Six days. Six damn days of freedom flew by in an instant. My suspension from school life, won in a fair (well, almost) fight and a verbal battle, had come to an end. Today, I had to plunge back into the abyss of teenage drama, boring lessons, and the company of Eugene "Flash" Thompson. The latter was the least pleasing prospect. However, after our last encounter and the subsequent conversation with his parents, I hoped the jock's fervor had diminished.
Monday morning greeted me with a gray New York mist outside the window and the necessity of setting an alarm again. Ah, it was a good week without it! Invigorated by a cold shower and reflecting on the twists of fate for a transmigrator, I headed to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. My mood was… philosophical. Humming a melody from another life under my breath, something like "I'm only human after all... Don't put the blame on me...", I worked my magic over some fried eggs. Indeed, just a human. In a world where gods, aliens, and armored billionaires would soon be flying around. And my best friend was about to start crawling on walls. Irony.
Meanwhile, in the cozy Parker home in Queens…
Peter sat at the kitchen table, looking significantly better than he had a week ago. The paleness was completely gone, and the feverish glint in his eyes had been replaced by usual teenage pensiveness. Before him on a plate lay a slice of something suspiciously yellow and fragrant.
"What is this?" Peter asked warily, eyeing the treat.
"Banana bread!" Aunt May announced proudly, placing a glass of milk in front of him. "I found the recipe on the internet! It says bananas and a special blend of spices really help the body recover after an illness. There are so many vitamins! So eat up! You need to gain strength before school."
Peter looked at the bread skeptically.
"Aunt May, has no one ever told you that not everything you read on the internet is true? Especially on sites like 'Folk Remedies for Everything'?"
"Can't argue with that," Uncle Ben chuckled, sipping his coffee and reading the morning newspaper. "I remember your 'healing' beet smoothie, May. After that, I was afraid to look in the mirror for two days."
"Oh, hush, you two skeptics!" May protested jokingly, hands on her hips. "This recipe is from a verified cooking forum! Peter, eat, don't listen to them. You really need to eat well. You gave us quite a scare!"
Peter shrugged and took a bite. Surprisingly, the banana bread turned out to be quite edible. Sweet, moist, with hints of cinnamon.
"Mm, it's actually good," he admitted.
"See!" May beamed. "And you doubted me!"
As Peter devoured his breakfast, May changed the subject.
"Peter, dear, do you remember our neighbor, Anna Watson?"
"Of course, Aunt May. Why?"
"Her niece has come to stay. For a long time, it seems. The girl has some family problems and had to move. Poor thing is all alone in a new city, doesn't know anyone... Mrs. Watson asked if you could… well, talk to her? Help her settle in, show her the school? Today is her first day at Midtown. It would be so kind of you, Peter. Her name is Mary Jane."
Peter nearly choked on his milk. A new girl? Help her settle in? It sounded… terrifying. He had never been good at talking to girls he didn't know. Or girls he did know, for that matter, except for Gwen.
"Um… well… I don't know, Aunt May… I'm not exactly…"
"Peter," Uncle Ben intervened gently, setting aside his newspaper. "Aunt May is right. The girl needs support. And you're a good, kind lad. Just be yourself. Talk to her, show her around. It's not hard. And it's the right thing to do—helping someone in a difficult situation."
Peter sighed. Uncle Ben, as always, was right.
"Okay. I'll talk to her."
After breakfast, having packed his backpack and said goodbye to his aunt and uncle, Peter stepped outside. The sun was timidly breaking through the clouds. He headed toward the Watson house, located a couple of doors down from their own. In the yard, he saw her.
Red hair, like tongues of flame, framed a face with freckles and incredibly green eyes. She was dressed in simple jeans and a bright T-shirt, but even in these ordinary clothes, she looked… stunning. A light smile played on her lips as she fiddled with her phone. This was Mary Jane Watson. And she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl Peter had ever seen.
He froze for a second, feeling his cheeks start to burn. Get it together, Parker, get it together! Deep breaths.
"Um… hi?" he managed to get out, stepping closer. "You must be Mary Jane?"
The girl turned around, and her smile widened.
"Hi! Yes, that's me. And you must be Peter? My Aunt Anna told me you're my neighbor and go to the school I'm transferring to. Nice to meet you!" she held out her hand. Her voice was bright and confident.
"Y-yeah, Peter Parker," he shook her hand, feeling like a complete idiot. Her palm was warm and soft. "My… my Aunt May told me today is your first day… I can walk you to the bus stop, if you want? And… well… help out at school, if you need anything."
"Oh, that would be great, Peter! Thanks!" Mary Jane's eyes sparkled. "I'm a bit nervous. New city, new school… Tell me, what's it like there? What kind of school is it? What are the teachers like? The kids? Any cute guys?" she winked, and Peter felt himself turning even redder.
They walked down the street toward the stop. Mary Jane turned out to be incredibly outgoing and curious. She showered Peter with questions about everything: New York, the school, his hobbies, his friends. Peter, usually shy and man of few words, found himself talking unexpectedly much. He told her about Gwen and John, trying not to mention the recent incidents, about his favorite physics and chemistry classes, and his passion for photography. Mary Jane listened with genuine interest, asked follow-up questions, laughed at his jokes (even the clumsiest ones), and shared her impressions. She was so… alive. Sparkling.
"What about you? What are you into?" Peter asked, growing a bit bolder.
"Oh, I love dancing! And theater! I love being on stage, trying on different roles. I also love music, movies… basically anything related to art and self-expression!" she replied enthusiastically. "And I love meeting new people! Like you, for instance! You're cool, Pete!"
Peter felt his heart do a somersault. Cool? Him? Next to this red-headed goddess? No way.
They were so engrossed in conversation that they nearly missed the yellow bus pulling up.
"Oh, the bus! Run!" Mary Jane exclaimed, grabbing Peter by the hand and pulling him along.
They scrambled into the cabin at the literal last second. And immediately fell into the crosshairs of familiar mockers. Flash Thompson, already showing no signs of a broken nose (either covered with makeup or healed like a dog's), sat with his constant companion—the massive Kenny "Kong" McFarlane.
"Whew-whew!" Flash whistled, unceremoniously checking Mary Jane out from head to toe. "Parker, you certainly don't waste time! Where'd you dig up a beauty like that? New girl?"
Kong laughed stupidly, backing up his friend. "Hey, Red, want to sit with some real men instead of this nerd?" he shouted to her.
Mary Jane shot them an icy look but remained silent, only squeezing Peter's hand a bit tighter (or so it seemed to him?). Peter frowned, but this time he didn't even have time to respond. His attention was fixed on Mary Jane, and Flash's taunts, surprisingly, hardly stung. Maybe it was the aftermath of the bite? Or maybe next to MJ, everything else just seemed insignificant? He merely muttered something like, "Back off, Flash."
"Oh, look! Mr. 'I-Got-Bitten-By-An-Insect' found his voice!" Flash sneered, but without his usual vigor.
Then their attention was diverted by Liz Allan and Betty Brant, sitting nearby. "Hey! New girl! Sit with us!" Liz waved. Betty immediately moved over, making space.
Mary Jane smiled at Peter: "Thanks for walking me! See you at school!" and she lightly slipped out of his grasp, heading toward the girls.
Before she could even sit down, Liz and Betty began whispering questions to her: "Where are you from?", "What's your name?", "How long have you been in New York?", "Do you have a boyfriend?", "What do you think of the local guys?". Mary Jane laughed cheerfully and replied to them.
Peter was left standing in the middle of the aisle, feeling a bit lost. He found an empty seat and sat down, stealing glances at the red mane of hair ahead.
A couple of stops later, the bus doors opened again, and John walked in. Scanning the familiar faces, I immediately noticed Flash tensing up. He sat quietly, but his fists were clenched, and his glowering look betrayed hidden anger. Well, then, a preventive talk is always in order.
I walked slowly down the aisle, stopping across from Flash's seat.
"Thompson," my voice was quiet but steady. The bus went slightly silent. "How's the nose? Healed? I hope some brains grew back along with it."
Flash turned crimson. "Smith… I'll…"
"You'll what?" I leaned in slightly. "Call me out behind the school again? Or will your influential parents file a complaint with the UN this time? Listen here, Flash, and listen very carefully. I've served my punishment. But if I see or hear even once more that you or your lackeys," I glanced at Kong, who immediately looked away, "are picking on Parker again, our conversation will be much shorter."
Flash remained silent, drilling me with a hateful stare but not daring to act. Apparently, the prospect of getting punched in the face again or getting caught in a bullying scandal didn't appeal to him.
"Good," I straightened up. "Glad we've reached an understanding."
I continued down the aisle and then I noticed her. The stranger. The redhead. The very one, the future girlfriend of Spider-Man… or not? And next to her sat Peter, who was literally devouring her with his eyes, red to the tips of his ears. A picture perfect moment. I smirked.
Passing the row where Mary Jane sat with her friends, I demonstratively ignored her, though I noted to myself that the girl was indeed striking. Flopping into the seat next to Peter, I clapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, Parker! How are you feeling? Ready to grind the gears of science after your sick leave? You look like you weren't bitten by a spider, but struck by Cupid's arrow."
Peter jumped and turned even redder. "J-John! Hi! I… I'm fine. Almost completely healthy. And you… why did you do that?"
"Oh, just decided to hold a psychotherapy session for our mutual friend Flash. Remind him of some basic manners," I winked. "So, what about Cupid? Who is this red-haired fury who stole my best friend's heart at first sight?"
"John! Stop it!" Peter hissed, looking around to see if Mary Jane could hear us. "That's Mary Jane Watson, Mrs. Watson's niece. She's new. I'm just… just helping her settle in."
"Right, 'helping her settle in'," I chuckled. "Helping so much that your ears are practically burning with embarrassment. Admit it, Parker, you're in love?"
"No… I mean… she's just… pretty," Peter muttered, looking away.
"Fine, fine, I won't torture you," I laughed. "But keep in mind, a beauty like that will definitely have many suitors. Flash is already drooling. So if you really like her, don't stall, Parker!"
Peter grunted something unintelligible in response. Then, to change the subject, he asked:
"Listen, where's Gwen? Usually she rides with you."
"Oh, Stacy? I think her dad dropped her off. After that thing with Flash and at Oscorp, he probably decided to tighten control," I suggested. "We'll see her at school."
Sure enough, in the school hallway, by the lockers, Gwen was already waiting for us. She was happy to see us together.
"John! Peter! Finally!" she hugged me first, then Peter. "How are you, Peter? Is everything okay? And you, John, how was your 'vacation' week?"
"Everything's fine, Gwen," I replied. "The rest was productive. Almost cleared the clutter at home. Tell us instead, what's been happening here without me? Has the world ended? Did King Kong take over the school?"
"No, everything's quiet," Gwen smiled. "McFarlane has been quiet as a mouse. Apparently, Flash's punishment did him some good. Lessons went on as usual. Though it was a bit boring without you and Peter. But today we have a new girl! Did you see? Mary Jane Watson. I think she'll be in our math class."
"Saw her, saw her," I chuckled, looking at the once-again blushing Peter. "Peter already managed to 'charm' her."
The bell rang, and we headed to our classes. Today's schedule had math, gym, and chemistry. Not the worst lineup.
In math, Mrs. Warren introduced the new student to the class. "Class, please meet Mary Jane Watson. She moved here recently and will be studying with you. Mary Jane, would you like to say a few words about yourself?"
Mary Jane walked to the front of the room with a charming smile. She carried herself with confidence and ease.
"Hi everyone! I'm MJ," she winked playfully. "Moved here from Portland. I love dancing, theater, and good company! Hope we become friends! And, boys," she scanned the room with a flirtatious gaze, "don't be shy about asking me out! Just kidding! Or am I?" she laughed her infectious laugh.
The class livened up. The girls smiled, the guys whistled. Flash and Kong immediately started making crude jokes at her expense, loud enough for her to hear.
"Hey, MJ, want me to show you the local sights after school? Like my bicep?" Flash shouted.
"Or mine! It's bigger!" Kong added, trying to make a manly face, which came out quite comically.
Mary Jane just rolled her eyes with a smile and returned to her seat next to Liz and Betty, ignoring the dim-witted jocks. This girl definitely knew how to stand her ground, even without words.
Lessons went by fairly quickly. Gym proved to be a torture for Peter—his new powers manifested as clumsiness and excessive suddenness of movement. He would either jump too high or throw a ball with such force that it nearly shattered a window. I watched him with a smirk, realizing the kid had a long road ahead to control his abilities.
Chemistry passed quietly, except for Peter nearly causing an explosion by mixing the wrong reagents—again, due to a sudden surge of strength in his hands or his thoughts being occupied by MJ. Fortunately, everything turned out okay.
After the last lesson, a crowd of students poured into the hallway. Peter, Gwen, and I were walking together, discussing plans for the evening. Suddenly, as we passed Flash and Kong, the brute McFarlane, apparently deciding to redeem himself in his friend's eyes after his morning silence, stuck out his leg, trying to trip Peter. An old trick.
But something went wrong.
I saw Peter freeze for a split second, his eyes widening as if he felt something. In the next moment, he dodged Kong's extended leg with incredible ease and speed. And then, something unimaginable happened. Peter leaned down, grabbed Kong by the ankle with one (!) hand, and with a light, almost careless motion, flipped the huge guy into the air.
The massive Kenny "Kong" McFarlane hit the hallway floor face-first with a dull thud, arms splayed.
Dead silence fell over the corridor. Everyone stared at Peter, then at Kong's sprawling body, then back at Peter. Peter himself was staring at his hand, the one he had just used to flip a guy weighing nearly a hundred kilograms, with an expression of total shock and bewilderment. Flash stood with his jaw dropped, not believing his eyes.
The silence was broken by the stern voice of the history teacher, Ms. Inverness, who was just leaving her office. "What is going on here?! All of you, disperse! Immediately! McFarlane, get up! Parker, with me!"
Under the teacher's stern gaze, the crowd of onlookers vanished instantly. Such was the magic of New York and, perhaps, the Marvel world—people here quickly got used to oddities and preferred to mind their own business, especially when an authority figure was nearby, even if only a school one.
Flash helped his hapless friend up. Kong was clutching his nose and mumbling something. Peter went to the teacher, looking lost.
And I stood there watching him go. The slight shock of what I'd seen was replaced by clear understanding. Spider-sense. Superhuman strength and reflexes. It wasn't just luck. It was it.
A few days earlier, immediately after Peter's discharge from St. Luke's Hospital
The bustle of the hospital corridor hid many small dramas and quiet events. Nurses rolled gurneys, doctors rushed to calls, visitors trudged to wards. In this routine scene, few noticed a short, bald man in an inconspicuous dark trench coat, despite the warm weather. He wore thin leather gloves on his hands. He moved quickly and silently, like a shadow.
He entered a small treatment room where several test tubes with blood samples, labeled with patients' names, stood on a tray. His gaze quickly found the one he needed—"Parker P.". The footsteps of a nurse were heard. The man acted lightning-fast. From the inner pocket of his coat, he pulled out an identical test tube with the same label, barely visible under his gloved finger. A slight movement—and the tube with Peter's blood disappeared into his pocket, while another took its place, containing blood from an unknown donor, marked "Parker P.". By the time the nurse entered the room, the man was gone. No one noticed a thing. Shaw, Norman Osborn's man, had completed the first part of his job.
At about the same time, but an hour later, deep in the bowels of the Oscorp Tower
The labs of Oscorp Industries were a quintessence of high technology and sterility. Bright white light flooded the spacious rooms filled with complex equipment: centrifuges spun silently, DNA sequencers flickered on displays, robotic manipulators moved samples in airtight boxes. The air was clean, smelling of ozone and antiseptics. Staff in snow-white coats moved through the labs with concentrated faces, immersed in their research. But behind the facade of scientific progress lurked darker secrets.
In one of these labs, separated from the main area by tinted glass, three people were present. Norman Osborn stood behind a large table with several monitors. His red hair was neatly combed, his expensive suit fit perfectly, but his face was clouded by a dark furrow between his brows. He stared intently at the graphs and numbers displayed on the main screen. Beside him stood a short scientist in a lab coat, with a prominent bald spot and thick glasses—Dr. Mendel Stromm, one of Oscorp's leading geneticists. The third was Shaw, still in the same dark coat, standing a little further away against the wall, as motionless as a statue.
"Sir?" Dr. Stromm's voice was nervous. He pointed a trembling finger at one of the graphs on the monitor. "Patient P.P.'s indicators are deteriorating sharply. The 'OZ' formula... it's killing him. The cellular structure is breaking down at a catastrophic rate."
Norman Osborn turned sharply to the scientist, his green eyes flashing with anger.
"How? Why? The spider venom was supposed to be a catalyst, to strengthen the serum, not destroy the host! What's the matter, Stromm?!"
"We... we don't know, sir," the scientist stammered, adjusting his glasses. "The reaction is completely unpredictable. The body can't handle it. The immune system is failing, tissue necrosis is starting... It's a complete failure."
"The police will be interested in a schoolboy's death after an incident in our lab," Shaw said hollowly from his corner. "Even if the blood sample shows no traces of 'OZ', questions will remain."
"Yes," Norman hissed, turning back to the monitor. The graphs were indeed sliding down.
"And the project will be closed," Stromm added with desperation in his voice. "All our research, years of work... perhaps forever. We'll be accused of illegal experiments, of negligence..."
"Yes," Osborn hummed, but there was no fear in his voice, rather a cold calculation. He tapped a finger on the screen. "How much... does he have left? Based on the dynamics."
Stromm swallowed. "A day. Maybe two. No more. The process is irreversible."
"So, he's effectively a corpse..." Norman stated.
"Yes, sir."
"And he'll die regardless? Even if we try to intervene now?"
"Intervention will only accelerate the process, sir. It's too late. The cells are destroyed..." Stromm reported, turning pale.
Norman Osborn fell silent, looking at the slowly fading indicators on the screen. His face was impenetrable. Then he slowly turned to his loyal assistant. "Shaw?"
The bald man in the coat gave a barely perceptible nod. He understood everything without words. A dead schoolboy was a problem. Investigation, scandal, project closure. Better to cover the tracks before the body fell into the hands of the police or pathologists. Eliminate the problem before it became official. A predatory grin flickered on Shaw's face.
"It will be done, sir."
Present time. A few hours after the incident with Kong in the school hallway
Peter Parker was walking home along the familiar sidewalk of Queens. The school day had turned out… strange. He still couldn't believe he had been able to flip Kong so easily. Where did this strength come from? This agility? It was like a dream. His thoughts were a jumble, the sensations in his body were unfamiliar—all his senses had sharpened; he could hear the hum of cars several blocks away, see the smallest cracks in the asphalt, and smell things he had never noticed before.
Trying to distract himself from this avalanche of new sensations and thoughts about his strange reaction to the spider bite, he buried his face in the chemistry textbook he was holding. He was so absorbed in reading formulas and equations that he noticed nothing around him.
That was why he didn't hear an elegant black sedan with heavily tinted windows pull up silently to the curb behind him. The car moved slowly, not attracting attention. Shaw was at the wheel. He held a mobile phone to his ear.
"I see the target," he said quietly into the receiver, his cold gaze fixed on Peter's figure walking just a few dozen meters ahead. "He's alone. The street is almost empty. Ideal moment."
"Green light, Shaw. Green light," Norman Osborn's hard, recognizable voice came through the receiver. "Do it right! Fast and clean. No witnesses."
Shaw smirked, tossing the phone onto the passenger seat. "Right." He knew what that meant. His right foot slammed the gas pedal to the floor. The sedan's powerful engine roared, and the car shot forward like a bullet, heading straight for the back of the unsuspecting Peter. The bumper was aimed right between his shoulder blades—the impact was meant to be fatal.
But a split second before the inevitable, a deafening mental scream exploded in Peter's head. Not a sound, but a sensation—a chilling feeling of impending danger coming from exactly behind him. It was that same "spider-sense" that had already saved him from Kong's trip, but now it was screaming with tenfold intensity.
Without thinking, without analyzing, obeying pure instinct, Peter's body reacted before his brain could register the threat. He leapt sharply upward and backward, twisting in the air with incredible, non-human grace. The sedan sped under him, barely missing the soles of his sneakers. Peter flipped in the air like an expert acrobat and landed softly on his feet behind the car, which had screeched to a halt several meters away.
He stood in the middle of the sidewalk, breathing heavily, his heart pounding wildly. The first thought that crossed his still-shocked brain was laughably naive: "Oh my god! Is the driver okay? Did he lose control? I have to help!"
He stepped toward the stopped car, intending to run to the driver's door. Но then he was pierced again by that same icy warning. His spider-sense screamed: "Danger! Run!". This time, the danger came from the car itself, from the dark figure at the wheel. Peter froze, and at that moment, the instinct for self-preservation overcame the desire to help. He turned and bolted as fast as he had ever run in his life, darting between houses and through alleys.
Inside the black sedan, a stunned Shaw sat. He stared into the rearview mirror, not believing his eyes. The boy… he jumped over the car! How?! It was impossible! Shaw's hand instinctively slid inside his coat, feeling the grip of a silenced pistol. He had to finish the job. He looked in the mirror again—nothing. The sidewalk was empty. Shaw turned around sharply, looking out the side window. In the distance, Peter's receding figure flickered as he turned a corner. Gone. Incredibly fast.
Shaw cursed under his breath and reached for his phone, dialing a familiar number.
In Norman Osborn's office
Norman Osborn sat in a massive leather chair behind a heavy dark wood desk. His office on the top floor of the Oscorp Tower was the embodiment of power and wealth, but now a mess reigned on the polished surface—stacks of papers, reports, and printouts were piled everywhere. Osborn was reviewing yet another report when his personal phone gave a quiet beep. It was Shaw. Norman hit the answer button.
"Report," he said curtly, without looking up from the papers.
Shaw's slightly out-of-breath voice came through the receiver. "Sir? You won't believe it, but... The target is gone."
"What?!" Osborn straightened up, papers flying off the desk. "How gone?! You said it was the ideal moment!"
"I… I don't know how to explain it, sir. I was aiming to ram him; he couldn't have seen me. But at the last second, he… he jumped over the car! Like a circus performer! And then he disappeared, ran away incredibly fast. I've never seen anything like it!"
Norman listened, his eyes widening in amazement, which turned to disbelief, and then into a sharp, predatory interest. Jumped over a car? Incredible speed? His mind began to work feverishly. The "OZ" formula... it didn't kill Parker. The blood sample showed necrosis, but the actual host… he hadn't just survived. He had mutated. He had gained superhuman abilities.
"Sir?" Shaw asked tentatively. "What are your orders? I can track him to his home… finish what I started."
"Stand down!" Norman's voice was sharp, almost triumphant. It carried the excitement of a scientist who had stumbled upon an incredible discovery.
"Are you sure, sir?"
"STAND DOWN, Shaw! Return to base. Immediately!" Norman ordered. "That boy... He is the key! He is the living proof of success! I want to study him, Shaw! Study him! Not kill him!"
Norman Osborn threw the phone on the desk and leaned back in his chair, looking out the panoramic window at the New York sprawling below. A strange, terrifying smile played on his face. Peter Parker. The boy he had just ordered killed had become the most interesting scientific subject of his life. The game was on. And the stakes had just gone through the roof.