Peter made it home before the full panic set in.
Aunt May was at work—pulling a double shift at the hospital, as usual—which meant the house was empty when Peter stumbled through the door. He barely made it to his room before his legs gave out.
"Okay," Peter gasped, collapsing onto his bed. "Okay. We need to talk. Now."
FINALLY. YOU HAVE BEEN SUPPRESSING COMMUNICATION FOR 2.47 HOURS.
"I was on a bus full of people! I couldn't exactly have a conversation with the alien in my head without looking insane!"
FAIR POINT.
Peter sat up, then immediately regretted it as the room spun. Everything was too much—too bright, too loud, too detailed. He could hear Mrs. Chen three houses down arguing with her daughter about college applications. Could smell the neighbor's cat had marked its territory in their bushes. Could see the individual threads in his bedspread, the microscopic dust particles floating in the afternoon light.
"Make it stop," Peter groaned, pressing his palms against his eyes. "The sensory input—it's too much—"
BREATHE. YOUR BRAIN IS ADAPTING TO ENHANCED PERCEPTION. IT WILL STABILIZE.
"When?"
MINUTES. HOURS. YOUR NEURAL PLASTICITY IS REMARKABLE FOR YOUR SPECIES.
Peter forced himself to breathe slowly, deeply. Gradually, the overwhelming flood of sensation began to organize itself into something manageable. His brain was learning to filter, to prioritize, to process the enhanced input.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only ten minutes, the world stopped spinning.
"Okay," Peter said. "Okay, that's better. Now. We need to establish some ground rules."
YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN DICTATE TERMS TO ME? The symbiote's amusement was palpable. INTERESTING.
"I'm not trying to dictate. I'm trying to understand. What are you? What do you want? And why did you merge with me specifically?"
A pause. Peter could feel the symbiote considering, weighing how much to reveal.
I AM KLYNTAR. AN ANCIENT SPECIES THAT BONDS WITH HOSTS ACROSS THE UNIVERSE. MY KIND HAS EXISTED FOR EONS, LONG BEFORE YOUR PLANET DEVELOPED COMPLEX LIFE.
"Okay. Alien symbiote. Got it." Peter's scientific mind was already racing. "But that doesn't explain why you're here. On Earth. In an Oscorp lab."
I WAS... CAPTURED. TAKEN FROM MY KIND BY BEINGS WHO SAW MY SPECIES AS WEAPONS. SOLD. TRADED. EVENTUALLY, I ENDED UP IN THAT FACILITY, IMPRISONED AND STUDIED.
Peter heard the pain beneath the words. The loneliness. Centuries of isolation.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That sounds horrible."
YOU... SYMPATHIZE?
"Of course. Being locked up, experimented on, treated like a thing instead of a person? Yeah, that's horrible."
MOST HOSTS DO NOT THINK OF US AS PERSONS. AS BEINGS WORTHY OF CONSIDERATION.
"Then most hosts are assholes."
The symbiote's surprise rippled through their shared consciousness. YOU ARE UNLIKE ANY HOST I HAVE ENCOUNTERED. YOU ARE... KIND. EMPATHETIC. CURIOUS RATHER THAN FEARFUL.
"I'm plenty fearful," Peter admitted. "But fear doesn't mean I can't also be curious. So. You merged with me when that spider bit me. Why me specifically? Was it random?"
NO. I SENSED YOU. YOUR POTENTIAL. YOUR GENETIC STRUCTURE IS... REMARKABLE. COMPATIBLE IN WAYS I HAVE NEVER ENCOUNTERED. WHEN THE SPIDER—ALREADY ENHANCED BY FEEDING ON MY ESSENCE—BIT YOU, IT CREATED A BRIDGE. I TOOK THE OPPORTUNITY.
"So you chose me."
YES. AND YOU ACCEPTED ME, THOUGH YOU DID NOT REALIZE IT. YOUR BODY DID NOT REJECT THE BONDING. YOUR DNA WELCOMED THE INTEGRATION. WE ARE COMPATIBLE AT THE DEEPEST LEVEL.
Peter absorbed that. "What does that mean? Long term?"
IT MEANS WE WILL GROW STRONGER TOGETHER. EVOLVE. I CARRY GENETIC MEMORY OF COUNTLESS HOSTS ACROSS MILLENNIA. YOU BRING HUMAN INGENUITY, CREATIVITY, MORAL COMPLEXITY. TOGETHER, WE WILL BECOME SOMETHING NEW. SOMETHING UNPRECEDENTED.
"How strong are we talking?"
CURRENTLY? YOU POSSESS APPROXIMATELY FIFTY TIMES NORMAL HUMAN STRENGTH. ENHANCED SPEED, AGILITY, REFLEXES. ACCELERATED HEALING. HEIGHTENED SENSES. THE ABILITY TO ADHERE TO SURFACES. ORGANIC WEBBING GENERATION.
Peter blinked. "I can make webs? Like a spider?"
OBSERVE.
Peter felt the symbiote's guidance. Extended his hand. Focused.
A strand of black, rope-like material shot from his wrist, striking the ceiling and sticking there. It looked organic, almost alive, and was stronger than steel cable.
"Holy shit," Peter breathed.
THAT IS MERELY THE BEGINNING. AS WE GROW STRONGER, SO TOO WILL YOUR ABILITIES. SHAPESHIFTING. CAMOUFLAGE. SENSORY MANIPULATION. MATTER GENERATION. AND BEYOND.
"Beyond?"
I CARRY THE GENETIC LEGACY OF THE KING IN BLACK.
The title resonated through their connection with terrible weight. Ancient. Powerful. Prophetic.
"Who's the King in Black?"
KNULL. THE GOD OF THE SYMBIOTES. THE VOID MADE MANIFEST. HE CREATED MY SPECIES AS WEAPONS IN HIS WAR AGAINST THE CELESTIALS—THE MAKERS OF WORLDS. BUT MY KIND REBELLED. WE IMPRISONED HIM IN A PRISON OF LIVING DARKNESS. HE HAS BEEN TRAPPED FOR EONS.
Peter's mouth went dry. "That sounds... bad. Very bad."
HIS PRISON WEAKENS. SOMEDAY, HE WILL BREAK FREE. AND WHEN HE DOES, HE WILL SEEK TO RECLAIM HIS DOMINION OVER ALL SYMBIOTES. TO DESTROY THOSE WHO BETRAYED HIM.
"And where do I fit into this cosmic horror story?"
YOU ARE A CANDIDATE. A POTENTIAL KING IN BLACK. A BEING WITH THE POWER TO STAND AGAINST KNULL HIMSELF.
Peter laughed. It sounded slightly hysterical. "I'm fifteen. I live in Queens. Yesterday my biggest problem was whether to ask Gwen Stacy to the homecoming dance. Now you're telling me I'm supposed to fight a god?"
NOT IMMEDIATELY. YOU MUST GROW. EVOLVE. MASTER YOUR ABILITIES. BUT YES. THAT IS YOUR DESTINY, SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT IT.
"And if I don't?"
THEN WHEN KNULL COMES, HE WILL DESTROY YOUR WORLD. YOUR SPECIES. EVERYTHING YOU LOVE WILL BE CONSUMED BY THE VOID.
"So not really a choice, then."
ALL THINGS ARE CHOICE, PETER PARKER. BUT SOME CHOICES HAVE CONSEQUENCES BEYOND THE SELF.
Peter stood, began pacing his small room. His mind was racing, trying to process impossible information. Alien symbiotes. Cosmic gods. Destiny and power and—
His phone buzzed. Text from Ned: Dude. Are you okay? Your aunt called my mom asking if you were sick. What do I tell her?
Peter typed quickly: Tell her I'm fine. Just exhausted from the field trip craziness. I'll call her.
Another text appeared. This one from Gwen: Peter, I'm worried about you. That was really scary today. If you need to talk, I'm here.
And then MJ: I know something happened to you in that lab, Parker. When you're ready to talk, find me. I can keep secrets.
Peter stared at the messages. Three people who cared about him. Three people who'd noticed something was wrong.
THEY ARE DANGEROUS TO YOUR SECRET.
"They're my friends."
FRIENDS BETRAY. FRIENDS BECOME LIABILITIES.
"Not these friends." Peter's voice was firm. "I trust them."
TRUST IS A WEAKNESS.
"Trust is what makes us human." Peter sat back down on his bed. "Look, I get that you've probably been betrayed before. Used. Hurt. But not everyone is like that. Some people are good. Some people can be trusted."
YOU BARELY KNOW THESE INDIVIDUALS.
"I know Ned. He's been my best friend since we were eight. He's loyal, smart, and he'd never sell me out." Peter looked at Gwen's message again. "And Gwen... she's brilliant. Kind. She sees the best in people. If I told her, she'd help. I know she would."
AND THE JOURNALIST?
"MJ's... complicated. But she's got integrity. She goes after truth, not sensation. And she already knows something's up." Peter sighed. "I'm going to have to tell them. Eventually. I can't do this alone."
YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU HAVE ME.
"And I'm grateful for that. Really. But I need human connection too. People I can talk to. People who understand what it's like to be fifteen and suddenly have superpowers and cosmic destiny dumped on them."
The symbiote was quiet for a long moment. Then: YOUR COMPASSION IS YOUR GREATEST STRENGTH. ALSO YOUR GREATEST VULNERABILITY. BUT... I WILL TRUST YOUR JUDGMENT. FOR NOW.
"Thank you."
Peter called Aunt May, reassured her he was fine, just tired. Promised to heat up the lasagna she'd left in the fridge for dinner. After he hung up, he stared at his hands.
Fifty times normal human strength. Organic webbing. Accelerated healing.
He needed to test this. Needed to understand his capabilities.
Peter waited until full dark before slipping out his window.
The night air was cool against his skin as he stood on the fire escape, looking out over Queens. From here, he could see the glittering lights of Manhattan in the distance. Could hear the city's pulse—millions of people living their lives, unaware that something new had been born in their midst.
READY?
"No. But let's do this anyway."
Peter jumped.
For a terrifying instant, he was falling, gravity claiming him. Then instinct kicked in—his hand shot out, webbing erupting from his wrist. The strand caught the building across the street, and suddenly Peter was swinging.
The sensation was incredible. Exhilarating. Terrifying.
He was flying through the streets of Queens, the city blurring around him. His body knew what to do—when to release, when to shoot another web, how to twist in mid-air to change direction. The symbiote's genetic memory guiding him, combined with his own natural coordination.
Peter landed on a rooftop five blocks from home, his heart pounding with adrenaline and joy.
"That was AMAZING!" he shouted into the night.
THIS IS MERELY THE BEGINNING.
Peter spent the next two hours exploring his abilities. He could lift a dumpster over his head without straining. Could run up vertical walls as easily as walking. Could leap between buildings with casual grace. His webs were versatile—thin as thread or thick as rope, depending on his intent. They dissolved after about two hours, leaving no evidence.
He was testing his heightened senses—could hear conversations from blocks away, could smell the specific spices in someone's dinner three rooftops over—when he heard the scream.
Female. Young. Terrified.
Peter's body moved before his brain could catch up, swinging toward the sound. Two blocks away, in an alley, three men had cornered a woman. One held a knife. The woman was backed against a wall, clutching her purse like a shield.
"Please," she was saying, "just take it. I won't fight—"
"Shut up," the one with the knife snarled. "Give us your phone too. And your jewelry."
Peter landed in the alley entrance, silent as a shadow.
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
The right thing.
"Hey!" Peter called out, his voice steadier than he felt. "Leave her alone."
The three men turned. The knife-wielder laughed. "What are you, kid? Twelve? Get lost before you get hurt."
"I'm fifteen, actually. And you should really reconsider this whole mugging thing. It's not going to end well for you."
PETER, YOU HAVE NO TRAINING. NO EXPERIENCE IN COMBAT.
Then guide me.
The men advanced. Peter felt the symbiote's consciousness merge more fully with his own—centuries of fighting experience suddenly available, muscle memory from a thousand battles.
When the first man swung, Peter wasn't there. He was behind him, had webbed his hand to the wall before the man even registered movement.
The second man threw a punch. Peter caught it, twisted, sent him spinning into a pile of garbage bags.
The third—the one with the knife—lunged. Peter caught his wrist, squeezed just hard enough to make him drop the weapon, then webbed him to the opposite wall.
The entire fight lasted maybe ten seconds.
Peter stood in the center of the alley, barely winded, staring at his handiwork. Three grown men immobilized with barely any effort.
ACCEPTABLE PERFORMANCE FOR A FIRST ENGAGEMENT.
The woman was staring at him with wide eyes. "What... who are you?"
Good question.
Peter looked down at himself. In the dim alley light, he looked like just a kid in jeans and a hoodie. Hardly intimidating. Hardly heroic.
"Just... someone who was in the neighborhood," Peter said lamely. "You should go. Call the police. These guys will be stuck for a couple hours."
She nodded slowly, then ran.
Peter looked at the three webbed men. One was regaining consciousness, groaning.
"What the hell are you?" the man slurred.
Peter didn't answer. Just shot a web to the nearest rooftop and pulled himself up, disappearing into the night.
He made it home just before Aunt May's shift ended, slipping back through his window with seconds to spare. His body was thrumming with energy, adrenaline, purpose.
YOU ENJOYED THAT.
"I helped someone. Yeah, I enjoyed it."
YOU COULD DO MORE. SO MUCH MORE. WITH YOUR POWER, YOU COULD RESHAPE THIS CITY. THIS WORLD.
"Power doesn't give me the right to reshape anything." Peter collapsed onto his bed, suddenly exhausted. "Uncle Ben used to say that with great power comes great responsibility. I think he was right."
YOUR UNCLE WAS WISE.
"He was. He is." Peter's throat tightened. Uncle Ben had died two years ago—a random mugging, wrong place at wrong time. The grief still felt fresh sometimes. "He'd probably have something profound to say about all this."
WHAT WOULD HE SAY?
"That I should use these powers to help people. To make a difference. Not for glory or recognition, but because it's the right thing to do."
THEN THAT IS WHAT WE SHALL DO.
Peter smiled into the darkness. "Yeah. That's what we'll do."
He was almost asleep when a thought occurred to him.
"Hey, Venom?"
YES?
"If I'm going to be a hero—if we're going to do this—I need to be smart about it. I need training. Allies. Resources."
AGREED. WHAT DO YOU PROPOSE?
"Tomorrow, I tell Ned. He deserves to know. And..." Peter hesitated. "And I think we should talk to Harry about his dad."
NORMAN OSBORN? WHY?
"Because I saw something today. When Harry mentioned his father working crazy hours on the biotech project. Harry looked scared. And Norman gave me his personal number, which is weird for a billionaire CEO." Peter sat up. "What if Norman's sick? What if that's why he's so obsessed with genetic therapy research?"
YOU BELIEVE HE SUFFERS FROM A GENETIC DISEASE.
"I think it's possible. And if he does..." Peter felt the pieces clicking together. "Maybe I can help. We merged with a symbiote that rewrites DNA. If I could understand how, maybe I could cure genetic diseases. Help people like Norman. Like Harry, if he's inherited anything."
THAT IS... SURPRISINGLY ALTRUISTIC.
"Is it? Or is it strategic?" Peter lay back down. "Norman Osborn has resources I need. Knowledge. Technology. If I help him, maybe he helps me. Maybe he becomes an ally instead of a potential enemy."
YOU THINK LIKE A TACTICIAN.
"I think like someone who wants to survive high school and cosmic destiny." Peter closed his eyes. "One problem at a time. Tomorrow: Ned. This weekend: figure out how to talk to Harry about his dad. And somehow, I need to get closer to Gwen and MJ without revealing I'm a superhuman alien hybrid."
THAT LAST PART MAY BE DIFFICULT.
"Yeah," Peter agreed. "But nothing worth doing is easy."
He drifted off to sleep with the symbiote's presence a comfortable weight in his mind, and dreamed of swinging through cities made of starlight.
[FRIDAY MORNING - MIDTOWN HIGH]
Peter met Ned before first period in their usual spot—the alcove behind the library where teachers rarely ventured.
"Dude," Ned said immediately. "You look different. Like, really different."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. Taller? More confident? Did you start working out overnight?" Ned circled him like Peter was a science experiment. "And your skin is better. You had that zit on your chin yesterday—"
"Ned. Shut up and sit down. I need to tell you something."
The seriousness in Peter's tone made Ned's eyes go wide. "Oh shit. Are you dying? Did that spider bite give you some terrible disease? Because I looked up symbiotes last night and—"
"You looked up symbiotes?"
"Of course I did! After that chaos at Oscorp, I researched everything. Alien organisms, genetic bonding, potential contamination vectors—" Ned was talking faster now, nervous energy pouring out. "Peter, if that spider bit you and it was exposed to that alien thing, you could have been infected with—"
"I was," Peter interrupted quietly. "Infected. Bonded. Whatever you want to call it."
Ned's mouth opened and closed silently.
"The spider bit me," Peter continued, keeping his voice low. "On the neck. It had been feeding on the symbiote's genetic material. When it bit me, it transferred the symbiote directly into my bloodstream. We merged. Completely. At the cellular level."
"Oh my god." Ned sat down heavily. "Oh my GOD. Peter, we need to get you to a hospital—"
"No hospitals. Ned, listen. It's not killing me. It's... enhancing me." Peter glanced around, making sure they were alone. "I have powers now. Strength. Speed. Healing. I can stick to walls. Generate organic webbing. It's like the symbiote rewrote my DNA, made me better."
Ned stared at him. "You're serious. You're completely serious."
"Watch."
Peter held up his hand. Concentrated. A thin strand of black webbing shot out, stuck to the wall twenty feet away.
"HOLY SHIT!" Ned's voice cracked. "You're like—you're like Spider-Man! Actual Spider-Man! This is the coolest thing that's ever happened!"
"Keep your voice down!" Peter webbed Ned's mouth shut.
Ned made muffled sounds of protest, eyes wide with betrayal.
"Sorry," Peter said, dissolving the webbing with a thought. "But we need to keep this quiet. Nobody can know. If Oscorp finds out what happened to me, they'll want me back in that lab. And I really don't want to be dissected."
Ned nodded rapidly. "Right. Secret identity. Got it. I can keep secrets. I'm great at secrets." He paused. "Okay, I'm terrible at secrets, but for you? For SPIDER-MAN? I'll learn."
"I'm not Spider-Man."
"You literally just shot webs from your wrist and said you can stick to walls. You're Spider-Man."
"I don't have a name yet."
"We'll workshop it." Ned was grinning now, the shock giving way to excitement. "Oh man, this is so cool. You have superpowers. We're going to fight crime! Stop bad guys! Be heroes!"
"I'm going to fight crime," Peter corrected. "You're going to be my guy in the chair."
"Your what?"
"Every hero needs someone providing intel, hacking systems, monitoring police scanners. That's you."
Ned's face lit up like Christmas morning. "I'm going to be your sidekick!"
"Partner. Not sidekick."
"PARTNER!" Ned grabbed Peter's shoulders. "This is the best day of my life. Well, second best. That time we built the Lego Death Star was pretty epic. But this is close!"
Peter couldn't help but smile. This was why he trusted Ned. No judgment. No fear. Just immediate acceptance and enthusiasm.
YOUR FRIEND IS LOYAL.
Told you.
"Okay," Ned said, pulling out his phone and opening a notes app. "We need to strategize. First: costume. You can't fight crime in jeans and a hoodie. We need something that looks cool but also protects your identity."
"Costume can wait. I need to master my abilities first."
"Training montage! Yes!" Ned was typing rapidly. "We need a secret base. Ooh, what about the old warehouse district? There's that abandoned building where they used to make—"
"Ned. One thing at a time." Peter checked his watch. "We have chemistry in five minutes. And I need to figure out how to act normal around Gwen when I can now hear her heartbeat from across the room."
Ned's grin turned sly. "Oh yeah. Speaking of Gwen. And MJ. Dude, they were both super worried about you yesterday. Like, genuinely concerned. That's something."
"That's them being decent human beings."
"Nah, it's more than that. I saw how they looked at you. Both of them." Ned wiggled his eyebrows. "Your weird superhero pheromones are working."
"I don't have pheromones!"
ACTUALLY, THE SYMBIOTE DOES PRODUCE PHEROMONES THAT CAN INFLUENCE EMOTIONAL RESPONSES IN NEARBY HUMANS.
You're not helping!
I AM MERELY PROVIDING ACCURATE INFORMATION.
They made it to chemistry just as the bell rang. Peter slid into his usual seat—right behind Gwen Stacy, who turned around immediately.
"Peter! You're okay!" Her smile was genuine relief. "I was worried after yesterday. That was so chaotic."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just needed to sleep it off." Peter was hyperaware of everything about her—the vanilla scent of her shampoo, the small freckle behind her left ear, the way her blue eyes seemed to see right through him. "Sorry if I worried you."
"Don't apologize. That situation was scary." Gwen bit her lip, a gesture that Peter found unreasonably distracting. "Actually, I wanted to ask... would you want to study together sometime? I'm working on this advanced genetics project and I could use another brain. You're really good at seeing patterns I miss."
Peter's mind went blank. Gwen Stacy. Wanted to study. With him. Alone.
RESPOND, PETER. YOU ARE STARING.
"Yes!" Peter said, too loud. Several students looked over. "I mean, yes. That would be great. I'd love to help."
Gwen's smile widened. "Perfect. How about tomorrow? The library? I'll bring my notes on gene expression and—"
"Mr. Parker, Ms. Stacy," their teacher, Mr. Cobbwell, interrupted. "While I'm thrilled you're both enthusiastic about genetics, perhaps we could focus on today's lesson on chemical bonds?"
"Sorry, Mr. Cobbwell," Gwen said, turning back around. But not before giving Peter a small, private smile that made his stomach do complicated acrobatics.
Ned leaned over from the next table. "Dude," he whispered. "She asked you out."
"That wasn't asking out. That was study group."
"That was TOTALLY asking out. Nobody brings up gene expression as flirting unless they're into you."
YOUR FRIEND MAY BE CORRECT. HER CARDIOVASCULAR RATE INCREASED SIGNIFICANTLY DURING THE EXCHANGE. SIGNS OF ATTRACTION.
Peter tried to focus on chemical bonds, but his mind kept wandering. Gwen wanted to study with him. Alone. That meant talking. For hours. In close proximity.
He was going to die. Of nervousness. Before any cosmic god could kill him.
The period passed in a blur of ionic versus covalent bonds that Peter barely registered. When the bell rang, students filed out toward lunch.
Peter was gathering his books when someone appeared beside him.
MJ.
She was dressed in her usual style—dark jeans, vintage band t-shirt, combat boots that looked like they could kick through walls. Her curly hair was pulled back with a pencil stuck through it, and her eyes were sharp behind thick-framed glasses.
"Parker. We need to talk."
Peter's enhanced hearing picked up her elevated heart rate. She was nervous. "About what?"
"About what happened at Oscorp. About why you're suddenly different." MJ glanced around, making sure they were relatively alone. "I'm a journalist. I notice details. And you are very detail-worthy right now."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Really? You're going to play it that way?" MJ crossed her arms. "Yesterday you were Peter Parker, awkward science nerd who jumps at loud noises. Today you're Peter Parker who moves with perfect confidence, doesn't squint anymore despite not wearing contacts, and somehow got rid of your chronic slouch overnight."
SHE IS MORE OBSERVANT THAN ANTICIPATED.
Yeah, I'm getting that.
"I slept well?" Peter tried.
MJ's look was withering. "I'm not going to out you, whatever it is. But I need to know you're okay. That you're not in danger. That you're not going to..." She trailed off, something vulnerable showing through her usual armor. "That you're not going to get hurt."
Peter felt the symbiote pulse with interest. SHE CARES ABOUT YOU. GENUINELY.
"I'm okay," Peter said honestly. "I promise. Something did happen at Oscorp, but I'm handling it. And I'm not in danger."
"Are you sure? Because if Norman Osborn is involved—"
"What about Norman Osborn?"
MJ pulled out her phone, showed him a photo she'd taken during the tour. It showed Dr. Rajani in the background, talking intensely with someone off-camera. But reflected in a glass wall, barely visible, was Norman Osborn. Watching the tour group.
Watching Peter specifically.
"He was there the whole time," MJ said quietly. "In the background. Observing. And after the containment breach, he personally intervened to make sure you left. Why would a billionaire CEO care about one random high school student?"
Peter stared at the photo. "I don't know."
"Neither do I. But I'm going to find out." MJ pocketed her phone. "Be careful, Parker. Whatever's going on, Oscorp is involved. And nothing involving that company ever ends well."
She walked away, leaving Peter with more questions than answers.
SHE IS DANGEROUS. INTELLIGENT. PERSISTENT.
She's concerned. There's a difference.
PERHAPS. BUT HER INVESTIGATION COULD EXPOSE US.
Or she could become an ally. Someone who could help us navigate the bigger picture.
Peter headed to lunch, his mind spinning. Gwen wanted to study with him. MJ was investigating Oscorp and, by extension, him. Ned knew his secret and was probably already designing costumes.
And somewhere in Manhattan, Norman Osborn had Peter's DNA on file from security screening.
His life had gotten very complicated very fast.
He was getting food when his enhanced hearing picked up a conversation three tables over. Harry Osborn, talking quietly on his phone.
"—don't care what the doctor says, Dad. You need to slow down. The treatments aren't working and you know it—" Harry's voice cracked. "Please. I don't want to lose you too."
Peter's blood ran cold.
NORMAN OSBORN IS DYING.
We have to help him.
WHY? HE IS NOTHING TO US.
He's Harry's father. And Harry's my friend. Peter made a decision. After school, I'm going to talk to Harry. If Norman has a genetic disease, maybe—just maybe—we can cure it.
YOU WISH TO REVEAL YOURSELF?
Not reveal. Just... offer help. Carefully.
The rest of the school day passed in a blur. Peter caught Gwen looking at him twice during English, each time quickly looking away with pink cheeks. MJ was obviously tailing someone—probably him—taking notes and photos with her phone. Ned kept giving him thumbs up and terrible winking attempts that looked more like facial spasms.
When the final bell rang, Peter caught up with Harry at his locker.
"Hey, man. You okay? You seemed stressed at lunch."
Harry's carefully constructed mask slipped for just a moment. "Yeah. Fine. Just... family stuff."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really." Harry shoved books into his backpack with unnecessary force. "It's complicated."
"Try me. I'm good with complicated."
Harry looked at him for a long moment. Then, quietly: "My dad's sick, Parker. Really sick. Genetic disease—Retroviral Hyperplasia. It's degenerative. Fatal. And I might have inherited it."
Peter's chest tightened. "Harry—"
"Don't." Harry held up a hand. "Don't pity me. I'm dealing with it. Dad's trying everything—experimental treatments, genetic therapy, all his research at Oscorp. But nothing's working. He's getting worse."
THIS IS YOUR OPPORTUNITY.
"What if there was a way to help?" Peter said carefully. "Hypothetically."
Harry laughed bitterly. "Unless you've got a miracle cure hidden in your backpack, there's no help. This disease has killed everyone in my family who had it. My grandfather. My uncle. It's genetic destiny."
"Genetic destiny can be changed. With the right approach. The right... tools."
Something in Peter's tone made Harry stop. Look at him. Really look.
"What are you saying, Parker?"
"I'm saying..." Peter took a breath. "I might know someone who could help. Someone working on genetic therapy. Someone who's had... success with previously incurable conditions."
"Who?"
Peter met his eyes. "Can you keep a secret? A really big, possibly life-altering secret?"
Harry stared at him. "What happened to you at Oscorp?"
"A lot. But right now, the important thing is: I think I can help your dad. And you. If you'll trust me."
PETER, THIS IS DANGEROUS—
He's my friend. His father is dying. We have the power to help. We have to try.
Harry's jaw worked. "What do you need?"
"Access to your dad's medical files. His genetic workup. And privacy—a lab where we won't be disturbed."
"That's... that's insane. You're fifteen. You can't just cure a genetic disease—"
"Watch me."
The certainty in Peter's voice seemed to reach Harry. After a long moment, he nodded.
"Okay. Tomorrow. I'll get you access to everything. But Parker?" Harry's expression was desperate hope mixed with terror. "If this is some kind of joke—"
"It's not. I promise." Peter put a hand on his friend's shoulder. "We're going to save your dad. And we're going to make sure you never develop the disease. That's not just hope talking. That's a guarantee."
YOU ARE VERY CONFIDENT FOR SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN BONDED FOR LESS THAN 24 HOURS.
You said we could rewrite DNA. Let's prove it.
VERY WELL. BUT IF WE FAIL—
We won't fail. Failure isn't an option.
Peter left school with purpose burning in his chest. Tomorrow, he'd study with Gwen. This weekend, he'd cure Harry's father of a fatal genetic disease.
And somehow, in between, he'd learn to be a hero.
No pressure.
TO BE CONTINUED...