The hum of the city filtered through the cracked window of the Parker family apartment, faint sirens and distant traffic blending with the muffled buzz of the refrigerator. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the kitchen walls. Peter sat slumped at the table, his untouched glass of milk sweating in the warm night air.
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the table as his mind replayed the events of the past week—the Oscorp lab, the spider bite, Gargan's rampage. It all blurred together in a haze of guilt and regret.
Peter clenched his fists, his thoughts racing. If I hadn't gone to that lab… If I'd just stayed with my classmates, maybe none of this would've happened. He shook his head, his stomach twisting. Gargan wouldn't be… whatever he is now. I wouldn't have these powers. I could just be normal.
The sound of shuffling feet broke his train of thought. Uncle Ben stepped into the kitchen, his old slippers scuffing against the linoleum. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame as he took in the sight of his nephew hunched over the table.
"Couldn't sleep?" Ben asked softly, his voice carrying the warmth of concern.
Peter didn't look up. "Not really."
Ben moved to the counter, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "I figured. You've been looking like a ghost lately, Pete." He turned, his weathered face kind but serious. "Wanna talk about it?"
Peter shrugged, keeping his gaze on the glass in front of him. "It's nothing. Just… stuff."
Ben pulled out a chair and sat across from him, cradling his coffee mug. "Stuff, huh? The kind of stuff that keeps a teenager up at night usually isn't nothing."
Peter sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I just… I keep thinking about that trip to Oscorp. About how if I hadn't gone, none of this would've happened. Maybe Gargan wouldn't be running around destroying everything. Maybe everything would just be normal."
Ben studied him for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he set his mug down and folded his hands on the table. "You know, Pete, I had a summer job when I was your age. Worked in a factory down in Queens. It wasn't much, but it helped your grandparents make ends meet."
Peter glanced at him, surprised by the sudden change in topic. "What does that have to do with—"
"Patience, kid," Ben interrupted gently, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "One day, I saw the foreman laying into one of the older workers. The guy had messed up a shipment, and the foreman decided to make an example out of him. Right there in front of everyone."
Peter frowned. "What did you do?"
Ben leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he remembered. "I wanted to stay out of it. I mean, I was just a kid. What was I supposed to do? But I couldn't stand there and watch it happen. So I spoke up."
Peter's eyes widened. "What did you say?"
"I told the foreman he was out of line," Ben said simply. "That he didn't need to humiliate the guy just to prove a point."
Peter shook his head, incredulous. "Did it work?"
Ben chuckled softly. "Not exactly. The foreman laughed me off, said I didn't know what I was talking about. But the old guy? He pulled me aside later and thanked me. Said it was the first time anyone had stood up for him in years."
Ben's smile faded slightly, his expression turning serious. "The point is, Pete, sometimes you're going to be in a position where you can make a difference. It won't always be easy, and it definitely won't always feel fair. But if you've got the power to help someone—even in a small way—you've got to try. Because if you don't, who will?"
Peter looked down at his hands, his chest tightening. "But what if I mess up? What if I just make things worse?"
Ben reached out, resting a reassuring hand on Peter's shoulder. "Being scared doesn't mean you can't do what's right. It just means you care enough to want to do it right. And that's what matters."
Peter's throat tightened, and he nodded silently. Ben gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before standing and heading toward the hallway.
"Get some rest, kid," he said over his shoulder. "You'll figure it out."
As Ben's footsteps faded, Peter sat alone in the kitchen, Ben's words echoing in his mind. He wanted so badly to believe them—to believe that he could make a difference without losing himself in the process. But the weight of his powers—and the consequences they carried—felt like too much.
Normal, Peter thought bitterly, staring at his reflection in the darkened window. I just want to be normal.
But deep down, he knew there was no going back. Not anymore.
The Oscorp lab sat like a fortress on the city's outskirts, its high-tech facade belying the chaos that was about to erupt. The compound was fortified with electrified fences, motion-activated turrets, and armed guards patrolling in pairs. Inside, the glow of experimental equipment bathed the walls in an eerie blue light as technicians worked silently, tension heavy in the air. They had all heard the news—Oscorp's experiment gone wrong was coming for them.
Outside, the shadows shifted. Mac Gargan—or the Scorpion, as he now called himself—emerged from the darkness. His body had become something out of a nightmare, his muscles twisted under scaly armor, and his tail—a grotesque, living appendage—twitched and coiled with anticipation. His glowing green eyes pierced through the gloom, locked on the lab.
"Norman," he muttered, the name dripping with hatred. "You can't hide behind your walls forever."
With a feral snarl, Gargan leapt. The electrified fence sizzled against his armor before crumpling beneath his sheer force. The guards were caught off guard, their shouts mingling with the blaring alarms as they scrambled to respond.
"Intruder alert!" one guard shouted, raising his rifle.
Scorpion charged, moving with terrifying speed for his size. Bullets ricocheted harmlessly off his armor as he barreled into the nearest group of guards. With a swing of his tail, he sent two of them flying into the wall, their weapons clattering to the ground.
"That all you've got?" Gargan sneered, his voice distorted and inhuman. He grabbed a guard by the chest and hurled him into a security drone. Sparks flew as the machine exploded, casting an orange glow over the chaos.
Inside the lab, the alarms wailed louder. Technicians scrambled to secure the prototypes, their hands shaking as they locked sensitive equipment into reinforced cases. One of them, a young woman, whispered, "We're not going to make it, are we?"
Her supervisor shot her a sharp look. "Focus. We have to—"
A deafening crash interrupted him as the lab's reinforced doors folded inward like paper. Scorpion stepped into the lab, his massive form filling the entrance. His glowing eyes swept across the room, and a twisted grin spread across his face.
"Found you," he growled, his tail smashing a workstation as he advanced. "Where's Osborn?"
The technicians backed away, their fear palpable. Scorpion paid them little mind, his attention fixed on the prototypes. He grabbed a sleek, glowing weapon from a containment unit, holding it up to the light.
"Perfect," he muttered, his grin widening. "This will do nicely."
The sound of alarms echoed across the city, a chilling contrast to the otherwise still night. Peter Parker sprinted across the rooftops, his breaths coming fast and shallow. His spider-sense buzzed relentlessly, a warning he couldn't ignore. As he neared the Oscorp lab, the scene below came into view, and his heart sank.
Flames licked at the edges of the compound, the broken fence sparking uselessly. Guards lay scattered on the ground, some groaning in pain, others motionless. The lab's doors were destroyed, and the occasional flash of green light inside suggested that the chaos was far from over.
Peter crouched on the rooftop, his hood pulled low over his face. His hands trembled as he assessed the destruction. I'm not ready for this, he thought, his chest tightening. What am I supposed to do against… that?
A flicker of movement caught his eye. Near the lab's entrance, a group of civilians—janitors and late-shift workers—were huddled together, trapped by a massive slab of debris. Flames crept closer, and their panicked cries reached his ears.
Peter's spider-sense buzzed sharply, urging him to act. "Okay," he whispered, steeling himself. "Just focus on the people."
He swung down from the rooftop, landing quietly near the group. They gasped as he approached, their fear momentarily turning to confusion.
"Don't worry," Peter said softly, keeping his voice low. "I'm here to help."
He crouched beside the slab, his fingers digging into the edges. The weight pressed against his muscles, but with a deep breath, he lifted it just enough for the civilians to crawl out.
"Go!" he urged, his voice strained. "Get as far away as you can!"
The group didn't hesitate. They scrambled to safety, and Peter let the slab drop with a heavy thud. But his spider-sense flared again—this time stronger, more insistent.
Peter turned, and his heart sank. Scorpion stood a few yards away, his massive frame illuminated by the flickering flames. His tail swayed behind him like a predator sizing up its prey.
"You," Scorpion said, his voice low and dangerous. His lips curled into a sneer. "Spider-Boy, right? Didn't think I'd see you again."
Peter's legs felt like lead, but he forced himself to speak. "I'm just trying to help people. You don't have to do this."
Scorpion laughed, the sound guttural and mocking. "Help? You can't even help yourself, kid." His tail slammed into the ground, cracking the pavement and sending debris flying. "Stay out of my way, or you won't live to regret it."
Before Peter could respond, Scorpion lunged. Peter's reflexes kicked in, and he leapt to the side just as the barbed tail struck the ground where he'd been standing. The impact sent a shockwave through the area, and Peter stumbled, barely staying on his feet.
"You're too slow," Scorpion taunted, his glowing eyes narrowing. "What are you even doing here? Playing hero? You're not cut out for this."
Peter fired a web at a nearby lamppost, using it to vault himself onto a higher vantage point. His swing was clumsy, his landing even worse, but he managed to evade another strike from Scorpion's tail.
"Run, Spider-Boy!" Scorpion called after him, his laughter echoing through the night. "You're nothing but a scared little kid."
Peter didn't look back. His heart pounded as he swung awkwardly away, his hands trembling as he clung to the webline. When he finally landed on a rooftop several blocks away, he collapsed to his knees, his chest heaving.
I'm not ready for this, he thought, his mind racing. What was I thinking? I can't fight someone like him.
But even as fear and doubt gnawed at him, Peter couldn't shake the image of the civilians he'd saved. For a moment, he'd made a difference. And despite everything, a small voice in the back of his mind whispered: You're not done yet.
The next day, Peter sat in his room, the glow of the TV casting long shadows on the walls. News anchors detailed the attack on the Oscorp lab, their voices tinged with fear and urgency. Footage of the destruction played on repeat, and the words "corporate greed" and "experiment gone wrong" echoed in Peter's ears.
Protests outside Oscorp's headquarters filled the screen, angry crowds demanding answers. Signs labeled Gargan as both a monster and a victim, while others condemned Norman Osborn outright.
Peter's hands tightened into fists. He stared at the screen, the weight of it all pressing down on him. He didn't condone Gargan's actions, but the man's pain—his anger—was palpable. And part of Peter couldn't help but wonder: Was there a way to stop this without more violence? Could he help Gargan, somehow?
As the protests raged on, Peter's gaze drifted to his hands. The faint tingle of his powers was a constant reminder of what he could do—but also of the choices he had yet to make.