Date: Friday, September 10, 2010.
Location: Oscorp, Manhattan, New York
Midtown High's students spilled from the school buses and gathered in front of Oscorp's towering skyscraper. The tide of students parted around Tyson's large frame. Peter stood in front of him, safe in his wake from being dragged along with the crowd. Both of them craned their necks to take in the building that stretched ambitiously toward the sky.
"It's bigger than I thought, the pictures don't do it justice," Peter commented, his voice barely audible over the clamor of the gathered students and the distant, ever-present hum of the city.
"That's what she said," Tyson mumbled, amused.
It was then that a luxury car pulled up to the curb. The doors opened, and out stepped Harry Osborn, looking as privileged as his name suggested, followed by his father, Norman Osborn. The senior Osborn was a figure straight out of the magazines; confident, imposing, and with an aura that commanded attention.
"Peter Parker," he declared more than asked, extending his hand in a firm handshake. The familiarity took Peter slightly aback. He'd met Norman Osborne previously, as he and Harry had been friends for years, but Peter hadn't seen Norman since middle school. He had not expected the magnate to recognize him, let alone remember his name.
"Yes, sir," Peter responded, a bit flustered but managing to grip the offered hand.
"Harry tells me you're quite the science whiz. You know, I'm something of a scientist myself," Norman remarked with a hint of pride in his voice, his smile broadening yet not fully reaching his eyes.
"I read all your nanotechnology research. It's brilliant," Peter admired, his respect for the man's work evident in his tone The nervousness he initially felt began to ebb away in the face of his scientific passion.
"And you understood it?" Norman teased lightly, a chuckle escaping his lips. "Like father, like son." Norman's gaze then slid over to Tyson, taking in his stature with a businessman's assessing eye. "And you are?"
"Tyson, sir," he replied, offering a gloved hand that Norman shook firmly.
"A strong grip," Norman observed. The CEO's eyes momentarily flicked down to their handshake. He remarked, "You might be the biggest high school kid I've ever seen."
Tyson chuckled, unperturbed by the frank assessment. "Yeah, maybe I should put it to use, maybe play Football or get a job as a bouncer," he joked.
Norman's lips twitched into a smile, "Tell you what, I'll have someone from Security find you before your field trip is over. If we have lab interns at Oscorp, there's no reason we can't have Security interns."
"Really?" Tyson was surprised by the unexpected offer.
"Absolutely," Norman confirmed, "Welcome to Oscorp. Enjoy your tour."
As Norman moved away to address some waiting executives, Harry, Peter, and Tyson joined the throng of students as they began to move toward the entrance, funneled along by their teachers and Oscorp staff.
As they crossed the threshold into the building, Tyson couldn't help but smile at what was coming... Assuming his memories of this field trip held. As the doors of Oscorp closed behind them, sealing them off from the rest of New York, Tyson was ready for the show.
The students of Midtown High crowded into the lobby of Oscorp. They were all whispers and wide eyes as they took in the tower. However, the buzzing halted when a young woman stepped forward. Clad in a crisp white lab coat that contrasted with her neatly tied-back blonde hair, Gwen Stacy greeted them. “Welcome to Oscorp,” Gwen’s voice cut through the murmurs, commanding attention. The badge on her coat marked her not as a student, but a lab intern. “I'm Gwen Stacy, the head intern here, and I'll be guiding you through today's tour.”
Tyson nudged Peter lightly, “That’s my chemistry lab partner.”
Peter just smiled. Unlike Tyson, he'd been at Midtown long enough to know of Gwen's intelligence. But seeing her outside of school, with a position at a leading technology company, elevated his respect for her to another level.
The group's first stop was a place that brimmed with the kind of advanced science you only read about in textbooks or saw in sci-fi films. The room was a collection of high-tech equipment, from robotic arms handling DNA samples to computer screens displaying complex genetic data.
“Oscorp’s leading the world in cross-species genetics,” Gwen said with enthusiasm in her voice, “Pioneering studies into combining the DNA of different organisms.”
The tour took them through various exhibits and departments, each new area unveiling another layer of Oscorp’s contribution to science. They saw advanced robotics, renewable energies, and more. As the tour continued, Peter’s anticipation built; they were heading to the laboratory of the renowned Dr. Curt Connors, one of the lead scientists at Oscorp. He practically buzzed with excitement. The students huddled into the department heralded by a crisp sign.
Department of Genetics, Bioengineering, and Cellular Studies.
Gwen's voice broke through the mounting whispers. "Everyone, this is Dr. Curt Connors, Director of GBCS. He's one of the brightest minds here at Oscorp and a pioneer in his field."
Dr. Connors, a tall man with a kind face and wearing a lab coat over his one-armed frame, greeted them with a warm, albeit tired smile. "Welcome, everyone. I'm excited to share with you a fraction of the work we do here." The group settled into a semi-circle around him. “Our department,” Dr. Connors began, sweeping his hand in a half-circle, a clear gesture encompassing the realm of his life's work, “is at the forefront of exploring the human genome, understanding its secrets, and pushing the boundaries of what we know about our very existence.” He pointed around the laboratory as he spoke, gesturing at the various stations. Each featured cutting-edge technology that seemed ripped straight from the future. There were machines sequencing DNA, microscopes showing magnified cells, and in a secure glass case, a model of a DNA helix. “We’re not just studying genetics in a traditional sense,” Dr. Connors continued. His voice was a mix of passion and scholarly wisdom. “We’re looking at bioengineering, the science of altering the genetic makeup for beneficial traits, combating diseases, and potentially, improving human capabilities.”
The students listened, focused on the expert. Tyson glanced over at Peter, noticing the furrow of his brows, and the tilt of his head.
“And cellular studies,” Dr. Connors went on, oblivious to Tyson’s distraction and Peter's brewing questions, “allow us to delve into cloning, understanding cellular regeneration, and possibly answering one of the biggest questions. Can we replicate human cells effectively and ethically? Imagine being able to copy healthy cells to replace diseased ones, or regenerate lost limbs.” His gaze inadvertently dropped to his missing arm, and the room fell into a sympathetic silence. “Anyway,” he cleared his throat, redirecting the focus, “the implications of our work are vast, affecting medicine, technology, and even the environment.”
His speech drew to a close amidst a murmur of thoughtful hums and light applause. The students were then given free rein to explore the equipment and speak with the scientists. The lab was a hubbub of curious students exploring every crevice and contraption. Peter, however, stood apart, his gaze trailing Dr. Connors as the scientist retreated to his office. Tyson caught the glint of longing in Peter’s eyes.
Tyson asked, “What’s up?”
Peter responded, “I was hoping to speak with Doctor Connors.” His expression shifted to one of disappointment.
Without another word, Tyson clasped Peter's arm, steering him through the throng until they reached Gwen. She was in her element, yet still exuded an aura of approachability. "Hey, lab buddy!" Tyson greeted with an easy grin, trying to sound as charming as possible.
Gwen looked up, her expression brightening in recognition. "Tyson. What’s up?"
"This is Peter," Tyson gestured, though it was clear the two already knew each other from the subtle acknowledgment in their eyes.
"Hey, Peter," Gwen smiled, then her attention shifted back to Tyson, "What can I do for you guys?"
Tyson looked into Gwen’s eyes before leaning in slightly, "Actually, I was hoping for a favor. Peter here is dying to meet Dr. Connors personally. Any chance you could introduce him?"
Gwen hesitated, biting her lip. "I don't know, guys. Dr. Connors is really busy—"
"Please?" Tyson interjected, putting on his best pleading face, while Peter's own mirrored a similar sentiment.
With a sigh, Gwen capitulated. "Okay, fine… But for the record, you’re too big to make puppy dog eyes. Make it quick, alright?"
Tyson replied, “Big dogs are puppies too.”
Gwen shot back, “And that’s the only reason I’m going along with this.”
She led them to Dr. Connors' office, knocking politely before entering. "Dr. Connors? Sorry to disturb you, but there's someone here who's very eager to meet you."
Dr. Connors, seated at his desk, looked up and adjusted his glasses. "Oh? And who might that be?"
Peter stepped forward, a little nervously. "Hi, Dr. Connors. I'm Peter Parker. I'm a huge admirer of your work."
The scientist's face softened into a smile. "Is that so? And what particularly interests you, Peter?"
"Everything, sir. But especially your research into cross-species genetics. It's... well, it's brilliant," Peter's voice held a reverence, his enthusiasm barely contained.
"Thank you, Peter," Dr. Connors replied, genuinely pleased. "It's not often I meet young people so passionate about our work."
Tyson piped up, "Parker's the top of our class, Dr. Connors. Super smart."
Gwen couldn't help herself. "Second, actually," she interjected with a playful smirk.
"Second?" Tyson raised an eyebrow, then shot a questioning look at Gwen, "Then who's—"
She just gave him a look, a silent, proud, 'obviously'.
"Oh," Tyson laughed, "Right."
The word "Parker" seemed to echo in Dr. Connors' mind, reverberating against his memories. He peered more intently at Peter, recognition dawning on his face like the slow creep of sunrise. "Parker," he repeated, his voice was softer, almost distant. "Your parents... Richard and Mary Parker. I worked with them."
Peter's heart skipped a beat, his breath held captive. "It’s true then. The picture wasn't just a one-time staged photo.” he said, more to himself than Connors, before asking, “You knew my parents?"
"Yes," Dr. Connors nodded, a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "Brilliant scientists, both of them. They were pioneers in their field before... before they disappeared." The air in the room grew thick. Tyson, sensing the weight of the moment for his new friend, squeezed Peter's shoulder in silent support. Dr. Connors continued, his voice took a faraway tone as if lost in memories, "I remember you as a child, Peter. You had your mother's eyes."
Peter swallowed, emotions tangled. As he prodded, "My parents…” Peter recalled Norman Osbron mentioning his father earlier, “...they worked here?"
"On special projects," Dr. Connors confirmed. "Much of the foundation of what we do in cross-species genetics was laid by your father. He was onto something groundbreaking."
The conversation drifted naturally to Dr. Connors' current research, and his aspirations to use genetics for regenerative medicine, potentially even limb regeneration, inspired by his condition. Peter listened, enraptured, every word pulling him deeper into a world his parents had once inhabited.
That's when Peter's gaze fell on the formula dominating Connor’s office. He recognized the sequence of symbols. "That formula," Peter interrupted suddenly, his voice urgent, "I've seen it before." Dr. Connors and Gwen turned, following his stare at the complex equation on the whiteboard. "It's... it's my father's work, isn't it?" Peter's fingers were almost touching the scribbled numbers, his eyes bright with intensity.
Dr. Connors observed him, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. "Yes, it was one of Richard's theoretical formulas. But it's never been completed."
Without a second thought, Peter grabbed a marker from Dr. Connors' desk. And then, in front of a stunned Dr. Connors and an astounded Gwen, Peter completed the sequence. The marker squeaked against the board as he scribbled, the sound punctuating the silence that enveloped the room.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Dr. Connors was the first to speak, breaking the hush that had fallen. "Incredible," he murmured, inspecting the formula as if seeing a ghost from the past.
Gwen was next, her voice a mix of awe and disbelief. "How did you do that, Peter?"
Peter lowered the marker, his chest heaving lightly from the adrenaline. "It's been in my house all along. My dad solved the formula."
For a long moment, no one spoke. The gravity of the revelation, the bridging of past and present, hung heavily around them.
Dr. Connors finally turned to Peter with a serious look on his face. "Peter, thank you. This... this could change everything."
Tyson clapped Peter on the back, a proud grin on his face. He addressed Dr. Connors, “You know you can’t use this without paying Peter right? It’s his solution.”
Connor’s voice held a promise, "Of course not. I'll be in touch, Peter."
As they exited the office, Gwen resumed her role as guide. When they rejoined the tour, she continued to explain the intricacies of Oscorp's work. But her glances towards Peter held a new light, one of deep respect and a hint of wonder.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
The students filed into a large, open lab. Eyes were wide, some in fear, others in intrigue as they took in the rows of glass enclosures, each housing a spider. The genetically-engineered arachnids displayed an array of colors and patterns as they clung to their webs. Gwen began explaining the breakthroughs Oscorp had achieved with these creatures.
Peter, however, had drifted to the front, his fascination transparent. "You know some spiders can change colors to blend into their environment," he shared, more to himself but loud enough for others to hear. "It's a defense mechanism."
Harry, leaning against a table, rolled his eyes in disinterest. "Peter, what would make you think I wanted to know that?" he asked, though there was no real malice in his words.
Peter was too absorbed to respond. His attention remained fixed on the spiders as he continued, "Some spiders even have super strength relative to their size, and others have a venom that can be adapted for advanced medical treatments."
Gwen smiled at Peter's enthusiasm, then directed everyone's attention to a scientist who began a more detailed lecture about the genetic enhancements they'd introduced into the spiders.
One sharp-eyed student, squinting at the enclosures, interrupted. "Isn't one missing? There are supposed to be thirteen."
The scientist barely skipped a beat, more perturbed by the interruption than the missing spider. "One of our colleagues is likely conducting some tests. Nothing to worry about."
The explanation seemed to satisfy everyone, and the lecture resumed.
In a rare instance where Peter's mind was not focused on science, his eyes drifted to where Mary Jane stood fixated on the spiders. A sly grin crossed Harry’s face. He said to Peter, “You should talk to her.”
Peter challenged, “You go talk to her.” Surprisingly, Harry pushed off the table and approached Mary Jane confidently.
"Did you know," Harry began, "that some spiders can change colors to blend in? It's a defense mechanism."
Mary Jane turned to him, an eyebrow raised. "Really? That's... interesting."
"Yeah," Harry continued. Peter watched the exchange from a few feet away with a sinking heart. "And some even have like, super strength."
Before Harry could continue, their teacher's sharp voice cut through the room. "Mr. Osborn. Do we need to review proper etiquette during lectures?"
Harry straightened, caught. "No, sir," he mumbled.
The eyes of the group were now on him, a few students snickering under their breath as Harry was brought to a corner of the lab to be chastised. The teacher's voice could be heard even though they stepped away, “Just because your name is on the building, isn't an excuse to be rude.”
Tyson meandered away from the group, his eyes scanning the lab. Amongst the high-tech equipment, he found what he was looking for. A small box of unused vials and a collection of stoppers. With his acquisition in hand, he positioned himself at an elevated area with a clear view of the whole room. He decided to just stand back and observe the iconic moment… and bide his time.
Meanwhile, Peter mustered up the courage, camera in hand. "MJ, could I get a picture? For the school paper?" he asked, a hopeful lilt in his voice.
Mary Jane looked surprised but then agreed with a hesitant smile. "Sure, Peter."
The first few shots were awkward, Mary Jane was unsure how to pose with the glass enclosures of spiders. Yet, as Peter's camera clicked away, she warmed up. Her poses became more natural, even playful.
"Great! That's really good," Peter encouraged, his own nervousness abating with each photo. Yet he still hid behind the camera.
Just then, one of Mary Jane's friends came bounding over. "MJ, you have to come see this!" she exclaimed, grabbing Mary Jane's arm and pulling her away, leaving Peter alone with the camera still raised.
Tyson saw it all from his vantage point. His focus, however, shifted when a tiny movement caught his enhanced sight. It was a spider, but not just any spider. It was the genetically engineered spider that had been pointed out as missing earlier. Its blue and red hues were vibrant, almost pulsing.
This was it. The moment Tyson had been waiting for.
As if in slow motion, Tyson observed the arachnid descend gracefully from its web above, lowering itself via a silken strand directly toward Peter, who was oblivious, still looking at the photos he'd just taken.
Tyson watched with eager anticipation.
The spider landed softly on the back of Peter's hand. For a split second, it seemed as if nothing would happen. Then, with an almost imperceptible movement, the spider bit down.
Peter's reaction was immediate. His hand whipped back from the sharp sensation. The camera nearly slipped from his grasp as a surprised yelp escaped his lips. He stared at the tiny red mark on his skin, then up at the space where the spider had been, now empty.
"What the—?" Peter began, but the spider was already scurrying away, having avoided his notice. The commotion had drawn a few curious looks, but the tour continued. Peter wasn’t popular enough for his outburst to hold the group’s attention.
In the immediate aftermath of Peter's bite, Tyson's entire focus was locked onto the spider. While it had evaded Peter's notice, Tyson channeled his predatory nature and focused on his prey. Its vibrant blue and red hues stood out starkly in his enhanced vision as it scurried away, attempting an escape. However, with Tyson's senses, it couldn't hope to disappear; he tracked it as it darted across the lab floor.
As Tyson moved to intercept it, he cloaked himself in an illusion so as to not draw attention. The spider suddenly altered its course, rapidly ascending another student's leg. This girl, unaware of the tiny creature scaling her, continued her conversation with a friend. Before Tyson could intervene, the spider bit her, just as it had Peter. The girl flinched, her hand shooting to the spot on her leg where the spider had struck. But she wasn't fast enough to hit the spider. She missed, and it fell toward the floor anchored by an invisible thread.
Seizing his chance, Tyson approached quickly, but carefully and precise with his movements. He caught the spider in the vial as it drifted toward the floor. Securing the stopper, Tyson slid the vial with the captured spider into his pocket.
Tyson approached the girl who had slapped her leg. He walked over and spoke to her just as she was recovering.
The girl was slender, with long dark hair. Her almond-shaped eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief as she laughed at something her friend said once she recovered from the sting of the bite.
"You okay?" Tyson asked, his deep voice laced with concern.
She looked up at him, her initial surprise at his towering presence quickly melted into an easy smile. "Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks," she replied, rubbing her leg absently. "You’re the new guy, right? I'm Cindy."
"Tyson…" he responded simply, eyeing the spot where the spider had bitten her.
"You're big, Tyson," Cindy remarked, a playful note in her voice. "Do you know how to skate?"
"Skate? Like, Ice skating? Dunno, Never been," Tyson admitted.
"Too bad. We could use you on the hockey team," she said with a wistful sigh. "You'd make a great defenseman, just standing there like a wall."
Despite the situation, Tyson chuckled. "My ex-girlfriend said I should try hockey."
"Welp, that’s awkward,” Cindy said after a pause, taking a step back. "See you around."
With that, she turned and rejoined her friends, leaving Tyson to consider the spider in his pocket and the event that had just unfolded.
As the group lingered, a security guard approached Tyson. The guard’s expression was professional but not unkind. The students fell silent, their eyes darting between Tyson and the guard, whispers tracing the edges of the crowd. They seemed to expect a confrontation of some kind. However, Tyson calmly followed the guard without protest. He was led through a series of corridors until they reached the epicenter of Oscorp's security. It was a space filled with monitors displaying every inch of the Oscorp building. In the center sat a stern-looking man. His sharp eyes flicked from screen to screen until they were drawn by Tyson's entrance.
"Tyson, this is Mr. Gargan, head of security," the guard introduced.
"Nice to meet you," Tyson greeted, offering a hand which he shook firmly.
"Mr. Osborn mentioned you might be interested in an intern position here," Mr. Gargan began without preamble. "What makes you a good fit for our security team?"
Tyson stood tall. "I'm a fast learner, and I don't scare easy. Plus, I've got a good sense of when things aren't right."
Gargan studied him for a moment before a slight smile cracked his professional facade. "You certainly have the physical qualifications," he conceded. "You're a student, but you could still learn something on the afternoon or night shift. How's that sound?"
"Night shift works for me," Tyson agreed promptly. "I've got school during the day, and I train at Chikara Dojo in the afternoons."
"You do martial arts?" he raised an eyebrow, visibly impressed.
Tyson answered, "I have some training in fighting and firearms, but I recently took up eastern martial arts."
"Good. You'll start with security training as soon as you can get in. We'll ease you into it," Mr. Gargan decided, handing him a badge with the Oscorp logo on it. "Welcome to Oscorp security, Tyson Smith."
Accepting the badge, a slow smile spread across Tyson's face. "Thanks, Mr. Gargan. I appreciate the opportunity."
As he left the security office, badge in hand, Tyson felt a sense of accomplishment. He'd pocketed the spider that bit Peter Parker. And landing a security internship gave him a foothold in Oscorp, and hopefully, a way to keep an eye on things from the inside. Plus, with his limited need for sleep, the late-night shift was perfect. And as an intern, he could set his own schedule and fly under the radar.
~~ Rogue Replacement ~~
As the engines of the school buses hummed, ready to depart, Tyson squeezed through the throng of students to find Peter pale-faced, swaying like a branch in the wind. Peter's hands missed the railings repeatedly as he tried to climb the stairs inside the bus.
"Peter, you don't look so good," Tyson commented as he steadied Peter with a firm hand.
"I...I don't feel so great," Peter confessed. The weakness was as prevalent in his voice as it was in his body as he leaned heavily against his friend.
The teacher approached with a frown. "What's going on here? Why aren't you getting on the bus?"
"Peter is sick," Tyson explained, quick thinking kicking in. "I think he's gonna hurl. It's better if he doesn't do that on the bus, right?"
The teacher's nose wrinkled at the thought. "Well, we can't just—"
Tyson's eyes flashed as he made eye contact with the teacher.
Suddenly he had a cell phone in his hand. He held it out for the teacher. "It's okay, I've got his Aunt May on the line," Tyson interjected, "She says I can take him home."
"Oh, well, if Aunt May says it's okay," the teacher relented, albeit still hesitant.
She put the cell phone to her ear. Aunt May’s voice came through clearly. The teacher gave Tyson the phone back
She said, "Make sure he gets home safely, Tyson."
"You got it, ma'am," Tyson nodded, supporting Peter's weight more fully now.
They moved away, and Tyson hailed a cab, helping the staggering Peter inside. Peter mumbled what might have been a thank you, his head lolling against the seat. The city blurred past them as Tyson kept a steady arm around Peter, whose quick and shallow breaths revealed his discomfort.
"Hang in there, man," Tyson urged softly, "I got you."
Peter's home came into view, and Tyson paid the driver before helping his friend to the door. With one arm supporting Peter, his other grabbing the keys Peter handed him, Tyson managed to get them inside. The worry was palpable in Aunt May and Uncle Ben's eyes as Tyson half-carried a listless Peter through the front door. "What happened?" Aunt May fretted, rushing to Peter's other side.
"I’m just sick," Peter croaked weakly, trying to muster a reassuring smile but failing. "Need some sleep, that's all."
Tyson nodded in agreement, adding, "Yeah, it was a close call in the taxi. Thought he was gonna hurl." His tone was light, attempting to inject some levity into the situation.
Together, though mostly through Tyson’s efforts, they maneuvered Peter up the stairs and into his bedroom. Peter collapsed onto the bed with a groan, his energy completely sapped. Tyson, acting like an honorary family member, took the initiative to get a glass of water and some aspirin. He set them on the nightstand, within Peter's easy reach.
"Thanks," Peter mumbled, his clarity momentarily returning.
"No problem, dude. Just get some rest," Tyson replied.
"Will do," Peter breathed out, his eyes already closed, just giving a weak thumbs up. Tyson lingered, ensuring Peter was resting before he quietly let himself out, shutting the door behind him.
Downstairs, Aunt May was a flurry of motion in the kitchen, the homely scent of cooking wafting through the air. Uncle Ben was setting the table, his movements betraying his lingering worry. They both looked up as Tyson descended the stairs. Feeling like he needed an excuse Tyson commented, “The flu and stomach bugs have been running around school early this year. Might want to make sure you wash your hands extra good for the next few weeks.” Then he took a step toward the door.
"You're not leaving without having something to eat, young man," Aunt May declared before Tyson could even say goodbye. It wasn't a request, but a gentle demand. Her expression softened as she added, "You brought our boy home. It’s the least we can do."
Tyson hesitated, not wanting to intrude, but the warm, inviting smells from the kitchen tugged at his senses. "Well, if you insist, Aunt May. I’d hate to let good cooking go to waste," he relented with a smile.
As they sat down to eat, the conversation was light. They chatted about school and the Oscorp trip, and Tyson even mentioned his new late-night internship, careful to play down how unusual it was for a student.
Aunt May acted as the caring surrogate, encouraging Tyson to balance work, school, and rest. "You boys, always trying to do so much," she chastised affectionately.
Uncle Ben added, "We appreciate you taking care of Peter. Keep taking care of those around you. We lift each other up. That's how we all succeed. And success isn't just about what you accomplish in your life, Tyson. It's about what you inspire others to do."
Getting a motivational phrase from Uncle Ben resonated with Tyson. Perhaps even on a level he wasn't fully ready to confront.
The meal ended with warm goodbyes and Tyson assuring he would visit again. As he stepped out into the evening chill, he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. In this house, he'd found a kind of family albeit transiently.
And he knew what would happen next.
With a sullen sadness, Tyson wondered if he’d be able to interfere and prevent the approaching tragedy.