"Alright class, take your seats in the bus. Next stop is Oscorp Industries."
The next day arrived. Friday. Today was the day of the Oscorp trip, and everyone was buzzing with excitement.
Well… almost everyone. Flash was forced to come along because of his low attendance. Served him right for skipping class.
As usual, I took a seat next to Gwen Stacy. She brushed a strand of blonde hair behind her ear and gave me a soft smile before turning toward the window. A few rows down, I spotted Harry sitting beside Mary Jane Watson.
Funny. In my previous life, Harry was next to some random guy, and Gwen wasn't even supposed to be here.
By right, she would have been at Oscorp already, working as Dr. Connors' assistant. Maybe it was because of me?
Was I causing all these changes? Things weren't following the same script anymore. Flash's jock buddies were actually on good terms with me now.
Gwen wasn't as shy around me either, which I called an improvement. Still, I decided to hang back, relax, and let the day play out.
After thirty minutes of the bus ride—filled with chatter, laughter, and Flash grumbling about being "dragged into nerd stuff"—we finally reached Oscorp.
One by one, we climbed down from the bus. The air outside smelled faintly metallic, mixed with the fresh polish of the building's tall glass structure.
A staff member handed us visitor clip badges, which we pinned neatly onto the right side of our clothes.
Inside, the entire class gasped at the sheer size of the lobby. Polished marble floors reflected the light from massive glass panels. Towering steel beams stretched upward, holding everything together like a futuristic cathedral.
Honestly? As a first timer, I probably should have been awestruck too. But the truth was… I had walked through these halls countless times before. As Spider-Man.
Hell, if I remembered right, Doc Ock—Dr. Otto Octavius himself—was also somewhere in this building, working on his precious fusion reactor project.
The tour led us deeper inside until we reached a lab where scientists studied electricity.
Machines hummed faintly, the air tingling with static as sparks occasionally danced across wires inside glass chambers.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said the Oscorp tour guide with a rehearsed smile. "Meet Doctor Burn Stanley. Head scientist of the statics and electric department."
Burn Stanley? Never heard of him.
He was a thin man with messy brown hair and large glasses that always seemed to slip down his nose.
He spoke about how electricity responded to the muscles of living organisms, his hands waving in odd circles as though trying to illustrate invisible currents.
Bruh, this was the static electricity lab, not biology class.
As Mr. Stanley rambled, the sliding door creaked open. A man with dark skin in a wrinkled lab coat stepped in, moving nervously toward the floor. He clutched a clipboard to his chest, shoulders hunched, eyes avoiding the crowd.
Burn Stanley snapped, his voice sharp enough to make a few students flinch.
"Dammit, Dillon! How many times must I tell you not to come in here until you're called?"
Wait. Dillon?
Maxwell Dillon? Electro.
I blinked. There he was. He looked older than most interns but still had that awkward, nervous energy of someone who never felt seen. A nerd, honestly. Not that I was one to talk.
But seeing him here stirred memories. I remembered his accident in my past life—falling into a pod of genetically engineered electric eels.
Oscorp had created those creatures in hopes of sustaining long-term static energy. It ended in disaster.
When Max "died," Oscorp had brushed it off, faking reports and twisting the truth. They claimed his case was an unknown cause of death—rumors even whispered it was suicide.
When he discovered their lies, he snapped, turning his fury against the company using Oscorp's own power plant.
I had fought him that night. He had been all confusion, pain, and rage—unstoppable until he overloaded himself with more power than even he could handle.
He died in an explosion of light and static, and the regret had always haunted me. I could have helped him. Maybe even saved him. But he never trusted me. He thought I was on Oscorp's side.
"Sorry, Mr. Stanley," Max said nervously. His voice cracked a little. "But Dr. Connors wanted to see you for an urgent matter."
Stanley scowled but waved his hand dismissively.
"Alright. Tell Connors I'll be there in five minutes."
Max gave a small nod and turned to leave, clutching his clipboard tighter.
Hmm. Maybe I could… Alright. Time to do it.
I stepped forward, weaving past a couple of classmates. Gwen tilted her head curiously as I moved. Flash muttered something like "teacher's pet," but I ignored him.
I walked straight up to Max and extended my hand for a handshake.
"Oh my God, you're Maxwell Dillon, right?"
His eyes widened slightly, surprised someone recognized him. "You know me, kid?"
In my past life, I did. But maybe this time… maybe I could change his fate.
"Yes, Mr. Dillon. I learned about your theory on those electrical eel experiments."
His brow lifted, impressed.
That project was his brainchild—an experiment Oscorp had shrugged off as minor until tragedy struck.
"Oh, the… the theory I posted on the Oscorp blog?" Max asked, voice cautious but hopeful.
"Yes!" I said eagerly. "I was astonished by it. Maybe you could post more about static connections and electrical particles sometime?"
For a moment, his nervousness faded. His lips curled into a genuine smile.
"Of course. Anything to help a curious young aspiring kid like you, Mr…?"
"Parker. Peter Parker, sir."
"Hahaha, alright kid. Hope you keep reading. Might even help you with your next exams."
I grinned as he walked off. A small spark of pride flickered in his eyes as he disappeared through the sliding doors.
Behind me, Stanley's lecture dragged on. His words blurred together like static noise. Honestly, did he even understand pure electrical energy and how it truly formed?
Later, we moved into the technology department. This section gleamed with prototypes, drones hovering lazily in containment glass, robotic arms constructing microchips, and screens flashing future projects.
But my eyes caught on something else—something sleek, dangerous. A metallic glider. Still in its testing phase, locked behind reinforced glass.
"Neat, huh?"
Harry's voice came from behind me. He slung an arm around my shoulder and tugged me closer, smirking as he admired the design with me.
"Yeah, really neat," I said as we moved along to the one lab I had hoped we wouldn't see.
Dr. Otto Octavius's lab.
Through the glass, I caught sight of him just finishing his work, adjusting the base of his four mechanical tentacles that hung suspended like giant arms behind him.
Each metallic limb twitched slightly, almost alive, their joints gleaming under the lab lights.
"Greetings, kids. I am Dr. Otto Octavius," he said warmly, turning toward us.
My chest tightened. He was—still is—my idol. I practically worshipped him. In my previous life, I had even been part of his mentorship program, his assistant. Together we had worked tirelessly on projects that could have changed the world.
We were on the verge of creating something revolutionary—something that could transform the lives of so many less fortunate.
Neural-linked prosthetics.
Robotic arms and limbs directly controlled by a person's brain signals. Otto's motivation had always been pure, to give people with disabilities the chance to move again, to live again.
Including himself—since he was already suffering from a degenerative neurological condition that slowly weakened his body.
But I remembered too well what came after. Otto's desperation to perfect the neural interface pushed him too far.
The technology damaged his mind, warping his genius and fueling his transformation into Doctor Octopus.
There was also his bitterness toward Norman Osborn. The two had co-founded Oscorp, built it from the ground up.
Otto had the vision and the brilliance, while Norman was the ruthless businessman—yet still a scientist formidable in his own right. The resentment between them would one day turn dangerous.
"Dear boy, are you listening to the question I asked you?"
Otto's voice snapped me back. My eyes widened as I realized the entire class was staring at me.
A ripple of giggles passed through the group at my obvious daydreaming. Gwen gave me a side glance, lips twitching with amusement.
I straightened nervously. "Ah—sorry, sir. It's just… it's an honor to meet one of my childhood heroes. Your inspirational work on neural-linked prosthetics for people with disabilities—it's incredible."
Otto chuckled, a spark of pride in his eyes. "Well, if you're so 'inspired,' then let me write down a question on the board. Let's see if you can get it right, Mr…?"
"Parker. Peter Parker, sir."
"Well, Peter," Otto said with a grin as he picked up a marker and began writing a complex equation on the smartboard. "Come on up then."
My stomach dropped.
Yup. I'm dead. Me and my big mouth.
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Chapter 5 — End.