The morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of Midtown High's auditorium, casting golden streaks across rows of eager students. Peter Parker stepped inside, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his mind already racing with thoughts of Oscorp, Toomes, and the secrets he was trying to unravel.
But he stopped in his tracks when he spotted Norman Osborn standing by the stage, shaking hands with the principal. Dressed in a tailored suit, Norman exuded confidence and authority, his sharp gaze sweeping across the room. A faint smirk tugged at his lips when his eyes landed on Peter.
Peter's heart skipped a beat. What is he doing here?
The principal took to the microphone, silencing the chatter in the room. "Students, we are honored to have a special guest with us today. Please welcome Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp Industries, here to speak about the future of innovation."
The applause was polite but reserved, many students more intrigued by the man's reputation than his presence. Peter slid into a seat beside Gwen and Harry, his eyes fixed on Norman as he ascended the stage.
"I thought your dad was too busy to do school stuff," Peter whispered to Harry.
Harry frowned. "He is. This is… unexpected."
Norman began his presentation, his voice smooth and commanding. He spoke about the intersection of science and humanity, peppering his speech with mentions of Oscorp's projects. But Peter couldn't shake the feeling that some of Norman's words were aimed directly at him.
"Curiosity," Norman said, his eyes sweeping the audience before pausing momentarily on Peter. "It's what drives innovation. The willingness to take risks, to explore beyond the boundaries of what's permitted—it's how we change the world."
Peter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his mind flashing back to the lab, the spider bite, and the footage Norman had seen. Is he… talking about me?
When the presentation ended, the students erupted into polite applause. As the crowd began to disperse, Peter tried to slip out unnoticed, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.
"Peter Parker," Norman said, his smile disarming but his eyes sharp. "I was hoping we'd run into each other again."
Peter swallowed, forcing a smile. "Mr. Osborn. Nice presentation."
"Thank you." Norman's tone was casual, but his gaze was intense. "I couldn't help but notice your keen interest in science—both today and during our previous… encounter. It's not every day I meet someone with such potential."
Peter's blood ran cold, but he played it off with a nervous chuckle. "I guess I just really like science."
Norman's smile widened. "I admire that. In fact, I'd like to offer you an opportunity—an internship at Oscorp. It's rare to find young minds so… driven."
Peter hesitated, his instincts warning him against trusting Norman. But the offer was tempting, and Norman's demeanor was almost convincing. Almost.
"I'll… think about it," Peter said finally.
"Do that." Norman's voice was smooth as silk. "Opportunities like this don't come often, Peter."
As Norman walked away, Harry appeared at Peter's side, his expression wary. "Be careful, Pete," he warned. "My dad doesn't just offer help out of kindness. He always wants something in return."
Peter nodded, his mind racing. "Yeah. I figured."
The warehouse was a cavernous, shadow-filled space, the air thick with the metallic tang of machinery and the musty scent of neglect. Peter Parker crouched behind a stack of rusted crates, his pulse quickening as he surveyed the remnants of Adrian Toomes' workshop. Tools, half-built contraptions, and scattered blueprints lay in disarray, while the centerpiece—a jagged prototype wing—hung suspended from a chain, its sharp edges glinting faintly under a flickering fluorescent light.
Peter's breath caught as he stepped out from his hiding place, careful to keep his movements quiet. His sneakers made soft scuffing sounds against the concrete floor as he approached the workbench, where an array of schematics detailed the Vulture suit's inner workings. His fingers hovered over the designs, tracing the intricate lines of circuitry and Oscorp-branded components.
"So, you've been busy," Peter muttered, scanning the blueprints. "Oscorp tech… powering flight. No wonder Norman's been so quiet about this."
As he flipped through the papers, he noticed a small, handheld device with blinking lights. It looked like a tracking beacon—or worse, a trigger. He gingerly picked it up, his spider-sense buzzing faintly, and turned it over in his hands. "What are you up to, Toomes?"
Suddenly, the distant sound of a door creaking open sent a jolt through his body. His spider-sense flared stronger now, warning him of imminent danger. Heavy footsteps echoed through the warehouse, slow and deliberate. Peter's stomach dropped.
Toomes.
Peter stuffed a blueprint into his hoodie pocket and quickly darted behind another stack of crates. His breathing was shallow as he peeked around the corner. Toomes walked into view, his silhouette imposing under the dim light. His eyes scanned the room with a sharp intensity, his posture rigid.
"Someone's been in here," Toomes muttered to himself, his voice low and gravelly. He approached the workbench, his fingers brushing over the disheveled blueprints. His expression darkened. "Whoever it was… they're still here."
Peter swallowed hard, his heart pounding. He pressed himself against the cold steel of a support beam, willing himself to stay calm. Think, Parker. Think. You can't swing out of here. You've got to outsmart him.
Toomes picked up a wrench from the workbench, his grip tightening. "If you've got any brains, you'll come out now. I don't like trespassers."
Peter's spider-sense buzzed again as Toomes took a step closer to his hiding spot. Peter glanced up, his eyes catching a narrow beam running above the warehouse floor. An idea began to form.
Quietly, he fired a small webline at the beam and tugged, testing its strength. Satisfied, he grabbed the edge of a nearby crate and hauled himself up. His movements were quick but careful, his muscles straining as he climbed onto the beam.
From his vantage point, he could see Toomes pacing below, his eyes scanning the shadows. The older man's footsteps echoed like a metronome, each step growing louder in Peter's ears.
"You're wasting my time," Toomes growled. He paused directly beneath Peter, his wrench clutched tightly in one hand. "And I don't have much patience left."
Peter held his breath, his body pressed flat against the beam as Toomes lingered. The faint creak of the metal beneath him felt deafening, and for a moment, Peter was certain he'd be discovered. But then a loud crash echoed from outside—a stray cat knocking over a trash can near the loading dock.
Toomes spun toward the noise, his expression darkening further. "Stupid strays," he muttered, moving toward the source of the commotion. He gripped the wrench tighter, his steps brisk as he disappeared into the shadows.
Peter exhaled shakily, the tension in his chest easing slightly. He glanced toward a row of high windows on the far wall, their frames old and rusted but large enough to squeeze through. That's your exit, Parker.
Carefully, he lowered himself from the beam, landing softly on a pile of crates below. He crouched, waiting to ensure Toomes was still distracted, before sprinting toward the windows. The floor beneath him felt like a minefield, every step echoing louder than he wanted.
Reaching the windows, Peter fired a web at the latch of one and yanked. The old frame groaned as it opened just enough for him to slip through. He pulled himself up and out, his hoodie catching briefly on a jagged edge before he dropped to the ground outside with a muffled thud.
Peter didn't stop to catch his breath. He bolted across the empty lot, his sneakers pounding against the cracked asphalt. Once he was a safe distance away, he ducked behind a parked truck, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing.
"Okay," he whispered to himself, clutching the blueprint hidden in his pocket. "That was way too close."
Inside the warehouse, Toomes returned to the workbench, his eyes narrowing as he noticed one of the blueprints missing. His jaw tightened, and his grip on the wrench threatened to bend the metal.
"So," he muttered, his voice low and venomous. "Someone is onto me."
He turned toward the door, his steps deliberate as he left the workshop. The night was quiet, but Toomes' mind churned with suspicion and anger. Whoever had been there had made a mistake—and he intended to find them.
The high-security lab at Oscorp was bathed in a sterile white glow, the hum of machinery filling the air. Mac Gargan lay strapped to the examination table, his mutated form twitching involuntarily. His glowing green eyes flickered with a mixture of rage and desperation.
Norman Osborn stood on the observation deck above, watching the scene unfold with cold detachment. Beside him, a scientist adjusted a tablet, monitoring Gargan's vitals.
"The stabilization process is working," the scientist reported, though his tone was uneasy. "But his neural activity is… unstable. He's becoming increasingly hostile."
Norman's expression didn't change. "As long as he's functional, I don't care about his mental state. Just keep him alive."
Below, Gargan stirred, his voice a guttural growl. "Let me out of here," he snarled, his words slurred but desperate. "I didn't… I didn't ask for this."
One of the scientists approached cautiously. "You need to stay calm, Mr. Gargan."
"Calm?" Gargan roared, his muscles straining against the restraints. "You did this to me! All of you!"
The restraints groaned as Gargan's strength surged, the table trembling beneath him. The scientist stepped back, fear etched across his face.
Norman smirked. "Let him vent. It'll make him easier to control later."
But Gargan's glowing eyes locked onto the observation deck above, his voice dropping to a venomous growl. "You think you can control me? Spider-Boy… Osborn… I'll make you pay. All of you."
Norman's smirk deepened. "Good. Hold onto that anger, Mac. It'll make you useful."
As the lab's alarms blared, the scene cut to black, Gargan's furious growls echoing through the sterile space.