The elevator hummed as it descended, lights flickering faintly above me. Norman's words rattled in my head—each one laced with blame, denial, and something else.
Hollowness.
He wasn't the same man I once admired. I used to think he was just a broken father, desperate to save his son. But now I saw it: Norman had become something else. Something colder. He'd built a cage around his grief and filled it with ambition, obsession—and now, something darker. And whatever the symbiote was, it wasn't finished with him.
When the doors opened to the lobby, I didn't wait. I stepped out and didn't look back. Not yet.
The air outside felt heavy, like the city itself was watching me. I crossed the street, ducked into an alley, and finally let go. My hands shook. Not just from anger—but fear.
Something was coming.
I pulled my mask from my backpack, feeling the familiar fabric slip over my fingers. For a second, I thought about suiting up, leaping across rooftops like it would fix anything. But I didn't. Not tonight.
Instead, I made my way toward MJ's apartment.
MJ
She'd been pacing for the past hour. Coffee gone cold. Script pages abandoned. Something in her gut told her Peter was in trouble.
He hadn't texted back since yesterday. Not even a sarcastic emoji.
She hated that about him. The silence. The walls.
He'd always been a little distant—especially lately. But something about him had shifted since Harry's disappearance. Like he was carrying weight no one else could see.
And tonight, the air felt… wrong. Like static was clinging to her skin.
She didn't expect the knock. It wasn't loud. Just three taps. But she knew who it was before she opened the door.
Peter stood there, soaked in sweat, hoodie pulled low over his eyes.
"You look like hell," she said.
"Feel worse," he rasped.
She stepped aside without another word.
Peter
Her place smelled like vanilla and old books. A tiny part of my brain clung to that normalcy—the idea that there were still rooms in this city untouched by monsters.
I dropped onto her couch, burying my face in my hands. She didn't speak at first. Just watched me.
"I went back to Oscorp," I said eventually.
She stiffened. "Peter—"
"I had to."
She crossed her arms, lips tight. "You said you'd stay away after… after Harry."
I looked up. "I found out why he changed. What Norman did to him."
MJ sat down slowly across from me. "Tell me."
So I did.
Everything. Project Chimera. The symbiote. The tank. Harry's voice in my head. The final words. Norman's lies. All of it.
And she listened. Not just with her ears—but with her whole soul. I could see it in her eyes. She was trying not to cry.
"God…" she whispered. "He used his own son?"
"Not just used," I said, voice low. "He was preparing him to host something. Something alive. Something… wrong."
MJ leaned back, eyes searching the ceiling like it held answers. "That thing that broke out of the lab—back when Oscorp had that 'containment breach.' Was that…?"
I nodded. "A symbiote. Maybe the first. Maybe not."
"And you think it's still there?" she asked.
"I know it is."
She stood suddenly, pacing again. "Peter, this is insane. This is bigger than Oscorp. Bigger than the city. If that thing gets out—"
"It won't."
She turned to me. "You can't do this alone."
My chest tightened.
"I have to."
"No," she said, stepping forward. "You don't."
Our eyes locked. And for a second, I could feel it—how close we really were. Not just physically. Emotionally. She saw through me in a way no one else did.
"I need to protect you," I said, softer now.
She scoffed, shaking her head. "That's not your choice."
"If anything happened to you—"
"Then let me decide that," she snapped. "Because right now? You're falling apart, Peter. And I'm the only one left who cares enough to see it."
I didn't answer. Couldn't.
The silence stretched between us.
Then she said it. Quiet. Sharp.
"You're Spider-Man… aren't you?"
My breath caught.
I didn't move. Didn't blink.
She watched me carefully, no longer angry. Just… sad.
"I've always known something was off," she said, voice trembling. "The bruises. The lies. The sudden disappearances. The way you always show up right after Spider-Man leaves."
My throat was dry. "MJ…"
"You don't have to lie anymore."
A beat passed.
Then I nodded.
The mask was off—literally and metaphorically.
She sat down beside me, brushing her fingers through my messy hair. "You're an idiot."
I laughed weakly. "Yeah. I've been told."
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
"Because I didn't want you to look at me the way you are right now."
She tilted her head. "And how's that?"
"Like I'm broken."
She cupped my cheek. "You're not broken, Peter. You're scared. And that's okay."
I leaned into her touch for just a moment. Letting the guilt slip away, if only briefly.
Elsewhere…
Oscorp Tower. Sub-level -12.
The room was dark, save for a single containment pod glowing faintly.
Norman stood alone before it, tie loosened, eyes bloodshot.
"System," he said.
"Online," the AI answered.
"Status report. SYMB-X."
"Specimen stable. Neural adaptation progressing. Host readiness: 84%."
He stared into the black ooze swirling inside the tank. It pulsed like a heartbeat.
"I gave you my son," Norman whispered. "And you failed him."
"Host was incompatible. Neural deterioration exceeded parameters."
Norman stepped closer. "But I won't."
The symbiote twitched at that. A tendril of darkness brushed the edge of the glass.
"You are not compatible."
"Yet," Norman muttered.
He pressed a hand to the tank. "Make me ready."
The darkness inside shifted—almost in response.
Outside the lab, a second camera blinked on, watching. Recording.
The thing inside had waited long enough.
Back at MJ's Apartment
I was finally asleep when I felt it.
A dream.
No—not a dream.
A presence.
I was standing in a void. Black. Endless. Wet.
And something moved at the edges of my vision. Something whispering.
"We know you."
I turned. "Who's there?"
No response. Only a shape—dripping, fluid, with teeth that didn't belong in nature.
"You left us. You broke the bond."
I staggered backward. "You're not real."
"But we remember you."
The shadows surged forward.
"And we're coming back."
I woke with a gasp, sweat pouring down my face.
MJ stirred beside me on the couch. "Peter?"
I blinked, heart pounding.
"They're calling to me," I whispered.
"The symbiote?"
I nodded slowly.
"It remembers."
Norman Osborn
Sub-Level 12. Oscorp Tower. 2:46 A.M.
The hiss of hydraulics echoed through the sterile chamber.
Norman stood in the cold fluorescence of Oscorp's restricted laboratory, his reflection barely visible in the reinforced glass of the symbiote tank. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. Hadn't eaten in almost as long. But the hunger was gone now.
Replaced with something else.
The thing inside the tank moved when he moved.
He studied it again. Not as a man looking at a specimen. But as something closer. Something curious.
"Host synchronization: 91%," the AI droned.
Another percentage. Another number in a long chain of countdowns he had engineered himself. But this number felt different.
The fluid inside churned gently, drawn to him like iron filings to a magnet.
He stepped closer, resting a hand on the glass. "You weren't meant for Peter. Or Harry. You were meant for me."
A twitch. A ripple of black.
"Isn't that right?" he whispered.
He thought he heard it respond—somewhere between a whisper and a scream.
"Yes."
A soundless vibration. Just under the skin. Not words. Intent.
He pressed his forehead to the tank. "Then take me."
The darkness surged against the glass, but didn't break it.
Not yet.
Peter Parker
Queens. 7:12 A.M.
MJ brewed coffee in silence. The quiet between us wasn't uncomfortable—it was just… full. There was too much we weren't saying. But for now, the caffeine helped.
She set a cup down in front of me. "You should sleep more than two hours."
I ran a hand through my hair. "Sleep's overrated when your nightmares talk back."
She half-smiled, but her eyes stayed serious. "Tell me again what it said."
"It wasn't words. More like… feelings. Hate. Betrayal. Hunger."
"Sounds friendly."
"It called me 'the broken bond.' Said it remembers me."
I didn't tell her everything—that part of me had responded.
The Spider inside had twitched when it spoke.
MJ sat across from me, tablet in her lap. "Okay, so. I've been digging."
"You hacked Oscorp?"
"I didn't hack it," she said, mildly offended. "I used backdoor protocols you left on my laptop that you swore were just for 'web development practice.'"
"…Fair."
She swiped through encrypted folders. "A lot of their Chimera project files are wiped from the public servers. But there are remnants—mirrored backups scattered across private developer logs."
"What kind of remnants?"
MJ tapped on a video file.
The screen showed Norman in a biohazard lab, standing over a restrained body—Harry. He looked younger. More desperate. A timestamp in the corner read: 14 months ago.
"Initial bonding failed," Norman said to the camera. "Patient experienced rapid destabilization. Requesting extraction."
Offscreen, someone protested: "Sir, the symbiote is resisting separation."
Norman glanced back. "Then sedate it harder."
The footage crackled, then ended.
MJ shut the tablet. "He's been at this for over a year. Maybe longer."
I sat back, stunned. "He was experimenting before the spider bite."
She nodded. "I think the spiders were plan B."
The implications sank in slowly. Harry had always been the goal. I was just a detour. A useful mistake.
MJ leaned forward. "If Norman's still running this, he's hiding something bigger than just Chimera."
"I saw it," I said quietly. "Down in the restricted levels. Not just experiments—creations. They were building weapons. Biological ones. Hybrids."
"Like Harry?"
I nodded. "And worse."
She stood up, pacing. "So what's the next step?"
I hesitated.
"What?" she asked.
"I need to go back in."
She whirled on me. "Peter—"
"MJ. If that symbiote bonds with someone else—someone like Norman—it's over."
She crossed her arms, fighting her instinct to yell. "Then I'm going with you."
"No."
"Yes."
I stood. "This isn't a debate."
"And I'm not asking permission."
We stared each other down.
I sighed. "It's not about trust. It's about survival."
That stopped me.
"Fine," I said after a moment. "But we do this smart. Quiet. No heroics."
She smiled faintly. "Deal."
Norman Osborn
Later that night. Sub-Level 12.
The room was dark, except for the faint blue glow of the tank and the pulse of monitors.
Norman sat still. Breathing slower now. Listening.
He heard it more clearly now. The voice.
Not a voice.
A chorus.
"Let us in."
He looked at his hand. It trembled. Not with fear—but anticipation.
"Soon," he whispered.
He stood and approached the console, typing in override codes.
WARNING: Bonding protocol disabled. Manual initiation required.
He tapped in one final sequence.
The glass began to retract.
A hiss. A gust of cold air.
The symbiote spilled forward like liquid shadow.
Norman stepped into it.
And it greeted him.
Peter & MJ
Midnight. Outside Oscorp Tower.
MJ crouched beside me on a rooftop across from Oscorp, zipline clipped to her belt. She wore a black hoodie and gloves, her hair tucked into a ballcap.
"You ready?" I asked.
"Are you?"
I couldn't lie. My stomach was in knots.
But I nodded.
We leapt.
The wind howled in our ears as we soared across the alley, landing silently on the Oscorp roof. MJ rolled to her feet beside me, panting.
"Still not used to that," she muttered.
"Stay close."
We slipped into the maintenance hatch. I led her through back corridors, past shuttered labs and flickering lights. The lower we went, the colder it got.
"I hate this place," she whispered.
Eventually, we reached the elevator to Sub-Level 12.
I swiped a stolen clearance badge.
The doors opened.
What we saw stopped both of us cold.
Inside the Lab
The lights were shattered.
Glass on the floor. Equipment broken. Monitors blinking error codes.
And in the center of the room…
An empty tank.
MJ gripped my arm. "Where is it?"
I scanned the room. "It's not here."
There were scorch marks. Slime trails. As if something massive had torn itself free.
MJ picked up a file half-burned. "There's a log here. Bonding procedure… completed. Host name: Osborn."
My breath caught.
"MJ, we need to go."
"Wait—"
Next chapter Norman Osborn