Is he even trying to be okay? Such a liar
Peter was walking in the lower district, a little far from New York. Places like these weren’t unfamiliar to him. They were known for illegal fighting rings, where the wealthy gathered for bets, secret gambling halls, and everything that could fall under the category of forbidden business.
One might wonder how such places continued to exist despite the government’s presence.
The answer was simple—when the wealthy were the ones funding them, everything ran smoothly, like butter melting over hot oil.
Peter gave a faint smile as he wandered, dressed in a long black coat, wearing clothes that blended with the darkness of the place, and a hat that covered his face to stay out of unwanted sight.
Why was he here? Simple—he was looking for a high-potency painkiller.
He had always used regular painkillers to treat his patients, but one of the mutants once told him they were useless. That day, after Peter finished stitching his wound, he looked at him blankly, then blinked in shock. Why hadn’t he mentioned it earlier? Why had he endured the pain in silence? Peter had asked sternly, but he already knew the answer.
Still, he couldn’t stop the anger that swept over him—not at the mutant, but at himself. How had he not realized that regular painkillers wouldn’t work on them?
He had been injured several times himself. Maybe a scratch or two, but he had rapid healing abilities. But if he suffered a serious injury? Would painkillers work on him too? He wasn’t sure, because sometimes regular painkillers worked for him, and sometimes they didn’t, and his body would start healing before Peter even noticed.
Now, he stood before a shop with a sign that read:
"The Magic Fades."
He stared at the name for a moment, wondering how cliché it was.
This place wasn’t unfamiliar to him.
He had visited the lower district multiple times—to face reality. Sometimes, a person needed a reminder that even heroes weren’t what the world believed them to be. There were things they simply couldn’t control.
He had passed by many cases that had no hope. People abandoned by the world, left to face their fate alone.
He pulled his hands out of his coat, then pushed the door open and stepped inside.
Finally, Peter lifted his gaze to the man behind the counter and said coldly, his face void of expression, "A strong painkiller."
That was all he said.
The bald man behind the counter didn’t look surprised. He only tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his words before speaking. Then, without comment, he turned to one of the metal drawers behind him, opened it with an unpleasant metallic scrape, and pulled out a small, dark bottle. He placed it on the counter in front of Peter, then gestured toward it with a slight nod.
In a rough voice, he said, "It’s stronger than you think. A wrong dose will stop your heart before you even feel relief."
Peter didn’t reply. He simply reached out calmly, picked up the bottle, and turned it between his fingers. There were no markings or labels on the container—just dark glass concealing its contents.
A moment of silence followed, filled only with the light tapping of Peter’s nails against the bottle. He studied it between his fingers, tilting it slightly, watching the dark liquid move slowly inside. It didn’t look like any painkiller he had seen before.
Quietly, he slid the bottle back across the counter until it stopped in front of the bald man. Then, he lifted his eyes to him, his gaze sharp and steady, before saying coldly
"I asked for a strong painkiller, not a lethal one. There’s a difference."
The man remained silent for a moment, then smirked faintly, as if amused. "Got it. Wait here."
He turned and walked to another shelf, where he pulled out a new bottle, its color slightly different, and placed it in front of Peter without a word.
This time, Peter didn’t take it immediately—he watched it in silence, making sure it wouldn’t be another mistake.
Peter slowly reached out and picked up the new bottle, turning it between his fingers before raising it slightly toward the dim light, examining the liquid carefully. It appeared more transparent than the previous one.
"This is what you wanted, right?" the bald man asked in a calm tone, though he didn’t hide his impatience.
Peter didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he opened the bottle slightly, took a quick sniff, then sealed it again. The scent wasn’t unusual, but it carried something distinct—a clear sign of the formula’s potency.
He slipped the bottle into his coat pocket, then placed some extra cash on the counter. He wasn’t interested in bargaining.
The bald man took the money quickly, then leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice. "Take my advice—don’t use it all at once. Even the strong feel its weight."
Peter didn’t react. He only gave him a cold look, then turned and walked toward the door.
When he stepped out into the narrow street, the dim lights cast long shadows on the grimy walls, and the air was thick with the scent of mildew and smoke.
He paused for a moment, pulled the bottle from his pocket, and stared at it in silence.
Then, without hesitation, he put it back, tightened his coat around himself, and disappeared into the dark alleys as if he had never been there.
______
Peter returned to the clinic, tossed his black coat aside, then walked straight to one of the drawers, pulled it open, and took out a sharp scalpel. He wasn’t hesitant or apprehensive—just as calm as ever.
He lifted his shirt slightly, identifying a vital spot—just below his abdomen, near the muscles, where the bleeding would be noticeable but not life-threatening.
Of course, Peter would never test this painkiller on his patients. He wasn’t that reckless.
He had studied toxins and painkillers extensively—their properties, colors, textures, and even the slightest change in their scent. Even if a poison was colorless, Peter could detect it instantly. This wasn’t just theoretical knowledge—he had tested them all on himself, directly on his own body.
It wasn’t enjoyable. It was painful… yes. But to understand his limits and capabilities, he had to do it. He didn’t want anyone to exploit his weaknesses someday.
He was a doctor, but he couldn’t suppress his curiosity about how much his spider-like body could endure.
He had experimented on himself so much that some toxins no longer affected him. His body had even begun to develop immunity to some. It fascinated him, making him wonder about the changes he was going through.
He had no one to protect him. He had to protect himself—from the present and the future, from anyone who might see him as a test subject, whether it was S.H.I.E.L.D. or some mad scientist who might try to dissect him one day.
He gripped the scalpel, and with a precise motion, cut into his skin.
The wound wasn’t small—a thin, deep line formed on his skin instantly, and blood flowed quickly, just as he had expected.
He clenched his clothes between his teeth, his brows furrowing slightly from the pain, but he ignored it. He took a piece of medical cotton, poured the painkiller onto it, and pressed it against the wound.
Then, he waited.
At first, the pain was sharp—that familiar sensation of the scalpel sinking into sensitive flesh. Then, a burning feeling, as if his skin were igniting from within. But once the painkiller took effect… the pain began to fade.
Peter watched the wound in silence, then smiled slightly. "It worked."
Despite the success of the experiment, he felt a slight dizziness. It wasn’t dangerous, but it was noticeable. "Strong… just like that man said."
He took out a bandage and carefully wrapped the wound. Once he finished, he pulled his shirt down, then picked up the painkiller bottle and placed it a little further away.
"I need to be careful when using it on patients. Not everyone has the same tolerance."
A good thought—he didn’t want to risk anyone’s life.
He grabbed a small label, wrote the painkiller’s name on it, then stuck it onto the bottle so he could recognize it later.
Finally, he sat in his chair, rubbing his forehead in exhaustion, ignoring the sensation creeping through his body due to the painkiller.
"I’ll be fine."
That was what he wanted to believe in the end.