PROLOGUE

1. Don't be a smart ass (when there's a gun at your head).

"Don't be a smart ass when there's a gun at your head."

That postulate of Uncle Ben's Blue-Collared Bible had been made in passing over a regular Thursday evening meal when the Parker family was crowded around the kitchen table. The sound of cutlery scraping against plates provided the perfect distraction as Uncle Ben discreetly slipped Peter bits of Aunt May's infamous meatloaf between the folds of crumpled napkins and grease-stained receipts of the pizza he had ordered for the two to share later on (once Aunt May had settled down for her remodeling shows). A carefree atmosphere had descended upon the household, broken by Peter's quiet snickers and Aunt May's musings regarding the daily news. A piece involving a local shooting in the ice cream parlor in Midtown was featured, the shooter apparently "aggravated to the point of assault".

"Guess he couldn't cool down enough not to shoot," Peter had said as he scooped a helping of meatloaf onto his fork, preparing to catapult the food back onto Uncle Ben's plate.

The older man had shifted in his chair, fixing his nephew with a steady glare. "No one should be a smart ass when they've got a gun pointed at their head."

If Peter closed his eyes, he could almost picture his uncle's stern expression, lips pressed together in a thin line, a look of perfect disappointment. The words, nearly two years old, resounded through his head as he stared point blank at the weapon poised to kill him, still ringing with clarity, even in the eleven months since he had last heard his uncle's voice. Even if the finer details about Uncle Ben were fading, Peter knew he would never forget his father-figure's voice.

After all, the last message was still saved in his voicemail.

"Don't be a smart ass," his uncle would say, and Peter couldn't help but smile at the memory. It was the first rule in Uncle Ben's Blue-Collared Bible and had about fifty million subpoints. But Peter couldn't help himself. He might remember everything his uncle had ever told him, but that didn't mean he'd follow it.

His enemy reached around and grabbed a handful of his brown hair, stained with dirt and grime, and forced him to look down the barrel of the gun. Peter guessed that there had to be meaning in each near-death experience of his. Gwen was certain that the moments in your life defined who are, and Peter wondered who that made him. He had both seen and delivered Death, and, at times, he swore he had been dead. Regardless, this wasn't a rare occasion, and he still had a lot of life to live.

Which meant there was plenty of reasons to be a smart ass with a gun poised between your eyes.

"You planning on pulling that trigger any time soon?" Peter felt himself begin to smile, tears pricking in his eyes as it pulled at his dry, cracked lips. "I'm falling asleep here." That certainly wasn't one of his most spectacular comebacks, but at least he tried. Barton would be proud.

He heard the gun being cocked and swallowed, awaiting the bullet-a sharp stab of pain and then it would all end. It would be alright. He'd be with his parents and Uncle Ben (maybe he could even ring up a few of Captain America's old war buddies). After a moment though, he raised his gaze to meet the blue eyes that peered out at him with an eerie glow, piercing through the darkness.

"No patience," the masked man said. "You've been hanging with your Avenger friends for too long."

"You do know they're trying to kill me?" Peter snapped. "Pretty sure… That or capture me. I personally prefer the second option, but what do you think?"

"I think you're arrogant. You think you're so powerful," the enemy snarled, "Because a secret serum gives you a few super abilities…. You think you're invincible... But you're not! Everyone dies."

Peter let the smile overtake him, and he shook his head in amazement, chuckling lowly. "You act like I don't already know that."

"And they say the education system sucks these days," the man said. "You're young. You can always learn something new." He placed his finger on the trigger. "Lesson number one: it ends now."

"Yeah," Peter replied, narrowing his brown eyes in defiance. "You taught me that one already, remember? Keep up, old man."

"Didn't anyone ever teach you not to be a smart ass when you've got a gun pointed at your head? You've been spending too much time with Stark." Startled by the older man's words, Peter huffed out a shaky laugh as his enemy pressed the gun to the teenager's forehead. "You see, you think yourself invincible, but everyone dies, even you."

"Go ahead," he sneered, the hysteria settling in. His eyes flashed wildly as he glared at the man, ducking his head as if presenting a challenge. "It's not liked it matters. You've already killed the one person who did. What's some more blood on your ledger?"

"Goodbye, Spider-Man."

A shot rang out, Peter's blood turned cold, and the world descended into madness.