Origin

Once upon a time, in a place called Forest Hills in the big borough of Queens, New York, there lived a boy named Peter Parker.

Peter was not a tall boy. He was not a loud boy. He was the kind of boy who sat in the front row of class and raised his hand before anyone else, the kind of boy who could name every bone in the human body and explain exactly how a spider spins its silk. His Aunt May packed his lunch every single morning, and his Uncle Ben walked him to the school bus stop and said, every single time — every single time — "You be good today, Peter. The world needs more good."

Peter went to Midtown High School, and at Midtown, a boy named Flash Thompson made sure Peter knew he was not cool. Flash was big and loud and fast, and Peter was small and quiet and different. But Peter did not mind so very much. He had his books. He had his microscope. He had Aunt May and Uncle Ben.

And then — one afternoon — everything changed.

On a school field trip to a science exhibition, Peter wandered into the display room where scientists were demonstrating something called the Isotope Genome Accelerator. The machines hummed and glowed, and Peter pressed close to see every detail. Can you picture it? A whole room full of buzzing instruments and brilliant light?

And then… a tiny spider — one small, eight-legged creature — crawled across the equipment, was touched by the radiation of the accelerator, and dropped silently onto Peter's hand.

It bit him.

Just a small bite. A pinprick. Peter thought nothing of it. He walked home through the October air, watching the amber leaves swirl down past the brownstones of Queens.

But that night, something extraordinary happened.

He reached for his bedroom wall — and his fingers STUCK. He scrambled across the ceiling. He could feel vibrations in the floor two rooms away. He was STRONGER than he had ever imagined. He could sense danger before it arrived, a tingling at the back of his skull like a secret alarm. His body could do things that seemed completely impossible.

THWIP. He shot a strand of web from the device he built himself — because Peter was brilliant, remember — and it caught on the lamppost across the street and held fast.

For a little while, Peter Parker felt like the most amazing person on Earth.

He made a costume. He chose a name. He got very good at swinging from building to building across the glittering skyline of New York City. WHOOOOSH — up and over and up again, the wind singing past his ears, the city spread below him like a quilt of a million lights.

But then came the night that Peter would never forget.

There was a thief running through a hallway. Peter could have stopped him. He was fast enough. Strong enough. But he stepped aside. He told himself it was not his problem. The thief ran past and vanished into the night.

And then… silence. The terrible kind.

The thief came to Forest Hills. And Uncle Ben — kind, gentle Uncle Ben who walked Peter to the school bus every morning — was gone. Gone forever, in the hardest, saddest goodbye Peter ever said.

Peter found the thief in an abandoned warehouse, and when he saw the man's face, his heart fell all the way to the floor. He knew that face. He could have stopped this. He could have, and he chose not to.

He sat alone in that dark warehouse for a very long time.

Then he remembered what Uncle Ben always said. He could hear it as clearly as if his uncle were standing right beside him.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

Peter Parker wiped his eyes. He pulled on his red-and-blue mask. He climbed out into the night air of Queens, and he swung up into the sky — toward the city, toward the people who needed him.

From that night on, whenever someone in New York City looked up and saw a figure swinging between the towers — THWIP, THWIP, THWIP — they knew. The Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man was on patrol.

And somewhere above the rooftops, a boy in a red mask smiled behind his costume, whispered "I've got you" to the city below, and swung on.

For Uncle Ben. Always.