Peter stood in the heart of his abandoned railway lair, the Shadow suit shed and stashed in its locker, leaving him in a plain black hoodie and jeans his lab gear now, practical and unassuming. The snowy Queens night pressed against the concrete walls, a faint chill seeping through the seams, but inside, the air buzzed with the hum of machinery and the sharp scent of antiseptic he'd sprayed earlier to keep it sterile. Fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over the steel table where his new equipment sat DNA sequencer, polymerase chain reaction machine, centrifuge, and bioprinter all gleaming under the stark illumination, wired into his main computer like extensions of his will. This is my playground now, he thought to himself as he pulled on a pair of latex gloves, the snap echoing in the cavernous space.
Those DNA samples from Green Goblin's stash I've got my hands on something big here, and it's time to dig into what makes me and my variants tick.
He crossed to the locked cabinet near the wall, its steel surface scratched from hasty use, and punched in the code click the door swung open. Inside sat the case of blood samples he'd swiped from Goblin's corpse, six test tubes nestled in foam, their dark red contents glinting like liquid secrets. Five were variants other Spider-Men from who-knows-where labeled with cryptic markers he'd deciphered as Earth designations. The sixth was his own, drawn weeks ago when he'd first started this game, a baseline to crack the code.
These are gold, he thought as he lifted the case and carried it to the table, setting it beside the sequencer with a soft thud. I've got DNA from across the multiverse Goblin did the hard part, and now I'm going to figure out what's different, what's better, and how I can use it.
Step one was extraction. Peter grabbed a syringe from a sterile pack on the shelf its needle glinted sharp and uncapped the first variant tube, marked "Earth-1610." He slid the needle in, drew out a small sample red swirled thick and injected it into a microtube, sealing it tight. He repeated it for his own labeled simply "Me" watching the blood pool with a steady hand. This is where it starts, he thought, labeling each tube with a marker swipe across the cap. I need raw DNA strip it down, see what's hiding in there.
He moved to the centrifuge its squat frame hummed alive as he flipped the power switch, a low whine filling the lair. He loaded the microtubes into the rotor slots, balancing them across from each other, and set it to spin at 12,000 RPM fast enough to separate the cells. The machine roared vibration rattled the table as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Gotta pull the DNA out clean, he thought as the centrifuge whirred. Cells split, junk sinks leaves me the good stuff to work with.
Ten minutes later, it beeped spin done. Peter popped the lid, steam curling faint from the heat, and pulled the tubes clear liquid sat atop a red pellet now. He pipetted the supernatant DNA-rich fluid into fresh tubes, his hands steady despite the buzz in his chest. This is working already, he thought, sealing them tight. Step one's smooth now let's amplify it.
The polymerase chain reaction machine PCR sat ready, its steel casing cold under his touch as he opened the lid. He mixed the DNA with primers and enzymes chemicals he'd scavenged from school labs and Vera's underworld drops pipetting the cocktail into tiny wells. He set the cycle thirty rounds, heating to 95°C, cooling to 55°C, then up to 72°C each step doubling the DNA strands. The machine clicked on, display flashing as it hummed through the process. This is the magic, he thought as he watched the numbers tick. I'm cloning the hell out of these samples tons of DNA to play with now.
While it ran, he prepped the sequencer loaded the amplified samples into its wells, fingers deft as he tapped the controls. The screen blinked software booted, ready to read. He hit start lasers whirred inside, scanning base by base, spitting data to his computer. This is where I see it, he thought, leaning over the main screen as sequences scrolled ATCG strings piling up. My DNA, their DNA let's spot the diffs.
Thirty minutes ticked by PCR beeped done, sequencer hummed low. Peter pulled the data two files popped up on the screen, his sequence and Earth-1610's. He ran a comparison script lines of code he'd hacked together watching red highlights flag differences. "Here we go," he muttered, eyes narrowing as results blinked. Earth-1610's had extra codons gene tweaks on chromosome 17, boosting agility, maybe reflexes. Mine's got a denser muscle marker on 3 strength edge, he thought, scrolling fast. This guy's faster I'm tougher ,wild stuff.
He grabbed the next tube Earth-928, Goblin's 2099 haul repeated the steps: centrifuge spun, PCR amplified, sequencer read. Data piled more diffs flashed. "Enhanced healing chromosome 11," he said, voice low. That's huge I could heal like a tank, he thought, picturing cuts closing mid-fight. His own DNA lagged there standard recovery, solid but slow.
Third tube Earth-8311 spun up weird. "Cartoon pig genes?" he said, laughing soft. "Reflexes off the charts useless otherwise." Still cool to see, he thought. Shows how nuts this multiverse gets wonder what else is out there.
He leaned back, chair creaking, staring at the screens sequences glowed, variants stacked against his own. This is unreal, he thought, rubbing his neck. I'm seeing what makes us tick every Spider's got a twist. Earth-1610's got speed, 928's got healing mine's raw power. What if I mix 'em?
The bioprinter beckoned sleek, nozzles primed. He loaded a sample Earth-1610's into its cartridge, keyed a script to print muscle fiber with the agility tweak. It whirred liquid hissed, layers built slow. A tiny strip formed pink, tough. This could work, he thought, holding it under the light. Print my own upgrades splice 'em in become more than any of us.