My back slams against the training mat for what feels like the hundredth time today, knocking the wind clean out of my lungs. The ceiling spins lazily above me as I struggle to remember how breathing works.
"You know, Steele," Professor Masters says, towering over me with her arms crossed, "it's starting to feel like I'm just abusing a man at this point." She extends a hand down to me, her military-cut hair not even slightly disheveled despite our thirty minutes of "training." "You're making me feel guilty, kid."
I grab her hand and let her haul me to my feet with disturbing ease. Every muscle in my body screams in protest.
But I'm not giving up. Heroes don't give up.
"I didn't hear no bell, Sensei," I wheeze, raising my fists in a pathetic attempt at a boxing stance. My legs wobble beneath me like a newborn deer on an ice rink.
Masters stares at me, that familiar eye twitch making a brief appearance. "Did you just quote Rocky at me?"
"Hell yeah. Sly Stallone is GOATED," I declare with what little breath I can muster. "Rocky, Rambo…"
I don't finish my sentence because Masters hooks her foot behind my ankle and sweeps my legs out from under me. My arms pinwheel pathetically as I start to fall backward, but instead of letting me crash into the mat again, she catches me with one arm, her reflexes impossibly fast.
"You're ridiculous," she says, but she's actually laughing now, a genuine sound that transforms her usually stern face. Her arm supports my back effortlessly, holding me in what looks like the world's most awkward dance dip. "How are you still going right now? Most of my students would've tapped out twenty minutes ago."
I laugh weakly, still suspended in her grip like a damsel in some bizarre action movie. "Lately, I'm getting pretty used to pushing way beyond my limits," I admit, wincing as she pulls me upright. "It's becoming my brand."
"That's not necessarily a good thing," Masters says, releasing me once I'm stable.
"Sensei," I say, my voice turning serious despite my exhaustion, "I really want to be a superhero, but I'm not strong enough. What can I do to get stronger?"
She sighs deeply, running a hand through her hair. The look she gives me is full of exasperation.
"I don't know, kid," she says with a shrug, the corner of her mouth quirking up. "Maybe brass knuckles?"
"Hmm..." I tap my chin thoughtfully, actually considering it for a moment.
Masters' eyes widen. "Wait, no, Jesus kid, I was joking." She shakes her head firmly. "You are definitely not superhero material, Steele."
Something catches my eye beyond the training room's glass door, a familiar face peering in, eyes wide with shock. Piper Parker stands frozen in the hallway, staring at me like she's seen a ghost. When our eyes meet, she flinches visibly.
Of course. Last night she watched Venom snatch me off the street while she was in her Spider-Woman costume. She probably thought I was dead.
"You okay, Steele?" Masters asks, following my gaze to the door. "Someone you know?"
"Yeah," I say, giving Piper an awkward wave. "Just a friend who looks like she's seen a ghost."
Piper hesitates, then pushes the door open and steps inside. Her movements are stiff, uncertain, completely different from Spider-Woman's fluid grace.
"I… I was just passing by," she stammers, adjusting her glasses nervously. "Didn't mean to interrupt."
"We're pretty much done anyway," Masters says, eyeing me critically. "Unless Steele here wants another round of getting his ass handed to him."
"I think I'm good for today," I admit, feeling the full weight of my exhaustion settle in my muscles. "My body's sending some strongly worded complaints."
Piper hovers awkwardly near the door, her eyes scanning me from head to toe like she's checking for injuries. "You look... okay," she says, sounding genuinely surprised.
"What do you mean?" I ask, raising an eyebrow at her obvious concern.
Piper shifts her weight uncomfortably, glancing nervously at Professor Masters who's now busying herself with organizing equipment on the far side of the room.
"I, uhh..." she lowers her voice, stepping closer to me. "I was out for a walk last night and I... I saw something." Her eyes dart around to make sure no one else is listening. "There was this black monster, like some kind of creature, and it... it took you. Your eyes were bleeding, Shane."
The way she says it, all concerned and flustered, almost makes me feel bad for her. Spider-Woman, pretending she doesn't know exactly what happened, pretending she wasn't there fighting Venom moments before.
"Oh, uhh, don't worry about it," I say with a dismissive wave, trying to sound casual despite the absurdity of the situation. "That was just... a friend of mine."
"A friend?" Piper's voice rises an octave. "Shane, your eyes were literally bleeding! That thing had you in its arms and just... leapt away with you!"
I rub the back of my neck, feeling the weight of her concern. Something softens inside me seeing her so worried.
"That thing actually saved my life," I admit, lowering my voice so Masters can't hear from across the room. "I was in pretty bad shape, but I'm fine now. Better than fine, actually."
Piper's eyes widen behind those thick glasses, her mouth opening slightly in disbelief. "Saved you? But... I don't understand. What hurt you in the first place? Why were you bleeding like that?"
I hesitate, studying her face. She's playing dumb, but there's genuine concern mixed with her act. Part of me wants to just tell her I know she's Spider-Woman, but I don't want the smoke that comes with that right now.
"I'd rather not talk about it," I say finally, grabbing my towel from the bench and wiping sweat from my face. "It's complicated."
Her eyes narrow slightly, that same analytical look I've seen behind Spider-Woman's mask. She definitely has an inkling of how my powers work, especially after seeing me nearly die using them.
"Anyway," I say, desperate to change the subject, "you wouldn't happen to know where I could get some brass knuckles, would you?"
The question catches her completely off guard. "Brass knuckles? Shane, those are illegal!" Her voice rises in alarm before she catches herself, glancing toward Masters who thankfully seems absorbed in her equipment organization. "And what would you even need them for?"
I shrug, slinging my gym bag over my shoulder as we start walking toward the exit. "Protection, you know? It's tough being a man in this world."
"Right," Piper says, clearly not buying it. "Because you're suddenly concerned about personal safety after being abducted by a monster."
We push through the doors into the hallway, the cooler air a blessed relief after the stuffy training room. Students rush past us, heading to their next classes, completely oblivious to our bizarre conversation.
"Look," Piper continues, lowering her voice as we walk, "if you're in some kind of trouble, I might be able to help."
"I'm not in trouble," I tell her with a casual shrug. "I'm just trying to become the best version of myself I can be. You know, self-improvement and all that."
Piper looks unconvinced, her hazel eyes studying me with that analytical intensity that seems so familiar now. Before she can press further, her phone chirps loudly from her pocket. She glances at the screen, and I watch her expression shift instantly from concerned friend to something more urgent.
"Look, I have to go," she says, already backing away, "but please, Shane, stay safe, alright?" The genuine worry in her voice makes me feel a twinge of guilt for brushing off her concerns.
"Piper, I'm fine," I call after her retreating form. "Don't worry about me!"
She gives me one last backward glance before disappearing around the corner. I shake my head and continue down the hallway.
My train of thought derails completely as a powerful hand grabs the back of my shirt, yanking me sideways with enough force to make me yelp. Before I can process what's happening, I'm being shoved through a door marked 'Women's Restroom.'
"Wha.."
My protest is cut short as I'm pushed into an open stall and slammed against the tiled wall. The door bangs shut behind us, and I find myself face-to-face with Ellie Brock, her blue eyes blazing with fury.
"Why is it," she growls, her face inches from mine, "that the second you're not with me, I always catch you talking with Parker?"
The restroom stall suddenly feels like the smallest space in existence with Ellie's towering frame blocking any escape. Her blue eyes burn into mine, but strangely, I don't feel threatened, just a weird flutter of excitement. Maybe I'm developing a concerning pattern of enjoying dangerous situations. Or maybe I just really like Ellie.
"You're stalking me now?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Following all day? That's dedication."
Ellie's jaw clenches, the muscle twitching beneath her skin. "Answer the question, Shane."
Back in my world, I'd be stammering and looking for an exit. But here, where the gender dynamics are flipped, where men are the pursued rather than the pursuers... I decide to try something I'd never have dared before.
I slowly lift my arms, sliding them around her neck, pulling myself closer to her towering form. Her eyes widen in shock, but she doesn't pull away.
"So, Ellie," I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite our proximity, "I was wondering... could you help me get some brass knuckles?"
Her expression transforms instantly from anger to complete bewilderment. She blinks rapidly, her fierce demeanor momentarily replaced by genuine confusion.
"What the actual fuck, Shane?" She pulls back slightly, studying my face like I've suddenly started speaking in tongues. "Brass knuckles? That's what you're thinking about right now?"
I shrug, my arms still draped around her neck. "Well, Masters suggested it. For self-defense and hero stuff, you know? They're illegal, but I figured you might have... connections."
Ellie stares at me like I've just announced plans to become a unicorn.
"I don't have..." She sighs deeply, running a hand through her short blonde hair. "I know people like that, yes, but only so I can talk to them about stories for journalism. I'm not someone actively buying weapons, Shane."
She crosses her arms, leaning against the stall door with an expression that's equal parts exasperation and concern. "You're not ready to be a hero. You can barely teleport without hemorrhaging."
"Oh, that's my second request," I say, feeling a surge of excitement despite her obvious disapproval. "Once I get brass knuckles, can you help me practice? I've got a bunch of ideas on how to fight."
I step closer, unable to contain my enthusiasm. "I've been thinking about how my power works, and I noticed I can teleport super short distances and barely build up any exhaustion. The energy drain doesn't seem additive, it's almost multiplicative with distance. Like, five feet is nothing, but two hundred feet nearly kills me."
Ellie's eyes narrow as she studies me, her expression unreadable. For a moment, I see something flicker behind those piercing blue eyes, curiosity, maybe? Or just pity for the idiot who keeps almost dying in front of her?
"I'm not going to help you, Steele," she says firmly, but there's a slight hesitation in her voice that makes me think she's not entirely convinced of her own words.
I don't believe her for a second. The way the symbiote ripples beneath her skin whenever we discuss my powers tells me she's interested, whether she admits it or not.
"Come on," I press, grinning up at her. "You know you want to. Think about it, you'd get to throw me around, watch me teleport, maybe catch me when I fall..." I wiggle my eyebrows suggestively. "We both know how much you enjoy catching me."
Ellie's face darkens instantly. "Shut the fuck up, Shane. That's not true." She jabs a finger against my chest, hard enough to make me step back. "You're so fucking annoying."
I don't even flinch. Instead, I let my smile widen as I see the slight flush creeping up her neck.
"Okay then," I say, shrugging casually. "Tomorrow night. Maybe 11:30? You can bring the knuckles for me."
Ellie's mouth drops open, completely flabbergasted. She stares at me like I've grown a second head, her eyes wide with disbelief.
I reach around her to open the bathroom stall door, our bodies brushing against each other in the tight space. The contact sends a familiar electric thrill through me, but I force myself to stay focused.
"Shane, I'm not doing that," she says, her voice lacking the conviction it had just seconds ago.
I step past her into the main bathroom, then turn back to give her a deliberate wink.
"I'm looking forward to our date," I say, then walk out the door before she can argue further.