I should have been worried. I really should have been.
I woke up the next day expecting everything to be the same. Well — not entirely. When I went down for breakfast I saw the front page of the Daily Bugle that Ben was reading.
'Mysterious criminal destroys block party' was printed in bold across the front page. And right below it was a sketched image of what they thought I looked like.
They got the eyes right, somewhat. Everything else looked like a demon from hell. My jacket appeared to be made of fish scales and, last I checked, I didn't have horns.
But I'll be honest — I was pretty damn pleased with myself. People knew of me, but they didn't know me. The only thing they knew for certain was the symbol on my jacket. Pretty appropriate, I thought.
---
At school, Harry walked in with his head hanging low, and walking behind him was his father, Norman Osborn.
I was standing by my locker when I saw Norman spot me and smile. It was deeply unsettling. I knew how this man looked — Peter had met him once before, briefly, at Harry's home. He was enormous. Even in a perfectly tailored suit you could tell the man was built like a tank, solid with muscle barely contained beneath the fabric.
I needed to avoid him, or at the very least run. But I couldn't, because he was already walking straight toward me with Harry trailing a reluctant ten feet behind. So I steeled my nerves. God help me.
He smiled pleasantly. "Mr. Parker." He extended a hand.
"Dr. Osborn," I replied, shaking it firmly. "I'm surprised to see you here."
The man raised an eyebrow at the title. "Yes — well. I came for a rather personal matter. Might we speak somewhere more private?"
I glanced at Harry. He had his head down, eyes on the floor, jaw set in a quiet kind of shame. I didn't know exactly what was going on between them, but antagonising Norman Osborn before I even understood the situation seemed unwise. I nodded and followed Norman out of the school's main entrance, Harry trailing behind us at a distance.
"I'll admit, Peter — you surprised me. How did you know I had obtained a doctorate?"
"I was one of Harry's close friends a couple of years back. I don't think you remember me, sir. I was curious about you, so I looked you up. I was genuinely impressed by your paper on mechanical muscle replacement."
He raised an eyebrow. "You understood it?"
"Using a semi-liquid metal polymer to replace injured or non-functional muscles. The process would involve injecting the affected area with nanobots that rework the surrounding tissue and bond the compound to the existing muscle fibres. But you could never get the AI control system to work reliably — the nanobots weren't sophisticated enough to self-regulate in a dynamic biological environment."
Norman smiled slowly. "Very good, Peter. I'm impressed."
Harry blinked. "What?" he asked, in a tone of quiet defeat.
"Not now, Harry," Norman dismissed him with a brief frown before turning his attention back to me. "You are a bright young man, aren't you? Harry's mentioned that you're quite the student."
I narrowed my eyes. He already knew all of this — he would have had Harry give him a full profile before walking through those doors. So why was he flattering me? Why butter me up? I was already... oh. Oh, of course.
I chuckled. "Tell me, Dr. Osborn — why are you here?"
Norman chuckled in return. "Straight to the point. Very well. Let's test that brain of yours — why do you think I'm here?"
"You're afraid I'll sue Harry for assaulting me," I said plainly. Harry flinched, but I kept going. "You're here to make sure that doesn't happen."
Norman nodded. "Very good. Harry doesn't give you enough credit."
"Thanks. To be honest, Dr. Osborn, I was tempted — but it's not worth the trouble," I shrugged.
"Are you sure?" His tone shifted — just slightly, but enough. "From what I understand, your aunt and uncle could use the money."
He was trying to provoke me. I knew that, and I wasn't going to bite. "Maybe. But they have principles. It wouldn't be right."
"You would give up making your life easier simply because it wasn't right?" Norman asked.
"How you do it matters just as much as what you achieve, Dr. Osborn," I told him.
"Semantics, Peter. If you could save the world and all the people in it — wouldn't you? Even if it required doing something wrong to accomplish it?"
I looked at the man. I could see the twisted sense of righteousness coiled beneath the surface — the kind that would grow monstrous once it had its outlet. I could only imagine how much larger it would become once he had his armour and his glider.
"Dr. Osborn, the Earth currently supports a population of roughly seven billion people. Ecologically, the planet is estimated to be sustainably capable of supporting only four billion. If I killed three billion people, I would technically have done the world a favour. Does that seem like an acceptable method to you?"
Norman looked at me for a long moment. Then he smiled — wide, genuine, almost warm. He took out a cheque book and wrote something in it. He tore it free and held it out to me.
"The world's problems are for another day," he said smoothly. "My son is one of them. He made a mistake. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive his foolishness and allow us to move past this."
I looked at the cheque. Twenty thousand dollars.
I stood very still for a moment. I could do so much with this money. Build a real Spider-Man suit, equip myself properly, fund months of research. So many things.
But I'd be pitied. And I'd be bought. Not by anyone, and especially not by Norman Osborn.
"Thanks, Dr. Osborn," I said. "But no thanks." I pushed the cheque back to him.
The temperature in his expression dropped a fraction. "This could help your family a great deal, Peter. Is your pride truly worth their hardship?"
"It's like you didn't hear a word I said," I replied. "The method matters as much as the outcome. Tell me honestly — if the situation were reversed, would you accept charity from some man who thought you were worth a piece of paper and some ink? What about the Osborn pride? Would you do this?"
Norman stared at me. He looked at the cheque. He looked back at me.
And then he threw his head back and laughed. A real laugh — not a polished social one. Harry, standing behind him, clearly had no idea what to do.
"You are a remarkable young man, Peter," Norman said, composing himself. He took the cheque and tore it to pieces. "I apologise for the insult. If you truly have no interest in pursuing the matter, I'll take you at your word. And if you ever need anything from me — anything at all — you need only ask." He looked back at Harry with an expression that could have stripped paint. "We'll talk further at home."
"Y-yes, Father," Harry nodded, looking at the ground.
A limousine had materialised down the block. Norman got in and it pulled away.
I looked at Harry. "Your dad's pretty intense, huh?"
"You have no idea," he said.
Believe me, Harry. I think I do.
---
I went home that day exhausted. Colleen had been pushing me hard at the dojo — by now I was moving through the kata smoothly, my footwork was clean and precise, and while I hadn't become the best student she had, I was rapidly becoming one of the better ones.
As I sat in my basement lab that night, though, I was preoccupied with money. I had just let twenty thousand dollars go. For what? My pride? Because I didn't want to be pitied by Norman Osborn?
...Actually, yes. That was a very good reason.
But money was still a problem. May and Ben were barely keeping their heads above water. Ben was working double shifts and I was spending most of my own small income on Spider-Man equipment. That wasn't sustainable.
I needed to make real money. My first thought was to build something extraordinary and patent it. Peter was a genius — I wasn't starting from nothing. Surely between the two of us we could produce something commercially viable.
But every idea I ran through the numbers on was either too expensive to develop, too technically complex to market, or too niche to be worth the risk. And I couldn't wait — I needed capital now to make the larger investments that would eventually pay off.
I considered online freelance work — white-hat security testing, for instance, where companies pay consultants to attempt to breach their own systems. The problem was I wasn't sure Peter's programming skills were strong enough yet. I needed more time to build that up.
I even briefly considered just stealing — breaking into one of the many corporate accounts I knew would be vulnerable. But that was a line I wasn't willing to cross. Stupid morals.
I could make investments in companies I knew would be enormously successful in the coming years. But that required start-up capital I didn't have.
I sighed, walked upstairs, and was just about to ask Aunt May for advice when I found her glued to the television.
"Aunt May, what's going on?"
"It's terrible, Peter — there's some kind of fight in the city!" she cried, pointing at the screen.
I turned around and felt my breath catch.
The TV was showing live news coverage of a battle unfolding in the middle of Madison Avenue. A man in metallic armour with a flowing green cape raised his arms, and crackling arcs of electricity lanced outward into the surrounding buildings. Then a fireball came streaking down from above and exploded against him. The armoured man caught the next one from mid-air and hurled it with pinpoint precision at a massive orange stone figure —
My eyes went wide. "Aunt May, I have to go back to school — I forgot something important. I'll be back in an hour or so!" I sprinted for the basement before she could finish calling after me.
I grabbed my costume and was dressed in under a minute, web shooters loaded and ready. I slipped out of the house and used the trees to cover my exit before I had the height to swing.
That was Doctor Doom — the man in the green cape. And the fireball wasn't just a fireball — that was Johnny Storm, the Human Torch. The Fantastic Four must have gotten their powers in the last few weeks, based on everything I'd researched. And now they were fighting Victor Von Doom in the middle of Manhattan.
I had to help. More than that — I needed to make my name.
I had been working in the shadows for months. Spider-Man needed to step into the light. And what better way to introduce myself to the city as a hero than fighting alongside the Fantastic Four? There would be no questions about whose side I was on after that.
I swung out of Queens in under ten minutes, my heart hammering, a mix of excitement and pure dread churning in my stomach.
I swung into New York proper for the first time. The tall buildings were perfect for my kind of movement — everything Peter had trained for in the train yard but better, bigger, faster. I cut across to Madison Avenue just as a car came sailing through the air directly at me.
'Seriously?!' I let go of my web line and landed feet-first on the hood of the flying car, riding it backward like a surfboard. I looked past the bonnet and saw Doom right below me, and an idea clicked into place.
I shot web lines to the buildings on either side of the car and used the tension to slow it dramatically. Just before it started to drop I pulled both lines taut and catapulted the car forward like a slingshot, aimed straight at Doom.
"Incoming!" I yelled.
The Fantastic Four all looked up. Johnny rolled clear. I jumped off the nose of the car just before it connected, and Doom took the full impact — the car exploded against him in a burst of fire and bent metal.
I dropped to street level and looked at the wreckage. "Damn. Didn't think that would work quite that well."
"Holy crap, man! That was fantastic!" Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, came blazing down and extinguished his flame as he landed next to me. "Who the hell are you?!"
"Ah... a friend?" I offered.
"We'd rather have a name," Reed Richards, Mr Fantastic, said calmly as he and Sue Storm approached.
I pointed at the large spider symbol on my jacket. "Spider-Man."
"Lame!" Johnny snorted. "Who wants to be called a spider?"
"Oh really? And what's your name, flame breath?"
"The Human Torch!" Johnny grinned.
"Really. You're aware that's basically just 'walking flashlight,' right?"
Susan Storm burst out laughing. Reed allowed himself a small smile. Ben Grimm let out a full, rolling belly laugh. "Ha! Kid's got you there, punk!"
CRASH.
We all spun. The burnt wreck of the car had been blasted to one side, and out of the fire came Doom — armour scorched but intact, cape still somehow pristine. I felt the mood shift.
"We need to get him away from the civilians," I said. "He's causing too much collateral damage."
"Anyone got a bright idea?" Johnny asked, re-igniting as he rose into the air.
"His powers are plasma-based, right?" I said, studying the crackling lightning that surrounded Doom's armour.
"Yes," Reed confirmed. "His suit is also advanced enough that it probably rivals Stark's in some respects."
"The river," I said. "East River. We short-circuit him."
"Ben — can you drag him to the East River?" Reed asked, his arms already coiling into combat configuration.
"No problem, stretch," Ben grinned, cracking his knuckles.
"Sue — we provide cover. Johnny — keep Doom occupied with suppressing fire."
"You got it!" Johnny called out, and was gone before Reed finished the sentence.
"I didn't mean right—" Reed growled, then turned to me. "Spider-Man. Can you help?"
"Gladly," I said, and jumped up onto a lamppost before swinging into the fight.
"Hey, Doom!" Ben roared, charging like a freight train. "It's clobbering time!" His fist came down like a wrecking ball.
Doom stood still and took the full force of it. Then he straightened. "Pathetic, as always, Ben Grimm." He sent out a bolt of electricity that sent the Thing skidding backwards across the street.
"Eat this!" Johnny came diving from above, fireball after fireball streaking down. Doom didn't even step aside. He let them hit, the plasma dispersed harmlessly across his armour. Then he snapped his fingers.
A precise bolt of electricity struck Johnny in the stomach. The Human Torch went out like a light and dropped.
"Johnny!" I swung toward him, caught him by the arm, and pulled him onto a nearby rooftop. He was out cold. Doom had overloaded his nervous system with a single, surgical strike.
I looked back at the fight. Sue had erected a force field around herself and Reed, blocking the constant stream of plasma arcing toward them. But stray streams were getting through the edges, hitting the buildings around them. They needed an opening — just one moment where Doom's attention was split.
I looked around the rooftop. The building's ventilation system. Enormous heat throughput — the ducts running along the exterior would be insulated to prevent fire risk, meaning the metal would be somewhat resistive. It wasn't a perfect conductor. But it was what I had.
I ran to the nearest air vent and tore off the lower section, using my full strength to pull it free from its mountings. I carried it under one arm to the roof's edge.
Here we go. I had exactly one shot at this.
I jumped, launched a web line at the apex of my arc, and swung upward like a pendulum above the street. At the peak of my swing — directly above Doom's position — I let go.
"Yo, Doom!" I shouted as I came down with the sheet metal before me like a battering ram. "Bite me!"
"What is—" He looked up, eyes widening, and then I crashed into him, driving him into the ground with the vent panel on top of him.
I was thrown clear from the impact. I hit the street and rolled, pain detonating through every bone. I think I cracked at least two ribs, but I got back on my feet and looked over.
Doom was already pushing himself up. The vent panel was bent but still sitting on him. I had seconds.
I set my web shooters to maximum hardness and sealed every gap between the panel and the ground. Doom tested the webbing, confused. He applied full strength — and stopped.
"What madness is this?!" he snarled. "How does a web hold back Doom?!"
"You're about to find out!" I shouted, leaping in and landing a punch across the side of his helmet. I heard something in my hand snap. Of course — the man had tanked a direct hit from the Thing. What did I expect?
"Clever child," Doom said, plasma sparking at his hands — and then the sparks died. He looked down at the insulated vent. A beat of silence.
Reed's voice cut through the street: "Which means I can do this!" His body expanded across the entire block as his hand closed into a fist and launched upward, catching Doom mid-chest and hurling him skyward.
"I've got him!" Sue's voice came from above. An invisible force field closed around Doom like a shell, and she flew him over the rooftops toward the East River.
I watched her go. Then the street tilted. My vision swam. Something in my skull was complaining loudly. I looked down at my hands — the knuckles on my right were definitely broken.
I closed my eyes and let myself fall backward onto the rubble.
The FF could finish it. I'd done my part. I needed to sleep.