew he loved me and cared for me. He drove to outside the city to a suburban area where he took me into a humble looking house that filled me with warmth.

I was put on a bed that was made, the moment my head hit the pillow my eyes shut for good and I began to sleep.

Memories upon memories came into my head. I could recall so many events in my head that weren't a part of my life. Names, people, mathematical formulas so advanced I knew I shouldn't be able to even think up of them, but somehow I did.

There was a school, a kid being bullied. A house and two relatives taking care of him with nothing but love and kindness. A kid growing up to be a genius without equal, but shunning his own genius out of fear for being unaccepted. And then finally I was hit with a name.

Peter Benjamin Parker.

And with a gasp I woke up.

I jumped in shock and found myself ascending towards the ceiling. Acting on instinct my body swerved, arms and feet smacking against the ceiling. There was a jerking motion, instead of falling back down I was stuck there, looking at the world upside down.

I was panting, I could feel my body cool down. I looked at my arms and feet stuck on the ceiling of my room. I pulled one hand back, pieces of the roof came peeling off, still stuck to my fingertips. I was horrified, I wanted to let go, and suddenly I was falling down.

My body twisted again and I stuck the landing on the mattress. I looked down at my hands, I could feel something there. I focused on the swirls on my fingertips, and there between the lines were small razor sharp protrusions that were curved inwards.

"Holy shit," I gasped and looked around. I found a book with the name, 'Peter B. Parker', plastered on the front. I looked at the mirror and sure enough a frail skinny teenage boy with brown hair and plae skin looked back at me.

"I'm Spider-man," I gasped in realisation.

'What the fuck?!'

A few days later:

It took me a day to fully come to terms with what has happened to me. I pretend to still be sick everytime...aunty May or….uncle Ben….woah those names were strange to say. Anyway, I pretend to be still in need of bed rest and they left me alone.

I spent a day trying to remember just what the hell had happened. I was alive and well in another body, another life. And now I was here, in the body of Peter Parker, somehow with all his memories and his genius mind.

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