I am Tobey Parker, cousin to the spectacular Spider-Man, Peter Parker, and the biological son of Ben and May Parker.
But do not let the family name or my heroic cousin give you any illusions about some friendly neighborhood vigilante.
When little Peter fights villains, he pulls his punches. When I fight villains, I hit them with two hundred percent of my strength.
Peter has a strict no-kill rule. I have a no-survivors rule.
Peter lives in poverty. I intend to build an empire of wealth.
While Peter is busy helping little old ladies cross the street, I am throwing dirt in people's eyes.
Peter is humble and polite. I spit profanities like breathing.
Peter wants to escape the Venom symbiote. The symbiote wants to escape me.
Everyone loves Peter. Everyone fears me.
I am the absolute embodiment of brutality and violence.
I am the Bully Spider-Man.
Marvel Universe, Earth-99999.
Tobey Parker. That was my name in this life.
Yes, Tobey was a reincarnator, brought into the Marvel Universe right from the womb.
The cause of his transmigration was the classic "Truck-kun" incident everyone knew so well. Except, in this particular cosmic accident, he was not the victim. He was the perpetrator.
In his past life, he had been a heavy truck driver. During a malicious insurance scam, the scammer's son had thrown a notorious phrase in his face: "If you didn't hit him, why did you help him up?"
That had snapped his last thread of sanity.
He already had a famously explosive temper. An orphan with no ties, he was the kind of guy who, if insulted in a CrossFire loading screen, would spend the entire match relentlessly flaming every single teammate over voice chat. How the hell was he supposed to swallow this?
You want money?
Wait right there. I will get it for you!
Returning to his rig, he ignited the engine, dropped the clutch, shifted gears, and slammed the gas in one fluid motion. Without a single second of hesitation, he sent the scamming father and son straight to God.
You want to extort me? Let us see how you handle an eighteen-wheeler!
Fuck you!
Normally, securely strapped inside a heavy truck, running over two pedestrians would not kill the driver. At worst, he would be looking at a lethal injection down the line.
But immediately after flattening the scammers, a bizarre red, blue, and black spider somehow slipped into his cab. By the time he noticed it, it was already too late.
The spider had crawled onto the back of his hand. Before he could flick the highly venomous-looking creature away, it seemingly sensed his intent and sank its fangs right into the webbing of his thumb.
Within ten seconds, complete paralysis set in. His heart seized, his vision went black, and he lost all consciousness. The entire sequence of events flowed together without a single hitch.
If this was karmic retribution for murder, the universe worked fast.
When he finally opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw was a blue-eyed nurse wearing a surgical mask and cap. The nurse handed him over to a sweating, kind-faced woman.
Raising his tiny, damp hands, the truth instantly clicked. He had been reincarnated, and the woman holding him was clearly his new mother.
Then, the nurse addressed the kind-faced woman as Mrs. May Parker.
That name triggered only one association. He had actually been reincarnated as the biological son of Uncle Ben and Aunt May!
What the fuck...
Twenty years later...
Timeline: 2008, New York.
Hell's Kitchen, the Nihon Syndicate.
In the treacherous, chaotic breeding ground of Hell's Kitchen, often dubbed Little Gotham, gang shootouts were a daily occurrence. But one man launching a full-scale assault against an entire syndicate? Even in a place as lawless as this, it was completely unheard of.
At least, until today.
Even the masked vigilantes who spent their nights fighting crime in Hell's Kitchen would not dare charge headlong into a major gang's heavily fortified headquarters. Doing so was practically begging for death.
Yet today, someone was doing the exact thing those street-level heroes feared to attempt. Not only was he attempting it, but he was also single-handedly slaughtering his way through the entire syndicate.
Boom!
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Bang! Bang!
Thunder and torrential rain drowned out the muzzle flashes and gunfire.
On this stormy night, deep inside the Nihon Syndicate's compound, a towering two-meter-tall figure clad in a full-coverage crimson and black suit dragged a gang member in each hand. Stepping over a carpet of corpses, he slowly advanced toward the ancestral hall at the heart of the estate.
Cowering inside that hall was the syndicate's boss, Reiichi Okamoto, along with the last remnants of his men.
Despite being armed to the teeth with blades and firearms, the surviving thugs trembled violently, their eyes wide with absolute terror. This was all because of the Reaper who had descended upon them just ten minutes prior.
Out of the nearly two hundred armed members of the Nihon Syndicate, this lone Reaper had butchered all but the two dozen currently hiding in the shrine.
Seeing his men constantly retreating from just one guy, pressing so far back they were practically crushing him against their ancestors' memorial tablets, Okamoto roared in fury.
"Idiots! How did our proud warriors produce such cowards? Hold your ground! Kill that bastard! Or I will force every single one of you to commit seppuku!"
Spurred by their boss's screaming, the terrified lackeys had no choice. Trembling uncontrollably, they stepped out of the hall and into the courtyard, leveling their shaking firearms at the main gates.
Though they styled themselves the Nihon Syndicate and maintained their Japanese roots, they were currently operating in the United States. Naturally, their combat style had been heavily localized.
They did not practice the traditional draw of the katana. They practiced the American Draw by pulling out fully automatic weapons.
The moment the courtyard doors swung open, the frantic thugs squeezed their triggers, unleashing a storm of lead toward the entrance.
Faced with a literal wall of bullets, Tobey did not even bother to dodge. He simply hoisted the two gang members in his hands, using them as dual meat shields.
Leaving aside whether the thugs' submachine guns and pistols could penetrate the bodies, even if they did, the remaining kinetic energy stood no chance against Tobey's custom-made, heavily armored spider-suit.
Consumed by panic, the gangsters completely forgot about suppressive fire tactics or reloading in shifts. They just held down the triggers until their magazines ran dry, the courtyard soon echoing with the hollow clicking of empty chambers.
Once the barrage ceased, Tobey casually tossed his bullet-riddled meat shields to the ground like discarded trash. He sneered at the survivors.
"You dumbasses think you're playing a video game with infinite ammo? You're out of bullets and still pulling the trigger. Reload!"
Hearing Tobey's mocking reminder, the thugs finally snapped back to reality, fumbling desperately for fresh magazines.
But it was already too late.
"Oh? You're actually reloading? Idiots. Save it for your next life!"
Tobey dropped into a low crouch. Through the black mask, his narrow, blood-red lenses seemed to flash with a predatory glint under the lightning.
Awaken, hunting time.
Pushing off with his legs, his massive frame blurred into a crimson streak, brutally crashing into the crowd.
The first syndicate member he slammed into looked like he had been struck by a speeding freight train. His body twisted like a broken ragdoll as he flew backward, violently slamming into the shrine wall. He was instantly reduced to a smear of crushed bone and flesh, permanently embedded into the concrete.
The remaining gangsters fared no better. Tobey tore into them like a wolf among sheep, kicking off a cruel, blood-drenched feast of slaughter.
Backed by physical strength measured in tons, Tobey's every strike was devastating. For these ordinary thugs, a mere graze meant crippling injury, and a direct hit meant instant death.
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