John pulled up a chair with a soft scrape against the polished floor and sat next to Harry Osborn, the morning sunlight streaming through the classroom windows and casting geometric patterns across their desks. The familiar sounds of high school filled the air around them—the rustle of pages turning, hushed conversations, the distant hum of the ventilation system working overtime to combat the October chill.
Dressed impeccably as always in a cashmere sweater that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent, Harry looked up from his leather-bound book—some advanced economics text that made John's head hurt just looking at the title. A grin spread across Harry's patrician features, transforming his usually serious expression into something boyish and genuine. He playfully punched John on the shoulder with just enough force to make his point. "Dude, I never saw that coming," he said, giving him a thumbs-up that was somehow both congratulatory and slightly envious. "You and Gwen Stacy. Awesome."
The scent of Harry's expensive cologne—something woody and sophisticated—mixed with the more mundane smells of pencil shavings and floor cleaner that permeated every high school in America.
"Come on, man, it was just an accident," John said, shaking his head with a self-deprecating smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Listen, I actually need to talk to you about something else."
Harry's expression shifted, his smile fading as he picked up on the serious undercurrent in John's voice. "What's up?"
John glanced around the classroom, noting who was within earshot before leaning closer. His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, each word carefully chosen. "How much do you really know about your father's company, Oscorp?"
"Not much," Harry admitted with a shrug that carried years of disappointment. His fingers unconsciously traced the edge of his textbook as he spoke. "It's mostly biotech, military contracts, that kind of stuff. My dad rarely talks to me about the business—says I'm not ready, that I need to focus on school first." The bitterness in his voice was subtle but unmistakable. "Why? Is there a problem?"
John studied his friend's face, seeing the hurt that Harry tried so hard to hide behind his easy smile and expensive clothes. Norman Osborn's emotional distance was an open wound that Harry carried with practiced grace.
"You should ask him to teach you about business management," John said seriously, his tone carrying a weight that made Harry sit up straighter. "How to run a company, how to build something new from the ground up. Corporate structure, R&D oversight, ethical guidelines for research projects. All of it."
Harry's eyebrows rose in surprise. This wasn't typical teenage conversation territory. "As for why..." John continued, his voice growing even quieter, "it's complicated. The reasons will become clear when Peter goes through some changes of his own."
"John, I don't get it," Harry said, frowning as confusion clouded his features like storm clouds gathering on a clear day. "I can ask my dad to teach me, that's fine—though getting him to spend time with me on anything is like pulling teeth. But what does that have to do with Peter? And what kind of changes are you talking about?" His voice rose slightly with frustration before he caught himself and lowered it again. "Can't you just tell me now?"
John was quiet for a long moment, staring out the window at the courtyard where other students were enjoying their free period. A group of girls sat under the old oak tree, their laughter carrying on the autumn breeze. Everything looked so normal, so peaceful. Soon, that innocence would be shattered in ways none of them could imagine.
"Everyone has their own path to walk, Harry," John said finally, his voice low and carrying the weight of someone who'd seen too much of what the future held. "Peter's is his own, and yours is yours. Telling you everything now would do more harm than good." He turned to look his friend directly in the eye, and Harry was struck by how much older John seemed in that moment—as if he carried knowledge that aged him beyond his years. "You just have to trust me. I wouldn't do anything to hurt you."
Harry studied John's face for a long moment, searching for answers in his friend's earnest expression. There was something different about John lately—a quiet confidence, a sense of purpose that hadn't been there before. It was as if someone had turned up the contrast on his entire personality, making him more vivid, more present.
"Alright," Harry said after a moment, his voice carrying the reluctant acceptance of someone agreeing to jump off a cliff because they trusted the person holding the parachute. "You've definitely changed. I have no idea what you're talking about, but... I'm willing to believe you."
The admission seemed to cost him something, and John felt a stab of guilt for the secrets he was keeping from one of his closest friends.
"Good," John said, clapping him on the shoulder with genuine warmth. "You'll understand later."
Harry was left completely bewildered, staring after John as he gathered his books. The morning sun continued to stream through the windows, but somehow the light seemed different now—charged with the possibility of changes neither of them could fully comprehend.
A month later, the school's off-campus excursion took them to the Columbia University Science Department Research Center, a gleaming facility funded by Oscorp that rose from the campus like a monument to human ambition. The building was all glass and steel, its modern architecture a stark contrast to the ivy-covered brick buildings that surrounded it. Inside, the air hummed with the quiet energy of scientific discovery—the whisper of air filtration systems, the distant hum of centrifuges, the soft beeping of monitoring equipment.
As they got off the yellow school bus with its familiar diesel fumes and squeaky brakes, John turned to Gwen with a mysterious smile that made her stomach flutter with nervous anticipation. The October air was crisp against their faces, carrying the scent of fallen leaves and the promise of winter.
"Let's go," he said, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Today's a big day for Peter. A life-changing one."
"John, you're saying strange things again," Gwen sighed, though she took his hand willingly. His palm was warm against hers, slightly rough from his recent injuries, and somehow reassuring despite his cryptic words. "Sometimes I wonder if you've developed some kind of prophetic abilities along with everything else."
"Peter! Harry!" John called out, waving them over with his free hand.
"Hey, John," Peter responded, adjusting the strap of his camera bag. He looked nervous, the way he always did in new environments, his eyes darting around to take in every detail of the impressive facility.
"John, Gwen, this is my father, Norman Osborn," Harry said, gesturing to the man beside him with obvious pride mixed with careful respect.
Norman Osborn was exactly as John remembered from movies and comics—tall, distinguished, with graying hair swept back from a high forehead and eyes that seemed to catalog and analyze everything they saw. He wore a perfectly tailored suit that probably cost more than most people's cars, and carried himself with the confidence of someone accustomed to being the smartest person in any room.
"Hello, Mr. Osborn," John said, extending a hand that trembled slightly—though whether from nerves or anticipation, even he couldn't say.
Norman shook it with a firm grip, his eyes sharp and analytical as they studied John's face with the intensity of a scientist examining a particularly interesting specimen. "Harry has told me about his friends. He said you were introverted, but you don't seem to be."
John could feel the weight of that gaze, the sense that Norman Osborn was filing away every detail for future reference. "I just don't like talking to strangers," John replied smoothly, managing to keep his voice steady despite the knowledge of what this man would become.
"Hello, Mr. Osborn," Gwen said, also shaking his hand with the poise that came naturally to someone raised in a law enforcement family.
"Ah, yes. I know your father," Norman said with a thin smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Captain Stacy is a very upright policeman. We've had... professional interactions regarding certain security matters."
The words carried subtle undertones that made both teenagers glance at each other. In Norman's world, 'professional interactions' with the police could mean anything from charity donations to criminal investigations.
"Thank you, sir," Gwen replied politely, her training in diplomatic conversation serving her well.
As the tour began, led by a enthusiastic graduate student in a lab coat that smelled of chemicals and ambition, Gwen noticed John was keeping a close eye on Peter. His attention never wavered from their friend, tracking Peter's movements through the laboratory spaces with the intensity of a hawk watching prey.
"John, why are you following Peter?" she whispered, leaning close enough that her breath tickled his ear.
"You'll see in a moment," he said, his smile never wavering but his muscles coiled like springs. Every nerve in his body was on high alert, waiting for the moment that would change everything.
The laboratory they entered was a marvel of modern science—pristine white surfaces, sophisticated equipment that hummed and beeped with electronic life, and glass cases containing specimens that seemed to belong more in a science fiction movie than a university research facility. The air was cool and sterile, tasting faintly of ozone and preservatives.
While Peter was busy trying to take photos of Mary Jane—who was examining a display of genetic sequencing equipment with genuine fascination—a spider descended from the ceiling on a single thread of silk that caught the fluorescent lights like spun glass. It was small, unremarkable except for the unusual blue and red coloring on its abdomen, moving with the precise economy of motion that marked it as something special.
Time seemed to slow as the spider landed on the back of Peter's hand with a touch so light he barely noticed it. For a moment, it paused there, as if sensing something in the boy beneath its legs. Then, following instincts older than humanity, it bit him.
"Ow!" Peter yelped, shaking the spider off with a motion that sent it tumbling through the air. He glanced at the small red mark on his hand, already beginning to swell slightly, shrugged with the casual indifference of someone who'd been bitten by insects his entire life, and went back to his photography. "Stupid spider."
The moment it happened, John quickly raised his own camera—a device he'd brought specifically for this purpose—and snapped a picture. The flash illuminated the scene for a split second, capturing the spider in mid-fall and the small wound on Peter's hand that would change the course of history.
Then, unnoticed by anyone else in the group who were focused on the tour guide's explanation of genetic modification techniques, John knelt down and carefully coaxed the fallen spider into a small, transparent container he'd brought with him. The spider moved sluggishly, its venom expended, but it was still very much alive. In the right hands, this creature could be worth more than all of Oscorp's patents combined.
"What are you doing?" Gwen asked, confused, her voice carrying a note of concern as she watched John handle what appeared to be just an ordinary spider. "Peter was just bitten by a spider!"
"He's fine, Gwen," John replied casually, holding up the box to examine its precious contents. The spider moved weakly against the clear walls, unaware that it had just played a pivotal role in the birth of a legend. "In fact, his life just changed forever. And this little spider..." He smiled with the satisfaction of someone who'd just acquired the Hope Diamond. "This is a treasure."
"I really don't know what goes through your head sometimes," Gwen said, shaking her own head in bemusement. Sometimes dating John felt like being in a relationship with a time traveler who insisted on speaking in riddles.
"Oh, right," John said, his thoughts already moving on to the next crisis that needed to be prevented. "When we get back, can you ask your father for a high-performance bulletproof vest? A medium or large. It's for Peter's Uncle Ben." The casual way he said it, as if requesting body armor for elderly relatives was perfectly normal, made Gwen's eyebrows rise toward her hairline.
He paused, his expression growing darker as he contemplated the next problem on his list. "And about Harry's father... this is more complicated. I think I need to talk to your dad myself."
"Whatever you want," Gwen said, feeling a familiar sense of helplessness wash over her at his strange pronouncements. It was like being in love with someone who could see around corners while she was still trying to navigate the hallway. "Just let me know before you show up at my house." She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, her lips soft and warm against his skin. "John, I really hope you can try to be more normal."
"I am normal," he said with a grin that suggested his definition of normal was significantly different from everyone else's. "I'll see you later. I need to find Harry."
He quickly located Harry as the tour group was preparing to leave, students filing toward the exit with the tired satisfaction of a field trip completed. The late afternoon sun streamed through the facility's large windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors.
"Harry, I need to talk to your father. Now."
Harry looked up from checking his phone, his expression shifting from casual interest to concern at the urgency in John's voice. "What's wrong, John? Is it something I can help with?"
"It's about human experimentation," John said, his voice low and urgent, each word dropping like stones into still water.
"Human... what are you talking about?" Harry's easy-going expression vanished completely, replaced by shock that drained the color from his face. He knew his father's company pushed boundaries—Oscorp's reputation for aggressive research was legendary in scientific circles—but human experimentation? That crossed lines that shouldn't exist. "Did you hear a rumor somewhere? Because if this is just gossip—"
"It's about a super-soldier serum," John interrupted, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "It's vital I speak to him. Take me to him first, and I'll explain everything to both of you."
Harry stared at his friend, searching his face for signs that this was some elaborate joke. But John's expression was deadly serious, his eyes holding a knowledge that seemed impossible for a high school student to possess.
"Okay, okay," Harry said, pulling out his phone with hands that trembled slightly. "Let me just ask his assistant where he is." After a brief call filled with hushed, urgent questions, he looked up, his worry deepening the lines around his eyes. "He's at his private lab near our house. John, maybe we should do this another day? When he's in the lab, he doesn't like to be disturbed. Last time someone interrupted him during an experiment, he didn't speak to them for a month."
Private lab? The words hit John like a physical blow, sending ice water through his veins. Oh no. A cold dread washed over him, the kind of terror that came from knowing exactly how bad things were about to get. I only remember the Green Goblin appearing after Spider-Man did... it can't be happening this fast!
The timeline was accelerating beyond his control. In the comics and movies, Norman's transformation had come later, after Spider-Man had already established himself as a hero. But here, now, with Peter barely bitten and the spider's venom still working its way through his system, Norman was already moving toward his own dark transformation.
"Harry, tell your driver to get us there now!" John said, grabbing his arm with enough force to leave fingerprints. "I think your father is about to inject himself with a performance enhancer, one with catastrophic side effects."
"What? How could you possibly—" Harry's voice cracked with disbelief and rising panic.
"Don't ask why, just go!" John insisted, his eyes wide with a terror that was completely genuine. The weight of potential futures—all of them terrible—pressed down on him like a physical force. "If we're not there in time, it'll be too late!"
Seeing the genuine terror in John's face, the way his hands shook and his breathing had become shallow with panic, Harry knew he wasn't joking. Whatever was happening, John believed it with every fiber of his being. He shoved John into the back of his waiting town car—a sleek black vehicle that smelled of leather and wealth—and yelled at the driver with an authority he rarely used.
"Go! Drive! Fast!"
The engine roared to life, and they pulled away from the curb with enough acceleration to press them back into their seats. John leaned back against the leather, his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape. Through the tinted windows, the city blurred past in streaks of light and shadow.
I hope it's not too late, he thought, watching the buildings flash by as they raced toward what might be the birth of one of Spider-Man's greatest enemies. The irony wasn't lost on him—in trying to save one friend's uncle, he might be about to witness another friend's father transform into a monster.
The car sped through the afternoon traffic, weaving between slower vehicles with the urgency of an ambulance racing toward a disaster. In the distance, the Osborn estate waited, its private laboratory holding secrets that could reshape the world—or destroy it.