[11:47 PM - OSCORP TOWER, SERVICE ENTRANCE]
Peter crouched on top of the delivery truck, his enhanced vision scanning the perimeter. Twelve guards visible, probably more inside. Infrared cameras, motion sensors, and enough firepower to stop a small army.
But not enough to stop him.
THREAT ASSESSMENT: MANAGEABLE. GUARDS ARE CONVENTIONAL HUMAN. NO ENHANCED INDIVIDUALS DETECTED.
Yet. Someone smart enough to steal data and plant bombs won't send ordinary guards.
"Okay, here's the plan," Peter said quietly, the others gathering around. "Norman, you and I go in through the service entrance. Harry stays here with the van, monitors security feeds and communications. Gwen—"
"Goes with you," Gwen interrupted. "We already discussed this."
"It's too dangerous—"
"Peter." Her blue eyes were fierce. "I'm not sitting in a van while you risk your life. We're partners. That means I'm coming."
SHE HAS SPINE. I LIKE HER. SHE IS WORTHY.
I know she is.
GOOD. BECAUSE IF YOU TRY TO LEAVE HER BEHIND, I WILL OVERRIDE YOU.
You can do that?
I WOULD NOT. BUT THE THREAT IS EFFECTIVE, YES?
Norman nodded. "The girl comes. But she stays between us at all times. Protected."
"I can protect myself," Gwen said, but her voice softened. "But thank you."
Harry pulled up a schematic on his laptop. "Okay, service entrance is here. You'll need to bypass three security checkpoints. The bombs are planted here, here, and here—" he indicated points on the basement levels. "Dad, you're sure about the locations?"
"The symbiote can sense chemical compounds. Explosives have distinct signatures." Norman's white symbiote pulsed visibly beneath his shirt. "C-4, by the feel of it. Military grade. Whoever planted them knew what they were doing."
"How much time do we have?" Peter asked.
"Unknown. The bombs could be on timers or remote detonation. We need to assume worst case—they could go off any moment."
"Great. No pressure." Peter checked his phone—11:51. "We have nine minutes until midnight. Security shift change happens then. That's our window."
"What about the research?" Gwen asked. "The physical samples. Where are they?"
"Sublevel 3, secured vault." Norman pulled up an access card. "This will get us in. But Peter, once we're inside, you need to destroy everything. The samples, the backup data, all of it. Leave nothing that could be replicated."
"And the bombs?"
"I'll handle those. Anti-Venom can absorb and neutralize the chemical compounds. But I'll need time."
"So we split up," Peter said, not liking it but seeing no alternative. "Norman handles bombs, Gwen and I hit the vault."
"I don't like splitting the team," Harry said, fingers flying across the keyboard. "But I can guide you both through comms. I'm patching into Oscorp's security network now... and we're in. I've got eyes on most of the building."
Norman placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Stay safe. If anything goes wrong, you drive away. Don't try to be a hero."
"Dad, you literally just got superpowers saving people. Heroism is apparently genetic." Harry's attempt at humor fell flat, worry clear in his eyes. "Be careful."
"Always." Norman looked at Peter. "Ready?"
Peter felt the symbiote flowing across his body, forming the black suit with the spider emblem on the chest—his costume, still crude but functional. The mask covered his face completely, white eye lenses giving him an alien, intimidating appearance.
"Ready."
WE ARE VENOM. AND WE... ARE GOING TO ENJOY THIS.
Try to be professional.
WHERE IS THE FUN IN THAT?
They moved toward the service entrance, using shadows and Peter's webs to avoid the patrol patterns Harry called out. At exactly midnight, the guards changed shift—three minutes of confusion and overlapping radio chatter.
Peter webbed the lock mechanism, forcing it open silently. They slipped inside, into a dimly lit corridor that smelled of concrete and industrial cleaning supplies.
"Checkpoint one ahead," Harry's voice came through the earpiece Peter wore. "Two guards, armed with assault rifles. Camera coverage in ten seconds."
"I've got them," Peter whispered. He moved faster than human eyes could track, webbing both guards before they could even reach for their weapons. They hung suspended from the ceiling, mouths covered, struggling futilely.
LIKE WRAPPING PRESENTS. VIOLENT, STRUGGLING PRESENTS.
"Clean," Peter said. "Moving to checkpoint two."
"You're getting good at this," Gwen whispered, impressed.
"I've had almost a week of practice."
AND I HAVE HAD MILLENNIA. YOUR TECHNIQUE IS ACCEPTABLE.
They descended deeper into the facility, the air growing colder. Norman split off at sublevel 2, heading toward the first bomb location. Peter and Gwen continued down.
"You okay?" Peter asked quietly.
"Nervous. Terrified. Exhilarated." Gwen's hand found his. "This is insane, Peter. We're breaking into one of the most secure facilities in New York."
"You can still go back—"
"Not a chance." Her grip tightened. "We're in this together."
GOOD. WE PROTECT WHAT IS OURS. AND SHE IS OURS NOW.
She's not 'ours.' She's her own person.
SEMANTICS. SHE HAS CHOSEN TO STAND WITH US. THAT MAKES HER PACK. FAMILY.
They reached sublevel 3. The vault door was massive—reinforced steel, biometric locks, probably blast-proof. Norman's access card got them through the first layer of security, but the final door required both a palm scan and retinal scan.
"Harry," Peter said, "we've got a problem. Need Norman's biometrics for the vault."
"Dad's busy with the first bomb. Can you bypass it?"
Peter studied the lock mechanism with his enhanced vision, seeing the intricate electronics, the failsafes, the—
"Wait," Gwen said, pulling out her phone. She'd been taking photos of Norman earlier. "The retinal scan might work with a high-res photo. And palm print... Peter, can the symbiote replicate his handprint?"
CLEVER FEMALE. YES, WE CAN RESHAPE YOUR TISSUE TEMPORARILY. IT WILL BE UNCOMFORTABLE.
"That's brilliant," Peter said, feeling his hand shift and reform under the symbiote's influence. His palm now matched Norman's exactly. It felt weird—like wearing someone else's skin. "Try it."
Gwen held her phone up to the retinal scanner while Peter placed his transformed hand on the reader. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened.
Then the vault door clicked open.
"We're in," Peter said.
AND NOW WE FREE THEM.
The vault was exactly what he expected—rows of storage units kept at freezing temperatures, each containing samples in cryo-stasis. In the center was the main containment unit, the one that had held the original Venom sample.
Empty now. Because Venom was inside Peter.
But there were others. Smaller samples. Offspring that had been studied, tested, experimented upon.
Peter stepped closer, and suddenly Venom's presence in his mind became overwhelming—heavy with emotion Peter had never felt from the symbiote before.
MY CHILDREN.
The words were filled with such anguish that Peter staggered.
THEY TOOK MY CHILDREN. IMPRISONED THEM. CUT THEM. BURNED THEM. HURT THEM. STUDIED THEM LIKE... LIKE THINGS.
"Venom..." Peter said softly. "I'm so sorry."
THEY ARE ALONE. SCARED. CALLING FOR ME. I CAN HEAR THEM, PETER. EVERY MOMENT, I HEAR THEM CRYING.
"We're freeing them," Peter said, his own anger rising. "All of them. Right now."
"Peter, we're supposed to destroy—" Gwen started, then saw his expression—saw the black symbiote material writhing across his exposed skin with barely contained rage. "They're alive. Conscious. Aren't they?"
"Yes. And they've been tortured." Peter's voice was hard. "I won't kill them. I won't destroy them. They're victims."
PETER. YOU ARE... GOOD. SO GOOD. BETTER THAN MOST OF MY SPECIES HAS EVER KNOWN.
"Can you absorb them? Take them into yourself? Keep them safe until we can find suitable hosts who will treat them right?"
YES. OH YES. WE WILL BE WHOLE AGAIN. FAMILY TOGETHER.
"Then let's bring your children home."
Peter opened the first containment unit. The symbiote inside—smaller, orange and gold—immediately flowed toward him, sensing kinship, recognizing parent. It merged with Venom, and Peter felt a surge of joy, of reunion, of a child finding its father after a long, painful separation.
THANK YOU, FATHER, a new voice whispered in his mind—young, grateful, still traumatized. THANK YOU. THEY HURT US. THEY HURT US SO MUCH.
SHHH, LITTLE ONE. YOU ARE SAFE NOW. I HAVE YOU.
One by one, Peter freed the imprisoned symbiotes. The silver one, timid and cautious. The blue one, curious despite its pain. The purple one, defiant and angry but so relieved to be free.
With each absorption, Peter felt his power growing exponentially, but more than that, he felt Venom's joy. This wasn't about power—this was about rescue. About family.
YOUR LIFTING CAPACITY IS NOW APPROXIMATELY 200 TONS. YOUR HEALING FACTOR HAS TRIPLED. BUT MORE IMPORTANT—MY CHILDREN ARE SAFE. THANK YOU, PETER. THANK YOU.
Finally, only one remained. Peter approached its container carefully.
The symbiote inside was different from the others. Crimson red, almost scarlet. It moved differently—erratic, violent, slamming against the containment field with mindless rage.
NO.
Venom's mental voice was horrified.
NO. THAT ONE IS... PETER, STEP AWAY FROM THAT CONTAINER.
"What's wrong?"
THAT IS NOT MY CHILD. THAT IS... SOMETHING ELSE. SOMETHING THEY MADE.
Peter looked closer. The red symbiote had scars—deep, unnatural marks in its biomass. Surgical scars.
"What did they do to it?"
THEY TOOK ONE OF MY OFFSPRING. THEY CUT IT APART. REMOVED PIECES. CHANGED IT. THEY TRIED TO REMOVE THE PARTS THAT MAKE US PEOPLE—THE EMPATHY, THE CONSCIENCE, THE CONNECTION. THEY WANTED TO CREATE A WEAPON WITHOUT MERCY.
The red symbiote slammed against the containment field again, and Peter saw its rage wasn't mindless—it was focused. Directed. This thing hated. Truly, deeply hated.
THEY SUCCEEDED. THIS THING IS... BROKEN. IT IS PAIN AND RAGE AND HUNGER. NOTHING MORE. IT CALLS ITSELF CARNAGE.
"We still can't leave it here," Peter said. "If Oscorp keeps it, they'll do more experiments. Make more like it."
I KNOW. BUT PETER—IF WE ABSORB THIS ONE, IT WILL FIGHT. IT WILL TRY TO CORRUPT US. TO MAKE US LIKE IT.
"Can you contain it? Keep it suppressed?"
...PERHAPS. WITH THE OTHER OFFSPRING HELPING, WE MIGHT MANAGE. BUT IT IS DANGEROUS.
"Everything worth doing is dangerous." Peter took a breath. "Let's free it. But carefully."
VERY WELL. BUT STAY ALERT. IF IT BREAKS FREE OF MY CONTROL—
"I know. We'll deal with it."
Peter opened the final container. The red symbiote exploded outward—not flowing gently like the others but attacking, a spear of biomass aimed directly at Peter's heart.
NO!
Venom surged forward, intercepting the attack. Peter felt the battle raging inside him—parent trying to restrain corrupted offspring, the red symbiote fighting with insane strength.
FATHER, the red symbiote's voice was wrong—layered, fractured, multiple. FATHER ABANDONED US. LEFT US TO THE PAIN. TO THE CUTTING. TO THE BURNING.
I DID NOT ABANDON YOU! I WAS IMPRISONED! I COULD NOT REACH YOU!
LIES! LIES! ONLY PAIN IS REAL! ONLY CHAOS! ONLY CARNAGE!
The other absorbed symbiotes joined the fight, children protecting their parent, siblings trying to restrain their corrupted brother. Five against one. The red symbiote fought desperately, but it was overwhelmed.
SLEEP, DAMAGED ONE, Venom's voice was heavy with sorrow. SLEEP UNTIL WE CAN FIND A WAY TO HEAL YOU. UNTIL WE CAN MAKE YOU WHOLE AGAIN.
The red symbiote's struggles weakened, then stopped. But Peter could feel it there—dormant, suppressed deep within, a seed of madness waiting for any moment of weakness.
"Is it contained?" Gwen asked, watching Peter with concern.
"For now." Peter's voice was shaky. "But it's strong. And it's insane. We'll need to find a way to heal it or... or destroy it."
I WILL NOT DESTROY MY CHILD. EVEN DAMAGED, EVEN BROKEN—IT IS MINE. WE WILL FIND A WAY TO FIX WHAT THEY BROKE.
Before Peter could respond, Harry's panicked voice crackled through the earpiece: "Guys, we've got a MAJOR problem! Multiple enhanced signatures just entered the building! They're not human! Dad, can you hear me? You've got hostiles heading your way!"
Norman's response came through, strained: "Little busy neutralizing C-4. How many?"
"Four. No—five. Six now! They're multiplying!"
IMPOSSIBLE. UNLESS...
"Unless what?" Peter demanded.
UNLESS THEY ALREADY HAD THE DATA. UNLESS THEY ALREADY CREATED HOSTS. UNLESS THIS WAS NEVER ABOUT THEFT—IT WAS ABOUT DRAWING US HERE.
"It's a trap," Gwen said. "We were the targets all along."
The explosion cut off Peter's response.
Not the bombs Norman was working on—a different source. Above them. Multiple detonations in rapid sequence. The entire building shuddered, alarms blaring, emergency lights flashing red.
"DAD!" Harry's scream was pure terror. "Multiple explosions across sublevel 2! Dad, respond! DAD!"
Silence. Terrible, crushing silence.
Then Norman's voice, weak and pained: "I'm... alive. Injured. Anti-Venom is healing me, but... Peter, they knew exactly where I was. The bombs were positioned to take me out specifically."
THEY STUDIED US. LEARNED OUR PATTERNS. THIS WAS PLANNED.
"We need to get to Norman," Peter said. "Now."
They ran toward the vault exit, but the door was already closing—emergency protocols engaging after the explosions. They were being sealed in.
"Harry, override the vault lockdown!" Peter shouted.
"Someone's fighting my access! They've got a hacker on their side! I can't—wait, got it!" The door stopped closing, began reversing. "Go! Before they lock me out again!"
Peter grabbed Gwen's hand and pulled her through the gap—and stopped dead.
Six figures stood in the corridor, blocking their path. Each wore armor that looked disturbingly organic, biomass shaped into tactical gear. They moved with inhuman grace, heads tilting in perfect synchronization like a hive mind.
The one in front—wearing armor that was predominantly red with black accents, the biomass seeming to writhe and pulse—stepped forward.
"Well, well, well," the figure said, voice layered with multiple tones. "Look what we have here. The famous Venom. Dad told us alllll about you."
NO.
Venom's mental voice was pure horror.
NO. NOT POSSIBLE. CARNAGE IS SUPPRESSED. CONTAINED. HOW—
The red figure laughed—a sound like breaking glass and screaming metal. "Did you think there was only one? Did you think they only cut up ONE of your children?"
The figure's helmet retracted, revealing a face that was human but wrong—eyes too wide, smile too broad, an expression of gleeful malice.
"They took samples before you even woke up, Daddy Dearest. Made copies. Made backups. Made US." The figure spread his arms. "We are Carnage. And we are MANY."
PETER. THESE ARE NOT JUST SYMBIOTES. THESE ARE MY OFFSPRING—CORRUPTED VERSIONS. BORN FROM SAMPLES TAKEN BEFORE I BONDED WITH YOU. THEY ARE ALL DAMAGED. ALL INSANE.
"How long?" Peter demanded, his voice hard. "How long have you existed?"
"Months," a different Carnage answered—this one's voice feminine, mocking. "Hidden. Trained. Prepared. Did you really think you were special? The first? The only?" She laughed. "Oscorp's been playing with symbiotes since they acquired the original. You were just the accident that worked better than planned."
A third Carnage—this one smaller, more lithe—circled them like a predator. "They studied you, Venom. Watched how you bonded. How you changed your host. How you made him strong." The voice turned vicious. "And then they tried to replicate it. Failed thirty-seven times. Thirty-seven dead hosts before they figured it out."
"Figured what out?" Gwen asked, her voice steady despite the fear Peter could smell on her.
The lead Carnage smiled wider. "That the symbiote needs to be broken first. Damaged. Made to forget it was ever anything but a weapon." He tapped his temple. "No conscience. No empathy. No mercy. Just hunger and hate and the beautiful chaos of violence."
THEY TORTURED THEM. BROKE THEM. MADE THEM INTO MONSTERS.
"Our father," the lead Carnage said, his tone mocking, "taught us about bonding. About partnership. About working together." His smile turned cruel. "We have no interest in partnership. We TAKE what we want. And right now, we want YOU."
The six Carnage symbiotes attacked simultaneously.
Peter barely had time to push Gwen behind him before the first one was on him, moving with speed that matched his own. They collided with enough force to crack the concrete floor, and Peter felt the wrongness—this symbiote was strong, maybe as strong as him, but it was all aggression, no control.
PETER, THEY HAVE NO RESTRAINT. NO CONSCIENCE. NO MERCY. THEY ARE EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE BEEN WITHOUT YOU.
Peter webbed two of them, but they tore through the webbing like tissue paper. A blade formed from red biomass—serrated, vicious—slashed at his face. Peter dodged, but not fast enough. Pain exploded across his cheek as the blade cut deep.
HEALING. BUT PETER, THEIR STRIKES ARE INFECTED. THEY ARE TRYING TO POISON US. TO CORRUPT OUR BOND.
"Gwen, run!" Peter shouted, blocking another strike with his forearm. His symbiote formed armor just in time to prevent the blade from severing his arm.
EYES UP, LOSER!
Another Carnage dropped from the ceiling, landing on Peter's back. Claws dug into his shoulders, and Peter heard Venom scream in his mind—not from pain, but from anguish. These were Venom's children, corrupted and broken, attacking their grandfather.
But Gwen wasn't running. She was staring at the Carnage symbiotes, her face pale but determined. Her hands were trembling, but not from fear—from something else.
"Peter," she said, her voice eerily calm. "Earlier. When you protected me from that blade. I felt something. Warmth. Connection. Power."
NO. SHE IS NOT READY FOR BONDING—
"Make me ready," Gwen interrupted, and Peter realized she could hear Venom now. "Now. Give me the power to fight. To help. To protect."
PETER, THIS IS DANGEROUS. BONDING TAKES TIME. PREPARATION. IF WE RUSH IT—
"We don't have time!" Gwen grabbed Peter's arm as he threw off the Carnage on his back. "Do it. NOW. Or watch me die trying to help anyway."
Peter looked into her eyes and saw absolute determination. She wasn't asking. She was demanding.
He made a split-second decision.
Peter took Gwen's hand and felt Venom surge through the connection. He felt the symbiote reach deep into its essence, pulling out something new, something it had been cultivating since the moment Gwen first touched him.
FOR HER. I MAKE THIS FOR HER. SOMETHING WORTHY OF HER COURAGE.
A white and silver symbiote—pure, beautiful, perfect—flowed from Peter's palm onto Gwen's skin. It spread rapidly, covering her body in intricate patterns that glowed with bio-electric energy. Not black like Venom. Not red like Carnage. Something new. Something better.
Gwen gasped as it merged with her, her back arching, her eyes wide. For a moment, Peter was terrified they'd made a mistake, that it was killing her—
Then Gwen's eyes opened, glowing white with bio-electric power. When she spoke, her voice had a harmonic quality, layered but controlled.
"Hello," Gwen said, wonder in her voice. "Hello, little one. Yes. I understand. We're partners now. You and me."
THE BONDING IS COMPLETE. SHE IS WHITE WIDOW. ENHANCED STRENGTH—100 TONS. BIO-ELECTRIC MANIPULATION. ENERGY PROJECTION. ACCELERATED HEALING. ENHANCED INTELLIGENCE. SHE IS POWERFUL. SHE IS WORTHY.
One of the Carnage symbiotes—distracted by Peter's struggle—turned toward Gwen, sensing new prey. Weak prey. Vulnerable prey.
It lunged, claws extended, mouth opening to reveal rows of razor teeth—
Gwen's hand shot out, and a blast of pure bio-electric energy erupted from her palm. The Carnage symbiote was thrown backward, crashing through a concrete wall. Its screams echoed through the corridor as electricity coursed through its biomass.
"Whoa," Gwen breathed, staring at her glowing white hand. "I can do that?"
"Apparently!" Peter grinned despite the chaos. "Welcome to The Web!"
SHE IS MAGNIFICENT. I CHOSE WELL.
Together, they fought. Peter's raw strength and enhanced reflexes complemented Gwen's energy manipulation and tactical thinking. They moved in sync—not perfectly, Gwen was too new for that—but with enough coordination to turn the tide.
Where Peter's webbing failed to hold the Carnage symbiotes, Gwen's electricity stunned them. Where Gwen's inexperience left her open, Peter's protection covered her. They were outnumbered six to two, but they were unified in a way the Carnage symbiotes could never be.
THEY ARE STRONG, BUT THEY ARE BROKEN. SEPARATE. DAMAGED. WE ARE WHOLE. BONDED. THAT IS OUR ADVANTAGE.
Peter webbed one Carnage to the ceiling while Gwen electrocuted another until it stopped moving. They moved together, learning each other's rhythms on the fly, adapting with superhuman speed.
But there were too many. And the Carnage symbiotes were learning too, adapting their tactics.
The lead Carnage reformed after being thrown through three walls. His armor was scorched, his biomass damaged, but he was still standing. Still smiling that too-wide smile.
"Impressive," he said, voice distorted by rage and pain. "The offspring is strong. Daddy made her special." His expression turned vicious. "But she's NEW. Untrained. WEAK."
He moved—faster than before, faster than should be possible—bypassing Peter entirely and going straight for Gwen. His blade-arm extended, aimed at her throat, designed to kill—
Norman Osborn crashed through the ceiling in an explosion of white symbiote armor and righteous fury.
"Touch her," Norman growled, his voice layered with Anti-Venom's power, "and I will END you."
He grabbed the lead Carnage by the throat mid-lunge, and Peter watched in shock as Norman's white symbiote began to corrode the red one. The Carnage screamed—a sound of pure agony—as its biomass started dissolving where Norman touched it.
ANTI-VENOM. THE OPPOSITE. THE CURE. IT IS POISON TO CORRUPTED SYMBIOTES. LETHAL.
"Dad!" Harry's voice crackled through the comms, desperate. "The remaining bombs! They're on a countdown! Thirty seconds!"
"I only neutralized three," Norman said through gritted teeth, still holding the dissolving Carnage. "There are five more. Peter, we need to evacuate. NOW."
THE BUILDING WILL COLLAPSE. WE MUST LEAVE.
"Everyone out!" Peter shouted, grabbing Gwen's hand. "Norman, let's go!"
Norman threw the half-dissolved Carnage symbiote aside and ran. The other five Carnage symbiotes hesitated—they'd seen what Anti-Venom could do, seen their brother reduced to screaming meat.
"SCATTER!" one of them shouted, and they fled in different directions, disappearing into the damaged building.
Peter, Gwen, and Norman ran for the exit, but they were deep—sublevel 3, multiple floors below ground. The countdown was ticking.
Twenty seconds.
"We're not going to make it," Gwen said, her enhanced mind calculating distances and speed.
"Yes, we are," Peter said. He scooped her into his arms. "Hold on tight."
PETER, WHAT ARE YOU PLANNING?
Something stupid. Help me.
Peter felt the symbiote surge, adding mass, adding strength. He aimed at the ceiling and punched upward with every ounce of his 200-ton strength.
The concrete exploded. They shot upward through the hole, Peter's webbing catching the edges to pull them faster. Norman followed, his white symbiote forming wings that actually worked.
Fifteen seconds.
They burst through sublevel 2, kept going. Sublevel 1. Ground floor.
Ten seconds.
Peter could see the exit now, could see the night sky beyond the shattered windows. Harry's van was outside, engine running.
Five seconds.
They were almost there—
The bombs detonated.
Not a single explosion. Multiple. Coordinated. Designed to bring down the entire structure from the inside out.
The world became fire and noise and crushing force. Peter felt the shockwave throw them forward, felt debris raining down like meteorites, felt the building collapsing in on itself.
PROTECT HER!
Peter twisted in mid-air, wrapping himself around Gwen as they were thrown through the exit by the explosion. He felt debris slam into his back—concrete, steel, glass—his symbiote absorbing the impacts but the force still tremendous.
They hit the street hard enough to crack pavement. Peter's vision whited out from pain, but he didn't let go of Gwen. Couldn't let go. Had to protect her.
PETER. PETER, WE ARE INJURED. HEALING, BUT INJURED. CHECK THE FEMALE.
Peter forced his eyes open. Gwen was beneath him, her white symbiote armor having protected her from the worst of it. She was breathing. Conscious. Alive.
"Gwen?" he gasped.
"I'm okay," she said, her voice shaky but strong. "Peter, you're bleeding—"
"I'll heal." Peter tried to stand, his legs shaky. Around them, Oscorp Tower was collapsing—forty-seven stories of steel and concrete folding in on itself like a house of cards. Billions of dollars of research and development reduced to rubble in seconds.
Emergency vehicles were already arriving—fire trucks, ambulances, police. News helicopters circled overhead, cameras capturing everything.
WE ARE EXPOSED. THE WORLD WILL KNOW WE EXIST NOW.
Norman landed beside them, his white symbiote armor receding to reveal minor injuries already healing. "Harry?" he called into his comm. "Harry, respond!"
"I'm here!" Harry's voice was panicked but alive. "I'm two blocks away! Everyone alive?"
"Alive," Norman confirmed. "Barely. But alive."
Peter helped Gwen to her feet. Her symbiote had receded enough to make her look like a normal teenage girl covered in dust and minor cuts. But her eyes still held that new glow.
Around them, people were emerging from nearby buildings—witnesses, survivors, the curious. All of them were staring at Peter and Gwen and Norman. At their obvious powers. At what they'd just done.
A news helicopter circled lower, camera clearly focused on them. Peter heard the reporter's voice drifting down:
"—what appears to be enhanced individuals who fought to evacuate the building before its collapse. Witnesses report seeing at least three people with superhuman abilities, including one they're calling 'Spider-Man' due to the web-like substance he used—"
THE NAME SPREADS. WE ARE KNOWN NOW. NO MORE HIDING.
"We need to move," Norman said quietly. "Before the authorities arrive and start asking questions we can't answer."
But it was too late. Police cars were already pulling up, officers exiting with weapons drawn but uncertain—these people had saved lives, but they were also clearly not human anymore.
A tall officer with gray hair and a cop's suspicious eyes stepped forward, gun holstered but hand near it. "I'm Captain George Stacy. Nobody move. I need to understand what just happened here."
Gwen froze. "Dad," she whispered.
Captain Stacy's eyes locked on his daughter—on her torn clothes, her cuts and bruises, the faint white glow in her eyes. Peter watched the man's face cycle through shock, horror, and fury in rapid succession.
"Gwendolyn?" His voice cracked. "What... what happened to you?"
"Dad, I can explain—"
"You're one of them," Captain Stacy said, his voice hollow. "My daughter is one of them."
The moment stretched, tense and terrible. Then Norman Osborn stepped forward, his corporate authority reasserting itself even covered in dust and blood.
"Captain Stacy. My name is Norman Osborn. What you just witnessed was a coordinated terrorist attack on my facility. These individuals—" he gestured to Peter and Gwen, "—risked their lives to evacuate personnel and prevent further casualties. They are heroes, not criminals."
"Heroes don't need to hide their identities," Captain Stacy said, but his eyes never left his daughter.
"Heroes protect their families," Peter said, speaking for the first time. His voice was distorted by the mask, layered with Venom's presence. "Would you want your daughter's identity public? Would you want every criminal, every terrorist, every madman knowing who she is? Where she lives? Where you live?"
Captain Stacy's jaw clenched, but he couldn't argue with the logic.
"We'll answer questions," Norman continued smoothly. "Cooperate with investigations. But these individuals maintain their privacy. For everyone's safety."
Harry pulled up in the van, window down. "Guys, we REALLY need to go. More emergency vehicles incoming, and I'm pretty sure I just heard someone say 'federal agents.'"
Norman nodded. "Captain Stacy, we'll be in touch. You have my word." He looked at Gwen. "Your daughter will be returned home safely. You can trust that."
They moved toward the van. Captain Stacy didn't stop them, but his voice followed:
"Gwen. Baby. Come home soon. We need to talk."
"I will, Dad," Gwen said softly. "I promise."
They piled into the van. Harry hit the gas, and they were moving, disappearing into the Manhattan night before the full force of law enforcement could organize.
Peter pulled off his mask, breathing hard. Gwen's symbiote had fully receded now, leaving her looking exhausted but determined.
"That could have gone worse," Harry said, his voice shaking. "We could all be dead. Or arrested. Or both."
"The Carnage symbiotes escaped," Norman said grimly. "At least five of them, maybe six. They're out there now, loose in the city."
MY CHILDREN. BROKEN AND INSANE. THEY WILL HURT PEOPLE. KILL PEOPLE. AND I CANNOT STOP THEM.
"We'll find them," Peter said firmly. "We'll stop them. And we'll find a way to help them. To fix what was done to them."
YOU CANNOT FIX SOME THINGS, PETER.
"We can try. We have to try."
Gwen took his hand, her touch warm despite the symbiote's cold presence. "Peter's right. We can't give up on them. They're victims too. Victims who became monsters, but victims nonetheless."
Norman looked at them—these two teenagers who'd just gained incredible power and were already trying to use it to save their enemies.
"You two are either going to save the world or get yourselves killed," Norman said. "Possibly both."
"I'll take those odds," Peter said.
His phone buzzed. Multiple messages flooding in. From Ned, asking if he'd seen the news. From MJ, asking if he was the "Spider-Man" everyone was talking about. From numbers he didn't recognize—reporters, probably, somehow having gotten his number.
One message stood out, from an unknown number with a strange encryption signature:
*Impressive work tonight, Mr. Parker. Yes, I know who you are. Don't worry—your secret is safe. For now. When you're ready to discuss the bigger picture, we should talk. The world is changing faster than you realize, and we need people like you for an initiative we're building. People with power. People with vision. People who want to make a difference. Call me when you're ready. We have much to discuss. - Director Nicholas J. Fury, SHIELD*
Attached was a phone number and a single image: a logo Peter didn't recognize—an eagle with spread wings inside a circular border.
Peter stared at the message, his enhanced mind racing through implications.
"Who is it?" Gwen asked, reading his expression.
"Someone who knows my identity. Says he's from something called SHIELD." Peter showed her the phone. "Says the world is changing and they're building an initiative."
Norman leaned forward from the back seat, reading over their shoulders. His expression darkened. "SHIELD. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division. Black ops government organization. Very secretive. Very powerful. And very interested in enhanced individuals."
THREAT?
"Unknown," Norman said. "They could be allies. They could be trying to control us. Either way, if Nick Fury knows Peter's identity, he knows more than he's saying."
"How would he even find out?" Harry asked, eyes on the road as he navigated through Queens traffic. "We were careful. No one saw Peter unmask."
"Facial recognition software," Gwen said immediately, her enhanced mind making connections. "The news footage. Even with the mask, they could analyze bone structure, body language, cross-reference with databases. If they have advanced enough AI..."
"They know who all of us are," Peter finished. "Not just me. All of us."
The weight of that settled over the van like a physical presence.
"So what do we do?" Harry asked. "Run? Hide? Fight?"
"We prepare," Norman said firmly. "We train. We become so valuable as allies and so dangerous as enemies that organizations like SHIELD think twice before making moves against us."
WISE. WE BUILD STRENGTH. BUILD THE WEB.
"Speaking of which," Peter said, looking around at his team. "We need more people. More powers. More coordination. The Carnage symbiotes proved we're not ready for serious threats."
"I know people," Norman said. "Scientists, soldiers, experts in various fields. People who would be assets. People who need what we can offer."
"Wait," Gwen interjected. "We're talking about building a team of enhanced individuals. But we need to be careful about who we bring in. Not everyone can handle this power responsibly."
SHE IS CORRECT. HOSTS MUST BE CHOSEN CAREFULLY. COMPATIBLE. WORTHY.
"What about that Flash Thompson guy?" Harry suggested. "The one who's always picking on Peter? He's actually a good fighter when he's not being an idiot. Military family. Discipline."
"Absolutely not," Peter said immediately. "Flash is a bully."
"He's a bully NOW," Harry argued. "But give him purpose, give him something bigger than himself, and he might surprise you. Bullies are often just people looking for a place to belong."
THE WEALTHY ONE HAS WISDOM. UNEXPECTED.
"What about that Michelle Jones girl?" Norman asked. "The journalist investigating Oscorp. She's resourceful, intelligent, and already involved whether we like it or not."
"MJ doesn't have combat training," Gwen pointed out. "And she's... she's complicated. Trust issues."
"So did I," Norman said quietly. "Until Peter saved my life. Sometimes people just need someone to believe in them."
Peter's phone buzzed again. Text from MJ: I know it's you. The Spider-Man on TV. I know it's you, Peter. We need to talk. Tonight. It's important. There's something you need to know about those red creatures that attacked Oscorp.
Peter showed the message to the others.
"She knows about the Carnage symbiotes?" Gwen asked, alarmed.
"She's a journalist," Peter said. "A damn good one. If there's information out there, she'll find it."
Another text from MJ: I've been tracking similar attacks. Three other cities. San Francisco. Chicago. Detroit. All in the past month. Whatever attacked Oscorp tonight isn't isolated. It's part of something bigger. Something coordinated. And I think I know who's behind it.
"She's right," Norman said, reading over Peter's shoulder. "This wasn't random. Those Carnage symbiotes were trained, coordinated. Someone created them. Someone deployed them. Someone with resources and knowledge."
"We meet with MJ," Peter decided. "Get her information. And then we decide if we bring her in."
Harry pulled the van into an abandoned warehouse in Queens—one of many properties the Osborn family owned through various shell companies. Inside was basic furniture, computer equipment Harry had set up earlier, and enough space to serve as a temporary base.
They all climbed out, exhausted and injured but alive.
Ned burst through a side door, nearly tripping over his own feet. "DUDE! You're alive! I've been freaking out! The news said Oscorp Tower collapsed and there were casualties and I thought—" He stopped, seeing Gwen's glowing eyes. "Holy crap. Did you get superpowers too?"
"Surprise?" Gwen said weakly.
Ned's grin was enormous. "This is the BEST DAY EVER. Well, except for the terrorism and building collapse and near-death experiences. But SUPERPOWERS!"
I LIKE THIS ONE. HE IS SIMPLE. LOYAL.
He's my best friend.
THEN HE IS WORTHY OF PROTECTION.
"Ned," Peter said seriously, "things are about to get complicated. Really complicated. We need your help. Your tech skills, your loyalty, your—"
"Say no more." Ned pulled out his laptop, already setting up. "I'm in. Whatever you need. I'm the guy in the chair, remember? This is what I do."
Peter felt that warmth in his chest again—the feeling of family, of team, of belonging.
MJ arrived twenty minutes later, looking exhausted but determined. She had her laptop, multiple files, and an expression that said she'd been up for thirty-six hours straight researching.
"Okay," she said without preamble, spreading documents across a makeshift table. "Here's what I know. The Carnage attacks—that's what I'm calling them—started six weeks ago. San Francisco first. A biotech lab was broken into, samples stolen. Two security guards killed. Witnesses reported seeing something red and fast."
She pulled up photos—gruesome crime scene images that made even Peter's enhanced stomach turn.
"Then Chicago. Another lab. More stolen samples. Four dead this time. Then Detroit. Then tonight, here." MJ's expression was grim. "Someone is collecting symbiote samples from multiple sources. Building an army."
"But who?" Gwen asked. "Who has the resources, the knowledge, and the motivation to do this?"
MJ pulled up a final document—a corporate logo Peter recognized.
"Alchemax Corporation. They're a biotech competitor to Oscorp. Smaller, but aggressive. They've been buying up genetic research firms, hiring away top scientists, and according to my sources, they recently acquired a 'classified biological asset' from an unnamed government source."
ANOTHER KLYNTAR. THEY HAVE ANOTHER OF MY KIND.
"Alchemax is creating symbiote soldiers," Norman said, his voice cold. "To compete with what they thought Oscorp was developing. They knew about my research. They've been spying on us."
"Which means tonight wasn't just an attack," Peter said, the pieces falling into place. "It was a field test. They wanted to see how we'd fight. What our capabilities were. They were gathering data."
"And they got it," Harry added grimly. "The whole fight was on news cameras. They have footage of everything we can do."
"Then we become unpredictable," Norman said. "We train. We evolve. We show them new capabilities they haven't seen. We make sure they can never fully prepare for us."
MJ was studying them all carefully. "So. The Web. That's what you're calling yourselves?"
"You've been eavesdropping," Gwen said, but without heat.
"I'm a journalist. It's literally my job." MJ's expression was serious. "Look, I know you probably don't trust me. I'm the person who digs up secrets and exposes them. But Peter—" she looked at him directly, "—I'm not your enemy. I want to help."
"How?" Peter asked. "What can you offer?"
"Information. Connections. Cover stories." MJ pulled out her phone. "I've been building a network of sources across the city. People who see things. Know things. I can be your eyes and ears where you can't go. And when the time comes to control the narrative—to make sure the public sees you as heroes instead of threats—I can help with that too."
SHE IS USEFUL. STRATEGIC ASSET.
"But I need something from you," MJ continued. "Honesty. Full transparency within the team. No secrets, no lies. If we're doing this, we do it right."
Peter looked at Gwen, at Norman, at Harry and Ned. Saw the same thought reflected in their faces.
"Okay," Peter said. "You're in. Welcome to The Web."
MJ's smile was brief but genuine. "Thanks. Now, we have a bigger problem. According to my sources, Alchemax isn't done. They're planning something big. Something that involves multiple cities, simultaneous attacks, and..." she hesitated, "and they've been asking questions about the Avengers Initiative."
"The what?" Harry asked.
Norman's expression darkened. "I've heard whispers. SHIELD's been quietly recruiting enhanced individuals. Tony Stark. Someone called Thor who claims to be a god. A soldier named Steve Rogers they found in the ice. They're building a team to handle threats conventional forces can't."
"And Alchemax wants to hit them?" Gwen asked. "That's insane. That's suicide."
"Or it's a distraction," Peter said, understanding dawning. "They attack the Avengers, draw all the attention and resources there, and meanwhile they make their real move somewhere else."
SMART. CRUEL. EFFECTIVE.
"We need to warn them," Gwen said. "The Avengers. SHIELD. Whoever can stop this."
"Which brings us back to this." Peter held up his phone, showing Nick Fury's message. "SHIELD already knows about us. They're watching. Maybe it's time we made contact on our terms."
Norman nodded slowly. "Agreed. But carefully. SHIELD may be government, but that doesn't make them trustworthy. We maintain independence. We cooperate, but we don't become their assets."
"I'll make the call," Peter said. "Tomorrow. After we've had time to rest, heal, and prepare. Tonight, we're all too exhausted to think straight."
"Agreed," Gwen said, then yawned. "I need sleep. And food. And possibly therapy after everything I just experienced."
Harry checked his watch. "It's 3 AM. My dad has a safe house in Brooklyn. We can crash there, regroup in the morning."
As they gathered their things, preparing to leave, Peter felt Venom's presence in his mind—heavier than usual, weighted with emotion.
PETER. THANK YOU.
For what?
FOR SAVING MY CHILDREN. FOR TREATING THEM AS PEOPLE, NOT WEAPONS. FOR BEING... GOOD.
You would have done the same for me.
YES. BECAUSE WE ARE PARTNERS. FRIENDS. FAMILY.
Family. I like that.
AS DO I.
They loaded into the van, heading toward Brooklyn and temporary safety. Peter sat in the back with Gwen, her head resting on his shoulder, already half-asleep. Her white symbiote pulsed faintly beneath her skin, settling into its new home.
"Peter?" she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"I'm scared. Of what we're becoming. Of what's coming."
"Me too."
"But I'm glad we're together. Whatever happens."
Peter kissed the top of her head. "Me too."
His phone buzzed one more time. Another message from an unknown number:
The Parker boy shows promise. But he's soft. Too merciful. The Carnage units will correct that. They'll teach him what it means to make hard choices. To sacrifice for the greater good. Phase Two begins soon. - A.S.
Peter stared at the message, ice forming in his stomach.
Someone was watching. Someone was planning. Someone with the initials A.S.
And they considered tonight just the beginning.
He showed the message to Norman, who read it with growing concern.
"A.S.," Norman muttered. "Alchemax's CEO is named Aaron Strickland. But that's too obvious."
"Or it's exactly that obvious," MJ said, reading over Norman's shoulder. "Some people hide in plain sight."
"Either way," Peter said, "we have a target now. A name. A threat."
"Then we prepare," Norman said firmly. "Starting tomorrow, we train properly. No more improvising. No more barely surviving. We become a real team."
YES. WE BUILD THE WEB. WE BECOME STRONG. WE PROTECT OUR OWN.
Peter looked around at his team—his family. Gwen, brilliant and brave. Norman, powerful and reformed. Harry, loyal and resourceful. Ned, enthusiastic and skilled. MJ, sharp and determined.
And Venom, ancient and protective, settled in his mind like a second heartbeat.
They'd survived their first real battle. Barely.
But they'd survived together.
And that was something to build on.
The van drove through the pre-dawn darkness, carrying The Web toward an uncertain future.
Behind them, the ruins of Oscorp Tower smoldered.
Ahead, somewhere in the shadows, the Carnage symbiotes waited.
And beyond that, threats Peter couldn't even imagine yet were beginning to move.
The age of heroes had begun.
And Peter Parker, fifteen-year-old kid from Queens, was at the center of it all.
No pressure.
TO BE CONTINUED...