"Damn, is she crazy?"

Del Ami was losing his mind. He was so close to catching Gwen Stacy, but she had the audacity to jump to the neighboring rooftop. If that guy hadn't suddenly appeared and grabbed her hand, she would've fallen to her death.

"Damn it! This crazy girl is going to get herself killed one day!"

Hearing faint sirens in the distance, no matter how frustrated he was, Del knew he had no choice but to retreat with his men. The thought of failing the mission his boss had given him only made things worse.

"Bang!"

Del's feet hit the wet pavement as he and his crew tried to disappear down a secluded street. The only sounds under the dim streetlights were their quickening footsteps.

"Da! Da! Da!"

Suddenly, the echo of heavy footsteps reached them from the end of the street. In Del's view, a shadowy figure approached, like a hunter lurking in the darkness—wild, dangerous, and menacing.

Peter stood under a flickering streetlight, facing Del and his men. The lamp's faulty glow cast eerie light and shadows across his face.

Sensing the danger, Del eyed Peter cautiously.

"It's you. You're the guy who saved the girl earlier!" Del recognized Peter as the one who had grabbed Gwen. He signaled his men to be ready, glaring at Peter with hostility. "You here to avenge her?"

"No."

Peter shook his head, his face expressionless. He wasn't the kind of person to rush to others' aid out of the goodness of his heart. He had come out to release the violent urges that were nearly consuming him—and to test just how much the alien genes had altered him.

"Who are you? Some gang? Out for revenge?" Peter stopped mid-sentence and shrugged. "Forget it. I don't really care."

"Who do you think you are, huh? Stop pretending!" Del snarled, drawing a dagger from his belt. He wanted to make this guy pay for his arrogance.

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But before Del's men could react, Peter struck. The first thug crumpled to the ground, groaning in pain from a punch to the chest. In a blur of movement, Peter spun and kicked another man square in the side, sending him sprawling.

The alley echoed with the sound of flesh hitting flesh and agonized groans.

One thug tried to sneak up on Peter from behind with a knife, but Peter spun around as if he had eyes in the back of his head. He grabbed the blade mid-air, cutting his palm, but didn't flinch. Blood oozed down his hand and onto the thug's arm, which immediately began to sizzle, as if burned by acid.

The man screamed and stumbled back, watching in horror as steam rose from his melting skin.

"What the hell?" Del's eyes widened in disbelief. What kind of creature was this guy?

Peter frowned, glancing at the bleeding wound in his hand. Was his blood really as corrosive as the alien's?

Del and his remaining men stared, frozen in fear. But Peter's mind was elsewhere. The deep, primal urge to kill surged within him, his body moving faster than they could comprehend. One after another, the thugs were dispatched with terrifying speed and brutality.

In no time, Peter stood face to face with Del, who now trembled in terror.

Before Del could even react, Peter grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Del's windpipe cracked, his arms and legs flailing, his eyes bulging like they might pop out.

A monstrous desire to kill welled up inside Peter, his instincts screaming at him to devour the man before him. His mouth opened, revealing rows of jagged teeth. Saliva dripped from his fangs, and for a moment, he looked more alien than human.

But just as quickly as it appeared, the monstrous transformation receded. Peter returned to normal, though Del, barely conscious, had witnessed the horror.

"You... you're a monster..." Del croaked, the words barely escaping his crushed throat.

"Crack!"

Peter snapped Del's neck and let his lifeless body fall to the ground.

Standing there, surrounded by the bodies of the men he'd defeated, Peter touched his cheek. Had his body really started to change? The alien gene's influence was worse than he thought.

In the "Alien" universe, Ripley—part human, part alien—had also merged with alien DNA and become a superhuman. But unlike her, Peter felt his mind being consumed by the alien's primitive instincts. If he didn't remove the embryo soon, he feared he'd lose his humanity and become a mindless killing machine—something he had never wanted.

As cold and detached as he was, Peter still considered himself human.

Looking up at the distant city skyline, Peter sighed and walked away from the alley. Police cars raced past, their neon lights flashing against the night.

"Buzz!"

His phone vibrated. It was a text from Gwen.

"Peter, I made it to the police station. I'm safe! Thank you so much for what you did tonight. If not for you, I'd probably be lying in a hospital bed right now."

"You're welcome," Peter replied. "Who were those guys?"

"Dad said they might be part of the Hand."

Peter's brow furrowed at the mention of the infamous criminal organization.

"The Hand..." he muttered before closing his phone and disappearing into the night.

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