Six days. Six damn days of freedom flew by in a flash. My suspension from school life, earned in fair (well, almost) combat and verbal battle, had come to an end. Today, I had to once again dive into the maelstrom of teenage passions, boring lessons, and the company of Eugene "Flash" Thompson. The last part was the least appealing. Although, after our last encounter and the subsequent chat with his parents, I hoped the jock's enthusiasm had waned.
Monday morning greeted me with a gloomy New York sky outside my window and the necessity of setting an alarm again. Ugh, the week without it had been good. Invigorated by a contrast shower and musing on the vicissitudes of a transmigrator's fate, I headed to the kitchen to make breakfast. The mood was… philosophical. Humming a tune from another life under my breath, something like, "I'm only human after all... Don't put the blame on me…", I worked my magic on some scrambled eggs. Yeah, just a human. In a world soon to be filled with flying gods, aliens, and armored billionaires. And my best friend was about to start crawling on walls. The irony.
Meanwhile, in the cozy Parker home in Queens…
Peter sat at the kitchen table, looking significantly better than he had a week ago. The paleness was gone, and the feverish glint in his eyes had been replaced by typical teenage pensiveness. On the plate before him lay a slice of something suspiciously yellow and fragrant.
"What is this?" Peter asked warily, eyeing the treat.
"Banana bread!" Aunt May announced with pride, placing a glass of milk in front of him. "I found the recipe online! They say bananas and a special blend of spices really help the body recover after an illness. It's full of vitamins! So, eat up! You need to build up your strength before school."
Peter eyed the bread skeptically. "Aunt May, has anyone ever told you not to believe everything you read on the internet? Especially on sites like 'Folk Remedies for Everything'?"
"Can't argue with that," Uncle Ben chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee while reading the morning paper. "I remember your 'healing' beet smoothie, May. I was afraid to look in the mirror for two days after that."
"Oh, hush, you two skeptics!" May feigned indignation, hands on her hips. "This recipe is from a reputable cooking forum! Peter, eat, don't listen to them. You really do need to eat well. You gave us such a scare!"
Peter shrugged and took a bite. Surprisingly, the banana bread was quite edible. Sweet, moist, with hints of cinnamon.
"Mm, this is actually good," he admitted.
"See!" May beamed. "And you doubted!"
While Peter devoured his breakfast, May changed the subject. "Peter, dear, you remember our neighbor, Anna Watson?"
"Of course, Aunt May. Why?"
"Her niece has come to stay with her. For a while, it seems. The girl is having some family problems, had to move. The poor thing is all alone in a new city, doesn't know anyone… Mrs. Watson asked if you could… well, talk to her? Help her get settled, show her around the school? It's her first day at Midtown today. It would be so sweet of you, Peter. Her name is Mary Jane."
Peter nearly choked on his milk. A new girl? Help her get settled? That sounded… terrifying. He'd never been good at talking to girls he didn't know. Or girls he did know, for that matter, with the exception of Gwen.
"Um… well… I don't know, Aunt May… I'm not really…"
"Peter," Uncle Ben interjected gently, setting aside his newspaper. "Your aunt is right. The girl needs some support. And you're a good, kind kid. Just be yourself. Talk to her, show her where things are. It's not hard. And it's the right thing to do—to help someone in a tough spot."
Peter sighed. Uncle Ben, as always, was right. "Okay. I'll talk to her."
After breakfast, having packed his backpack and said his goodbyes, Peter stepped outside. The sun was shyly breaking through the clouds. He headed toward the Watson house, a couple of doors down from his own. He saw her in the yard.
Fiery red hair framed a face with freckles and impossibly green eyes. She was dressed in simple jeans and a bright t-shirt, but even in those ordinary clothes, she looked… stunning. A slight smile played on her lips as she fiddled with her phone. This was Mary Jane Watson. And she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl Peter had ever seen.
He froze for a second, feeling his cheeks start to burn. Get it together, Parker, get it together! Breathe.
"Uh… hi?" he managed to squeeze out, stepping closer. "You must be Mary Jane?"
The girl turned, and her smile widened. "Hey! Yeah, that's me. And you must be Peter? My Aunt Anna told me you're my neighbor and go to the school I'm transferring to. Nice to meet you!" she held out her hand. Her voice was bright and confident.
"Y-yeah, Peter Parker," he shook her hand, feeling like a complete idiot. Her palm was warm and soft. "My… my Aunt May told me it's your first day… I can walk you to the bus stop, if you want? And… you know… help you out at school, if you need anything."
"Oh, that would be awesome, Peter! Thanks!" Mary Jane's eyes sparkled. "I'm a little nervous, to be honest. New city, new school… So, what's it like? What's the school like? The teachers? The kids? Any cute guys?" she winked, and Peter felt himself blush even harder.
They started walking toward the bus stop. Mary Jane turned out to be incredibly sociable and curious. She peppered Peter with questions about everything: New York, the school, his hobbies, his friends. Peter, normally shy and reserved, found himself opening up. He told her about Gwen and John, careful not to mention the recent incidents, about his favorite physics and chemistry classes, about his passion for photography. Mary Jane listened with genuine interest, asked follow-up questions, laughed at his jokes (even the clumsy ones), and shared her own impressions. She was so… alive. Sparkling.
"So what are you into?" Peter asked, feeling a bit bolder.
"Oh, I love dancing! And theater! I love being on stage, trying on different roles. I also love music, movies… basically anything to do with art and self-expression!" she answered enthusiastically. "And I love meeting new people! Like you, for instance! You're cool, Pete!"
Peter felt his heart do a somersault. Cool? Him? Standing next to this red-headed goddess? No way.
They were so engrossed in their conversation that they almost missed the yellow bus pulling up.
"Oh, the bus! Run!" Mary Jane exclaimed, grabbing Peter's hand and pulling him along.
They jumped into the bus just in the nick of time. And immediately fell under the gaze of the usual mockers.
Flash Thompson, with no sign of a broken nose (either he'd covered it with concealer or it healed freakishly fast), was sitting with his constant companion—the enormous Kenny "Kong" McFarlane.
"Whooo-eeet!" Flash whistled, shamelessly checking Mary Jane out from head to toe. "Parker, you don't waste any time! Where'd you dig up a hottie like that? She new?"
Kong let out a dumb laugh in support of his friend. "Hey, Red, wanna sit with some real men instead of this nerd?" he called out to her.
Mary Jane gave them an icy look but said nothing, only squeezing Peter's hand a little tighter (or did he imagine that?). Peter frowned, but this time he didn't even have a chance to respond. His attention was fixed on Mary Jane, and surprisingly, Flash's taunts barely registered. Maybe it was a side effect of the bite? Or maybe, next to MJ, everything else just seemed insignificant? He just muttered something like, "Get lost, Flash."
"Ooh, look! Mr. 'I-Got-Bitten-By-An-Insect' is talking!" Flash sneered, but without his usual fervor.
Just then, Liz Allan and Betty Brant, sitting nearby, caught their attention. "Hey! New girl! Sit with us!" Liz waved. Betty immediately scooted over, making room.
Mary Jane smiled at Peter. "Thanks for walking me! See you in school!" And with that, she gracefully slipped her hand from his and made her way over to the girls.
The second she sat down, Liz and Betty started bombarding her with whispered questions: "Where are you from?" "What's your name?" "New to New York?" "Got a boyfriend?" "What do you think of the guys here?" Mary Jane just laughed and answered them.
Peter was left standing in the aisle, feeling a bit lost. He found an empty seat and sat down, continuing to steal glances at the shock of red hair in front of him.
A couple of stops later, the bus doors hissed open again, and John walked in. As my eyes scanned the familiar faces, I immediately noticed a tense Flash. He was sitting quietly, but his fists were clenched, and the glare from under his brow betrayed a simmering anger. Well, a little follow-up therapy was in order.
I walked slowly down the aisle, stopping next to Flash's seat.
"Thompson," my voice was quiet but firm. The bus quieted down a bit. "How's the nose? Healed up? I hope you gained some brains along with it."
Flash turned crimson. "Smith… I'll get you…"
"You'll get me what?" I leaned in slightly. "Challenge me to another fight behind the school? Or will your influential parents file a complaint with the UN this time? Listen to me, Flash, and listen very carefully. I've served my time. But if I ever see or hear about you or your goons," I glanced at Kong, who immediately looked away, "picking on Parker again, our next conversation will be much shorter."
Flash was silent, drilling holes into me with his hateful gaze, but he didn't dare make a move. Apparently, the prospect of another fist to the face or getting caught in a bullying scandal wasn't appealing to him.
"Glad we understand each other," I straightened up.
I continued down the aisle and then I saw her. The new girl. The redhead. The one who was destined to be Spider-Man's girlfriend… or was she? And next to her was Peter, practically devouring her with his eyes, red to the tips of his ears. A picture-perfect moment. I smirked.
Walking past the row where Mary Jane sat with her new friends, I pointedly ignored her, though I noted to myself that the girl was indeed a knockout. I plopped down in the seat next to Peter and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, Parker! How you feeling? Ready to hit the books after your sick leave? You look less like you were bitten by a spider and more like you were shot by Cupid."
Peter jumped and turned an even deeper shade of red. "J-John! Hey! I… I'm fine. Almost all better. And you… what was that about?"
"Oh, just conducting a therapy session for our mutual friend Flash. A reminder on the rules of etiquette," I winked. "So, what's this about Cupid? Who's the fiery redhead who stole my best friend's heart at first sight?"
"John! Stop it!" Peter hissed, glancing around to see if Mary Jane could hear. "That's Mary Jane Watson, Mrs. Watson's niece. She's new. I'm just… just helping her get settled."
"Right, 'helping her get settled,'" I grunted. "Helping so hard your ears are about to catch fire from blushing. Fess up, Parker, you're crushing on her."
"No… I mean… she's just… nice," Peter mumbled, avoiding my eyes.
"Alright, alright, I won't torture you," I laughed. "But keep in mind, a girl like that is going to have a lot of competition. Flash is already drooling. So if you really like her, don't drag your feet, Parker!"
Peter mumbled something incoherent in response. Then, to change the subject, he asked, "Hey, where's Gwen? She usually rides with you."
"Ah, Stacy? I think her dad gave her a lift. After the Flash incident and the Oscorp thing, he's probably stepping up security," I guessed. "We'll see her at school."
And sure enough, Gwen was waiting for us by the lockers in the school hallway. She was happy to see us together.
"John! Peter! Finally!" she hugged me first, then Peter. "How are you, Peter? All good? And you, John, how was your week of 'vacation'?"
"Everything's cool, Gwen," I answered. "The vacation was productive. Almost cleared out the clutter at home. More importantly, what happened here while I was gone? Did the world fall apart? Did King Kong take over the school?"
"Nope, all quiet," Gwen smiled. "McFarlane was quiet as a mouse. I guess Flash's punishment did him some good. Classes went on as usual. It was a bit boring without you and Peter, though. But we have a new girl today! Did you see? Mary Jane Watson. I think she's in our math class."
"Oh, we saw," I chuckled, looking at a freshly blushing Peter. "Peter here has already 'charmed' her."
The bell rang, and we split up for class. Today's schedule was math, gym, and chemistry. Not a bad lineup.
In math, Mrs. Warren introduced the new student. "Class, I'd like you to meet Mary Jane Watson. She just moved here and will be joining us. Mary Jane, would you like to say a few words about yourself?"
Mary Jane walked to the front of the class with a captivating smile. She carried herself with confidence and ease.
"Hey, everyone! I'm MJ," she gave a playful wink. "I moved here from Portland. I love dancing, theater, and having fun! I hope we can all be friends! And boys," she swept the class with a flirtatious glance, "don't be shy about asking me out! Kidding! Or am I?" She let out an infectious laugh.
The class perked up. The girls smiled, the guys whistled. Flash and Kong immediately started making dumb jokes in her direction, loud enough for her to hear.
"Hey, MJ, wanna see the local sights after school? Like, for example, my biceps?" Flash yelled.
"Or mine! They're bigger!" Kong added, trying to make a manly face, which came out looking rather comical.
Mary Jane just rolled her eyes with a smile and went back to her seat next to Liz and Betty, ignoring the dimwitted jocks. This girl could definitely stand up for herself, even without saying a word.
The classes flew by. Gym was torture for Peter—his new powers were manifesting as clumsiness and excessive force. He'd jump too high, or throw a ball with so much power he nearly broke a window. I watched him with amusement, knowing the kid had a long road ahead of him to control his new abilities.
Chemistry was uneventful, except for the fact that Peter almost caused an explosion by mixing the wrong reagents—again, either due to a sudden surge of strength in his hands or because his mind was occupied by MJ. Luckily, disaster was averted.
After the last class, the students flooded the hallway. Peter, Gwen, and I were walking together, discussing our evening plans. Suddenly, as we passed Flash and Kong, the hulking McFarlane, apparently deciding to redeem himself in his friend's eyes for his morning silence, stuck out his leg to trip Peter. The oldest trick in the book.
But something went wrong.
I saw Peter freeze for a split second, his eyes widening as if he'd sensed something. The next moment, with incredible ease and speed, he dodged Kong's outstretched leg. And then something unbelievable happened. Peter bent down, grabbed Kong by the ankle with one (!) hand, and with a light, almost casual motion, flipped the huge guy into the air.
The massive Kenny "Kong" McFarlane landed flat on his face in the middle of the hallway with a dull thud, his arms spread out.
A dead silence fell over the corridor. Everyone stared at Peter, then at Kong's sprawled body, then back at Peter. Peter himself was staring at the hand that had just flipped a two-hundred-pound guy, a look of complete shock and disbelief on his face. Flash stood with his jaw hanging open, unable to believe his eyes.
The silence was broken by the stern voice of the history teacher, Ms. Inverness, who was just leaving her classroom. "What is going on here?! Everyone, disperse! Now! McFarlane, get up! Parker, with me!"
Under the teacher's stern gaze, the crowd of onlookers instantly scattered. Such was the magic of New York and, perhaps, the Marvel world—people here got used to weirdness quickly and preferred not to get involved, especially when a figure of authority, even a school one, was present.
Flash helped his hapless friend up. Kong was holding his nose and mumbling something. Peter dazedly walked toward the teacher.
And I just stood there, watching him go. The initial shock of what I'd seen was replaced by a clear understanding. Spider-sense. Superhuman strength and reflexes. That wasn't just luck. This was it.
A few days earlier, right after Peter's discharge from St. Luke's Hospital…
The hustle and bustle of the hospital corridor hid many small dramas and quiet events. Nurses pushed gurneys, doctors rushed to calls, visitors shuffled toward rooms. In this routine scene, few paid any attention to a short, bald man in an inconspicuous dark trench coat, despite the warm weather. He wore thin leather gloves. He moved quickly and silently, like a shadow.
He entered a small procedure room where several vials of blood samples, marked with patient names, sat on a tray. His eyes quickly found the one he was looking for—"Parker, P." He heard a nurse's footsteps approaching. The man acted with lightning speed. From an inside pocket of his coat, he produced an identical vial, with an identical label, barely visible under his gloved finger. A swift movement—and the vial with Peter's blood disappeared into his pocket, replaced by another one containing the blood of an unknown donor, marked "Parker, P." When the nurse entered the room, the man was gone. No one noticed a thing. Shaw, Norman Osborn's man, had completed the first part of his job.
Around the same time, but an hour later, deep in the bowels of Oscorp Tower…
The Oscorp Industries laboratories were the quintessence of high technology and sterility. Bright white light flooded the spacious rooms, filled with complex equipment: centrifuges spun silently, DNA sequencers flickered with data, robotic arms transferred samples in sealed containers. The air was clean and smelled of ozone and antiseptic. Staff in pristine white coats moved through the labs with focused expressions, engrossed in their research. But behind the facade of scientific progress, darker secrets were hidden.
In one such lab, separated from the main area by tinted glass, stood three men. Norman Osborn was at a large table with several monitors. His red hair was neatly combed, his expensive suit fit perfectly, but his face was marred by a deep frown. He stared intently at the graphs and figures displayed on the main screen. Next to him stood a short scientist in a lab coat with a noticeable bald patch and thick glasses—Dr. Mendell Stromm, one of Oscorp's leading geneticists. The third was Shaw, still in his dark trench coat, standing motionless like a statue near the wall.
"Sir?" Dr. Stromm's voice was nervous. He pointed a trembling finger at one of the graphs on the monitor. "Patient P.P.'s vitals are declining sharply. The OZ formula… it's killing him. The cellular structure is deteriorating at a catastrophic rate."
Norman Osborn spun toward the scientist, his green eyes flashing with anger. "How? Why? The spider venom was supposed to be a catalyst, to enhance the serum, not destroy the host! What happened, Stromm?!"
"We… we don't know, sir," the scientist stammered, adjusting his glasses. "The reaction is completely unpredictable. The subject's body can't handle it. The immune system is failing, tissue necrosis is setting in… It's a complete failure."
"The police will take an interest in the death of a high school student after an incident in our lab," Shaw said grimly from his corner. "Even if the blood sample shows no traces of the OZ formula, there will be questions."
"Yes," Norman hissed, turning back to the monitor. The graphs were indeed plummeting.
"And they'll shut down the project," Stromm added, his voice full of despair. "All our research, years of work… Possibly forever. We'll be accused of illegal experiments, of negligence…"
"Yes," Osborn grunted, but there was no fear in his voice, only cold calculation. He tapped the screen with a finger. "How long… does he have left? Based on this trend."
Stromm swallowed hard. "A day. Maybe two. No more. The process is irreversible."
"So, he's effectively a corpse…" Norman stated flatly.
"Yes, sir."
"And he'll die no matter what? Even if we try to intervene now?"
"Intervention would only accelerate the process, sir. It's too late. The cells are destroyed…" Stromm reported, turning pale.
Norman Osborn fell silent, staring at the slowly fading vitals on the screen. His face was unreadable. Then he turned slowly to his faithful assistant. "Shaw?"
The bald man in the coat gave a barely perceptible nod. He understood without being told. A dead schoolboy was a problem. An investigation, a scandal, the project shut down. Better to cover the tracks before the body ended up in the hands of the police or a medical examiner. Eliminate the problem before it became official. A predatory smirk flickered across Shaw's face.
"It will be done, sir."
Present day. A few hours after the incident with Kong in the school hallway…
Peter Parker was walking home along a familiar Queens sidewalk. The school day had been… weird. He still couldn't believe he had flipped Kong so easily. Where did that strength come from? That agility? It felt like a dream. His thoughts were a jumble, the sensations in his body were new—all his senses were heightened. He could hear the hum of cars several blocks away, see the tiniest cracks in the pavement, smell scents he'd never been aware of before.
Trying to distract himself from this avalanche of new sensations and thoughts about his strange reaction to the spider bite, he buried his nose in the chemistry textbook he was holding. He became so engrossed in the formulas and equations that he was completely oblivious to his surroundings.
That's why he didn't hear the elegant black sedan with heavily tinted windows pull up silently to the curb behind him. The car moved slowly, attracting no attention. Shaw was behind the wheel. He held a cell phone to his ear.
"I have eyes on the target," he reported quietly, his cold gaze fixed on Peter's figure just a few dozen yards ahead. "He's alone. The street is almost empty. Perfect moment."
"Green light, Shaw. Green light," Norman Osborn's hard, recognizable voice came through the phone. "Do it right. Quick and clean. No witnesses."
Shaw smirked, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. "Right." He knew what that meant.
His right foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The sedan's powerful engine roared to life, and the car shot forward like a bullet, aiming directly at the unsuspecting Peter's back. The bumper was aimed precisely between his shoulder blades—the impact was meant to be fatal.
But a split second before the inevitable, a deafening mental scream exploded in Peter's head. Not a sound, but a feeling—an ice-cold premonition of imminent danger coming from directly behind him. It was the same "spider-sense" that had saved him from Kong's trip, but now it was screaming with ten times the intensity.
Without thinking, without analyzing, obeying pure instinct, Peter's body reacted before his brain could even process the threat. He leaped sharply up and backward, twisting in the air with an incredible, inhuman grace. The sedan shot underneath him, barely missing the soles of his sneakers. Peter flipped in mid-air like a seasoned acrobat and landed softly on his feet behind the car, which screeched to a halt a few yards away.
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, breathing heavily, his heart hammering in his chest. The first thought that flashed through his still-shocked brain was ridiculously naive: Oh my god! Is the driver sick? Did he lose control? I should help!
He took a step toward the stopped car, about to run to the driver's door. But then the same icy warning pierced him again. The spider-sense screamed: Danger! Run! This time, the danger was coming from the car itself, from the dark figure behind the wheel. Peter froze, and in that moment, the instinct for self-preservation overrode his desire to help. He turned and bolted, running faster than he had ever run in his life, weaving between houses and alleys.
In the black sedan, a stunned Shaw sat behind the wheel. He stared into the rearview mirror, unable to believe his eyes. The kid… he had jumped over the car! How?! It was impossible! Shaw's hand instinctively slipped inside his coat, feeling for the grip of a silenced pistol. He had to finish the job. He looked in the mirror again—empty. The sidewalk was empty. Shaw whipped his head around, looking out the side window. In the distance, he saw Peter's receding figure duck around a corner. Gone. Unbelievably fast.
Shaw swore under his breath and pulled out his phone, dialing a familiar number.
In Norman Osborn's office…
Norman Osborn sat in a massive leather armchair behind a heavy, dark wood desk. His office on the top floor of Oscorp Tower was the embodiment of power and wealth, but right now, the polished surface was a mess—stacks of papers, reports, and printouts were piled everywhere. Osborn was scanning another report when his private phone buzzed quietly. It was Shaw. Norman pressed the answer button.
"Report," he said curtly, not looking up from his papers.
Shaw's slightly breathless voice came through the line. "Sir? You're not going to believe this, but… the target got away."
"What?!" Osborn shot upright, papers flying off his desk. "How did he get away?! You said it was the perfect moment!"
"I… I don't know how to explain it, sir. I was going for the kill; he couldn't have seen me. But at the last second, he… he jumped over the car! Like a circus performer! And then he vanished, ran off incredibly fast. I've never seen anything like it!"
Norman listened, his eyes widening with amazement, which turned to disbelief, and then to a sharp, predatory interest. Jumped over the car? Incredible speed? His mind began racing. The OZ formula… it hadn't killed Parker. The blood sample had shown necrosis, but the actual host… he hadn't just survived. He had mutated. He had acquired superhuman abilities.
"Sir?" Shaw asked uncertainly. "What are your orders? I can follow him to his house… finish the job."
"Stand down!" Norman's voice was sharp, almost ecstatic. It vibrated with the excitement of a scientist who had just made an incredible discovery.
"Are you sure, sir?"
"STAND DOWN, Shaw! Return to base. Immediately!" Norman commanded. "This boy… He's the key! He is living proof of success! I want to study him, Shaw! Study him! Not kill him!"
Norman Osborn threw the phone down on the desk and leaned back in his chair, gazing out the panoramic window at the sprawling New York City below. A strange, frightening smile played on his lips. Peter Parker. The boy he had just ordered killed had become the most interesting scientific subject of his life. The game had begun. And the stakes had just skyrocketed.