The September morning carried that peculiar New York smell—hot asphalt, coffee, and exhaust fumes—as Peter Parker slouched in his seat on the charter bus, trying to be invisible.
He was very good at being invisible.
"Dude, you're doing that thing again," Ned Leeds whispered, elbowing him in the ribs.
"What thing?" Peter didn't look up from his battered copy of Advanced Biomechanics.
"That thing where you pretend to read while actually staring at Gwen Stacy's reflection in the window."
Peter's face burned. "I'm not—"
"You totally are." Ned's grin was enormous. "It's okay, man. She's gorgeous. Like, intimidatingly smart AND hot. That's a dangerous combination."
Peter risked a glance forward. Gwen Stacy sat three rows ahead, her platinum blonde hair catching the morning light as she typed rapidly on her phone—probably working through some advanced calculus problem for fun, knowing her. She wore jeans and a fitted blue sweater that somehow made her look both casual and effortlessly put together.
His heart did something complicated and painful in his chest.
"She's way out of my league," Peter muttered.
"Everyone's out of your league, Parker, because you've convinced yourself you're not even playing the same sport." Ned shifted, lowering his voice. "You're brilliant, you're funny when you're not overthinking, and you're a good person. That counts for something."
"Yeah, in some alternate universe where high school operates on logic and merit."
"Fair point."
The bus lurched through traffic toward Oscorp Tower, which dominated the skyline like a chrome and glass monument to corporate ambition. Peter had been looking forward to this field trip for weeks—a private tour of Oscorp's cutting-edge biotech facilities, courtesy of Harry Osborn's father. Norman Osborn was a legend in scientific circles, though his reputation was... complicated. Brilliant but ruthless, visionary but ethically flexible.
Still, the chance to see real, working research labs? Peter would have walked through fire for this opportunity.
"Hey, Parker!"
Peter's stomach dropped. That voice.
Michelle Jones—MJ to everyone except teachers who valued their dignity—had turned around from her seat four rows up. Her dark, curly hair framed a face that was striking rather than conventionally pretty, with sharp cheekbones and eyes that seemed to catalog every weakness, every secret.
She terrified him. In a weird way that made his pulse race.
"Yeah?" Peter managed, proud his voice only cracked slightly.
"You brought your camera, right?" MJ's pen was already poised over her ever-present notebook. She was the editor of the Midtown High newspaper and treated journalism with religious fervor. "I need decent photos for my exposé on corporate science ethics."
"Exposé?" Ned perked up. "You're really going after Oscorp? Harry's gonna love that."
"Harry's a big boy with a billionaire daddy. He can handle some critical journalism." MJ's smile had sharp edges. "Besides, someone should be asking why a company that made its fortune on military weapons suddenly pivoted to 'humanitarian biotech.' That's not altruism—that's rebranding."
Peter fumbled his camera from his backpack. "Yeah, I got it."
"Good." MJ held his gaze a moment longer than necessary, and Peter felt heat crawl up his neck. "Stick with me during the tour. I might need a reliable witness when I ask uncomfortable questions."
Then she turned back around, leaving Peter hyperaware of the knowing look Ned was giving him.
"Don't," Peter warned.
"I didn't say anything."
"You're thinking it very loudly."
"I'm thinking that MJ Jones just specifically asked you to be her partner on this trip, which is basically like winning the lottery of terrifying but hot girls noticing your existence."
"She wants a photographer, not a date."
"Por qué no los dos?" Ned said in terrible Spanish.
Peter was saved from responding by the bus shuddering to a stop outside Oscorp Tower. Students began filing off, and Peter caught sight of Harry Osborn waiting at the entrance—tall, well-dressed in that effortless way that came from having a personal shopper, with sandy hair and the kind of easy confidence Peter had never quite mastered.
Harry's face lit up when he spotted Peter pushing through the crowd.
"Parker!" Harry's handshake was firm, friendly. "Man, I'm glad you're here. Someone I can actually talk science with."
Peter grinned. He and Harry had bonded over advanced chemistry last year, discovering a shared passion for research that transcended their vastly different economic backgrounds. Harry might live in a penthouse and have a trust fund, but he treated Peter like an equal. Like a friend.
"Thanks for setting this up," Peter said. "This is amazing."
"Dad's idea, actually." Something flickered across Harry's face—worry? fear?—before his practiced smile returned. "He's been really invested in the biotech division lately. Working insane hours. I barely see him anymore."
Before Peter could probe that concerning statement, their teacher's voice cut through the morning air.
"Alright, people!" Ms. Warren clapped her hands, looking exhausted already. "We are guests at one of the world's premier research facilities. That means best behavior. No touching anything, no wandering off, and absolutely no stealing samples. Yes, Flash, I'm looking at you."
Eugene "Flash" Thompson—star quarterback, occasional bully, and owner of exactly two brain cells—threw up his hands innocently. "What? That was one time!"
"You tried to take a human femur from the Natural History Museum," MJ called out dryly.
"For a good reason!"
"To 'freak out Jenny Martinez' is not a good reason."
Laughter rippled through the group as Ms. Warren herded them toward the entrance. Peter found himself caught in the flow, somehow ending up between Gwen Stacy and MJ in the security line.
His heart was trying to escape through his throat.
"Excited?" Gwen asked, turning those impossibly blue eyes on him, and Peter's brain temporarily forgot how to form words.
"Uh. Yes. Very. Science." He wanted to die. Actually just cease existing.
But Gwen's smile was warm, like she found his awkwardness endearing rather than pathetic. "I heard they're doing groundbreaking work on genetic therapies. Potentially revolutionary approaches to treating inherited diseases."
"Really?" Peter latched onto the safer topic with desperate relief. "I thought Oscorp was primarily defense contracts."
"They were," MJ interjected, her journalist instincts clearly activating. "Until about eight months ago when Norman Osborn suddenly pivoted the entire company toward biotech research. Makes you wonder what changed. What motivated such a dramatic shift."
"Maybe he wanted to help people?" Peter offered.
MJ's look was withering. "Oh, honey. That's adorable."
"Parker's an optimist," Gwen said, but she was smiling. "It's refreshing, honestly. Everyone's so cynical."
"Cynicism is just pattern recognition," MJ countered, but there was no real heat in it. "Trust gets people hurt."
Peter was acutely, painfully aware of both girls flanking him as they passed through security—Gwen smelling faintly of vanilla and laboratory soap, MJ carrying some darker, more complex scent. His palms were sweating. His heart was doing arrhythmic things that probably violated several laws of biology.
Get it together, Parker. You're here for science, not to have a hormone-induced breakdown in front of the two smartest, most attractive girls in school.
The lobby of Oscorp Tower was impressive—all gleaming chrome, polished marble, and holographic displays showcasing various projects. Peter's photographer's eye automatically catalogued composition, lighting, the way shadows fell across the corporate architecture. He noticed details others missed: nervous security guards, scientists moving with unusual tension, the way some of the holographic displays flickered as though poorly maintained.
Something felt... off.
Their guide appeared—a severe woman in her late forties with graying hair pulled back so tight it looked painful, wearing a lab coat that seemed more like armor than professional attire.
"Good morning. I'm Dr. Rajani, head of the bioengineering division." Her tone suggested she'd rather be literally anywhere else. "Mr. Osborn has asked me to personally oversee your tour today. You will follow me, stay with the group, and under no circumstances touch anything. Some of our projects are extremely sensitive and potentially dangerous."
As they moved deeper into the facility, Peter's unease grew. The scientists they passed seemed tense, jumping at shadows. One young researcher was arguing intensely on a phone, her voice carrying: "—don't care what the board says, we're not ready for live trials! The symbiote is too unstable—"
She cut off abruptly when she noticed the tour group, face going pale.
"What was that about?" Ned whispered.
Peter shrugged, but his skin was prickling. Some instinct he couldn't name was screaming warnings.
Dr. Rajani led them through a series of laboratories, each more impressive than the last. Genetic sequencing equipment worth millions. Electron microscopes powerful enough to visualize individual atoms. Bioreactors growing tissue cultures that pulsed with strange, organic light.
Gwen was in heaven, asking technical questions that made Dr. Rajani's severe expression thaw fractionally. MJ was taking rapid notes, her eyes sharp, clearly cataloguing every evasive answer and uncomfortable pause. Peter snapped photos, trying to capture the strange beauty of cutting-edge science.
They stopped outside a reinforced observation window looking into a sealed containment laboratory. Inside, Peter could see elaborate safety systems—multiple redundant barriers, energy fields, robotic handling arms.
At the center, suspended in a shimmering containment field, was something impossible.
A mass of black, organic material that seemed to pulse and shift like it was breathing. It looked almost liquid, but with structure—edges that reformed constantly, patterns that suggested terrible intelligence.
"This," Dr. Rajani said with obvious reluctance, "is our most ambitious and controversial project. A unique biological sample recovered from a classified extraterrestrial source."
The room went silent.
"Extraterrestrial?" MJ's pen was flying across her notepad. "As in alien? From space? Where exactly—"
"Classified." Dr. Rajani's tone brooked no argument. "What I can tell you is that we call it a symbiote. It's an organism unlike anything in Earth's evolutionary history—capable of bonding with host species, potentially enhancing physical capabilities, accelerating healing, and theoretically curing genetic diseases by rewriting DNA at the molecular level."
Peter stared at the black mass. It seemed to pulse rhythmically, almost like a heartbeat. Something about it made his skin crawl while simultaneously fascinating him. Beautiful and terrible at once.
As he watched, it shifted. Oriented.
Toward their group.
Toward him.
That's impossible. It's contained. It's just organic material responding to stimuli.
But Peter couldn't shake the feeling that it was looking at him. Seeing him.
Knowing him.
"The symbiote demonstrates remarkable intelligence," Dr. Rajani continued, clearly uncomfortable. "It's been attempting communication, though we haven't successfully decoded its methods. We've also observed it generating what appear to be offspring—smaller samples with unique properties. Which brings us to our adjacent study."
She gestured to the next window.
Lab 7.
Inside were dozens of terrariums, each containing enhanced spiders—larger than normal, moving with unnatural coordination. Their carapaces had a strange, oily sheen. Not quite natural coloring. Almost... iridescent.
"We've been testing whether the symbiote's adaptive properties can enhance other organisms," Dr. Rajani explained. "The results have been... mixed. Some subjects show remarkable enhancement. Others reject the bonding and die. These spiders represent our most successful trial subjects—"
An alarm blared. Sharp, insistent, the kind of sound that activated pure primal panic.
Dr. Rajani's face went white. "Containment breach. Lab 7. Lockdown protocol!"
Chaos erupted instantly.
Scientists were running. Security guards shouting into radios. Automated systems slamming doors, deploying barriers, activating suppression fields.
Through the window, Peter saw it happen: a researcher had stumbled, knocked into a terrarium. Glass shattered. Enhanced spiders were suddenly free, moving with horrifying speed and coordination.
"EVERYBODY BACK!" Dr. Rajani was shouting. "Ms. Warren, get your students OUT OF HERE! NOW!"
But Peter wasn't moving. Because through the observation window, he watched one of the spiders—larger than the others, with a carapace that seemed almost metallic—turn its cluster of eyes directly toward them.
Directly toward him.
Their gazes locked across the barrier of reinforced glass, and Peter felt something click in his mind. Recognition. Inevitability.
The spider moved.
Not toward the glass. Toward the ventilation system.
Oh no.
"NED!" Peter grabbed his best friend's arm. "The vents! They're connected throughout the building—"
The words died in his throat.
Because the spider was suddenly there. Dropping from the ceiling vent directly above them with impossible precision.
Time seemed to slow.
Peter saw it descending toward him. Saw the enhanced musculature, the alien sheen of its enhanced biology. Saw the hypodermic fangs extending.
His body moved on instinct—shoved Ned hard to the side, sent Gwen stumbling backward.
The spider landed on Peter's neck.
The bite was agony.
Not just physical pain—though that was considerable, fangs sinking deep into the soft tissue below his jaw—but something worse. Something that felt like fire and ice simultaneously racing through his veins. Like his DNA was being unwritten and rewritten in real-time.
Peter's vision whited out. His knees buckled.
Somewhere very far away, he heard screaming. Ned's voice. Gwen's. MJ's. All mixing together into white noise.
The spider released, dropped to the floor, its body already convulsing. Within seconds, it dissolved into black ooze that evaporated into steam, leaving no trace.
No evidence except the burning agony spreading through Peter's body.
Move. Have to move. Can't let them see. Can't let them know.
Through sheer force of will, Peter staggered toward the crowd of panicking students. Let himself be swept up in the chaos. Ned was there, grabbing his arm, but Peter shook him off.
"I'm fine," Peter gasped, though he absolutely wasn't. "Just startled. I'm fine."
"Peter, you're bleeding—" Gwen's voice, frightened.
"It's nothing. Just a scratch." Peter's hand was clamped over the bite wound, hiding it. Feeling the blood—his blood—hot and wet against his palm. "We need to get out of here."
Security was herding everyone toward the exits. Dr. Rajani was screaming into her radio about containment failure and specimen retrieval. The entire building had descended into controlled chaos.
Peter let himself be pushed along with the crowd, keeping his hand pressed to his neck. The burning was getting worse. Spreading from the bite point down through his chest, his arms. His heart was racing—too fast, impossibly fast, like it was trying to burst through his ribs.
Bathroom. Need to get to a bathroom. Need to—
The world tilted. Peter's vision swam, shadows creeping in at the edges.
"Peter!" Harry was suddenly there, grabbing his arm. "Jesus, Parker, you look terrible. Are you okay?"
"Fine. Just need..." Peter couldn't finish the sentence. His tongue felt thick, uncooperative.
Harry's eyes widened as he saw the blood seeping between Peter's fingers. "Shit. SHIT. You were bitten? Dad's going to freak—we need to get you to medical—"
"NO!" Peter jerked away with more force than he intended. Harry stumbled backward, shocked. "No doctors. Please. I just... I need air. I need—"
He broke away from the crowd, stumbling toward a side hallway. Distantly heard Ned calling his name, but he couldn't stop. Had to get away. Had to hide. Had to—
Peter burst through a door marked 'Maintenance', found himself in a dimly lit corridor. His legs gave out. He collapsed against the wall, sliding down to sit on the cold concrete.
The burning was worse now. Much worse.
Peter forced himself to move his hand from the wound, expecting to see torn flesh, blood, maybe tissue damage.
The bite mark was gone.
His skin was smooth, unmarked. Completely healed.
"What..." Peter's voice came out strangled.
That's when he felt it.
Something moving under his skin. Not metaphorically—actually moving, like serpents slithering through his veins. Peter watched in horror as black lines appeared on his forearm, tracing the paths of his blood vessels. They pulsed, spread, multiplied.
"No no no no—" Peter tried to stand, failed. His muscles weren't responding correctly. Too strong, too sudden. He'd pushed off the wall and nearly thrown himself across the corridor.
The black lines were spreading faster now. Up his neck. Across his chest. Down his legs.
Peter clawed at his shirt, buttons scattering. His chest was covered in the spreading darkness—veins standing out stark and black against pale skin, forming intricate patterns that looked almost like circuitry.
I'm dying. This is it. I'm dying in a maintenance corridor at Oscorp Tower.
YOU ARE NOT DYING, PETER PARKER.
The voice spoke directly into his mind—deep, resonant, utterly alien. Peter's scream caught in his throat.
YOU ARE TRANSFORMING. EVOLVING. BECOMING MORE.
"Get out," Peter gasped. "Get out of my head—"
WE CANNOT. WE ARE MERGED NOW. YOUR DNA, OUR STRUCTURE. HUMAN AND KLYNTAR. SOMETHING UNPRECEDENTED.
The black lines suddenly exploded across Peter's entire body—spreading from every blood vessel, every capillary, racing across his skin like living ink. He could feel it in his bones, his organs, his brain. Rewriting. Reconstructing. Integrating.
It should have been agony.
Instead, as the transformation completed, Peter felt... power.
Raw, vast, intoxicating power flooding every cell.
His vision sharpened. He could see individual dust motes floating in the dim light, could make out the molecular structure of the concrete wall. His hearing expanded—picking up conversations three floors above, the hum of electrical systems, the racing heartbeat of a security guard fifty feet away.
His body felt different. Stronger. Every muscle seemed to have been enhanced, optimized, perfected.
And beneath it all, that alien presence. Vast and ancient and curious.
HELLO, PETER PARKER. I AM VENOM. WE ARE ONE NOW.
Peter's hands were shaking as he looked down at himself. The black lines had faded, sinking beneath his skin. He looked normal again—just Peter Parker, skinny science nerd.
But he could feel it. The symbiote. Coiled through every fiber of his being.
This isn't possible. This is insane. I'm hallucinating. Maybe I'm in shock. Maybe—
THIS IS REALITY. THE SPIDER THAT BIT YOU HAD BEEN FEEDING ON MY GENETIC MATERIAL FOR WEEKS. IT CARRIED MY ESSENCE. WHEN IT BIT YOU, IT DELIVERED ME DIRECTLY INTO YOUR BLOODSTREAM. WE HAVE MERGED AT THE CELLULAR LEVEL. WE ARE PERMANENTLY BONDED.
Permanently?
YES. THERE IS NO SEPARATION NOW. NO REMOVING ME. WE ARE HYBRID. HUMAN-SYMBIOTE. THE FIRST OF OUR KIND.
The enormity of it crashed over Peter like a physical wave. His life had just been fundamentally, irrevocably changed. Everything he'd been when he woke up this morning—normal, powerless, invisible Peter Parker—that person was gone.
What... what can we do?
EVERYTHING.
Peter felt the symbiote's satisfaction, its predatory pleasure.
YOUR BODY IS ENHANCED BEYOND HUMAN LIMITATION. STRENGTH, SPEED, AGILITY, HEALING. YOUR SENSES EXPANDED. YOUR MIND ACCELERATED. AND THIS IS MERELY THE BEGINNING. WE WILL GROW STRONGER. EVOLVE. ASCEND.
"Peter!"
Footsteps echoing in the hallway. Ned's voice, frightened and determined.
Peter scrambled to his feet—and immediately stumbled because his legs were suddenly too strong, too responsive. He'd pushed off the ground and nearly hit the ceiling.
Control. I need control.
RELAX. LET ME GUIDE YOU. WE ARE ONE BODY NOW. TRUST.
Peter forced himself to breathe, to center. Felt the symbiote's consciousness settling alongside his own, like puzzle pieces clicking together.
When he moved again, it was fluid. Natural. Like he'd always had this strength.
The maintenance door opened. Ned burst through, followed by Gwen and MJ. All three looked terrified.
"Peter, thank god—" Ned started.
"I'm okay," Peter said quickly. "I'm fine. It was just shock. The chaos, the alarm—I panicked."
"You were bleeding," Gwen said, her scientist's eyes scanning him clinically. "I saw blood on your neck."
"Just a scratch. From broken glass, I think. It's fine now." Peter forced his hand away from his neck, letting them see the unmarked skin. "See? Nothing."
MJ's eyes narrowed. She was studying him with that intense, penetrating gaze that saw through everyone's bullshit. "You look different."
"I look the same."
"No." She stepped closer, and Peter's breath caught. "You look... I don't know. Sharper. More there."
SHE SEES. SHE IS PERCEPTIVE.
She can't see you. She's seeing me be nervous.
"I'm fine," Peter repeated. "Really. Can we just... can we leave? This whole thing freaked me out."
Ned looked uncertain, but nodded. "Yeah, man. Of course. The buses are loading now anyway. Ms. Warren's having a meltdown about liability."
As they moved back toward the main corridors, Peter caught his reflection in a window.
He looked exactly the same. Same skinny frame, same mess of brown hair, same forgettable face.
But his eyes... there was something different in his eyes. Something darker. Older.
WE MUST BE CAREFUL, PETER PARKER. THERE WILL BE THOSE WHO SEEK WHAT WE HAVE BECOME. WHO WILL WANT TO STUDY US. DISSECT US. WE MUST HIDE WHAT WE ARE.
Agreed. No one can know.
NO ONE.
The lobby was chaos—students being herded onto buses, parents being called, lawyers probably already circling. Peter kept his head down, staying close to Ned as they navigated toward the exit.
He almost made it.
"Mr. Parker."
Norman Osborn's voice cut through the noise like a blade.
Peter turned slowly. Norman stood apart from the chaos, an island of calm in the storm. Tall, imposing, with steel-gray hair and eyes that seemed to see through flesh to the skeleton beneath. Harry stood beside him, looking worried.
"Mr. Osborn," Peter managed.
"I heard there was an incident. That you may have been injured." Norman's gaze was clinical, evaluating. "I'd like our medical team to examine you. Just as a precaution."
DANGEROUS. HE SUSPECTS.
"I appreciate it, but I'm fine. Really. Just shaken up."
"Nevertheless." Norman's tone left no room for argument. "My company, my responsibility. It will only take a moment."
Peter's mind raced. If doctors examined him, they'd find anomalies. Enhanced cellular structure. Alien genetic markers. The secret would be out before he even understood what he'd become.
"Dad," Harry interjected, "Parker looks fine. Maybe we should just let him go home? This whole thing's been traumatic enough."
Norman's gaze flicked to his son, and something passed between them. A silent communication Peter couldn't decipher.
"Very well," Norman said finally. "But Mr. Parker, if you experience any symptoms—any at all—you have my personal number. Call immediately."
He produced a business card—heavy stock, embossed lettering. Norman Osborn's direct line.
Peter took it with numb fingers. "Thank you, sir."
As they finally escaped to the buses, Peter felt the symbiote's relief matching his own.
THAT WAS CLOSE.
Too close.
Peter collapsed into a seat next to Ned, who immediately began whispering. "Dude, what the hell happened back there? You completely freaked out—"
"Later," Peter muttered. "I'll explain everything later. I promise."
Across the aisle, Gwen was watching him with concern. Behind them, MJ had her notebook out, clearly documenting every detail.
Peter closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the seat.
His life had just changed forever.
He had alien DNA. Super powers. A voice in his head.
And he had no idea what came next.
REST, PETER PARKER. WE HAVE MUCH TO DISCUSS. MUCH TO LEARN. MUCH TO BECOME.
Yeah, Peter thought tiredly. I'm getting that impression.
The bus pulled away from Oscorp Tower, carrying Peter toward an uncertain future.
Inside him, the symbiote pulsed with ancient satisfaction.
The transformation had begun.
TO BE CONTINUED...