"Max Dillon is a mutant?"
Peter leaned heavy on the reinforced glass of the Avengers' briefing table, staring blankly at the floating holographic file. His lenses narrowed in sheer disbelief.
"That is exactly why you couldn't find a single digital footprint on the guy, Peter," Janet Van Dyne said, crossing her arms. She stood next to Hank Pym, her expression grim. "The Mutant Response Division operates off the grid. When they bag a mutant, they scrub their civilian records. The MRD heavily blocks their localized servers. They absolutely refuse to share their capture manifests with S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers."
The revelation didn't comfort Peter at all. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a sharp ache building behind his eyes. He had never once considered that this universe's version of Electro was born with the X-gene. He was already a fugitive who had broken out of an MRD black site! This completely derailed all the baseline assumptions Peter had imported from his knowledge.
So much for the multiverse intelligence network, Peter grumbled internally. Completely useless.
"His mutation allows his cellular structure to absorb, store, and violently release electrical energy," Hank Pym explained. He swiped a hand through the hologram, expanding a biometric scan of Dillon's nervous system. "It naturally enhances his physical attributes. His kinetic speed and raw strength scale proportionately with the amount of ambient voltage currently stored in his tissue."
Hank tapped a flashing red node on the 3D model's chest. "But there is a hard biological ceiling to his storage capacity. When he tried to absorb the primary turbine output at the city power plant, he pushed past his limits. He literally electrocuted himself from the inside out."
Steve Rogers frowned, stepping closer to the tactical display. "If absorbing that much high-voltage current actively hurts him, why would he deliberately break into a power plant?"
"Because he's an addict, Cap," Tony Stark replied casually, leaning back in a leather swivel chair with a tablet resting on his knee. "For a guy with his specific mutation, mainlining electricity is the biological equivalent of shooting up pure adrenaline. Standard 110-volt wall sockets aren't enough to give him a buzz anymore, but industrial turbines burn his internal wiring. He's chasing the dragon. He's looking for a highly efficient, sustainable high. Say, for example... the organic bio-electricity of a genetically modified eel."
Tony's casual phrasing sent a cold spike of clarity straight through Peter's brain.
Peter straightened up. Maybe it was just his ingrained, hyper-paranoid Spider-Sense talking, but anytime the words "genetic modification" and "super-soldier" entered the chat, the situation required maximum scrutiny.
"The MRD incident report claims Dillon had outside assistance during his prison break from a radical mutant splinter group," Peter started, pacing slowly around the edge of the table. "Sure, mutant undergrounds do that all the time. But the timing is mathematically impossible. What are the odds that a radical mutant group breaks him out, and on that exact same night, Dillon happens to flawlessly infiltrate a heavily guarded Oscorp genetics lab to steal an aquarium full of fish?"
Peter stopped, tapping the glass table. "When Oscorp ran their inventory this morning, they noted multiple missing specimens. Those weren't just standard aquarium pets. Those eels were proprietary experimental products of the Savage Force Project—a black-book initiative specifically designed to splice animal DNA to create super-soldiers."
Peter looked up at the gathered Avengers. "He didn't steal them just to suck the juice out of them like a battery. Dillon didn't just escape prison. He was recruited. If he can use the Savage Force research to actively splice the eel's bio-electric generation into his own mutant DNA, he permanently upgrades his cellular storage capacity. He completely solves the high-voltage burnout problem."
Hank rubbed his bearded chin, his brow furrowing as he followed Peter's logic. "A brilliant theory, Peter, but there is a massive physiological roadblock. Splicing eel DNA directly into a human mutant genome without catastrophic cellular breakdown requires surgical precision. You can't just throw the genetics into a blender. The cross-species rejection rate would be lethal."
"Yes," Peter whispered, his eyes widening beneath his mask. "You can't precisely cut the gene fragments with standard Oscorp tech. You need absolute, microscopic precision."
Mutants. Super-soldier projects. Unstable gene editing. Perfect precision.
The pieces slammed together in Peter's head with the force of a freight train.
"Mr. Sinister," Peter said aloud, the name leaving a bad taste in his mouth.
The Avengers turned to look at him.
"Nathaniel Essex," Peter clarified, pointing rapidly at the holographic map of the globe. "The gene-editing device he built in Madripoor. The one I used to cure my second-mutation instability. It is the only machine on the planet capable of executing a flawless, high-precision cross-species genetic splice. Essex spent decades and billions of dollars building it before he 'died.' It's irreplaceable."
"And where is that machine right now?" Steve asked, his voice hardening.
"Genosha," Peter answered. "Max Dillon is a registered mutant. That means he is granted unconditional, diplomatic asylum on Magneto's island. He doesn't need to sneak in. He can just walk through the front door."
The room went entirely silent. If Peter's deduction was accurate, Max Dillon wasn't just hiding; he was actively partnering with Nathaniel Essex to weaponize his own biology.
Steve let out a heavy sigh, crossing his massive arms. "That presents a severe geopolitical problem. Genosha—and Magneto specifically—does not welcome American intervention. They barely tolerate baseline humans. We can't just fly an Avengers strike team into sovereign mutant airspace. It would trigger an international incident."
"So, we hand the jurisdiction over to the X-Men," Tony stated, tossing his tablet onto the table. "Let the mutants police the mutants."
"We can't completely wash our hands of it," Steve countered. "The Avengers have been tracking the Super Soldier Program leak. We need an active liaison on the ground with the X-Men strike team to maintain a live communication link and provide tactical updates."
Tony smirked, steepling his fingers. "Right. So we need an official Avenger. Someone who already has established, friendly ties with the X-Men. Someone who specifically isn't threatening enough to trigger Magneto's paranoia, but is more than capable of handling themselves in a heavyweight brawl. Oh, and it would be a massive bonus if this person already had diplomatic experience dealing with the Master of Magnetism."
Every single head in the room slowly turned to stare directly at Peter.
Peter stood frozen for a second. He looked at Tony's smug grin, then at Steve's apologetic shrug. He let out a long, defeated breath.
"Honestly?" Peter muttered, reaching for his mask. "A highly dangerous, politically volatile infiltration mission to a hostile mutant nation sounds like the perfect excuse to get out of New York. You guys have absolutely no idea how awkward the hallways at Midtown High have been with Gwen and Cindy lately. Book me a flight."
"Spider-Man! Up here!"
Peter touched down lightly on the manicured front lawn of Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. The sleek, black chassis of the X-Men's SR-71 Blackbird was already idling on the reinforced basketball court, its VTOL thrusters whining at a low pitch.
Kitty Pryde stood at the top of the boarding ramp, waving frantically. To Peter's immediate surprise, the boarding party didn't consist of the usual heavy hitters. He watched several of the younger, relatively inexperienced New Mutants filing into the troop compartment.
But the absolute strangest detail was the man sitting in the pilot's seat.
Logan.
Sending Wolverine—a man essentially composed of raw aggression and Adamantium—to lead a delicate diplomatic mission into Magneto's personal stronghold was a tactical choice that bordered on insanity. Peter genuinely couldn't tell if Cyclops was executing a brilliant, multi-layered bluff, or if Scott Summers had just completely lost his mind. Either way, Logan was currently chewing on an unlit cigar, looking thoroughly miserable behind the flight yoke.
Kitty grabbed Peter's arm as he walked up the ramp, practically vibrating with excitement.
"I'm so glad you're coming with us!" Kitty beamed, her hazel eyes bright. "Scott said this is the perfect operational scenario for the younger team. We desperately need field experience outside the Danger Room. Plus, since we're heading to Magneto's sovereign territory, it's essentially a safe zone! We won't even have to worry about engaging hostile enemy combatants!"
Peter stared at her. The sheer, terrifying absurdity of calling Magneto's island a "safe zone" was so mathematically incorrect that Peter didn't even know where to begin unpacking it.
Maybe that's exactly why Cyclops put Logan in charge, Peter realized. Because Logan is the only guy who can physically survive Magneto ripping his skeleton out if negotiations go south.
"Yeah, I'm thrilled too, Kitty," Peter said dryly, patting her shoulder. "First time visiting the mutant utopia. Give me a second, I need to go brief the captain."
Peter squeezed past the chatting teenagers and stepped into the cramped, dimly lit cockpit. He dropped into the co-pilot's seat, strapping the heavy multi-point harness over his chest.
Logan didn't look at him. He just grunted, flipping a row of overhead toggle switches to prime the Blackbird's cloaking drives.
"Hey, Logan," Peter said, his voice dropping low so the kids in the back couldn't hear. "I actually had to take a quick detour into the multiverse recently. Handled a nasty situation in a timeline called Earth-Zombie."
Logan kept his eyes on the runway telemetry. "Fascinating. Tell it to someone that care."
"I ran into your kids while I was there, Logan."
Logan's hand froze entirely on the throttle. The unlit cigar twitched in the corner of his mouth. He slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Peter's white lenses.
"Kids?" Logan growled, the word scraping out of his throat like rusted metal. "Plural? Not just Daken?"
"Yeah," Peter said softly, leaning closer. "There was another one. A girl. Her name is Laura Kinney. And based on what I saw... whoever had her was actively training her to be an absolute killing machine."
Logan stared at Peter. His jaw clenched so hard the muscles jumped beneath his sideburns. He didn't yell. He didn't pop his claws. He just slowly turned back to the console, staring blankly out the reinforced windshield as the Blackbird lifted heavily into the sky.
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