[SATURDAY MORNING - OSBORN SAFE HOUSE, BROOKLYN]
Peter woke to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices arguing.
His internal clock—courtesy of Venom's enhanced awareness—told him it was 9:47 AM. He'd slept for almost six hours, which was apparently enough for a symbiote-enhanced metabolism to fully recover from being buried under a collapsing building.
GOOD MORNING, PETER. YOUR INJURIES ARE HEALED. YOUR ENERGY LEVELS ARE OPTIMAL. YOUR ANXIETY ABOUT THE FUTURE IS UNNECESSARY BUT UNDERSTANDABLE.
Good morning to you too. What's the arguing about?
THE FEMALES DISAGREE ON TRAINING METHODOLOGY. THE JOURNALIST WISHES TO FOCUS ON INFORMATION GATHERING. THE SCIENTIST WISHES TO FOCUS ON UNDERSTANDING OUR ABILITIES. THEY ARE BOTH CORRECT, WHICH MAKES COMPROMISE DIFFICULT.
Peter groaned, rolling out of the surprisingly comfortable bed Norman had provided. The safe house was more like a luxury apartment—multiple bedrooms, full kitchen, high-end security. Norman Osborn apparently didn't do "safe house" halfway.
He pulled on clothes—jeans and a t-shirt from a stash Harry had grabbed from his apartment—and headed toward the kitchen.
Gwen and MJ were indeed arguing, both holding coffee mugs like weapons, while Norman cooked breakfast with the focus of a man trying to ignore the conflict. Harry and Ned sat at the counter, eating pancakes and looking entertained.
"—need to understand the biological mechanisms before we can properly utilize—" Gwen was saying.
"—and we need actionable intelligence on Alchemax before they launch whatever Phase Two is—" MJ countered.
"Ladies," Norman said without looking up from the stove, "you're both right. Which means we do both. Simultaneously. Division of labor."
"Thank you!" both women said at once, then glared at each other.
Peter cleared his throat. "Morning."
Gwen's expression immediately softened, and she crossed to him, pulling him into a hug. "You're okay. I was worried—after last night—"
"I heal fast now. Perks of the symbiote." Peter held her, feeling the connection between their bonded symbiotes—Venom and White Widow recognizing each other, settling into comfortable harmony. "How are you feeling?"
"Powerful. Terrified. Confused. Exhilarated." Gwen pulled back, her eyes meeting his. "My dad called four times. Left messages. He wants me home. Wants explanations. Wants..." She trailed off.
"Wants his daughter back," Peter finished. "The normal one. The one who wasn't enhanced."
"Yeah."
THE FATHER FEARS WHAT HE DOES NOT UNDERSTAND. NATURAL. UNFORTUNATE.
"We'll figure it out," Peter said. "Together."
MJ approached, offering Peter coffee. "Sleep well, Spider-Man?"
"Don't call me that. It's weird."
"Too late. The internet has spoken. You're Spider-Man now. There's already fan art." MJ pulled up her phone, showing him a surprisingly well-done digital painting of him in his black suit swinging through the city. "And shipping. So much shipping."
"What's shipping?"
"When fans imagine fictional characters in romantic relationships," Ned supplied helpfully. "You've been shipped with Gwen—that's called 'Spectacular Romance' apparently. Also with that Black Widow character from SHIELD. Also with Iron Man, which is weird because you've never met him."
"The internet is a terrible place," Peter muttered.
"The internet is a AMAZING place," Ned corrected. "I've been monitoring social media all night. Public opinion is 60/40 in your favor. Most people see you as heroes. Some think you're government experiments. A few think you're aliens. One guy thinks you're from Atlantis."
"Atlantis isn't real," Harry said.
"Actually," Norman interjected, flipping pancakes, "there are persistent rumors of an undersea civilization. Atlantis might be more real than you think."
Everyone stared at him.
"What? I'm a billionaire CEO. I hear things."
YOUR WORLD IS STRANGE. I LIKE IT.
Peter accepted coffee and pancakes from Norman, settling at the counter. "Okay, so what's the plan? We can't hide here forever. We have school on Monday—"
"No you don't," MJ interrupted. "Midtown High is closed until further notice. Structural integrity concerns after the Oscorp bombing. Everyone's been sent home for the week."
"Convenient," Gwen said. "Gives us time to train without truancy charges."
"About that," Norman said, sliding the last batch of pancakes onto a platter. "I've arranged access to a private facility upstate. An old Oscorp research station that was decommissioned years ago. Isolated, secure, equipped for training. We can use it as our base of operations."
"How old is 'old'?" MJ asked suspiciously.
"1970s. But I've had it maintained. The equipment is updated, the security is current, and most importantly, it's off the books. No one knows it exists except me and a few trusted employees."
SUSPICIOUS. BUT STRATEGIC. WE NEED SECURE LOCATION.
"When do we leave?" Peter asked.
"This afternoon. I've arranged transportation. But first—" Norman's expression turned serious, "—we need to address the elephant in the room. Captain Stacy."
Gwen's face fell. "My dad."
"Your father is a decorated NYPD captain with significant influence and a very justified protective instinct toward his daughter." Norman set down his spatula, giving Gwen his full attention. "He saw you enhanced. He knows you were at ground zero of a terrorist attack. He's going to investigate. Which means he's going to find connections to Peter, to Harry, to me. We need to control that narrative before it controls us."
"What are you suggesting?" Gwen asked, her voice small.
"Honesty. Partial honesty, at least. Tell him you were exposed during the attack. That you gained abilities. That you're learning to control them. But don't tell him about The Web. Don't tell him about our plans. Give him enough truth to satisfy his need to protect you without compromising operational security."
"You want me to lie to my father."
"I want you to protect him," Norman said gently. "The more he knows, the more danger he's in. Both from external threats and from the burden of having to choose between his duty as a cop and his love for his daughter."
Gwen was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I'll talk to him. Today. Before we leave. He deserves that much."
Peter squeezed her hand under the counter. "I'll come with you. Moral support."
"Bad idea," MJ said. "Captain Stacy sees you two together, he's going to assume you're the one who got his daughter into this. Better if Gwen goes alone. Shows maturity. Independence."
THE JOURNALIST IS CORRECT. UNFORTUNATE BUT CORRECT.
"She's right," Gwen admitted. "This is something I need to do myself."
The conversation was interrupted by Peter's phone buzzing—the special encrypted number from Nick Fury. Text message: Mr. Parker. We need to talk. Today. I'm sending a car to your location at 1300 hours. Don't be late. Don't bring weapons. Do bring your enhanced friends. We have much to discuss. - Fury
Peter showed the message to the group.
"He knows where we are," Harry said, alarmed. "How does he know where we are?"
"Because he's Nick Fury," Norman said grimly. "Director of SHIELD. The man has surveillance capabilities that make the CIA look like amateurs. If he wants to find us, he finds us."
"So we meet with him," Peter said. "Get it over with. Figure out if SHIELD is friend or foe."
"Could be both," MJ warned. "Government organizations are complicated. They can help you one day and try to control you the next."
"Then we stay alert. Stay together. And we don't commit to anything without discussing it first as a team." Peter looked around at each of them. "Agreed?"
Nods all around.
GOOD. UNITY. STRENGTH.
[11:30 AM - CAPTAIN GEORGE STACY'S APARTMENT, QUEENS]
Gwen stood outside her father's door, heart pounding. Her white symbiote was completely suppressed—invisible beneath her skin—but she could feel it there, a comforting presence, ready to protect her if needed.
DO NOT FEAR, GWEN STACY, the symbiote whispered in her mind—not Venom's voice, but something gentler, feminine. WE FACE THIS TOGETHER.
I know. But he's my dad. He's going to be hurt. Scared.
THEN WE HELP HIM UNDERSTAND. WE SHOW HIM WE ARE STILL US.
Gwen knocked.
Her father opened the door almost immediately—he'd been waiting. Captain George Stacy looked like he hadn't slept. His gray hair was uncombed, his face drawn with worry. But when he saw Gwen, relief flooded his features.
"Baby girl," he breathed, pulling her into a crushing hug. "Thank God. I was so worried—"
"I'm okay, Dad. I promise."
He pulled back, studying her face. Looking for changes. Looking for the daughter he knew beneath whatever she'd become.
"Come in. Please. We need to talk."
The apartment was exactly as Gwen remembered—neat but lived-in, photos of her mother everywhere, her father's police commendations on one wall. Home. Except it felt different now. Smaller. Like she'd outgrown it overnight.
They sat at the kitchen table—the same table where they'd had breakfast a thousand times, where she'd done homework while he worked on case files, where they'd grieved her mother together.
"Gwendolyn," her father said carefully, using her full name. "What happened to you?"
Gwen took a breath. Partial truth. Enough to satisfy without endangering.
"I was at Oscorp Tower for a school project consultation. I was there when the attack happened. There were... explosions. Chemical exposure. Something in the facility's research division."
Not entirely a lie. She had been exposed to symbiote material. Just not the way her father would assume.
"And you were changed. Enhanced."
"Yes."
"What can you do? What are your... abilities?"
Gwen held up her hand, let small sparks of bio-electricity dance across her fingers. Her father's eyes widened.
"Energy manipulation. Enhanced strength. Faster healing. Increased intelligence—I can process information much quicker now." She let the electricity fade. "I'm still me, Dad. Still Gwen. Just... more."
"More dangerous."
"More capable of protecting myself."
Captain Stacy leaned back, processing. "The people you were with. The ones in black suits. They're like you."
"They saved my life. Protected me during the attack. They're good people, Dad."
"Good people don't hide their identities."
"Good people protect their families," Gwen countered, echoing Peter's words from the night before. "If the public knew who we were, every criminal we ever stopped would know where we live. Where our families live. Would you want that for me? For you?"
Her father's jaw clenched, but he couldn't argue.
"I need you to trust me," Gwen continued. "I know this is scary. I know this isn't what you wanted for me. But I can help people now. Really help them. And I'm being careful. I have... partners. People who are training me. Keeping me safe."
"Partners." Her father's tone was flat. "Including that boy in the black suit. Spider-Man."
HE SUSPECTS THE CONNECTION TO PETER. CAREFUL.
"Including people with experience. People who know what they're doing."
"And if I ordered you to stop? To come home? To let the authorities handle enhanced threats?"
"Then I'd tell you I love you, but I can't do that." Gwen met her father's eyes. "This is who I am now, Dad. I didn't choose it, but I'm not running from it either. I'm going to use these abilities to help people. To make a difference. Just like you do. Just like Mom did."
Invoking her mother was a low blow, but effective. Captain Stacy's expression softened.
"Your mother would be terrified for you."
"Mom would be proud of me. She always said we should use our gifts to help others. Well, now I have gifts. Real gifts. And I'm going to use them."
Her father was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I can't stop you. I know that. You're enhanced now. Stronger than me. Faster than me. If you wanted to leave, I couldn't prevent it."
"Dad—"
"But I can ask you to be careful. To come home when you can. To let me know you're alive." His voice cracked. "You're all I have left, Gwen. I can't lose you too."
Gwen moved around the table, hugging her father tight. "You won't lose me. I promise. I'll be careful. I'll come home. And Dad? I love you."
"I love you too, baby girl." He held her for a long moment, then pulled back. "This Spider-Man. Is he the reason you're involved in this?"
"No. He's the reason I'm alive. He protected me. Gave me the power to protect myself."
"And you trust him?"
"With my life."
Captain Stacy studied her face, reading the truth there. "Then I trust your judgment. For now. But if he ever hurts you, if he ever puts you in unnecessary danger—"
"You'll arrest him. I know." Gwen smiled. "But he won't. He's... he's good, Dad. Really, truly good. You'd like him if you got to know him."
"I doubt that."
They talked for another hour—setting ground rules, establishing check-ins, her father extracting promises of safety and caution. By the time Gwen left, the sun was past its zenith, and she had two hours until the SHIELD meeting.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Peter: How'd it go?
Gwen typed back: Better than expected. He's not happy, but he's not trying to lock me in my room either. Progress.
Good. Fury's car is here. Black SUV. Very Men in Black. Ready for this?
No. But let's do it anyway.
[1:00 PM - SHIELD MOBILE COMMAND CENTER]
The "car" turned out to be an armored SUV with tinted windows and two agents in suits who looked like they could benchpress small vehicles. They'd picked up Peter, Gwen, Norman, Harry, MJ, and Ned from the Brooklyn safe house without a word, driving through Manhattan to a nondescript building in Chelsea.
Except the building was a front.
They were led to an elevator that descended far deeper than any normal basement—down into what was clearly a mobile command center built into the bedrock beneath Manhattan.
"SHIELD doesn't mess around," Ned whispered, eyes wide as they passed through multiple security checkpoints.
"SHIELD doesn't trust anyone," MJ corrected, noting the cameras, the weapons, the personnel who watched them with professional suspicion.
They were brought to a conference room—sleek, modern, dominated by a large table and holographic displays. And standing at the head of the table was a man who could only be Nick Fury.
Tall, dark-skinned, with an eye patch over his left eye and an expression that suggested he'd seen everything and was impressed by none of it. He wore a long black coat despite being indoors, and carried himself with the authority of someone who gave orders to presidents.
"Mr. Parker," Fury said, his voice deep and commanding. "Ms. Stacy. Mr. Osborn. And assorted associates. Sit."
It wasn't a request.
They sat.
Fury remained standing, his single eye assessing each of them in turn. "Let's establish some ground rules. I know who you are. All of you. Peter Benjamin Parker, age 15, lives with his aunt May Parker in Queens. Gwen Maxine Stacy, age 15, daughter of Captain George Stacy. Norman Osborn, CEO of Oscorp Industries. Harold 'Harry' Osborn, Norman's son. Edward 'Ned' Leeds, Peter's best friend. Michelle 'MJ' Jones, aspiring journalist and general pain in the ass to corporate America."
MJ smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You should." Fury pulled up holographic displays—footage from last night. The Oscorp attack. Peter fighting. Gwen's transformation. Norman's Anti-Venom powers. "SHIELD has been monitoring enhanced individuals for years. Cataloguing abilities. Assessing threat levels. You six just jumped to the top of my list."
THREAT. POTENTIAL ENEMY.
Stay calm. Let's hear him out.
"Are we under arrest?" Norman asked calmly.
"If you were under arrest, you'd be in a cell, not a conference room." Fury waved a hand, and the footage changed—showing the Carnage symbiotes escaping. "No, you're not criminals. You're assets. Potential assets, anyway. And right now, I need assets."
"For what?" Peter asked.
Fury pulled up more footage—news reports from around the world. A creature made of ice attacking a village in Norway. A man in a metal suit robbing a bank in Seoul. Something large and green destroying property in Brazil.
"The world is changing, Mr. Parker. Enhanced individuals are emerging everywhere. Some are heroes. Some are threats. Most are somewhere in between." Fury's expression was grim. "SHIELD's mission is to protect Earth from threats both terrestrial and extraterrestrial. Right now, we're overwhelmed. We need help."
"The Avengers Initiative," Norman said. "We've heard rumors."
"More than rumors. It's real. And it's active." Fury pulled up profiles—Tony Stark in his Iron Man armor. A blond man with a shield. A woman with red hair and a dangerous smile. A man with a bow. Someone large and green. "This is my team. The Avengers. Earth's first line of defense against threats we can't handle conventionally."
"And you want us to join?" Gwen asked.
"Eventually. Maybe. Right now, you're too young, too inexperienced, and too unstable." Fury's eye fixed on Peter. "But you have potential. Raw power, tactical thinking, and most importantly—you give a damn about people. That's rare."
HE ASSESSES US. CALCULATES OUR VALUE.
Let him. We're assessing him too.
"So what do you want from us?" Peter asked.
"Training. Resources. Intelligence sharing. I want to monitor your development. Help you become more effective. And in exchange, when threats emerge that require your specific skill sets, I want you available to help."
"That sounds like recruitment," MJ said flatly.
"It's collaboration. You maintain independence. You don't work for SHIELD. You work WITH SHIELD when our interests align." Fury leaned forward. "And right now, our interests very much align. Because those red symbiote creatures that attacked Oscorp? They're not the only ones out there. And the people creating them are planning something that could make last night look like a warm-up."
Peter exchanged glances with the others. They'd suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed was different.
"Alchemax," Peter said.
Fury's expression didn't change, but Peter caught the slight tension. "What do you know about Alchemax?"
"That they're creating symbiote soldiers. That they've been attacking biotech facilities. That they're planning Phase Two of something." Peter leaned forward. "We've been investigating them. We know they're the threat."
"Then you know more than we do." Fury pulled up an Alchemax corporate profile. "Alchemax Corporation. Biotech and pharmaceuticals. On paper, they're legitimate. Below the surface, they're into human experimentation, illegal genetic modification, and now apparently, alien symbiotes."
"Who's running their enhanced program?" Norman asked.
"We don't know. The corporate structure is designed to obscure actual decision-makers. Whoever's in charge is paranoid and well-protected." Fury's eye narrowed. "But we have a lead. Alchemax is hosting a charity gala next week. Manhattan. Black tie. All their major players will be there. It's the perfect opportunity for reconnaissance."
"You want us to infiltrate a corporate event?" Gwen asked.
"I want your team to gather intelligence. See who's who. Identify the players. Plant surveillance devices if possible." Fury pulled up the invitation—elegant, expensive. "Norman Osborn would have received an invitation. He can bring guests. You go in as his associates. Mingle. Gather information. Get out clean."
SUBTERFUGE. I AM NOT BUILT FOR SUBTERFUGE. I AM BUILT FOR VIOLENCE.
We can learn subterfuge. It's just another skill.
"And if we refuse?" Peter asked.
"Then you're on your own. No SHIELD resources. No protection. No backup when Alchemax comes for you again—and they will come for you again." Fury's expression was hard. "Your choice, Mr. Parker. Work with us, or face this alone."
The room was silent for a long moment.
Then Norman spoke: "We'll do it. But on our terms. We maintain operational independence. We share intelligence but we make our own tactical decisions. And if we ever feel SHIELD is trying to control us rather than collaborate, we walk. No questions, no consequences."
"Fair." Fury extended his hand. "We have a deal."
Norman shook it. The deal was made.
THIS IS DANGEROUS. ORGANIZATIONS LIKE SHIELD CONSUME THOSE WHO TRUST THEM.
Maybe. But we need allies. And resources. We can't fight everyone alone.
VERY WELL. BUT WE REMAIN VIGILANT.
Fury had one of his agents—a woman who introduced herself as Agent Maria Hill—provide them with SHIELD-issued communicators, encrypted phones, and access codes to secure databases.
"One more thing," Fury said as they were preparing to leave. "The Carnage symbiotes. How many escaped?"
"Five. Maybe six," Peter said. "They scattered during the building collapse."
"SHIELD will track them. But if you encounter them, you're authorized to use lethal force if necessary. These things are classified as Class-A threats. Dangerous to themselves and others."
NO. THEY ARE MY CHILDREN. BROKEN, BUT STILL MINE.
"We'll handle them our way," Peter said firmly. "Capture if possible. Contain. Help them if we can."
Fury studied him. "You have a hero complex, Mr. Parker. That's going to get you killed one day."
"Maybe. But I'd rather die trying to save someone than live knowing I killed them without trying."
For the first time, Fury's expression softened—barely, but noticeably. "You remind me of someone. Captain Rogers. Same idealism. Same stubborn refusal to compromise on principles." He nodded. "Fine. Handle them your way. But if civilians are at risk, you put them down. Hard. Understood?"
"Understood."
They left SHIELD headquarters with more questions than answers, but also with resources and at least one powerful ally—even if that ally came with strings attached.
On the drive back to Brooklyn, Harry turned to Peter. "So. We're working with a secret government organization now. This is officially the weirdest week of my life."
"It's Saturday," MJ pointed out. "The week's not over yet."
"Don't jinx it," Ned groaned.
Back at the safe house, they gathered to debrief. Norman pulled up Alchemax information on his laptop, cross-referencing with what MJ had found.
"The gala is next Saturday. Eight days from now. That gives us time to prepare, train, and develop a proper infiltration strategy."
"Meanwhile," Peter said, "we hunt the Carnage symbiotes. Fury might have resources, but we know them better. We find them, we contain them, and we figure out how to help them."
THANK YOU, PETER. FOR NOT GIVING UP ON THEM.
Family doesn't give up on family. Even broken family.
"Then it's settled," Norman said. "Monday, we move to the upstate facility. Begin serious training. By next Saturday, we'll be ready for anything Alchemax throws at us."
"One question," Gwen said. "What do we do if my dad finds out I'm going to a black-tie event with known enhanced individuals? He's going to have questions."
"Tell him it's a school project," MJ suggested. "Extra credit. Norman Osborn is mentoring gifted students. Technically true."
"I hate lying to him."
"Then don't lie. Just... carefully select which truths to share," Peter said. "It's not ideal, but it keeps him safe. And that's what matters."
Gwen nodded reluctantly.
The rest of the day was spent planning—training schedules, equipment needs, intelligence gathering priorities. By evening, they had the skeleton of a real operation forming.
Peter's phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number: Impressive that you made contact with SHIELD. But they can't protect you from what's coming. Phase Two begins in seven days. You'll want to save everyone. You won't be able to. Choices will have to be made. Let's see what kind of hero you really are. - A.S.
Peter showed the message to Norman, whose expression darkened.
"They're taunting us. Trying to get us to make mistakes."
"Or they're giving us a timeline," Gwen said, reading over Peter's shoulder. "Seven days. That's the same day as the gala."
"Not a coincidence," MJ added. "The gala is a distraction. Whatever Phase Two really is, it's happening somewhere else."
A TEST. THEY TEST OUR PRIORITIES. OUR MORALS.
"Then we split our focus," Peter said. "Some of us at the gala gathering intelligence. Others watching for the real attack. We cover both."
"Risky," Norman warned. "We're not strong enough yet to fight a war on two fronts."
"Then we get stronger. Fast." Peter looked at his team—his family. "Eight days. We train harder than we've ever trained. We learn our limits and then exceed them. We become the team we need to be."
"No pressure," Ned muttered.
"Actually," Peter said with a slight smile, "lots of pressure. But that's okay. Pressure makes diamonds."
OR BREAKS ROCKS.
Optimism, Venom. Try it sometime.
I AM OPTIMISTIC. OPTIMISTIC THAT YOU WILL SURVIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME TRULY DANGEROUS.
I'll take it.
As the sun set over Brooklyn, The Web prepared for war.
They had eight days.
Eight days to become heroes.
Eight days to stop whatever Alchemax had planned.
Eight days to save people who might not even know they needed saving.
No pressure at all.
TO BE CONTINUED...