Spider-Man... is finally online.
Hawk watched Peter Parker, whose pupils were still recalibrating from the shock of their eye contact, and felt a quiet, internal sigh of relief. His deliberate policy of non-interference—staying back in the locker room, ignoring Peter on the bus—had been a calculated risk. He hadn't wanted to meddle, not out of cruelty, but out of a fear that his intervention might alter the timeline, creating a butterfly effect that could prevent the birth of this world's most essential hero.
Now, seeing the proof of Peter's transformation before him, he felt a sense of grim validation. His detachment had worked.
Of all the versions of Spider-Man that existed in the vast library of his past life's memories, this was the one he had always respected the most. The first generation, the one who struggled with rent, who felt the immense, crushing weight of his responsibility, who built his legend from the ground up with nothing but his own grit and organic webs.
The later versions never resonated with him in the same way. The Amazing Spider-Man had his charm, certainly, but it was the third version that Hawk truly couldn't stomach. It wasn't personal; it was philosophical. That Spider-Man had been handed the keys to the kingdom—billion-dollar suits of armor, an arsenal of advanced technology, and the mentorship of a billionaire. He was a hero propped up by another's legacy. Hawk, a man who had forged his own power through a thousand days of solitary, agonizing discipline, had no respect for a hero who started the game with cheat codes enabled.
His thoughts turned, and seeing Peter still frozen in a state of super-sensory shock, Hawk made a tactical decision to break the tension and revert to the mundane social script.
"Good afternoon, Peter," he said, his voice calm and even.
"…Good afternoon." Peter blinked, snapping back to the present. The raw, alert energy in his posture receded as he consciously re-engaged his familiar, honest-looking persona. He turned to Gwen, who was sitting beside Hawk. "Gwen."
Gwen, who had observed the strange, silent intensity of their eye contact with a sharp, analytical curiosity, decided to probe. "Good afternoon, Peter," she responded with a bright smile. "I heard you finally gave Flash a taste of his own medicine in the cafeteria yesterday."
News of the lunchtime commotion had spread like wildfire. By all accounts, Peter, who for years had been Flash Thompson's personal punching bag, had suddenly moved with impossible grace and agility, leaving the school's top bully utterly humiliated amidst a tray of spilled food.
Peter just scratched his head, his smile a perfect picture of shy awkwardness. Seeing that he wasn't going to elaborate, Gwen didn't press. She just gave him a small, encouraging fist pump. "You should have fought back a long time ago. Keep it up, Peter."
Mrs. Snow, seeing that all her summoned students had arrived, clapped her hands together. "Alright, Peter, have a seat. Let's get started."
As Peter sat on the sofa opposite them, Mrs. Snow walked to her desk and picked up three neat folders. She handed the first one directly to Gwen.
"Oscorp Biological Industries," she announced. "An offer for a summer position as Dr. Connors's lab assistant."
Gwen's eyes lit up with genuine excitement as she took the folder. "Thank you, Mrs. Snow! Dr. Connors mentioned he would be in touch, I didn't expect it to be this fast." This wasn't just a summer job; it was the first, concrete step into the world of professional science she was so passionate about.
Mrs. Snow then turned to the two boys, a warm smile on her face. "Now, for you two. I have two more summer job offers, but I wasn't sure of your preferences, so I decided to call you both in to choose for yourselves."
She was about to elaborate when Hawk reacted, a sudden, electric realization coursing through him. He raised his right hand. "Wait a moment, Mrs. Snow."
"What is it, Hawk?"
"I'm still not entirely clear on why I was called here," he said, feigning confusion.
Mrs. Snow's expression faltered for a second. "Did you forget our one-on-one chat last month?"
Hawk blinked, then let a look of dawning comprehension cross his face. He remembered now. At the end of their routine monthly check-in, she had asked about his summer plans. He'd mentioned he hadn't found a job yet, and she had offered to help. He had agreed casually, never expecting her to actually follow through with such efficiency.
Mrs. Snow saw the memory register in his eyes and chuckled. "Remembered?"
"Remembered," Hawk confirmed with a nod. He had been about to politely decline. A summer job was a distraction from his real work.
She smiled and shook the two remaining folders. "Alright. One is also from Oscorp, in the bio-power department. They need a summer intern to help organize and collate research data. The other is from the Daily Bugle. They also need a general intern."
The jobs sounded menial, and they were. But these were not positions one could simply apply for. These were opportunities created by Mrs. Snow's personal connections, doors opened by her favor.
Peter, ever polite, glanced at Hawk. "Hawk, why don't you choose first?"
"I…" Hawk started, the words "I don't need a job, thank you" already on the tip of his tongue. But then the name hit him again, this time with the force of a revelation. Oscorp... Dr. Connors's paper on gamma rays...
His entire plan shifted in an instant. This wasn't a distraction. This was a golden opportunity. A Trojan horse that would get him inside the very institution that held the potential key to the final component of his Saint Cloth.
The words leaving his mouth were sharp and decisive, the complete opposite of what he'd intended to say a second earlier. "I'll go to Oscorp."
Peter, now left with the remaining option, nodded. "Then I'll go to the Daily Bugle. I really enjoy photography."
That's right, Hawk thought with a flicker of cynicism. You not only like taking pictures, you like taking selfies, and you especially like selling those selfies to your own employer.
Mrs. Snow, pleased that the choices were made so easily, handed them their respective folders.
"Peter, when you report to the Daily Bugle, you'll ask for Mr. J. Jonah Jameson. Give him this document, and he'll get you situated."
"Okay."
"Hawk," she continued, turning to him. "You'll go to Oscorp's Bio-Electricity Engineering Department. You'll be reporting to an engineer named Max Dillon. I'll call his supervisor to let them know you're coming."
"Okay," Hawk said, his expression unreadable, though the name sent another jolt through his memory.
Max Dillon? The invisible engineer from The Amazing Spider-Man 2. The man who would fall into a tank of genetically-engineered electric eels and become Electro.
He shook his head inwardly. Forget it. None of my business.
First Connors, now Dillon. Oscorp was a veritable factory for future supervillains. But compared to the looming threat of Electro, his own quest was infinitely more important. He had a strong hunch that the Gammanian he so desperately sought was intrinsically linked to the gamma research Dr. Connors was conducting in that very building. Max Dillon was a future problem. Forging his Saint Cloth was the mission, and he now had a clear path inside.